Free Leaves of Flame by Benjamin Tate

the loss of life, the panic of the people within the sukrael’s hunting ground, the uncertainty. The Order couldn’t offer anyone solace.”
    He turned to look at Colin directly. “You brought them solace with the Winter Tree. You allowed them to return to their land and resume their lives. But the way in which you brought the Winter Tree.” His face tightened with anger. “You should have brought it to me. I should have been the one to present it to the Evant. Its power obviously fell within the domain of the Order, not the Evant, not Lord Aeren nor the Tamaell. I should have been given time to plan, to find the best location for its planting. It should never have been placed in the center of Caercaern, in the marketplace!”
    Colin’s gaze had dropped from the bird toward Lotaern. He didn’t like the assumption of authority he heard in the Chosen’s voice, nor the fact that Lotaern felt his authority rose above that of the Tamaell. “The placement in the marketplace was a mistake. I did not realize that it would quicken so fast.”
    “That doesn’t matter now. It was planted in the marketplace, and has since been walled off, the plaza now a garden sanctuary maintained by the Order.”
    Controlled by the Order,
Colin thought. Aeren had told him how Lotaern had sealed access to the Tree from the Evant, how he’d established Wardens to care for it even as the Flame guarded it and kept it from the Alvritshai, all with the sanction of the Evant, most of whose lords welcomed and feared the Tree’s power at the same time. It hadbecome another way for Lotaern to control the Alvritshai, and through the lords, the Evant.
    If Lotaern expected Colin to apologize for bringing the Tree to Aeren first, or to the Tamaell, he would be disappointed.
    They heard Vaeren’s approach, his boots thumping through the chamber, moving swiftly, accompanied by the footfalls of another. Both the Chosen and Colin turned as the caitan of the Order of the Flame appeared in the foyer, his gaze flickering with irritation before he caught sight of them near the bowl. He and the woman, Siobhaen, approached, both dressed in the armor of the Flame, wrists banded with metal, the heavy cloth over their chests emblazoned with the stylized white flames of Aielan, boot heels harsh on the flagstone floor, although Colin noticed that Siobhaen’s tread was much softer than Vaeren’s. Siobhaen’s long black hair was pulled back into a braid behind her head and she caught Colin with a sharp, searching glare, her light brown eyes flicking up and down once. Colin felt as if he’d been sized up and dismissed in the space of a heartbeat and straightened in indignation. Her features were narrow, made more severe by having her hair pulled back, but softened by small silver earrings.
    Vaeren had changed into different armor as well, something more suited to traveling long distances. His hair had been tied back with a length of leather. “I’ve ordered the acolytes to bring horses to the main plaza for us, readied with supplies,” he said, ignoring Colin completely.
    Before Lotaern could answer, two more members of the Flame appeared. Dressed like Vaeren, they came up behind the caitan and nodded toward Lotaern formally. The Chosen had straightened, assuming the mantle of his power. They were younger than Vaeren, but obviously related, their eyes the same dark gray.
    “Is everything prepared?”
    “No,” Siobhaen said. “Not yet. There is still one more thing to do.”
    When the brothers shot her a curious glance, she moved toward the bowl, knelt on one knee, and lowered her head. Colin could hear her murmuring beneath her breath.
    When he looked up, he caught the brothers rolling their eyes. Vaeren gave them a look and with sudden solemnity they both knelt.
    A moment later, Siobhaen reached forward and smudged soot along her cheek, the two brothers following suit. Then all three rose.
    “Now we are ready,” Vaeren said.
    The entire group moved to the