Broken Web

by Lori M. Lee

  Saengo gladly retreats. We return the way we came, eager to escape. My thoughts blur together, uncertain where to focus with this discovery.

  We squeeze back out through the door in the mural and are met with a furious Priestess Mia, looking flushed and ruddy as if she just ran the length of the temple grounds.

  “What are you doing here?” she demands. Usually a pinnacle of decorum, she presses her palms anxiously down the front of her robes. Her voice shakes, and her eyes shoot wildly between us and the mural, now broken by the partially opened door.

  “What was all that?” I counter, gesturing toward the hidden rooms. “Something terrible happened in there. I could feel it. What are you hiding?”

  Priestess Mia’s nostrils flare as she draws a sharp breath. Perspiration dampens her hairline. The gold-and-garnet butterfly in her hair, which I assumed to be an ornament, flutters its wings—her familiar.

  “You shouldn’t be here. How did you even—”

  “No.” I stalk toward her. To her credit, she holds her ground until I’m glaring down my nose at her. “You’re going to tell me what those hidden chambers were used for. You’re the Temple of Light’s Scholar of History, and you came running the moment we opened this door, so don’t pretend you don’t know anything.”

  She lifts her chin and, even through her nervousness, gives me a look to rival any reiwyn’s. “I can’t just—”

  “I wonder what the Ember Princess will do to you when she finds out you allowed us to discover the temple’s hidden chambers?”

  Her cheeks darken with color, and a droplet of sweat slides down her neck. Whatever secrets this wing contains must be considerable if Priestess Mia fears reprisal.

  “Tell us what you know, and the Ember Princess never needs to be aware of this.”

  “We just want the truth,” Saengo says, more softly.

  At last, Priestess Mia’s shoulders slump, and she turns to close the double doors behind her. She locks them with a key hanging from her sash, sealing us inside with the statues of Suri and her comrades. In her hair, the butterfly’s wings flutter faster, hovering above her head for a moment before settling again.

  “This part of the temple was closed off long ago,” Priestess Mia says, wringing her hands at her waist. When she realizes what she’s doing, she drops her hands to her side and attempts to recover some of her usual poise. “It hasn’t been in use since the conquest.”

  “What did this have to do with the conquest?” I ask. Something tugs at me, a certainty that I’m missing something important.

  “The war with the shadowblessed was long and difficult. It stretched on for over a decade before the Emperor sought new means of quickening our victory.”

  I suppose it never occurred to the Emperor to abandon his pursuit of conquering all of Thiy. An entire people can’t carry the blame for the crimes of their leaders, but it’s not difficult to see why the shadowblessed clans hate the Empire, or why the Soulless wants House Yalaeng brought low.

  House Yalaeng has always seen our powers as a weapon of war.

  My eyes widen. The anguish steeped into those buried places wasn’t left by physical torture. That kind of pain—the kind that soaks into the stone and fuses to the floorboards so that you can’t even breathe without inhaling the caustic stain—comes from a deeper place. It comes from breaking someone’s soul.

  “Soulrenders,” I whisper.

  Priestess Mia, standing with one hand pressed to Suri’s stone arm, startles in my direction. “How—”

  My fingers tighten around the lantern’s handle, the metal edges biting into my palms. “The Empire kept soulrenders down there. If it was during the conquest, then it was before soulrenders were hunted.” That room with the beds wasn’t a prison. It was a barrack.

  “But why?” Saengo asks. Priestess Mia can’t meet our eyes.

  “New means of quickening their victory,” I repeat with a mocking laugh. “The Temple of Light trained them to be used against the shadowblessed.”

  Priestess Mia turns to face the statue of Suri, her eyes closed as if in prayer. “Our predecessors needed a new tactic. They believed if they could train an army of soulrenders to … to destroy their enemies, all without even having to touch them, they would be unstoppable.”

  The Soulless is said to have lost control on the battlefield, killing both friend and foe. But his madness began here, at the Temple of Light, where House Yalaeng forced the soulrenders to push against the boundaries of their magic by ripping human souls—whose souls, I wonder—and fracturing their own with every attempt.

  “How?” I ask.

  “Something to do with their familiars,” she says, grimacing.

  To become powerful enough to defeat the Soulless, Ronin consumed the blood of his familiar. He made himself an abomination. But that had been his choice, terrible as it may have been.

  “Did any survive?” Was this the secret to the Soulless’s power, as it had been Ronin’s?

  Priestess Mia shakes her head. “After the Soulless came to power, specific details about individuals were destroyed, and this section walled off. All I know is they devised … experiments to alter the relationship between familiar and shaman. They believed that if the soulrenders were less reliant upon a familiar, they would be less vulnerable.

  “Diminishing a familiar’s role as a conduit might also mean allowing the shaman better access to their own magic, and, in turn, grow it. Or, in failing that, perhaps the opposite—binding the soulrender to more than one familiar in the hopes of amplifying their magic. Whatever the method, the strain of trying to extend the limitations of their craft proved too much for some.”

  Shamanic crafts begin to bend when a person reaches a certain level of power, but not every shaman can be pushed that far. Those who couldn’t bend, broke instead. Then, after creating the monster who would become the Soulless and end the conquest, the Empire punished every soulrender who came afterward for their own sins.

  “That’s horrific,” Saengo whispers.

  “And what of the Soulless and his familiar? I asked you that before, and you claimed ignorance.”

  “I wasn’t lying,” she insists. “As I said, specific details were destroyed. Whatever happened to him, no one can answer.”

  Disgusted, I gesture to the exit. “Open it. We’re done here.”

  But Priestess Mia only lifts her chin. “You must understand that happened centuries ago. The Empire is a force for good, and we’ve learned from past—”

  “Have you?” I snap. “Is that why you keep this part of the temple blocked off? Or why the truth of the Soulless’s rise to power remains erased from history?”

  “Be careful how you speak of the Empire. You’re here by their allowance, and there are eyes and ears everywhere. As a soulguide, you’re granted certain privileges, but I advise you against testing them. At present, you are an ally.”

  I hear the threat clear enough. I cross the short distance between us and snatch the key from her waist. “The Empire is my ally. I advise you against forgetting that.”

  When the Ember Princess appears at our door the following afternoon, I wonder if Priestess Mia confessed to our discovery of the hidden barrack. But she doesn’t accuse us of trespassing. Instead, she informs us that the Emperor and his counsel will allow us to accompany Theyen south. We’re to prepare to leave at once.

  Queen Meilyr’s ships still surround the port at Kazahyn’s border. At least for now, I need her to remain there. I have to know if she’s working with the Soulless and why. Any advantage against him that I can uncover will be of help.

  There’s also the question of what the queen plans to do if granted access to the Xya River. Humans can’t enter Mirrim, but there’s no limit to the destruction an invading army can unleash. If the queen invades the Empire, the Emperor’s armies would have to meet her before she ever nears the capital.

  Hopefully, if negotiations succeed, that won’t happen. According to Kyshia, having the soulguide along, ev
en an untrained one, will help reassure Nuvali soldiers uncertain about entering Kazan territory and prove the Empire’s commitment to their alliance with the Fireborn Queens.

  At least in theory. Within a day of setting out, Theyen and the Nuvali leader, a woman named Lady Ziha, have broken up three different fights between shamans and shadowblessed, forcing the ranks to be suitably divided to prevent further interaction. Fortunately, none resulted in bloodshed, but we’ve several days ahead of us, so there’s plenty of time.

  The following morning, a Nuvali soldier marching behind me calls out, “Suryali. What say you about the Empire coming to the aid of a Kazan clan?”

  I’m riding Yandor, who has been rightly spoiled this past week by Light Temple stablehands, and Saengo is on a borrowed drake, so it’s easy for us to turn and spot the soldier on the ground. As expected, when heading into battle, all familiars were left behind. Save for Saengo, that is. I’m about to tell the soldier that it’s the Empire’s duty to aid their allies when another shaman shouts over the rumble of plodding feet.

  “We should be marching to war. Our people were killed in the north. By not retaliating, we bare our bellies to our enemies.”

  “We have an alliance with the Fireborn Queens, and we will honor that,” another says. “We’re not oathbreakers.”

  Some mumble agreement, but all fall silent when Lady Ziha rides past, her sharp gaze cutting through the ranks.

  There’s some truth to their discontent, though. Queen Meilyr broke the peace treaty and killed Nuvali and Kazan alike. In previous reigns, the Empire would’ve already retaliated in full force. But Kyshia and the Emperor seem to favor caution, and I can’t say I’m not grateful.

  “Sirscha,” Saengo says, gesturing with her chin. “Am I seeing things or does that soldier look a lot like …”

  It doesn’t take long to spot who she’s referring to. Marching farther ahead, a soldier peers over her shoulder at us. Her hair is cut to her scalp, and she has gleaming emerald eyes. She looks like a younger version of Phaut.

  My breath catches. Winimar mentioned Phaut’s sister worked as a guard in the castle, but she must’ve been reassigned to accompany us. Her name is Juleyne, I think. Realizing we’ve spotted her, she quickly faces forward again.

  I want to speak to her, but I doubt she’ll welcome my company.

  We’re to reach the hills outside Luam tonight. In the morning, we’ll board boats and make the rest of the journey by river. With tempests and vortices to hasten the waves and the wind, we should reach the Kazan border within days.

  Prince Meilek left the morning after our disrupted meeting in Luam, and I haven’t had the opportunity to ask Theyen what the Fireborn Queens have learned about the attack. Maybe it’s silly, but with Prince Meilek and the other Eveywnians gone, the Empire feels less … secure. Now it’s only Saengo and me, foreigners in a kingdom I will never call home.

  The idea of home sets my chest to aching. Sometimes it’s the places I miss—the meandering streets of Vos Talwyn, the curling green rooftops, the imposing statues of the Sisters, and all the hidden nooks where small shops sell fresh bread rolls filled with plum jelly. For a time, it was home. Some days, the yearning cleaves me in two.

  Other times, it’s the people I miss. The sense of belonging. I remember a shopgirl who blushed and slipped an extra sweet bun into my purchases every weekend. There was an older fisherwoman with only one good tooth who told tales of the Sisters to anyone who’d listen on warm evenings, and children who loitered on dusty street corners playing knucklebones with smooth pebbles. And Kendara in her tower, a fixed point forever displaced.

  “What are you thinking about, Sirscha?” Saengo asks. She’s been watching me.

  I sigh and pat Yandor’s neck. He’s my only other friend here. “I was thinking about how nice it’d be to go home.”

  Saengo’s eyes unfocus. I can sense the same longing within her. “It could yet happen,” she says softly.

  If Prince Meilek takes the throne from his sister. If the Soulless is defeated. If the kingdoms don’t go to war. If. If. If.

  But I only say, “It could.”

  The rest of the journey passes without any further harassment from either side. After a fight on the first evening, resulting in the responsible shaman and shadowblessed spending the whole next day mucking out the boat with the drakes, everyone else fell in line.

  Our small fleet of boats travels swiftly down the Xya River, aided by shaman crafts. It isn’t long before Theyen announces we’ve crossed into Kazahyn. What we can see of the land is breathtaking—ancient forests and harsh gray peaks. At one point, nothing but sheer rock braces either side of the river, so high the sun remains hidden for hours. After, though, the cliffs give way to lush valleys teeming with flocks of cranes. Most of the shadowblessed live underground, leaving the surface generally undisturbed save for the occasional farm.

  I also find a few minutes alone with Theyen, long enough for him to confirm that the attack in Luam targeted me, not Prince Meilek, to sabotage Theyen’s alliance with House Yalaeng.

  The assassin wouldn’t have been able to enter Mirrim, not with the magical barrier around the city, so she waited for me in Luam. The only reason she might suspect I’d return to Luam is if she knew Prince Meilek was there as well. She must’ve watched the inn for days.

  A reasonable conclusion is that a rival clan of the Fireborn Queens sent her. But if it’s true that Prince Meilek switched rooms every evening, how did she know where we would be? The curtains were closed.

  I suppose she could’ve been inside the inn and observed my arrival. Or, she had help from someone among Prince Meilek’s followers. It’s unlikely, given how much they adore him, but it’s something to consider.

  Sometime after noon on the third day, we reach the port city of Tamsimno. It’s smaller than I expected, certainly smaller than Vos Gillis. The banners of various Kazan clans fly from rooftops, their tiles painted in vibrant colors. In the distance, the masts of large sea vessels stripe the skyline.

  When the river turns, exposing the open waters where the Xya River empties into the sea, I suck in my breath. Saengo’s hand finds mine. Ships dot the horizon for as far as the eye can see. Every last one of them flies a pennant with the silver moon of Evewyn.

  THIRTEEN

  As soon as we dock, Kazan officits pull Theyen and Lady Ziha away.

  I watch the Evewynian ships, marveling that such a fleet exists. The Evewynian navy remained docked somewhere between Vos Gillis and Needle Bay, so I’ve never seen them en masse before. I’ve heard the Empire’s fleet triples Evewyn’s, but it’s hard to imagine.

  The Kazan also have ships, as they often trade with countries across the sea. According to Theyen, the Silverbrows even have a navy. But not nearly on this scale.

  With the Evewynian blockade, fishing boats swarm the docks, unable to leave port. Likewise, all trade up and down the river has been stalled.

  The shadowblessed watch from afar, guarded and suspicious, as the Nuvali make camp along the hills beyond Tamsimno. It must be unsettling for the shadowblessed to have Evewyn’s ships blocking the sea to the south, and a Nuvali company camped in the north. As Saengo and I unpack our tent, a tall figure strides up alongside us. Saengo freezes, and I set down the canvas.

  Juleyne doesn’t speak, but she rests one hand on the hilt of her sword, which I recognize as Phaut’s. Winimar followed through with his promise.

  “Juleyne, right?” I say. Everything in Juleyne’s stiff posture makes it clear she isn’t here to exchange pleasantries. “I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” she snaps, scowling. “You’re the one who got my sister killed.”

  Phaut’s loss spears through me, but it’s probably nothing compared to what her sister must feel.

  She steps closer, lowering her voice to avoid drawing the attention of nearby soldiers. “You might have everyone here fooled into thinking you’re some kind of savior, but I know the truth. You’re not a hero. You
’re a murderer.”

  The hatred in her eyes would’ve been startling if I wasn’t expecting it. There’s nothing I can say to appease her anger, but I still say, “I’m sorry.”

  She spits at my feet, spins on her heel, and stalks away, nearly colliding with Theyen. She offers a half-hearted apology when she recognizes him, and then vanishes into the disarray of the settling camp.

  “She looks familiar,” Theyen says as he approaches. I open my mouth to explain, but he holds up a hand. “I don’t care. Queen Meilyr has extended an invitation to board her ship. But only if you’re in our party.”

  I tense at this. It’s not surprising for the queen to assume I might arrive with Theyen and his Nuvali allies. “I see. And the other leaders will allow it?”

  “They argued against it, but I convinced them otherwise. And, just in case you’re unaware, should things go awry—and I’ve a feeling they might—we’ll be surrounded by enemies without an immediate means of escape.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  He looks me over with an unimpressed tilt of his brow. “Really? Because I recall having to rescue you not so long ago.”

  “Stop antagonizing me. When do we leave?”

  “Immediately. The rest of the party is already waiting. The invitation is only open until sunset, which is in two hours.”

  “That seems unusual,” Saengo says. “The queen specifically wants Sirscha present, and yet you’ve got a feeling that things will go wrong.” She turns to me, hands outstretched and looking incredulous. “It’s a trap. You can’t possibly go along with this.”

  “We’ve been at a stalemate for nearly a week,” Theyen says. “This is the first time the queen has agreed to speak with us since her ships arrived. I’ve no reason to trust she will adhere to the rules of war, but if there’s even a small chance of avoiding bloodshed, we’ll hear her out.”

  “And if she doesn’t adhere to the rules?” Saengo asks, brows raised in a disturbingly perfect imitation of her father.