Praetorian Rising, стр. 97

Langhorn lifted his eyes to Vesyon's. "It doesn't mean she'll remain that way. We both know blood rage isn't a Praetorian ability. Not a single Praetorian has been able to achieve the level of power and strength Camille did that night," Langhorn said with exasperation. "LeMarc used Camille's power for his convenience, and he'll do so again. Ephidra Lily is something he needs, Camille is the other, and he won't stop until he has both within his grasp. She isn't like the rest of you, and to be honest, I can already see she's unlike the Dai'Cia as well. There's something incredible about her, and LeMarc knows that. He never really wanted Praetorians; he desired a powerful soldier to do his bidding without question, someone lacking in compassion, brimming with ruthlessness. Night Raves are the perfect soldiers in LeMarc's eyes, and Camille was going to be his golden jewel."

"LeMarc will never have her again," Vesyon said with finality. "Not after what he did to Jesabelle." Vesyon's voice croaked as a Praecollection washed over him in a swirl of memories he'd never been able to sufficiently suppress—of Jesabelle's smile, her emerald eyes, and her sweet, soft-spoken demeanor.

He once thought love would bring Jesabelle back, but the hold of LeMarc's tightly wrapped bonds kept her soul out of sight.

"Do you think Camille knows what she is?" Vesyon asked, trying to pull his mind away from the surge of protectiveness building inside him. He blew out a puff of bluish smoke, allowing it to waft in lazy curls up toward the roof.

"I don't think she has a clue, but I do believe her mind will soon awaken to all we forced her to forget," Langhorn murmured. "She'll find out what we did. You understand that, right?"

Vesyon balled his hands into fists. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"I will need to run more tests. It's been too long since I've seen Camille; there is so much I don't know. Only her blood can reveal the truth. Until then, I won't know for certain what will happen. I honestly don't know if this is a natural effect or a side effect from our meddling."

Vesyon nodded in response, but his glare remained fixed forward as though he were no longer seeing the deep grooves of the table from years of use but the memories of long ago playing painfully through his mind.

"She wouldn't have recovered if we hadn't taken her memories Vesyon, you must know that."

Their eyes connected for a mere moment, but Vesyon knew Langhorn's words were a hollow comfort. There'd be no way to see if they'd helped her or harmed her after rescuing her from the clutches of LeMarc. Only time would tell, and so far, the truth was becoming a more substantial burden to bear by the day.

"What about Phillip?" Langhorn questioned softly. To change the subject away from a festering open wound, Langhorn guided Vesyon into a different one.

His grey eyes shot upward to Langhorn's face, a flicker of pain dappled in his features. "Phillip's gone. Charlie decided to stay behind."

Langhorn stared at him for several long seconds, neither betraying emotion nor offering comfort. The mossy glare remained stoic and unchanging. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know how close you were to the General."

Vesyon felt the heat of tears slide down his cheeks, and he couldn't muster the strength to wipe them away. His reasons to fight for his freedom were slipping away, buried beneath the pain of those friends and loved ones he'd lost along the way.

"The village, is it gone?" Langhorn asked, his tone low in cadence and purposefully under his breath.

Vesyon rubbed a hand down his face, ridding himself of the sharp prickling desire to let loose on his emotions and give in to the anguish building within his chest. He nodded, rubbing his thumbs deep into the groove just beneath his eyebrows. "It's rubble. There's no reason for LeMarc to go back in search of Ephidra Lily. I'm not positive if Acher made it out alive—" Vesyon said, stopping suddenly at Langhorn’s sudden intake of air.

"Acher?" Langhorn asked, his tone uncharacteristically sharp.

Vesyon nodded, feeling the weariness of the last few weeks press into his flesh, the heavy weight so evenly distributed across his mind and body that he felt a massive sense of relief just sitting down and closing his eyes for the barest moment. "Yes, Acher was the leak to the crown. I'm surprised your inside man didn't fill us in on that detail."

His tone was clipped and short, with a hefty dose of acidity to it. Of all the reasons to have someone on the inside of the High Court, the greatest was to extract pertinent information. Langhorn had his secrets, mountains of them, and Vesyon would never dream of trying to crack the vault to his chunk of history. It was the current issues that bothered him to no end, the blatant disregard for people around them because Langhorn felt the knowledge was on a need to know basis—he being the only one that really needed to know.

"Well," Langhorn said, his eyes drifting toward the edge of his teacup in obvious misdirection. "It wasn't that important of a detail." He waved in an off-hand gesture as though they were talking about a small disagreement like their favorite color.

"Langhorn," Vesyon warned. He felt his cheeks flame with heat as the black most assuredly slipped from his eyes and down the angular planes of his face. "That small detail might have caused us far more deaths than we had to afford. It would have been helpful to know," he said with a growl, feeling the energetic zip of Praetorian anger surge through his system.

Langhorn didn't seem to mind or notice his change of tone. Instead, the doctor sipped his tea, smiling blandly and without humor in his general direction but remained quiet.

"You aren't going to tell me his name, are you?" Vesyon