Not now! The woman yelled from my bracelet. Tingles shot up my arm. The fuzzy glow surged over me, covering me head to toe.
The world snapped back into place... almost. Unlike other times, a shadow of my aura-sight remained, painted over the room but not replacing my ordinary vision.
Savra, a man said. His voice was a low tenor, like a stringed instrument. I recalled what Parveld had said. Lilik and her husband had chosen to be bound to the bracelet. Can you hear us?
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“What was that?” Minister Brevt asked. He’d stood from his chair and peered down his nose. I felt like a mouse pinned beneath a hawk’s gaze.
Don’t answer aloud, Lilik said. If you can’t project your thoughts, remain quiet.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, sire? You called for me?”
Minister Brevt stalked closer, dragging his oily aura across the room. I shivered as he stepped within a pace of me. The man smelled of scented oils that reminded me of an embalmer’s work.
“I was curious about you, so I made some inquiries. My contacts among the registrars told me you arrived under suspicious circumstances.”
I swallowed and fixed my gaze into a corner of the room as he circled me. “Unfortunate circumstances, I would say, sire. The bandits attacked the registrar’s party without warning.”
“Hmm. I’d like to think you speak true. I have need of a loyal servant, you see. A personal secretary and page. A confidante, even. Since the death of my wife-consort, I’ve been sorely in need of someone with whom I can speak freely. You carried yourself with a certain poise that spoke of integrity.”
His hand, Savra. Watch it.
My eyes snapped to his right hand, which had slipped into his pocket. As he drew forth a small, silver blade, I stepped back, hands raised in defense.
“Sire, my Function is scribe. My writ does not allow secretarial work.” As I continued back, feet sinking into the carpet, Minister Brevt advanced. Snakes of iridescent spirit whipped from his aura-form, reaching for me. I dodged at the last instant.
Minister Brevt’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as his free hand reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. Paper crackled as he pulled out a folded letter.
He huffed in amusement as he used the silver blade to peel away the wax seal. “I appreciate the dangers you must have endured amongst the heathen Provs,” he said as he slipped the letter opener back into his pocket. “But be assured you’ll encounter no such barbarity here.”
He shook the letter open and scanned it. I’d finally reached the wall, a section of bare stone between drapes. The granite was frigid against my back.
“Complaints from the astrologers over our demands,” he said before crushing the paper into a ball and whipping it across the room. “Now, as I was saying… Your writ. Do you have it with you?”
Unconsciously, I patted my trouser pocket then jerked my hand away, cursing myself.
This is a distraction, Savra, Lilik said. He knows you sensed his attack. He’s attempting to compel you. You need to put up walls. Do you understand what I mean?
I shook my head.
“You don’t? It’s not in your pocket there?” Minister Brevt asked, thinking the gesture had been intended for him.
“Yes—I mean, I have it. But as you’ll see, my Function is very narrow. Scribing only.”
Hand trembling, I pulled out the leather wrap I’d been issued to protect my writ. The paper lay inside, secured by a pair of tabs. I handed it over.
Think of it like this, Lilik said. He wants into your mind. Not to read your thoughts like an argent mage. He wants to hollow you out from the inside. Make you his. You need to be steel. Impenetrable.
Minister Brevt scanned the writ, running his finger along the scrawled letters and mouthing the words.
“Savra Padmi,” he said. “A starkly Provincial name. When you’ve agreed to your new position, I’ll wish to call you something else. My late wife-consort’s name was Aricelli. That will do nicely, I think, and it will spare me needing to learn another name.”
Pressing the tabs aside, he plucked my writ from the leather sheath and dropped the case to the floor. Pinching the top of the paper between index fingers and thumbs, he began to tear.
“Wait, please!” I begged.
As he grinned at my distress, the tendrils of spirit erupted from his aura again, whipping toward me.
Be steel! Lilik yelled. Armor yourself.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t know what she meant or how to do it. My only hope was to run. I stepped left, felt a sickening wave of cold as a rope of spirit whipped past my ear. The room began to shake. For a moment, I thought it was another effect of his nauseating aura.
When the glassware on a display shelf rattled, I realized it was another shake.
The candelabra tumbled from the table, flame and melted wax spilling across the carpet. In one quick motion, Minister Brevt tore my writ in two before leaping for the spreading fire.
As the quake strengthened, I bolted for the door, leaving Minister Brevt and my writ behind.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Parveld
The Splits, Jaliss
PARVELD STAGGERED WHEN the tremor hit. His shoulder smacked the rough rock wall of a stable, and he shoved off, visions of toppled masonry tearing through his thoughts. Around, Jaliss citizens shouted, mothers calling for children, Provs cursing the Emperor as if the shaking in the earth was another of his decrees.
The former Emperor, Parveld corrected himself. Not that these people knew that.
A safe distance from the wall, Parveld took shelter near a wagon’s wheel. He smirked in amusement at the thudding of his heart. Even after centuries of life, the rocking earth could still send him into a panic. Just the nature of being human.
With a deep breath, he sank his awareness into the aether. Around him, the sparks of Jaliss’s citizens were a scintillating array of fear and rage. Ever so cautiously, Parveld extended a blanket of comfort. Aquamarine tranquility. Sea green calm. The screams grew less shrill. A man who had been roaring obscenities toward Steelhold turned away, spotted a young child sitting in a doorway beneath a heavy stone lintel, and whisked the boy to safety.
After another few breaths, the shaking eased. Wood creaked and settled. A few stray stones toppled from walls. The quake was over.
Parveld sighed in relief. Just a minor tremor, the sort experienced weekly in Cosmal Province.
But he knew others would be much, much worse. Maybe not today or even this season, but calamity was coming. And only one young woman could prevent a complete shattering of the land.
Grabbing hold of the rough wood side of the wagon bed, he scrambled upright and scanned the street. Already calmed by his touch within the aether, the Provs in this part of the Splits had recovered quickly from the shake. A few paces away, a man in a leatherworker’s apron hefted a stone that had fallen into the street. He tossed it underhand, landing it in a pile of debris from the previous shake.
Good. Better they get on with their lives than curse fate or an Emperor they couldn’t touch.
A block down the street, a dark alley mouth opened. Parveld set off at a trot and darted into the narrow aisle. Immediately he felt their sparks. The Sharders were furtive as they filed back through the door into the secret refuge they’d fled when the shake began.
Parveld hurried forward and snatched the hidden door before it swung shut. Instantly, a hand seized his wrist, yanking him inside.
“Who in the storm-battered coasts are you?” a woman asked.
A knife touched his throat, and Parveld raised his hands.
“Hello, Sirez,” he said. “I’ve come with a proposal.”
“How did you find us here?” The blade of the knife pressed harder, making Parveld’s eyes water.
“It doesn’t matter,” Parveld said. “Just hear me out. There’s a girl, Savra. You lost touch with her.”
“And?�
�
“She was sent to Steelhold. It’s the foothold you’ve been seeking. I can help you communicate with her, but only if we come to an agreement.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Kostan
A Lowtown smithy
VANESS CRAWLED OUT from beneath the heavy wooden work table, looking far less disheveled than I imagined I did. We’d hidden in the shelter of the table when the quake started, hoping it would offer protection if the roof timbers gave way. But for once, the shake had been mild.
I took a deep breath, the taste of dust thick on my tongue. “Could have been worse.”
She laughed, but it was a bit strained. “According to you and Tovmeil, it will be.”
The words pressed thoughts of good fortune from my mind. “Indeed.”
I extended a hand to help her up then noticed one of our lanterns had overturned. The flame had been snuffed, but if it had fallen in the crate of straw padding an arm’s length to the side, half the smithy could have burned by now. We needed to be more cautious if we were planning to stay here long.
Which I hoped we weren’t.
I gritted my teeth while I picked up the lantern. Our planning was going nowhere. It was time to do something different. I just wasn’t sure what.
“My fault,” Vaness said, pulling the lantern from me and striking sparks onto its wick. “I should have moved it to the ground.”
“Why was it your fault? We were both sitting next to it throwing dice.”
“Because I noticed it at the last minute, but you were already under the table, and I didn’t want to leave you to dig my broken body free.”
“A poor excuse to take the blame,” I said, smirking.
She shrugged and sank back to her seat next to the dicing crate. “Another game?”
I shook my head. The thought of idly tossing dice turned my stomach. People were suffering outside the smithy walls. I shouldn’t sit around playing games while Provs starved.
As if responding to my thoughts, a sharp cry lanced through the smithy walls. More shouts followed, along with the roar of flames leaping from torches soaked in pine pitch. I trotted to the wall and pressed my eye against a gap between boards. The resiny smell of the torches stung my nose and set my eyes watering. I blinked away the tears and squinted.
In the street beyond the wall, bodies were moving, liquid shadows sliding through the torches’ glow. Shouts peppered the air. The stomp of feet shook the earth.
There had to be two hundred of them, marching together. A chant went up.
“Open the gates! Open the gates!”
My breath caught. An uprising. It was beginning. Though the quake had done little damage, the reminder of the last disaster had finally spurred them to action.
I ran to the smithy’s front door. Should I join them? If they were marching on Steelhold, this might be my only chance to gain entrance. As I grabbed the plank barring the door, Vaness dashed to join me.
“What do you think?” I asked.
She shrugged, her eyes wide with indecision. Somehow, that was enough. Over and over she’d cautioned me to stay inside. If she thought this might be the moment, I had to take the chance.
I couldn’t go out there bare handed. Sprinting across the smithy floor, I snatched the battered short sword from the shelf. Meanwhile, Vaness grabbed a bent dagger from amongst the scrap metal. When she joined me at the door, I nodded and opened it.
The sickening crack of metal against a skull reverberated across the street. My heart pounded. I knew who dealt those sorts of blows. The protectors were here.
Using my height to its best advantage, I scanned over the heads of the crowd. There. Piercing the mob at its vulnerable middle, a pair of protectors shoved into the crowd, spiked maces swinging. Where the blows landed, bodies flew. But a few paces away, the chant continued, covering the noise of the protectors’ swings. The Provs marched on, oblivious.
In the dark and the torchlight, they stood no chance against the protectors’ attack. Even if the full mob turned on the guards, the protectors’ reinforcements would arrive before the untrained Provs organized an attack capable of taking them down.
“protectors!” I yelled as I pushed into the crowd. “Watch out!”
“Kostan!” Vaness shrieked from behind. “No!”
It was too late. The battle fury raged through me. Shoving men and women aside, I trudged for the nearer of the two protectors. He saw me coming in time to block my first slash with the handle of his mace. Steel shrieked as my blade slid down the metal and bounced off the guard near his glove. I whirled and struck again. The protector dodged handily, elbowing a wide-eyed Prov woman aside.
“Storms batter you!” Vaness yelled as she leaped into the fray. “Of all the idiot moves.”
But she moved just like I remembered, like silk falling through still air. One moment, she stood outside the smithy door, and the next her dagger glinted in the light as it sank toward the protector’s collar bone. The poorly crafted blade glanced off, but the distraction granted me an opening. As the protector staggered away from her blow, I whirled and aimed a slash for his gut. My sword, freshly whetted, sliced through hardened leather and into the soft flesh beneath. I shuddered at the sensation—no matter the years of practice, I’d never cut flesh. My practice swords had thumped off armor. Occasionally, I’d demolished a straw-filled training dummy.
I had little time to consider what I’d done. As blood poured over my hand, slicking my grip, Vaness leaped backward with a surprised cry. A cut yawned on her weapon hand. Deftly, she tossed her blade to her weaker arm.
The remaining protector advanced, eyes dead. He raised his mace and swung at her.
“No!” The voice came from the side. I whirled, astonished to see a Prov man barrel into the protector, knocking his blow away from Vaness. The protector cast him an expressionless glance, picked him up by the collar and threw him over the crowd. His body went limp as he struck the smithy wall.
With a roar, I sprang, steel aimed in an upward blow to the armpit. If I could disable his mace, Vaness and I could wear him down.
I needn’t have attacked. Before my sword struck, the protector went down as the mob closed over him. Fists landed on his face. Rocks smashed his hand where it wrapped the mace’s grip. He fought silently, throwing men and women aside, but two attackers more appeared for every Prov he repelled.
Moments later, two dead protectors lay in the street, their blood soaking into the dry earth. No more chants rose from the crowd. Instead, Provs looked on in shocked silence. What had they done? What would happen now?
One by one, shadowed figures melted away from the edges of the crowd. There would be no march on Steelhold tonight.
Some of the men and women nearest Vaness and me cast us curious glances. After a moment, I stooped and wiped the blood from my sword, leaving it on the red uniform of the protector.
“More will arrive,” I said. “You should go.”
“You’re Atal,” a man said. “Why did you help us?”
I inhaled as I considered my answer. “To start, I helped because it was the decent thing to do. But there’s more. I know why the gates of Steelhold are closed. I helped you because the protectors are following the orders of usurpers. If they aren’t stopped, they’ll devastate the Empire and everyone in it.”
A murmur of confusion traveled the dissipating crowd. A few Provs who had started to drift away stopped and returned to earshot.
Drawing myself up to my full height, I continued. “Emperor Tovmeil is dead.”
Scattered exclamations rose from the gathering. I raised my hands to silence them. “Tovmeil was murdered by the Ministry. The gates are locked because they fear you’ll learn the truth before their plot is complete.”
“Which plot?” someone asked. “And who are you to know all this?”
I couldn’t tell them everything. Not now. Not even after I’d saved their lives. If they knew I was a Scion, the mo
b was likely to turn on me, adding my body to the those of the protectors’.
“They wish to take power for themselves. We must stop them. You can help by spreading the word. Tovmeil is dead. The Ministry is strangling the city to protect their secrets.”
A block or two away, a shout rang out. “protectors! They’re coming!”
The crowd scattered, sprinting like rats exposed to the light.
I stared down at the dead men. According to Ilishian, the guards were bound to follow the Emperor’s orders. Bound to me. Could I have done something different to spare their lives? Were the sparks of life behind those soulless eyes even worth sparing?
“Kostan,” Vaness said, tugging at my arm. “Time to go. Now.”
I nodded. She was right. The smithy was no refuge now, not after two protectors had died on its doorstep. Shoving my sword into my belt, I turned and followed Vaness into the night.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Savra
Between kilns outside the potters' hall, Steelhold
IN THE STILLNESS following the quake, only the rush of the wind over Steelhold’s walls broke the silence. Huddled between kilns outside the potter’s hall, I strained my ears for the sounds of protectors’ boots. For Minister Brevt’s wheezing breath. For the guards who would march me to the Chasm Gate.
After fleeing Minister Brevt’s chamber, I’d careened through the corridors of Ministry Hall. The shuddering earth had sent me sprawling twice, and the scrape on my shoulder still ached, but I’d lucked upon the exit before being caught. Out in the falling darkness, I’d stumbled away from the hall, across the bare granite courtyard and past a fountain where black sand poured endlessly from cornices and spouts.
All the while, I’d imagined Minister Brevt chasing me, his oily spirit tendrils whipping and grasping. But he hadn’t caught me then, and he hadn’t found me yet.
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