Heart of the Empire (The Broken Lands Book 1)

by Carrie Summers

  “Wait here.” She strode to a man who scanned the room with an air of authority. They spoke in low tones.

  My fingertips tingled as panic threatened. Breathing deep, I struggled to calm the fear before it brought on my aura-sight. Just as the room began to fade, a chill passed from the bracelet up my arm, shocking me back to reality.

  I tried not to fidget as the registrars crossed the room together. The inside of my mouth was dry. When I swallowed, my throat caught painfully.

  “It’s most irregular,” the man said. A crest on his tunic matched the woman’s, but where a single rank-star had been stitched above her insignia, three hung over the man’s crest.

  “Excuse me, sire?” To my ears, my voice sounded thin as the high mountain air.

  “Please repeat your reason for arriving here alone,” he said.

  “I—The registry party I traveled with was killed. At least—I assume they were. Bandits attacked and we scattered. I rode to the nearest town and waited, but no one came.”

  “And which town was this?”

  “Bellows in Guralan, sire.”

  “I see.”

  While the man inspected the parchment, I caught myself rubbing my thumbs over my index fingers like a nervous child. His eyes shifted from the paper to my face. I focused on my breathing. If they summoned an argent, I needed to choose my words carefully to pass an interrogation. My escorts had been killed. I could answer that truthfully.

  “Well,” he said, “assuming there’s truth to your tale, the law demands you stand trial for abandoning your Atal escorts to their deaths. Your cowardly flight is just more proof of your Provincial inadequacy.”

  “But everyone fled. It’s just that my horse—”

  His eyes narrowed as he sliced the air with his hand to silence me. “However,” he said, “we’ve recently received a dispatch from the Hold. It seems their previous staff members were deemed unsuitable to continue service. They’ve been... dismissed. Through the Chasm Gate.”

  I blinked as his words sank in. “Killed?” The image of the Hold’s servants being pushed to their death, falling a thousand feet to the bottom of the chasm made my stomach clench.

  He shrugged. “I assume there was strife within the Hold, likely leading to the current situation. No doubt the Emperor intended to rid the grounds of further agitators. In any case, Steelhold has need of a new palace scribe. You’ll bathe first, and one of my assistants will find you proper attire.”

  I swallowed. The plan I’d worked out with Sirez assumed I would remain in the city. We’d expected I’d be given an early apprenticeship followed by a proper assignment. Every evening, I was to meet a Sharder contact at a certain location in Lowtown to convey anything I learned from the documents I penned.

  “But the Hold is locked, sire,” I said.

  He rolled his eyes. “An exception will be made to allow the new staff entrance.”

  “Will we be staying there? I mean—will we be allowed to return to the city at times?”

  He shrugged. “Only if you care for a stroll out the Chasm Gate.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Kostan

  Common Room, Graybranch Inn

  THE INNKEEPER, FISHEL, swiped his towel over the counter. “When you run an establishment like this, you see plenty of people come and go. Good folks and rotten ones both. I was sorry to see Savra leave, but not as sorry as I imagine you are to learn she’s gone.”

  “Gone? Where?”

  The man straightened and tossed his towel onto his shoulder. “Even if I knew for certain, her destination wouldn’t be mine to tell. In truth, she didn’t outright say she wouldn’t return, but when you say goodbye to hundreds of guests a year, you learn to read their intents.”

  Where would she have gone? She’d talked about becoming a scribe—could that be it? If so, she’d start by apprenticing in an elite household, or perhaps for a merchant’s collective. With the order for citizens to resume their Functions, it made sense she’d continue with her plans. But still… I’d let myself believe there was a reason we’d met.

  Was this how things happened for ordinary people? You met someone you couldn’t take your eyes off, and then they just vanished? Aside from the blind servants and Vaness, almost all the women I’d known had been protectors, staring at me with dead eyes if they forgot to avert their gazes. Or mages, who were almost worse than the soulless protectors.

  Was I just a fool who’d fallen for the first woman who’d treated me kindly?

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this, lad,” the innkeeper said, dragging me from my thoughts. “But her mount is still here. I know how it feels to be young. Hope dies slowly at your age. So take heart in that if you wish. I don’t think she’s left Jaliss.”

  But tens of thousands of people lived in Jaliss. Hundreds of streets webbed the city. Where would I even begin to look?

  From outside, a crier’s voice penetrated the walls. More demands that the citizens return to their Functions. It had stunned me to hear Emperor Tovmeil’s name cited, but of course it made sense. Until Vaness and I were eliminated, the Ministry would have to pretend he was alive. But as long as the Ministry controlled the news coming out of Steelhold, no one in Jaliss or the greater Empire would know the truth.

  There had to be advantages in the situation. My small group of allies knew the true story. If we could just prove the Ministry’s guilt to the right people, we’d unseat the Ministry in exactly the way they feared.

  I needed to think about it more. But for now, the innkeeper deserved my attention.

  “I came to see you, too,” I said. “I wanted to thank you for taking me in. You must have known we weren’t betrothed aristocrats from Ioene.”

  “Ale?” the man asked, turning to tap a mug for himself. “And say no more in that regard. Please. In my business, it’s better that I have no confirmation regarding the truth of my guests’ circumstances. Inspectors, you know.”

  Despite his casual stance, his voice held a nervous edge. He was worried about the argents, of course. While under a silver mage’s scrutiny, no one could lie. Well, unless they had a spirit shield.

  “No, thank you. You’ve already been more than generous.”

  “Kostan,” he said. “I’ve been thinking. You have the look of an Atal elite about you, which is particularly odd given your decidedly honorable behavior—no offense to our beloved Emperor and Ministry, of course.”

  A flash of shame heated my cheeks. No matter how I acted, I’d always be Atal—my face proved it.

  “There’s been trouble in Steelhold,” Fishel continued, “and you arrived here not long after.”

  Did he know who I really was? No. Dozens of elite Atal had business in the Hold.

  “As you’ve already advised, I best not confirm or deny anything.”

  A strained smile tightened the man’s lips. “Indeed. Best for all of us. I just wanted to give you a piece of advice. No matter how clever and cautious you feel you’re being, Atal features stand out in the Splits like a heron in a flock of seagulls. And with the current sentiment in the city, no Atal wants to attract Prov attention.”

  I should have thought of that. A life confined within Steelhold’s walls and instructed by an army of tutors had taught me a wide range of subjects. But it hadn’t given me wisdom.

  “Thank you for the warning. Perhaps we’ll meet again someday,” I said, sticking out my hand. “Under different circumstances.”

  Fishel accepted my grip. “If the stars will it.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Savra

  Corridor of Ascent, Jaliss

  AT THE FOOT of the steep street called the Corridor of Ascent, at least two dozen new Hold staff had already assembled. Most were young men and women. They stood with arms crossed and heads bowed when they weren’t casting fearful glances toward Steelhold. Most kept their clothing pulled tight around their bodies as if it could provide armor from the hours ahead. Surroundi
ng the crowd, a wall of protectors stood grim-faced. Dead-eyed.

  My guard, a hard-faced woman who’d forced me to scrub my face until the skin felt raw, shoved me into the crowd.

  “Sorry,” I muttered as I stumbled into a girl about my age. She turned, eyes wide. Her features were starkly Provincial, especially the arching brows so common among the lowlanders.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. As if comforted that I’d spoken to her, she edged closer. “What’s your Function?”

  “Scribe,” I said. “I received my writ this afternoon.”

  “No training then. Me neither. I’m service—the registrar who came to my town said I’d have an apprenticeship to learn my Function duties. Now I’m scared that no one will tell me what to do and I’ll be punished.”

  A few paces ahead of us, a man turned. Lines cut down his face in at the corners of his mouth, and his skin had a weathered look similar to the middle-aged sluicers in Numintown. “Find others in your Function,” he said. “Ask questions. Provs help each other.”

  “What do you do?” the girl asked.

  The man snorted. “Mason. I’m one of the few who could actually help put Jaliss back together. Instead, a Registry page pulled me away from reinforcing a wall that’s ready to topple onto a Merchant Quarter street.” He stuck out his hand. “Khons. Originally from Hajinal Port in Anisel.”

  “Savra,” I said. “Cosmal Province. I just arrived.”

  “Oralie,” the girl said. “I’m from Anisel, too. But my family lived near the border with the Wildsends.”

  “Hard life up there, I hear,” Khons said. “You ever have to fend off free tribesmen?”

  She shook her head. “My papa’s Function was soldier. We only saw him a few times a year.” A flicker of sadness showed on her face. “But he was brave. The tribesmen never made it past his garrison. He took an arrow last year. He was carrying a man who got hurt and fell behind during a retreat.”

  As she spoke the last words, Oralie raised her chin, proud of her father’s sacrifice. I swallowed. What of my father’s work? Would I ever get to hear what he’d done for others?

  Khons nodded and clapped Oralie on the shoulder. “We can all be grateful for his courage. And it’s clear you share it. I mean it about your Function and asking for help. There are plenty here who will keep you clear of the taskmaster’s whip.”

  Oralie pressed her lips together. “Thank you.”

  After a short wait, movement from the back of the crowd forced us to begin trudging along the ruined cobblestone pavement of the Corridor. Above, the late evening light painted Steelhold blood red. In the city, the shadows were already deepening.

  At the boundary between the Merchant’s Quarter and the Heights, high walls pressed in upon the Corridor. Because the Heights encircled Steelhold’s spire like a choker necklace, the mansions of the elite like gaudy gems, the only access to the ascent trail cut through the district. The elite-class Atal couldn’t suffer Provs walking their streets, so the walls protected their privacy. Every few blocks, a windowless iron door opened in the wall.

  Despite the devastation in the city, only a few stray cracks and fallen blocks marred the Corridor walls. Maybe the ferro mages had helped in their construction, binding black iron into the walls’ structure.

  I’d heard tales of the slaughterhouses for the massive herds of cattle and sheep that fed on Old Atal’s grasslands. The poor animals were forced down high-walled aisles, the scent of blood strong in their noses, knives waiting at the end. Marching along the Corridor, I couldn’t help feeling like one of the doomed beasts.

  In a few places, I noticed peepholes in the walls, carefully mortared and deliberate. No doubt the elites watched us pass from the shadowed grounds of their mansions. Did Stormshard have eyes on the Corridor, too? Did they know what had happened to me? When I failed to make my first meeting with my Sharder contact, would they understand why?

  Oralie spotted the peepholes and leaned close to whisper. “Do you think the elites pity us?”

  I shrugged. “Keep your back straight and deny them the satisfaction.”

  Finally, the Corridor ended at the first flight of stone stairs that ascended Steelhold’s spire. Here, a gate of iron bars blocked passage. It wasn’t sturdy enough to keep a determined enemy off the trail, but it didn’t need to be. From the walls of the Hold, archers could hit anyone trying to make the climb. Even if they missed—and buckets of hot coals poured from the walls failed too—I’d heard that the massive gates defending Steelhold itself were impregnable.

  Still, a dozen protectors surround the lower gate. When our march reached earshot, their leader saluted.

  “Send them up in pairs,” he called. “They should have their writs ready.”

  A wave of rustling traveled the crowd as people dug through pockets and satchels in search of their papers. From behind, I heard shouts of protest. Standing on tiptoes, I craned my neck but couldn’t spot anything. What good would protest do now? It seemed like an excellent way to get beheaded like that poor boy in the lockup.

  The guards shoved us forward two by two. When it was my turn, they grabbed Oralie and pushed her with me. We clutched our writs tightly, shuffling forward under the expressionless glare of the protectors at the gate.

  As we drew close, the guards extended ringmail gloves for our writs. They didn’t blink as they read our Functions and compared them against a list scrawled on parchment. Then, with a wave, they parted and sent us through the gate and onto the stairs leading to Steelhold’s unassailable walls.

  One polished stone riser after another, we climbed. As we ascended into the layer of smoke hanging a few stories height above the city, my nose and eyes stung. The shouts from the crowd swelled until a shriek rang out.

  “Oralie, look.” The shouts I’d heard hadn’t been the new staff protesting after all. Behind the procession of replacement palace workers, a flood of Provs filled the Corridor from wall to wall. Held back by the protectors who’d taken up the rear of our march, they yelled and raised torches. Now and again, the press of the crowd forced someone forward. Rough protectors' fists shoved them back.

  A woman went down. Another scream. As I watched, mouth sagging open, a protector hefted her from the cobblestones. She fought his grip, kicking, as someone in the crowd of Provs threw a rock toward the guardsmen.

  “Disperse!” the protector roared, shaking the woman in his grip.

  The crowd threw back angry protests. Within the throng, scattered weapons flashed, the torchlight glinting off rusted blades.

  “You must need a clearer warning,” the protector yelled. He held the woman up to one of his companions. The other guard raised a fist, slammed her in the stomach. As the air left the woman’s lungs, he aimed another blow for her throat. Her windpipe collapsed with a pop I could hear from the ascent trail.

  She struggled for a moment, then went limp.

  The protector dropped her to the ground as his companions drew swords. “Anyone else?” he yelled.

  “Everyone, stop!” A voice rang out from among the Prov mob. “Pull back! This isn’t the time. We can’t win here.”

  Voices answered in anger and refusal, and the crowd surged forward. Protectors’ swords flashed. Blood sprayed.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. Eyes hot, I grabbed Oralie’s arm, and we set off up the endless staircase, climbing toward the source of this evil. Steelhold had the power to stop this. To rebuild the city and feed the people. But the Emperor preferred to hide in his palace.

  Soon, Jaliss would either turn violent or go hungry. No doubt the Hold had food and water to outlast the city. Would I survive while everyone else—Sirez, Fishel, Kostan—starved or died of exposure?

  Or would I fail in my Function? Be discovered as a Stormshard apprentice? If I made a mistake, the Chasm Gate waited.

  A low stone railing guarded the drop to the city, but still my head felt dizzied by the growing height. After a couple more switch
backs, vertigo nibbling at the base of my skull, I locked elbows with Oralie. She cast me a wan smile.

  After about an hour’s climb and so many steps I doubted I could count them if I’d wanted, we reached Steelhold’s gate. Below, the city sprawled across the grassland. From this height, the devastation was clear. Stark. Whole areas of the city were unlit despite the evening hour. Uninhabited rubble heaps. Where people still lived and worked, thousands of torches lit the haze like coals smoldering in a campfire.

  So many people. So much suffering.

  I turned to face Steelhold’s gate. Slabs of steel formed the outer shell, dark gray metal that must have incorporated black iron in the alloy. The palace ferro mages had probably enchanted them for extra defense. On either side of the gate, protectors stood in guard towers. Crossbows bristled from the wall, the wicked tips of the bolts silver in the twilight.

  We waited, neither Oralie nor I speaking. Around us, the rest of the staff assembled. Aside from the huffs of rapid breathing from the climb, the only sounds were nervous shuffling and the creak of armor from the protectors guarding the walls.

  The steel doors squealed when they swung outward. New recruits stumbled back as the inner gates were exposed, their iron bars the thickness of my upper arm.

  A shadow appeared on the other side of the gate, the figure silhouetted by thousands of lamps burning inside the Hold. The person raised a torch high as if examining us for worthiness.

  “They'll suffice,” he said to the protector who’d led the way up the trail. “Provided they can satisfy their Functions.”

  “Yes, Minister Brevt, sire,” the protector said, pressing his fist to his forehead. He turned to face us. “You are now entering the beating heart of the Empire. Your duty is absolute obedience. Anything less will mean your execution.”

  Within the crowd, shoulders tensed. Fists clenched. But no one spoke.

  Apparently satisfied, the protector nodded up at the guard tower. Moments later, metal squealed against metal. The iron gate slid aside, wheels rolling in a track.