by Lori M. Lee
“We have a plan,” he says, which doesn’t appear to mollify her.
It’s a blatant trap, but the last thing Theyen wants is his clan being drawn into a war, so he’s willing to take this risk. I don’t have a choice, either. I came here for information, and getting on that ship with Queen Meilyr seems the surest way to get it.
I apologize to Saengo for leaving her to set up our tent alone, but she waves me off and insists on accompanying us to the docks. I toss my cloak alongside our bags. I need only my swords, which are strapped to my back. Shamans and shadowblessed alike gather along the pier to watch our departure.
When I glimpse the rest of our party, I pause. Aside from Theyen and myself, there’s a Silverbrows officit, his shadowblessed subordinate, Lady Ziha, and Juleyne. She must be Lady Ziha’s guard.
She spots me and turns away with a sneer. I sigh. This should go well.
We board two narrow boats, and Juleyne and the shadowblessed soldier row us out. The waves slosh against the hull. A light spray dampens the backs of my hands as I grip the sides of the boat.
Behind me, Theyen leans forward so that his words are delivered only to my ears. “If you must speak, say as little as possible. Don’t let her provoke you.”
I nod. Ahead of us, the queen’s ship grows larger. Flying high above the crow’s nest, the silver moon of Evewyn catches in the late afternoon breeze. The briny air and the warm sea breeze remind me of Vos Talwyn, and I can’t help feeling the sharp stab of homesickness.
As our boats pull up alongside the ship, sailors unfurl a rope ladder down the side. Excruciatingly aware of how exposed we are, we begin to climb.
Once we reach the main deck, a human woman in a stiff officit’s uniform steps forward. Standing beside Nuvali shamans, I realize how easily the queen could use my presence to support her lie that I’m a traitor.
Queen Meilyr stands on the quarterdeck, wearing a flowing gown of brilliant green beneath a silver breastplate bearing the triple-horned stag of House Sancor. A velvet cape drapes down her back, and a sword rests at her hip. I wonder if she knows how to use it. I never thought to ask Prince Meilek or Kendara. Her hair is pulled back into an elegant braid that wraps around a glimmering crown that resembles long spears of broken glass. She’s certainly dressed for the role of a conquering queen.
“I am Admiral Yang,” the officit says with a bow. The queen doesn’t move from her place on the quarterdeck, allowing Admiral Yang to speak for her.
As they exchange introductions, I take a quick headcount. Two dozen soldiers stand in formation behind the admiral, and that’s just on the main deck. Two officits remain with the queen on the quarterdeck, and my craft senses the pull of more below deck. I still can’t separate them; every soul aboard this ship melds into a formless reverberation—all except one.
I draw a steadying breath, forcing away the tension gripping my limbs. One soul stands apart from the others, growing from awareness into a near physical presence. It weighs on my mind and senses like the air from the greenhouse in my dream. Or the hidden chambers in the Temple of Light.
It feels old. Earthen.
Somewhere aboard this ship hides a soul as ancient as the Soulless. My confusion transforms to dread, every muscle in my body seizing at the fear that the Soulless is here and that I’ve miscalculated his strength.
But then reason returns to disperse the panic. The soul I’m sensing is close, too close to be inside the belly of the ship. I scan the assembled faces, but the only shamans on deck are the Nuvali and me.
Queen Meilyr draws my gaze again. Her fitted green sleeves are edged with lace and cinched at her wrists with silver vambraces. She clasps her hands, fitted in dark gloves, at her waist, where two silk sashes form an elegant and elaborate knot.
Beneath the sashes, an ornament hangs from a thin silver chain. It’s difficult to tell from across the deck, but it looks like a misshapen lump of rock, or an uncut gem, clutched within a cage of yellowing bone. My craft strains against my control, reaching for the soul that’s all but bursting from within.
I swallow down the confusion closing around my throat. Why, in the name of the Sisters, is the queen wearing a soul around her waist like an accessory? The immensity of its presence and similarity to what I felt at Spinner’s End, to what I feel in my dreams, can only mean it’s tied to the Soulless somehow.
Kyshia had said that some Scholars believe the Soulless removed his soul and hid it away in a talisman. I’d scoffed at the notion, but now I’m not so sure.
“We are not here to negotiate,” Lady Ziha says harshly, catching my attention. She’s responding to something Admiral Yang said.
“Then we’re agreed,” Queen Meilyr says, voice sharp enough to cut across the deck. “But I will not entertain any suggestions to retreat until I’ve spoken with your soulguide.” Her gaze finds mine, a challenge bright behind her eyes. “Alone.”
I’m surprised she recognizes me. We’ve never officially met, although I suppose Kendara would’ve told her about me as her pupil.
Lady Ziha begins to object, but I cut her off. “I’ll do it.”
A muscle jumps in Theyen’s jaw. “Can you not be impulsive for—”
“I’ll do it,” I repeat, lifting my chin. I want to hear what she has to say, and, more importantly, I need to know what she’s wearing.
Theyen’s eyes flash. I imagine he’d like nothing better than to throw me overboard.
“Out of the question,” Lady Ziha says, stepping in front of me.
Theyen takes my arm and speaks in a harsh whisper, “Have you forgotten she wants to capture you?”
“I have to speak to her,” I hiss back. “Besides, you said you have a backup plan.”
His nostrils flare with a furious inhale, and he releases me. He nods at Lady Ziha, whose fingers twitch as if imagining reaching for her sword. Instead, she steps aside.
Queen Meilyr smirks and descends from the quarterdeck. That odd jewel rests against layers of green spidersilk, swinging lightly on its chain. The presence within presses around me, beckoning. Tempting. My magic burns at my fingertips.
An officit opens the door to the captain’s cabin, but I don’t move until Queen Meilyr enters. The officit looks at me, waiting.
Before I can follow, a second officit gestures for my swords. I smile, all teeth, and hand my sword belt to Theyen. His glare bores into me as I cross the desk and step into the cabin. The officit enters with us and shuts the door.
The cabin is comfortably large with maps pinned to the walls and a massive oak desk. Queen Meilyr sits behind the desk, perched at the edge of a high-backed chair carved to resemble the head of a giant squid. Two soldiers stand against the wall behind the chair. Her gloved hands are folded in her lap, almost cradling the strange talisman. Its power is like a vibration in the air, a hum that makes my teeth clench.
I begin to cross the room, but a hand falls on my shoulder. Fingers dig beneath the edge of my leather spaulders. “That’s far enough,” the officit says.
I resist the impulse to smash my elbow into his face and jerk my shoulder from his grip.
“Why am I here?” I demand. Once, I wouldn’t have dared to raise my eyes above the queen’s collar. Now, I meet her gaze as she takes my measure.
“Sirscha Ashwyn,” she says, almost mockingly. “Kendara spoke well of you. You were very nearly my Shadow. It would have raised you far above your current station.”
I don’t speak, waiting for her to get to the point.
“I’d like to propose a trade.”
“What sort of trade?” I ask.
“Bring me my brother, and you and your friend will receive a full pardon.”
I nearly laugh. I’d be a fool to trust any promise from her lips. Even if I did, I would never help her against Prince Meilek.
“My brother is a traitor to his crown and country. After such a service, I might still reward you with the honor of being my Shadow. You’ve the resilience and resourcefulness necessary for t
he position, and you’ve already proven your skill above my previous Shadow’s.”
At the reminder that I killed Jonyah, I only raise one eyebrow. Given the chance, I’d do it again. He killed Phaut.
“You spent four years enduring Kendara’s absurd tests, and for what? I’m offering you a chance at what you always wanted. All I ask is that you prove your loyalty to me by bringing me my traitor brother. Kendara said you had good instincts. What do they tell you now, Sirscha?”
“Not to trust you.”
She smiles and cocks her head like I’m a child in need of guidance. “You trust the Nuvali over your own queen? I’m not what they say, you know.” Her voice softens, and her eyes lower. “My brother is my only family. There is no one else. You know a little about what that’s like, don’t you? Can you imagine being betrayed by the one person you trusted above all others?”
I once trusted Kendara as I trusted no one save Saengo. She may not have betrayed me to an enemy, but her lies were a betrayal all the same, and her abandonment twice over is worse. Love is a painful emotion.
“I can imagine,” I say. “But now you seek to punish him for following his conscience?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I am his queen as much as I am his sister. More than that, I wish to speak to him—to understand. His actions are misguided, but we might be able to mend this rift.”
Her words are a lie. I know it, and yet, I suddenly recall an evening long ago—the anniversary of the queen’s coronation. There had been a party. As usual, Saengo and I had slipped from the barracks to hide in the palace gardens and watch the court mingle in their glittering jewels and flowing robes. As one, the assembled reiwyn quieted, moving toward the edges of the ballroom.
In the cleared space, Queen Meilyr stood in layers of wispy fabric, a crimson sash knotted into an extravagant bow at her back. Facing her, Prince Meilek grinned, all but glowing with affection.
The high, lilting notes of a flute floated through the hushed ballroom, and both siblings raised their arms to one side in elegant swan poses. Saengo and I shared a look of excitement at such a rare occurrence. The two danced in elegant, perfectly coordinated movements, silks sweeping around them. As the queen spun, arms extended and sleeves billowing through the air, I remember being struck by her expression. I’d never seen her eyes so gentle.
It was a little unsettling. She didn’t look like someone who ordered the deaths and imprisonment of her own people. With a simple golden hairpiece, she didn’t even look like a queen—just a lady dancing with a brother she adored.
The next morning, I conveyed the moment to Kendara, who scoffed and said I would do well to remember that Queen Meilyr was not to be misjudged. Gentle was not the queen’s way, and whatever she willed, as her servants, we would submit.
But Prince Meilek is her brother. He knows her as no one else does. I can’t help but wonder if he’d accept an offer to reconcile. When we last spoke, it was clear how dearly he still loves her.
“Last I heard, he’d gone with you into the Empire.” She’s still smiling, but her nose wrinkles slightly. “A poor choice for allies.”
I frown. “Why are you so threatened by shamans?”
Her smile fades, all hint of softness vanishing as her lips thin into a hard line. She and Prince Meilek share the same mouth and the same tilt at the corner of their eyes. It’s unsettling to see those familiar features twist into something bordering cruel.
“Magic is a perversion of nature. True power doesn’t rely on tricks and sorcery. True power lies in the right to rule.”
I’m taken aback by the venom in her voice. Prince Meilek said she always liked the idea of power, and I can’t deny there’s some truth to the notion. Any amount of power sounds intoxicating to a person who grew up with nothing.
“Magic is—” The words stick in my throat. I meant to say that magic is a gift, thinking of the Fall of Suryal. But what about my magic? My craft could never be a gift. “Magic is in our souls. Even in humans.”
“A cute notion, but humans have never needed magic. Evewyn has endured as long as it has because of the strength of its rulers. We will not bend before those who manipulate nature and disgrace the gods.”
She’s clearly made up her mind, so I don’t bother pointing out that, as much as I love my kingdom, Evewyn likely survived the Yalaeng Conquest and other conflicts between magical races due to its geographical location. Nestled at the western edge of the continent, it stands the farthest from the Empire.
Although it takes effort, I force my craft to shift its focus from the soul in the talisman to the others in the room. I can only just distinguish the queen’s from the others. It doesn’t have the weight and presence of the soul in the talisman, but it’s strong and vibrant. And without even touching her, I could rip it loose.
But probably not without also taking her soldiers’. Would ending Evewyn’s part in this conflict be worth killing them along with her? It would delay the Soulless’s plans and save Prince Meilek the moral dilemma of taking his sister’s throne.
I should do it. I want to, which is maybe reason enough not to. I’ve killed, but I am not a murderer. I’m not the monster she wants me to be.
Besides, I made a promise to Prince Meilek. That, too, should be reason enough to hold myself in check.
And yet. Despite all this, my craft surges against my control, pulsing at my fingertips, demanding. Power is a heady thing, and since taking the throne, Queen Meilyr has grown drunk on it, corrupted by its allure as sure as the Soulless’s power corrupted Ronin.
Just as it could corrupt me if I’m not careful.
“I don’t make this offer lightly,” the queen says, a threat underscoring her words. “And I won’t make it again. Bring me my brother, and I will allow you and your friend to return to Evewyn. Don’t you want to go home?”
Home. I do want it. My chest aches for wanting it. “I think I’ll pass.”
“A pity,” she says, inflection draining from her voice. She stands, smoothing her gown with her palms. Her fingers brush along the talisman’s golden chain. Behind me, the officit opens the door again. “I hoped you’d see reason.”
The soldiers at her back move forward to escort me out. Before they reach me, to test her response, I say, “Reason? You sent an assassin after me in Luam.”
“Actually, that was for your familiar.”
I stiffen. Anger pitches through my gut. My magic quickens beneath my skin, but her ready admission gives me pause.
“Not to kill her,” she continues, like that should be obvious. “To capture her. Even you know that taking a shaman’s familiar is the easiest way to defeat them.”
When she says this, her finger traces the fragile-looking bone that clutches the lump of rock at her waist. And suddenly, I know what it is.
Priestess Mia said that the Empire conducted experiments to alter the relationship between shaman and familiar.
The soul inside the talisman is the Soulless’s familiar. It must be. It would be invulnerable to attack or disease, and, clearly, he doesn’t need to be near it to access his magic. But it’s still his familiar, and a powerful one at that. This is why she’s allied with him. This is the guarantee that he won’t betray her.
Her soldiers take my arms, pulling me out the door, but I dig in my heels. “Where did you get that?” I ask, dropping my gaze to the talisman.
“I wondered if you would notice.” Her fingers close around the yellowing bone. “It was a gift from my father, and a gift to him from his Shadow.”
“Kendara,” I say flatly to disguise the surprise rippling through me. Assuming Queen Meilyr is telling the truth, for Kendara to have had it, she would’ve stolen it from Ronin.
She wouldn’t have stolen anything from the Spider King without knowing exactly what she had in her possession. If her loyalty was to the Empire, why would she give it to Evewyn?
Twenty years ago, Kendara would’ve been in competition to become the Shadow’s apprentice. Ensuring her place as
Shadow would’ve been integral to her success as a spy. I suppose robbing the Spider King of such a valuable relic would’ve done just that. I doubt she told King Senbyn what it was, given no one knew the Soulless was alive.
But had Kendara known?
Either way, that talisman is the key to defeating the Soulless. My blood rushes in my ears as my pulse quickens. I have to destroy that soul.
Magic sears my fingertips, keen to be let loose. Even as the soldiers push me back onto the deck, my craft stretches toward the soul in the talisman. But my control is a meager, feeble thing, and I feel the tether of other souls begin to unravel. I clench my jaw tight.
A moment later, the soldiers shove me toward Theyen and the queen emerges from the cabin. I catch my balance before Lady Ziha can reach out to steady me. The others glance warily between me and the queen.
Theyen scowls at me, as if I’m the villain, and hands me my swords. I mouth, “Later,” and strap the weapons to my back.
“Evewyn and Kazahyn have little reason to quarrel,” Queen Meilyr says. She pauses at the foot of the stairs to the quarterdeck, still too far for me to confidently grasp her soul without risk to others. “We only want access to the river. Allow us through, and we will pose no threat to the shadowblessed or their lands. Really, we ought to be allies.”
Lady Ziha and Juleyne exchange a quick, guarded look. Clearly, they’ve considered the fact that they’re the only two Nuvali on board, and even those of us within their party are barely allies.
Admiral Yang’s hand slides to the hilt of her sword as Theyen steps toward the queen, and his lip curls with contempt. “You will not be granted access. This was never a negotiation. We came only as a courtesy to hear you out. Now that you’ve had your audience with the soulguide, you will turn your ships around and leave.”
“Will I?” The queen says lightly. She makes a vague gesture to her navy and the massive catapults that crowd their decks.
Theyen raises one fist, high enough to be spotted from the docks. Admiral Yang’s hand tightens on her sword hilt, uncertain. I’m not sure what he’s doing either.