Heir of Fire(63)
The sentries forced him to his knees in an empty room that smelled of old hay. Chaol found Aedion and a familiar-looking old man staring down at him. The one who had begged Celaena to stop that night in the warehouse. There was nothing remarkable about the old man; his worn clothes were ordinary, his body lean but not yet withered. Beside him stood a young man Chaol knew by his soft, vicious laugh: the guard who had taunted him when he’d been held prisoner. Shoulder-length dark hair hung loose around a face that was more cruel than handsome, especially with the wicked scar slashing through his eyebrow and down his cheek. He dismissed the sentries with a jerk of his chin.
“Well, well,” Aedion said, circling Chaol. His sword was out, gleaming in the dim light. “Captain of the Guard, heir of Anielle, and spy? Or has your lover been giving you some tricks of the trade?”
“When you throw parties and convince my men to leave their posts, when you’re not at those parties because you’re sneaking through the streets, it’s my duty to know why, Aedion.”
The scarred young man with the twin swords stepped closer, circling with Aedion now. Two predators, sizing up their prey. They’d probably fight over his carcass.
“Too bad your Champion isn’t here to save you this time,” the scarred one said quietly.
“Too bad you weren’t there to save Archer Finn,” Chaol said.
A flare of nostrils, a flash of fury in cunning brown eyes, but the young man fell silent as the old man held out a hand. “Did the king send you?”
“I came because of him.” Chaol jerked his chin at Aedion. “But I’ve been looking for you two—and your little group—as well. Both of you are in danger. Whatever you think Aedion wants, whatever he offers you, the king keeps him on a tight leash.” Perhaps that bit of honesty would buy him what he needed: trust and information.
But Aedion barked out a laugh. “What?” His companions turned to him, brows raised. Chaol glanced at the ring on the general’s finger. He hadn’t been mistaken. It was identical to the ones the king, Perrington, and others had worn.
Aedion caught Chaol’s look and stopped his circling.
For a moment, the general stared at him, a glimmer of surprise and amusement darting across his tan face. Then Aedion purred, “You’ve turned out to be a far more interesting man than I thought, Captain.”
“Explain, Aedion,” the old man said softly, but not weakly.
Aedion smiled broadly as he yanked the black ring off his finger. “The day the king presented me with the Sword of Orynth, he also offered me a ring. Thanks to my heritage, my senses are . . . sharper. I thought the ring smelled strange—and knew only a fool would accept that kind of gift from him. So I had a replica made. The real one I chucked into the sea. But I always wondered what it did,” he mused, tossing the ring with one hand and catching it. “It seems the captain knows. And disapproves.”
The man with the twin swords ceased his circling, and the grin he gave Chaol was nothing short of feral. “You’re right, Aedion,” he said without taking his eyes off Chaol. “He is more interesting than he seems.”
Aedion pocketed the ring as if it were—as if it were indeed a fake. And Chaol realized that he’d revealed far more than he’d ever intended.
Aedion began circling again, the scarred young man echoing the graceful movements. “A magical leash—when there is no magic left,” the general mused. “And yet you still followed me, believing I was under the king’s spell. Thinking you could use me to win the rebels’ favor? Fascinating.”
Chaol kept his mouth shut. He’d already said enough to damn himself.