by Matthew Ward
Sevaka stared out across the gardens, though caught no sign of whatever offered Apara solace.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do. Zephan wants to act, but has fewer than a hundred knights left. The Council won’t authorise mobilising what soldiers we have left, and even if they would it’ll be days yet before the regiments scattered at Argatha Bridge are fit to march, let alone fight.” Despair bled away, frustration building to defiance. “I mean to do all I can, even if it amounts to nothing.”
“I can’t be part of it,” murmured Apara, her voice cracking. “I can’t face him again.”
Sevaka concealed disappointment behind a nod. “I’m not asking you to. But someone should warn the Empress. Because after Viktor’s done with us, she’ll be next.”
“And you care?”
Sevaka hesitated, uncertain how to express something she couldn’t explain even to herself. “I shouldn’t, but I do.” She smiled without humour. “Perhaps it’s because I know our mother would hate it.”
At last, Apara tore her gaze from the garden. “She would, wouldn’t she? Tell me everything.”
After a morning spent conciliating Imperial business and the prospect of noon approaching sooner than it should, Melanna gladly retreated to her balcony’s solitude. Just her and the city, laid out below.
But solitude ushered unhappy thoughts to the surface. Elbow-length gloves couldn’t conceal Jack’s mark from memory, nor banish the persistent itch. In the balcony’s quietude, she could almost feel the briars shifting beneath her skin, edging ever outwards through tendon and sinew. Part of her, and yet not.
“Even an Empress cannot outrun her past,” she murmured.
“Nor can any of us.”
There was little scope for concealment on the balcony, but Apara had somehow contrived to find enough to remain unnoticed without treading in shadow. Or perhaps she’d made no effort to do so, and Melanna’s own preoccupations had done the work?
“I shan’t be offended if you call for your guards.” Wan smile belied Apara’s words. “Am I welcome?”
Overwhelmed by emotion that owed much to both gladness and sorrow, but committed to neither, Melanna embraced her.
Tension eased from Apara’s shoulders. The one-sided embrace became mutual, and Melanna’s burdens melted into memory. They’d return, of course they would, but if coming years were to count for anything, she had to seize moments of joy.
“Always.” She drew back, the better for Apara to see the truth in her eyes. “Tregard is your home for as long as you wish.”
Apara shook her head, on guard once more. “What I did—”
“You were a victim. You aren’t responsible.”
Apara gave a slow, unhappy nod. She didn’t believe. Perhaps she never would. Her tone, already wintery, grew bleaker still. “It’s about him that I’ve come.”
Melanna’s mood darkened, the moment of happiness as fleeting as she’d feared. “Tell me.”
Passing inside, she rang for tea and pulled up a chair before the hearth. Apara sat opposite and with only brief hesitation launched into an account of all that had happened since Argatha Bridge. Of Droshna’s madness. Of resurrected women sent to the fire. Of a serathi gone to dust in defiance of Droshna’s growing malice. Of an army gathering in the Southshires. Tea was delivered and went cold, untouched and unlamented. Appetite withered.
Calenne Trelan, Melanna recalled as a courageous clash of steel at Davenwood and little more. Anastacia, she’d never met. But Josiri? Who’d given her so much and asked for nothing in return? Who’d by his friendship saved her family at the cost of his own? But more than that, Melanna’s thoughts dwelled on Droshna. His shadow, not unfittingly, loomed over all.
“I did this.” She barely managed even those words, so thick was guilt about her lungs. Glory in victory. Fortitude in defeat. Honour always. She’d striven to live by that credo. She’d failed. “He’d removed himself from the world. The Avitra Briganda brought him back. I brought him back. Whenever he kills, my hand is on the sword alongside his.”
Apara scowled. “If I’m not responsible for what Viktor Droshna has done, nor are you.”
Melanna forced a smile. “Maybe.”
A new Age of Dark. The dead bound in service to conquer the living, and the living shackled to a single, tyrannous will. The Avitra Briganda had begun to prevent such a fate. Corrupted by pride and ambition, it had instead ushered it into being.
She’d ushered it into being.
Melanna closed her eyes, acknowledging the irony that stillness came easier in darkness. Too easily. Thought eased away. The sweet scent of dew and the soothing rustle of windblown leaves rose to take its place. Melanna started, eyes snapping open. She spread a hand across her chest to ease a pounding heart. She’d already forgotten what had set it racing.
She refocused on Apara. Droshna. They’d been talking about Droshna. “What does your sister mean to do?”
“To gather what forces she can, and put an end to this.”
“Can she?”
“With the Council’s backing? Perhaps.”
“You’ll want to tell Lady Orova, of course. You’ll find her playing nursemaid to my daughter.” It wasn’t entirely true, for no Hadari nursemaid would have thought to tutor so young a child in sword-craft, which was precisely what Lady Orova had taken it upon herself to do, albeit – at Jorcari’s insistence – with the very bluntest of blunt sticks. “I’m sure Kaila would be delighted to see you, Shar Apara.”
“No.”
Surprised by the brusqueness of response, Melanna opened her eyes.
“I’m not to tell Rosa,” Apara clarified. “I promised Sevaka.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Sevaka wants her safe. She’s worried Rosa’s history with Droshna will make her reckless.”
“Lady Orova is a warrior,” Melanna replied. “It’s not for you to shield her.”
“I’m simply honouring my sister’s request.” Apara twitched a brief frown. “Her first such request… and likely her last.”
Melanna found the deceit abhorrent but let the matter lie. “Will you stand with her?”
Apara looked away, her posture suddenly shrunken, as if she wanted to pull herself inside the chair and go unnoticed. “I can’t. If he sees me again – if his shadow touches me – I don’t know what I’ll become. Even the thought…”
“I don’t pretend to understand what Droshna’s taken from you,” said Melanna, “but if you don’t find a way to take it back, you’ll be for ever lost in his shadow, even if you never cross his path again.”
“And what do you know of it?” snapped Apara, head in her hands. “Do you know what it’s like to hear yourself speak, to see yourself move, and know that it’s not you at all? Shouting, screaming, hammering on the glass between what you are and what is, and have no one hear you?”
The itch in Melanna’s wrist flared to wakefulness. She set her other palm atop it, and strove to ignore the creeping, crawling sensation beneath the glove’s fabric.
“I don’t,” she lied. “I hope never to do so.”
“Then you know nothing at all!” She broke off, eyes red-rimmed. “I’m sorry.”
Leaving the chair, Melanna crouched at Apara’s side, gloved hands about hers. “I spoke out of turn. You’re my dearest friend, and have my support in whatever course you choose. But remember this. You and I have seen sights granted to no other. We’ve walked the mists at the behest of the Goddess of the Moon. We’ve lingered beneath the stars of the Celestial Clock, and beheld the bickering of gods. There are powers in this world greater than the Dark, even if only for a moment. You will be free of him, Apara. I promise.”
Apara nodded, a tremulous smile fighting to be seen. “Thank you, essavim.”
“What do you mean, he’s missing?” asked Melanna.
“I cannot explain it, Empress,” said Chakdra, his discomfort visible even at the distance afforded by throne and dais. “I made inspection of King Cardi
van’s chambers myself. He’s nowhere to be found.”
Melanna laid her hand on the Goddess’ sword, again hanging from the throne’s armrest. It was half the comfort with the cool metal shielded by her glove, but half a comfort was better than none. How quickly the world crumbled.
Aeldran stirred from his station at Melanna’s shoulder, his voice gruff with precursor to fury. “Have his guards held for questioning. Double the patrols.”
Chakdra nodded. “Already done, my prince. I’ve sent word to Mooncourt, requesting others of the lunassera aid the search.” He scowled as he spoke. Bad enough that the lunassera had already stolen so many of the Immortals’ duties. That he’d sent for them at all spoke to his shame. “The prisoner will be found.”
“See that he is,” said Melanna. “Keep me informed.”
Chakdra bowed and departed the throne room, two Immortals falling into step as he reached the door.
Aeldran moved to follow. “If you need me, essavim, I’ll be with our daughter.”
She nodded, grateful. “Thank you.” Struck by sudden thought, she rose and halted him with a touch of her hand. “You’ll find Apara in my chambers. Tell her what’s happening.”
“Of course.”
Then Aeldran too was gone, leaving Melanna alone with Jorcari and the lunassera posted watch at the door. “I want to see for myself.”
Jorcari grunted. “You should stay here, savim.” He offered a lopsided shrug. “But I know you won’t, so at least stay close.”
Leaving the throne room behind, they passed through corridors until they at last came to the east wing. The two lunassera stationed at the entrance to Cardivan’s chambers bowed and withdrew without a word.
What lay within was too… ordinary. Not a furnishing out of place. No blood. The window bars remained sturdy, the gloom of dusk gathering beyond. A half-plate of jakiri sat on the table, the dregs of cold tea beside and cutlery set in the manner of unfinished business. Calm. Collected. No signs of a struggle. Cardivan’s rescuers had come and gone without trace. All too easy to imagine his smug, supercilious smile.
Melanna shook her head. Of course the rescuers hadn’t vanished without trace. Cardivan had suborned his guards as he’d done so many others, which meant he’d somehow found purchase on lunassera, as well as Immortals. Curse the man and his silver tongue.
“There’s nothing to learn here, savim,” murmured Jorcari. “What matters now is that you and your family are kept safe.”
Safe. As if there could ever be such a thing. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
“You’ll have that chance again, my Empress.”
For all that Jorcari’s words – his promise – helped, Melanna couldn’t bring herself to leave. Skirting the table and its untouched meal, she entered Cardivan’s bedchamber. Here too, she found nothing out of place. And yet for all that there was something on the air. Not a sensation she could name, but unmistakeable for all that.
As she turned to leave, a dark sliver beneath the windowsill caught her eye. Crouching, she reached out to take it. A coil of black briar. She stared at it without seeing. The strange sensation surged, bringing with it a whisper and rustle of leaves.
Breath came slow, heavy – contrast to a quickening pulse. She felt a repeated, insistent tug at her wrist. Another, heavier, at her shoulder. A voice, distant, muffled.
“Empress? Empress?”
Melanna shook her head. Her thoughts cleared. She looked up to see Jorcari standing over her, his hand on her shoulder. The briar lay entangled about the fingers of her left hand. Her right scratched idly at her left wrist through the silken glove. Grimacing, she brought it to stillness and stood up.
Jorcari leaned closer. “What is it?”
Wincing, she let the briar fall. “Nothing,” she lied. “Nothing at all. You’re right. There’s nothing to be learned here. I need you to go out into the city. Make sure there’s no trouble at Triumphal Gate.”
“My place is with you, Empress.”
“Cardivan’s gone.” That was true enough, at least. “And I’ll be safe enough with the lunassera.”
Jorcari scowled but, offering a bow, he obeyed.
Only when she was certain he’d gone did Melanna peel back the edge of her glove. She let it fall back at once. Throat crowded with nausea, she clung to the windowsill, unable to think, and barely able to breathe.
Melanna felt the change as soon as she crossed into the old wood. The scents of the garden, subdued in winter, grew sharper, glorious in a manner she’d never known. Bruised grass and broken leaves. The rich, mellow warmth of pulsing sap. She felt life rising beneath the cracked, ashen boughs, reclaiming what the fire had stolen. Overwhelming. Intoxicating. She might even have found it beautiful, but for Jack’s betrayal.
He’d lied to her. Bad enough he’d set Cardivan free, but to advance his claim upon her at the same time…? Over and over, she re-examined their pact, and found no loophole to exploit. Deliver Rhaled from its enemies, and once my daughter’s rule is unassailable – not one day sooner – I will be your queen. A bargain with the divine bound all parties. Unassailable truth revealed as lie.
And yet for all Melanna clung to hatred and resentment, they slipped ever further from her grasp. With every step, urge assailed her to shed clothing and skin and run naked beneath the ashen boughs. To sleep in the embrace of the soil, stem and root. To partake experiences for which she’d no name, but knew without doubt could be hers. Nauseating, invigorating desires that belonged to someone else – something else.
Again and again, Melanna cloaked herself in fury at what Jack had done. But each time, a little less of her remained. A little less cared at the foolishness of coming there alone. By the time she reached the oak, she trembled with the effort of recollection. Not just of the anger that had borne her there, but even her own name.
{{You shouldn’t be here, not yet.}} Jack’s gangling shadow drifted behind the oak, granted barest shape by what little moonlight cheated the clouds. For the first time, he wasn’t alone. A dozen others stood silhouetted beyond, briars curling and twitching in the breeze. She knew the shapes well enough. Strawjacks. {{My gift is barely complete.}}
“I don’t want your gifts. I want you to keep your promise!” She swayed, the rejoinder sapping reserves under strain.
{{My gift is my promise.}} Puzzlement rippled beneath the words. Puzzlement… and hurt? {{Won’t you come and see?}}
Despite her better judgement, Melanna edged closer. Rot joined the profusion of scents, no less enticing than the others, for all its foulness.
The first of Jack’s companions shambled closer, its likeness revealed beneath the moon. Not a strawjack, or rather not quite – not yet. Cardivan Tirane’s thorn-wreathed corpse was still recognisable as such, if barely. Briars burrowed through gaping wounds, crawled beneath his eyes and over his tongue. Exposed bone glinted as flesh sloughed steadily, remorselessly away, rebound with fronds and pallid green tendrils.
Melanna gazed at the dead eyes and felt no remorse, no sympathy – only a shudder of fascination she’d couldn’t be certain belonged to her at all.
As she watched, more of the macabre assemblage lurched into sight, not the mere dozen Melanna had first glimpsed, but a full score.
Some, she knew. Thirava Tirane, though he was barely recognisable as such, and by his presence revealing there was much more to his supposed accident than his cousin Incalia had reported. Queen Agrana of Novona, and King Bodra of Kerna – Cardivan’s allies in the Gwyraya Hadar. One of Melanna’s own servants. Three Immortals in Rhalesh green, and another in Icansae scarlet. Others, arrayed in all the colours of the Empire, rendered to sweet, rotting flesh and the cycle of root and stem.
“What is this?” murmured Melanna.
Jack hunched closer, strangely hesitant. {{My promise fulfilled. Kaila’s throne secure.}} He spoke faster, the buzzing, crackling voice quickening in breathy excitement. {{My daughters have been most assiduous in seeking them out. And
now they are yours, a wedding gift fit for a queen on the night her debt comes due.}}
He reached out a tangled, rag-clothed hand.
Melanna watched numbly as her own rose to take it. Thoughts drifted away on clouds of sweet, succulent decay.
“No!” She snatched back her hand. “This isn’t what you promised!”
Jack jerked away, rising to his full, twisted height before sinking again to a hunch. {{It is more than I promised.}} Even now, he didn’t sound angry, but hurt. A child blind to transgression. {{I’d no need to be so thorough, but I wanted you to be content. I didn’t want you afraid for your daughter. A daughter is always a treasure.}}
Melanna sagged. Once my daughter’s rule is unassailable, I will be your queen. Her words. Her bargain. She’d sought to postpone this day until Kaila was of age. Jack, blithely or not, viewed it otherwise.
“She needs her mother.”
{{She has a father.}}
Aeldran would die to defend Kaila. And die he would, if Droshna again turned his eye to the east. “And if he isn’t enough?” she snapped.
{{Our bargain was that she’d live to rule, never for how long.}}
Heartsick, Melanna spun away. “You knew that wasn’t what I meant.”
{{The bargain isn’t what is meant, but what is agreed.}} For the first time, anger buzzed beneath the words. It yielded to wounded disappointment. {{But I give you my promise, freely and without bond, that for as long as Fellhallow’s roots wend about this thin, brittle world, your daughter’s enemies will be mine. She will live long in happiness, and pass into mist only when the seed of her life is spent.}}
“And what is your promise worth?” she replied bitterly.
{{Everything.}} He issued a great, rumbling sigh. {{Though if it is your wish to break the bargain, I will not stop you. But you know how I am bound.}}
For a moment, temptation arose to accept, even knowing the cost to Tregard – to the Empire. For a moment only. Jack hadn’t deceived her. She’d deceived herself. How could she even consider having others pay her debts?
Her debts…