But now, hearing her talk this way, hearing her casual disregard for life, he asked the question anyway. It suddenly seemed very much his business.
Winter closed her eyes, and did not open them. She remained seated there, cross-legged, arms resting on her knees.
“You must know the answer to that,” she said after a moment.
“I need to hear it from you.”
“Then yes. I am still taking faltira.”
Knot was surprised at the hurt that caused him. He remembered withholding frost from her before Kali and Nash confronted them at the fountain square in Izet. Perhaps, if he had given her a frost crystal, everything would be different now. Perhaps they might never have been separated. Perhaps they would have found those monks Astrid had mentioned, and this would all be done with. Perhaps she would not need it anymore.
“You killed a man in Izet for faltira,” Knot could not stop the words from tumbling out of him. “You lied to me for weeks about it, putting all our lives at risk. You killed dozens of people, of innocent people in Navone, because you couldn’t control yourself. How can you still be taking that shit, Winter? All you do is leave a trail of bodies behind you. You think you’re helping, but all you do is destroy.”
Knot did not care about the tears running their way down Winter’s cheeks from her still-closed eyes.
“You’re right about me, Winter. I’ll never understand what it’s like to be tiellan. I can’t begin to imagine the things you, or your people, have gone through. But I don’t know anything— anything—that justifies mass murder,” he said, pointing down at Triah, at the rubble that was once God’s Eye. “At this point, I can only hope faltira has taken complete control over you. Because if this is who you truly are…”
Knot stood. Winter did not look at him. She remained seated in the grass, wet lines running down her cheeks.
“I don’t want any part of it.”
37
AS KNOT WALKED AWAY from Winter, one emotion dominated all the others within her, plowing through the fear, the guilt, the horror.
Relief.
The hope she’d felt at seeing him again had slowly turned to a heavy terror. The tiellans she’d grown up with in Pranna were almost all gone: Eranda had been killed, as had Lian, and Winter’s father; she’d never even known her mother. Everyone close to her died. As much as she yearned for him, as much as sitting next to him here on the grass had filled her with a sense of calm and an underlying desire, she could never be with him. She could not let him become another casualty.
And now she could not help but feel he had become one, all the same.
He was probably halfway back to the Odenite camp by now. She wondered if he would have a difficult time getting back down the cliffs through her army, but then she remembered who this was. Her husband. Lightning on dark water. He would make his way wherever he wanted to go just fine.
She did not know how long she sat there after he left. Long enough for her tears to dry. Long enough for the sun to set and the late autumn moon to rise into a starry night, the lamp and torch lights of the city below a poor facsimile on the ground of what she saw in the sky. Long enough for the air to cool and form goosebumps along her skin.
She was getting too used to the warm weather of the south. In Pranna, this weather would have been a pleasant summer’s day.
As much as she wanted the fact that Knot was alive to change everything, in truth it changed very little. Knot didn’t know what it was like to be a tiellan. None of the humans ever would. Winter did not want all humans to die for their wrongs. Now that Knot was alive, she could think of at least three humans worth keeping around, along with Urstadt and Galce. But none of that changed reality, or the situation she and her people found themselves in. Winter could not stop, not until the humans in power changed themselves—or different people came into power, people who could change. Not until the humans stopped viewing tiellans as something less than themselves.
Not until you have your revenge.
Murderer.
Winter stood. She needed to find Urstadt, to spar with her, get some of this aggression and energy out. Her muscles ached with the need to exert themselves.
And she needed some more faltira.
Slowly, Winter allowed her gaze to move from the sea— where she had been staring almost through the entire conversation with Knot—to the city below. She forced herself to look at the pitiful pile of rubble where God’s Eye had once stood tall.
She did not know how many people had been killed in that attack. She did not want to know. She had done it to place a dagger of fear into Triah’s heart, the center of human domination in the world. The consequences were too much to bear.
But her people had been wronged. Things did need to change. And, Oblivion, she would take revenge on Riccan Carrieri.
Winter had killed people, just to get frost. That dealer in Izet. And she hadn’t told Knot about Hirman Luce, the Izet High Lord she’d murdered in the council chamber at Daval’s instigation. His name should be added to the list as well. And the people she’d killed because of frost was far longer than she cared to admit. Goddess, she had taken lives simply because she could not control herself. Navone’s memory still burned within her, a hot shame that refused to die down.
Was Knot right? Was God’s Eye just another Navone?
Winter fell to her knees. The creeping fear and worry that had caused hot tears to run down her face as Knot left now fully reared its head as the terrible terror and shame it truly was.
She knew she had done terrible things. But, this entire time, she’d thought she at least had some reason for her actions. But if Knot was right, and if this attack on God’s Eye was nothing more than faltira driving her, what did that mean?
Or, worse, perhaps it wasn’t faltira at all, but her own thirst for destruction.
As her sobs subsided, a sharp voice made her look up.
“Hello, Winter.”
Winter blinked and stood up, her eyes sore, dry, and covered in crusty filth from her sobbing. She wiped her eyes and nose, squinting in the dark. Ghian was half-bathed in shadow. She did not need to access acumency to see his true nature. The black skull of Azael, wreathed in flame, was as much a part of him as his hair or eyes or the color of his skin.
All the softness she’d felt in Knot’s presence, all the vulnerability, suddenly turned to cold black stone.
“My dear, are you all right?” Ghian asked, his voice concerned but his face still bathed in darkness. “It looks like you’ve been crying.”
“What do you want, Ghian?”
He gave a slight shrug, barely perceptible in the moonlight. “I’ve only come to check on you. I heard an old friend of yours had come calling.”
“I’ll believe you care about my well-being when the Sfaera flattens into a disk and people begin walking off the edge of it.”
Ghian clicked his tongue. “Such venom. I’ve never hurt you the way that man has.”
The cold black stone turned into a cold black rage.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here, or am I just going to leave you to whatever it is you do in the dark?”
“Whatever it is I do in the… I’m not some cultist, hiding in the shadows, Winter.”
“Aren’t you?”
Ghian scoffed. “Far from it.”
“I don’t have time for this.” Winter turned and began to walk away.
“I know what you’re feeling right now, Winter,” he called after her.
Winter ignored that comment. How Ghian Fauz could understand what she was feeling right now was beyond—
“You’re worried,” he said. “You’re worried what you’ve done has been for nothing. That you’ve killed innocent people, and it’s all been for nothing.”
Winter spun on her heel and marched back to him, until they stood face to face.
“You have no right to eavesdrop on my private conversations. I don’t need you, Ghian. I don’t need the Daemon that controls
you. If you become a nuisance to me—” Goddess, he already was a nuisance “—I can get rid of you. Understand?”
Winter got the slightest bit of satisfaction at the fear in his eyes—this was certainly Ghian she was threatening, and not Azael—but that satisfaction quickly soured.
You get satisfaction from making people afraid? Is that what you have become?
“I see you, girl.”
Ghian had said the words, but it certainly wasn’t him. Not anymore. The man must have given up his body to Azael’s control again.
“Why in Oblivion should I care?”
“You are on the right path. It is difficult and long, but this is where your road must lead you.”
Winter resisted the urge to grab Ghian by his collar. She imagined the effect would be lessened considering she was a fair bit shorter than he was, but she wanted to do it all the same. She couldn’t keep the anger from her voice, though. “What in Oblivion are you talking about?”
“This is what must be,” Azael said, gesturing toward Triah. “This is all part of what I have foreseen. You are becoming the weapon the Sfaera needs you to be.”
You are a weapon.
“I’m not a weapon,” Winter said, but even she didn’t believe the words.
“I have seen all of this. You have seen it, too.”
“If you have seen all of this, then tell me more,” Winter said, suddenly desperate. If there was meaning somewhere, anywhere, she needed it. “What am I a weapon against?”
Azael hesitated. Winter could see the frustration and struggle in Ghian’s face.
“You will be the weapon the Sfaera needs,” Azael said again, but his deep, rolling voice faltering slightly, as if…
“You already said that,” Winter said, taking a step back. “What am I a weapon against?”
“You are what must be. This is what must be.”
Winter shook her head.
“Let me put it for you in terms you will understand,” Azael said, his voice back to normal. But Winter could not forget the waver, the moment of frustration and confusion.
“You have become an instrument in my hands. You have struck fear in the hearts of the people in that city below. But you need to do more.”
Winter felt dead inside. The Daemon was right. She had done his bidding, or as good as. How had she not seen it?
If that was the deeper meaning… Goddess, she was no better than Daval. She was no better than Azael himself.
“They fear you,” Azael said, pointing at Triah. “Just as they will soon fear me. You know what you have to do now, don’t you, girl?”
Winter wanted to shake her head, wanted to deny it. She wanted to say no.
But when she closed her eyes, Chaos loomed, dark and inviting.
“I do.”
There was nothing left inside her to argue, to fight. She wanted Azael to be wrong, but after what Knot had said, how could she think anything else?
She had used her lust for frost, and for power, to get this far. She had murdered and killed, lied and cheated, intimidated and deceived. She had done it under the guise of retribution and justice for her people, and a part of her still believed that, but… she had gone this far; what was a little further? She had killed so many people; what were a few more? What were a few thousand more?
If they wanted her to be a villain, perhaps she should become the villain they always thought her to be.
“Azael.” Winter faced the Daemon in Ghian’s body.
“Yes, child?”
“I am ready.”
38
House of Aldermen, Triah
THE CONSULAR’S OFFICES CONSISTED of three large adjoining rooms: an anteroom, where Karina’s secretary sat; a meeting room overlooking Trinacrya Square, filled by a blackbark desk and lined with paintings of previous Consulars; and the smallest of the three, the Consular’s windowless study.
It was to this last room that Karina brought Carrieri. Bookshelves and scroll shelves lined the room, which was furnished with comfortable stuffed chairs and a long couch.
“The others—”
“Will arrive shortly.” Karina made for the liquor table. She poured herself a glass of brandy, and raised another to Carrieri questioningly.
Carrieri shook his head. He’d normally make a comment about it being a bit early in the day for that sort of thing, but given the circumstances, he couldn’t blame her. It was four days since the Eye had fallen, and the assembly was making slow progress in deciding how to house the displaced, where to treat the wounded and how to even start the clean-up operation. Even with a strong Consular like Karina running things, the senators were quick to argue and slow to make decisions.
In short time the study’s population increased by three: Kosarin Lothgarde, Venerato of the Citadel, along with his second, Sirana Aqilla, and the Essera herself, Arcana Blackwood. Together with Carrieri and Karina, they were the five most powerful people in Triah—perhaps the five most powerful people on the Sfaera.
The five most powerful people on the Sfaera, after Danica Winter Cordier.
“The trebuchet?” Karina asked.
“Still dismantled,” Carrieri said. “We monitor it at all times of the day and night.” It was the first question she asked every day since the attack, and for good reason. But the tiellans did not seem interested in rebuilding the war machines.
“What of the Rodenese fleet?” Karina asked.
“The blockade continues, but they have yet to mount an offensive.”
“Why? The Eye is down. Their main deterrent is gone. With the tiellans inland and them at sea, they could overwhelm us from both sides.”
Carrieri shook his head in frustration. “I cannot say for certain.” This question had plagued him the past few days. The respite was welcome, but could not last. This had to be the eye of a storm; the Rodenese navy had not come all this way to blockade Triah, not when the city was at its most vulnerable.
“You have no idea why they hold back? Not even a guess?”
“I have guesses, of course, but—”
“Guesses are all we have right now, Grand Marshal. Tell me yours.”
Carrieri pursed his lips. “The most likely scenario is that the alliance between the tiellans and the Rodenese has broken down. Rodenese prejudice runs deep; and if the tiellans hate us, who live alongside them, they must hate the Rodenese even more, who drove them out with pogroms and death.”
“Good.”
“Don’t take comfort from my words,” Carrieri warned. “They’re just conjecture, and must be taken as such. We cannot assume anything about either enemy at our gates.”
“I understand that, Riccan. And while I agree with you, time does not. Send messages to both parties. See if either will meet with us.”
Those words brought splutters from the rest of the group, but Carrieri nodded. It was the inevitable conclusion. When outmatched and outflanked, negotiation was the only recourse.
“Yes, Consular,” Carrieri said, with a small bow.
“Essera Blackwood,” Karina said, pouring herself another glass of brandy, “we are honored by your presence. Would you give us a report on the numbers?”
“The death toll has risen to twelve hundred people,” Blackwood replied. “We are still finding bodies in the rubble.” In public, the Essera was all pomp and majesty, but here, she was all business. “We found a particularly large group of corpses beneath the rubble this morning. We think a lot of them were trying to escape down the stairwell of the Eye at the time of the attack.”
“How many injured?”
“Over three thousand,” Blackwood said, “and there are reports of a nasty cough going around. Our priestesses think it might have something to do with all the dust and debris people near the Eye inhaled when it collapsed, and over the following hours.”
“How are your priestesses handling those numbers? Do you have enough people?”
“We could never have enough for something like this,” Blackwood said, her voice cal
m with patience that Carrieri could not fathom. “Hundreds of priestesses have been recalled from outside the city to help with the recovery effort, but many of them will not arrive for days, perhaps weeks, and in the meantime we are stretched very thin.”
“What of these Odenite priestesses?”
“Disciples,” Blackwood corrected. “They continue to help where they can, but there are only nine of them and…”
“What?” Karina prompted.
“And they are being met with some opposition.”
Carrieri sat up in his chair. “Why would they meet opposition? Who would oppose them? They’ve saved dozens of people, if the reports are to be believed.”
“Hundreds, actually,” Blackwood said. “But… some rumors began, early yesterday morning as far as we can tell, that the Odenites are in league with the tiellans.”
“In league with the tiellans?” Karina angled a look at Carrieri. “Is there any truth to this?”
Carrieri shook his head—he had heard of no such connection—but it was Lothgarde who responded.
“There may indeed be some truth to it, Consular. There is an ex-Nazaniin, of sorts, with the Odenites,” Lothgarde said. “He is married—or at least he was, at one point in time—to Winter Cordier.”
Carrieri bristled. “Why weren’t we told about this?”
“The Nazaniin deserter was our business,” Lothgarde said, “we saw no need to bring him up. We only discovered his connection to the tiellan leader recently.”
Carrieri imagined the Venerato was using the term “recently” rather loosely.
“But what has that to do with these disciples?” Karina asked. “All these women have done is go about healing the people of our city.”
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