by Beth Alvarez
It would not be impossible to take the throne by herself, but it would be difficult. Much more difficult. Lumia drummed her fingers against the arm of her throne.
Daemon had improved her knowledge of the temple through his experiences within it, and his importance to the Archmage as a failed project gave Lumia an upper hand over the wretched mages. Which was the biggest problem she faced, it seemed. It wasn't Kifelethelas or Relythes that she worried about. It was that infernal Archmage.
The thought of Envesi made her blood boil. Lumia's Gift was formidable, but she was no match for the snowy-haired woman who had ruined her life.
It should have been simple. Pursuing a union had been the most obvious way to cement their alliance and place her in power. With as pretty as she was, Lumia had never expected to be passed over. She, too, was of noble birth, bore the Gift, and hailed from the mainland. But she was not Eldani, and in some places, old prejudices held fast.
Part of her conceded that Kifel's marriage to Envesi had not been his choice. His mother had arranged the whole affair. But blight the man if he'd not simpered and fawned over the dark-haired woman who would become Archmage, ruining the simplest of Lumia's plans, skewing the narrative so she appeared little more than a scorned lover instead of an ally whose trust had been shattered.
Her interference with the Archmage's projects had been labeled petty, but she did not regret it. Her exile from the temple had been worth it. Every effort, every hint of corruption that tainted her power had been worth it to see the horror and despair Envesi suffered when her endeavors were ruined.
She still relished the memory of twisting the energy flows as the Archmage laid them over the child—the memory of Envesi's triumph at breaking down the barriers that created affinities within a Gift, only to see how the tainted power corrupted the boy's body. It had been Lumia's first true success, and she felt no remorse for the hand she'd played in Daemon's creation. The very twists that made him a monster were what had spun him into her grasp, and now he was a precious pawn in her game.
Or he had been.
That he'd begun to slip from her grasp was most troublesome indeed.
She had tried using others for this plan before, but their greed always made them unreliable and a hindrance to her efforts. Even Tren, her last attempt, had gone terribly astray. The man was a strong fighter and decent enough strategist, but he failed to hide his hunger for power. She hadn't been able to keep him collared either, though she'd bound him by blood as she had Daemon.
Even now she could feel them, the two men she'd tied herself to. Tren's presence in her mind was like an ember with all its smoldering anger and hate. She silently cursed the gift of longevity he'd gained by sharing of her blood. Now she'd be trapped with his bitterness welling in her mind for what, two, three centuries? Not that Daemon's presence was much better. His emotions were... Well.
She tossed her head, sighing heavily. She'd hoped taking him to her bed would prevent such immature complications of feeling, but that had proven to be a mistake as well.
Perhaps her approach had been wrong. Trying to rein him in had only driven him farther away. So what if she gave him his head? Granted him a little room to spread his wings and make a few of his own mistakes? He'd mentioned establishing territory above-ground; that was perfect. Let him do as he would for a week or two. It would give her a little time without his emotions echoing so loudly in her head. She couldn't afford to waste much time, but a handful of weeks wouldn't endanger their window of opportunity. She could straighten out her thoughts, then determine the best course of action.As long as they struck while Kifel was weakest, it could still be a deathblow to the Eldani kingdom. And with it, the temple's foundation.
Lumia raised her hands overhead and gave a sharp clap. It didn't take more than a moment for her page to appear from behind one of the grand tapestries that hid the tunnels adjacent to her throne room.
“Summon General Daemon for me, child. Tell him I wish to speak to him regarding his plans to move to the surface.” Yes, that would do. Surely he would respond to that.
The boy's eyes widened but he said nothing, bobbing his head in reverence before he disappeared from the room.
Twisting a curl of her golden hair around her finger, Lumia eased back into the worn cushions of her throne. Now the only problem was the mageling.
“Lady Firal?”
“I'll be with you in just a moment,” Firal called over her shoulder. She bit her lip, determined to finish grinding what she'd dumped into her mortar almost two hours ago. Before Daemon had helped her establish the infirmary, she'd had more time than tasks to fill it with. Now she scarcely had time to breathe, let alone prepare her tinctures. People lined up in the hallway to seek treatment for their ills. Her door never closed, but Minna had fashioned a screen of sorts from an old blanket to allow privacy for exams.
Without Minna's help, Firal would have been lost. The woman had assumed the position of assistant the moment the line had formed, and her help was indispensable. The Underling woman stood across the room, preparing something else. Most visitors griped of minor ailments, best treated by sending them home with a pouch of herbs. Which made the task of preparation all the more important. Firal didn't mind being busy, but a moment to catch her breath and straighten her hair would have been nice.
The soldier at the door cleared his throat. “Queen Lumia demands your presence. You are to appear before her immediately, regarding important business of Core.”
Her hand froze on the pestle.
It would have been foolish to think she could live in the underground city without Lumia's knowledge, but after the queen's violent reaction to something so minor as trespassing, part of her had hoped her presence would go unnoticed. She'd been there a handful of weeks and Lumia hadn't seemed to care.
Or Firal thought she hadn't cared. A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed hard as she pushed the mortar farther back on the table. She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced across the room. Minna met her eye with an approving nod, but her face was pinched and uncharacteristically pale.
“Very well.” Firal turned toward the door. “Take me to the queen.”
The soldier nodded stiffly as she stepped into the hall. Curious faces watched them as she followed the man toward the inverted tower. She mustered a smile for them, though it felt weak. Already, the line murmured with rumors passed down from the front, where patients awaiting treatment had been close enough to hear the exchange.
They passed through the market and into the winding hallways of the underground. The hum of the city faded behind them, but Firal remained quiet, and the soldier did not try to initiate conversation. Her heart hammered in her chest and her stomach tied itself in knots. She couldn't fathom why Lumia might want to see her, but somehow, she doubted it had anything to do with healing.
Eventually, the heavy, ornately carved doors that guarded the throne room loomed before her, a stern reminder of her previous encounter with the queen. Firal tried to bolster her courage.
“My orders are to wait here until your meeting is adjourned,” the soldier said as they stopped beside the doors. “Tell me when you are ready to return home and I will escort you.”
“Thank you,” Firal said as she peered up at the doors. If the soldier's orders included escorting her home afterward, perhaps this meeting wouldn't be so bad. Still, she sucked in a deep breath before she pushed open one door and slipped into the throne room.
Fires in the wrought iron braziers between columns cast a new warmth on a place she remembered as cold, though the room was just as vacant as she recalled. Despite its size, the door made no sound as it closed behind her. The dark throne stood empty on its dais.
Firal hesitated until she caught the echo of low voices at the end of the room. Perhaps this was not meant to be a formal meeting. The threadbare carpet that ran the length of the room muted her footsteps as she crept forward.
Belatedly, she thought she should have changed out of he
r apron and work dress before answering a summons from the queen. But most of her clothing was work-stained, anyway; she had few outfits to speak of, and she worked every day of the week. Her musing was cut short as she rounded a pillar and saw who the voices belonged to.
“Oh,” was all she could squeak out.
Daemon's back was to the column, his shirt open all the way down. He had Lumia by the shoulders, and she had his belt halfway undone in her hands.
“Oh, indeed,” Lumia said, a dark look in her blue eyes as her gaze fell on Firal. “You're earlier than I expected.” Daemon pushed her back and she gave him a surly pout.
Color rose into Firal's face, though she couldn't make herself look away. Daemon righted his belt, but left his shirt open as he turned to face her. Heat prickled at the tips of her ears and she knew she had turned from pink to crimson. As a medic, she'd seen any number of unclothed bodies. Yet his sculpted stomach and smooth chest were not at all what she'd expected, given his scale-covered hands and peculiar clawed feet, and they stirred something in her that took a moment to name.
Disappointment.
“I can leave if this is a poor time,” Firal managed as she tore her eyes away at last.
She shouldn't have been surprised. Lumia was a stunning woman. And yet there was an odd tightness in her chest, spurred by confusing and conflicting emotions she couldn't label. Foolish girl, she scolded herself. Daemon was her student. Nothing more.
“You were prompt,” Daemon said, as nonchalantly as if she hadn't just walked in on him being undressed by the queen. As if his shirt didn't still hang open. “I appreciate that. I'd prefer to start this expedition as soon as possible.”
“Expedition?” Firal studied the carpet underfoot with more interest than it deserved.
Lumia sighed and stalked toward the throne. “In light of the current political turmoil aboveground, it is in our best interest to approach King Relythes as soon as possible to establish cordial relations. Daemon is going as my emissary, and he has requested you accompany him on the trip. You shall go.”
Though the queen's words were carefully chosen, Firal noted the ambiguity in the statement. She had not claimed the venture was her brilliant idea, nor had she honored Daemon by acknowledging it was his. Firal suspected it was some sort of test until the queen's final words left her mouth. Gaping, Firal turned toward her. “Why?”
Lumia met her eyes, and her gaze was like ice.
“There are a few reasons.” Daemon crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one clawed foot. “Lumia keeps no council. Unlike the surface kings, she has no one to tend Core's needs if she is gone. And soldiers are not an option. It would be one thing if I were a normal emissary, but I'm the general. Should I arrive with soldiers at my command, he might interpret it as a threat.”
Firal glanced between them with a frown. “And you think taking me is better than traveling alone?”
He shrugged. “We would be able to continue my lessons while traveling. I would prefer not to miss any more, especially with the unrest between the temple and Ilmenhith.”
What unrest? Firal's brow furrowed, but there would be time to ask questions later. “I am not in a position to refuse. As you said, you are the general. And Lumia is the queen. If you expect me to go, then I will go. But I don't...” The words stuck in her mouth and she wet her lips to loosen them. “I mean no offense, but I don't understand why you couldn't give me these orders at our next lesson, instead of calling me here.”
“Formality dictates such things,” Lumia said with a sniff. “Not that you would know. Daemon departs in the morning and I expect you shall be ready when he comes to call.”
Formality? Firal didn't believe that for an instant. Daemon stood beside the throne, his shirt still undone. The message had not been spoken, but it had been perfectly clear. She trained her attention on the floor and curtsied. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Oh,” the queen sighed as her crystalline eyes raked Firal's form, “and do dress appropriately for the trip. You are to appear before a king, after all. You'd shame us if you wear what you apparently think is acceptable attire for such an honor.”
Firal flushed again. She willed her hands to be still at her sides, though they itched to remove her stained apron. “Of course, Your Majesty. Is there anything else you need of me?”
“Not at all.” Lumia smiled sweetly. “You are dismissed.”
Daemon moved as if to escort her to the door.
Firal raised a hand, telling him to stay. “I'll have my things packed and ready to go when you arrive. Thank you, General. Your Majesty.”
He tensed, but remained beside the throne. For Brant's sake, couldn't he at least do up his shirt? She gave Lumia another curtsy and refused to look at Daemon again. He was just a student, she reminded herself. Nothing more. Her ears still burned as she returned to the hallway, where the nameless soldier waited to escort her home.
Certainly, now, nothing more.
13
Business
True to his word, Daemon arrived at Firal's door early the next morning. She hurried to write the last of her instructions for Minna while he waited. She didn't like the idea of leaving her burden on the other woman's shoulders, but she wasn't in a position to refuse Lumia's orders, and the infirmary had to remain open.
Firal still did not understand why she had been chosen for the trip, but she was not convinced it was not some sort of punishment. Continuing Daemon's lessons was important, she agreed, but that hardly made her a suitable escort for a meeting with foreign nobility. But the reason for her inclusion did not change it. Firal tried not to think about it, and instead focused on finishing her notes about which herbs were to be dispensed for what illnesses while she was away.
Minna had insisted on washing Firal's fine black-and-red gown the night before. Though Firal appreciated it—and marveled at the woman's ability to remove the stains from the red silk panels—it only served to remind her of the queen's criticism the day before. She sullenly wished the gown unnecessary as she folded it into the large leather travel pack the Underling woman let her borrow.
The rest of what Minna helped her pack was more reasonable. Spun wool clothing was practical for travel, and a small canvas-bound notebook with a few sticks of wrapped graphite tucked within its pages was sure to be useful.
Firal had just enough time to eat before Daemon insisted they depart. He led her through the market and a number of twisting tunnels at a brisk pace, and none of them felt as long as she remembered. Eventually, some distance from Core, they emerged into the ruins and the weak light of the cloudy morning. It was all she could do to keep from groaning.
“Will we ever travel in anything other than rain?” Firal did her best to keep pace with him, a task made easier by her proper footwear. The sturdy shoes were another gift for which she owed Minna thanks. While the Underling woman had not given them to her, she had suggested them as payment when Firal mended the shoulder of one of Core's few cobblers.
“We won't be traveling in the rain,” Daemon said with an edge in his voice. “We don't have time.”
“And you think suppressing the rain will be easy?” The last thing she wanted was for his sour mood to set the tone of their trip, yet she couldn't help but ask. She did not mean the question as a negative. So many times, he'd surprised her with what he could do.
He gave her no answer.
The path he cut through the ruins was more convoluted than usual. They zigzagged outward and doubled back, and just when Firal thought they neared the heart of the ruins, the curve of the walls changed. She studied the corridors with a bemused frown. That made no sense. The nearer they were to Core or the rounded rooms that held maluiri trees, with their mushroom tops and egg-shaped fruits, the tighter the curves. These were broad, sweeping arcs, some of them damaged and crumbling.
“The walls looks like we're in the outermost part of the ruins,” Firal said, “but we've barely started. Where are we?”
He did not re
ply.
“Daemon?” she prompted.
Silence.
Bristling with irritation, she hefted her satchel higher on her shoulder and crossed her arms. “Are you going to speak to me?”
“Yes,” he said.
Another moment passed in silence and Firal released an exasperated sigh. “Well?”
Daemon paused and held up a small object between his clawed fingers. She extended a hand to take it. He set it in her palm and a wave of energy shot up her arm. Afraid she might drop it, she tightened her grip, though every inch of her skin hummed with its raw power. A shudder coursed through her and she forced her fingers open again to get a better look.
It was only a clear marble. How could it feel so intense?
“What is it?” She pushed it toward him, not wanting to touch it any longer. The flow of such power made her queasy.
“A Gate-stone.” Daemon eyed her so neutrally it became uncomfortable. “Since I'm not supposed to open them on my own.”
She shook her hand after he took the marble-sized stone. Her fingertips still prickled, and she rubbed her palm against her skirt as if to wipe it clean. “Where did you get a Gate-stone?”
“This was why Lumia raided the temple. She wanted one of these. I found it later. Lumia didn't know how to recharge it, so she couldn't use it.” He rolled the stone in his hand. “Watch.”
The air split as if sliced with a knife, peeling back to leave smooth, borderless edges beside a wide patch of green that had to be just beyond the easternmost edge of the ruins. Not even the breeze shifted as the portal's edges grew still. The power didn't crackle or seethe like the other Gates she'd seen. Firal gaped. “I didn't even feel it open!”
“It startled me, too, the first time I used it. I guess it's because the stones hold so much power. There's no fluctuation like there is when mages open Gates. You don't feel it open, you don't feel yourself pass through it. You can step right through and never so much as bat an eye.” It didn't require the mage holding it open to pass through last, either, as evidenced by the way he strode through ahead of her. Firal eyed the Gate distrustfully before she followed. The lack of sensation as she passed through was downright eerie.