Lania was in his arms, she resisted the chance to surrender. Beneath the luxurious entreaty of her kisses, she maintained a conspicuous control.
“You are an Augur, Lania.” He used her name to mitigate her mistrust, urging her to believe he respected her sorcerous gifts. “How could I hide the truth from you?”
Suddenly alight, she searched his face for confirmation. “Would you have me think you have given Arian up in the face of this trifling temptation?”
He took her hand and dragged it down his body, forcing her to acknowledge the evidence of his desire. “Do not disparage yourself. And do not think me a fool unable to see who you are.”
For a moment there was silence as Lania caressed him, pushing him back against the chaise. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, her artful tongue flickering inside. “I think you are a man who does not forsake his bonds, though why you have chosen Arian when she is beholden to Hira, I cannot understand. What power does she possess that you practice this self-denial?” Her eyes became hazy and slumberous, occupied by the work of her hands. “Why beg for crumbs from her table when I offer the banquet entire?”
Her clever, caressing hands nearly stole his resolve—it took him a moment to remember his purpose in this room. He shifted her off his lap on the pretext of stretching his back.
“I will fight for you,” he vowed. “But not for the pleasure of the Authoritan. Think of how he diminishes you, while I would be eager to serve you. If I am to stand at your side, why spend my strength at the Ark?” He dropped his voice to its lowest register, growling the words in her ear. “Don’t you wish me to claim the Wall?”
Lania drew away, as if something in his eyes made it impossible for her to hold his gaze.
He pulled her back, curling a hand around her neck, letting her feel the potency of his desire. She needed to believe he would fight at her side, unconquerable in his strength—her partner in all things.
“I see a man at the Wall,” she answered. “And that man is not the Authoritan. More than that, I cannot make out.” Her voice grew cool. “There is a woman at his side … a woman who commands the Wall.”
But Lania wasn’t certain, and Daniyar read the truth of this as well. “The woman must be you.”
“She is dark and fights like a man.”
She misread his frown, drawing away to stare out the window. Daniyar followed her, conscious of his state of undress. He needed to press her now—or all he’d risked to persuade her would be lost, his commitment to Arian forfeit.
“The man at the Wall could be me—it feels as though it should be.”
She touched her forehead to his. Daniyar misjudged the action, hurrying into speech.
“To stand at the Wall at your side, I would need the magic of the Bloodprint. Every moment hastens it away. Flee Black Aura with me. Set me on the Black Khan’s trail.”
Lania went still, in no doubt now of his intentions. With an angry grimace of dismissal, she freed herself from his embrace, spearing a quick glance at the upper galleries of the room, screened by lattices of stone. “I cannot betray the Authoritan. Not after everything he’s sacrificed for me. Besides which, the Bloodprint would not serve you. Why do you imagine the Authoritan was willing to trade it away? He was High Priest of the Bloodless. He studied it so deeply he twisted its meaning beyond recognition. He has mastery over the Claim. You cannot use it against him.”
But Daniyar didn’t believe this. Why else would Arian have been subjected to the humiliation of a slave-collar? The Authoritan feared the powers of the First Oralist of the Claim. Which meant that the Claim could still be used against him. He pressed her for an explanation. “Then why did you summon Arian here, if not to make use of her gifts?”
“I do not require Arian to teach me what she once learned from me,” Lania snapped. “I asked her to tell me of Hira.” She studied him, sensing something of his reaction to her use of Arian’s name—the longing that he was never completely able to suppress.
“Of Hira? Why?”
“It was the seat of my childhood. It was everything I aspired to. Can you not fathom that I have missed the sisterhood of the Companions?”
Daniyar schooled his thoughts. She was lying, an undercurrent of hate feeding the words. And though he couldn’t think why, there might be a way to use it. “Come to Hira, then,” he said. “Arian would aid you in any way you wished. If you help her against the Talisman, she will stand at the Wall by your side.”
“That is not what I have Augured. There is one man, one woman at the Wall. And I know I shall never leave Black Aura.” She said this without self-pity.
She left him and he knew he’d lost her. When she turned back to face him, she was robed in the premeditated power of the Authoritan’s consort again, his betrayal of Arian for naught.
“Are you imagining I would cede command of the Wall when I labored all my life to secure it? Can you possibly believe I would swear my fealty to yet another man, dependent on his intercession to save me from being ravaged by his soldiers?” She spat her next words at him. “Black Aura is mine; these are my men, my slaves, my prisoners. You will take your place among them. Or not, as you decide.” She let the words burn through him.
Daniyar bowed his head. He had moved too soon and lost.
She called her guards to take him to his cell, speaking with perfect indifference. “You will fight in the Qatilah tonight. I will send Arian to watch you.”
Daniyar risked another question, knowing he had nothing to lose. “What of my blood, Lania? Why do you collect it for the Authoritan? What use does he make of it?”
She moved to stand before him, raising her hand to his chin to tilt down his head. She gazed into his eyes, focusing her attention on the silver pinpoints. “Yes,” she murmured. “You have the birthright of the Silver Mage, just as the Black Khan shares the mark of the Dark Mage. I have often wondered how a Mage is chosen and marked. Your eyes give your birthright away. They are remarkable. They gift you with your powers. They keep you alive in the Qatilah.”
But that was only part of it, and Daniyar knew better than to share with her the rest. How he too had some small knowledge of the Claim to aid him in unobtrusive ways.
She smiled a secret smile suggesting she already knew. “Your blood is magic,” she said to Daniyar. “And you are magic, my lord.”
Though he needed to know how his blood was usurped, she told him nothing else.
How beautiful and lost she was, he thought.
As he had nearly lost himself.
THE TECHNOLOGIST EXAMINED THE SUBJECT ON THE TABLE. SHE HAD passed out, her exquisitely dark limbs lying limp. Some of his men had asked to use her, but she was not a prize to be squandered on the base desires of rabble.
There was something about this Companion.
Though she craved the needle, the gas affected her
