***
Tryss took a deep breath as she walked across Fandon Park, doing her best to keep her head down and avoid the gazes of the morning patrons. She probably didn’t have much to worry about; it wasn’t as if the vast majority of people who lived in Haven would recognize her on sight, even if she was their crown princess. Unlike her mother, who had commissioned dozens of portraits over the years, Tryss hadn’t had her likeness painted since she was a small girl, and all of those pieces were still safely in Sandratha. The only people with even a chance of recognizing her would be one of the scant few politicians she had spoken to the previous evening at the ball, none of which would be at the park without a significant escort.
Despite that, however, she clutched her hood tightly about herself and didn’t so much as glance at anyone else. She looked like a beggar in this outfit—if Lepton had seen her wearing it, he might have died from a heart attack on the spot. Her mother probably would have settled for a manic frenzy. Aston wouldn’t have been happy, either, but he was still hung over from the ball and wouldn’t roll out of bed until after noon.
She reached the small house on the eastern side of the park and checked the address to make sure she had the right place. A small knot formed in her stomach when the number matched up. As much as she doubted the Senator would invite her over here just to assault her, it was always possible, and it wasn’t worth taking any unnecessary risks. She might as well be as prepared as possible.
Glancing about to make sure no one was watching, Tryss closed her eyes and reached out to the Fane. She carefully wrapped herself in a thin, imperceptible barrier of kinetic energy. It was a basic spell even a krata could learn, though their shield would have trouble absorbing anything beyond the impact of a short fall or the force of a hurled weapon. In her case, it was strong enough to stop a crossbow bolt at close range. If Veltar was foolish enough to try anything, he was going to be sorely disappointed.
Tryss walked up to the door and tapped upon it once. She only had to wait a few seconds before it opened and a tall, muscular man appeared in the doorway.
“Welcome, Your Highness,” he said, gesturing inside. “The senator is expecting you.”
She nodded and stepped past him, pushing back the cowl of her cloak and letting her white hair sprawl free. The interior of the house was just as small as it had appeared from the outside, but it had plenty of furniture and generally seemed cozy enough. Aside from the single bodyguard, the only other person inside appeared to be Veltar himself. The old man stood to greet her the moment she moved in.
“Ah, Princess Tryss, I’m glad you decided to come,” he said, offering her a full bow. “I trust you found the rest of last evening to be…entertaining.”
She wondered if he meant the part about Aston being so drunk he could hardly stand or her mother eventually dragging her around to speak with the entire diplomatic corps of Esharia. Either way, she didn’t really want to talk about it. “It was fine, thank you.”
“I have to apologize for the accommodations. Not exactly fit for royalty, but trust me, the chairs are much comfier than they look.”
“I’m sure,” she murmured, stepping over to a plush seat opposite him and sitting down.
It actually was comfortable, and for some reason that really annoyed her. “You said you had more specific information for me.”
“That I do. But first, would you care for refreshment? Gralis is quite the cook, even if he might not look the part.”
“I’m fine, thank you. Let’s just stick to business, shall we?”
He smiled. “As you wish. I mentioned before how fascinating I found your previous research, ethical considerations notwithstanding, of course.”
She grunted. “Of course.”
“In particular, I was intrigued by your other, less…publicized research.”
Tryss raised an eyebrow, and the hairs on the back of her neck started to tingle. “What do you mean?”
“As you might have guessed, I’m good friends with Headmaster Derron at the Sandrathan Academy. He’s always had some very interesting things to say about you—in particular, about a certain research he himself forced you to abandon.”
Tryss did her best to keep the surprise off her face but knew full well she failed. Of all the things she had expected Veltar to bring up, this had never even crossed her mind. Derron hadn’t just forced her to stop the project—he had buried all traces that she’d ever worked on it. He had confiscated and destroyed all of her preliminary research…
“It’s all right,” Veltar soothed. “You should be glad he was willing to share it with me. It may just be the key to your freedom.”
She studied the man’s face. He might have been playing her, seeing if she would crack and reveal the project’s details without saying anything himself. “And why is that?”
“The power of the Fane at your fingertips,” he said, opening his hands grandly, “without Flensing yourself to death or leeching off of a Siphon. It has been like the Kirshal of the magi community for a thousand years, chased by fools and geniuses alike.”
Well, so much for that theory. She made a mental note to confront Derron next time she went home. Perhaps she could even get him removed for such a breach of privacy. “There’s been little official research. The Edehans have long-since banned it.”
“Of course they have,” Veltar said. “It would destroy the very foundation of their religion. They would have us believe that without the Flensing, magi would tear the world apart.” He grunted. “It never ceases to amaze me that people are willing to worship a goddess who has so little faith in her own servants.”
“Your faction has been in power for most of the last century,” she reminded him, “but the ban on the research has endured.”
“My dear, if you think you are the first to walk down this path, you are gravelly mistaken,” he told her. “Balorite scholars have been pursuing ways to defeat the Flensing for many centuries. Much of their research has been sabotaged by the Edehans, however. A desperate act of a dying faith.”
Tryss folded her hands together on her lap. She had always found religious debates tiresome and pointless. The Balorites and Edehans had been squabbling over minutiae for a thousand years, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. The Edehans believed the Flensing was an integral check on mortal ambition. They argued that it was put into place by a wise and loving goddess after an apocalypse that banished the gods and nearly destroyed the world.
The Balorites, naturally, argued the opposite. They painted Edeh as something of a vindictive matriarch that saw her children growing too powerful to control. In their version of history, the Sundering was a self-inflicted wound wrought upon the Fane by a petty goddess unwilling to share her power.
Tryss found both versions equally vapid, a feeble attempt by clueless mortals to explain something beyond their realm of understanding. The Fane was real, obviously, but she’d always felt it could be studied on its own merits away from any insipid dogma. It was a much more common view in the academy these days, though the ruling elite still clung to the old ways.
“I know Derron is a stout Edehan,” Tryss said after a few moments. “I’m surprised you consider him a colleague.”
“I’m not a petty man, princess,” Veltar told her. “I don’t hate my countrymen for disagreeing with me. And regardless, Derron has slowly become more sympathetic to my concerns over the years. His son dying to an attack by Edehan fanatics probably had something to do with that. Like most of our countrymen, he doesn’t believe the Edehans have what it takes to defend the Republic.”
Tryss took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. “So you’re interested in my research. I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”
“As I said, it has been an obsession of many scholars for centuries, but most of their work has been lost.” He smiled and gestured to his bodyguard. The imposing man hauled over a large crate and set it down next to the senator. “Most…but no
t all.”
“So you happen to have your own repository?”
“Acquired at great cost. And in case you were wondering, it also includes your research. Derron was kind enough to part with it during our last conversation.”
“He said he destroyed it,” she breathed, leaning forward. “You have it all?”
“You’ll have to verify that yourself, but I believe so,” Veltar said. “Which, incidentally, brings us back to my original proposal.”
“I don’t recall you making one.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I want you to do what you are good at. I want you to take this information and continue your studies. Derron seemed convinced you were close to a breakthrough—perhaps these other writings will help you along.”
Her eyes remained fastened on the crate. It had been three years since Derron had taken that project away from her. For a time she continued to think about it almost constantly, but eventually she’d let it go. She’d promised herself to look into it again when she got older, but at that point she hadn’t felt so rushed. She still had her Siphon at the time, and the price for her power seemed so small…
But now things were different. Now she had to face the Flensing alone, and she was doomed to spend her life coddling an Ebaran fool and wallowing around in the political mire that was Haven.
“You realize I can’t help you while my mother looks over my shoulder,” Tryss pointed out. “So what do you actually want me to do? Kill her? I won’t help you pull a coup or hurt anyone.”
The old man shook his head. “I want nothing of the sort. Your mother may be my enemy, but I don’t expect you to help me fight her. What I want is for you to step aside, to distance yourself from your betrothed and the Darenthi throne.”
“In other words, to completely abdicate my responsibilities and make it easier for the Balorites to take over.”
“That is part of it, certainly,” he admitted, “but there’s more to it than that. I’m concerned about the future of our country. As you said yourself, no weapon remains dominant forever. The time of the Faceless and the Siphons may be coming to an end. What I need—what the Republic needs—is something new.”
“So you want me to make you a new weapon.”
“What I want is a means to defend our people,” Veltar told her. “The first nation whose magi could transcend the Flensing—I know you can appreciate what it would mean.”
She grunted. “You might be getting ahead of yourself, senator. I still think there’s a way to beat the Flensing, but it may take years to unravel that mystery—maybe decades. Thinking I’m going to solve this problem for you in a few days or weeks is just…well, foolish.”
“Perhaps,” he admitted, “but I can hear the excitement in your voice. I’m offering you access to research and resources you can’t get anywhere else, and I’m asking very little in return. No betrayal of your family, no back-door politicking, just doing what you love and letting me look over your shoulder now and then.”
Her mother had warned her about flattery often enough, but she had also warned about the danger of things that seemed too good to be true. Veltar clearly believed he would get more out of this than he let on. If Tryss insisted on breaking off the marriage, President Caldwell would likely pull out of the peace treaty. The Balorites would score a tremendous political victory and probably retake control of the Senate. And of course, her mother would be furious, and the Republic would have no clear successor to the throne…
But then, Tryss didn’t really care about that. She had no interest in plunging the Republic into war or chaos, but she refused to accept that the prevention of those things was somehow her sole responsibility. Besides, she would be a terrible leader. She could do far more good in a laboratory than on a golden chair. If she did manage to beat the Flensing, it would be the greatest discovery of the modern era, perhaps in all of the last thousand years. It wouldn’t be easy, certainly, but in the long term…well, three years ago she had been close to a breakthrough. If she could just get back into it, if she could draw upon the findings of hundreds of other scholars from across the centuries rather than being completely isolated…
It might have been too good to be true, but it was also an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. Veltar had undoubtedly been betting on that exact reaction—but she didn’t care. Let him feel like he had manipulated her if he wanted to. If it got her out of this mess, did it really matter?
“I can’t make a decision like this overnight,” she said softly.
“I don’t expect you to. I’m willing to give you the research either way. I’m sure you’ll want a few days to look it over as you make up your mind.”
Tryss pursed her lips. “We won’t be able to communicate openly.”
“I can provide you with an attuned sending stone for emergencies, but I will want to meet in person again later.”
She nodded. “Fine. Have it all brought by the palace today and I’ll get started.”
He smiled. “You see, I knew we were kindred spirits all along.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Tryss said, standing. “And I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“I understand,” he said, standing and offering her another bow. “I look forward to hearing from you, princess.”
Tryss nodded, glancing between the old man and his bodyguard, then pulled up her hood and left the building. No, she hadn’t agreed to anything yet, but for some reason it felt as if she had. She could easily reject his offer and send back the research or even destroy it if she was feeling particularly vindictive. He had no real leverage over her.
And yet…
She might not have accepted the offer directly, but she’d already started the rationalization process. She didn’t really care who ruled the Republic—Balorites, Edehans, Illyrians, whatever—in the end, they were all politicians more worried about saving their own skins rather than finding serious answers. Her mother liked to blame everything on the Balorites, but her own people were often just as complicit when it came right down to it. No one was blameless for all the wars and death over the last century. What really mattered was that the Republic had survived, and if Tryss could provide them with a weapon to carry them through the next century…well, that would make her more of a patriot than anything she could do on the throne.
Tryss repeated the words to herself over and over as she crossed the park. By the time she finally reached the palace, she had almost convinced herself that her reasons for doing this weren’t entirely selfish.
Almost.
The Last Goddess Page 19