The Singer
Page 20
“It’s like armor,” he said.
“That’s one way of looking at it. We use it to strengthen our bodies. Make ourselves stronger. Increase our longevity. A mature and trained Irin scribe is practically immortal.”
Malachi rubbed the back of his neck. “But not entirely.”
“Clearly.”
Silence fell between them, with nothing but the tick of a mantel clock filling the air. Rhys watched him with some unspoken question burning in his eyes.
“What?” Malachi finally asked. “Are you tired of telling me all these things? We should take a break. I feel like running.”
“You generally do after a day cooped up inside. Or when you’re irritated.”
For some reason, Rhys’s knowledge of his habits irked him. Why did this stranger know more about him than he did?
“Will my talesm come back?” he asked. “Or are they lost? Will I have to tattoo them all over again? How long will it take to be strong enough?”
“We have no idea.” Rhys shrugged a single shoulder. “You need to do basic protection spells, at the very least. Once we find Ava—”
“And when will that be?”
“I don’t know.” Rhys’s eyes flashed. “I told you, we don’t know where Damien took her. We’re doing our best, but you’re going to have to be patient.”
“I am being patient,” he growled.
Rhys made a disgusted noise at the back of his throat. “You’re still so… you. Even when you’re not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His shoulders tensed.
“Never thinking ahead. Rushing into danger with no thought to—”
“I’m thinking of my mate,” Malachi bit out, rising to his feet. “She needs me, and I must go to her.”
“To do what? Protect her?” Rhys stood up, glaring at Malachi from across the table. “You can hardly protect yourself right now. You need to—”
“I need her,” Malachi said. “And she needs—”
“She needs her mate back!” Rhys snapped. “Right now, you’re only a shadow of who she needs.”
Malachi bit back the rage on the tip of his tongue and narrowed his eyes at the man who had called himself his friend. Or, he’d called the old Malachi his friend. Perhaps the two were no longer the same.
“You are angry with me,” he said, crossing his arms. “Resentful. Why?”
His old friend’s head snapped back in surprise, and his green eyes widened. “I…I’m not.”
“You are. Why?”
Rhys’s mouth dropped open, but he did not speak. When his words finally came, they were almost inaudible. “I love her, you know. Maybe not like you did, but I do love her.”
He shoved back the instinctive anger and spoke calmly. “She is my mate.”
“She is.” Rhys looked down, shuffling the papers they’d been looking at into a pile. “She is, without a doubt, your reshon. A true soul mate. I saw it even before you did, I think.”
Malachi didn’t know how, but the emotion was there, wrapping his mind with certainty. “I love her.”
“I believe you,” Rhys said, before clearing his throat. “You love your mate. But… you don’t love Ava. You can’t, because you don’t know her anymore.”
The hollow loss rang in his chest, and he knew, in part, that Rhys was correct. As much as he hated it, Malachi knew the other man spoke the truth. And there was nothing he could do about it.
“She needed you back. And you are. But you’re not the same man. I don’t know if you ever will be. And that—that is why I am angry.”
Maxim, Leo, Rhys, and Malachi met in the sitting room that evening. The outside air had taken on the snap of autumn, but in the house in the caves, the fire warmed the small room where they sat, drinking tea and talking.
“It’s clear we’re not going to find any written or electronic records,” Max said. “Damien is too savvy for that. What we need is a personal connection.”
Rhys scowled. “Damien doesn’t have any personal connections. Why do you think he made such a good watcher?”
“Watcher?” Malachi asked.
Leo was the one who answered. The friendly scribe had been the one person with whom Malachi felt at complete ease. “All scribe houses in cities are organized in teams of five to eight men. A watcher is the head of the house. He tends the sacred fire and makes the most important decisions. Damien’s your boss, in other words.”
Max said, “Watchers also watch. Don’t ever forget that. They’re the ones who report to our main council in Vienna. It’s very structured. Damien reported to the lieutenant of a councilor. That councilor reported to his elder. Every area is tightly controlled. The Irin council has ears everywhere.”
“You don’t have to make it sound so sinister,” Rhys said. “Damien knew when to keep a confidence.”
“He did.” Max nodded. “Why do you think he was still a house watcher, as old and experienced as he is? If he were more politically savvy and less loyal, he’d be a lieutenant or even a councilor in Vienna now.”
Leo said, “It’s true, and you know it, Rhys. Damien became a problem for them when he mated Sari.”
Malachi asked, “Why? She’s the Irina he took Ava to?”
“His mate,” Leo said. “And Sari was a problem because her parents were well-known to the council as dissenters .”
“That’s one way of looking at it. We use it to strengthen our bodies. Make ourselves stronger. Increase our longevity. A mature and trained Irin scribe is practically immortal.”
Malachi rubbed the back of his neck. “But not entirely.”
“Clearly.”
Silence fell between them, with nothing but the tick of a mantel clock filling the air. Rhys watched him with some unspoken question burning in his eyes.
“What?” Malachi finally asked. “Are you tired of telling me all these things? We should take a break. I feel like running.”
“You generally do after a day cooped up inside. Or when you’re irritated.”
For some reason, Rhys’s knowledge of his habits irked him. Why did this stranger know more about him than he did?
“Will my talesm come back?” he asked. “Or are they lost? Will I have to tattoo them all over again? How long will it take to be strong enough?”
“We have no idea.” Rhys shrugged a single shoulder. “You need to do basic protection spells, at the very least. Once we find Ava—”
“And when will that be?”
“I don’t know.” Rhys’s eyes flashed. “I told you, we don’t know where Damien took her. We’re doing our best, but you’re going to have to be patient.”
“I am being patient,” he growled.
Rhys made a disgusted noise at the back of his throat. “You’re still so… you. Even when you’re not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His shoulders tensed.
“Never thinking ahead. Rushing into danger with no thought to—”
“I’m thinking of my mate,” Malachi bit out, rising to his feet. “She needs me, and I must go to her.”
“To do what? Protect her?” Rhys stood up, glaring at Malachi from across the table. “You can hardly protect yourself right now. You need to—”
“I need her,” Malachi said. “And she needs—”
“She needs her mate back!” Rhys snapped. “Right now, you’re only a shadow of who she needs.”
Malachi bit back the rage on the tip of his tongue and narrowed his eyes at the man who had called himself his friend. Or, he’d called the old Malachi his friend. Perhaps the two were no longer the same.
“You are angry with me,” he said, crossing his arms. “Resentful. Why?”
His old friend’s head snapped back in surprise, and his green eyes widened. “I…I’m not.”
“You are. Why?”
Rhys’s mouth dropped open, but he did not speak. When his words finally came, they were almost inaudible. “I love her, you know. Maybe not like you did, but I do love her.”
He shoved back the instinctive anger and spoke calmly. “She is my mate.”
“She is.” Rhys looked down, shuffling the papers they’d been looking at into a pile. “She is, without a doubt, your reshon. A true soul mate. I saw it even before you did, I think.”
Malachi didn’t know how, but the emotion was there, wrapping his mind with certainty. “I love her.”
“I believe you,” Rhys said, before clearing his throat. “You love your mate. But… you don’t love Ava. You can’t, because you don’t know her anymore.”
The hollow loss rang in his chest, and he knew, in part, that Rhys was correct. As much as he hated it, Malachi knew the other man spoke the truth. And there was nothing he could do about it.
“She needed you back. And you are. But you’re not the same man. I don’t know if you ever will be. And that—that is why I am angry.”
Maxim, Leo, Rhys, and Malachi met in the sitting room that evening. The outside air had taken on the snap of autumn, but in the house in the caves, the fire warmed the small room where they sat, drinking tea and talking.
“It’s clear we’re not going to find any written or electronic records,” Max said. “Damien is too savvy for that. What we need is a personal connection.”
Rhys scowled. “Damien doesn’t have any personal connections. Why do you think he made such a good watcher?”
“Watcher?” Malachi asked.
Leo was the one who answered. The friendly scribe had been the one person with whom Malachi felt at complete ease. “All scribe houses in cities are organized in teams of five to eight men. A watcher is the head of the house. He tends the sacred fire and makes the most important decisions. Damien’s your boss, in other words.”
Max said, “Watchers also watch. Don’t ever forget that. They’re the ones who report to our main council in Vienna. It’s very structured. Damien reported to the lieutenant of a councilor. That councilor reported to his elder. Every area is tightly controlled. The Irin council has ears everywhere.”
“You don’t have to make it sound so sinister,” Rhys said. “Damien knew when to keep a confidence.”
“He did.” Max nodded. “Why do you think he was still a house watcher, as old and experienced as he is? If he were more politically savvy and less loyal, he’d be a lieutenant or even a councilor in Vienna now.”
Leo said, “It’s true, and you know it, Rhys. Damien became a problem for them when he mated Sari.”
Malachi asked, “Why? She’s the Irina he took Ava to?”
“His mate,” Leo said. “And Sari was a problem because her parents were well-known to the council as dissenters .”
