The Soul of Power

by Callie Bates

  He grunts. It might be a laugh—a surprised one. “Aren’t you still planning to marry that Philippe?”

  I think of Philippe, the way he looks at me. He’s a good man. A helpful one. But he’s not mine. “No.”

  Alistar glances at me again, swiftly. I feel his surprise—and then, as I might have expected, his smirk even in the dark. “He’s not man enough for my Soph, is he?”

  I roll my eyes. “This isn’t a contest…”

  “He has that perfect hair.” Alistar’s warming to his theme—clearly he’s given quite a bit of thought to this particular matter. “And that noble expression, like a stallion bred for show. You know, all glossy. And—”

  “That’s enough!” I’m actually starting to laugh, and I refuse to give Alistar the satisfaction. “Do you want me to change my mind?”

  “Have you made up your mind for me, then?” he says, challengingly.

  The words are sharp in the darkness, and we’re both silent for a moment. But I refuse to lose the tentative ease between us. I reach for his hand and, after a hesitation, he lets me hold it. I stroke my fingers along the back of his, the way I always have. Softly, I say, “I want you, Alistar Connell. Some days it seems like I always have. But I can’t give myself to anyone, not now. You know that.”

  “I do, I suppose.” Lightly, he covers my hands in his, stilling them. “But I helped create that child you’re growing, and I want a part in its life. Don’t forget that, Sophy Dunbarron.”

  My throat tightens. “I won’t.”

  Behind us, Rhia calls out, “This is the place. I can shift us from here; I feel it.”

  And I do too, I realize. It’s a soft, deeper hum within the land, as if the threads that make up the fabric of the earth are looser here, ever so slightly.

  Alistar tucks his fingers through mine, and I clasp his hand against my chest. Just that small gesture; nothing more. But it’s more than enough. We turn back, together, to cross the land to Barrody.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  We shift through the night, across Eren. We pass from the muddy road to an empty meadow, dew gleaming under the moonlight. Then we emerge into a place so deep in the forest I can hardly see my hands before me. “What sort of magic is this?” Demetra mutters warily to me.

  “Rhia can feel the thin spots in the land, where there’s an old stone, or a sacred spring. They link to others of the same kind.”

  “Oh,” she says with sudden understanding. “That must be how you took Laon so quickly!”

  “That, and armies of walking trees.” I sigh, and in the safety of the dark I find myself confessing, “I wish my magic were more useful.”

  There’s a silence. Then Demetra says, “It seems to me you don’t truly know what your magic does. It might be useful for many things.”

  “Feelings, mainly,” I say wearily.

  I can hear her faint amusement. “But you hear things. You sense sound. Sound is powerful—one of the most powerful tools in the world. When I had my midwifery practice in Ida, I would engage a harpist to play for mothers before and after birth. They had no magic, those musicians, at least not in the way we think of magic. Yet you should have seen how their music soothed those women. A touch of the strings could relax them, could help them sleep and raise their spirits. I even had one assist with labor.” She pauses. “If that is what an ordinary use of sound may do, just think what you might be capable of? You might touch the very fabric of our beings.”

  I force a laugh; the baby is shifting. “I think you overestimate any possible skill I could have.”

  “No. The foundation of sorcery is sound. A summons, for instance. If you speak the name of another sorcerer with enough command, no matter where they are in the world, they will hear you.” She gives me a significant look. “Powerful sorcerers can even force someone to come to them, just by speaking their name.”

  “That sounds a bit…manipulative.”

  She shrugs. “Sorcery isn’t good or bad in itself. It depends on who’s using it, and for what purpose, like anything.” She makes a twinkling sound, not quite audible. “You might even find yourself more powerful than your steward of the land.”

  I manage a laugh again, though my breath catches. To have even a sliver of El’s power…“I can’t imagine such a thing.”

  “It’s hard to, since you don’t know all that you are capable of.”

  Ahead, Rhia is guiding us toward the next shift. The magic hums through the dewy morning air, trembling like a living thing in my very blood. I say to Demetra, “How do I even begin to figure out what I’m capable of? It’s not as if there’s anyone who knows enough to teach me…”

  “The same way anyone else does,” she says. “By using one’s mind, and making an educated guess. By trying things.”

  Tentatively, I begin to hum—a fall of deep-blue notes like the sound I hear glimmering from Demetra. Her eyes widen, and I hum a little more. The sound seems to take shape in the air between us, an indigo vibrance with shining chips of gold, overlaying Demetra. It is Demetra. It’s as if she’s growing more solid—as if I’ve taken some essence of her and brought it into form.

  Her eyes have eased now, falling almost closed. “What is that song? It makes me feel so strange. Dense and light all at once.”

  “It’s the sound you make,” I say.

  We look at each other. I’m starting to grin, and there are tears in Demetra’s eyes. “It’s as if you brought my soul into my body. Sophy, it’s like nothing I’ve felt.”

  We’re both grinning now, possibility humming between us. Then Rhia calls, “Here it is!” and we step forward, together, through the shift in the land.

  The next shift brings us to a valley below a high waterfall. The sky overhead is turning pink with dawn, and the air is cool, scented with pine. I drink it deep into my lungs, and smile at Demetra.

  “We’re in Caeris.”

  Rhia is growing tired, and the next two shifts take longer to find. But at last we step, impossibly, from a cow pasture to a high, bare hill marked by a circle of tall upright stones. A wind is shearing down from the distant mountains to the north, ruffling the hair on the back of my neck. Below, the hill slopes steeply down to a castle, its many towers bronzed in the morning light. Beyond it spread the gray slate roofs of the town, and the silver waters of Lake Harbor, one of the long narrow Caerisian lakes that feed all the way out to the sea.

  Barrody. Home.

  Tension drops out of my shoulders so suddenly I feel unmoored. Song seems to pulse from the stones—the rhythm of the magic Elanna released in them.

  Demetra turns to me. “This is it?”

  I nod. I’m smiling; tears are itching my eyes. I have missed Caeris so much. Roughly, I say, “Come. We will give you a proper Caerisian welcome.”

  We start down the hill in a ragged line, clinging to the steep path. I glance at the castle. I’ve scarcely been here since El woke the land, since she surrounded the city with a forest filled with the specters of our ancestors. It’s such a relief to be back, even under these circumstances. My throat is tight. Alistar, just ahead, looks back at me with a swift smile.

  Teofila drops back to walk beside me. “Sophy…” She gives me a searching glance. “Rhia told me it’s Euan they’re bringing.”

  I stare down at the peaks of the castle roofs. “Yes.”

  She touches my wrist. “We need to talk. Did your mother ever tell you about him?”

  I give a short laugh. “She barely mentioned his existence. I had to deduce from meeting other children that I must have had a father, not sprung full-born from Ma’s womb.”

  Her hand tightens on my wrist. “Then you don’t know.”

  I look at her sharply. “Know what?”

  But we’re interrupted by a shout from below. We’ve been spotted, and people are running out through the gardens.

/>   “Queen Sophy!” The cry rings against the castle walls, bouncing up the hill.

  “It will wait,” Teofila says.

  I glance at her, but she’s already waving to the people below.

  The castellan, Fairbern, is hurrying up the hill to us. He’s a thickset, capable man of about Hugh’s age, dressed in a wool herringbone coat, for it’s always a bit cold in the castle. Surprise hums from him, bright and orange, and underlying it a warm buzz that sounds like gladness. “We didn’t expect you!”

  “No,” I begin, but I falter over the explanation. In the end, I simply say, “We had to leave Laon quite suddenly.”

  It’s Alistar who tells everyone the truth. “An Ereni lord staged a coup. We’ve been thrown out of Laon. You need to double the city guard, and station someone here to watch the hill, in case they have an ally who knows how to walk the folds in the land.”

  “Yes, sir!” Fairbern swallows his alarm and gestures to two footmen, who run back into the castle to carry out the orders.

  “Send word to the watchtowers on the old border as well,” Alistar adds, his hands on his hips. “We’ll need to mount a defense there. And if Ingram Knoll has reached Caeris—”

  “We had word he’s less than a day’s ride away,” Fairbern reports.

  “Send him a messenger telling him he’s needed, as fast as he can arrive.” Alistar nods, then glances at me. A slight frown creases his brow. “That is, if the queen approves these orders.”

  “I do,” I say. I’m fighting down a surge of pride. If the Ereni ministers could see him now, they’d never doubt Alistar’s fitness as my consort. “Send word to whichever ministers are currently in Barrody, as well. We’ll need to convene a council as soon as possible. I want reports on our defenses, as well as our munitions supply.”

  Fairbern nods. “Consider it done, milady.”

  I smile—and there’s a sudden, painful twinge in my back. I put a hand to my stomach. Clearly walking all night with a child in my belly is not the best plan. I’m abruptly aware of my swollen feet, the sweat sticking my chemise to my body, and the exhaustion dragging down my limbs.

  “The council meeting can wait until afternoon,” I decide. If we meet, I might simply fall asleep.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like you could all use food, rest, and a visit to the bathhouse,” Fairbern says with professional diplomacy. His gaze slides toward Rhia, whose face is worn, and her sling spotted with mud.

  I glance at Demetra. “There is another thing—Demetra needs to see her children.”

  At that, Fairbern actually smiles. “Three bright young things named Alexis, Matilda, and Larissa? We’ve housed the refugees here at the castle, you see. They’ve already been informed.”

  Indeed, a shout is rising from the castle door. “Mama!” Demetra’s children race into the garden, throwing themselves at her like eager puppies. She falls to her knees in the grass and hugs them tight, kissing their faces, asking questions so fast my poor Idaean can’t keep up.

  I glance at Alistar. His eyes are on Demetra and her children, his face lit with a slow smile that makes my heart feel too large for its cage.

  Teofila presses my shoulder with a knowing look. “Let’s go in.”

  We tramp into the castle’s stone halls. Unlike the royal building at Laon, this is a true castle, its thick stones barely tamed by carpets and antique tapestries; most of the furniture is decades old, and the glass in the windows is heavy and blurred. It smells of age and stone.

  The castle staff have gathered in an informal mass to greet us, and I think how little I miss the starched aprons and tidy caps of those in Laon. These people are dressed simply but more colorfully, a jumble of red gowns and blue coats, an insistence on individuality that the Ereni have had forced out of them. The sound of them is as bright and varied as the clothing they wear. “Hello, Byron,” I greet one of the men. “Did your wife have the baby yet? Is she doing well?”

  “The finest little bear cub you’ve ever seen,” he says proudly, and the others start laughing. I gather Byron tells them about his babe every chance he gets.

  “And Annis!” I turn to the young maidservant watching me with wide, adoring eyes. The sound of her trembles in the air, a blush of pink. “Did your mother recover from her lung infection?”

  “Oh, she’s so much better, milady! I can’t believe you remembered!”

  I just smile. It feels so good to be back among these people.

  “Let the queen be, now,” Fairbern says in mild reproof, gesturing for the others to scatter. “She’s had a long journey.”

  “Is it true we’ve lost Eren, milady?” one of the maids asks as they begin to file away. Fairbern gives her a quelling stare, and she says quickly, “I mean, we just heard Lord Alistar talking of it outside…”

  “It’s all right,” I say with a sigh. “And yes, it seems to be true. For now.”

  “It must be a horrible shock,” she says. “But we’re all glad it means you’re back in Barrody, milady. It seems too long since you’ve been here, and it’s good to see you. That’s the plain truth.”

  I give her an impulsive hug. “Thank you.”

  She looks at me. “You’re the queen we chose, and we want you here. Those Ereni don’t know what they’ve lost.”

  “So you don’t mind being just Caeris, not Caeris and Eren?”

  She pats my arm—a familiarity none of the maidservants in Laon would ever dare. “We fought for our own freedom. If they want to lose theirs, let them. We have the Caveadear—or we will soon, from what they say. You and she are all we need.”

  I’m grinning now. It’s so damned good to be home.

  “Now,” Fairbern says firmly, “the bathhouse is waiting.”

  I glance around. Teofila and Hugh have already disappeared—“Together,” Alistar informs me. He raises his eyebrows roguishly. “What do you think of that, now?”

  “They deserve happiness,” I say, though in truth, it makes my heart feel stretched and strange. I knew Teofila wasn’t entirely happy with Ruadan—which is perhaps putting it too kindly—but I didn’t expect her to recover from his loss so quickly. Or to take up with his right-hand man.

  But Teofila started growing away from Ruadan years ago; I never once saw them truly close. And maybe, I reflect, Ruadan never really understood what it was to love someone. He certainly made me wonder. Perhaps Teofila deserves every moment with Hugh, and more.

  I shake my head and follow Rhia the rest of the way to the bathhouse. The small, vaulted chambers are billowing with steam; I groan when I sink into one of the pools. I let myself float for a few minutes, alone with my aching body. The child flutters in my womb. I hum the soft tone I gather from her, a yellow as bright as marigolds. I think back to the song I hummed for Demetra. Did I really sing her soul more fully into her body?

  My mind is too dull with weariness to truly contemplate it. Instead I wrap myself in a fresh chemise and robe and climb back upstairs on aching legs—followed by both Alistar and Rhia. Alistar lets himself straight into my bedchamber, and I’m too weary to protest at how blatant he’s being. Besides, it’s not as if it matters much anymore. I pause in the doorway and turn to Rhia.

  “Go to bed,” I tell her. “You’re swaying on your feet.”

  She blinks and says, “Someone needs to guard you.”

  “No one’s going to assassinate me in the next few hours.” At least, I’ll take the risk. “Go rest, Rhia. You’ve earned it.”

  She gives me a stubborn look—and then yawns mightily. Her jaw cracks. “Fine. But if you die, it’s not my fault.”

  She goes.

  I enter my own chamber and close the doors. There is the old, comfortable bed hung with flowered curtains. Alistar is already curled up under the blankets, half asleep, his dark hair dampening the pillows.

  I kiss
him, then nudge his hand gently aside when he tries to pull me to the bed. There’s one more thing I need to do.

  A mirror hangs on the opposite wall. I approach it, my heartbeat rising into my mouth. I taste the sticky tang of failure. But I have to tell them—at least tell them some of the truth.

  “Jahan,” I whisper. There’s nothing. I concentrate, conjuring his image in my mind’s eye: a hawk-nosed, sharp-witted Paladisan with a wry smile. I whisper his name again, imagining the sound winging all the way to Ida. It doesn’t seem likely to work, even though I can feel the current of magic rising within me. I try once more. No matter what Demetra says, that speaking another sorcerer’s name summons his attention, I don’t know if I can believe that I’m really a sorceress.

  Maybe, just now, I wish I weren’t. Then I wouldn’t have to confess this.

  It’s too late. Jahan’s voice bursts into my mind: Sophy! Then the image in the mirror is shifting. It worked. I vanish, and it’s him, his hair mussed as if he just got out of bed, his shoulders wrapped in a blanket. And behind him, leaning over his shoulder, bleary-eyed, is El.

  I clap my hands over my mouth. “Oh, thank all the gods!” I never expected it to work. It feels like a miracle, a conjuring trick. Tears prickle my eyes.

  What’s wrong? El demands. Her hair is a chestnut tangle. I must have summoned them from bed.

  I dig my fingers through my own hair. “Do you remember I told you there had been protests all across Eren, when everyone thought you were dead? Well, now the protestors are claiming—” I wince at my own words. Have claimed. They have claimed a victory. But I can’t say it; I can’t confess my own abysmal failure to Elanna and Jahan, with their tired faces and weary, worried eyes. “They’re claiming a victory. Their leader made an attempt on my life—but I found proof—”

  We’ve won here, El says, and my heart stutters. We’ve taken Aexione! That should be enough to dissuade them.

  I’m shaking my head, tears falling down my cheeks, despite my fragile, momentary hope. No one in Eren cares what’s happening in Aexione or Ida. And I have failed so completely.