The Bloodprint Page 6

  “Do not presume to touch me. Unless you wish a taste of my power.”

  The Black Khan smiled, his dark gaze unwavering. He touched his own hand to the rook at his throat. He spoke low enough that only Arian could hear, the words intimate, seductive.

  “That is not the part of you I wish to taste.”

  Fury erupted in Arian’s mind. She pressed her tahweez into her arm, the incantation searing her throat. White-hot sound blasted the Black Khan back to his throne, nearly lifting him off his feet. Angered in turn, he raised his hand—whether to strike her or to call his own power forth, she wasn’t given the chance to discover.

  Ilea struck her hands together with a short, sharp bark of the Claim.

  The words froze them in place.

  Ilea waited until she had gathered their attention—only then did she loosen her grip.

  When she addressed the Black Khan, her words had a meaning Arian couldn’t interpret.

  “Do not presume to touch the First Oralist,” she echoed grimly, holding his gaze with her own. “In this chamber or at any other time. Unless you wish all your purposes undone.”

  He studied Ilea for long moments. And then he dipped his head.

  “Your pardon, High Companion. I did not mean to offend.”

  Ilea rounded on Arian, her voice sharp-edged and dismissive.

  “How dare you resort to violence in this chamber?” She flicked a glance over Arian’s shoulder. “Stand down, Sinnia. The Black Khan is not your enemy.”

  Arian turned to see Sinnia on her feet, her bow strung before her, her arrow poised to strike. Sinnia answered without her usual humor.

  “Any enemy of the First Oralist is my enemy. Just as you taught me, Exalted.”

  Ilea flicked a hand at Sinnia—the arrow she had nocked twanged harmlessly to the ground.

  “No one is to bring weapons before the Council, I’ll deal with your trespass later.”

  The Companions muttered to one another. This was more upheaval than Hira had known in decades.

  And it wasn’t over.

  The Black Khan recalled their attention to himself.

  “You quarrel over a verse, whereas I have seen the whole. A manuscript entire. A manuscript of the Claim.”

  No—Arian didn’t believe it was possible.

  The weight of history pressed against her thoughts. The teachings of her mother, the sacrifice of her family to protect the last remnants of the sacred Tradition, the sacred teaching.

  The words of the Claim expanded inside her mind. They sang to her. They demanded the truth of her.

  “Show us,” she whispered, a little dizzy.

  It was the Black Khan’s turn to retreat. Something of her emotion had sparked at him, a brief, infinitesimal hope.

  “The manuscript was recaptured. It has long since left my lands.”

  “Then how can we know it was the Claim? How could the Claim have survived?”

  “Will you ridicule those who believe?” the Black Khan quoted softly.

  Raising his voice, he addressed the chamber.

  “Did you think the Talisman’s emblem was merely a legend?”

  His dark gaze found Sinnia, who slowly worked out the meaning of his words.

  “Do you speak of the bloodstained page?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, at once. “Known to you as the Bloodprint.” He looked around, his smile widening at the Companions’ bewilderment. His next words shattered the world.

  “It was the Bloodprint I held.”

  9

  Cries sounded in the chamber. Silk whispered against stone, the Companions’ words rushing over each other. Ilea called them to order. She rose from her throne, taking the hand the Black Khan extended. Arian marked out those who objected. Psalm. Ware. And Ash.

  Ilea came forward a few paces, raising an imperious hand.

  “You will give me the Cloak now, First Oralist.”

  And this time, Arian couldn’t resist the High Companion’s power. Her movements stiff, she yielded possession of the box.

  Now the High Companion did a thing unprecedented in the Council’s history.

  She removed the Cloak from the box and placed it on the Black Khan’s shoulders.

  He raised his head, wings of dark hair casting shadows over his cheekbones. His tone became formal.

  “I swear to the Council of Hira by the power of the Sacred Cloak and all it represents, the Bloodprint was placed in my hands. I know it to be real.”

  His words were greeted with silence.

  The Cloak did not permit blasphemy.

  And wearing it, the Black Khan was different. His mantle of arrogance had vanished. Their eyes met, and Arian understood he was telling them the truth.

  A decade gone, every possible risk ventured against the hostility of the Talisman, the loss of everything that had given meaning to her life, the look she couldn’t forget in silver eyes—a look of the profoundest betrayal, and now this.

  At last, a reason to hope.

  Overcome by revelation, she stumbled forward. The Black Khan moved swiftly to aid her. Catching herself at once, Arian retreated behind the All Ways.

  He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “I meant only to offer my assistance.”

  “I do not require it,” she said with dignity. And then after a moment, “Thank you for your courtesy.”

  He bent his head, his lips quirking as she avoided the use of his name.

  Frowning at the exchange, Ilea addressed the chamber.

  “The Companions are sworn to the secrets of the Council, at any time. You are not to speak of the Bloodprint, even to each other. A task will be assigned to each of you, and you will each fulfill your duty, is that clear?”

  A rumble of protest sounded. Justifications were demanded, accusations flung. A sibilant whisper chased up the tiers of the chamber.

  “Blasphemy,” several of the Companions cried.

  The Claim thundered over the assembly. Ilea stared up at the Companions, confronting them one by one. Sinnia covered her ears.

  “Which of the One’s favors will you deny? You, Mask. Answer me!”

  Mask muttered through her teeth. “None, High Companion. I dare deny none.”

  “And you, Ash?”

  The Jurist couldn’t look away from the High Companion. Breathless, the Companions observed their silent duel.

  Whatever her internal struggle may have been, Ash was next to submit.

  “Yes, submit,” Ilea mocked. She turned to the rest of the chamber. “Soon the One will settle your affairs.” She used the Claim as an ominous threat. “And do you submit, as well?”

  The women of the Council looked to Arian.

  “I am the High Companion, look to me! Do you dare defy me?”

  And when the Companions still hesitated, Arian moved to intercede.

  “This was a moment of wonder for us. The Sacred Cloak should have raised our hopes.” She searched the faces of her sisters. “I wore it for a moment in Candour.”

  Mask’s eyes filled with tears. “Did you truly, Arian?”

  Arian’s smile was tremulous. She had wanted this moment for her sisters. Ilea had stripped it away.

  “Truly,” she said.

  Furious at being usurped, Ilea rounded on Psalm.

  “General,” she demanded. “Will you uphold the rules of Council?”

  Psalm’s reply was calm. “I note your fidelity to those rules.” Her gaze swept over the Black Khan. Then she nodded at Arian. “I defer to the First Oralist. As she decides, so will I.”

  Ilea’s fists clenched in the folds of her dress. The First Oralist had been away from Hira for months. But her influence had lessened not at all. With little effort, she had humiliated Ilea before the Council and before a valuable ally. But Ilea contained herself. She couldn’t take Arian on before the Council; she would have to choose her moment.

  She raised an eyebrow at Arian and waited.

  Arian faced the assembly of
Companions.

  “Let us not shame ourselves in the presence of the Cloak. If the Black Khan wears it, his words must be true.” She touched her tahweez. “If you cannot trust him, I accept that. But you know to trust me, my sisters.” And then with a hint of prescience, she added, “If this is to be my Audacy, I will search for the Bloodprint to the end.”

  The rites of the Audacy had never been witnessed by an outsider. The chamber was quiet, the Council dismissed, and Arian was alone with Ilea and the Black Khan. His presence was an invasion of her privacy, but set against Ilea’s bold-faced enmity, she counted it as nothing.

  At an intricate gesture of Ilea’s hands, the All Ways soared to new heights, trapping Arian within their waters. The All Ways formed a blue square, its thin spires of water resembling a cell.

  Ilea and Arian had never been close, but Ilea’s recitation of the Audacy’s rites was marked by a freezing contempt.

  “You have been bold before the Council, but the Audacy still demands your ritual submission. Do you accept this task?”

  If the Bloodprint was real . . .

  She gave the only answer she could.

  “I do, Exalted.”

  “Then you will undertake a journey—a journey you’ve already guessed at. You will seek out the Bloodprint, wherever it may lead you. You alone have knowledge of its language. You alone can confirm its identity. And you will bring it to Hira.”

  “Shall I undertake this Audacy alone?”

  “Are you not capable? Despite your promise to the Council?”

  “I am not your enemy, Ilea.”

  Ilea shrugged the words aside, refusing to acknowledge the Council’s revolt.

  “I can spare Sinnia.”

  Arian knew she meant it as a punishment for Sinnia, so she tested Ilea’s resolve.

  “Psalm would be of greater use on an Audacy such as this.”

  “That is not for you to decide.” Ilea’s voice was harsh. “The Black Khan has also offered his assistance.”

  She motioned to Rukh. He tipped his elegant head to one side, studying the woman before him. Arian faced him squarely. He was the reason for the Council’s insurrection: it was time he answered for it instead of Arian.

  “How did you come across the Bloodprint?”

  His thin lips sketched a smile.

  “A spy from the northland brought it to Ashfall.”

  The seat of the Black Khan with its dissolute court.

  “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  Arian focused on his words.

  “The Bloodprint came to you from the northland.” Her voice faltered. “Do you mean to say all of the legend is true? It comes from Task End, the Stone City behind the Wall? There’s no way behind the Wall, we’ve known this for centuries. We don’t even know—” She broke off. She had just remembered the rest of the Bloodprint’s legend. Her lips became numb.

  “What of the Bloodless?” she whispered. A confederacy of scholars had guarded the Bloodprint through the ages, handing down a legacy of commentaries on the Claim. They were called the Bloodless, ascetics who renounced the pleasures of earthly life.

  No one had ever seen the Bloodless. No one had witnessed their arcane rituals. If the Bloodprint was ever under threat in Task End, they were said to spirit it away to their safehold.

  “You said the Bloodprint was brought to you by your spy,” Arian said. “How could he have breached the sanctuary of the Bloodless?”

  Even an Oralist of the highest repute would have little chance of discovering that safehold. And if she did, she would still have to face down the Bloodprint’s guardians.

  How could a spy of the northland have been worthy of such knowledge? How would he have discovered the safehold?

  The Black Khan’s response was curt.

  “I did not send rabble after the Bloodprint. The man who discovered it had certain skills.”

  “Then where is he now?”

  For the first time, he hesitated. His eyes flicked away from hers, and she knew he had considered withholding the truth before he decided against it.

  “He was . . . confronted . . . by the Bloodless. Then he disappeared.”

  Arian took in the words. And took another breath.

  Very quietly, she said, “How can you expect that I would fare any better?”

  A hint of sympathy warmed his eyes.

  “You will not be seeking the Bloodprint on your own. My men will find you in Marakand.”

  “Is that where the Bloodprint rests? Is that where its safehold is?”

  His black gaze dwelt on her face, reading more than she knew, appreciating the use he could make of her. This time his answer was firm.

  “No. They will take you to Black Aura Scaresafe.”

  Arian recoiled from the words. At her obvious anguish, the waters of the All Ways receded, leaving a pall of dread in their wake.

  Black Aura was a place of untold horror—it was ruled by a tyrant whose infamy was eclipsed only by his savagery. He was known as the Authoritan, and Black Aura was his capital.

  When she flinched at the name, the Black Khan murmured, “Come, I hadn’t heard you were faint of heart.”

  “Yet you wouldn’t choose to make the journey in my stead.”

  He laughed at that, his laughter beguiling.

  She took a moment to examine his words. She could almost fathom an Audacy that would take her to Task End—the thought of an Audacy to Black Aura paralyzed her with fear.

  “After the wars of the Far Range, the Bloodprint was preserved at a Task End scriptorium,” he explained. “It was the Authoritan who ordered its transport to Black Aura—as he would have done when it was recaptured.”

  “Then why do I go to Marakand?”

  “I have men in Marakand who will guide you further.”

  “But Marakand lies behind the Wall. How am I to breach it?”

  And now she turned back to Ilea, wondering. What did the High Companion seek here? If she could discard the power of the Sacred Cloak so lightly, yielding it to a man she scarcely knew and could not trust, what would she do with the Bloodprint? How would she use its power if she was at odds with the Council?

  Did the Bloodprint represent deliverance or deception?

  There were only four among them who would be able to read it, even if by some fortuitous working of fate, Arian was able to find it. Herself, Half-Seen, Ash, and Ilea.

  And why would the Black Khan help them? Solely for the sake of the Sacred Cloak?

  She raised her eyes to his face.

  “You do not seek the Bloodprint for yourself, Excellency? You were the one who thought to—intercept it.”

  Thief, her eyes called him. And liar, as well.

  “Rukh,” he reminded her.

  She pretended to soften. “Rukh, then. You said you have proof of the Bloodprint. Are you able to read the Claim? Is it true you were schooled in the High Tongue?”

  A glimmer of amusement in his eyes suggested he fully understood the things she hadn’t expressed, her private dismissal of his character.

  “I’m not as fluent as the Companions of Hira.” He made a small bow to Ilea. “But neither am I ignorant.”

  No, Arian thought. He wouldn’t be. And he’d evaded the more important question. She returned to it.

  “You do not expect to retain the Bloodprint, if I am able to retrieve it?”

  “If you are able to retrieve it, all of Khorasan will be at your feet.”

  “That is not why I pursue it.”

  It was important to her that she convince him of this, though she couldn’t have said why.

  His eyes narrowed, as if he’d grown tired of her.

  “A Companion who does not seek power, perhaps because she wields it so wholly.” There was a caustic note in his voice. “The Bloodprint doesn’t matter to me. I have taken the Cloak as payment, it will serve me well enough.”

  His words challenged her to deny him.

  Arian didn’t think twice.

/>   “It isn’t a prize to be bartered.” She turned to Ilea, prepared to risk the High Companion’s wrath. “And the Cloak isn’t yours to cede. It belongs at Hira. We are its rightful guardians.”

  An indefinable expression crossed Ilea’s face.

  “It was the price I paid for the Black Khan’s counsel. A counsel we desperately need.” There was a bitter edge to her voice. “You’ve been away too long, in pursuit of your misguided quest. I’ve had other priorities at Hira.” She made an impatient gesture with her hand. “Either accept your Audacy, or refuse it. I will not countenance further debate.”

  Why not? And then realization struck Arian. For all of her discouragement of Arian’s efforts with the slave-chains, Ilea had expected Arian to bring the Cloak to Hira. How else could she have known to make her bargain with Rukh?

  She had known Arian would seek it. And she had meant to trade it away.

  She was swamped by a feeling of grief. How had she and Ilea come to this point?

  “Why do you look so betrayed? You chose to pursue the Cloak for your own ends. I understood it would serve a larger purpose.”

  “What purpose?” Arian whispered.

  “The defence of Hira. The defence your actions made necessary.”

  “My actions?” Arian echoed the words without understanding their meaning.

  Ilea’s response was cruel. She had found a way to strike back.

  “Yes, your actions. Your unceasing war against the slave-chains has put the Citadel at risk. The One-Eyed Preacher brings his war to Hira. And when he comes, the Citadel will fall.”

  Arian blanched at the words. Was the High Companion right? Had she brought destruction to the Citadel? When everything she treasured was at Hira?

  “No,” she said, grief in her voice. “That cannot be true.”

  The Black Khan murmured something to Ilea, and the waters of the All Ways resumed their careful dance. Ilea crossed her arms, pressing both hands to her circlets. She waited impatiently for Arian to mimic the gesture.

  “This is not an Audacy to undertake only as it suits you. Our very survival is at stake—the lives of the Companions, the sanctity of the scriptorium, the Citadel itself. Will you accept this Audacy? Or does your courage forsake you at the outset of the war?”