Deathcaster (Shattered Realms)

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Ordinarily, Lila would have been glad she’d reserved a ringside spot. Glad of any drama that would draw attention away from her. But when she looked into Julianna’s face, still black and blue under her makeup, her eyes puffy from crying and lack of sleep, she looked away, ashamed.

  And finally King Jarat strode in from the wings, claiming his place center stage. He was the most brilliant bird on the dais, with his mother’s raven hair and his father’s icy-blue eyes, clad in a coat of deep blue silk. On his head, he wore the midrange crownlet the Montaignes favored for travel.

  The murmur of conversation diminished as the crowd reacted, some elbowing forward, others dropping back as if to get out of range, all turning to face the stage.

  Flanking the dais were the young general Eric Bellamy on one side, and Cedric Fosnaught, the principia of the Church of Malthus, on the other. Speaker Jemson mounted the steps and stood next to the southern prelate.

  “I’m surprised Julianna is here,” Lila said.

  “They made a deal with Julianna, too,” Destin whispered. “If she cooperates, Finn is buried with a clear name and military honors.”

  “I wonder what they are going to say about the wedding,” Lila murmured.

  “I’m guessing they’ll say nothing at all,” Destin said.

  Another fanfare quieted the room, and Mellony stepped forward.

  “This has been a difficult season for us all,” she said, her voice carrying a slight tremor. “A season of unending grief, when losses come in twos and threes, allowing no proper intervals in which to mourn those who’ve gone. I would like to remedy that now. I’ve asked Speaker Jemson to call out the names of the recent dead and offer a benediction.”

  Good thing it’s limited to the recent dead, Lila thought, or we would be here all night.

  Jemson ushered Fosnaught forward. “In the interests of ecumenical harmony, I have asked Father Fosnaught to read the names, and I will offer the benediction.”

  I see what you did there, Lila thought. You don’t want to sanction the list, you seditious scoundrel.

  Fosnaught read from a list that Jemson handed him, his voice tolling like a bell. “Raisa ana’Marianna. Amon Byrne. Adrian sul’Han. Alyssa ana’Raisa. Sasha Talbot. Harriman Vega. Finn sul’Mander.”

  This announcement was met with gasps of surprise and disbelief, and then a cacophony of questions. Some of those present didn’t know that Prince Adrian had been raised from the dead, and now was dead again.

  It’s hard to keep up, Lila thought. We should have a mourning briefing.

  Speaker Jemson raised his hands, quieting the gathering in that way he had. “I know that all of you have questions about all that has happened. No doubt, your questions will be answered in the coming days. Tonight, I would like to remember the dead, recognize those still living, and consider how to honor our loved ones through our actions going forward. When we come to a crossroads, when it comes to making a choice, it would be useful to think, What would Queen Raisa have us do? How can we best serve her memory? Now. Let us pray.”

  When the benediction was over, Jemson exited to the right. The queen regent rose again, spots of color on her cheeks. “Now. In the midst of tragedy, there is reason for celebration. Weeks ago, when Princess Alyssa was missing, her fate unknown, the council took steps to assure that the royal succession would remain intact. Princess Julianna ana’Mellony was named as successor to Alyssa, should a successor be needed. Tonight, we celebrate the official coronation of Julianna ana’Mellony as queen of the Fells.”

  This was met with a brief silence, then scattered cheering and a whole lot of puzzled murmurs, especially among elder guests. This is not how it’s done. What about the four questions? What about the temple service? Where is her bonded captain?

  “Kneel, Julianna ana’Mellony, blooded princess of the Gray Wolf line, and prepare to accept this burden,” Mellony said.

  Julianna knelt, her head bowed.

  Mellony lifted the crown from the table and swiveled toward her daughter.

  Jarat stepped in. “Let me,” he said. He took the crown from Mellony’s hands. “I, Emperor Jarat Montaigne, anointed sovereign of the New Empire of the Seven Realms, name you, Julianna ana’Mellony, queen of the province of the Fells.” Gently, he placed the crown on Julianna’s head.

  Province? Lila looked from Mellony to Jarat, who was smiling like a fellscat on a carcass.

  Jarat took Julianna’s hands, lifted her to her feet, and kissed her. He scooped his glass from the table and raised it. “To the queen of the Fells!”

  Mellony quickly raised her glass. “To the queen of the Fells!”

  Lila lifted her glass with the others and murmured, “To the queen of the Fells.”

  Mellony reclaimed the floor. “There is more,” she said. “Some of you have never known a world without war. It has cost us thousands of lives, and uncounted treasure. Tonight, it is my pleasure to announce that we have signed a peace treaty with Jarat Montaigne, emperor of the Realms. The war between us is over.” She raised her glass again. “To an enduring peace!”

  This was met with a mixture of more hesitant cheering and puzzlement.

  “And, finally, to celebrate this new relationship between the empire and the province of the Fells, I announce the betrothal of Julianna ana’Mellony, queen of the Fells, to Jarat Montaigne, emperor of the Realms. With this marriage, the Seven Realms will be reunited, and ruled henceforth by their children.”

  Again, Jarat turned to Julianna, gripped her hand, and went to slip a ring on her finger. At the last minute, awkwardly, he had to switch hands because Julianna was still wearing Finn’s ring on her ring finger.

  Small rebellions, Lila thought, with a touch of admiration.

  Mellony’s lips tightened when she saw that, but she composed her face and raised her glass. “To the happy couple.”

  The crowd responded tentatively, like guests in an unfamiliar church.

  A voice rang out from the rear of the hall. “You are not the queen of the Fells.”

  Everyone turned to see who spoke. It was a tall woman with a long gray braid, her bearing erect as any queen’s.

  “Who are you, old woman?” Jarat said.

  “I am Magret Gray, a maiden of Hanalea, and guardian of the Gray Wolf line.” The crowd parted as she walked forward. Behind her came wolves in every color of gray, their eyes glittering in the torchlight. They filled the hall from wall to wall, silent as ghosts, threading their way through the crowd.

  Lila leaned toward Destin, who was staring, mesmerized. “Ah . . . humor me, but do you see any wolves?”

  “What are you talking about?” Destin said.

  “Never mind.”

  “Magret!” Julianna said, going paler than before.

  “You are not the queen of the Fells,” Magret repeated. “The true queen is coming with an army, and all who oppose her will pay a blood price.”

  “Queen Raisa is dead,” Mellony said. “You’re confused, Magret. Please. Someone help her.” She looked around, but, of course, there were no bluejackets in the room, only blackbirds.

  “I am not talking about Queen Raisa,” Magret said. “I’m talking about Queen Alyssa ana’Raisa, the blooded queen.”

  “Alyssa!” Julianna said, directing a scathing look at Mellony. “She’s alive?”

  “Aye,” Magret said. Now she stood in front of the dais. She pointed at Jarat, looking like the image of the Breaker on the day of judgment. “Boy, your days are numbered. Spiritgate has fallen. Ardenscourt has fallen. Delphi has fallen. And you, too, will fall under the blade of justice.”

  Jarat jerked his head at two of his blackbirds, and they closed in on Magret.

  “Leave her alone!” Julianna cried, running for the steps, but her way was blocked by Jarat’s guard.

  Destin, too, moved toward Magret. Lila wasn’t sure what the spymaster meant to do, but whatever it was, he was too late. Before he could get there, the maiden lay dead in a pool of blood, run through by
one of the blackbirds.

  With that, a howling started up, all around them.

  “Magret!” This time, Julianna punched through the wall of blackbirds and ran to Magret’s side. “Call a healer!” she cried, kneeling next to her, lifting her head and cradling it in her arms.

  Nobody moved. Even at a distance, Lila could tell that a healer would do no good.

  Even Mellony looked shell-shocked by how quickly things had gone south. “Julianna,” she whispered. “It—it’s for the best, don’t you think? Magret was—was—”

  “Magret was telling the truth, Mother!” Julianna shouted. “And died for it.” She stood, her hands smeared with blood, and worked Jarat’s ring off her finger. She flung it at him. It hit the table and careened out into the room. “I am not marrying you,” she spat. “I am not marrying anyone.”

  53

  THE DESERT COAST

  Evan leaned down along Splinter’s head and called over to Breon, “There. That’s them.”

  From this altitude, the shiplords resembled specks on the sand. Evan counted. Jasmina had done well. Four out of four.

  The shiplords waited on the beach in a little cove south of Deep Harbor, probably wondering if they had been led into a trap. Jasmina had lured them here with the promise that the Stormcaster had a proposition for them and would provide a compelling argument to accept it.

  No doubt they were well aware that a compelling argument can take many forms.

  Evan was a little surprised they had accepted this invitation and his conditions. They must be really worried about what would happen when the empress returned to the Desert Coast.

  Evan had insisted that they leave their weapons with their horses and gather on the beach unarmed. Not that shiplord weapons would make a dent in a dragon’s hide, but Evan lacked that advantage.

  “Do you see weapons?” he said.

  No, Splinter said, after a moment.

  Evan looked over at Breon, who gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Let’s go,” Evan said. With that, Splinter folded his wings and plummeted toward the water. They came so fast that they were nearly at the surface before the shiplords could react. Just before they hit, Splinter snapped out his wings and they glided in and landed on the beach like a massive, ungainly gull.

  The shiplords made a break for it, but Splash and Breon landed gracefully at the edge of the beach, between the shiplords and their horses.

  The shiplords gathered into a jittery bunch, and all of their hidden weapons appeared, so that they bristled like a hedgehog. Evan counted noses again. Blazon, Ursula, Riggs, and Jasmina.

  “Hang on,” Evan said, sliding to the sand. “Don’t go. You’ve not heard my compelling argument yet.”

  If the shiplords had been staring before, now their eyes nearly popped out of their heads. They clustered even more tightly together as he walked toward them, as if they could disappear in a crowd of four.

  Splinter stretched out his neck so that he was looking over Evan’s shoulder, his hot breath bathing the shiplords.

  “This is Splinter,” Evan said. “Sharp objects make him nervous, so I suggest that you put your weapons away.” He paused and, when nobody moved, added, “They wouldn’t do you any good, anyway.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, they returned their weapons to their hiding places. They glared at Jasmina, who had lured them into this trap.

  Jasmina stood, hands on hips, staring at the dragons. “I’ve heard stories about dragon riders in the past,” she said, wearing an expression of frank admiration. “I thought those days were over.”

  Evan gestured toward Breon and Splash. “That’s Breon d’Tarvos and Splash.”

  “Look,” Blazon said, licking his lips nervously, “we had no idea Jagger planned to give you to the empress.” Heads nodded all around.

  “If we had, we would have told you,” Ursula said.

  “And Jagger’s dead,” Blazon said. “Jasmina killed him. And when Samara came to collect you, we wouldn’t let him into the harbor.”

  “Really? I heard that Maslin and Kel wouldn’t let them in,” Evan said.

  “None of us would,” Ursula said. “We told him Jagger was running a rig on him, claiming he’d turn over the Stormcaster.” They all nodded.

  “I believe you,” Evan said.

  She blinked at him. “You do?”

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said hastily, the other shiplords nodding agreement.

  Riggs, who was probably the youngest of the shiplords next to Evan, was edging closer to Splinter. “Is it tame?” he asked Evan, reaching his hand toward the dragon. “Can I pet it?”

  “No!” Evan said, and Riggs yanked his hand back. “I’m Splinter’s friend and partner, not his owner,” he said. He’d learned his lesson well. “If you want to touch him, ask him, not me.”

  “But . . . will it understand me?”

  “They can understand you,” Evan said. “Believe me.”

  By now Splinter was fuming. Can I pet this young male? Splinter asked Evan, glaring at Riggs.

  “Splinter wants to know if he can pet you,” Evan said to Riggs.

  “Well,” Riggs said, shifting from foot to foot, looking at the others as if they might bail him out. “I guess so. . . .”

  With that, Splinter nudged him gently with his head, and Riggs fell backward onto the sand.

  Splinter and Splash thought this was hilarious. Riggs scrambled to his feet, none the worse for wear.

  Can I pet humans, too? Splash said.

  “No,” Breon said. “They’re not used to being petted by dragons.”

  Then they should keep hands to selves unless invited, Splash said.

  “I agree,” Breon said.

  The shiplords were watching these seemingly one-sided exchanges with growing alarm.

  “The dragons have agreed to ally with us,” Evan said. “They can burn an entire city in an afternoon. Ships are especially vulnerable, since they’re almost entirely wood, and they have no place to escape to. Once we take one city, the rest will fall into line.”

  “What’s in it for the dragons?” Riggs said. He, of all of them, seemed to be adjusting to this new way of thinking.

  “They are looking for some concessions from us when it comes to territory and hunting grounds. In other words, they want us to leave the mountains to them, as well as allowing unmolested fishing in designated areas of the shore.”

  “So,” said Jasmina, who was never long on patience, “I’m with Strangward. Who else is with us?”

  “What happens if we don’t sign on?” Blazon said.

  “You won’t share in the spoils,” Riggs said.

  “Hold on,” Evan said. “Nobody should sign on with an expectation of spoils. We’re not raiding the cities of the Desert Coast, we are setting them free. What you do away from the coast is your business, but if you want to operate out of these ports, you can’t be attacking them.”

  By now, they all looked crestfallen. “To answer your question, Blazon,” Evan continued, “you may find it hard to stay neutral. If you align with the empress, your ship is fair game for any of us. If you manage to sit it out, you won’t be involved in the council that makes the decisions, and you’ll pay higher port fees from now on.”

  In the end, the decision was unanimous—everyone signed on.

  “Now,” Evan said, “we don’t know when the empress will return to the islands. Tully Samara is here, though. When cities start falling, he’ll notice. The last thing we want him to do is sail to the wetlands and alert Celestine before we have everything well in hand.”

  “So, if we see him, what would you have us do?” Riggs said.

  “Take him alive, if that’s possible,” Evan said. “If not, kill him.”

  Deepwater Court was the largest, most important port on the Desert Coast, and the empress’s most important stronghold along the Desert Coast. Evan’s shiplords blockaded the harbor, demanding a surrender. The harbormaster refused, so the dragon
s flamed every ship at anchor.

  When he met with the harbormaster, Evan said, “You think business is down now? Wait until the masters find out that Deepwater Court is where ships go to get burned to the waterline.”

  The harbormaster still refused to listen to reason, so Splinter burned the customhouse and the longest of the quays.

  “You’ve seen fire,” Evan said. “Next comes flood. Your entire waterfront will be underwater by tomorrow if you don’t surrender now.”

  “You don’t understand,” the harbormaster said. “When the empress finds out I’ve given up the port, she’ll turn me into a blood slave.”

  “Let me worry about the empress,” Evan said. “You’d better worry about me.”

  Celestine’s harbormaster surrendered.

  The several hundred bloodsworn were more troublesome, lacking the instinct for self-preservation common to free men and women. When possible, Evan turned them with his own blood. When necessary, he killed them.

  The result was that, without really meaning to, he was building himself an army.

  An image came back to Evan—of him and Destin on the deck of the ketch, raising glasses, toasting themselves. Ruthless.

  Within a week, Deepwater Court was a free port. Word spread as they moved down the coast, and the process became easier. Often, Celestine’s free soldiers and administrators fled ahead of them. Everywhere Evan went, he asked if anyone had seen a Captain Gray, if anyone knew where she was. He also asked after Tully Samara.

  He found neither. He hadn’t expected to find the wolf queen. He had expected to find Samara.

  Where the devil is he? Evan thought. By now, if Tully were anywhere on the Desert Coast, he would have to know what Evan and his shiplords were up to.

  Tarvos was the easiest “conquest” of all. In Evan’s absence, it had remained a free port, under Kel’s supervision, while Celestine was off adventuring in the west. Another week, and the entire Desert Coast was theirs, though there were isolated pockets of resistance to the east and in a few villages along the coast. The rapid conquest of the coast served a dual purpose—it diminished the empress’s perceived invincibility, and hopefully it convinced the shiplords that Evan was not one to trifle with again.