“God’s Eye cut through your first attack on the city,” she said. Cova leaned toward her as well, and strands of the woman’s long blonde hair drifted down, wavering close to Urstadt’s face.
“A fluke of the weather,” Cova said, though her hard tone conveyed her frustration well enough.
“Perhaps. But can you risk leaving the rest of your fleet open to the Eye’s desolation?”
Cova’s lips pursed together tightly.
“If the Eye weren’t functional, could you continue your offensive?” Urstadt asked.
“The Eye is all that keeps us at bay. If it were… rendered ineffective, we would be free to attack the city outright. But… how could you do such a thing?” Cova’s voice was barely a whisper.
Urstadt shook her head slightly. “How we deal with the Eye is our business, my Lady. All you need to know is that we can.”
Cova’s eyes remained on Urstadt, boring deep into her. For the briefest moment, Urstadt was reminded of Cova’s father, Daval. Before he became what destroyed him, in the end. Daval’s gaze was piercing, intense, and had always made Urstadt slightly uncomfortable, even before his body was hijacked by a Daemon.
Cova had inherited that quality from her father.
“Very well,” Cova finally said, her eyes never leaving Urstadt’s. Urstadt was beginning to feel the proximity of Cova’s face to hers, the closeness of their eyes, their mouths, the strands of Cova’s hair waving gently. “But even if you can do as you claim,” she continued, “what is in it for you? Or, to be more precise, what is in it for your companions?”
What is in it for the tiellans, she meant.
“With the Eye incapacitated, you will attack the city?” Urstadt had to be sure.
“Unless something else stops us.”
“Then that is what is in it for us,” Urstadt said.
“I’ve brought many ships here,” Cova said. “Such an offensive is expensive.” Another way of saying Cova wanted to make sure she retained her share of plunder and land, when this was all over.
“You will get your share,” Urstadt said. “I’ve made sure of it.” Or as sure as she could be, anyway. She had proposed such an option to her queen. Winter was not easily influenced, but if Cova helped them accomplish their goal, Urstadt was confident Winter would be fair.
Cova sat back, nodding. This could not have been new information to her; it was the basis on which this whole meeting had been predicated.
The sudden distance Cova put between them jarred Urstadt, but she kept her composure.
“I must say,” Cova said, her demeanor relaxing somewhat, “I am disappointed she did not come herself. I would have liked to see her again.”
“She sends her regards,” Urstadt said. Winter had indeed told her as much—and expressed her own disappointment at not being able to attend. But as a queen mounting her own offensive—and now tackling the problem of the Eye—Winter had enough business occupying her time.
And she was far more conspicuous than Urstadt. Rumors abounded of the Chaos Queen’s appearance—some claimed she was as tall as a tree, her hair a halo of fire around her head or other such nonsense, but most descriptions were relatively accurate. If a short tiellan woman with jet-black hair and eyes showed up anywhere, Urstadt imagined Carrieri’s staff would be notified immediately.
“Has she become everything they say?” Cova asked, unable to keep a hint of awe from her voice.
Urstadt hesitated a moment before responding. “In most ways she is not much different than the woman you knew in Roden, however briefly,” she said slowly. “And yet, in many other ways, she is not the same person at all.”
Cova waited a moment, obviously expecting Urstadt to say more, but Urstadt did not know what more there was to say— at least nothing that was any business of the empress of Roden.
“I have one more question for you, old friend,” Cova finally said.
Urstadt inclined her head. “Of course, my Lady.”
“Say we defeat our common enemy,” Cova whispered. “And both your group and mine are left standing. What then?”
Urstadt’s slow nodding stopped. She knew this question would come, and yet it still caught her off guard. Winter had not given a direct answer when she’d brought it up, but it was the heart of the whole alliance.
“We have a history with your companions, after all,” Cova said. “If the city falls, and we remain, how do I know your friend will not turn her powers on me?”
Urstadt took a deep breath. Roden had not been kind to the tiellan people. Decades ago, the empire had banned tiellans from entering Roden at all—the penalty for any caught in the empire had been imprisonment, and sometimes death, until recently.
“They accept me,” she said slowly, “knowing my background and where I am from. There is good reason to believe they will accept you, too. You had no personal involvement in what happened to their people.”
“Only because we’d banned them from our empire completely,” Cova muttered. “And I’d wager most of the citizens of Triah did not have much to do with what happened to the tiellans of Cineste, but something tells me your Chaos Queen will not spare them.”
Urstadt looked around at that, hoping no one else had heard the reference. Truth be told, it probably wouldn’t be that uncommon for the Chaos Queen to come up in conversation pretty much anywhere these days, but she didn’t like taking the chance. When it seemed no one heard—or cared whether they heard, at least—Urstadt turned back to Cova.
“You also implemented the law allowing tiellans back into Roden, revoking centuries of expulsion. They’ll surely give you credit for that.”
Cova snorted. “Some good that’s done. The tiellans are just flocking to my home, aren’t they?”
Urstadt said nothing at that. Of course Cova couldn’t expect tiellans to immigrate to the empire so soon, especially when most were caught up in what people were now deeming the Tiellan War.
“Can you guarantee that Winter will not turn on me, when all of this is over?” Cova asked.
Urstadt pursed her lips, meeting Cova’s eyes, and shook her head ever so slightly.
“Even if we draw up an agreement in writing?”
“She claims that humans have never kept their word in dealing with tiellans, so there is no reason to disadvantage her people any further by keeping to hers, my Lady. I am sorry.”
Cova swore. “I thought as much. But as things stand, it seems I must attempt an alliance anyway, or return where I came from. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would, my Lady.”
Cova nodded. “Very well. Do whatever it is you have planned for the Eye. We will watch, and wait. Send us a signal when you’ve disabled it and we will make our move.”
Urstadt cleared her throat. “I… do not think a signal will be necessary, my Lady. You will know when the time comes.”
Cova frowned at that. “I do not like such vagaries, but I understand the necessity for them. Very well, my friend. Do we have a deal?”
Urstadt nodded, extending her arm across the table. Cova took it, and they gripped one another’s forearm.
Goddess, Urstadt pleaded, I hope we do not end up enemies.
* * *
Urstadt approached Winter in the chill rain. Had she been in Roden, the snows would have started at least a month ago, perhaps two if the winter was particularly bad. She was beginning to miss the snow.
“My queen.” Urstadt bowed her head and dropped to one knee. When she looked up, Winter’s smile had faded, replaced by a distracted frown.
“Up, Urstadt,” Winter mumbled.
Urstadt stood, looking down at Winter.
“You have news for me?” Winter asked.
“I do,” Urstadt said. “The empress has allied with us, for now. When we disable the Eye, she will make her move, and we will destroy Triah together.”
Winter’s gaze left Urstadt, and moved to the great beams of wood the tiellan carpenters were working on at a breakneck pace. Urstadt was si
ck of the sight of the siege-engines. Mostly trebuchets, but a few catapults and ballistae as well, and something else, something massive that Winter so far refused to explain. Shifts of men and women worked on the long planks of wood, knotted rope, and great gears day and night: when she woke up early to train with Winter; when she retired late after strategy meetings with Winter, Rorie, and Nardo. Even when she stumbled from her tent in the middle of the night to relieve herself, she couldn’t avoid the sight of it lit up by the workers’ lanterns.
“When will this all be finished?” Urstadt asked.
“In the next day or so.”
“And…” Urstadt hesitated, looking around. Nobody else was near. “You are sure this is what you want to do?”
“We have no other options,” Winter responded.
Urstadt resisted the urge to sigh. This was not the first time they had had this discussion, and not the first time Winter had insisted it was the only option that remained to them. Urstadt had tried to make her see other choices, but Winter discounted them, whether logically or with some internal reasoning that she refused to share with Urstadt.
“I understand, my queen. One last time, if you’ll allow it, let me emphasize the destruction this attack will cause. Not only will many people die—civilians, the old and the infirm as well as children—but it will open the door for the city to be attacked by Cova’s forces, where even more perish.”
“More humans,” Winter said.
“I… I’m sorry, Your Grace?”
“Not just people, Urstadt. Humans will die.”
A chill worked its way up Urstadt’s spine. She had never heard Winter speak like this before about the conflict between tiellans and humans. Until now, the tiellan battles had always been in self-defense. This was the first time Winter had alluded to the idea that killing humans—no matter who they might be—was a good thing.
I, too, am a human, Your Majesty, Urstadt wanted to say. If Winter caught the unease behind the emotionless mask Urstadt forced her face to display, she did not show it.
The two of them stood, both silent, watching the workers carve and shape and hammer. The sound of work echoed up toward them, the muffled metallic ring of hammers striking nails and the dull thud of pounding wood. The grating and grinding of saws, and the sharp tak-tak-tak of chisels. The scent of the wood reminded Urstadt of the strong oiled blackbark from the Eagle’s Roost. This wood was cheaper, easier to work with—pine and oak and ash, as far as Urstadt could tell—but the smell permeated the entire tiellan camp. It was a smell Urstadt had appreciated at first, but now it almost made her sick as she thought about what the work was for.
“I have killed a great many people, Urstadt.”
Winter was gazing out at the workers, her eyes hooded. She wore her hair braided tightly along both sides of her head, as she did almost all of the time now, with the top and back looser, her black locks flowing. Despite the suggestions of those close to her—and to the consternation of some—Winter’s wardrobe had not changed at all since her ascension. She wore no crown, no great flowing cloaks or bright colors. She only wore her black leathers, now accompanied by a long black overcoat to protect her from the cold rain.
“Many of them I’ve killed in battle. You can understand this. I’ve killed others, too, for one reason or another. Hirman Luce. The two Kamite men in Pranna. The humans in Cineste who violently interrupted the Druid meeting.” Winter hesitated, and when she continued her voice was so soft Urstadt could hardly hear her above the din of the workers.
“There was one time, before I came to Roden, when I… I was still learning about psimancy, and I could hardly control myself—and I saw the man I’d been looking for, my husband, Knot, about to be executed on the Holy Crucible’s orders. I took frost to save him. No one knew the power I could wield back then. I certainly didn’t. If Kali and Nash, my mentors, had known my potential, they would have taken greater precautions. I wish they had.”
Winter laughed softly, the sound cold and mirthless. “Thinking about the tendra I wielded then is strange. I am so much more powerful, now, so much more in control. And yet… I’ve never again felt as powerful as I did then.” Her eyes were unfocused. “I lost control completely. I killed men, women, children. Soldiers, Sons of Canta, families. All I saw was my objective, all I knew was I had to reach Knot. I did anything to close that gap. Anything my abilities would allow.
“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Winter repeated. “But I’ve forgotten most of them. What I haven’t forgotten is that day. It’s there, all of that destruction and death, whenever I close my eyes. The blood, the mayhem, the chaos. It’s all there, and it hasn’t left me. It hasn’t faded. I don’t believe it ever will.”
Winter turned, her eyes finally focusing to meet Urstadt’s. “I understand the weight of death, Urstadt. I understand what I am doing here, and what the consequences are. Do you believe me when I tell you this?”
Urstadt blinked. “Yes.”
“Then believe me when I tell you that what I am choosing to do here,” she said, gesturing toward the workers, “is necessary. I understand what will happen. I understand the consequences.” She looked back at the construction site. “Sacrifices must be made.”
To destroy, I must first know love, Urstadt thought.
“I understand,” she said instead.
“I am not sure you do,” Winter said with a sigh. “But perhaps you will, one day. I have chosen my path, Urstadt. I will do what I must.”
“Yes, my queen.”
Her hand flexed, tightening around her glaive. Winter had chosen her path. Urstadt had a strong feeling that, someday soon, she would have to choose hers as well.
25
Triah
CINZIA, KNOT, AND ASTRID arrived at the apartment in Triah’s inner city just as the sun began to dip into the ocean on the horizon. God’s Eye stood tall in the distance, distinct against the Triahn skyline. The mood in the city was one of confidence and levity since the Eye had so soundly rebuffed the Rodenese fleet; the people of Triah were actually prone to a smile or two, which in Cinzia’s experience was incredibly rare.
The three of them wore loose disguises—or, at least, something very different from their typical clothing. Cinzia wore pants—a new fashion for middle- and upper-class women in the city, and one she found oddly restricting. A dress seemed so much more practical, all things considered; these pants hugged her hips and thighs far too tightly. They were not quite as tight as the breeches she remembered Winter wearing, but she could not imagine they left much to the imagination of anyone remotely willing to ogle her as she walked by. She’d covered up somewhat by wearing a long gray overcoat and simple brown leather boots. She had to admit, as they walked the streets together, that she fit in rather well. She could have easily been a merchant-class woman, or a lower noblewoman, out with her family for a night in the city.
Her family being Knot and Astrid, who were both dressed to match despite their protestations. Astrid wore a simple brown dress and a bonnet that she’d complained about vociferously when Cinzia had handed it to her.
“It is for the sun,” Cinzia had said, a wide grin on her face. What she had said had been half true, at least—the bonnet would protect Astrid from the sun. She had not mentioned she also thought it would look hilarious on the vampire.
“It’s for children,” Astrid had muttered in response. But she had taken the bonnet anyway, and it was what most girls her age wore around the city.
Knot, too, seemed truly uncomfortable in his light gray trousers and long brown overcoat. Cinzia had even insisted on combing his hair, brushing it back and away from his face. It had been growing for some time, now, and was long enough for her to tie it in a small, tight ponytail at the base of his skull.
When they’d seen the full look, Cinzia and Astrid had both burst out laughing. He’d scowled at them, pointing at Astrid. “Least I’m not wearing a bloody bonnet,” he had muttered.
“At least she looks comfortable in her
disguise,” Cinzia had said, stifling a giggle. Knot was completely out of his element. He walked away from them as if he had spent too long on a horse, his legs bowed beneath him, and he couldn’t stop scratching his head.
Cinzia rushed up to him, taking his hand in her own. “Stop that,” she scolded, “you’ll unsettle your ponytail.”
“So what if I do,” he muttered, apparently unable to meet her eyes. “It only took you a moment to put together.”
Her smile faded as she realized she still held Knot’s hand in her own, and he was holding hers in return. She slipped her hand out of his, and walked with purpose toward the city.
“Come now,” she said, “we have an appointment to keep.”
They looked for all the world like a small merchant-class family. Cinzia and Knot strolled arm in arm, without awkwardness, and Astrid scampered along at their side. Cinzia could easily have forgotten how the girl was one of the most deadly creatures she had ever known.
“I know this area,” Knot said, looking up at the building Code had directed them to. “Came here weeks ago, when I was first seeking out the Nazaniin. Must be a number of these buildings around here.”
“This was when you met Sirana?” Cinzia asked. She had been jealous of the meeting when Knot had first told her about it, but quickly realized how silly such an emotion was. Knot was not married to Sirana; Lathe was. And Lathe, for all intents and purposes, was now gone.
And Knot, for that matter, was married to Winter. A tangled mess of marriages, indeed.
“Aye,” Knot said.
“I am surprised they would house all of their operatives in the same quarter,” Cinzia observed.
Knot glanced down the curving street. “Ain’t all next to each other,” he said, “at least not the ones I’ve seen. But they’re all within the same few circles.”
Before they could even knock, the door before them opened, and an old man stood in the doorway. He beckoned them, his fingers slender, his knuckles swollen.
“Please,” he said slowly, “come in.”
He led them through a sparse hall into a high-ceilinged sitting room. Standing at the top of a spiral staircase on a balcony overlooking the room stood Code, dressed in simple black clothing, his long blonde hair in a loose bun atop his head.
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