Page 46 of Angel in Absentia (Light Locked #2)

“I missed you,” Alina said, and Clea sensed the lie, knowing it was meant to be an obvious one.

Taller than Clea, Alina looked down at her, searching her eyes viciously.

“I’ve wanted to meet the Heart of Loda. The thread that holds Alkerrai to sanity.

To think, if I sever you, he’d descend into a kind of beautiful, terrible madness.

The destruction would be incredible. I’m convinced he’d set the world aflame. ”

Clea searched Alina’s eyes, wondering if Alina was truly considering killing her right now. Clea thought of that little girl in Virday, and again, saw her opposite in this woman now.

“I imagine the destruction would start with you,” Clea whispered back, feeling the coolness of the claws on either side of her face.

Alina’s smile broadened and she whispered back, “already making threats on his behalf. You take to your new role quite well already. How does it feel to have him corrupt you so quickly?”

Clea’s jaw clenched, recognizing every word out of Alina’s mouth as poison. She refused to engage further, stepping slowly back. Alina watched her with a lifted chin, lowering her claws slowly back down to either side.

“I’ve been commanded to stay outside the walls, to—to keep watch,” she said, her eyes widening at the word.

She walked slowly past, every step a deliberate show of her pierced body.

“Run back to the castle. If he doesn’t eat you,” Alina said, voice lowering to a growl as she backed out of the moonlight and into the dark, “I will.”

The word lingered long after Alina’s form had vanished. Clea remained straight, her heart pounding, the air thick with the perfume of Alina’s malice.

Alina al Nevana, the Witch of Wicked Wisdom.

The Witch. The Haunt. The Warlord.

In her mind, she carved the pieces, and set them down on her own war council table.

???

Clea returned to the castle with no interference. Upon reaching the upper floors, she heard voices through the cracked door of a large study. She gritted her teeth at the sound of Ryson’s voice. Then Iris offered a brief word, and Clea’s expression fell off her face.

She looked into the study to find Ryson standing with one arm crossed and the other propped up beneath his chin as he looked through some pages of a ledger presented to him and nodded over to Iris.

Iris glanced over them tentatively. “You really should consult with a council member,” she said somewhat uneasily, though her body language portrayed complete comfort.

She was sitting on the desk, while one Insednian lounged in the chair and two others stood guard.

One noticed Clea but did nothing. They were more creature than human in a strange way, their eyes and dark clothes giving them a vague, animalistic appearance.

Each wore the collection of almost tribal, black garb and silver etchings along their clothes, even across their skin.

The cursed silver, in many ways, seemed alive, reflecting every light with the brilliance of a mirror.

“I need someone I know she trusts,” he replied, “and the Princess isn’t keen on collaborating at the moment.”

Clea’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

The Insednian holding the book gestured to something inside it, and Ryson rubbed his face.

“By cien, so, explain this to me again?” he asked.

“It’s been so long. They have someone who delivers mail in the city every day?

Every day? Even though people can just go themselves and say what they want to say?

And the letters have to be checked and filed and sealed with just red wax if urgent?

There is more urgent mail on three days of the week and so we need how many mail carriers in good health?

How many died? Why is this urgent? I don’t understand why I’m even thinking about this right now. ”

“I honestly never imagined the concept of mail being a struggle for anyone,” Iris said with surprising humor.

“Certain types of messages are only permitted to be delivered in written form. They are written in different script based on the type of letter, and some business transactions cannot be conducted without following this process and delivery via a certified royal carrier. Didn’t we review this already?

Aren’t you supposed to be rather brilliant? ”

Ryson gestured to her emphatically. “Typically, when I am done with kingdoms, they don’t need to be run, and so much of what you do is based around what limited time you have.

My people are timeless and bound by contract, not some agreed-upon resolve to survive as many years as possible.

And you all claim not to kill, but you kill animals, and some people.

Not all people and not all animals, only some animals, and I can hardly tell what the difference is.

Your debates about what people to kill require such extensive oversight.

Honestly, the mailing system and the systems of justice have infinite layers of complexity and tradition, and with so many dead, I still don’t see why we can’t just ignore them for the time being. ”

Clea tried with significant effort to decode the conversation happening only feet from her. Iris and Ryson talking not just in a civil way, but trying to deliberate the operations and traditions of her city? Collaborating?

“You insist on preserving the city. I’m trying to explain how,” Iris replied.

“I understand systems that make sense. I could preserve the city, but the complexity of the customs here is a nightmare.” He rubbed his temple.

Clea tried to grapple with the revelation of his frustrations. None of it made sense. It couldn’t be real, and even Iris was falling so easily for this ruse that he was trying to preserve and rebuild things? Her confusion and discomfort morphed into a protective anger.

“You’re still thinking about that debacle with the markets?” Iris asked.

He replied somewhat heatedly, “Why is there a decree to only have meat markets open in the early morning and why do leather peddlers get so concerned about it? Their city is under siege and they are squabbling over this?”

Clea couldn’t listen to any more.

“Because they don’t want to worry about their safety. They just want to live their lives,” Clea said from the door.

Iris and Ryson turned toward her.

“They are testing you, trying to see what tolerance you have for preserving their way of life. If you’re planning on killing or using them, you’ll show no interest. It’s an investment. If you make that investment, they’ll start to believe the peace you’re offering has some measure of truth to it.”

“Ah, Princess,” he said delightedly, not even blinking that she was free of her chains. Iris and Clea exchanged glances.

Iris bit her lip as if she was prepared to lift her hands and say, “He made me do it.”

“This is perfect.” Ryson sat on the desk, licking a finger and using it to move through a book. “Princess, someone asked me about irrigating crops on the south end of the wall, which apparently is an urgent concern.” He looked at her expectantly.

She remained silent, glaring at him.

“Is it urgent?” he asked. “Because I was planning on just letting them die. Do your people really need crops?” She knew the question was a joke.

Clea walked into the room with her arms folded resolutely over her chest. “You need to formalize the decree, likely sitting on the desk behind you somewhere, that the farmer who owns that land be released from prison seasonally. You must then send it by royal mail carrier to the last address on that plaque against the side of the desk. It needs a gold seal.”

He gestured with a metallic finger to one of the Insednians standing by, who walked calmly from the room as Iris hurriedly dug up the piece of paper and a pen.

He signed it, and she folded up the parchment, handing it to a disheveled and terrified mail carrier who appeared at the door minutes later with an Insednian holding him passively by the cuff of his shirt.

The mail carrier ran off a moment later.

“Perfect,” he said, marking something off in the book.

This odd scenario continued on for several more minutes until Ryson was called out of the room by another Insednian and Clea could finally direct her attention to Iris. “What are you doing?” she said in a loud hiss.

Iris scurried up to her apologetically. “Clea, I’m sorry, but he’s been perfectly amicable.

He said he’d let Dae out of prison if I just helped him a bit, and he hasn’t hurt anyone.

” She glanced back at the door. “Honestly, he seems to be giving this an honest effort, and you just witnessed it.” She looked at Clea and grimaced. “This is not his area of expertise.”

“Because he destroys kingdoms!” she shouted in a whisper. “He is just waiting to lull us into a sense of comfort and then he will destroy us! It’s a trap. He traps people!”

Iris wrung her hands and looked around and then back to Clea before she settled down and at last said, “I think… I don’t think that’s true. Clea, the argument you both had. You didn’t deny any of what he said. And it’s all true?”

Clea’s silence answered Iris’s question.

“He’s different now,” Clea bit out.

“How?”

“Iris, he’s the Warlord of Shambelin!”

“And I’ve become convinced that we know very little about any of it,” Iris insisted. Clea calmed down, watching her and knowing that the proclamation came from a place of having dug through all of the books a thousand times.

“If everything you have both been through did happen, and it’s all true, who is to say he isn’t being honest about it all?

Otherwise, what incentive does he really have to keep any of us alive?

If they wanted us as slaves, they could have us as slaves.

Ruedom abandoned us. We were limping along after being attacked by the Ashana. ”

“He’s dangerous,” Clea whispered.