I thought of Cristoph heaving the lantern at me and frowned.
I thought of Erick and bit my lip. I hadn’t seen him since that night, had only heard him in the days that followed. And he hadn’t been there at the end, when the tremors weren’t as bad. I’d only heard Borund and Avrell.
Behind me, Borund suddenly blurted, “Where in bloody hell is he?” and stopped his pacing.
As if he’d heard, the door to the little room opened and Avrell stepped in. He was followed by Erick.
I shifted away from the window unconsciously, but halted. Erick’s face was set, grim and determined and dangerous. The same face he wore on the Dredge, when he was about to kill a mark. As if he were about to do something he regretted, but that he felt was necessary.
His eyes caught mine but revealed nothing. He didn’t even nod in acknowledgment.
I settled back as Avrell moved forward, suddenly uneasy.
Avrell approached Borund first, caught his gaze, and said simply, “It didn’t work. We’ll have to do what we discussed earlier.”
Borund tensed. “Are you certain? There’s no other option?” He did not look toward me as he spoke.
“I see no other way,” Avrell said.
Borund sighed, shoulders sagging, and nodded. Then they both turned toward me.
I straightened at the looks on their faces, felt my bruised shoulders tense, felt my face set into a guarded expression. I watched Avrell, but it was Borund who moved forward.
“Varis, we need your help.”
My stomach tightened and I drew in a deep breath, anger flaring, but before I could say anything, Borund continued.
“The fire that was started in the warehouse district . . . it burned up a significant portion of our reserves. The food we’d put aside, the food that had become scarce even before the fire, all of that . . . is gone. If we gather together everything that’s left, from all the merchants in the city, and if we buy and ship as much as we can from the nearest cities, we might be able to survive until the spring harvest. But in order to do that the ships have to leave within the next five days. They have to leave now or they won’t make it back before winter makes the seas too rough. Do you understand?”
I shook my head, the tightness in my stomach beginning to sour. Because a part of me did see, already knew what was coming. “No, I don’t understand.”
He sighed heavily. “We can’t buy and ship what we need when the harbor is blockaded.”
I glanced toward Avrell. “Then unblock the harbor. Let the ships out.”
Avrell didn’t move. “We can’t. The Mistress ordered the harbor closed. The Mistress has to order the harbor opened again. Baill won’t listen to anyone else, including me. He doesn’t have to listen to anyone else, not when given a direct order from the Mistress.”
My gaze darted back to Borund. “Then get her to change her mind.”
“She won’t,” Borund said. “We’ve tried.”
The room fell silent. I knew what they wanted, but I wanted to hear them say it.
“What do you want me to do?”
And now no one wanted to speak. Borund drew back, breath held. Avrell stilled. Erick stood by the closed door and watched me, his expression still hard, closed.
“She’s insane, Varis,” Borund finally managed. I was surprised. I’d expected Avrell to speak first. “We want you to kill her.”
“No.” I said it almost before he finished, and he stepped back at the vehemence in my voice. “No, I don’t want to kill for you anymore. Find some other way.”
“There is no other way!” Borund said. His voice became hard, commanding, desperate. “We’ve tried reasoning with her, we’ve tried countermanding her orders. We’ve even tried replacing her—”
“Enough.”
Avrell’s voice cut Borund short and he turned, angry and belligerent, but Avrell ignored him. Instead, he watched me.
“You heard us discussing this before. The Mistress is insane. Something in the White Fire six years ago drove her insane. She ordered the palace guard into the city, infiltrating the streets when there was no serious threat. She ordered the blockade of the harbor, for no reason whatsoever. But that isn’t the worst.” He stood, moving forward, taking the place of Borund, who fell back.
Behind them both, Erick perked up, suddenly attentive.
Avrell stopped in front of me, held my gaze. “When the fire started in the city below, the Guard instantly responded. We moved to form brigades to the harbor, lines of men to pass buckets of water to help put it out, or at least try to contain it. But the Mistress ordered the guardsmen not to help. And so they didn’t. I stood on the tower beside the Mistress, stood there in the rain, and watched the city burn, let it burn. Because that’s what the Mistress had ordered. And do you know what she did as it spread toward the docks? She smiled.” He paused, and I saw rage in his eyes. “She let the city burn, Varis. If I had any doubts about her sanity before, they’re gone now.”
“Then replace her,” I said.
He shook his head. “I tried. Everyone I seat upon the throne dies. Horribly. The throne twists them somehow, tortures them without leaving a mark upon their bodies. Looking at the histories, no one has ever tried to replace a current living Mistress. The Mistress has always been dead before a new Mistress was named. No.” He shook his head again. “No. The current Mistress has to die before I can replace her.
“I’m sworn to protect the throne, not the Mistress.”
I looked into his eyes and saw how much it had torn him inside to admit it. A deep tear, as deep as anything I’d learned on the Dredge . . . or in Amenkor. Because in the end both the Dredge and Amenkor were the same. The people were the same.
My gaze shifted toward Erick, took in his rigid stance. “Find someone else to kill her. Like Erick. Make her one of the guardsmen’s marks.”
Avrell shook his head. “No. It has to be you, Varis.” He shot a quick glance toward Borund, who shifted uncomfortably. “Borund told me that you see the world differently, that you say those that are dangerous to you and to him are ‘red’. Erick says you told him something similar when you hunted for him on the Dredge.”
I felt a hot shudder of betrayal snap through me, shot a glare at Borund, then Erick, but Avrell had already continued.
“The Mistress knows when someone is approaching, so someone like Erick won’t be able to get close enough to kill her. No. The only one who might have a chance is someone like you, someone who uses senses other than the normal senses.” Avrell had shifted close to me, stood directly in front of me so that I was forced to focus on him, not Erick or Borund. “I don’t know how this . . . talent of yours works, but it’s our only chance to kill her. You are the only one capable of getting close enough to try. It has to be you, Varis.”
He felt me hesitate, and so added, “You wouldn’t be killing her for us, Varis. You’d be killing her for Amenkor.” Then he backed away.
I sagged slightly, turned toward Erick, appealing to him for help, for support.
His expression was set, hard and unforgiving. “I’ve seen her, Varis. She truly is insane. But you already know that. You saw it first, there on the Dredge. Remember Mari?” He drew in a breath, let it out slowly. “You told me she wasn’t a mark. I didn’t believe you then, but I do now. The Mistress was wrong. Mari shouldn’t have died. Someone who can’t see the difference shouldn’t be sitting on the throne.”
I frowned at Erick, feeling cheated somehow, the sense of betrayal deepening, and turned back to Avrell.
Something else flickered behind his eyes, something deeper, as if he hadn’t told me everything, as if he were still holding something back, some hidden purpose.
“Find someone else like me,” I said, but my voice was defeated. I’d already decided.
“No.” He shook his head, a smile touching his lips, and I saw again that flicker in his eyes, as if he were leaving something out, as if he’d lied in some way. But he’d heard the defeat in my voice as well. “
There is no one else. It has to be you.”
I stared at them all, one by one—Borund, Avrell, and Erick. Something wasn’t right, something that I couldn’t see.
This is what I am, a small part of me murmured.
But this time it was my decision, my choice.
I sighed, the sound heavy, and asked, “How do you intend to get me into the palace?”
The Palace
TWO days later, I found myself tucked into a niche in the palace, squeezed into shadow, knees to my chest, looking down on a corridor lit by oil sconces. I’d come in through the passage beneath the wall. Avrell had given me a rough sketch of the palace, page boy clothing, and the key to a linen closet. I wasn’t to be seen. No one was to know I was there, especially not Baill. And I had to kill the Mistress tonight. The ships had to be released in the next three days. There was no time left.
Almost the moment I started the hunt, a passing Servant saw me, asked for my help. But the marks were my choice now, and so after helping her with the baskets I let her go. I waited until she was gone, then headed for the linen closet.
I passed through rooms, gardens, halls. I slid into a familiar waiting room, ducked into shadow, listened to Avrell tell Nathem he had ordered the Mistress’ death. After they’d passed, I slid from room to room with less stealth and more speed, until I’d found the linen closet Avrell had told me about, the one with the arrow slot I could squeeze through to enter the inner sanctum, the true palace.
I’d entered the throne room, seen the Skewed Throne itself, listened to it.
And now I stood before the Mistress’ own chambers, dressed in a page boy’s shirt and breeches. The hallway blazed with light, every sconce flaring high, flames flapping and hissing. The entire palace was lit, every hall, every corridor, every room. I could feel the energy in the building, people searching, scouring the halls, the audience chambers, the storage areas. I could feel them, guards and servants, everyone Baill could call to hand, even though I held the river at bay, the voices of the throne there too strong, too demanding for me to trust myself beneath its surface. I hadn’t used the river since entering the palace.
No one stood guard over the Mistress’ chambers.
I didn’t hesitate, even when a shiver of doubt coursed through me. Someone should be here, watching. Avrell had said he’d placed guards here, to watch over her. But it didn’t matter. Part of me already knew what I would find.
I plunged into the rooms, into the antechamber with trailing curtains, soft scattered pillows, tables of fruit and drink and platters of cheese. Empty. I slid without sound to the bedchamber, drew close to the veiled bed itself, drew back the curtains.
Empty.
And then I knew.
Baill wasn’t hunting me, he was hunting the Mistress. She’d slipped past the guards at the door again, just as before, had hidden herself somewhere in the palace.
And I knew where she would be.
She’d been calling me all night. I’d just refused to listen.
The Throne Room
THE corridor to the throne room was still empty and I stepped up to the wide double doors without skulking, standing straight, back rigid, blade drawn but held loose at my side. I stood in front of the wooden doors banded with delicate ironwork for a long moment, staring at the subtle curves of the iron, the gleam of the rounded metal studs that held it in place, the polish of the wood beneath. Old wood, the age obvious. But the grain still glowed with an inner warmth.
The Mistress waited for me inside, with the throne. I hadn’t seen her before, but I knew she was there. She’d been calling me with the voices—that dry rustling of leaves—since I’d entered the inner sanctum of the palace. Avrell had said she knew when someone was approaching, and she knew about me, knew I was here. The river hadn’t masked me from her at all. Nor the Fire.
Fear crawled across my shoulders, making the muscles tense and twitch. My hand clenched the handle of my dagger, then released.
But then why were there no guards to protect her? Why hadn’t Baill and a retinue of twenty guardsmen been waiting for me outside of the Mistress’ chambers if she knew I was coming?
I glanced down the empty hall, suddenly wary. Someone should have been here. Unless . . .
I turned back to the iron-banded door with a frown.
Unless the Mistress wanted me to come.
I suddenly thought about the ease with which I’d moved through the palace, the lack of guards, the way Baill had drawn them away from the entrance to the audience chamber. At the time I had thought the lack of guards was fortuitous, or something arranged by Avrell himself, but now. . . .
What if the Mistress had arranged it all, instead of Avrell? What if she’d somehow led Baill astray?
I shivered, steeled myself, shoulders tightening. It didn’t matter. I had agreed to kill her, to save Amenkor. If I could get close to her, I still might have a chance, whether she knew I was coming or not.
I reached for the ornate wrought-iron handle of one of the doors and pulled it toward me. The wood groaned, the sound loud in the empty corridor, but I didn’t cringe, didn’t duck into the nearest shadow. I stepped into the throne room instead, pulling the Fire that still curled deep inside me around myself in a protective wall.
The force that was the throne, that writhed and warped within the throne room and pricked the back of my neck, came suddenly, but I was expecting it this time. With a horrifying weight, it pushed me down, tried to force me beneath the river. For a moment, it almost succeeded, the Fire I’d raised to shield myself flickering as if doused with water. I grunted under the onslaught, brought my hands up to ward the intense pressure away, even though there was nothing physical for me to fight against, but the Fire held, drawing strength as the pressure relented, backing off.
But it didn’t leave. I could feel it, filling the room, saturating it. I tasted it with every breath, felt it prickling against my skin, alive and predatory. It sent sparks of static through my skin, like lightning. I shivered at the sensation, tried to brush it aside.
I suddenly remembered that I’d felt the presence once before, weeks ago, when I’d come with Borund through the passage beneath the palace wall to meet with Avrell that first time. It had tasted me then, when I’d used the river to make certain Avrell was sincere. I remembered hearing the brush of dead leaves on stone.
It hadn’t been certain then, had withdrawn, but it wanted me now.
The thought raised the hackles on the back of my neck, set every instinct for danger I’d learned on the Dredge on edge.
I could feel it pacing the room, felt its presence like the growl of a feral dog, but I forced myself to breathe, to scan the room.
Eight thick granite pillars rose to the vaulted ceiling, four on each side, resting at the top of three tiered granite steps, surrounding the wide flagstone walkway from the doors to the throne, just as before. But now every sconce along the hall had been lit, the throne surrounded by bright candelabra; only a few of the candles had been lit when I passed through the room before. The white-and-gold emblem of the Skewed Throne hung above the throne, the folds of the banner sharply defined in the light—a banner I had not seen before, in the darkness. I refused to look at the throne itself, at its shifting shape. I could already feel the feverish heat against my skin, the same heat I’d felt when I’d entered the room before.
The hall was empty, the two doors on the other side of the room—one of which I’d used to enter the throne room earlier—both closed.
A wave of uncertainty passed through me. I suddenly felt as if I were being hunted, as if someone were watching me from the shadows.
I hated being stalked.
I took one step forward, searching the darknesses behind the pillars to either side. The weight in the air surged forward like a tide, restless, the growl vibrating in my skin, but abated when I winced but did not waver.
My grip shifted on my dagger, slick with sweat.
I moved forward, not pausing now, searchi
ng the shadows behind the pillars, searching the niches. But the room was truly empty.
I halted in the center of the throne room, confused. I knew the Mistress was here, could feel her eyes on me. I could feel the throne as well, somehow heavy and solid, even though I could see it shift at the corner of my eye, could feel it gnawing at my stomach. It felt more real than the room itself.
I swallowed, turned away from the throne, back toward the door I’d entered through—
And a laugh echoed through the room, soft and cold. The laugh of a child. Behind me, the door groaned and pulled itself shut with a hollow thud.
My mouth went dry, my tongue parched. My breath quickened and something hard and hot lodged itself at the base of my throat.
The laugh came again, closer, and I spun, settling into a light crouch instinctively. I reached for the river, out of habit, out of necessity, and the pressure stalking on the air surged forward again greedily, rising high, the world shifting into gray and a roar of wind before I jerked myself back with a shudder. Pulling the Fire closer, I shot a glare of anger out into the room, drew myself up straight, and searched the room again.
The laughter had come from inside the room. Someone was here.
I stilled when a new voice filled the room, singing quietly to itself.“. . . o-ver the water, o-ver the sea,
Comes a Fire to burn thee.
White as whitecaps, harsh as the scree,
Here it comes to judge thee.”
The woman’s voice finished with a chuckle. The sound filled the room, throaty and deep. Totally unlike the child’s laughter a moment before.
“It came for me, Varis,” the throaty voice said. My flesh prickled, my hackles standing on end at the sound of my name. I tasted my fear, like old musty cloth. “Oh, yes, it came. And it destroyed me.” Another laugh, this one bitter and choked, dying off harshly into nothing.
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