by Vela Roth
“My circle has had sixteen centuries to become confident. The healer, Javed, is not a threat. Our information on the two quiet ones, Basir and Kumeta, is admittedly scant, but we know envoys are nothing more than glorified couriers attached to the diplomatic service. They are certain to be less powerful than their leaders, whom I am well-prepared to confront.”
“You have said Argyros and Hippolyta are two of the most ancient Hesperines in the world. They are valued targets, are they not, whose deaths are likely to enrage their kind?”
“After a feud that has spanned two millennia, my circle will make an elder firstblood and his mate our offering to the god of war, and I shall be the one to sacrifice them.” Dalos smiled. “I shall put an end to that abomination Hippolyta, the Guardian of Orthros, and one of her monstrous daughters. I rejoice too that so much of Silvertongue’s arcane knowledge will die with him, as I shall be able to dispatch his upstart nephew at the same time. I shall release the spell when the initiate ambassador is speaking, so I can watch Argyros’s face as he beholds his legacy begin to burn.”
Then and there, Cassia made one more promise, this time to Dalos’s god. She would not rest until she served Anthros’s own mage up to him on a funeral pyre.
“Not even the Hesperines with all their unnatural instincts will be able to react quickly enough to prevent the destruction.” Dalos snapped his fingers, and a flame appeared at his fingertips. “Of course the free lords will die instantly.”
Cassia’s mouth fell open behind her veil.
The king fixed the mage with a gaze she recognized. “Not a single witness can survive.”
“I leave no loose ends, Basileus. The Hesperines, finally showing their true nature, will be the villains who massacre the Tenebran nobility. The king and his kin will be the only survivors of the heinous sorcery. I will be the hero responsible for the royal family’s survival and the destruction of the blood goddess’s servants.” The mage waved a hand, and his fire spell went out. “No one will live to contradict the story. No one in Tenebra will feel safe. They will know they need a strong king and the powerful mages of the Cordian Orders to protect them from the encroaching darkness of Orthros.”
“I am pleased the Order has sent such a skilled emissary.”
“Those who refuse the Order refuse the god,” Dalos intoned. “The free lords who protest our influence here in Tenebra obstruct Anthros’s will, and a king such as yourself is pleasing to the god of war. So say my superiors who concern themselves with justifications. They are all too happy to see the free lords no longer an obstacle to us and you empowered to carry out your will upon a cowed nobility.”
Cowed? The nobility would be maimed beyond recovery. Cassia’s mind ran through the list of influential titles that would fall to young heirs vulnerable to the king’s influence, how many bloodlines would end, how many holdings would revert to the crown. Her mind totaled the benefit to the king and accounted for all his considered motivations.
Her heart wanted to scream.
Lio. Lio and Argyros and Hippolyta, Arkadia and Javed, Basir and Kumeta. Dalos thought to kill them all in one blow.
Along with Lord Hadrian, who danced with Cassia without expectations. Lord Titus, who announced her at the Summit table with a civil tongue. And dozens of other men, some of whom never gave her a second glance, others who looked at her with lust or derision. But they too were men, and those who loved them would grieve. There were lords who would not be mourned, but even the corrupt and malicious played their role in the siege, each of them one more row of stakes in the field between the king and what he wanted.
The king must not get what he wanted.
“The kingdom will be rid of all dissenters,” Dalos said. “My Order shall have your welcome in Tenebra—within the reasonable bounds of authority we have negotiated, of course. You shall have the full power of our Order behind your throne and the sanction of our god. A satisfying outcome for all concerned.”
“And yet your superiors are not satisfied. They ask for the authority to appoint still more positions in addition to the royal mage, the highest in the land. They request even more land grants than I have promised them out of the holdings that will come under my control.”
“To withstand the coming conflict, it would not be unwise to allow them to fill other key positions with my colleagues and to establish more temples here under the auspices of truly skilled Cordian mages. But that is your decision, of course. You know my feelings on the matter.” Dalos waved a dismissive hand. “The administrators will busy themselves with questions of offices and appointments and land grants. But we, the war mages, the battle ready…” His tone heated with fervor. “We will focus on the true target. You have promised us the greatest prize we could ask for. The one for which we have fought these many centuries. We of the Aithourian Circle will not forget what you, Lucis Basileus, have placed within our grasp.”
“Don’t forget what it costs me to offer up my kingdom as the stage for your renewed persecution of the Hesperines, in exchange for your Order’s blessing upon my reign.”
“You turn your kingdom into a stage for glory.” Dalos paced forward and braced his hands on the desk, nodding at the king’s sword. “You are a warrior, as am I. But you live by the sword, I in aging halls filled with scrolls. It has been too long since those born with my gifts were permitted to exercise them. We no longer go to war alongside kings and set battlefields alight with our magefire. We pledge our lives to Anthros as we always have, giving up worldly titles, property, marriage—everything for the promise of magic. Only through utter devotion can a man achieve true power. It was a worthy sacrifice once. But what destiny does our Order lay before us now? We put down bandits! We lower ourselves to protecting ignorant peasants from wild animals! Or worse yet, we stay in the temples in Cordium, occupying ourselves with theory until we render our magic impotent. It disgusts me.”
Dalos drew himself up. The flames in the hearth leapt higher, as if to go to him, but Cassia could not feel them burn.
“What is a warrior without a war? What is a war mage without the Hesperines? At last, I shall duel worthy opponents, power against power.”
“Such a battle could prove cataclysmic.”
“Fear not. When you asked the Order of Anthros for an expert, you received him. It was no boast when I told you that as a member of the Aithourian Circle, I am one of the only living experts on the destruction of Hesperines. Aithouros himself, who led the Order’s attacks on the Great Temples of Hespera during the Last War, founded our circle and served as its first Synthikos. We alone are the guardians of his arcane mysteries.”
“I look forward to seeing a practical demonstration of your illustrious qualifications.”
“I promise the tournament will not disappoint you. Having begun my career as the current Synthikos’s apprentice, I remain his right hand to this day. I am privy to secrets other masters in the Order and even my own circle will never be permitted to study. There is a reason the Akron himself wielded his supreme authority over the entire Order of Anthros and hand-selected me for this venture, with the support of my Synthikos.”
“So long as your ancient arcane secrets function as expected. You will recall that here in Tenebra, we have more recent firsthand experience dealing with Hesperines.”
“Rest assured my circle knows the creatures’ ways as no one else can. The Hesperines are masters of stealth and manipulation. It is their way to hide themselves behind their magic here within your own borders. When threatened, they retreat to their unholy domain in Orthros, a land covered in the shadow of their Queens’ magic, deadly to any mortal who would set foot there. But when you harm any of their kind, they go mad like mother beasts that will stop at nothing until they rend you apart.”
“It is especially fortuitous, then, that they have sent one of their initiates into our reach.”
“Yes, for they guard their young most fiercely. Once we destroy Deukalion, the Hesperines hidden in Tenebra will come out in
force. Any cowards who do not rise to the challenge, we will hunt down. Our confrontation with them will be enough to make the Queens themselves stir from their throne and answer our battle cry at last.” Dalos laughed the way one might in a lover’s bed. “Your leave to make war is the finest gift indeed. Oh, how we will make war.”
Cassia had heard enough. She had only a few hours to warn everyone who mattered. She took a step back, ready to withdraw and bolt back through the secret passageway.
“One question, as an old friend.” The mage’s voice deepened.
Cassia halted.
Without an invitation from the king, the mage took the chair on his side of the desk and sat in the royal presence.
From his decanter of wine, the king filled the empty goblet beside his own and slid it across the desk. “What would you like to discuss?”
Dalos took a sip of the wine and savored it in his mouth for a moment. When he spoke again, all trace of his nasal tone was gone. His voice was rich and smooth, his words articulate. “Have you reached a decision on what you wish me to do regarding Cassia?”
The king shook his head. “Not yet.”
Cassia’s racing heart seemed to slow. Everything seemed to grind to a halt.
What would the king need to decide, but whether she was to survive the mage’s spell?
“I need to know so that I have sufficient time to prepare before my working.” The mage’s tone had never been so clear and cold before.
She listened to Dalos’s voice, the voice of the man who might be the one who killed her. A realization thawed her frozen thoughts.
She had heard that voice before.
The mage had spoken to her that way when the king had ordered her to his solar to humiliate her. It had not been her imagination.
The king went on, as if nothing had changed. “I will inform you before the hour comes. I must speak with her once more before I make my decision. I will have her brought to me as soon as you leave.”
If Cassia were prone to cursing, she would have now. The king would send his messenger to her rooms, and she would not be there.
“She has demonstrated uncharacteristic behavior of late,” the king said. “Speaking out on behalf of the temple. Pressing the issue of the guard. She has forgotten she must ask my leave before she breathes, eats, or shits. I must make sure her restless aspirations will not be an inconvenience.”
“The hour draws near,” the mage warned. “Do not wait too long.”
“Indeed. I have waited too long already for the day when I have expended her usefulness and can finally be rid of her.”
“I look forward to taking care of her for you.” The mage caressed his goblet, then took a long, slow swallow.
“One more conversation with her, and I will be sure.”
Yes, Cassia had heard all she needed to.
She would not appear for the audience that would decide her fate. It didn’t matter now. She knew what she must do.
She had spent her whole life trying to survive the king. Today she had a greater goal. To protect Lio and the Hesperine embassy, the Prisma and her mages, the only surviving children of a lost people, and the entire nobility. To see to it the Last War was indeed the last.
Lives all over Orthros, Tenebra and Cordium were in Cassia’s hands.
The weight of those lives felt enormous. Larger than the man in the solar, the magic in Dalos, the castle pressing around her or the kingdom it symbolized. But the weight did not push her to her knees. It kept her on her feet and drove her once more into the depths of the palace walls, this time at a run.
Saplings
Cassia managed to beat the royal messenger to her rooms and toss her court attire into her satchel. When sundown came, she would have to appear at the Summit as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired, or everything she had worked for today would be for nothing.
Before the king’s runner darkened her door, she slipped out of the palace again and made it back onto the grounds. She couldn’t smell the woods for the odor of flametongue that lingered in her nose. As she ran, she sniffed her sleeve to confirm her brown dress smelled only of cassia soap. It would cover the odor that clung to her skin, if not clear her head.
If only Solia’s treated garments could protect Cassia from Dalos. But flametongue could only lead her to the mage’s secrets, not safeguard her against his magic. Solia’s treasures were best left in their hiding place in her abandoned rooms. Cassia might need them again.
If she survived to need them.
Cassia wrapped her fine clothing in her cloak and hid the bundle under the foliage at the base of the Changing Queen’s fountain. For an instant, she met the hawk’s gaze.
“Look out for me?” she asked the fountainhead.
She bade Knight follow and wove her way across the grounds under the cover of the woods. When they came out on the road she always took to the Temple of Kyria, she halted just off the shoulder, where the trees and a bend in the path kept her and Knight out of sight of the palace gate.
She was not too late. She could see the two Kyrian mages up the road making their way toward Solorum. Cassia waited for them to draw nearer and spot her.
Deutera and the young mage who accompanied her waved and detoured off the road, picking their way through drying mud to join Cassia under the trees.
Cassia offered them as much of a smile as they were accustomed to seeing from her, much more than she felt equal to at the moment. “How fortunate that I encountered you! I was just thinking how I regret I won’t be able to accompany you when you visit Callen. I looked in on him earlier, for my presence is required elsewhere this afternoon.”
“How has he fared today?” Deutera asked from behind her veil.
“Well, thanks to you. Perita has observed him every moment and can inform you of his condition. I fear I must hasten to my next obligation, but first I wanted to ask if you would be so good as to carry a message to the Prisma for me.”
“Of course. She will be glad to hear from you.”
“I thank you. Here is what you can say to her from me. Please relate my message in precise detail, as the specifics may influence her decision on the matter.”
“We will convey your words faithfully,” Deutera assured her.
“Irene has told Honored Master Amachos about the Temple of Kyria’s exceptional crop of saplings,” Cassia said with great care, “the ones I have been helping the Prisma tend. He would love nothing better than to have her young trees to burn as offerings in the Sun Temple. The number he requires is two dozen.”
The younger mage nodded, her eyes bright with interest. Deutera’s brow had gone pale and clammy above her veil.
Cassia held Deutera’s gaze. “Once Amachos sees the Prisma’s gardening methods for himself, I am certain he will take an unprecedented interest in Kyria’s affairs.”
Deutera caught Cassia’s hand in hers. “I understand. Thank you for letting us know in advance about the honored master’s plans. I would never have imagined Irene would take so much upon herself.”
“I would remind the Prisma of the other mage upon whose expertise she and I have relied, the one whose work on sapling blight proved so beneficial, especially to the tree with the scarred bark. That Gifted gardener would certainly be willing to take the trees off her hands as well, but to see them harmlessly transplanted in a different temple so they might grow and thrive under other mages’ loving care. You must tell her right away, and she must reach her decision quickly. Honored Master Amachos will pay her a visit first thing tomorrow to request that she make a gift of the trees to him.”
Deutera uttered what sounded like a prayer, then turned to her companion and instructed her in the Divine Tongue. The girl took her leave and headed toward the palace.
“She will see to Callen while I return to the temple.” Deutera spoke fast and low.
“I must know the Prisma’s decision by nightfall, or it will be too late to get word to our fellow gardener in time for it to matter.”
Deutera did not ask who this gardener was or how an anonymous mage could help. “Wait here. I will return with her answer in a moment. Thank Kyria I’m the other mage in the temple besides the Prisma who can accomplish a traversal.”
“That takes a tremendous amount of power. Isn’t it dangerous?”
“A small price to pay. With the votive Kyria as a focus, I will manage.”
A current of magic nearly knocked Cassia off her feet. When she regained her balance, Deutera was gone.
If Cassia had possessed the energy to pace, she would have. Instead, she stood with an arm around Knight and waited. Anthros drove his accursed sun still further down the sky, and she knew the king’s messenger arrived in her rooms to find them empty.
When Deutera reappeared, Cassia had to take hold of the mage’s arm to keep her on her feet. Sweat soaked through Deutera’s robes. More costly moments escaped before she was able to catch her breath, much less speak. But Cassia held her up and waited without pressing her.
“The Prisma’s answer is yes,” Deutera heaved. “Give the message to your mutual friend. At midnight tonight, she will meet the other gardener in Kyria’s sacred grove and deliver the entire crop of saplings so they can be transplanted in the other temple.”
Cassia wrapped an arm around Deutera. “Tell her thank you.”
“Lady Cassia, the expression on the Prisma’s face as she struggled to decide— Who could this other gardener be? What sort of mage would put that look in her eye?”
“She will need your help, Deutera. She will need you to support her tonight and to tell her afterward that she did the right thing. You will find you must set aside what you have assumed to be true. For the children’s sake, and the Prisma’s.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Cassia pulled away, watching to see if Deutera could stand without aid. “Will you be all right on your own?”
The mage nodded, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “I will not stop until my work is done.”