by Beth Alvarez
Kifel lifted his chin. “Bring them in.”
One by one, the members of his council filtered into the room. Most looked annoyed; Temar alone appeared worried. Kifel locked eyes with her and began before anyone could speak.
“From this moment forward, Temar, all mages on Elenhiise answer to you. You will locate all mages within my territory. They will be taken into custody and questioned. Those who have sworn or will swear fealty to me are free to return to their duties, but shall not interact further with unproven mages. Those who refuse to swear fealty will be imprisoned in the palace and held inside the nullifying barrier. There will be no exceptions. Do you understand?”
Temar's jaw went slack. “Your Majesty—”
“Do you understand?” he repeated.
She bowed her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Horror spread itself across the faces of the other councilors. Kifel ignored them and turned his attention to Captain Straes. “Tighten border security. No one passes between the eastern and western halves of the island for any reason. Any group that attempts to force their way through the border from the eastern side shall be treated as a harbinger of war and will be destroyed.”
“Yes, Majesty.” Captain Straes clapped a hand over his heart and gave a slight bow.
“Majesty,” Temar began. “If all mages are to be questioned, your son...”
The word twisted like a knife in his gut, but Kifel did not flinch. He met her eyes, his gaze cold. The councilors watched him, tense and fearful.
“As I said,” Kifel replied, “no exceptions.”
Firal tiptoed along the tower's wall as a cart rumbled past on its way to the gardens above. The waterfall bridge was just ahead, but she tried not to look at it. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on Daemon's back.
“I'm not sure I like the idea of lessons involving water anymore,” she called, her voice all but lost beneath the sound of people. She enjoyed watching the bustle of the underground city's market, but pressing through it was different. The crowds kept her from visiting often. Since her new duties began, she hadn't visited the market at all.
Word of the infirmary had spread fast. Most days, she propped her door open in the morning and entertained a stream of visitors all day. It cut into her lessons with Daemon, but he hadn't complained. Yet when she'd opened her door that morning, he'd been the only person outside. After the hours of their designated time she'd instead spent treating colicky babies and setting broken bones, she couldn't object when he insisted they carve out a lesson.
He turned to face her, walking backwards, his confidence as awe-inspiring as ever. “Don't worry. I'll leave the river alone. This time, the lesson is for you.”
“For me?” She ducked through the doorway that led from the inverted tower to the square, as she'd come to think of the market beside the river.
“A lesson in our history and culture.” Daemon paused to let her catch up, then continued ahead at a pace that was easier for her to follow. “Minna's taught you a lot, but you still haven't seen the best part of Core. If you're going to be one of us, it'll help if you participate in community rituals.”
“Rituals?” she repeated, doubtful.
He flashed her a look over his shoulder. She was certain he grinned. “You'll see.”
They followed the river's edge through the market until the cavern tapered and left only a narrow walkway on either side of the wide river. The water was deeper at the cavern's mouth, and the massive waterwheel clacked overhead. Firal craned her neck to look at it. She had known it was large, but she had never ventured so close. The wooden structure was as tall as the garden's serpent's-tongue trees.
“The waterwheel is the greatest feat of the ruin-folk.” Daemon paused beside her and looked up, as well. “Building a similar system would revolutionize life in the surface cities.”
She frowned. “They have waterwheels on the surface.”
“Not like this.” He jerked his head toward the narrow path. “This way.”
Firal followed with her fingertips brushing the wall. Eventually, they reached a wide doorway set into the wall beside them. The space beyond was dim, but Daemon waved a hand and lanterns sprung alight along the walls. The display of skill startled her.
“You've gotten quite good with fire,” she remarked as he led her up a handful of stairs. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd given him his first lesson. Now he could light a dozen individual flames at once with barely a thought.
“I've had a good teacher,” he replied easily.
The air ahead was damp and warm. The corridor turned twice with no offshoots, then emptied into a large room filled with cisterns of carved stone. Thick, rough-spun curtains hung between the basins. A maze of wood slats hung from the ceiling with lanterns suspended between them.
“What is this?” Firal's eyes followed the wood until her chosen slat disappeared into the wall. Narrow channels had been drilled through the stone to let the wood through and she couldn't help but wonder where they led.
“The bathhouse.” Daemon waved toward a shelf against the front wall. Jars and bottles of every shape and size decorated it. He transferred a bottle to her hands. “The soaps and bath oils are provided for everyone. Normally, there would be people here, and you'd be expected to share a tub or return later. But it's early. No one comes to bathe until after the morning's work is done.”
Firal shot him a glare. “I am not bathing with you.”
“Don't flatter yourself.” He plucked a bottle from the top shelf and uncorked the top to smell its contents. He grimaced and put it back. “The curtains are for privacy. I always have my own.”
“And you bring in water from the river?” She didn't see any buckets. The sound of the river outside was dulled by the solid stone walls, but the noise still reached her ears.
“The water brings itself. Pick your soaps and fetch a towel from that rack over there. Then I'll show you.” Daemon stepped up onto the ledge beside a tub and caught hold of one of the curtains. Metal rings in its top rattled against its wooden track as he dragged it away from the wall. He gave it a shake, and then the curtain glided forward to drape elegantly around the far side of the tub.
Firal popped open several bottles to sniff their contents. Most were mild floral fragrances, likely made from flowers grown in the garden. She chose one that smelled sweet with a hint of spice, pulled a worn towel from the rack as directed, and turned toward the tubs.
Still standing on the ledge, Daemon reached overhead and grabbed a dangling cord. She hadn't noticed them before, but two dangled above each basin, high up enough that she would have difficulty reaching them on her own. He pulled the cord taut, then paused. “Go ahead and pour that in here.”
“Does the water come from that?” she asked as she opened the bottle and upended it over the empty tub.
“The left cord is hot water. Right cord is cold.” He jerked the leftmost cord and a slat in one of the wooden rails opened. Steaming water gushed from the opening, splashing into the tub below. Daemon leaned away.
Firal's mouth fell open. “The water is hot? How?”
His eyes sparkled behind his mask when he looked her way. “The waterwheel. It's made with scoops, not just flat paddles. They pour water into troughs as the wheel turns. Didn't you see it?”
A flush crept into her cheeks. “I suppose I didn't. Where do the troughs go?”
“The water race carries everything from the waterwheel into the boiler room above us. The fires are kept burning so hot water is always available.” He pulled the second cord and another spout of water joined the first. Cool water, this time, to offset the heat.
Firal spread a hand over the tub and wriggled her fingers in the steam. “This is incredible. Hot water on demand... I've never seen anything like it.”
“It's one of many ideas I hope to take to the surface with us.” He stepped back, leaving the water to run as he opened the slats over the neighboring basin.
The space between each cis
tern was larger than she'd initially noticed. With the curtains drawn, each tub would still boast a wide ledge around it. She assumed it was for clothing and maybe space for someone to sit. Her folded towel fit neatly beside the tub. “What do you mean?”
“Mind the cork at the bottom when you get in. You'll have to put it back in after you drain the water, otherwise they tend to get lost.”
Firal leaned forward to peer into the tub. The froth from the soap kept her from seeing anything. “I didn't even notice. It drains, too?”
He pulled another curtain from the wall, halfway encircling his tub. “All of them empty into a channel that runs underneath us. It's a man-sized tunnel that empties into the inverted tower several floors down. You probably haven't gone down far enough to see the second bridge, but that's where the tunnel lets out. From there, the bathwater drains into the waterfall.”
“Huh.” She dipped a finger into the water as it neared an appropriate depth. Satisfied by the temperature, she climbed onto the slab and strained to reach the cords to shut off the flow of water. The wooden beads at the ends of the cords bounced off her fingertips. “But you didn't answer my question.”
Daemon did not reply.
A cold uneasiness crept into her stomach. The only reason he would avoid the answer was if it was unpleasant. The cheerful warning she'd received from Colonel Achos drifted forth from the back of her mind, as it had so many times since their encounter in the gardens. She caught the cords and managed to pull the water slats closed. “You intend to overthrow King Kifelethelas and usurp his throne, don't you?”
He turned toward her, the spark gone from his eyes. “Who told you that?”
The ice in his response made her heart beat faster. She shrugged and feigned indifference as she pulled the curtain on the other side of her tub. It moved more easily than she expected. “I've heard it in Core.”
“That's Lumia's intention, not mine.” He uncorked his own chosen bottle and poured it into the water. A warm, spiced scent rose to meet the floral fragrance of her own bath.
Firal tucked in her chin and pulled the curtain harder. It slid around to envelop the front of the tub, obscuring the entryway and offering privacy. “Then why go along with it?”
“Because that's politics. You use the tools you're given. If you don't, you're a fool.” Following her lead, he closed the curtains between them and shut off the water.
She bristled. “And using people?”
“People are the best tools. You don't have to like it, but when you walk in their circles, you must play their games. If I'm to give these people a better life, that's what I must do.”
“Noble,” Firal muttered. She untied the bodice of her simple dress and stepped out of her slippers. The latter had become quite worn, but she doubted she'd be able to replace them soon. She'd wished for her lost sandals a thousand times. “If you don't intend to seize the throne in Ilmenhith, then what is your intention?”
“That much should be obvious.” A hint of amusement touched his voice. “I want a better life for everyone in Core. I want to reclaim part of the surface. It's been centuries since we were cast out. Things have changed. It's time for things on the surface to change, too.”
The soft rustle of fabric on the other side of the curtain made Firal pause. As eager as she was to enjoy her first real bath since Ilmenhith, she hadn't considered that she wouldn't be alone. She toyed with the laces of her dress and looked at the floor. “Should we be here? Together? I wouldn't want anyone to think—”
“That you enjoy my company?” Humor replaced his amusement. “Watching one of our lessons would be enough to clear up that misconception.”
Metal pinged on the other side of the curtain and the fabric swayed. On the floor, the corner of his lost mask poked through a gap in the curtains. She stared at it until movement drew her eye upward. A glimpse of his bare back, his bronze flesh so startlingly normal, made her heartbeat pound in her ears. He turned his head, ever so slightly, and she spun away.
Chuckling, Daemon moved his mask across the floor with one clawed foot and drew the curtains closed again. “No peeking.”
Heat burned in the tips of her ears and her pulse still thundered, but she swallowed hard and tried to sound composed. “I wouldn't need to peek if you weren't so adamant about keeping secrets.” She kept her back to the curtain as she undressed, then hastily slipped into the tub. The water was hotter than she expected and she sucked in a sharp breath as she rose halfway out of the foam.
“Don't take it personally.”
Inch by inch, she sank back into the water. “How do you expect me to trust you when you've never let me see your face?”
A pause. “That was part of why I brought you here.”
Firal sank chin-deep in the foam. Even with her back turned, his presence made her uncomfortable. “Are you certain this is appropriate?”
“It's a communal bath and the curtains are drawn. But the baths are always empty first thing in the morning, which means I can speak to you for a moment in private.” A soft swish of water on his side of the curtain came accompanied by a contented sigh. “I'll be leaving Core soon, traveling to Alwhen to speak to King Relythes. I mean to approach him and negotiate for land.”
Despite the heat of the water, a chill stole through her. Was this what Tren meant? Despite Daemon's secrecy, she'd thought him honest. Now, the first glimmers of trickery came to the surface. She braced herself. “Why not negotiate with Kifelethelas?”
“Because the ruins already fall within his territory, but they're useless to him. I stand a good chance of convincing him to relinquish control of the ruins. But if Relythes believes I am allied with Kifelethelas, it will be harder to negotiate with him because he'll see me as an enemy.”
“So you'll ally with Relythes, then?” She couldn't keep the heat from her voice, but when Daemon replied, he was calm.
“I mean to ally with both of them.”
Firal folded her arms over her chest and slouched in the water. Her dark hair floated on the foam like a shadow. “That's an impossible feat.”
“Not impossible,” he said slowly, “just difficult. They're both reasonable men, but their feud is older than they are. Elenhiise is fueled by tradition on both sides of the island. But should a third faction rise, on good terms with both, we can finally move forward. I believe it's possible to work with both Kifel and Relythes, but even if they refuse, kings don't live forever. Even Eldani kings. We have the opportunity to become one of the most politically useful countries in the world, but to do that, we have to unify.”
“Under your banner?”
“If necessary.” The patience in his words was infuriating.
“Why tell me this?” The question spilled out before she could stop it. She was a disgraced mageling, a nobody. Why confide such secrets in her, unless he meant her to become a pawn?
“Because I want you to know our people are not enemies. The Eldani and the ruin-folk can coexist peacefully. You don't have to choose between us and them.”
A twinge of hurt pulled at her heart. After all she'd been through, she wasn't sure where her loyalties were anymore. Kifel had done more than enough to earn her loyalty and respect. He had been kind and fair in his dealings with her. She was loyal to her friends, though she had no way of knowing if that loyalty was returned. But the temple that had been her entire life and purpose had rejected her, and the people of Core had welcomed her with open arms. The ruin-folk smiled at her freely, gave thanks for her services readily, and forgave her clumsy missteps as she learned of their culture.
And then there was Daemon.
He didn't have to allow her into his people's city. He would have been justified if he'd never spoken to her again. She didn't dare ask why he had. But they'd leaped right back into his lessons, relying on her understanding of magic to rein in his power—power that was savage enough to corrupt his body, she reminded herself. His interest in learning magic was not altruistic. It was wholly self-serving, and o
ne open, honest moment did not change that.
She closed her eyes. “My people will always come first.”
“I understand,” Daemon replied softly. “I just hope that in time, you'll come to see us as your people, too.”
Water splashed on the other side of the curtain, and Firal listened as he dried himself and dressed. A sucking sound drowned out the rustle of clothing as the water drained from the tub, and then the soft click of his claws trailed out of the room.
Firal drew up her legs and rested her head against her knees. He'd asked nothing of her, yet she felt as burdened as if he had. If it came down to it, could she choose between Daemon's people and her own? The question put a lump of discomfort in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't realized until that moment, but Core had already become her home.
12
Nothing More
Fragmented beams of sunlight filtered through the skylight and sent dancing rainbows across the floor. One fell across her lap, and Lumia stared without seeing it. She wasn't used to not getting her way. For the third time since the temple's destruction, the nighttime summons she'd sent for Daemon had gone unanswered.
It was not the warmth of his body or the pleasure of coupling she missed, but control. He had been young when she'd taken him beneath her wing and added facets of knowledge to his understanding of politics and royalty. He'd been easy to manage, content to follow her every order simply because she issued it. It was under her tutelage, she told herself, that he'd grown into such a fine young man. Fine to look at, as well, but there were the mages to thank for that. Lumia was not unfamiliar with the forbidden energies that could alter one's form, but that was one thing even she dared not manipulate again.
And yet, despite all her help and all her kindness, he had chosen to wrest his loyalty from her grasp just as things came together. Affairs on the surface simmered on the verge of explosion; there would never be an easier time to supplant the king and claim his lands for her own. She'd thought Daemon an asset to her intentions, but his recent actions had dulled the edge of that plan. She didn't like being forced to revise her strategy.