by Matthew Ward
Jack was not her only creditor. Droshna was a stain upon her ledger. She couldn’t pass from the life she’d known without at least an attempt at reckoning.
With supreme effort, Melanna drew herself together. “I’ve business left undone and farewells to offer. I cannot be your queen until they are settled.”
{{Then you break the bargain.}}
“No!” Turning, she clasped her hands. “You’ve shown yourself to be kinder than your legend, and I ask only for a little more time. If I’m anything more to you than a prize, you must grant me this.”
Jack snarled and twisted away. {{You seek to cheat me. As all cheat me.}}
Swallowing, Melanna cast around for something he might believe. “I swear… I swear on my daughter’s life, that I do not. I just need a little time.”
He swung about, green fire dancing in the eyes of his mask. {{You have until midnight.}}
Sixty-Two
Kaila slept as she ever had, snoring like a flooded gutter. Melanna watched from the bedside chair, searing into memory every curve and crease of her daughter’s face, locking the likeness away in the hope she might retain even a fraction of remembrance.
Resolve to wake Kaila had faltered the moment Melanna had set foot in the room. How could she explain what was to come when she could barely hold back her own tears? Every inch of skin itched, at once too loose and too tight. Worse, Melanna too often felt her thoughts straying, lost in leaf and loam, in the yearning for something she didn’t understand. She couldn’t risk Kaila seeing that. Better that their last memories of each other be unmarred.
Rising, she kissed Kaila’s brow. “Sleep well, essavim. You have been my life, and will always have my love.”
Heart brimming, she left the room. Tears held at bay for Kaila’s sake welled free. As she crossed the landing, a shadow pulled free of the wall and limped to block her path.
“I was told you were prowling around,” said Aeldran. “She’s safe.”
Melanna nodded. “I know. Cardivan will trouble us no longer.”
“So I heard.” He drew closer, suspicion in his eyes. “Just as I heard you’d withdrawn the guards from this part of the palace. And now I find our chambers in darkness. What is all this, essavim?”
She flinched away and hugged herself tight about the shoulders. “Cardivan is dead. I ordered the guards withdrawn and the lights doused because I wanted to see our daughter, and not be seen in exchange.” She hesitated. “I have to go away. Tonight. I will not return.”
She felt his gaze upon her as he sought jest in her words. “I don’t understand.”
“To save Tregard, I made a deal with Jack. I’m to be his queen.”
He rocked as if struck, a clenched fist going to his lips before falling away alongside a muttered, breathy curse. “How could you do this? To Kaila? To me? To your people?”
“I thought I’d found a compromise, but Jack deceived me.” No, that wasn’t right, was it? Now more than ever, Aeldran deserved the truth. For the first time, she met his gaze, no longer needing to conceal the aftermath of tears. “I deceived myself, and now the debt is due.”
Aeldran touched his eyes closed. When he opened them again, they were hard as stone. “No!” His finger stabbed at the air between them. “I won’t permit this!”
“It’s not yours to deny,” hissed Melanna. “If I break the bargain, Jack will return everything to how it was. He doesn’t have a choice. He will lay Tregard to waste, and my debt – my mother’s debt – will pass to Kaila.”
He reached for her, thought better of it, and spread his hands between them. “There must be a way. Speak to the lunassera! To Ashana! It doesn’t have to end like this.”
She heard the quiet desperation in his tone, the anger building behind. A warrior Aeldran remained – he’d seek solution through the sword and it would be his doom. But in that moment words escaped her, drifting away on the scent of pollen and dead leaves.
“I’ll have the wood burned again,” growled Aeldran. “And this time, I’ll see it’s—”
He broke off as Melanna dropped her silken glove at his feet, though it wasn’t the glove itself that reduced him to silence, but what it no longer concealed.
Beneath her elbow, no scrap of skin remained. What had been flesh was now twisted bramble and vine, strands of willow flexing in sinew’s stead. Hidden by the gown’s sleeve, the skin of her upper arm hung loose, the limb beneath already ridged and twisted. When she’d first seen it thus in Cardivan’s chambers, nausea had all but overwhelmed her. Now she felt only curiosity for what might follow, and loathed herself for it.
{{This is done, essavir,}} she murmured. {{There is nothing more to say. Our daughter will rule. That is enough. Prophecy will be fulfilled, and all debts repaid.}}
Aeldran’s throat bobbed, anger draining from his expression. He took her hands in his, the marred as readily as the hale. His eyes gleamed. “You won’t let me accompany you, will you?”
{{No.}} Melanna swallowed, willing the crackling buzz from her voice. “Your sword has saved me in the past. Your strength has been mine more often than I’ve told you. Neither will serve here. It’s my debt, and a journey only I can take.”
“Then…” Aeldran screwed his eyes shut. “Then what would you have me do?”
“Be the father Kaila needs,” said Melanna. “Have her learn early all the lessons you and I learned too late. And have her remember me well, if you can bear it.”
She embraced him, surrendering one last time to closeness too often spurned, losing herself in the warmth, the feel, the smell of him. How fortunate she’d been to have Aeldran at her side, just as Kaila was fortunate to have him as a father. Another memory to hold close within the briar, were she able.
And then the moment was spent, as all moments are. She left him without backward glance, passing through the darkened halls until she came again to the birchwood balcony, and the silver glory of Tregard below.
“Is it done?” asked Apara.
“It is. You’re almost my last farewell, and I don’t know what to say.”
“I do. My words before, about being trapped behind glass… I didn’t know.” She hung her head. “I’m sorrier than I can say. You’re sure there’s nothing—”
Melanna laid her gloved hand against Apara’s chest. Another friendship she couldn’t say how she’d earned. One of so many. “Certain. Deliver my message, and I’ll be content. Ashana walk with you, Apara. And thank you for everything.”
This time, reknitting her etravia came faster, easier, urged on by instincts Calenne barely recognised as her own. She rose into an Otherworld becalmed, the vortex’s winds dropped almost to nothing. What other etravia wandered Revekah’s dead pyre-gardens did so untroubled. Not so the Raven, who sat just beyond the flames, elbows on crooked knees and hat between his feet. Head bowed and hackles high, he resembled his namesake more than ever.
“Is it ended?” asked Calenne.
“You’re back, are you?” He no longer sounded angry, only resigned. “It’s only a pause. Even the mighty Viktor Droshna has his limits.”
Calenne drifted closer, careful not to meet the agonised gaze of Revekah’s burning soul. “I still can’t believe that he’s doing it at all.”
“A man who kills a serathi might aspire to much that is forbidden.”
“Anastacia?” Calenne felt colder than ever. “He killed Anastacia?”
“To all intents and purposes.”
Nausea crowded in. They’d never been close, she and Anastacia, but still…“Why?”
“She sought to stop him. That’s enough, these days.”
“Is she here?”
“Not everyone takes the same path, at the same speed.”
Why couldn’t he just say no? Beset with a sense of loss she knew she’d not earned, Calenne stared up at the vortex. This wasn’t the work of the man who’d saved her from wolf’s-heads beneath Davenwood’s eaves. Nor the one who’d inspired her to become the woman – the leader – of which she’d been
so proud. Then there’d been that time he’d nursed her through the winter. Or that day at Valna where, outnumbered, he’d sent Thrakkian raiders howling back to the border. That Viktor hadn’t just loved her, he’d shown kindness to strangers, even though he’d received little of his own.
Wait. What?
Frozen, Calenne re-examined her memories. She and Viktor had barely spent the most chaste of nights together, never mind a whole winter. And Valna? She could just about place it on a map, but not summon to memory its uneven palisade, squat chimneys and the spire of an overgrown temple rising behind…
Other recollections rushed to the fore. Glimpses of a life not lived – or at least, not by her. And yet, they were her memories, indivisible from her being.
Panicked, she looked up to see the Raven staring at her with sour amusement. “Can I help you?”
She hesitated. “I’m remembering things, but they’re not my memories. Only… I think they are, but they can’t be.”
“That’s very clear.”
He was enjoying this. Watching her in anticipation of the penny dropping. “You know, don’t you?”
The Raven pursed his lips in that damnable, better-than-you smile. Then he scooped his hat back onto his head and shrugged. “Once upon a time, there was a selfish, embittered young creature. You’d not like her very much. But someone did. When she died, that someone fashioned a version of her from the Dark and together they lived a happy lie.”
Calenne sagged. Felt pieces of herself spiral away into the mist. Viktor had been wrong. She wasn’t who she thought she was. Not the original, but the copy. “I’m not Calenne Trelan at all, am I? I’m Calenne Akadra.”
The Raven wagged a finger. “Might I finish?”
She nodded mutely. It seemed easier that way.
“Thank you. Anyway, in time, this ersatz – and not entirely sane – young lady also perished. She came to Otherworld, as all eventually do. Twice now, you’ve constituted yourself against my wishes, thrashing around for any scrap of being that might give you form. You’re not Calenne Akadra, but she is part of you. You made her so.”
Calenne’s thoughts raced. Had she done such a thing? How would she even know? “That’s impossible.”
He hooked an eyebrow. “Look around, Miss Trelan. Consider to whom you’re speaking, and where. Impossible is our Tzadas, and every other day of the week besides. It’s routine. Even ordinary, if you’ll allow yourself the imagination. Don’t think I’m any happier than you. The Dark is beyond my grasp, which means there’s a part of you I can’t affect. It’s very vexing, let me tell you. When I banish someone, I like them to stay banished.”
“You’re saying I destroyed her!” It mattered more than it should.
“Not exactly. Calenne Akadra was only ever half alive, and you had as much claim to the half that lived as anyone else. She was never able to help herself. Perhaps she chose to help you. Ephemerals do put such store by self-sacrifice. It might be she thought it made her more human.”
Calenne stared down at herself. Her sense of identity, besieged ever since Viktor had drawn her back into the ephemeral world, shuddered anew. She felt like herself, but what use was that? Calenne Akadra had been her mirror. And the memories were so real. Memories made by a stranger, and yet not. The life that could have been. The life she’d wanted and been denied.
The vortex quickened, the winds returning.
“Oh good,” said the Raven, glumly. “He’s starting again.”
Calenne gazed into the swirling skies. No longer sure of much of anything, she knew one thing with ironclad, immovable certainty. The Viktor she’d loved – who’d loved her in a life she’d never led – would hate the lost and twisted soul he’d become.
Akadra, Trelan or amalgam of both, she’d responsibility yet.
Josiri’s study was a haven of calm, the subdued bustle of the household sealed behind the door’s stout timbers, the rain banished behind leaded glass. Only the crackle of the hearth and the slow tick of the clock intruded on his thoughts. Or at least, upon the place where he knew his thoughts should be. The void within him was a jealous lodger, and permitted no rival.
He’d forgotten so much in recent months, the memories drowned beneath Viktor’s shadow. If only he could forget anew. But no, he wasn’t that fortunate. And in truth, he didn’t want to forget – merely to be free of the loss and the pain. Forgetting meant losing the last of Anastacia, and that prospect hurt more than the memories.
He knew he should rise from the chair. Take a walk. Eat something. Break the cycle of hours spent staring at the desk and the upside-down book, pages spread and spine broken. Left out in defiance of his wish that this room, at least, remain tidy. A first printing of Kespid’s A Walk to Ingcross. Rare. Valuable. Anastacia hadn’t cared. She’d seen only a book to be read. One of kind, changed for ever by the whirlwind of her existence. He lacked the heart to move it. As long as it was still there, there remained the possibility she might return to move it herself.
Even false hope remained hope. Viktor had left him nothing else. Not even a body to bury.
A knock sounded at the door.
He ignored it.
The door opened anyway. Altiris entered. Composed as a highblood should be. As Josiri should have been. “You have guests.”
Josiri swallowed to clear a dry throat. “Offer my apologies and send them away.”
“They’re worried about you. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine. Leave me be.”
“You need to hear them out.”
“Why, when no one listens to what I have to say in return? Not my friends. Not the Council I founded. Maybe they’re right. I let Viktor do this. I killed Ana as surely as he did.”
He broke off to fight resurgent tears. No matter how many he shed, more remained.
“This wasn’t your fault. In that moment, Ana saw a chance and she took it, even knowing what it might cost. She was trying to protect us. Tell me you’d have done it differently in her place.”
Altiris’ eyes lingered on Anastacia’s discarded book. “Come down. Listen to what they have to say. And then, if it’s your wish, I’ll lock all the doors. You need see no one ever again.” He paused, steeling himself. “Please… Josiri.”
Up close, dignified facade no longer concealed loss behind. Anastacia’s murder had left a void in so many hearts. She’d have loved that almost as much as she’d have loathed it. And Sidara… For all anyone knew, she was already dead. The prospect gnawed at Josiri too, in those rare moments when his grief ebbed. It surely weighed heavier on Altiris.
Was there anything more selfish than claiming monopoly on loss?
Falteringly, he rose. “I’ll listen. I promise nothing more.”
Leaving the study, Josiri followed Altiris down the stairs, steadying rubbery legs with a hand ever on the banister. How long since he’d last eaten? He couldn’t remember.
The drawing room held not the handful of guests Josiri had expected, but a small crowd. Altiris joined Sevaka and Zephan by the hearth. The rest of the Phoenixes – Viara, Brass, Beckon, Jarrock and Kelver – stood a little to one side. None met Josiri’s gaze.
That the drawing room was fuller than it had been since Midwintertide only served as reminder of how much had changed. Elzar, Izack and Anastacia lost to the mists. Kurkas still lingering on the threshold. Sidara fallen to a fate unknown. Constans and Viktor seduced by their own worst instincts.
Josiri sought refuge in poor humour. “Is no one watching the grounds?”
Zephan grunted. Another one unable to meet his gaze. “I’ve ten knights standing sentry, and as many again on patrol. Anyone who causes trouble at Stonecrest tonight will have the fright of their foreshortened lives.”
Josiri bit back anger. For all that Viktor had doomed Calenne, Zephan had dragged her to the flames. “You think this makes up for anything?”
“No. Nor am I asking it to. I’m here to discuss the future, not the past.” Zephan shook his head. “But
if I were, I’d beg your forgiveness. I’ve no excuse save fear, and that’s no excuse at all.”
A graceful apology, had Josiri the heart to accept it. “Why are you here?”
“You know what Viktor’s doing,” said Sevaka. “You know where it’ll lead. He has to be stopped.”
As if it were that simple. “This morning, I spent two hours trying to convince the Council of that very fact. They ignored me. Are you here to tell me they’ve changed their minds?”
Sevaka shook her head. “No.”
“Then there’s nothing to be done.” Overcome by fresh weariness, Josiri turned to leave. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s late and I’m tired.”
A new voice checked him at the door. One no less weary than his own. A gruff, city-dweller’s accent he’d lost all hope of hearing. “And when did Josiri Trelan ever give a single bloody damn what the Council thinks?”
Kurkas, hidden until that moment by the heavy shadows at the room’s far end, hobbled to his feet. He moved stiffly, more a man of advancing years than ever. Even so, the sight stirred Josiri to sluggish relief. Maybe even gladness.
“Vladama? You’re awake?”
Kurkas’ brow furrowed, an echo of pain and loss creasing his worn features. “Answer the bloody question.”
“Viktor has an army!” snapped Josiri.
“And when did that bloody matter?” Kurkas rejoined, his voice no longer that of a friend, but of a disgusted drill sergeant.
Josiri flinched, but held his ground. “When one was needed, and was nowhere to be found.”
Kurkas snorted. “Seems to me we’ve been here before, you and me. One is a man alone. Two are a beginning. You told me that, back before you dragged this city kicking and screaming out of the Crowmarket’s clutches.” He swept his hand about the drawing room. “There’s nine of us here. Ten, counting yourself. And more to come. Ain’t that right, Master Tanor?”
Zephan nodded. “Every shield I have left.”
Did they really not see the hopelessness of it all? “Have you read Keldrov’s letter?” said Josiri. “Viktor has at least a thousand, and his numbers grow by the hour. Ten or a hundred, it won’t matter. He’s beyond us. He always was! The only thing ever holding him back was his need to be seen as a hero. He’s free of that now.”