The Throne of Amenkor

by Joshua Palmatier

  Lord March turned away from the view, toward me. “That’s impossible.”

  I bristled at his tone, but caught myself, forced myself to relax. I was still upset over being left to defend myself at the Council meeting in front of Demasque, of being abandoned. “Why?”

  March almost sighed. “Because the Fete isn’t something I can control. It’s tradition. There are too many people involved. Even if I attempted to call it off, to cancel it, it wouldn’t be effective. The people of this city would rebel, they’d hold the carnival anyway, in defiance if nothing else.”

  “And it’s not just restricted to the city,” Sorrenti added. “The Fete is coastal. People travel from all reaches of the coast to come to it. Merchants come from Marlett, from Kent and Merrell, from Warawi in the southern isles, and the coastal cities beyond. Some of them rely on the Fete as their main source of income. If we cancel it—if that were even possible—they’d lose everything.”

  “But we have to do something,” I said, and heard the frustration in my voice. I didn’t try to hide it. “What about banning the masks? We’d at least have the chance to see their faces. The Chorl warriors all have tattoos. They won’t be able to hide those without the masks.”

  March frowned. “We can try. But the people of this city spend months planning their costumes, in particular their masks. Even if we explain why we’re banning the masks, that may not stop them.”

  “We can also use the returning patrols from the outposts to set up a perimeter around the city. They can search any carts traveling into the city. The patrols at the mouths of the two channels leading into the city have already started searching every ship that enters the harbor, whether they’re owned by Council members or not.” Daeriun grimaced. “But if Haqtl and his force is already inside the city . . .”

  “And they are.” Short. Clipped. I turned to Sorrenti. “Have you used the throne to search for them since the raid on Demasque’s estates?”

  Sorrenti nodded. “As soon as I realized they’d moved. I tried to find any sign of their passage, searched every building within the throne’s limits. I’ve even followed Demasque. Nothing.”

  “Keep looking,” Lord March said. “The Fete begins in a few days. We don’t have much time.”

  * * *

  “It’s Demasque’s whore,” Westen said as soon as he entered the outer room of my chambers in the estate.

  Heddan glanced up from where she sat working on embroidery, made to set the material and stitching aside so that we could have privacy, but I waved her back to work.

  “What do you mean? And where were you?” I said from the window, where I could see the streets of Venitte crowded with revelers. The Fete had started. Raucous music erupted from the city at random intervals, faint this far from the main streets, punctuated by shouts, screams of laughter, bursts of ribald song. The people I could see from the window passing by the estate’s gates were dressed in vivid colors, lengths of cloth streaming out behind them, some dressed in feathers. Their faces were painted to look like animals—mostly birds, the symbols of the Lords and Ladies of the Council, a few with long piercing beaks tied to their faces like a mask, but some looked like cats or dogs or some animal I didn’t recognize. A few wore actual masks, feathered and strangely expressionless, even though Lord March had banned them. Most were decorated with swirls and random symbols.

  The face paints looked like tattoos. And the garish costumes reminded me of the Chorl warriors’ clothing.

  I turned away from the window with a shudder, heard Erick shifting closer so that he could listen.

  Westen took a seat close to mine. “I was following Demasque’s whore. That’s how Demasque has been sending orders throughout the city, controlling the movements of the Chorl and the Squall and all of the rest of it. She’s the one who contacts the captain of the Squall when the ship is in the harbor. The captain met with her last night, on the edge of the Gutter. Tomus was following the captain.”

  “What did they discuss?”

  “Neither Tomus nor I could get that close, not with the Fete starting. But the Squall has remained in the harbor since the raid on Demasque’s estate. This morning, they loaded up with cargo and departed. According to William, who checked the lists in the merchants’ guild, the ship is headed south, to trade with the Warawi in the southern isles. They aren’t expected back for months.”

  Alonse suddenly appeared at the door to the chambers carrying a tray with glasses and tea.

  We waited in silence until he’d set the tea service out on the low table before us and departed.

  “What about the Chorl? Have you found them yet?”

  Westen, still frowning in the direction of the door, where Alonse had vanished, said, “No.”

  I swore. “They have to be in the city somewhere.”

  “They are,” Westen said, turning back to me. “We just haven’t found them yet. Demasque hasn’t gone to meet with them, and neither have any of his contacts, including the whore.”

  “Then either he’s waiting for the attention you’ve brought on him to die down,” Erick muttered, “or whatever they have planned is already in place.”

  I glanced toward him. “I don’t think he’d wait to let things die down. He’s too arrogant for that.”

  Neither of the Seekers said anything.

  “Mistress.”

  All of us turned toward the door, and Alonse bowed his head.

  “Lord Sorrenti is here,” the Steward said. “He wishes to speak with you.”

  “Let him in.”

  Sorrenti halted in the door, looked at Erick, at Westen, then came forward.

  “What does the Council of Eight want from me now?” I asked coldly.

  Sorrenti stiffened. “Nothing, Mistress. They are even now arguing with your First on the reparations.”

  “And you aren’t there?”

  “No. I excused myself. I needed to speak with you.” He hesitated, glanced toward Erick and Westen, toward Heddan, then said, “About the thrones.”

  The room was quiet for a long moment, and I narrowed my eyes. “What about the thrones?”

  Sorrenti remained silent, body tensed, then sighed. “Daeriun claims that you saw the Chorl army, that you told him they were marching southward, were perhaps no more than a few days away. How? How could you possibly see them?”

  “I was speaking to Eryn in Amenkor.”

  “How?” A note of frustration had crept into his voice, as if he thought I were lying.

  “I Reached for her, for the Fire I placed inside her.”

  Sorrenti stilled. “I don’t understand,” he said. But it was clear that he suspected.

  “When the White Fire passed through Amenkor seven years ago,” I said, speaking quietly, slowly, “it left part of itself behind. In me. Since then, I’ve placed a small piece of that Fire into a few people, used it as an anchor for when I Reach.”

  “So you can Reach all the way to Amenkor. From Venitte.”

  “Not without consequences,” Erick interjected, a warning in his voice.

  I nodded. “And using the Fire I can speak to whoever it is I’ve tagged with the Fire.”

  He was silent a moment. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? More than just speech?”

  I nodded, thinking of what I’d experienced when Laurren burned to death on The Maiden, of Erick’s torture at Haqtl’s hands, of the cough that consumed Eryn even now. “Yes. Much more.”

  “You have multiple Talents—the Sight and the Fire and the Threads,” Sorrenti said. Not a question. “What of the other two? Do you sense the Rose? Have you been touched by the Lifeblood?”

  I shook my head with a grimace. “I’m not an Adept, Lord Sorrenti.”

  “It would have been nice,” he said. And then he smiled. “I suspected you had access to the Fire based on Tristan’s report, but it
wasn’t until Daeriun said you were in contact with Amenkor that I—and the Seven—were certain.”

  “And what do you know of the Fire?” I asked. “What do the Seven tell you of it?”

  He shrugged. “From my studies, from the voices of those who have touched the throne here in Venitte, and from the Seven, I know that the Fire is one of the five Magics, that at the time of the creation of the throne, the members of the Council of Seven could use it, because they were the last of the Adepts. Since then, there has been no Adept on the coast . . . and no one that we know of who could use the Fire, who could even sense it.”

  “Why? And if no one can use the Fire, where did the White Fires that passed through our cities come from?”

  Sorrenti was silent for a long moment, then he shook his head. “No one knows. No one in the throne, anyway, not even the Seven.”

  But there was a hesitance to his voice.

  I leaned forward. “What do they think?”

  His expression hardened, then relaxed. “The voices—and those Servants here in Venitte that have been studying the records from the first Fire and before—believe that at one point there were many people on the coast who could use the Fire. Before it first passed over the city, there are even accounts of Servants who could use it, like yourself.

  “But then the first Fire came.

  “When it had passed, and when the madness that gripped the city in its wake had passed, those that survived found that they could no longer touch the Fire’s flames. As if somehow the passage of the Fire through the city had quenched the source.

  “For the next thousand years or so, no one on the coast has ever reported being able to use the Fire, to touch it, to manipulate it.”

  I stilled. “But now, since the second Fire . . .”

  Sorrenti nodded. “Now, you can use the Fire. You are the first in over a thousand years.”

  “There must be others,” Erick said.

  Sorrenti glanced toward him, not quite frowning. “I’m certain there are, but they haven’t discovered how to use it yet. Not like Varis.” He turned back to me. “I think that the first Fire somehow sealed access to the Fire away, dampened it to the point that it was almost extinguished—”

  “And the second Fire released it,” I finished for him, when he ground to an uncertain halt. “But who sealed it away? Who released it?”

  Sorrenti shook his head again, his smile twisting. “Someone from the west. Our oldest maps, those from before the first Fire, from before even the Council of Seven, show lands to the west. Not just islands, but an entire continent. As large as our own, perhaps larger. There must be people there. They must have done it, for whatever reason.” Then, in a softer voice, “But if they did seal it away and release it, they must be powerful indeed. A working powerful enough to send a wall of Fire all the way across an ocean that we cannot cross. . . .”

  He trailed into silence.

  I sank back into my seat, thought about standing at the railing of the Defiant as we sailed southward to Venitte, staring out across the black waves of the ocean, out toward the Chorl islands, toward what lay beyond. And I thought about the ships Borund was building in Amenkor’s harbor. Stronger ships. Larger ships.

  An ocean that we cannot cross . . . yet.

  * * *

  “Are we ready?” Garus turned to me, his expression tense, his mouth pressed into a stern frown. Behind him, Seth wore the same expression. They’d been bickering when they entered the room, still arguing over whether or not the thrones should be created. “Are you ready, Cerrin? You’re the one orchestrating this.”

  “I still think that this is unnecessary,” Alleryn muttered. “The Chorl have retreated, returned to the depths of the ocean.”

  “And you’ve turned half of the Servants to your side,” Liviann spat, “even though we agreed that this was not to be discussed among them. There was no reason to get them involved, not until after the thrones were created.”

  Alleryn bristled. “I felt otherwise. So did Seth and Atreus.”

  “So you went against the Council of Seven’s wishes,” Liviann said in a harsh, mocking tone.

  “No. I went against your wishes. You are not the entire Council, Liviann.”

  Liviann flushed with rage, one hand coming up. I didn’t know what she intended, but I could feel her power building.

  But before the argument—a tired argument, old and useless—escalated, Garus bellowed, “Enough!”

  Atreus and I winced; Silicia cringed. The word echoed through the Council chambers, had enough power behind it that the cold white light of the fires Garus and Seth had set to illuminate the room flickered.

  Liviann stilled. She kept her arm outstretched, and I saw it trembling, saw the struggle in her face as she tried to control herself. Her power throbbed around her, ready to be unleashed. Alleryn stood, back stiff, hands tucked into the sleeves of her dress. She had not brought her own power to bear, but I could feel its potential, hovering just within her reach.

  The moment held, suspended, no one daring to breathe. . . .

  But then Liviann’s arm dropped.

  I shot a glance toward Garus, toward Seth. We’d discussed Liviann’s growing arrogance, her slow seizure of the Council. But Garus kept his eyes on Liviann, and Seth remained focused on Garus.

  “Now,” Garus said, even though the tension in the room had not faded, “are we going to remain civil and do this, or not?”

  “Yes,” Liviann said immediately, although her eyes narrowed.

  Alleryn snorted in contempt, then looked toward me, her head rising slightly. “Yes.”

  “Good,” Garus growled, the warning in his voice clear. He turned toward me. All of them did. “What do you need us to do, Cerrin?”

  I straightened, a momentary trickle of doubt seeping through me. But it didn’t last, smothered by the grief I’d carried for years, crushed under its weight.

  Yet, a surge of excitement did survive.

  I was the Builder, and I—we—were about to create something new, something powerful, whether it would be used against the Chorl or not.

  Drawing in a deep breath, my gaze settling onto the thrones that sat in the center of the obsidian chamber, I said, “We need to space ourselves out around the thrones.”

  Garus nodded. The rest of the Seven stepped back, spreading out, Liviann and Alleryn separating with a glare. I’d had the seven seats of the Council pushed back to the edges of the room by the Servants, so that only the two thrones remained in the center of the chamber. Two thrones, each made of granite, the workmanship harsh, blunt, utilitarian. There was no finesse in the stonework, no smoothed surfaces. Such niceties were worthless. They added nothing to the construct itself, no power.

  And in the end, it wouldn’t matter. The thrones would take whatever shape they wanted.

  Whatever shape I wanted.

  In the middle of the obsidian chamber, I reached forward, ran my hand over the rough granite.

  “You’d better make this quick,” Garus said under his breath at my side. “I’m not certain how long those two will remain in agreement.”

  “It won’t take long at all,” I said, withdrawing my hand.

  Garus didn’t hear the finality in my voice. Or perhaps he did hear it and chose to ignore it, as all of the Seven had ignored it for the last few months.

  He stepped away, moved into position across from me, next to Seth, his partner. They did not speak, did not even acknowledge one another.

  For a moment, I stood in the center of the chamber, the others arrayed around me. I met each of their gazes, nodded to Atreus, who smiled back tentatively. Silicia seemed bored. Alleryn barely met my glance, but Liviann smiled, head lowered.

  I frowned at the look in her eyes. At its fervor, at its greed. Her need for the thrones, for their power, raised the hairs at the back of my neck and sent
a shiver through my shoulders.

  I almost ended the preparations.

  But then I sighed, turned, and moved into position, Alleryn to my left, Silicia to my right. Closing my eyes, I reached out with the Sight, found the Threads of all of the others waiting. I drew them in, felt the Lifeblood coursing through them, felt it throbbing in myself, heated and liquid and vibrant. It suffused me, shuddering in my veins as I linked to the others, as I drew them close, felt their own blood rushing through their bodies, their power connecting with mine, doubling it, tripling it—

  And then, their power coursing around me, I reached out, opened up conduits to the thrones, felt their solidness, felt their weight.

  Throughout the chamber, the white lights that illuminated the alcoves dimmed. The entranceway that sealed us and the working from the outside world wavered, then held and solidified. I heard one of the others gasp.

  “Are you certain this will work?” Liviann suddenly snapped.

  “No,” I said, but before she could respond, I let the power that I’d built—let the Threads that connected us all, the Lifeblood that coursed through the construct, the Sight that I’d gathered and the Fire that I’d pulled from inside me, from inside all of the Seven—release.

  Instantly, the power doubled. The Threads snapped taut, threatened to break, and I heard Garus curse, heard the growl in his voice as he strengthened those Threads that connected to him. A backlash of power shuddered through the floor, trembling in my feet, but I held the complex construct tight, felt sweat bead on my forehead, felt the muscles in my body tense against the pressure. The floor shuddered again, and still I let the power build. If this was going to work, the power had to reach a threshold, had to peak at a certain level, had to be maintained—

  I gasped as the Threads beneath my grip thrashed, rippled, and snapped as if alive. Pain shot down through my side, sharp and insidious. Reaching out, I gathered more of the Threads to me, tried to splice them, combine them. Atreus cried out, Silicia began to gasp at my side.