The Last Goddess

by C.E. Stalbaum

  ***

   

  Walking through the gates of Haven had been a bizarre experience. Tryss had just seen them a little over a week ago, but for all intents and purposes she had been an entirely different person at the time. She had been living a life without context, and as she’d realized back at Jehalai, it turned out that wasn’t much of a life at all.

  Now her disparate memories had been smashed together like a pair of signet rings pressed into the same glob of wax, and she could no longer tell the seals apart. Everything was both new and old, familiar and foreign. And as she stared up at the majesty of the royal palace, the building that that had been her unwitting home and prison for two years…

  Well, she could only describe the experience as surreal.

  Tryss had lived in the palace ever since the day her mother had dragged her there from Sandratha. She had found its walls—or at least those of her private rooms—a welcome sanctuary from the rabid world of diplomacy and politics lurking just outside. But now she barely recognized it, and it certainly didn’t feel like home.

  That might change when she actually stepped through its mighty gates, she knew, but her mission would remain the same regardless. She needed answers, and this was the only place in the world where she might find them.

  “Just remember: we’re here if you need us,” Rynne said softly.

  Tryss nodded and smiled meekly. “I know. And I appreciate it.”

  The quartet stood beneath the Font of Shakissa a block away from the western side of the palace. Night had fallen hours ago, and the streets were mostly empty. This entire area had been completely reconstructed in her absence, though she remembered the Sunoan Ambassador donating this fountain at one of her mother’s galas.

  “I still think this is a bad idea,” Van murmured, “but I understand why you want to do it. Just…try not to get into too much trouble. Two daring rescues in a week is pushing it.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she soothed, patting his arm. “And then we’ll get Rook back.”

  “Edeh watch over you, princess,” Tiel said.

  “Shakissa too, while we’re at it,” Rynne added. “Come on; let’s go find a place to hide.”

  And then they were gone, and Tryss was alone. She took a cleansing breath to calm her nerves and wasn’t surprised in the slightest when it didn’t help. Instead, she remembered that Rook may have very well sacrificed himself to give her this opportunity, and there was no way in the Fane she was going to mess it up.

  With that, she slowly crossed the street. The area was well-lit and monitored by dozens of spotters atop the parapets, so she needed to get out of sight completely before making her way in closer. She walked over to the Hall of Records, a wide, five-story building with a large overhang that cast a thick shadow over part of an adjacent street. She stood in the darkness for several moments, glancing about to make sure she wasn’t being watched, and then wove a spell on herself and disappeared.

  Tryss had been able to maintain this invisibility spell for almost thirty minutes back when she and Rook had made their way across the Wall after the Darenthi ambush. Unfortunately, that feat had only been possible because she’d apparently been Defiling the entire time. Today she would have to face the fury of the Flensing, and she wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up.

  Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t have to face the Flensing; she could easily Defile again. It would almost certainly allow her to slip inside without any trouble, and if she was forced into a confrontation, it would easily give her the power she needed to overcome any obstacle. The fact of the matter was that for all her accomplishments at the academy and all her so called power as a mage, Selaste the Defiler could easily defeat Tryss the Weaver. Denying it was pointless.

  But now that Tryss knew what it was—now that she understood the terrible cost—embracing it would have meant betraying her very soul. The moment her memories had returned, she had promised herself that she would never Defile again. It was evil, and that was all there was to it.

  She wondered if she would feel the same way when the Flensing started to take its hold in a few minutes—or worse, if she had to battle her way out. If this was her only chance to stop Veltar and her brother, was it worth taking the risk? What if one small sacrifice today prevented another full-scale Sundering tomorrow?

  Tryss bit down on her lip and buried the thought. Right now she needed to focus on getting into the palace, and that was exactly what she was going to do. She slipped out of the shadows and made a straight line for the palace’s western gate.

  Assuming nothing drastic had changed during the past year, the gate would have two guards at all times, plus a large patrol of Faceless that endlessly swept its way around the building. The moment she drew close she could tell that was still the case. Unfortunately, as easy as it would be to incapacitate these two men and break through the metal bars, it would also be about as obvious as hurling a fireball at one of the defense towers. If any of the spotters noticed so much as a puff of magic, half the garrison would surround the place and make it impossible for her to go anywhere, invisible or not.

  Instead, she would have to bypass them completely. She pulled the appropriate spells from her memory, and once she got about twenty yards from the gate she subtly tapped into the Fane and altered the pull of gravity around her body. She commanded it to vault her upwards rather than push her down, and a moment later she was soaring straight up into the air.

  It took a great deal of practice to perfect this type of movement, and Tryss had actually broken both of her ankles when she was twelve trying something similar. But she’d long since mastered the technique, and the only thing slowing her down now was a bit of rust. Nevertheless, she easily vaulted herself up some forty feet in the air, then abruptly changed direction and hurled her body over the gate and across the courtyard.

  She held herself aloft all the way to the service entrance tucked neatly behind one of the many taffel gardens, then gently floated to the ground. She hit harder than she intended and winced at the pain—not solely from the speed of the landing, but from the first bite of the Flensing. It wasn’t much, just a dull ache surging through her limbs, but it once again reminded her how fragile she could be. She did her best to ignore the pain and glanced about to make sure no one had heard her hit the ground. Fortunately, the closest person was a hundred feet away, and the spotters hadn’t reacted. She tested the door handle and fought back a flash of annoyance when she found it unlocked—it was something she’d always complained to the gardeners about. Without her incessant nagging, apparently the problem had gotten even worse.

  She smiled wryly at the thought and quickly made her way inside. And just as she’d expected, the wave of memories immediately flooded over her—but they weren’t triggered by the glamor of the palace decorations or even the familiar sounds of soft music in the distance. Instead, it was something far more mundane: the smell. The servants had prepared roast tarn today, and it bolstered her hopes that the man she was looking for was indeed still alive.

  Tryss maneuvered through the storage area and past the kitchen and larder. From there, it was only a quick trip up two flights of stairs and down another passage to make it to her room. With her magic still concealing her from the naked eye and the corridors surprisingly devoid of Faceless, it was a trivial matter to sneak past the servants doing cleanup and wind her way up the familiar stairwell. Less than two minutes later she was standing in front of the door to her old room. It was bolted shut.

  Aside from idle curiosity, Tryss knew she didn’t have a reason to go in there. She’d never been particularly interested in owning many “things,” as it were, and it wasn’t as if she had a score of sentimental items she wanted to retrieve. Assuming her mother hadn’t destroyed it, her own personal research was probably still upstairs in her study, but even that didn’t really concern her. If they found a way to stop Veltar, she would certainly get another opportunity to come back here and claim
whatever she wanted regardless.

  No, there weren’t any sound logical reasons to want to go in there. And yet at that moment, it was the one thing she wanted more than anything else in the world.

  Tryss closed her eyes and pressed her hands against the metal lock. She touched the Fane then summoned a flash of raw heat to her fingertips, and the metal almost immediately started to glow. It took about thirty seconds, but eventually she felt the locking mechanism give way. She quickly cooled what remained, turning it into a pile of slag, and gently opened the door. Anyone who walked by would notice the handiwork, but she couldn’t do anything about that now. She had already thrown logic to the wind, apparently, so worrying about a melted lock seemed pointless.

  She stepped inside and her breath caught in her throat. If staring at the palace from outside had been surreal, then this was like stepping into a dream.

  Everything was just as she had left it. The sheets on her bed were the same; her clothing still hung in the armoire on the far wall. A cursory glance to the liquor cabinet revealed it remained completely stocked. It was as if time itself had stood still in this room, almost like it was waiting for her. This had been her sanctuary, and somehow right now it still felt that way. If she just stayed in here by herself and didn’t tell anyone, then she would be safe. The world and all of its insufferable people would stay out there where they belonged.

  A tear dribbled off her nose, and Tryss belatedly realized she’d lost control of her invisibility spell. She wiped a hand across her face and swept away the wetness. She wasn’t the same insular person that had lived here before. The difference was that now, for the first time in her life, she actually had a reason to step outside these walls. Rook was out there somewhere, held prisoner by a madman who wanted to conquer the Republic…and she was the only one who could save him.

  Tryss released a deep breath and turned—

  And abruptly flinched to the side as a small object flew past her face. She flopped down to the ground, Fane energy surging through her hands as she wove a spell to strike back…

  “Lepton?”

  The old man held a vase in his hand as he prepared for another swing, but he froze the moment he looked down at her. His face went white, and he lost his grip on the vase.

  Tryss managed to grab it just before it hit the ground and shattered. She shifted her eyes back up to meet his. “Lepton, it’s me, Tryss.”

  “Shakissa’s mercy,” he breathed, staggering back until he bumped into the wall. “I...”

  “It’s me,” she repeated, extending her hands out to him. “Really.”

  “What are…” his voice died and he tried desperately to breathe. “How?”

  She smiled. “It’s a long story, I’m afraid. But it is good to see you.”

  He gradually reached out to hold her hands. The moment they touched he lifted her up off the ground and into his arms. “Praise Edeh,” he whispered into her ear. “Praise to the gentle Goddess. I never thought…I never dreamed…”

  Tryss held him close, and this time she didn’t try to hold back the tears. He looked like he had aged a decade since she saw him last, but it didn’t matter. He was here, and he recognized her, and for some reason it made her feel like a real person again.

  “Where did you go?” he asked when he finally pulled back. “Your mother couldn’t believe it when you fled. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “I didn’t flee, Lepton. Goddess knows I intended to, but…” She sighed and shook her head. “Look, there’s a lot to explain, but I was kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” he stammered. “How? By whom?”

  “Senator Kord Veltar.”

  His face twisted into a scowl. “What?”

  “He was desperate to stop the treaty, and I’m sure he knew how important the marriage was to President Caldwell. I assume it worked.”

  Lepton nodded absently. “He broke off the alliance only days later. Your mother assumed you had run away, but I wasn’t sure. You left everything behind…”

  “The short version is that Veltar wanted to stop the treaty and he needed me out of the way so Kastrius would be next in line to rule. Now he’s planning on doing something during the celebration tomorrow.”

  “But…” he stared at her blankly, reeling at her words.

  “Just listen right now,” she told him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “What does mother have planned tomorrow? I mean aside from the ceremony, something the public wouldn’t know about.”

  Lepton licked at his lips and seemed to steady himself. “I…I’m not sure. There’s going to be a big celebration, of course. She’s going to give a speech right outside the Assembly in the plaza.”

  “She’ll have to do something more theatrical than that; I know her too well.”

  “I did hear her say she’s going to announce the dismantling of the Faceless whether the Senate likes it or not, but I’m not sure she’ll go through with it.”

  Tryss frowned. “Dismantle? All of them?”

  “Eventually, yes,” he said. “She’s brought in almost a thousand troops from the capital to bolster security—I think she was planning on destroying some of the city’s Faceless as part of the celebration.”

  Tryss closed her eyes and swore under her breath. In retrospect, it was obvious enough—or at least it should have been to her. Ideologically, the Balorites believed the Faceless were an integral part of Darenthi society. They had saved the Republic from total destruction a century ago and had defined Esharian warfare since.

  To Veltar, however, they were also the ultimate test of a Defiler’s power. Most magi thought the Faceless were impervious to magic and completely disconnected from the Fane, but part of Defilement was learning to sense the subtle connection between living beings—any living being—and the Fane that bound them all together. A Defiler could find that small ember of life still flickering within the armored shell and extinguish it. It was how Veltar had tested her power in the first place, and he himself had taken it even further: he had demonstrated the ability to control the Faceless—namely, Tiber.

  And that, Tryss thought ominously, was exactly what he must have been planning here. The ancient Balorite spells at Jehalai must have been able to amplify that control.

  “A few hundred Faceless all gathered together…” she whispered. “He’s going to take control of them right there and use them to conquer the city. Eventually he could subvert the entire military…”

  Lepton’s jaw sank. “What? How?”

  “It will take too long to explain,” she said, glancing to the broken door. “I need to get out of here while there’s still time.”

  “Wait! You have to let your mother know that you’re alive.”

  Tryss shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet. She wouldn’t believe me even if I told her what was going on.”

  “She knows Veltar is up to something,” Lepton protested. “The Balorites always are. If you just explain what happened—”

  “No,” Tryss insisted. She stared into his confused eyes for a moment before sighing. “I don’t have any proof, and I doubt she’d believe me without it. Besides, there’s something else I have to do—something very important—and I can’t afford to be locked up in here again.”

  “But…” he shook his head frantically. “You can’t just leave. And you can’t let Veltar get away with what he has done to you.”

  “I don’t plan to. I’m going to stop him.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I have some allies now—the people who helped me get away from him in the first place. We’ll come up with something.”

  Lepton swallowed heavily and continued to shake his head in bewilderment. Rather than continue to explain, Tryss reached out and embraced him again. He was, in any tangible sense, the closest thing to a father she’d ever had in her life—maybe even the closest thing to a real parent. He wasn’t blood; he was something even more important.

  He was family.
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  “I prayed to Edeh every night that you were safe somewhere,” he whispered into her ear. “A part of me thought you had escaped, and that maybe you had done the right thing after all. After what she did to you, after what she told you…. I was a fool to have told you to stick with it.”

  “You were never a fool,” she told him. “Not once.”

  He leaned away from her and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “The Republic needs you, my lady, now more than ever. Your mother has become…unstable over the last few months.”

  Tryss frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Lepton visibly gathered himself. He’d always been willing to be blunt with her, but whenever he spoke of the Empress he’d always been reserved. Her mother had given him the chance to serve here, after all, which wasn’t such an awful life for someone of his social class. 

  “She made many sacrifices in the name of this treaty, and she increasingly only listens to the most extreme voices in her own faction,” Lepton said gravely. “You know how badly I have wanted a lasting peace with the Ebarans, but even I think she has given too much. I fear in her quest to make the history books, she may damn all of us.”

  “I see,” Tryss murmured, chewing at her lip.

  He smiled. “Perhaps the Goddess sent you to aid us when we needed you most. You could be our own personal Kirshal.”

  “That’s not even funny.”

  He frowned. “It wasn’t meant to be, my lady.”

  Tryss sighed. “Never mind. Just take care of yourself, Lepton, and try to stay out of the fighting if something goes wrong.”

  “Shakissa’s luck be with you,” he said, squeezing her hands once more. “I know that if anyone can find a way, it’s you.”

  She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be back. I promise.”