Sirana took another sip, then put the glass down on a small table next to her chair. She leaned forward, peering at Knot’s face.
“You wouldn’t garner meaning from them, if you were me,” she repeated.
Knot did not say anything, but let her look at him. She was having more and more of a difficult time hiding the pain in her eyes, on her face. The way she referred to him… the fact that they both had chairs in this room. The fact that Knot knew the upper bedroom contained only one large, comfortable bed told him what he needed to know.
After a moment, Sirana sat back, wiping her face with one sleeve.
“Are you him?”
Knot shook his head. Best get it over with quickly. “You know I’m not.”
“You sure as Oblivion don’t talk like him. But he’s inside you, somewhere?”
It was more than that, Knot knew. Lathe had tried to take over his body again, months ago, in league with the Daemon Bazlamit. But, when Lathe realized what that meant, what it would mean being Bazlamit’s thrall, he’d conceded his body back to Knot.
“In a way.”
Sirana shook her head. She picked up her glass with one hand, while the other began to trace patterns on the arm of her chair.
“I could take you back to the Heart of the Void,” Sirana said. “We would… help you. We could find a way to bring him back.”
“You could do that,” Knot said, the hairs rising on the back of his head. If Sirana was truly in the Triad, she was a powerful psimancer. The physical abilities she’d demonstrated at the entrance to the Swordpoint Inn—where, half-drunk, she had gotten the best of Knot—were only the beginning of her abilities. If she wanted to subdue him, she could. He might not be able to stop her.
No way in Oblivion he would go back there, though. Not like that. He had a distinct impression her use of the word “help” meant something more like “experiment on,” or “Tinker with,” and he had no interest in that.
“Relax,” Sirana said, her eyes hooded. “I won’t be doing that. You’re too valuable as you are.”
Knot frowned, but said nothing. Wyle had already taken the information they needed from him about what happened in Roden. Other than that, there were only two reasons Knot could fathom why the Nazaniin would find him valuable. The first, of course, was his connection with Jane and, to a lesser extent, Cinzia. If they had contact with him, they had contact with the leaders of the Church of Canta. While the Church was new, and clearly an enemy in the Denomination’s eyes, they could prove valuable allies in certain circumstances.
The other was his wife, Danica Winter Cordier—if she really had become the leader he thought she had.
The Nazaniin might want to use Knot to get to the Chaos Queen. If that really was their plan, they might be in for a rude surprise. Knot was not sure Winter would want to see him at all.
“My hair is longer, you know,” Sirana said, staring into her glass. “You would have noticed that if… if you were you. I always kept it short. The entire time you knew me.”
Sirana clearly had other things on her mind than Winter and the Odenites. Knot struggled between a desire to find out more about Winter, and what, if anything, he might owe this woman.
“So we were together, before?” he prompted.
“Married.”
Married. Of course. Join the club, he thought, though the humor of it was lost on him. His relationships were turning out to be more complicated than all nine sifts in his body combined.
“Five and a half years. Or at least it had been five and a half years the night I heard about your death. Now, I suppose it’s been about eight.”
“I’m not—”
“I know you’re not, but you are for me, do you understand that? I can’t look at you and see anyone but him. For Canta’s sake, you are him. It’s silly, he’s in there somewhere, just out of my reach.”
He’s dead, Knot wanted to say. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. And it wasn’t, technically, the truth.
“I’m sorry.”
“We married late. I was twenty-seven, you were twenty-six. Far later than most people marry these days. Of course, in our line of work, marriages don’t happen. We were an anomaly.” Sirana chuckled, but this time the sound wasn’t quite as sad. “People laughed at us. Other Nazaniin agents. Kosarin himself. They all thought we’d gone mad. But… we didn’t care. It wasn’t a normal life, but neither of us cared for normal. We just wanted to be together. That’s it. And for a while, we were.”
Knot tensed as Sirana’s arm snapped up. She threw her glass across the room, and it burst into hundreds of pieces as it shattered against the far wall.
“And then we weren’t.”
She looked away from him. Knot remained silent and still. He felt pain, deep in his chest, for what had happened to this woman, and to Lathe, and he felt sorrow for his part in it. He wondered how much of those feelings were his own, and how much were echoes of someone else.
But he couldn’t say anything like that, not here, not now. He knew instinctively, just as he knew the layout of Triah, that it would only make things worse.
After what seemed a long time, Sirana stood. Her face had returned to an expressionless mask. Her eyes were dry. Knot stood, and she finally met his eyes again.
“One of our agents will approach you soon,” she said. “He’s been tasked with befriending you. I was not joking when I said you were valuable, and we want to be connected to you. I suggest you let it happen. We have nothing planned that would harm you.”
“And when those plans change?”
“Then you’ll know.”
“I have interests of my own,” Knot said. “You said I’m valuable. I would trade information for my utility.”
Sirana waved a hand, and turned back to the small table that contained the alcohol. She poured herself another drink.
“Work that out with our agent,” she said. “You’ll know when he contacts you.”
That, at least, was progress.
Knot hesitated, not sure what to do next. He wanted to leave, but he did not want to leave this woman alone, either. Seeing her in pain hurt him, too. He wanted to help her.
“Our business is done here,” Sirana said, without turning to look at him. “You know your way out.”
Knot did and, silently, he took it.
5
The Void
KALI WAITED IN THE VOID, regarding without love the tiny, colorful, twinkling lights that speckled the darkness like stars in the night sky. Each sparkling light represented someone on the Sfaera, though most people lived their whole lives without being aware of this plane of existence. Psimancers like Kali and her old student Winter—and other, more sinister beings— knew better.
Kali waited in the Void, and then, finally, after what seemed like years but in reality had only been a few weeks, the Void changed.
Anticipation tugged at Kali’s chest.
Winter’s presence on this plane was different to any other. Instead of a tiny point of light, she was a great dark burning absence. She did not give off light, but rather drew it to her, consuming it. Kali had been trapped in the Void for almost a year and she still didn’t understand it.
Canta’s bloody bones, had it really been that long?
Slowly, the dark star shifted before her, becoming the outline of a young woman. Winter had changed since Kali first met her, in more ways than one. Where she had once been thin, her tiellan physique almost frail, she now had the lean, muscled body of a trained fighter. The tiellan had begun as Kali’s student, but Kali could not help but wonder who was more powerful now. Psimantically, and physically. Kali yearned to pick up a sword and gauge the other’s skill. But such things were impossible in the Void.
Winter’s shade solidified into a woman with long black hair, one side of it braided tightly above one ear. Large black eyes. Her garments of black cloth and leather were expertly tailored to both fit well and allow for full range of movement. Kali wondered if the clothing ex
isted in the physical plane, or if these were just what Winter would have liked to wear. There was such a thing as vanity in even the greatest psimancer, after all.
“You’re here,” Winter said.
Kali snorted. “You thought I’d be elsewhere?”
“I don’t think of you at all anymore. What is it you want, Kali?”
It took every ounce of discipline Kali had to not let her rage at the barb show.
“You asked me to find your tiellan psimancers,” Kali said. “The ones who stole your frost. I can tell you their location.”
Winter showed no sign of surprise or eagerness, though Kali knew how much she wanted to catch Mazille. Goddess, she’s learning too much too quickly.
“If you know,” Winter said after a moment, “Then tell me.”
Kali frowned. “Stop the act with me, girl. You may have learned a few things, moved up a bit in the Sfaera, but this is the Void. This is me. You won’t get this for free.”
Winter shrugged. “I have enough faltira, for now. If you want to share Mazille’s location with me, do it. If not, I have more important matters to attend to.”
More important matters? Who in Oblivion did this girl think she was?
“I didn’t come into the Void for you,” Winter said, “and my other business can wait.” The moment Winter’s projection began to fade, Kali took an unthinking step forward.
“Wait,” she said sharply, cursing how desperate she sounded. Winter had to be bluffing; Kali could not believe her addiction had been curbed enough that she didn’t care about the stash of frost that had been stolen from her.
But Kali was desperate. She could not wait any longer.
“I’ll tell you the location. I’ll even help you get your frost back. But I need something from you.”
Winter’s form resolidified. “What do you want from me, Kali?”
Winter knew very well what Kali wanted, but apparently she was going to make her say it.
“I want to get out,” Kali said. “I want to live again.”
“And you think I can help you with this?”
“I know you can. You’re the key to my freedom, Winter. In Izet—”
“In Izet you used me.”
“And you attacked me,” Kali snapped. “If you don’t think that’s how the Sfaera works, you have more learning to do.”
“How exactly do you think I can help you leave the Sfaera, Kali? How do you expect me to help you ‘live again’?”
Had she still held physical form, Kali would have taken a deep breath. She had thought this through time and time again.
“In Izet, I used one of your acumenic tendra to leave. In my previous attempts, acumenic tendra have always been key. But I’ve never had a lacuna prepared for me. So I’ll need two things: I’ll need your permission to interact with your acumenic tendra, and I’ll need you to blot someone for me. Prepare them.”
“You want me to kill someone for you.”
“Oh please,” Kali said, rolling her eyes. “You kill people all the time. It would be a small matter to make one into a lacuna for me.”
Winter did not respond, and for a moment Kali feared she would leave without another word. But then, Winter looked up, her black eyes meeting Kali’s.
“I have been studying rihnemin lately. Every type of rihnemin I can get my hands on. Or my tendra, more accurately.”
Kali blinked, unsure of the reason behind this change in subject. Winter had used a rihnemin in the battle Kali had shown to Knot. How, or to what end, she had no idea. She had very little way to contact or view the outside world, but she burned to know what connection the rihnemin might have with psimancy. Her fellow Nazaniin had guessed there might be a connection, but had found none in their experiments. How a talented but inexperienced psimancer like Winter had succeeded, Kali could not guess.
“I believe each rihnemin was created for a purpose. A firestone, an earthstone, a mindstone, and others. I think I have found a traveling stone, not too distant from Adimora. If it does what I think it does, I can use that to get to Mazille and her band as quickly as possible.”
Kali stared at Winter, speechless and suspicious. What could Winter hope to gain by telling her this?
“You will tell me the thieves’ location first,” Winter said. “I will go there and destroy them, and you will help, if you can. We will reclaim my faltira. Afterward, I will attempt what you ask.”
So Winter hadn’t changed after all. Relief flooded through Kali, but she kept her feelings hidden. She had learned to do such a thing before Winter was born.
“I agree to your terms,” she said, “but I must have your word that afterward you will help me.”
Winter nodded, once. “You have my word, then. After I’ve killed Mazille and her band, and taken back my frost, with your help, I will provide what you need.”
This time, Kali allowed herself a smile. “Good,” she said. “Good. They are not so far from Adimora as I would have run, were I them. Fortunate for you.”
“Show me,” Winter said.
Together, they rushed through the Void to the small cluster of lights Kali had found.
Her salvation.
6
Adimora
THE SUN CREPT OVER the horizon as Winter rode out from Adimora. She traveled with those closest to her: Urstadt and Selldor, and Rorie, the clanswoman who had first brought them into Adimora, who still served as her advisor when it came to the unfamiliar laws and culture of the clans.
An autumn chill swept across the eastern plains, stirring a memory of her childhood village, Pranna, on the north coast. It had always been cold there, even on the warmest of summer days. As the river valley fell behind them, the flatness of the plains no longer disturbed her as they used to. She was beginning to feel at home in this strange land, even though she knew she was not, and would likely never be.
“You going to tell us where we’re going yet, Your Majesty?” Selldor asked, pushing his horse alongside Winter’s.
“I already have.”
“To find Mazille, I gathered that much, but… what makes you think they are north of the city?”
“We’re going north,” Winter said, “To the travelstone.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
Selldor glanced back at Urstadt and Rorie, who rode some way behind them, deep in conversation. “It’s just us, Your Majesty. If you’ll forgive me saying, ain’t no need to be so cryptic.”
He was right, of course. All three of them had proven their loyalty many times over.
“The travelstone is a rihnemin,” she explained. “Like the one I used at the Battle of the Rihnemin; I believe you’ve heard me call that one the firestone.” Since her use of the firestone, she had felt a draw toward every rihnemin she came within a certain proximity of, and had discovered the purpose of many of them, as she had told Kali.
The purpose of the immense rihnemin in Adimora itself still eluded her. No matter how many times she tried accessing it with her tendra, or in what combinations, the stone did not respond. The myriad runes she could touch lit up, but she could awake none of the power it must surely contain. Most of the stone was buried underground. Perhaps there were runes hidden by dirt, and without access to them it was defunct.
“Aye,” Selldor said slowly, “so this one is for…”
“Traveling.”
“In what way?”
“I’ll show you,” Winter said. Or she hoped she could show them. She’d only tried it once, on her last journey up here. Winter had ridden alone to visit the rihnemin she’d sensed, only to find herself back in her quarters in Adimora as soon as she’d accessed the power. The dangers of a wandering mind and a grumbling stomach, perhaps. Her euphoria at the swift journey had been tempered by the trouble she’d had maneuvering her indignant mare out of her cramped tent. But at least that proved she could bring more than just herself when she used the travelstone.
“And you’re going to u
se this stone to… travel us all?” Rorie asked. Winter glanced round and was surprised to see she and Urstadt had ridden closer.
“To transport us all, yes,” Winter said. Hopefully. It would be embarrassing if it didn’t work, which was why she hadn’t brought much of an audience. If it did work, the stone would take them to the place Kali had told her about: a forest outside the city of Darbon.
The return trip would take a week, unfortunately, unless Winter stumbled upon another travelstone near Darbon. She wasn’t counting on it.
It took them less than an hour to get to the rihnemin Winter sought, a relic of the ancient tiellan civilization. The stones were scattered across the plains more commonly than the rest of Khale, it seemed to Winter. She had found a good half-dozen within a day’s ride of Adimora alone. As the stone appeared in the distance, she took a faltira crystal. In moments, power flowed through her, as did the anticipation of what she was about to attempt.
The travelstone stood about as tall as she did when riding her horse; it was as wide as she could stretch out her arms.
“Ain’t that impressive,” Selldor muttered. He made to dismount, but Winter stopped him.
“I thought the same when I first saw it.” She nudged her horse alongside the stone, drawing a dagger. “Stay close to me; Urstadt by my side, Selldor and Rorie directly behind us.”
They did as she asked. Winter slid the blade lightly along her palm, refusing to wince at the pain. She placed her bloodied hand on the stone. “This might feel strange,” she warned. She only needed to use about thirty tendra to access every rune on the stone, and did so quickly, each one drawn to a different rune, each rune subsequently glowing a slightly different color. When she had connected with them all, the myriad of colors shifted to become a single, faintly glowing violet. The glow of this rihnemin seemed softer, more subtle than that of the firestone.
Her conscious thoughts had not directed the fire on the day of the battle; she had never ordered it to attack the Outsider, and then the next, and so forth. It had just happened. Perhaps it had been powered by intention rather than thought.
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