Obsidian Flame (Guardians of Ascension #5)(83)
Author: Caris Roane

Greaves was on his phone to Moscow Two. His extensive spectacle team, coordinated by a group of Beijing specialists, was working night and day to bring together every aspect of the forthcoming military review spectacle. There seemed to be some problem with the white tigers. One of them had gotten loose and killed several of his ALA Militia Warriors and even one death vampire. Two other death vampires had been severely wounded in the encounter. The greater misfortune, however, seemed to be that one of the tigers had died.

Greaves’s face was red as he spoke into the phone. “You will secure a second tiger. I am most displeased.” He maintained his usual demeanor but there was resonance to his words that brought a knife-like sensation straight to the center of Stannett’s brain.

Nausea afflicted him. He turned to the nearest stone seat, sat down, and put his head between his knees.

Greaves’s ability to hurt with resonance was unlike any other ascender he’d ever known.

Stannett was sweating now, but it wasn’t from the pain, which had already begun to ease. Nor was it from the necessity of offering a report to the Commander about their failure to off Leto and Thorne’s sister.

No, what really troubled him had his heart pounding in deep terrible thrums.

Greaves ended his call. Stannett looked up at him, but the Commander shifted his gaze out into the peach orchard. All the rage dissipated, to be replaced by a haunted look in his very round brown eyes. “My mother loved peaches,” he said, barely a whisper.

Ah, yes, Greaves’s mother, the famous Beatrice of Fourth, Eternal Therapist of the Highest Order, memoirist, poetess, collector of proverbs. There were rumors that her relations with a death vampire had resulted in Darian Greaves, which of course would explain so much of the Commander’s drive, his sociopath tendencies, and his power levels.

Greaves turned toward him, glanced at Casimir, then back to Stannett. “I do not know which of you is surprising me more in this moment. You, Owen, look so cast down as to appear utterly demoralized.” He shifted toward Casimir but added just a hint of resonance to his words. “And as for you, Caz, good God, what on earth has happened that not only did you send Julianna back to me, but your recent adventure in Prescott Two failed completely?”

Stannett did his best to ignore the pain from that level of resonance, but he couldn’t help but rock back and forth a little.

There would have been a time when Greaves fixing his attention on Casimir first would have brought Stannett a profound sense of relief. Now it just didn’t seem to matter. None of it mattered anymore.

He saw no way out for himself—or Second Earth for that matter. Some higher roll of the dice had occurred, and he didn’t think the play could be withdrawn.

Stannett watched Casimir shift to stare at Greaves for a long moment, his dark eyes almost glassy. Then he drew in a shuddering breath and his shoulders relaxed. He pursed his lips and he, too, sat down on the stone bench nearest him.

Casimir planted his hands on either sides of his legs on the smooth rounded edge of the seat. He leaned forward, which caused his mass of long hair to sway in front of him. That dark hair was his finest feature, but Stannett didn’t envy him so much curl. His own waves were perfect for styling. Stannett couldn’t imagine how much crème rinse the man had to use to keep his hair in order.

“So you want a report,” Casimir stated. He didn’t smile. That was also unusual for the Fourth ascender. The man always had a smile, or a sneer, or a lascivious glance, to throw around.

“At your convenience,” Greaves said, using more resonance.

Oh, God, the pain. Stannett swallowed hard and took deep breaths. Stannett had a lot of power, but whenever he was around Greaves and was on the receiving end of the master’s display, he was astonished all over again. He glanced at Casimir. Even the Fourth ascender had paled.

Casimir, however, lifted his chin. “I can’t account for what the f**k happened. I created shifting mist—”

“And I was most impressed.”

Casimir inclined his head at this significant compliment. He continued, “But somehow the warriors arrived, as well as the obsidian flame Seer, Marguerite. There should not have been a way for them either to realize the mist was there or to pierce it. So no, I have no accounting for the failure of my plan.”

“And I lent you a Third ascended death vampire, one of a rare group I have in my arsenal, and he did not report back to me.”

“He’s dead,” Casimir said.

“How is that possible?”

Casimir shrugged. “He battled Thorne.”

Thorne.

Stannett shuddered inwardly. Something was going on, something big, he could sense it.

At that, Greaves turned once more to face the peach orchard.

Stannett glanced out at the rows and rows of trees. The orchard was laid out in a vast circle above the Commander’s Estrella Mountain military compound. Greaves had won several prestigious horticultural awards for his use of graded microclimates to sustain a single body of plants in twelve evolving stages of development. As a result, Greaves had ripe peaches every day of the year.

It was because of the orchard that Endelle called him “the little peach.”

Greaves turned back to Stannett, holding his hands behind his back. “I was given to understand that this plan could not fail, that you would be in the future streams blocking prophetic information to the Seer Marguerite. I can only presume from what Casimir has told me that somehow she found her way into this stream, saw the future in every sharp detail, then relayed the rest to Warrior Thorne. Would that not be your take on it as well?”

Casimir, too, shifted to look at him. Stannett remained silent, clasping his hands together as he leaned forward on his knees.

So here it was, the moment he’d been dreading; he must now reveal this terrible truth. Nausea overtook him again. Sweat poured. He tried to soothe himself by touching the wave on the side of his head, but now his whole hand shook.

“Good God, man,” Greaves cried. “I won’t kill you for telling me what happened.”

He shook his head and looked up at Greaves. He was always surprised by those wide, brown, innocent-looking eyes. “I don’t fear you, in this moment, Commander. I fear her, the one who achieved pure vision.”

Greaves appeared to jerk and took a step backward. “No,” he said very quietly. He shook his head. “That’s not possible. You must be mistaken. Not pure vision.”

Casimir was on his feet now and approached Stannett. Two pairs of deadly eyes stared down at him. “You’re saying that the reason the warriors got into the Convent was because the Seer Marguerite achieved pure vision? You’re lying. That’s just not possible. No Seer that I know of, even on Fourth, can achieve pure vision.”