by Callie Bates
I’m too sick with myself to care. Zollus told me the truth, and so did Aunt Cyra. Leontius is angry with me—a cold, long-running anger. But I don’t understand it. Does he so profoundly disapprove of sorcery? Does he think I’ve come back merely to use him?
The worst part is that it does make my mission here harder. It’s not only Leontius I’m sick for, it’s Elanna. It’s everyone in Eren and Caeris.
Jahan, Madiya whispers in my head.
All the gods, this woman! What is she doing, hiding somewhere whispering my name every spare moment? She’s never tried to summon me this consistently before. What does she want?
I stride faster through the gardens, as if I can outpace her voice. But my hand has already gone to the scar behind my ear. The hot blurring memory of pain runs through me, and a sense of shock so bitter I can taste it. What did she do to me that day when I was ten? What did she make me do? What did she do to Rayka, and Lathiel?
Jahan, she whispers.
Maybe it’s because I feel suddenly so alone. I dive down a side path between clustering cypresses, into the half-hidden grotto dedicated to the goddess Astarea. Among the green trees, with the waterfall muttering over the old green rocks, I could almost be back in Eren. I lean over the pool until I see my own reflection wavering back at me. I draw in a breath and whisper, “Rayka.”
I wait, but there’s no answer. Not even Madiya’s voice whispers in my mind. I rub my forehead, and my reflection looks perplexed and mildly lunatic. I really must be desperate, to call on my impossible brother. Where is he? He wouldn’t have gone to her—would he? But then I don’t know where Madiya is. Father was quite cagey on the subject, and so was Lathiel. She might be anywhere, and Rayka might have succumbed to her.
No, I won’t believe that. Not yet. Maybe he’s taken refuge in Ida. He could have looked up Pantoleon and asked for help. I told him Pantoleon would help him if he ever needed a friend. Of course, at the time, Rayka only rolled his eyes and said he would never need to ask for anyone’s help.
But maybe he has now. Maybe, for once in his life, Rayka did the sensible thing. If I go to Bardas Triciphes’s party tomorrow…
“Lord Jahan?”
I rear upright. Someone else has come into Astarea’s Grotto. Did they hear me whispering over the water? I turn warily. A woman in a white gown has paused between the cypresses, watching me, along with a severe man in military dress.
All the gods, I’m making a fool of myself in front of the empress. I clamber onto my feet and sweep a low bow. “Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Were you communing with the waters?” Firmina Triciphes asks, her voice bright with laughter. “Is it something you learned from your Ereni witch?”
The empress’s companion snorts. I feel a smile tug my mouth; I bend down and pluck a flower from among the stones. “Alas, my lady, I was merely offering my respects to the goddess. But this foxglove has a lovely scent.” I hold the flower out to her, but she doesn’t take it. She leans close to me, instead, so I feel the brush of air from her delicate skirts, and inhales deeply.
“Mmm,” she says, looking up at me with unmistakable mischief. “That is lovely.”
I feel my smile grow fixed. As if I’m not in enough trouble already. If anyone witnesses Empress Firmina flirting with me, the emperor will probably have me beheaded—after my reputation is thoroughly dragged through the muck by Aexione’s industrious gossips.
“Although,” she adds in a murmur, “foxglove has no scent. I thought your sorceress would have taught you that much. Or Leontius. Anyone, really.”
Heat burns up my neck, but I force a laugh. “You’ve caught me out!”
With a little knowing smile, Firmina steps back and takes her companion’s arm. “Jahan, you know Captain-General Horatius Bucellanus, do you not?”
Of course, now that I look at him, I know the minister of war, though he’s the last person I expected to be touring the gardens with Empress Firmina. He nods to me; I nod back. I’ve only spoken personally to the general once, after we returned from Chozat and he presented me with a medal for saving Leontius’s life. He asked me the most direct question anyone did: How did you know? I told him that I hadn’t known anything about the Getai attack; I simply reacted. He said, “I see,” but his eyes said he didn’t entirely believe me, that no one could have done what I did without prior knowledge.
Now, however, he’s nothing but cordial. “Lord Jahan, you are to be commended for your success in Eren.”
“Indeed?” I say. His approbation is the last thing I expected.
“Success is success, no matter the method by which it is achieved.”
I glance at the empress, who simply smiles. She holds the captain-general’s arm with the affection of a friend, though I can’t imagine what they have to converse about.
The captain-general looks at me. “You’ve returned to secure peace, I understand.”
I laugh. “I suppose peace is antithetical to your occupation.”
To my complete astonishment, he gives me a fatherly smile. “Peace, war.” He waves a hand. “Nothing more than words. There is always conflict. The question is, where are our resources best spent? The Ereni revolt has inflamed some incendiaries in Paladis, true. But their fires were already burning. I don’t see the point in policing an independent nation when we’ve already fought our battle there, and won.”
“Elanna Valtai’s use of sorcery doesn’t trouble you?” I’m so surprised I ask the question outright.
He shrugs. “Do I care for it? No. But it’s a waste of my—our—resources to make an example of Eren when there are riots in Ida’s streets. Let the Tinani and the Baedoni fight this war. Let them send in witch hunters to take the sorceress. Let them…take care of her. We must look first to our subject states. I need to garrison troops in Seleuca and Istria. I need to strengthen the border with Agra, because if there is insurrection within the empire, our neighbors will be the first to fall on us.”
The empress leans forward. “My husband claims the war with Eren distracts from the fires at home.”
“So he has been telling me, repeatedly.” Horatius seems to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “As I said, the fires are already burning. And between ourselves and the wind, there’s word that many refugees—sorcerers—have fled from Paladis to Eren. Once word about that gets out…” He shakes his head. “Better to ally with Sophy of Eren. Maintain neutrality about how the sorceress defeated the Eyrlais. Meanwhile, we scour our own streets. Send out all the witch hunters. Station imperial guards around Ida. Suppress the riots as efficiently as we can.”
My mouth is open. I close it. So Horatius doesn’t mind sorcery as long as it happens at a safe distance. That doesn’t make him an ally, exactly, though if he can persuade the emperor to his thinking, it would obviously benefit Eren.
But the idea of more witch hunters on Ida’s streets—the idea of the military, not just the city watch, overseeing the riots—makes the skin on the back of my neck tighten. I came here to win peace for Eren, but not at the price of my friends in Ida.
“I somehow doubt Emperor Alakaseus will agree,” I say faintly.
Horatius checks his pocket watch. “I’ll find out for certain in a quarter of an hour, when I meet with His Imperial Majesty and my fellow ministers.” Again, the paternal smile. “Your mission hasn’t failed yet, Lord Jahan.”
I feel heat rise in my chest. This is so far from what I expected that I can’t trust the reassurance I feel.
“I am curious,” Empress Firmina says, tapping the general’s arm. “Do you mean to decriminalize sorcery in Eren, then? Would you change Paladisan law so that witch hunters have jurisdiction only in the empire?”
Horatius raises his brows, echoing my thoughts. “That would be quite a change.”
“Or perhaps,” the empress says reflectively, “we should consider sorcery a
nuisance, not an abomination. After all, is it truly an offense to the gods? Elanna Valtai has not yet been smitten to the earth.”
She smiles at me, and I realize I’m staring. I cough into my fist, trying to recover my thoughts. Does she really mean this? I find myself saying, with a kind of strangled hope, “You’re right, my lady—sorcery isn’t anathema. Our witch hunts were founded on a false premise. The truth is that no sorcerers would cooperate with Paladius the First’s overweening ambitions—in fact, they allied against him, and nearly destroyed him. Sorcery was only declared an ‘abomination’ because Paladius could not bend the sorcerers to his will.”
Firmina Triciphes blinks at me. I realize, too late, that I’ve said too much.
Then Captain-General Horatius chuckles. “You’ve been reading the nonsense proliferated by the People’s Party, Lord Jahan. It’s a good story, but not based in any fact, so far as I can see.”
“History is a fact,” I reply, but I force myself to stop. If I admit that the research behind the People’s Party’s claims belongs to me, that Pantoleon and I spent years digging through the university archives…Studying the history of sorcery is undoubtedly as criminal as practicing it.
I’m going to kill Pantoleon when I see him.
I turn to the empress. “My point is that the oppression of sorcerers has less to do with their natural wickedness than with political expediency.”
She nods. “And by all standards of human decency, our methods of oppression are somewhat…outmoded. Barbaric.”
The captain-general checks his pocket watch again. “Your sensitivity does you credit, madam. Would that the people responded to such gentle measures. It would make my occupation a good deal easier.”
Empress Firmina’s responding smile is faint. “Would that I did not see their struggle so clearly.” Her gaze flickers to me. Of course both of us see the people’s struggle in a way the captain-general and even my aunt never could: We’ve both come to Aexione from the other side of the gate, so to speak.
“Well,” Horatius says, tucking away his pocket watch, “if you’ll excuse me, my meeting is due to begin.” He kisses the empress’s hand and nods at me. “Your Imperial Majesty. Lord Jahan.”
Together, Firmina and I watch him walk away between the trees. I feel slightly dazed. After being rejected by Leontius and the vitriol in the newspaper, hope is the last thing I expected to feel.
The empress holds out her arm. “Walk with me, Lord Jahan.”
I have little choice but to comply. Her fingers tuck around my elbow, warm and delicate, steering me out of the grotto. We stroll in silence past the arcade and along the tree-lined path toward the Little Palace. We’ve left behind most of the courtiers and even the ubiquitous gardeners. Only a squirrel rustles in the high branches of the plane trees.
And Madiya whispers, Jahan.
As if my skin weren’t prickling enough with the danger of being seen alone with the empress. Well, what’s another slur on my reputation? But the emperor can be a jealous man. It’s the insecure corollary, I suppose, of marrying a woman twenty years his junior. I just don’t want my life to be a consequence of it.
Firmina sighs. “I must apologize, Jahan. I’m afraid Captain-General Horatius and I have misled you.”
For a moment, I imagine she’s leading me straight to a band of witch hunters who will spirit me to the Ochuroma. I clear my throat. “Have you?”
“Yes.” Her footsteps slow; she looks at me. “Horatius and I were talking of our hopes, as reasonable people. My husband…” She lowers her voice. We’re standing so close I can see the swift flutter of her pulse above her collarbone. “My husband is not a reasonable man. He doesn’t believe in changing policies that have served Paladis for two centuries, regarding either sorcery or anything else.”
I wince. I knew this, of course, but it’s crushing to hear.
“Our main hope,” she continues, “is that Horatius can persuade the other ministers to agree with him. That may put enough pressure on Alakaseus to relent against Eren.”
“Ah,” I say. I know the ministers well enough; though some of them can think for themselves, most will simply follow the official imperial line. “I won’t raise my hopes, then.”
Firmina’s grip tightens on my sleeve. “I heard you were assaulted on your way home last night. I trust the brigands didn’t do any serious damage.”
I manage a smile. “Not at all. Fortunately, your cousin came to my rescue.”
“It’s lucky he happened to see it.” She pauses. “Jahan, you must be careful. It isn’t only my husband who propounds these intolerant policies.”
“Oh, I know. I had quite an illuminating conversation with Augustus.”
Her lips thin. “We must both take care. If he and Phaedra know we’re in agreement, they’ll know where to set their next traps.”
“It seems to me they’ve already succeeded moderately well at that.”
“The paper was vicious, it’s true. But…” She looks at me. “You must know Leontius wouldn’t have been able to help you much in any case. He’s in Alakaseus’s confidence less than ever.”
I say nothing. I suppose I did know that, but I still want my friend back.
Firmina sighs again. “Do you know why I married His Imperial Majesty? I wanted to change things. I wanted to make a difference for my people, the ordinary Idaean people, from the second-highest seat in the land. I thought perhaps his willingness to wed me suggested that such changes were afoot. But I find myself silenced time and again—told to sit down and be quiet. Mind my manners. Be beautiful, but have no true intelligence. No thoughts. No plans.” She turns to me, her anger fierce around her. “You know what I’m talking about, surely. You’ve experienced the same thing yourself.”
As Leontius’s friend, she means. There is so much I could have tried to accomplish, so many changes I could have tried to bring about. But Leontius doesn’t have the influence or the means, and I have been too afraid of being found out for what I truly am.
So instead I ran away to Eren and Caeris, to make change happen there.
“Yes,” I say drily. “If only our last names were Saranon.”
“But soon that won’t be the case.” She grasps my hand. “Changes are happening in Ida—the people are demanding it. And my husband, his ministers, his courtiers, are all too blind to see it for what it is. To understand what it means. That they must change.”
I stare down at our joined hands, then up into her eyes. She’s smiling, showing small perfect teeth, and I can smell her jasmine perfume and feel the warmth beating off her. We’re alone on the slope beside the Little Palace. Anything might happen here, with a woman like Firmina Triciphes. Maybe the emperor’s right to be jealous.
But I promised Elanna I would return to her. I’m keeping that promise.
And if I lean any closer to Firmina, I have a feeling El won’t take me back.
I step back, or try to. The empress’s eyes crinkle; she doesn’t let go of my hand or release her lock on my gaze. “Please know,” she says softly, “that you can trust me. You can trust Bardas, too. We are your allies, Jahan. And if you go to the Deos Deorum tomorrow, you’ll see how much we believe the same things.”
Bardas’s party—the one he claimed Pantoleon would attend. I stare at her. Maybe this isn’t just sentiment. Maybe she and Bardas are planning something—and maybe they can help me.
But what do they want in return? Nobody gives something for nothing.
With a smile, Firmina releases me. She puts a finger to her lips. “I trust you’ll speak of this meeting to no one.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I say, even though the words make me uneasy. I’m not certain what I’m agreeing to. But she’s already walking away, her skirts bobbing, to the fanciful steps of the Little Palace, leaving me behind.
* * *
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A PILE OF LUGGAGE awaits me at Aunt Cyra’s: two large chests of clothing and two smaller ones of books. They sit in a lonely pile at the center of my bedchamber.
Hope pounds in my ribs. “Lathiel?” I swing around in a circle, staring at the curtains and even crouching to peer beneath the bed. But I don’t feel a concentrated, boy-shaped silence. The room feels undisturbed.
A whisper of sound sends me spinning toward the door, breathless.
Aunt Cyra watches me, gripping the doorjamb. Her mouth is grave. “Jahan, I don’t think he’s here. If he is, he’s hidden so well we can’t find him.”
But I saw the longing on Lathiel’s face. He wanted to come with me. I know it.
I fling open the nearest trunk, casting out coats and trousers and shirts. But there’s no boy cocooned in the bottom of this trunk, or the other one. I sink, at last, to the ground between the piles of silk and linen, burying my face in my hands. He must have stayed home with Father. When it came down to it, he must have been too afraid to come.
I want to commandeer a ship and go back for him, but I can’t do that. Not yet. Instead I’m left here with a mound of clothing I don’t care about, and the knowledge that, once again, I’ve failed my brothers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“El,” I whisper. “Elanna.”
But the gilded mirror stubbornly reflects my own face. I rub my forehead. I’m growing hoarse from whispering—I’ve been in here for an hour, in Aunt Cyra’s Ida townhouse, stealing time before Bardas’s party.
There’s been no answer tonight. And nothing the two nights before. Something’s wrong.
I have no other way of reaching her, though, and I can’t remain here whispering. I’ve silenced the doors and walls with magic, but I can already imagine the servants saying I’m being misanthropic. I hardly need another rumor circulating now. And I need to get to the party. Firmina and Bardas are the only people who’ve really offered help, and I need to find Pantoleon.