collapse!”
Terian, Chromaias, and Myrionar, it can’t be.
But even as she thought the denial, she realized that if it was true, it made sense—it explained why nothing could be said, why Myrionar could not reveal the truth, why no suspects could be found. “Rion,” she said, and she shuddered herself as she heard the terrible, dead tone in her voice, “Help me lift this door, would you?”
One more glance at her face convinced him to ask no questions, just helped her to raise the righthand door up on its end. “All right, Kyri. Now what—”
She held the door balanced, grabbed hold of his shoulder-guard, pulled. Slightly off-balance, Rion stumbled against the door.
And the shoulder-guard slid perfectly into one of the upper crescent-shaped marks. The marks that shone with a gentle silvery color just the shade of the guards themselves, of the shine-polish used on silver armor. She pushed him down, as though crouching for a second heavy blow, and there, too, his armor fit into the marks . . . as though it had made them.
She saw Rion look and go parchment-white. “Balance and Demons . . .”
Silver Eagle.
“It . . . could be.” The words sounded torn from her brother’s heart, and even in the middle of the cold fury inside her she felt her heart aching for him. “It . . . it makes sense. If he did this . . . then to preserve the name, preserve the trust , in the Justiciars, if he did this then they wouldn’t dare mention it, they’d have to deal with it themselves, behind doors at Justice’s Retreat, and wait, wait long enough so he thought he’d gotten away with it, wait so that people wouldn’t connect it with their deaths . . .”
And they’d have killed all his allies, too , Kyri thought numbly. Ripped the truth of who helped him, why, and where they were from him with the very power of Myrionar, and then hunted them all down for vengeance and justice.
He was so hurt— she was so hurt—by the thought, the idea that the Justiciars, the living warriors and symbols of Myrionar, the god her family had followed for generations untold, the Justiciars could possibly have had one so corrupt in their number, that she almost wanted to forget this hideous discovery.
But that would not be justice.
“Is . . . is there any way to find out?”
Rion was silent for a moment, several moments. Then he looked up, and to her astonishment he smiled . It was a hard, cold, dangerous smile, but it was a smile, and it lifted her up, wiped away despair and horror with hope of vengeance. “ I am Silver Eagle now,” he said. “I am a Justiciar. This is the kind of secret they won’t easily tell a newcomer . . . but the kind they will have to tell me sooner or later, just in case. It’s been more than three years. They have to be getting to trust me now. I will have to be very careful . . . but yes. Of course there’s a way. Even if only a few of them knew, I’ll be able to get them to react. Ask the right questions.”
“But won’t they—”
He shook his head. “Kyri, they’re still the Justiciars. I’ve seen them use the powers—healing, speed, strength, truthsaying, others for each of us. The power comes from Myrionar. Perhaps they felt greater justice comes of keeping belief in the Justiciars strong. But for our family, at least, we must have the truth. If he did it, we must know. And we must know why . I think . . . if I’m careful, if I make sure they understand how much I believe in Myrionar even with this horrid possibility . . . I think they’ll understand and tell us the truth.”
She felt a tiny bit better, a sense of hope emerging from shock. If we could know the truth . . . know they had found the truth, dealt with the traitor, and simply protected us from that knowledge for the sake of Myrionar and the Justiciars . . . I think I could accept that. Yes, I could.
She took her brother’s hand. “Then if it’s true, you have redeemed the armor. Symmetry and balance.”
He looked
Terian, Chromaias, and Myrionar, it can’t be.
But even as she thought the denial, she realized that if it was true, it made sense—it explained why nothing could be said, why Myrionar could not reveal the truth, why no suspects could be found. “Rion,” she said, and she shuddered herself as she heard the terrible, dead tone in her voice, “Help me lift this door, would you?”
One more glance at her face convinced him to ask no questions, just helped her to raise the righthand door up on its end. “All right, Kyri. Now what—”
She held the door balanced, grabbed hold of his shoulder-guard, pulled. Slightly off-balance, Rion stumbled against the door.
And the shoulder-guard slid perfectly into one of the upper crescent-shaped marks. The marks that shone with a gentle silvery color just the shade of the guards themselves, of the shine-polish used on silver armor. She pushed him down, as though crouching for a second heavy blow, and there, too, his armor fit into the marks . . . as though it had made them.
She saw Rion look and go parchment-white. “Balance and Demons . . .”
Silver Eagle.
“It . . . could be.” The words sounded torn from her brother’s heart, and even in the middle of the cold fury inside her she felt her heart aching for him. “It . . . it makes sense. If he did this . . . then to preserve the name, preserve the trust , in the Justiciars, if he did this then they wouldn’t dare mention it, they’d have to deal with it themselves, behind doors at Justice’s Retreat, and wait, wait long enough so he thought he’d gotten away with it, wait so that people wouldn’t connect it with their deaths . . .”
And they’d have killed all his allies, too , Kyri thought numbly. Ripped the truth of who helped him, why, and where they were from him with the very power of Myrionar, and then hunted them all down for vengeance and justice.
He was so hurt— she was so hurt—by the thought, the idea that the Justiciars, the living warriors and symbols of Myrionar, the god her family had followed for generations untold, the Justiciars could possibly have had one so corrupt in their number, that she almost wanted to forget this hideous discovery.
But that would not be justice.
“Is . . . is there any way to find out?”
Rion was silent for a moment, several moments. Then he looked up, and to her astonishment he smiled . It was a hard, cold, dangerous smile, but it was a smile, and it lifted her up, wiped away despair and horror with hope of vengeance. “ I am Silver Eagle now,” he said. “I am a Justiciar. This is the kind of secret they won’t easily tell a newcomer . . . but the kind they will have to tell me sooner or later, just in case. It’s been more than three years. They have to be getting to trust me now. I will have to be very careful . . . but yes. Of course there’s a way. Even if only a few of them knew, I’ll be able to get them to react. Ask the right questions.”
“But won’t they—”
He shook his head. “Kyri, they’re still the Justiciars. I’ve seen them use the powers—healing, speed, strength, truthsaying, others for each of us. The power comes from Myrionar. Perhaps they felt greater justice comes of keeping belief in the Justiciars strong. But for our family, at least, we must have the truth. If he did it, we must know. And we must know why . I think . . . if I’m careful, if I make sure they understand how much I believe in Myrionar even with this horrid possibility . . . I think they’ll understand and tell us the truth.”
She felt a tiny bit better, a sense of hope emerging from shock. If we could know the truth . . . know they had found the truth, dealt with the traitor, and simply protected us from that knowledge for the sake of Myrionar and the Justiciars . . . I think I could accept that. Yes, I could.
She took her brother’s hand. “Then if it’s true, you have redeemed the armor. Symmetry and balance.”
He looked
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