“Where were you hiding?” she asked Evan. His heart stuttered, until he realized that she was joking.
“I was buried in a book,” he said.
The awkward conversation continued. Neither of them ate much, either, though Evan had been starving not long ago. Celestine noticed.
“Is it not to your liking?” she asked. “Should I have the cooks prepare something else?”
“No,” Breon said quickly. “It’s just—my stomach hasn’t settled from our time in the hold.”
“Ah, too bad,” Celestine said. “Would you prefer some soup?”
“No, thank you,” Evan said. And then, to change the subject, he said, “You were going to tell us about our family? I’ve always wondered.”
Celestine’s head came up. She eyed them, looking from Breon to Evan, but Evan maintained an eager, curious expression.
“Of course,” she said. “As you know, the Nazari have always ruled a large part of the world, sometimes more, sometimes less. That is because we have always collaborated rather than competed. In the wetlands, families such as the Montaignes tear each other apart, while we find that there is strength in unity.”
Something told Evan that she was being technically truthful but misleading.
“How many brothers and sisters do we have?” Breon said.
“My mother, Empress Iona, had five splinter children, plus me,” Celestine said. She seemed to be putting herself into a different category.
“We . . . um . . . we all seem very different from each other,” Evan said.
“You are nearly all half siblings by different fathers,” Celestine said. “You mustn’t think of your mother as a libertine. Iona chose your fathers very carefully for the benefit of the Line.”
Evan tried to figure out how to ask his next question without giving anything away. “Are any of us full siblings to you?”
“No,” the empress said. “The true heirs to the empire are born through a splitting process, without benefit of a father. It is important that the Nazari line remain pure, so that there is no question as to who inherits the throne.”
“We aren’t pure, so we don’t inherit,” Breon said, with no hint of rancor.
“That’s the beauty of it,” Celestine said. “You are a part of it, because you are critical to the viability of the Line. You see, the Nazari empresses are born without splinter gifts. The heir’s half siblings are born with one or more gifts from their fathers, which they can then bequeath to the heir. She becomes more powerful than she ever would be through simple inheritance from two parents, and the bloodline remains clean.”
Well, Evan thought, yesterday, I knew nothing about my family. Today, I know too much.
“So,” Breon said, “if we bequeath our gifts, does that happen after we’re dead?” It was as if the spellsinger was bent on bringing every aspect of this ugly deal into sharp relief.
Celestine studied them over the rim of her glass, as if watching for any flicker of resistance. Evan worried that the busker had cut too close to the bone, but eventually, the empress gave a little laugh, drained her glass, and said, “Exactly. And your names will live on in our archives as heroes to the Nazari line.”
“To our legacy of magic.” Breon raised his glass, and he and Evan found themselves toasting their own deaths.
“You told us that we were taken away from you,” Breon said, pouring the empress more wine. “Who did it? How did that happen?”
Celestine’s face darkened. “It was that pirate, Harol Strangward. Iona discarded her other consorts as soon as they had fulfilled their purpose. But there was something about Harol that stayed her hand. He kept coming back. Eventually, he fathered not just one, but two splinter children.” Celestine’s glass was empty again. Her voice was low, bitter, the words a little slurred.
“Mother would not allow me to claim my legacy. She was afraid that it would drive her lover off. So I took matters into my own hands, on Midsummer’s Day.”
She smiled fondly, fingering a silver pendant. “Jak went willingly into the flame. He gave me a precious gift—the gift of blood magery.”
And my father, Harol Strangward, had a problem with that? Evan thought, fighting to maintain his “quarterdeck” face—calm, confident, without a hint of fear or indecision.
Maybe none of the other fathers knew.
He slid a look at the empress—serene, confident, a trifle tipsy. This must be powerful magic, Evan thought, if generations of splinter mages have gone cheerfully to their deaths.
“Come,” Celestine said. “It is time.” She clapped her hands, and a large group of bloodsworn appeared. Their “attendants,” apparently.
They moved through the gardens surrounding the longhouse like a large swarm of bees with three queens at the center. And Celestine is the queen who eats her rivals, Evan thought.
What would happen if we killed her? Evan thought. What would the bloodsworn do?
How would we accomplish that while wearing these collars?
They’d reached the edge of the garden and were turning onto a path up the mountain when someone called from behind. “Empress! She has come. The princess has come.”
They turned. It was Jenna Bandelow, with a bloodsworn escort.
Rescued! Evan thought at first, but then he realized that Jenna wore the same vacant, moonstruck expression they’d worn when uncollared. Why was she here? How had she stumbled into this?
If Celestine was happy with Breon and Evan, she was delighted with Jenna.
“You’ve come back to me!” Celestine cried. “How did you come here?”
“I flew,” Jenna said.
When she said that, Celestine looked momentarily confused, then hunched down and scanned the skies nervously. Apparently seeing nothing, she must have decided that this thing had better be accomplished sooner rather than later. “Come,” she said, sliding an arm around Jenna. “You’re just in time. We’re going up to the bridge.”
“What’s at the bridge?” Jenna said.
“Immortality.” Any pretense to a processional was abandoned, as the three of them were hustled up the mountain in a forced march. As they climbed, the smell of sulfur became more intense. Soon, they were walking along the top of a ravine that grew deeper and steeper as they moved along. Heat and fumes boiled up from below, and Evan realized that they must be walking parallel to a river of lava that flowed from a fissure up above.
Eventually, the trail turned and hugged the side of the volcano. As promised, they came to a lovely arched bridge over a thrashing pool of lava below. Recalling the image in the Domus book, Evan suspected that, whatever kind of ceremony came before, the empress’s plan would have all three splinter mages in that pool before the night was out.
Except for one thing. Planted in the middle of that lovely arched bridge was a dragon, ears pasted back, coiled to spring.
“Splinter!” Evan cried involuntarily.
The apparatus Evan had rigged to repair the young dragon’s damaged wing was broken, dragging on the ground. He had other injuries as well. One of his forelegs was oddly crooked, and scales had been torn away here and there.
“Move, dreki,” the empress ordered, launching torrents of flame toward him.
Splinter answered with a withering gout of flame that struck the bloodsworn straight on as they charged onto the bridge. When they kept coming, like a battalion of charred scarecrows, he smashed his head into them, sweeping them off the bridge and into the boiling pool below.
As if directed by one mind, Evan and Breon launched themselves at Celestine, knocking her backward onto the bridge deck. They pounced on her, trying to wrestle her to the edge, while Jenna stood staring at them, as if unable to process what was happening.
Celestine was remarkably strong, and it was difficult to hold on to her while she was spraying them with flame, burning away their sacrificial clothes. Unfortunately, the collars seemed to make them less resistant to direct magic than usual.
Evan saw movement out of the
corner of his eye, and then the bloodsworn were dragging him and Breon away from the empress.
As soon as she was free, Celestine took hold of an unresisting Jenna, lifted her high, and flung her over the side of the bridge and into the lava pool.
From overhead came a heart-stopping scream.
And then, “Jenna!” A human cry of anguish, the voice familiar.
Evan looked up and saw Goat, with Adrian sul’Han mounted on his back, reaching out his open hands as if he could drag her back.
The empress gazed into the fuming boil. Then, finally satisfied, she looked up in time to see Ash and Goat bearing down on her. Ash shifted forward in his saddle, gripped his amulet, and bathed the empress in flame. It charred her clothes but accomplished absolutely nothing else.
Healer, Evan thought. Not a good time to forget that the magemarked are resistant to direct magic.
Jenna gone? Goat said. Goat and Adrian swept back and forth across the lava pool, looking for signs of life.
“Bring the princes,” Celestine ordered the bloodsworn.
They dragged their unwilling prisoners forward. But Splinter still crouched in the middle of the bridge. He extended his head, opening his jaws for the attack. But seeing Breon and Evan in the midst of the bloodsworn, he hesitated.
“Dreki,” Celestine commanded. “Stand aside. I am your mistress now.”
Splinter didn’t move, didn’t stand aside. He looked from Celestine to Evan to Breon. The only way to describe his expression was puzzled.
“Do it, Splinter,” Evan shouted. “Open fire.” He reasoned that if he had to die, he’d rather not be responsible for enhancing Celestine’s power. He braced himself for an onslaught of flame.
Celestine stared at him, as if suddenly realizing that her remaining siblings were not going like lambs to the slaughter. Evan heard screams from high above, felt the air stirring around him, and knew more dragons were circling.
He looked up. It was Pricker and Sasha. Then Splash. That’s when Evan realized that she must have flown all the way across the Indio to fetch the others, turned around, and flown straight back.
“Dreki!” Celestine cried, extending an imperious hand toward the circling dragons, palm out. “I am Empress Celestine, heir to the gifts of my sister, the shape-shifter Jenna Bandelow. I order you to seize my magemarked brethren and drop them into the pool to join our sister.”
Pricker circled, losing altitude. Sasha seemed to be arguing with him, pleading with him not to listen. Goat hovered on the hot gases rising from the lava pool, eye to eye with Celestine, Adrian flattening himself along his back. One by one, the other dragons joined him, their attention fixed on the empress, their hot breath stirring her hair and garments. Even Splinter dragged himself toward her.
“Splinter, no!” Evan said, wondering if he should be taking cover. Given the dragons’ eyesight, he would be ferreted out in no time.
He was unsure how strong the connection was between empress and dragons. With Jenna, it had been more of a bond of friendship than a compulsion.
Celestine stamped her foot impatiently. “Dreki! I am now the mistress of dragons. I command you to obey.”
The dragons drifted in closer. Mistress? Of dragons? Goat said.
Commands us to obey? Splash cocked her head.
Killed Jenna? Splinter slapped his tail on the bridge.
Blinded Cas? Pricker said, flame trickling ominously from his nostrils.
Celestine, of course, didn’t hear any of this. If she had, she might have had a clue as to what was coming.
Goat launched forward like a viper and seized the empress in his jaws. He rose on the updraft, wings fluttering lazily while she wriggled and squirmed, still screeching orders. Then he dropped her, flailing, into the boiling pool. It foamed up, as if it might spit her back out again, and then subsided.
New power rippled through Evan, knocking him back on his ass, his skin pebbling and burning.
“Feel that?” Breon said, extending a hand to help him up. “I guess shattering and rejoining works both ways.”
Evan shuddered. He wasn’t sure that he wanted anything of Celestine’s.
Then again, it was really a legacy from their dead siblings, Claire, Jak, and Jenna. A way they could live on.
It wasn’t much of a consolation.
The dragons weren’t finished. One by one, they pitched the bloodsworn off the bridge to join their mistress.
Adrian slid to the ground and raced to the bridge abutment, turning to try to scramble down the slope to look for Jenna, but Goat blocked the way.
No. Wait. Dangerous.
Adrian tried to find a way around the dragon, but Goat was having none of it.
Evan didn’t try to stop them. Instead, he ran to Splinter’s side and threw his arms around the dragon’s neck.
Splinter follow you.
“I know,” Evan said, stroking the dragon, his tears falling, sizzling when they struck the dragon’s scales.
Splinter help.
“You did,” Evan said. “Thank you.”
“Pirate,” someone said. “You’ve thanked the poor dragon. Why don’t you help me move him off the bridge so we can have a look at his wounds.”
The voice carried a familiar note of irony, that element that had always kept Evan off balance, at arm’s length.
It didn’t work this time.
He looked up to see Destin Karn, wearing a black leather flight coat, snug riding breeches, and an expression of mingled relief and joy.
“Destin!” Evan flew into the spymaster’s arms, and this time there was no resistance. Destin held him tightly, pressing him into his chest as if he would never let him go. Evan could feel his heart beating madly, and he was trembling. He smelled of fresh air and dragon flame and hope.
“I thought you were dead, pirate,” Destin whispered, stroking his hair, cradling his chin, then kissing him slowly and thoroughly. “I would think that a pirate would have a better sense of—”
“Shut up,” Evan said and returned the kiss.
Destin slid warm fingers under the silver collar, raising gooseflesh across Evan’s shoulders and down his arms. “I must admit, this is becoming, but do you want me to—?”
“Please.”
Destin unfastened the latch and opened the collar. Evan was a little worried that he might feel an impulse to leap pell-mell into the lava pool, but nothing happened. The true heir was gone, after all.
Together, they helped Splinter off the bridge and onto solid ground, where Destin examined Splinter’s makeshift prosthetic wing. “This is . . . pathetic,” he said, lips twitching. “Who the hell made this?”
“It was better before it got smashed,” Evan said. “I’m hoping you migh . . .” He cut off, staring past Destin. “Saints and martyrs,” he whispered.
A tall figure had appeared at the edge of the ravine. It was a girl from the shape of her, wearing no clothes, but covered in glittering scales from head to toe. Her hair was like spun metal, streaked with red and orange and gold, her eyes golden, too, her scales glowing a sullen red from the heat of the lava pool.
It was Jenna Bandelow.
The dragons—all of them—screamed out a welcome.
“Jenna!” Adrian charged forward, opening his arms to embrace her, but then stopped short. Heat waves rippled off her, and she glowed like a banked fire. Any direct contact would have cost him a layer of skin.
The dragons, of course, had no such reservations. While the healer looked on jealously, they twined around her like cats, nudging her with their great heads, sheltering her in their coils as she gradually cooled.
“What the hell happened?” she said. “I feel like I’m coming off a four-day drunk. I dreamed that I turned into a dragon, and I was swimming in a lake of fire. It was like I was living within Flamecaster’s skin.” She looked around at the staring circle of humans and dragons.
After a long pause, the healer said, “That’s sort of what happened.”
As some of t
he scales began to fade, it became more and more evident that she was naked. Ash peeled off his jacket and put it around her. “The empress is dead,” he said.
“Huh,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “After all this trouble, I hope I had a hand in it, at least.”
70
ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF TROUBLE
When Hal finally returned to Ardenscourt, he was happy to find that Robert was still alive. He hadn’t fought any duels, and neither one of them was betrothed to anyone.
Look on the bright side, Halston. You’re the king!
Some in the Thane Council questioned the fact that Hal had marched north, taken Delphi and the capital at Fellsmarch, and then marched back south again, leaving the old borders in place. Some said the northern queen must have bewitched him. Since Hal had returned with a larger army than he’d left with, there wasn’t too much saber rattling from the thanes. They had seemingly discovered the pleasures in returning to their estates and putting their fallow fields back into production.
Most of the thanes had no idea of the catastrophe they’d avoided when the combined armies of Arden and the Fells had driven the empress’s armies into the sea. Only a few, who had holdings near Spiritgate, knew what the stakes had been. They were among Hal’s most ardent supporters.
While Hal had been gone, fighting in the north, Robert had discovered that either Jarat or his father or both had socked away an immense store of money and treasure. Hal canceled the levies imposed on the thanes to fund the Montaigne grudge match against the queen in the north. That made him the most popular king in a long time.
Not that the Montaignes were much competition.
Not that it would last.
Happily, his father eventually seemed to accept the fact that Hal was not going to wrest estates and titles away from Jarat’s supporters and add them to the Matelon holdings. Hal did return the Scoville Estate at Whitehall to his mother, with the stipulation that it go to Harper when his lady mother passed on. And he rewarded Robert with some of the choicest Montaigne titles and estates. He put Eric Bellamy in command of the army, to the displeasure of some who’d answered his call to the rebellion at Temple Church. But he believed in promoting talent—he knew it would make his job easier in the long run. And he expected that Bellamy would offer him the same loyalty he’d given the Montaignes.
Deathcaster (Shattered Realms) Page 52