Gehn stood at the edge of the rusted metal walkway, the railing cool beneath his hands. Below him spread an aqua volcanic lake encircled by cliffs of dark brown rock, the great boiler at its edge. Low grey clouds blanketed the sky, and tiny ripples in the lake betrayed a slight drizzle, but he did not notice. He was deep in thought, his broad forehead creased in a frown, pale eyes like smoldering coals. His pale and golden, broad-shouldered figure contrasted jarringly with his dark, unrefined surroundings, like part of one painting accidentally mixed with another. Ceaseless energy and a restless, regal presence emanated from him, giving him an undeniable aura of power. But he was alone then, with no subjects to intimidate.
Sighing absently, Gehn ran a finely-boned hand through his white hair. The past few weeks had been more difficult than anything he had experienced since his imprisonment. Katran had arrived on the Fifth Age, and vanished just as suddenly.
Katran, his beloved enemy.
His lip had curled in disgust as her name entered his mind, bringing the usual contorted wave of emotion with it. He had trusted her once, more than anyone else alive at that time. Even his son had been questionable all along, since Anna had raised him. That could ruin the brightest mind, as Atrus proved. But Katran was different. She had been the perfect servant—always obedient and quietly receptive. Many times Gehn had paused his work to gaze at her while she sat copying, his eyes tracing the outline of her delicate features and flowing black hair. He had cared for her then. Perhaps he could have grown to love her. If only Atrus had not poisoned her with his stupid, simple-minded thinking . . .
Gehn's expression turned bitter. That would not have helped. Katran had been a witch all along, cleverly plotting his downfall behind his back. He had seen a flame glimmer in her deep green eyes when she did not know he was looking, though at the time he did not understand it. It beckoned and enticed him—almost frightened him. He frowned sharply, repelled by the thought. Of course it was not fright—that was ridiculous. Unnerved was a better word. She was just a Rivenese woman, after all.
Just a woman who had deceived and betrayed him, and masterminded his imprisonment.
His jawline stiffened as he clenched his teeth. He knew she had been behind their plan. It could not have been Atrus—the boy was intelligent in an unsophisticated way, but far from clever. He was too naive.
Gehn felt an uncharacteristic wave of disappointment flood over him. They had both held such promise—his future successor and future bride. Yet he had anticipated trouble with Atrus. Not Katran.
He smacked a fist against the railing with a slight bitter laugh. His thoughts had gone in a complete circle, a maelstrom of anger and loathing and desire. Bitter, twisted, pulsating, half-dead desire, mixed potently with hate. And now she had returned at last to Age Five, to his domain, but for what? Surely not to make amends, since she had apparently brought no Linking Book. Was it some kind of suicide mission to lead her rebel devotees in a bloody religious war against him? Or had she been cast aside like Gehn himself, doomed to live out her days as an exile? A half-snarling smile slid across his face as he wondered how she liked the taste of betrayal. At any rate, they were both trapped, waiting for Atrus to come with a way out. Doubtless he would. If someone had betrayed her, it was not Atrus, the emotional cripple. He would be the one to come running like a would-be hero, not realizing he was linking into a lion's jaws. It would be too simple. And if Gehn could dissuade Katran from her corrupted views before then, all the better. The throne beside his own was still empty, with a thousand Ages to rule.
Gehn sighed angrily. It was infuriating, after thirty years, to have Katran in the same Age and yet beyond his reach. The search for her was continuing at a frantic pace, with no success. If his guards were not so incompetent, perhaps they would have made more progress. The Fifth Age was only so big. And once he had her, the rebels would weaken beyond recovery, devastated by the fall of their so-called goddess. If Atrus never came and she provided no useful information, there was always the wahrk gallows. Gehn's eyes glimmered at the savage thought, but darkened as an old nightmare came to his mind.
The daggers . . .
"Lord Gehn," came a quietly excited voice to his right. Gehn glanced in that direction to see one of his guards standing there.
"What is it?" he demanded sharply.
"My lord," the guard went on with a nervous bow, "we have her."
Gehn released the railing and smiled broadly, pale eyes keen with anticipation. "Excellent. Take her to the prison I've prepared, and contact me when she is there. I wish to question her without interruption."