Selicia launched herself forward, then with a dazzling pirouette, spun to the side as the yellow stream of magic hit the ground where she had been, turning the grass and dirt to stone. She leapt straight at the figure, who threw himself backward with a cry.
She reached him, bowling him over. They both thudded heavily to the ground. For a moment Grei thought Selicia had overcome the attacker, until he realized she was not moving. She was frozen in her leaping position, hands out, almost grasping her foe.
The little man grunted and, with great effort, rolled the stone Selicia off him. He stood up, and his cowl fell back onto his shoulders, revealing the long face and brown hair of his brother.
Grei let out a gurgle. “Julin!”
“Happy to see me, brother?” Julin said, smiling thinly.
“Help...me,” Grei gasped.
“Of course,” Julin said, giving a sweeping bow. “You are the Whisper Prince. Your wish is my command.”
Grei felt a chill. It was his brother’s voice, but not his tone.
“Kuruk is very angry with you, Whisper Prince. And what Kuruk feels, we all feel. ‘Find him,’ he told me. ‘Find him and make him know my pain.’”
Julin’s eyes had red flames in them. “Die,” he said, pointing the rod at Grei’s face.
Grei saw the yellow stream approach, and his gurgle was cut off as he turned to stone.
Part IV
Slink War
Chapter 39
The Archon
The Archon closed the door to his study and smiled after this morning’s rousing activities. He had intended to sire a son on the emperor’s wife in payment for what the emperor had done to him, but the empress had spurned the Archon’s advances. She knew her husband had lain with the Archon’s wife, knew that the Archon’s “son” Biren was actually the bastard son of the emperor, but she wasn’t inclined to take her own revenge. The Archon, however, was not the forgiving type. If he couldn’t have the empress, he had planned to plant his seed in Princess Vecenne.
Then Mialene had walked into the palace. Sweet Mialene, the instrument of the empire’s salvation, would be the instrument of the emperor’s humiliation and the Archon’s revenge.
There were some times over the years the Archon despaired that he might never have his opportunity without sacrificing his own life, but apparently the Faia did grant wishes.
He laughed, then gave a playful knock on his desk. For now, there was business to attend to, reports to read. He must play the role of the Archon. He looked through the scrolls on his desk. No news yet from the fourteen Highblades sent to find the boy, Grei. But that wasn’t surprising. The search was a formality. Unlike the emperor, the Archon didn’t believe anyone could emerge from the Dead Woods.
He opened the scroll on the very top. Prince Qorvin had almost beaten back the Benascan savages at Cantrup. Soon, the empire would be even larger.
He set the open scroll back down. He couldn’t concentrate. These juicy bits of information always drew him, but this morning they seemed small concerns. Mialene was in his bed, and he would keep her there until he was sure she was with child. And once she had given birth, the Archon could kill the emperor, slowly, whispering that Mialene had returned, and that it would be the Archon’s issue on the throne, not Qweryn’s.
A knock sounded on the Archon’s door.
“Enter,” he said, turning and folding his hands into the long sleeves of his crimson robe.
To his surprise, his granddaughter Aylenna entered. She wore the green and white of the Felesh Duchy, and she bowed low to him. Her long, dark hair was oiled in the current fashion of Thiara, and the snow-white lock at her left temple was a striking accent to her white tunic.
He always enjoyed seeing his granddaughter. She was the issue of his true son, Bennor, who had been taken as the second Blessed. Unlike Biren, who currently ruled in Felesh, this girl was the Archon’s own blood. For protection, he’d brought her and her mother to the palace when Biren became Duke. Supposedly Biren was unaware of his true parentage, but the Archon hadn’t navigated the crooked politics of the palace by being trusting.
“Aylenna, I wasn’t aware you and your mother were visiting this week. What a pleasure to see you,” he said.
She bowed her head. “Thank you, grand-da.”
Aylenna excelled in her studies, was always polite, and had the same direct personality as his real son. The Archon planned to make her the Duchess of Felesh when he took the throne.
Aylenna had matured startlingly quickly. She had been born nine months after Bennor had been taken as the second Blessed. She was Bennor’s last unknowing gift to his wife. The girl was only six years old, but with her uncommon height and piercing intellect, she could pass for ten.
She walked to him and took his hand.
“What brings you here, my little rose?”
She frowned. “Roses are weak, grand-da. They wilt in the winter. They break when you bend them, come apart when you pluck them. Is this how you see me?”
He chuckled. “Shall I call you my little iron maiden?”
“Do I torture you?” She cocked her head to one side.
“You are the joy of my life.”
“I shouldn’t like to be called ‘your little joy’.”
“I fall before your arguments. Tell me, what shall I call you?”
She smiled. “I have a perfect name.”
“Shall I guess?”
She laughed, tugging his hands. “I love you, grand-da. Give me a kiss, and I will tell you.”
He leaned forward. Every time she visited, she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. This time, she kissed his lips. He began to draw away, but her hands gripped the back of his head with frightening strength.
She parted his lips and licked his teeth.
He jerked back. “What are you—”
His teeth burned, and he cried out, slamming into his desk as he tried to get away from her. She slumped to the ground.
He grappled with the desk, trying to shove himself upright as the fire spread to his head. Knowledge came with it. The slinks had not been pacified with the Debt of the Blessed, and the Blessed were not sacrifices at all. They did not die. They lived in the empire in quiet corners. They bred with other humans, attempting to create more humans with slinks inside them.
The Archon gaped down at his unconscious granddaughter. All of his machinations were nothing. The slinks were quietly overthrowing the empire from the inside, and his own granddaughter was one of them. This was the true Slink War, and Thiara was losing. He saw her history now. Bennor had not sired a daughter on his wife before he became a Blessed. He had sired one after. He had returned to his wife, whispered assurances that he had escaped his death. He told her that he could not stay, that he wanted one last night with her before he ran from the Highblades who were even now searching for him.
“It...was all...a lie!” The Archon gasped, reaching out to her, but the girl had fallen as though in a faint.
The Archon collapsed on his face next to her, tearing at his throat. He opened his mouth to scream, but by the time he could expel the breath, his mind had been overthrown.
He lay there for a long moment, and when he pushed himself to his feet, it was the mind of Gexxek who saw through the Archon’s eyes. He had left the fires of Velakka behind, had been pulled into this world to live a new life. His memories from Velakka and this human’s memories mixed together, swirled, joining as if they were one. He turned to Aylenna and gently lifted her head in his hands.
“It works,” Gexxek said softly. He looked down at the girl who housed one of the brothers of Kuruk. The Benascan boy was a marvel. Lord Velak was right to humor him.
Aylenna’s eyelids fluttered and she looked up at him, exhausted. She barely had the strength to raise her head. “How do you like my kiss, grand-da?” she whispered, smiling weakly.
“Kuruk is clever. We will come more quickly now. Lord Velak will be pleased.”
“And now we have you i
n the palace,” she said. “Next to the emperor’s heart.”
“We have more than that. You will not guess who this man has imprisoned in his room,” Gexxek said. “This Archon has the emperor’s lost daughter.”
Aylenna’s eyes widened. She struggled to her knees. “I will return and tell him right away.”
“A moment,” Gexxek said, thinking. “Wait. Let us surprise him with a gift.”
Aylenna smiled. “What shall we do?”
“If only you could see the schemes in this man’s mind.”
“Tell me.”
“I will do better. I will unfold them. We will use them. What will your brother Kuruk say when we give him a Velakkan-born child of the royal line?”
Aylenna grinned.
“Come,” he said. “I think it is time for the Archon to visit the princess again.”
Chapter 40
Adora
Adora sang The Whisper Prince to the wind on the Archon’s balcony. She sang it for Grei, the boy who would rather die than betray her, for the loss of him and her pretty daydream of another life. She imagined Grei with their brown-haired, blue-eyed daughter riding his shoulders, a life without emperors and Archons, without slinks or Blessed. A daily routine of quiet happiness, where sacrifices were simple. Foregoing cream for the winter to buy a new plow horse. The exchange of time for the raising of children. Honest sacrifices.
A lost fair lady looked into the mist
The Whisper Prince whispered of love
The lady saw slaughter, and terror, and rifts
The prince, he whispered of love
Love came swimming along the lost road
Her heel painted with blood
The shadows came charging with wrath born of old
Their claws dripping with blood
With blood and from fire the shadows unwound
Losing souls too many to measure
The flesh and the faces of others were bound
And the shadows all took of their measure
Their measure felled hordes; their fires untamed
But the prince, before them, he stood
One hand on the rose, one hand in the flames
The prince, before them all, stood
All stood when the horns of the realm gave alarm
Too late for all and for one
But he sent them away
And never did say
Why a princess lay down for his charm
She drew the last note out, pouring herself into the song. Take it, Grei. Wherever your spirit has gone, take mine with you. And we will live there, for this life has no place for us.
Her song seemed to linger when she stopped. The wind captured it, lengthening it, carrying it like a feather into the world, and then it was gone.
She ran a hand over her bald head, her fingers lingering on the small red scar on her cheek. She breathed the sea air and watched the shadows grow long at the eastern edge of the Jhor. She faced west, watched the water turn orange in the setting sun. The ocean withdrew and surged, crashing unceasingly against the shore. Adora had spent seven years with men who predicted the future, but they had never seen this.
The Archon had just left, his need urgent today. He visited every day, and would likely visit again before long. His attendants came every day to bathe her, to dress her, to shave her head anew. They came to make sure she was well-hidden from the empire, well-prepared for the Archon’s visits.
The doors to this opulent chamber were the doors of a prison, latched from the outside, and she was never sure when he would arrive. It could be an hour after he left in the morning. It could be after lunch or before. It could be two or three times in the afternoon or none. It was always at night, and after, he would lie with her while she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.
She felt like she was watching everything from a distance. It should have been just another task, like the Order used to give her. She had been prepared to give her body in service to the prophecy. She had calculated the taking of lovers, like Galius Ash.
But the Archon was not a Highblade from quaint Fairmist, not a cobbler’s son to be taken in hand and guided. He was a master of the palace, of politics, of people. He had planned all of this, perhaps from the moment he recognized her in that dungeon room.
She had tried to manipulate him, whispered words of love while he rode her. She had cried out in real pleasure, allowing herself to succumb to his experienced touch. She had taken down protective walls to snare him, but she had succeeded only in losing control of herself. Her shame burned.
The Archon remained completely unmoved by her attempts. Today, she understood why. She had spent two weeks staring into the Archon’s dead eyes while he made love to her, and she finally realized the truth.
She was the Archon’s revenge. This wasn’t a forbidden adventure, bedding the emperor’s daughter. This was a plan. She had never had a chance to sway him, had never had a chance to escape, and she would bet that he would not honor his part of the bargain when the time came. She was his prize. Herself, and what she could give him.
She knew enough to know that the emperor had betrayed the Archon some time in the past. That betrayal, whatever it was, went deep. The Archon hated her father. It was his sole passion. Adora’s pathetic whispers of love, the orgasms that rocked them both, were thin arrows shattering on a decades-thick wall.
At first, she couldn’t figure what the Archon sought in his revenge. Was it a secret he could think of smugly whenever he faced his emperor?
This morning, she understood.
She felt she should care, that she should rage. But for the first time in her life, her passion was spent. She did not want to fight anymore. She just wanted it all to stop.
She wasn’t a real person anyway, just one façade after another. There was nothing true inside her. Nothing that stood on its own; she was a thing to be used for another’s purpose. Her father. The Order. The prophecy. The Archon.
There was no Adora. No Mialene. She was nothing.
She looked down at the city, the ocean in the distance, the hard flagstones four levels below. One jump is all it would take, one leap into the air. She would make sure her head hit first. It would happen quickly, the attendants wouldn’t be able to stop it.
She could see her father standing over the corpse, wondering who she was, never knowing that he had actually killed this bloody woman seven years ago.
The dream resurfaced then, of her father whispering to her, the dream she’d had that last night in the palace before they took her as the first Blessed. “I’m sorry,” he had said by her bedside. “I’m so sorry.”
She had thought about it often in her beginning days at the Order House, as the burn of betrayal settled and the passion for her new purpose was born.
But the dream had only been a child’s attempt to believe that her father wouldn’t willingly give her up. When she had awoken from that dream, Jorun Magnus was there with five Highblades. He took her down the hall, and her father looked past her as though she wasn’t there. So she looked to Jorun. He would never give her up.
But then he, too, had betrayed her, left her alone on that dark shale slope. She yelled for him to help her, and he rode away. And her innocence had blackened like paper in a fire. No one would save her. No one cared enough—
The door to her chambers clicked, and Adora started from her reverie.
The Archon has come to claim his prize again. She did not turn to face him.
She considered jumping then. If he realized she was considering suicide, he would take steps to stop her. Who knew what protections the Archon would put in place after he caught her staring longingly at the cobblestones—
“Adora?”
Startled, she turned. Galius Ash stood in the center of the room, half-crouched as though he was storming the palace. He was dressed in an X harness and the loose red pants of the Archon’s Highblades, and she crazily wondered if he had somehow joined the Archon’s entourage. A naked dagger was clenc
hed in his fist.
“Come on,” he said urgently. “I’m getting you out of here.”
Mirth bubbled up inside her, and she laughed. He was so pathetic, a lone soldier in borrowed clothes. In Fairmist, Galius Ash was a name to conjure with. In Thiara he was a joke, a failure who had been ignored, dismissed. His appearance here, now, said much about his own transformation in the last two weeks. He was disobeying direct orders in coming here. His career as a Highblade was over and likely his life, too.
“I thought you went back to Fairmist,” she said. A light ocean breeze blew across her shaved scalp, raising goose bumps on the back of her neck.
“Did you hear me, Adora? I’m getting you out of here.”
She saw herself as the spirited woman she’d been in Fairmist, before all of this. That woman would have leapt forward, taken Galius’ hand and rushed with him through the halls. That woman believed there was a solution to injustice. But that woman wasn’t any more real than any of her other faces. The prophecy was broken and useless. Grei was dead.
She turned away, looked at the orange-tinted waves. She could still hear her song on the wind.
“Are you drugged?” he demanded.
“Leave, Galius.”
His hand clamped on her arm, and he spun her around. Her wooden shoes clacked and the flaps of her high-cut courtesan’s dress flew to the sides.
She didn’t want to look at him. “Does it matter?” she said. “Go, Galius. Save some other maiden. There are none left here.”
He paused, stunned. He searched her face.
“You’re not yourself,” he said sternly, but there was fear in his voice.
“Not myself...” She laughed. “I’m not anybody.”
“You’re drugged. I’ll carry you.” He took her wrist.
She twisted out of his grip. “I’m not drugged. I am done.”
He looked at her, unmanned by indecision.
“The Archon’s attendants will be here soon,” she said. “He visits...often.”
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