The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Distraction

Kitara left Baylen in Storm’s quarters and returned to the war room. Phoebe, busy directing the chaos, hadn’t noticed Kitara’s temporary disappearance.

Kitara approached Robert first. “I need your help,” she said in a low tone over his shoulder.

He snorted and didn’t spare her a glance. “Little busy here.”

“There’s a distraction in the ambassadors’ wing you should address. I think we can use it to find Storm.”

Robert’s brow furrowed, finally looking up. “A…distraction?”

“Very distracting. Very effective. In Storm’s quarters. But I need to convince others he’s a good one.”

The High Engineer studied her expression for a moment, then his eyes widened. Swearing softly, he motioned for Alasdair to take over and disappeared into the hall.

“What the hell did you say?” the acting Commander grumbled. “We need him.”

“He’ll be back. I’m…planning an op. Can’t say more—Sleeper stuff. But you may be in on it before the end; just be patient.”

Kitara turned to find Phoebe next, waiting for a lull in her conversation with Tyrrell before touching her arm. “I need your help,” she whispered.

Alarm flashed in the High Emissary’s eyes. “What? What happened?”

Kitara shook her head. “Do you trust me, Phoebe?”

“Of course I do,” she replied, frowning. “What is it?”

“I have an idea. But you’re going to have to hear me out, because I know you’re going to think I’ve lost my mind at first.”

Phoebe peered at her closely. “Have you?”

“No. Not yet. But if I have to sit around doing nothing while they slowly torture him to death, I might.”

“What is your plan? Not a trade, I hope, because we won’t let you do that.”

“When Robert comes back, you and I will go with him to a different conference room to discuss it.”

She eyed her curiously. “Robert?”

“You’ll see.” Kitara glanced around the room where several other Councilors and angels made no attempt to hide their piqued interest in Kitara’s hushed conversation with the High Emissary. “I can’t talk about it here.”

As if summoned, the Fallen walked through the doorway. His expression gave away nothing, but he beelined for her. “You’re nuts,” he muttered.

Kitara turned to Phoebe again. “A word?”

The High Emissary nodded despite her confusion.

Before they could step into the hall, Declan waylaid them, Zayne close behind. “What is going on?” the Guardian asked in a low voice. “A lead?”

“A new plan,” Kitara replied just as quietly. “But I need to borrow the Councilors.”

“If it’s something to help Storm, I want in,” he said fiercely, while Zayne nodded in agreement. “Storm is like my brother, and I can’t just wait around with my thumb up my ass anymore.” His gaze darted to Zayne’s mother. “Sorry, Councilor.”

Kitara considered his severe expression for a moment, brow furrowed. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Phoebe,” she finally said. “You’re going to have hear me out first before you react.”

“Lovely,” Zayne muttered from behind him.

“If you want in, you have to promise me that,” Kitara snapped, though her attention remained on Declan. “Else, stay here. I won’t have you ruining things before you hear the explanation because you decide to try and knock someone out or shoot somebody.”

He didn’t appear one bit repentant, but he did nod.

Kitara jerked her chin at Robert. “Lead the way.”

Bemused, Robert sighed and headed into the hall, the Councilor, the Sleeper, and Storm’s two friends close behind. He showed them into a conference room around the corner while Phoebe glanced between the Fallen and the Fallen’s daughter with a puzzled frown.

A white-haired figure turned at their entrance. “I’ll admit, I expected to be waiting much longer,” he said wryly.

“Fucking hell,” Declan said, then rounded on Kitara. “That’s your plan?”

“Shut up, Dec,” Zayne snapped. “Have some tact for once.”

Baylen considered them all with a mildly amused expression, clasping his hands behind him. “Zayne. Declan. Lovely to see you both again.”

Robert closed the door behind them all, while Phoebe glanced around uneasily. “What is this?”

“Councilor, Baylen. Baylen, High Councilor Dragić,” Kitara made quick introductions. “Councilor, you may know Baylen by his more infamous moniker: the Maker.”

To her credit, Phoebe didn’t react to the revelation, donning the mantle of the no-nonsense Councilor and United States Vice President. Her tone remained calm. “Kitara, I assume you have an excellent reason for bringing one of the AIDO’s most notorious adversaries into the heart of our operation.”

“Baylen has agreed to help us get Storm back,” Kitara said. “And my plan hinges on him.”

Declan groaned, and Zayne elbowed him in the ribs.

Phoebe glanced at Robert. “You knew this?”

“It’s a long story,” Robert said. “But…it might be our best chance.”

“Baylen possesses some…extraordinary talents,” Kitara hedged. “Talents that will render Itzal’s forces, whatever they may be, incapable of aiding him for a short time.”

“And why would he do that?” Phoebe asked, a note of unease leaking into her voice.

“Because he’s my cousin.” Kitara went for broke. “Our…familial bond runs deep. He’s not a threat to the AIDO, Phoebe.”

If Zayne’s mother was surprised by the reveal of another Ninthëvel family member, she didn’t let on. “His historic movements against us beg to differ.”

“Trust me,” Kitara reminded her. “I can explain everything later, but we’re running out of time.”

Phoebe lifted her dark eyes to Baylen’s. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t have Captain Seanste take you out right here, right now.”

The Guardian smiled grimly, appearing pleased by the idea.

Baylen’s expression remained as cool as the Councilor’s. “Because I owe Kitara a life debt, and I take that very seriously. If she were to ask me to lay down my life in exchange for Storm’s, I would not hesitate. I am a Ninthëvel. Storm is an Avensäel. If nothing else, I owe him a debt for the damage my family has done to his.”

Kitara glanced at him, wide-eyed.

Phoebe was not moved. “Pretty words,” she said tightly. “But they mean nothing without actions to prove them, and your actions historically have opposed Valëtyria. You lead an organization that has done great damage to our own. Casualties, injuries, billions in damages—”

“An understandable and wise response,” Baylen interjected. “Perhaps a show of good faith—an action to back up my words, so to speak—would be appropriate about now?”

“It would need to be rather spectacular,” Phoebe hedged, glancing at Kitara in a way that made her glad she’d reassured the High Emissary she had not yet lost her mind. “Because as much as I trust Kitara, I have no inclination to trust you despite her…character reference.”

“Very well, then.”

Kitara didn’t miss the gleam in Baylen’s eye, and she doubted anyone else in the room did either.

“I can restore your wingless angels.”

Kitara’s heart leapt into her throat.

“Impossible,” Declan scoffed.

“How?” Phoebe whispered.

“You can?” Robert asked.

Zayne didn’t speak, but his eyes widened at the Ninthëvel.

Baylen observed them all. “It will take time. I can’t fix them all at once. It requires intense concentration and significant amounts of energy. Depending on how many need restoring, it may take weeks.”

“How long would it take to fix one?” Kitara couldn’t help asking.

“An hour. Maybe a little less.”

Kitara turned to Phoebe. “Councilor…”

“Don’t let him wander the streets of the compound,” Declan snapped. “I won’t allow it. I’m hearing you out, Kitara, like you asked, but I’m not letting him out of my sight.”

Phoebe sighed. “The Captain is right. I cannot risk the lives of our people for him to prove himself.”

Kitara bit her lip.

To her surprise, Robert protested first. “But Kenric…if we could fix him…”

Surprising her further, Zayne nodded in agreement. “It’s worth a shot, Councilor.”

Regardless of circumstance, Zayne and Phoebe would not acknowledge their familial association in front of a stranger—especially not one like the Maker.

Though, knowing Baylen, he probably already knew the details of their relationship.

“Phoebe.” Kitara did her best to keep her tone steady. “Bring Kenric here, and let Baylen prove it. Robert and I both love him dearly. Do you really think we’d put him at the mercy of someone who could kill him if we weren’t sure?”

Phoebe’s brow furrowed as she considered for a long moment. Finally, she exhaled sharply and nodded to Robert. “Very well. Do it.”

Robert disappeared out the door in a heartbeat.

“I hope you’re right about this,” Declan muttered, crossing his arms as he glared at the Netherling.

Baylen returned the glare with an impassive nod.

The searing pain in the back of Kitara’s mind returned, and she stumbled to one knee, her jaw locked to keep from screaming.

“Kitara?” Baylen asked, alarmed. He looked between the Councilor and the two angels, his expression suddenly dark and dangerous. “What’s happening to her?”

“I told you, they’re torturing him,” Kitara gasped, collapsing onto all fours.

“Kitara,” Phoebe murmured, sinking to her knees beside her.

Baylen appeared at a loss. “Kitara, I hate to say this, but if his pain affects you, you won’t be in any shape to help him.”

She gritted her teeth. “I think I can lessen it, maybe block it out completely. But stars, Baylen, that may be the only way I know he’s alive.” Goosebumps of agony rippled over her skin.

“If Itzal figures it out, he’ll relish torturing one or both of you.”

Kitara sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners.

Zayne crouched beside his mother and the Sleeper. “Kitara,” he said gently, “maybe they’re right. Maybe—”

“Not until I know we’re going to get him,” Kitara hissed. “I have to know he’s alive.”

Declan remained silent, but his expression said he didn’t disagree with her. Still, he hovered over the three of them like he feared Baylen might attack them in their vulnerable positions.

Phoebe looked up at the Maker. “Do you really think you can retrieve him?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t think I can,” he said mildly, gesturing to Kitara. “I think she can. I’m merely a distraction to help her succeed.”

Declan snorted.

Phoebe’s eyes narrowed. “We won’t trade her, not even—”

“I’m not suggesting that, Councilor. It’s out of the question.”

Kitara bowed her head to the floor, a pained groan wrenching its way between her teeth as her fingers curled into fists.

“Shit,” Baylen muttered, rounding the table.

Declan held up a hand. “No sudden moves, Netherling. I still don’t trust you.”

“You’re really going to leave her—”

“No,” Zayne interrupted, lifting the Sleeper into his arms and settling her gingerly in a chair while Phoebe smoothed her sweaty hair back from her forehead.

Kitara groaned, her eyelids fluttering. “Stars…”

“Pull back, Kitara,” Baylen insisted. “This isn’t helping Storm, and we need you.”

The door opened again, and a grim-faced Robert entered, followed by a Healer steering a hovering stretcher. Kenric, still unconscious, lay on his side.

The stumps of Kenric’s wings were carefully bandaged, but blood still oozed through the gauze. Black and purple bruises mottled his bare back despite the Healers’ work—a testament to how severely the mutilation had impacted his broken body.

The Healer’s gaze flickered between the angels and Kitara, seeming uninterested in Baylen’s presence. “I can stay if you need. The bandages—”

“No,” Robert interrupted. “Thank you, we can manage. We’ll summon one of you if and when necessary.”

The Healer bowed his head and closed the door.

Robert turned expectantly to Baylen. “Okay Baylen, time to show what you’re capable of.”

“I need silence and no interruptions,” Baylen said, cautiously approaching the mutilated Commander. “Wings are tricky, and I can’t risk a break in concentration.”

“We’ll do our best.”

Baylen addressed Kitara. “You need to either shut out what’s happening to Storm or leave. I can’t have you distracting me either.”

With visible angst, Kitara nodded and closed her eyes again. After a moment, the tension in her body eased, though the guilt on her face didn’t.

Baylen flexed his hands. “I’m going to sit,” he warned them all. “Don’t kill me.”

Kitara huffed a laugh, but the others didn’t find it as amusing. They nodded, their gazes sharp as they scrutinized the Ninthëvel, then took seats themselves. Robert sat as near Kenric as possible, his expression wavering with uncertainty despite his insistence on bringing the Commander before the Maker.

“No pressure,” Baylen muttered, sinking into a chair behind Kenric where he could see the extent of the damage. Carefully, he unwrapped the bandages, revealing the ragged, weeping disfigurement beneath. Baylen gingerly set the bloodied gauze aside, then lifted his hands. Shimmering threads of power wrapped around his fingers and wrists.

Kitara held her breath.

Baylen began.

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