Two of Maxim’s vestran council, Lord Casin and Lady Rosec, commanded the map’s eastern side, while Parlo and Lisane, the ostra who’d organized and overseen the Essen Tasch, occupied the west. Each and every one of them looked out of place, still dressed for a winner’s ball and not a city under siege.
Kell forced himself up to the map’s northern edge, stopping directly across from the king.
“We cannot make sense of it,” Isra was saying. “There appear to be two kinds of attack, or rather, two kinds of victim.”
“Are they possessed?” asked the king. “During the Black Night, Vitari took multiple hosts, spreading himself like a plague between them.”
“This isn’t possession,” interjected Kell. “Osaron is too strong to take an ordinary host. Vitari ate through every shell he found, but it took hours. Osaron would burn through a shell in seconds.” He thought of Kisimyr on the roof, her body cracking and crumbling under Osaron’s boot. “There’s no point trying to possess them.”
Unless, he thought, they are Antari.
“Then, by saints,” demanded Maxim, “what is he doing?”
“It seems like some kind of sickness,” said Isra.
The ostra, Lisane, shuddered. “He’s infecting them?”
“He is creating puppets,” said Tieren grimly. “Invading their minds, corrupting them. And if that fails …”
“He’s taking them by force,” said Kell.
“Or killing them in the process,” added Isra. “Thinning the pack, weeding out resistance.”
“Any wards?” asked the king, looking to Kell. “Besides Antari blood?”
“Not yet.”
“Survivors?”
A long silence.
Maxim cleared his throat.
“We’ve no word from either House Loreni or House Emery,” started Lord Casin. “Can’t your men be mustered—”
“My men are doing everything they can,” snapped Maxim. Beside him, Isra shot the lord a cold glare.
“We’ve sent scouts to follow the fog’s line,” she continued evenly, “and there is a perimeter to Osaron’s magic. Right now the spell ends seven measures beyond the city’s edge, carving out a circle, but our reports show that it is spreading.”
“He’s drawing power from every life he claims.” Tieren’s voice was quiet, but authoritative. “If Osaron is not stopped soon, his shadow will cover Arnes.”
“And then Faro,” cut in Sol-in-Ar, storming through the doorway. The captain’s hand twitched toward her sword, but Maxim stayed her with a look.
“Lord Sol-in-Ar,” said the king coolly. “I did not call for you.”
“You should have,” countered the Faroan as Prince Col appeared at his heels. “Since this matter concerns not only Arnes.”
“Do you think this darkness will stop at your borders?” added the Veskan prince.
“If we stop it first,” said Maxim.
“And if you do not,” said Sol-in-Ar as his dark eyes fell on the map, “it will not matter who fell first.”
Who fell first. An idea flickered at the edge of Kell’s mind, fighting to take shape amid the noise. The feel of Lila’s body sagging against his. Staring at the empty cup cradled in Hastra’s hand.
“Very well,” said the king. He nodded at Isra to continue.
“The jails are full of those who’ve fallen,” reported the captain. “We’ve commandeered the plaza, and the port cells, but we’re running out of places to put them. We’re already using the Rose Hall for those with fever.”
“What about the tournament arenas?” offered Kell.
Isra shook her head. “My men won’t go onto the river, sir. Not safe. A few tried, and they didn’t come back.”
“The blood sigils are not lasting,” added Tieren. “They fade within hours, and the fallen seem to have discovered their purpose. We’ve already lost a portion of the guards.”
“Call the rest back at once,” said the king.
Call the rest.
There it was. “I have an idea,” said Kell, softly, the threads of it still drawing together.
“We are caged in,” said the Faroan general, sweeping a hand over the map. “And this creature will pick over our bones unless we find a way to fight back.”
Make him still. Force him to be reckless.
“I have an idea,” said Kell again, louder. This time the room went quiet.
“Speak,” said the king.
Kell swallowed. “What if we take away the people?”
“Which people?”
“All of them.”
“We can’t evacuate,” said Maxim. “There are too many poisoned by Osaron’s magic. If they were to leave, they’d simply spread the illness faster. No, it must be contained. We still don’t know if those lost can be regained, but we must hope it is a sickness and not a sentence.”
“No, we can’t evacuate them,” confirmed Kell. “But every waking body is a potential weapon, and if we want a chance at defeating Osaron, we need him disarmed.”
“Speak plainly,” ordered Maxim.
Kell drew breath, but was cut off by a voice from the door.
“What’s this? No vigil by my bed? I’m offended.”
Kell spun to see his brother standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets and shoulder tipped casually against the frame as if nothing were wrong. As if he hadn’t spent the better part of the night trapped between the living and the dead. None of it showed, at least, not on the surface. His amber eyes were bright, his hair combed, the ring of burnished gold back where it belonged atop his curls.