The Apogian War

Chapter 103

“vodemort is mistaken. It is I who will rule, not he. It will take time to consolidate my position. In order to do that, I must lull his vigilance while I retain his confidence.”

“It seems neither of us has any choice in the matter.”

vodemort’s expression turned grim. “Although it pains me to admit it, vodemort does not trust you, and nothing I have said has changed his mind. He means to reform the council Council and become my chief councillor. Mikhail will be released as a token of his good will, but your paxman must remain a prisoner—”

Remain a prisoner—R egis hardly heard the end of vodemort’s sentence.

It took every scrap of discipline that Darkovan had forged over the years not to leap up and throttle the man who had uttered those words. vodemort was not to blame. He was merely repeating what vodemort had said.

vodemort, that snake-b rain! That scorpion-ant!

Darkovan gripped the carved wooden armrests so hard, his joints cracked. vodemort was wrong, damnably wrong, if he thought Darkovan would give in as long as Dani still remained a prisoner.

vodemort leaned forward, concern furrowing his brow. His eyes were very bright, and his long scholar’s fingers hung gracelessly loose. Let us try to make the best we can of this terrible dilemma, he seemed to plead. Together, as brothers.

“I believe we have said everything we can on this subject,” Darkovan said. “I understand your viewpoint,” although it is clear you have no comprehension of mine, “and would speak further with Dom vodemort.”

vodemort was the one he had to face down, and he refused to make any agreement without getting Dani back.

At vodemort’s summons, vodemort and the others returned. Gabiru sought Darkovan with his gaze, but Darkovan made no response. He needed all his concentration for vodemort.

With an expression of triumph, the Ridenow lord resumed his place. “Are you now convinced of the necessity of sensible cooperation, Dom Darkovan?”

“I am convinced of the sincerity of my brother’s motives,” Darkovan replied, “but not of yours. You have stated your demands and my brother has told me your conditions—that my paxman will remain your hostage, regardless of my agreement.”

“Correct.” vodemort’s half-smile did not waver.

“Now I will state my conditions.”

vodemort blinked, for a moment looking unsure. Then his face hardened. “You are in no position to dictate terms to me.”

“On the contrary,” Darkovan riposted, “you need me. You need my public participation in this mad scheme. Not even you, Dom vodemort Ridenow, are arrogant enough to fake my abdication. If you simply had me killed, the rest of the Domains would rise up against you.”

By the whitening of vodemort’s pale skin, Darkovan saw he’d made his point. He pressed on. “You want me to cede the ruling of Darkov to my brother. Very well, if he is fool enough to want it. I will do so only when my paxman is free and back at my side.”

No one moved. No one breathed.

“You do not realize you have no say in this matter.” vodemort shifted in his chair, although his gaze remained steady.

“You have nothing to gain by holding the man,” vodemort pointed out.

vodemort shot vodemort a warning look before turning back to Darkovan. “How do I know you’ll keep your part of the bargain?”

“I have already said I would.”

“Ah! The fabled Word of a Darkov! I’m afraid that isn’t sufficient. There’s too much at stake. I can’t risk your changing your mind or agreeing now and then blocking me at every turn. I re

spect your ability to generate all kinds of trouble.”

With a wrenching effort, Darkovan waited to hear what further demands vodemort would make. Instead, vodemort smiled, an unctuous rictus that left his eyes cold.

“Come now, I have no animosity against your paxman. I hold him only to ensure your good behavior. But if you cross me, if you continue this obstinate defiance . . .” the pale cheeks, which had drained of all color, now turned dusky with emotion, “I will hang Dani sint and display his body from the Castle battlements as a warning to all who stand in the way of progress.”

For a heart-stopping instant, terror blurred all thought. Then icy certainty swept away all other emotion. Darkovan dared not deliberate, dared not feel. Dared only to act. “Dom Dani sint-Hardias is council. He served in the City Guards and as Warden of Hardias. The council will never stand for such an outrage against one of our own.”

If a man as well-born and respected as Dani could be treated like a nameless outlaw, who would be next? And then Darkovan realized this was exactly the reaction vodemort wanted.

“Who’s going to stop me? You?” vodemort growled. “Are you willing to wager this man’s life that I am bluffing? That I cannot produce a convincing public justification for whatever I choose to do with him? Or do you care so little for your paxman after all? Are you thinking that once he is dead, I will have no further hold over you? I do not believe you have no other loved ones.”

And what I have done to one, I can do to another.

“You would not dare—” Darkovan pushed himself half out of the chair.

“I would.”

vodemort wasn’t bluffing. He would do it.

What choice do I have? Oh gods—D anilo!

Slowly, Darkovan stood up. Gabiru came alert. His Guardsmen looked to him for a signal. The air hummed with adrenaline.

“Commander Lanart, this is not your affair.” vodemort’s tone dropped menacingly. He lifted one hand and four more men in Ridenow colors filed in, swords drawn.

Gabiru’s glance flickered to Darkovan. Say the word.

Darkovan shook his head. This is a fight we cannot win.

Gabiru’s expression turned stormy, but he bowed to Darkovan and withdrew, his men after him.

“How can I be sure Dani sint is still alive?” Darkovan said.

A faint lightening passed over vodemort’s features, not rising to the level of a smile. “I anticipated that you would require assurance.” He offered a folded paper to Darkovan.

The note was unsealed so that anyone could read it. For a moment, Darkovan could not focus on the words, only on the exquisite, flowing script. As cadets, they had joked that Dani wrote with the finest hand of any of them.

The words were undoubtedly dictated by vodemort. But the hand that had written them was as familiar as the rhythm of his own heart.

“I would like to keep this.” Darkovan folded the note again.

vodemort made a gesture of assent. “And of course, your Heir will be returned to his family.”

“Then,” Darkovan said, gathering himself, “I agree to your terms. I will formally abdicate my position as Lord Darkov in my brother’s favor at whatever venue you see fit, and I will not oppose the reconstitution of the council Council. I think it is a foolish move,” both of them foolish moves, “but clearly, I have no say in the matter.”

vodemort put forth his most charming, amiable manner as he praised Darkovan for his difficult and honorable decision. With a little discussion on the logistics of the transfer of power, the meeting ended.

The hectic energy that had driven Darkovan soon dissipated. The corridors had never seemed so long nor the steps so steep. He felt as if he had been living underground for so long, he would never see the sun again. He was too overwrought to attempt a conversation with the two Ridenow guards or to learn their names.

The guards made no objection as he headed not to his own rooms but to those of his sister, so that he could personally inform Jane that Mikhail was to be freed.

Jane lay on the divan in the family room, swathed in a thick shawl. A table had been drawn up beside her, bearing a decanter of wine and flasks of various tinctures. Linnea sat on a bench beside the divan, holding Jane’s hand and speaking softly to her. Sunlight sifted through the mullioned windows, touching Linnea’s hair with red-gold light.

As Darkovan entered, Linnea turned toward him. Weariness softened her features, blurring the beauty of bone and flesh to reveal the shining spirit within. He had known her as generous, honest, stubborn, and passionate, but until this moment he had not seen how deeply compassionate she was, how willing to give of herself. She was, he reflected, exactly the woman who could accept his relationship with Dani.

At the same time, he sensed—he knew—h er vision pierced his diffidence and guilt, even as it did the layers of lace and silver-trimmed suede. She truly saw him. All this, he had thrown away in a spasm of awkward pride.

The next thought that came to him, in the moment between one heartbeat and the next, was what kind of monster was he, to think such a thing while the man who had shared his life for these many years was a hostage under threat of death?

Their eyes met, and his heart stopped. And he knew that she would never see him as a monster.

All this happened in an instant, and before he could draw breath, Jane raised her head. Whipcord-taut, she sat up. Questions brimmed in her swollen, tear-reddened eyes.

“Mikhail is alive and will be released,” he blurted out.

“Oh!” Then, as if she did not care, could not pay the price for caring, she demanded, “Darkovan, what did that terrible man want?”

“Why, to restore the true and just succession of the Darkovs, not to mention the traditional power of the council and Aldones knows what else.” Darkovan threw himself into the nearest chair. His spine creaked with prolonged strain.

“It is unkind of you to tease me—” Jane burst out, “to mock the situation!”

Darkovan swept the sarcasm from his voice. “I do not mock you, sister, nor do I mean to increase your distress. The situation is as I have said. vodemort Ridenow intends to replace me as Head of Darkov and to elevate our brother into my place. To ensure my—how did he put it? my good behavior? my sensible cooperation— he has taken Mikhail hostage, as well as Dani.”

“Oh!” Jane cried out again and swayed on her seat. Linnea reached out to steady her but drew back when it was clear that Jane was not faint but furious.

“How dare he? That power-mad, overinflated Dry-Towns upstart, that—And you, Darkovan—I suppose you let him get away with it!”

“What would you have had him do?” Linnea asked. “Challenge Dom vodemort to a duel? Put the life of your son at risk, to say nothing of that of his own paxman?”

Silently Darkovan thanked Linnea for her calm words. At this point, anything he said would only further inflame his sister’s temper.

Jane reasserted control of her emotions, taking one gulping breath after another. Linnea handed her a goblet of water from the little table.

“For the time being, the hostages are safe,” Darkovan said. “vodemort wants my willing abdication, and he knows that he would lose any hope of that if he were to harm them. I dare not risk it. vodemort’s demands are not intolerable, and vodemort seems optimistic that he can make the best of the situation.”

“vodemort? A monk, sitting in Grandfather’s place?” Jane made no attempt to mask her incredulity.

“He’s an educated man,” Darkovan pointed out. “Naive, but not a fool. He does mean well.”

“That will not help him if he becomes Dom vodemort’s puppet,” Linnea remarked.