His chains shattered, blew apart with a magical concussion that swept through the room. The tables didn’t move, the air didn’t stir, but everything magical was flattened. Every nimbus in the room winked out. Only a few held for an instant before popping and blowing away.

A dozen of the standing magae simply folded and dropped to sit on their benches or the floor. No one else moved, not even Sister Ariel. “What are you?” she whispered. The question was mirrored in every eye.

“Out of my way,” Kylar said. He strode forward. They got out of his way.

76

Istariel Wyant eyed the Alitaeran ambassador’s untouched ootai. Marcus Guerin was bordering on fifty, bald with a fringe of blond hair, a small paunch, no bottom, and a restless intelligence in his blue eyes.

“There are some troubling rumors we’ve been hearing that I think we need to discuss,” Ambassador Guerin said.

Istariel took the opportunity of taking a sip of ootai to cover her sudden rage. Someone had leaked this to the Alitaerans? If he’d learned about Vi’s practices, that was one thing, but Istariel had only told three Sisters about her plan to withdraw from the Accords. If he knew about that, it was treason. She simply arched an eyebrow.

“What do you know about this ‘High King’?” he asked.

Oh, those rumors. Thank the Seraph. “Little,” she said. There was a twinkle in his eye that made her wonder if he had done that on purpose. Bastard. “What we’ve heard has only told us that you ought to know more than we do. He’s Alitaeran, or at least raised in your glorious country. His name is Moburu Ander, though he claims Ursuul blood. We know he’s half Lodricari, he led a company of lancers, and he’s found a position of some importance among the savages of the Freeze.” She knew more, but there was no point telling Ambassador Guerin.

“He’s the adopted son of Aurelius Ander, of a once-powerful family that has fallen far in the last two generations. Moburu was adopted at fifteen, before that, we can’t find any record or recollection of him anywhere, so we give some credence to his claim of Ursuul patrimony.”

“I doubt that an absence of records was enough to make you believe he’s an Ursuul,” Istariel said.

The ambassador stroked his moustache. “The captain is both intelligent and charismatic. Nothing was ever found to link him to the scandals and disappearances that seem to swirl in his wake. Last autumn, the king’s sister bore a daughter, Yva Lucrece Corazhi. The child and her wet nurse disappeared. At the same time, Moburu led his company—all of them—to a place called Pavvil’s Grove, where they fought beside the Khalidorans. There are wild tales surrounding that, but most of Moburu’s company escaped and headed north.”

“You believe he kidnapped the child?”