Blood Requiem

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Blood Requiem Page 46

by Christopher Husberg


  Cinzia, Knot, and Astrid, along with Eward and his handful of Prelates, had waited on the Coastal Road for Jane and the Odenites to catch up with them. Now, they once again all travelled together. From the Cliffs of Litori on which Cinzia, Knot, Astrid, Jane, and the entire Odenite following now stood, Cinzia could make out the major landmarks of the city. The Center Circle stood out, of course, with Canta’s Fane, the Citadel, and the House of Aldermen forming the three points of the triangle. Above the entire city towered God’s Eye, the ancient weapon rumored to channel the power of the sun itself, planted on the northern river bank. No building on the Sfaera held a candle to God’s Eye; the tower was almost fifty floors high. Cinzia doubted God’s Eye had ever been used, but it was an incredible sight to behold.

  A road encircled that central Trinacrya, wrapping around its circumference and bridging over the Sinefin—the only road on the seaward side of the Center Circle to bridge the river. Another road encircled that one, and another road encircled that one, on and on until the very outskirts of the city. Three major roads, each starting from a point of the Trinacrya, led outward, intersecting each of the concentric roads, while other, smaller roads joined the concentric circles in other places. The fifty-fourth circle formed Triah’s great city wall, but beyond that wall were many other concentric circles spilling out into the countryside, as if a giant had thrown an incredibly large stone that landed at the Center Circle, and each of the concentric roads were ripples waving outward. This design was what gave Triah its nickname: the Circle City. It was the largest city on the Sfaera, the largest city in history, and it was Cinzia’s second home.

  Or at least it had been, once. Now, she returned as a heretic to the Denomination, the religion to which she had sworn herself, and then betrayed. This was no more her home than Navone was, now.

  Cinzia would never be ready to face the Denomination. She was more unsure of Jane now than she ever was. She knew there was some power out there that loved her, could help her, but Cinzia did not know what to do with that power, how to relate to it.

  Inside her head, Luceraf chuckled.

  Are you sure there is a power out there that loves you? the Daemon asked. In my experience, the only power worth obeying exists solely to destroy.

  I do not have to explain myself to you, Cinzia thought. I know what I know, and you will not change that.

  I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.

  “How does it feel to come home?”

  Cinzia turned to see that Knot was beside her, gazing out over the cliffs at Triah.

  “Excitement, fear, trepidation, joy. All of that, and more. I love this city, Knot. I am worried it does not love me back.”

  “If it doesn’t,” Knot said, “it ain’t worth your time.”

  Cinzia could not help but smile at that.

  They stood in silence for a moment and Cinzia’s gaze eventually shifted and found Astrid. She was discussing something with a man Cinzia had never seen before. It was difficult to see his features—the man wore a long hood that covered his face—but Cinzia did glimpse an eyepatch over one eye. An odd man, indeed. Cinzia would have to ask the girl about him when she had the chance.

  “You and Astrid have reconciled, then?” Cinzia asked.

  “Seems that way,” Knot said.

  “I am glad. I do not like it when the two of you do not get along.”

  “Ain’t the only one,” Knot muttered, “believe me.”

  Cinzia took a deep breath, then turned to face Knot. “And… the two of us,” Cinzia said. “Where do we stand?”

  Knot looked at her. “What d’you mean?”

  “You agreed to be my Goddessguard once. Does that agreement still stand?” She had been afraid to ask the question since the moment she and Astrid had found him on the Coastal Road, but something in the way he addressed her just now gave her the courage.

  “We forged a bond,” Knot said. “Ain’t gonna break that anytime soon.”

  “Even though you… you think Winter is alive, and part of this tiellan rebellion?” Word of the tiellan movement had reached them—of Druids, Rangers, and battles the tiellans had actually won against the Khalic Legion itself. They sounded like fables, and Cinzia would have dismissed them as such if they had not been so prevalent. Everywhere they went, people spoke of the tiellan rebellion, and the tiellan witch who led them.

  The tiellan witch who Knot believed was Winter. His wife.

  “Can’t be sure about any of that,” Knot said. “I had a vision, and I did see something, but… for now, yes. I am with you.”

  One corner of Cinzia’s mouth tweaked.

  You like him, Luceraf said.

  Cinzia frowned. Of course I like him.

  You like him more than that. The day will come when you’ll admit that to yourself. Unless I possess you first, that is.

  “Still think what you did is problematic, darlin’, don’t get me wrong,” Knot said after a moment. “That voice I’m sure you’re hearing in your head… we’re going to have to do something about that.”

  Luceraf snorted. I’d like to see him try.

  I daresay you will get that chance. She had not told anyone about her new relationship with Luceraf except Knot—and Astrid, who had already intuited what Cinzia had done. Knot was the only person she trusted with such information.

  “I know,” Cinzia said out loud.

  “I’ll… I’ll do what I can to help you,” Knot said. “I’ve been there, after all, even if it was just for a few moments. Can’t imagine what it’s like having a Daemon in your head all day, every day.”

  “You simply willed her out of your head.” They had danced around this conversation more than once over the past couple of weeks.

  Knot shrugged. “She’d never had my permission to be there in the first place. When I reclaimed my body, I think the bond she’d made with Lathe was invalidated.”

  I’ve told you, dear. You gave me permission. You cannot rescind that invitation. Knot is fortunate that free will still matters with us.

  “Nomad,” Astrid said, approaching them. She turned to Cinzia. “Daemon-shack.”

  “Hush,” Cinzia hissed, glaring at the girl.

  Astrid snorted. “Jane still doesn’t know, then? Why am I not surprised?”

  “Jane left Knot to die,” Cinzia responded. “There’s no shame in doubting her judgment.”

  “You’re going to have to tell her eventually,” Astrid said.

  That isn’t necessarily true.

  For once we agree on something, Cinzia thought.

  Eward was calling Knot’s name. Knot nodded to both of them and walked away, leaving Cinzia and Astrid alone.

  “We have to talk about what happened,” Astrid said, her face serious.

  “What is there to talk about?”

  “What you did… who you are, now. You are a liability, Cinzia. If Jane’s movement is important to you, you’ll tell her.”

  Are you a liability? Luceraf asked. Or are you an asset?

  “I can gain unique knowledge of the Nine Daemons,” Cinzia said. “I may be able to help.”

  Astrid scoffed. “If you think that, you’re further gone than I thought.”

  The two stood in silence for a moment, both staring down at the city. Then, Astrid looked up at Cinzia.

  “Remember what you told me?” she said.

  Cinzia did not respond.

  What did you tell her? Luceraf asked.

  “You said family is not about what we remember, or where we are. It’s about how we feel.”

  “So—”

  “Do you really feel part of a family right now?” Astrid asked.

  Cinzia had nothing to say to that. She did not belong with the Denomination. She did not belong with Jane and the disciples, not in her current state. She wanted to say she belonged with Knot, but even that was a stretch.

  “Someone once told me,” Astrid continued, “that it doesn’t matter what we are, or where we’ve been. All that matters is what we do
.” She paused for a moment, until Cinzia met her eyes.

  Do you believe that? Luceraf asked.

  When Cinzia didn’t reply, Luceraf laughed. The sound echoed cruelly in her head for so long, Cinzia feared it would never leave her.

  47

  Adimora

  WINTER KNOCKED QUIETLY ON the door of Darrin and Eranda’s home. It was after dark, and she hoped the children were already asleep. Facing Darrin would be difficult enough; she could not look at Sena, Lelanda, and Tohn, and tell them their mother was dead.

  Fortunately, some of her riders had finally procured faltira for her, one of them going all the way back to Cineste to get it. Her withdrawal symptoms had all but faded now that she was taking the drug semi-regularly again. Her shoulder wound was well on its way to full recovery, and even the node of pain in her head from the blow she’d taken at the battle of the Canaian Fields was fading.

  Nevertheless, she needed as much courage as she could get right now. She took a crystal, and the fire began to burn in her veins.

  Darrin opened the door, bleary-eyed, his hair unkempt and his clothes disheveled. His eyes met Winter’s, and his weary, vacant stare did not change in the slightest.

  He already knows, Winter realized.

  “What d’you want?” Darrin asked.

  “I… I wanted to speak with you,” Winter whispered.

  Darrin’s eyes slid over Winter’s shoulder, staring off into the night. For a moment Winter thought Darrin might not say anything at all, but finally he turned, walked back inside, and looked over his shoulder.

  “Come in,” he said.

  Winter walked into the hut, out of the autumn chill. Darrin walked directly to a wooden chair in a corner of the room and sat down. Winter stayed standing, unable to bring herself to do anything else.

  “I have something to tell you,” Winter said.

  “Gord already did.”

  Winter stood still. She should have told Gord not to say anything so she could tell Darrin herself. And yet, that would have accomplished nothing but delaying Darrin’s suffering by a day, maybe two.

  “Ain’t you got some coronation tomorrow?” Darrin’s voice was raw and gravelly.

  “That… that doesn’t matter,” Winter said. The Druid elders, along with the Cracked Spear leaders, had agreed to crown Winter queen of the tiellan people the next morning. Agreed, perhaps, was a strong word, but both groups of leadership could not go against the will of the people. More than that, they could not go against their fear of Winter.

  “Ain’t that the only thing that matters?” Darrin asked. “You’ve done nothin’ but order people around since the moment you came back.”

  Winter shifted her weight, unsure what to say. Anger did not surprise her. She could remember feeling that way herself, in her cell in Izet, after realizing Knot was dead.

  She straightened. Best say what she came here to say. “Darrin, I am sorry for what happened to Eranda. She was a good woman, and deserved better than she got.”

  Darrin snorted. “We agree on that,” he said. Then, he looked up at Winter. “Did she die because of you?”

  Winter’s breath caught in her throat. “I… Eranda died a courageous death in battle,” Winter said after a moment, “fighting for the tiellan cause.”

  “I hear she died protecting you,” Darrin said. “Sounds a lot like she died protecting your cause, whatever in Oblivion that is.”

  Winter said nothing in response—what could she possibly say that would help?

  “You’re the one that allowed tiellan women to join the Rangers in the first place,” Darrin said quietly. “Way I see it, ain’t nobody more responsible for my wife’s death than you.”

  Winter could not deny what Darrin said, and his words pierced through the apathetic shell she’d made for herself.

  “You’re right,” Winter whispered. “I am sorry, Darrin.”

  Darrin was silent for a moment, and then he stood. “Your sorry ain’t worth shit to me.” He did not show her out, but walked into the room he and Eranda had shared without another word.

  Winter’s breaths came quick and shallow. She feared if she breathed any deeper she might break down, and she did not want that. Not here. She moved to the door, and then heard Darrin’s voice behind her.

  “She’d want you to have this.”

  Winter turned to see Darrin holding out the white swaddling cloth Eranda had kept for her. It was folded neatly into a long, thick rectangle.

  “I…” Winter reached out, but stopped before her fingers touched the cloth.

  “Bloody take it,” Darrin said, voice broken, in the first show of emotion Winter had seen from him since she came to his doorstep.

  Winter willed herself to grasp the white cloth, and then turned and rushed out the door.

  * * *

  Hours later, Winter sobbed on the floor of her own hut in Adimora, the white swaddling cloth clutched tightly to her chest.

  She cried for Darrin and his children, for the pain they felt now but especially for the pain they would feel in years to come, as Darrin watched his children become tall, as Sena became more and more like her mother, as little Tohn’s last memories of Eranda would inevitably fade.

  She cried for the many thousands lost, for the many families without a mother or father, for the orphaned tiellan children.

  She cried for her people, defeated and dwindling, and foolishly thinking that making her their queen would solve any of their problems. They did not know what they were doing.

  And yet, she thought with bitterness, you will not refuse them.

  She cried for herself, for the illusion of her own indifference. After Knot’s death, she thought she would never feel again. She thought she was immune to such things. But being back with her people, and being irrevocably responsible for Eranda’s death among thousands more—holding the white cloth she’d received as a gift at her Doting on the day of her wedding—she realized the lie she’d been telling herself.

  The pain had always been there. Only now had it grown too powerful to push down, bury, or ignore.

  As Winter’s denial turned to acceptance, her sobs faded, and as her sobs faded, acceptance became anger. Winter had her own part in all that had happened, but there were others at fault, too. Riccan Carrieri. The Khalic Legions. The people of Khale themselves, and every human on the Sfaera, save Urstadt and Galce, as far as Winter was concerned.

  And, lest she forget, Mazille and her psimancers.

  Winter’s vengeance would find them all.

  EPILOGUE

  South of the Eastmaw Mountains

  AS RICCAN CARRIERI CRESTED the hill and looked down at the weeks-old carnage below, his breath caught in his chest.

  “Canta rising,” he whispered.

  “I told you, sir. The tiellans are gone, and they left nothing but destruction in their wake.” Ambria, the telenic who had accompanied him at what his troops were now calling the battle of the Rihnemin just over two weeks ago, stood next to him. They had tied their horses to trees in a thicket at the other side of the hill on which they now stood, overlooking the battlefield.

  “May I ask why you wanted to come here, Grand Marshal?”

  Carrieri frowned, taking deep breaths through his mouth. The stench had hit them both before they’d even dismounted, and death was strong in the air, now. “I needed to see for myself.”

  Rotting corpses, tiellan and human, littered the field. But the most striking landmarks were the dozens of Outsider bodies, blackened and deformed.

  “The Outsiders were… were burned?” Carrieri asked.

  “Melted, more like,” Ambria said. “No idea how it happened. Closest thing I can think of are some rumors we’ve heard from Maven Kol about people who’ve learned to manipulate fire, but there’s been nothing of that sort north of the Taimin Mountains. Not that we’ve heard of, anyway.”

  “It seems now you have,” Carrieri said.

  Something still did not seem right to him, however. He had
left the tiellans to die with the intent of returning with a larger force later to defeat what remained of the Outsiders, but quickly his spies had told him what had happened. The Outsiders had all been killed; somehow, the tiellans had been victorious against them, and lived to fight another day. He did not know how they had done it—whether Winter had performed some psimantic trick, or something else altogether—but the aftermath was clear.

  “How many tiellan survivors?” Carrieri asked.

  “No way to be sure, Grand Marshal,” Ambria said, “but we estimate a few thousand at most.”

  “A few thousand,” Carrieri repeated. A few thousand could not possibly stand against the might of Khale’s army—even what remained of it. But he had not thought they could stand against the Outsiders, either, and he had been woefully mistaken on that particular point. Riccan Carrieri was beginning to see why the tiellans had given Publio Kyfer such trouble.

  “Keep gathering intelligence,” Carrieri said. “We need to know the tiellan position, their numbers, and, if possible, what they are capable of at all times.”

  “And what of our forces?” Ambria asked.

  Carrieri raised an eyebrow at the woman’s use of “our.” She was a Cantic psimancer, after all. Not technically part of the Legion.

  But, truthfully, he shared the sentiment. To face what was coming—whether tiellan, daemonic, or otherwise—Carrieri could not shake the feeling that they needed to band together as many people as possible.

  “We outnumber the tiellans, that much is sure. But I do not think we can risk meeting them in open battle anymore. Better we let time do our work for us.” Some would call him cowardly. Others would berate him for letting the tiellans run free throughout Khale, but they had not seen what he had seen.

  The last thing the Khalic Legion wanted to do now was engage the tiellans in open battle, and Carrieri would be sure to affirm that it never happened again.

  Not until he was ready.

  Imperial palace, Izet

  Empress Cova Amok sat on the throne in the council chamber, contemplating all of the information now before her.

 

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