Page 64 of Angel in Absentia
You called, Prince said with obvious delight.
Clea stared at him, willing herself not to shudder. Prince was a bizarre creature, a mixture of courtesy and a hidden hunger beneath it, but there was also a childlike innocence to him, and feeling the slightest pang of guilt, she tested it, first with a simple question.
“Is it true?” she asked first. “Ryson is the Warlord of Shambelin?”
Prince tilted his head. His mask was expressionless, but the space behind it seemed oddly alive, shifting somehow.Yes.
Confirmation of the answer hurt a bit more than she was expecting. Clea squeezed her eyes shut, muttering a curse under her breath. She forced herself to think, toplan,not to collapse into the roaring chaos inside her chest.
“You control bodies,” she said, and he nodded. “So, your vice is what? That you want one?”
He nodded again.
“And Alina. Her vice? Her weakness?” Clea ventured, wondering if he’d actually answer.
Her obsession is terror. She can sense it and must always produce it, Prince said,but she is an ugly soul. Vain in her appearance but always destined to terrify.
“I see,” Clea said, and very politely added, “Thank you, Prince. You are very helpful.”
Prince’s mask shuddered in a kind of odd delight, and he reminded her a bit of a dog, eager to be petted. Unlike Ryson, he seemed intent on interacting with the living world.
“And Ryson. He has a vice,” she pointed out, realizing that they had never discussed this on their journey. Vices were irresistible. Anything irresistible was a weakness. This was where every powerful Venennin could be felled, and Prince was about to tell her outright.
“Oh, yes,” Prince said. “He is most a slave to his vice, more so, perhaps, than Alina or I.”
Even better.
“What is it?” she asked. She’d heard stories. The Warlord of Shambelin—the Venennin of illusion. He could cultivate illusions, but what did that even mean? What vice was that tied to? She was suddenly eager, feeling that the answer to her problem was about to be spilled right before her.
Illusion, Prince replied.
She waited for him to say more.
“Illusion,” she repeated.
Yes, Prince replied.
“I don’t understand,” Clea continued.
In the Belgears, the illusions descended like a fog. The Belgearian Lord was wrought with paranoia, dreams of glory, desires, and hatreds. Alkerrai presented himself as a conquered foe, fitting perfectly into the Belgearian Lord’s desires, and then the man was so haunted by illusion that he ignored all evidence otherwise and did not see the threat for what it was. When he fell for the illusion, tortured Alkerrai, and brought him into the kingdom, Alkerrai executed him. Alkerrai’s ability is an uncanny sense of the illusions others cast over the world and how to manipulate them.
“So, he sets traps, traps specially designed for people based on their weaknesses?” Clea whispered.
Yes. I am afraid no one has ever defeated Alkerrai’s power, Prince replied,but you have a chance. You have his heart and he has yours.
“You’re saying his feelings for me are real?” Clea asked.
They could not be more real, Prince said.But he is a slave to his vice, and rest assured, he has set his trap.
She stopped. “You just told me his feelings were real.”
Well. Yes. He hopes you don’t fall for it.
“But wants me to?”
We all have our little…inclinations.
Clea sighed. “How do I defeat him?” she asked, hoping Prince might actually give her the answer.
