The Usurper's Crown

by Sarah Zettel

  Apparently, Hajek heard it too. “Friends, friends,” he called. “There’s work to be done, and if we’re missed from the cliffs, suspicions will rise fast and high.”

  Hajek stepped smartly up to Avanasy and Ingrid and bowed in front of them, adding a nod for Peshek, who returned it gravely. The rest of the village followed suit, all of them bowing with great solemnity, leaving Ingrid feeling like the guest of honor at a huge country wedding. As Hajek led his people away, their voices lifted high in song.

  “Let the waves roll, let the wind roar,

  You’ve brought me home, from many’s the shore.

  Your eyes light the moon, your tears fill the sea,

  Your hands hold my heart, your voice calls to me.”

  A question filled Ingrid as the villagers departed to their tasks. She was sure she did not want to know the answer, but she could not stop herself from asking. “What will they do with the soldiers?”

  “They will make sure the men do not follow us,” said Avanasy flatly, and his cold voice told Ingrid all she needed to know. “Come, Ingrid. Let us get our things. We’ll take shelter beneath the cliffs. There’ll be a moon tonight and we can sail out after dark.”

  Ingrid tried to catch Avanasy’s eye, to get some reassurance from his voice or his manner, but there was none. He was distant from her, although they walked side by side, with Peshek leading his horse behind them. His mind was on his empress and thoughts of the danger to the empire, and she would have to try to wait until his thoughts turned, with as much patience as she could muster. But she did not feel content to wait. Something pulled at her, some restlessness like the sensation left over from a bad dream made her uneasy inside, and she could not give it a name.

  Avanasy watched Ingrid sink into her own silence, and he regretted it. He wanted to speak comfort to her, but he had no words. A day and a night in Isavalta; already six men were condemned to death for no more than looking on his face. The first casualties of the war to come.

  No, Iakush came before them, and I’ll lay all I own down that even he was not the first.

  Peshek waited outside the god house with his horse while Avanasy and Ingrid went inside to pick up their bundles and sling them over their shoulders again. Avanasy took this moment of privacy to touch Ingrid’s arm and look into her eyes. She returned a small smile that held no more than a spark of warmth, but there was no time now to inquire as to just what troubled her. He would have to trust to her patience just a little longer.

  There was no question of Peshek’s horse being able to negotiate the path that had brought Avanasy and Ingrid up to the village, so they were forced to head eastward along the coastline, until the cliffs gentled into hills, and then trek back over sand and stone, following the waterline as the waves ebbed and surged at their right hand.

  At last, with much coaxing of the skittish, tired horse, they made their way around the rocky point to the cove that sheltered Avanasy’s boat. Salt stung his lips and sand grated against his skin. Ingrid looked wan, and even Peshek’s banter had ceased to make her smile.

  Peshek already seemed to have forgotten the men left behind, but that was ever his way. He lived for now and what was to come. The past was over and done with as soon as it happened. He did as he must, loved as he would, and never labored under any shadow. Avanasy sometimes envied him, and sometimes grew exasperated with his carelessness. Added to all that, he suspected that the nagging that teased at his insides as he watched Peshek coax Ingrid with his light words — telling her of the pleasant sights that Isavalta held — was the first mild stirring of jealousy.

  Which was so ridiculous he had to laugh, grimly and silently, at himself.

  “Well,” announced Peshek, gazing at the narrow cove about him. “Not so fine as your other country home, Avanasy, but I’m sure all the fresh air is most healthful.”

  “It wants a woman’s touch,” replied Ingrid. “And a fire. I’ll see if there’s driftwood to be found. I’m sure you two need to talk.” Before Avanasy could offer advice or caution, she plunked her bundle onto a boulder and started down the shoreline again, pausing here and there to pick up what driftwood she found.

  While Ingrid wandered farther afield, Peshek busied himself with his horse, uncinching the animal’s tack and laying it aside. Relieved of its bridle, the horse began to nose among the rocks, in case there was some shred of edible greenery to be found.

  “She’s a fair one, Avanasy,” he said cheerfully as he bent down to take up the horse’s near hoof and check for stones. “But I’d stay on the right side of her tongue if I were in your shoes.”

  “If you were in my shoes, you’d have wedded her and bedded her months since, rascal that you are,” joked Avanasy in answer, but his humor did not last long. “Peshek, what has happened? Is the empress truly with child? The lord sorcerer said nothing of it.”

  Peshek shook his head, and straightened up. “Nothing so simple. Where is Lord Iakush? I cannot believe he stayed away when all is falling apart.”

  “He’s dead, Peshek. Kacha killed him.”

  Peshek’s face turned thunderous, and he spat. “Not the first and not the last by a long chalk,” he muttered in grim prophecy. “The empress is not with child. She is fled her palace, and all that comes out of there are Kacha’s lies.”

  Avanasy’s cheeks paled as Peshek told him how he had taken the disguised empress from the Vaknevos, and how he had been charmed to sleep and how she had escaped his custody.

  “She bids you meet her at the Heart of the World. I know no more than that.” Peshek turned away again, laying both hands on his horse’s mane. The creature snorted and stamped one hoof. Despite his attempt to hide it, Avanasy clearly saw the shame that filled Peshek’s face. “I am glad you are back with us, Avanasy,” he said.

  “But how!” Avanasy thumped his fist with his thigh. “How is he able to do this! Kacha is no sorcerer, yet magic comes under his hands. Only through magic could he deceive the entire council and put Medeoan to flight.”

  “And it is not possible all the council lords are traitors,” added Peshek. “Fools, perhaps, treacherous, perhaps, but most of them believe in the empire.”

  “Which is why they are council lords.” Avanasy stared past his friend toward the rushing gray ocean. The foam-crested waves spoke in their wordless, unceasing voices and gave him no answers at all. “This is a deep plot, Peshek, and it was set in motion well before Kacha was sent to wed Medeoan. Why did I let her send me away?”

  “Because you are of more use to her alive than dead, wherever you might be, and you knew that.” He shook his head. “Still, the news is not all bad.” Peshek went on to tell Avanasy of his meeting with his father, and how word was spreading to find the truly loyal.

  Avanasy blew out a sigh to the dimming air. “I should have known you would not be idle. This will be good news to give to the empress when I reach her.”

  “So I hoped.” Peshek pulled on the fingers of his gloves for a moment. Then, he said in a low voice. “A wife, Avanasy? In truth?”

  “We have not been prayed over yet, but, yes, I have given her my pledge.”

  “Was that wise? The empress … now that Kacha has betrayed her, she’s going to turn back to you, and …”

  Avanasy held up his hand. “No more, Peshek.”

  “Avanasy, you are not a fool.”

  “No. But there are things that may not be spoken of. Not even here in the middle of nowhere. I fell in love. I made a promise. I did not believe I would ever be welcomed back, and when I was sent for, I could not abandon her.” His eyes instantly searched the mouth of the cove for Ingrid, but did not see her. It was just as well. This was not a conversation he wanted her to hear.

  “And what will you do when you face our mistress imperial again?” inquired Peshek mildly.

  “What I must, but I will not desert Ingrid, Peshek. She holds my heart.”

  Peshek simply shrugged at this, and changed the subject. “Can you get us to the Heart of the
World?”

  Avanasy nodded once. “I can, but I won’t be taking you, Friend Peshek.”

  “And why not?” Peshek’s voice filled with mock indignation.

  “Because we need to know the true state of things among the lords master and at the court, and there must be someone utterly trustworthy who can carry that news between those who join with your father. I cannot find out so much and still reach the empress, but you can.”

  For the first time, hesitation crept into Peshek’s manner. “You cannot believe they do not know what I have done.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Avanasy told him, making sure Peshek could see his whole face, so that the soldier would know Avanasy was not asking this of him lightly. “It is how you will know friend from foe.”

  “So, I am to walk into the wasps’ nest and count their numbers for you?”

  “Yes.”

  Peshek sighed. “Are there any other miracles you wish me to perform?”

  “No, that should be sufficient, and I thank you.”

  Neither man laughed, but neither did they look away from each other.

  “For what it is worth, and in spite of what you’ve just asked of me,” Peshek smiled wryly, “I am glad you have come back.”

  “It is worth more than you know.” Avanasy leaned one foot against a stone. “I had scarce hoped to find so good a friend so soon upon my return.”

  They clasped hands then, but only for a moment before Peshek turned his eyes to the sky. “There’s little enough daylight left. I’d best be getting on.”

  Without another word, Peshek picked up his saddle and settled it back onto his horse. The rangy beast snorted and danced in annoyance at being encumbered again so soon, but Peshek went about the business of cinching girth and harness with a practiced hand.

  “How will I get word to you, all the way out there in the Heart of the World?” he asked.

  “I’ll send a bird to you. Speak your message to it, and that message will be carried to me.”

  Peshek turned, one foot in the stirrup and both hands on the saddle, ready to hoist himself onto the chestnut horse’s back. “You are in earnest, aren’t you?”

  Avanasy nodded, and Peshek just whistled as he mounted and gathered up his reins. “What a marvelous thing to be a sorcerer. Good luck to you, Avanasy. Send your bird soon.”

  With the slightest touch of the reins and a soft click of Peshek’s tongue, the horse started forward, careful of the loose stones. As Avanasy watched horse and rider pick their cautious way along the waterline, leaving footprints on the darkened sand, his heart lifted a little, despite all. If there was anyone he could have hoped to find upon his return, other than Medeoan herself, Peshek was that one.

  Be strong, Medeoan, Avanasy thought, gazing out across the ocean, which had dimmed to charcoal gray in the shadows of the cliffs. Wherever you are, I will be with you soon, and together we will restore you to your place.

  Through his spell of protection he felt the boat rather than saw it clearly. They should get aboard. Once the moon rose, they could be on their way.

  And Ingrid should have been back ages ago with whatever firewood she found. With that thought, Avanasy realized how cold the wind off the water had become. His cheeks and hands tingled, and for a moment, his breath drew sharply.

  He clambered over boulders and stones that were little more than lumps of shadow in the deepening night, following the direction Ingrid had taken and cursing himself for forgetting her, even for an instant. He pulled himself over the outcropping that protruded from the cliff, and stood for a moment, taking the measure of the rocky land and dark water, all under a sky that had dimmed to indigo.

  In the distance he saw a figure, and realized that not even in the darkness could he mistake Ingrid’s silhouette. She stood with her arms folded and her head tilted upward to gaze at the cloudless heavens.

  Relief as much as exertion warmed Avanasy as he picked his way to her side.

  “And how fares my lady?”

  “I shall have to learn a whole new sky full of stars,” she answered him without looking down. “Otherwise, how will I know which way I’m going?”

  Worry stirred inside Avanasy. “Do you feel lost already?”

  “I feel useless.” She rubbed her arms. “You were there talking strategy and politics and …” She broke her words off. “I am wondering if, after all, I should have imitated a fisherman’s wife and simply waited for you to come home from the sea.”

  Avanasy stroked her arms, seeking to bring her both warmth and reassurance as he pulled her close to his chest. “Does it mean anything to you if I say that I’m glad you did not wait?”

  “It does,” she said, but her shoulders did not relax. “Something is wrong, Avanasy.”

  “Many things are wrong, Ingrid,” he said, brushing his fingertips across her hair. “Which thing do you mean in particular?”

  “Something is wrong with me.”

  “How do you mean?” He turned her around to face him so that he might look in her eyes. The falling night had become cold again. “Are you ill?”

  “I wish I knew.” She pressed her fist against her stomach. “Something is gnawing at me, Avanasy. It is not worry, it is not regret, it is not loneliness. It is something physical. I first felt it out on the water. Now it has come back, and I cannot make it go away.”

  Avanasy laid his hand on her forehead. “No fever. I feel no magic at work here, and yet, there is something, you’re right.” He frowned. “Ingrid, think. When you were with the Bony-Legged Witch, did you take anything from her, or did you give her anything? It does not matter how ineffable it was. Did you exchange anything other than words?”

  Ingrid shook her head, but even as she did, she winced. “I thought that it might be my time of month, but …” She winced again and grasped his hand. “Avanasy, what is happening?”

  Ingrid’s knees collapsed. Avanasy caught her as she fell, suddenly unconscious as a stone. He had to bite back his cry. Swiftly, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back away from the waterline. As he did, he saw Ingrid’s silhouette, quite separate from her body, standing out against the darkness. In the next moment, it dissolved into nothingness.

  “No. Oh, no.” He laid Ingrid tenderly on a bare patch of sand, and felt for pulse, and felt for breath, but he could find neither. The blush remained on her cheeks, and her eyes moved underneath her lids, but she did not breathe and she was now cold from much more than the wild ocean wind.

  Somehow, something had pulled her soul from her body.

  It should not have been possible. Ingrid was a divided soul. Her flesh could be led astray, but her spirit was rooted firmly in both worlds and could not be moved. Or, so he had always been taught, and so it was written in every tome he had read. In the Land of Death and Spirit it was just barely conceivable for her to be so separated, especially by as strong a power as Baba Yaga, but from the world of flesh? Avanasy had never even heard legend of such a thing. It was the mortal’s body that was vulnerable, and the sorcerer’s soul. That was the way of it.

  “No time, no time,” rasped Avanasy to himself. However it had been done, it had been done, and he had to call her back. But he had so little to work with. A promise might be enough to bind them when in the Silent Lands, but not here.

  Avanasy drew his knife. Blood was the first and last resource of any sorcerer, his master had told him. His blood, and hers, his breath, and his magic, those would reach her however far away she had been taken.

  He rested the blade against his arm, and in front of him the darkness shifted. It rippled, bowed, distorted and reformed. Avanasy rose slowly so that he stood over Ingrid’s still form, shifting his grip on the knife, ready to strike out instead of down.

  A horse and rider stood in front of him now. Both were as black as the darkness from which they had been shaped. Avanasy could see no face under the rider’s obsidian helmet. He rested a black javelin against his black stirrup, and from it a black pennant flapped i
n the salt wind.

  “Sorcerer,” said the rider. “I bring you a message from my mistress.”

  Avanasy felt his heart constrict as he realized who faced him. Baba Yaga, the Witch with the Iron Teeth, commanded the service of three knights. She called them her Black Night, her Red Sun, and her Bright Day. They were her spies, and her messengers.

  “What does your mistress want with this woman?” There could have been no other reason for this creature to be here. Baba Yaga had taken her away. Again.

  Ingrid, Ingrid, I was too slow and too stupid. What have I done?

  The faceless knight spoke. “She bids me say that as long as you do not interfere, and as long as the woman does her bidding, neither of you will be harmed, and she will be returned to you.”

  “Your mistress has no right to interfere with the soul of this woman.”

  “She does not interfere. The woman was broken in twain before she ever came here. My mistress merely waited for her spirit to work itself free.” The horse stood unnaturally still under its rider, more akin to a carved statue than a living beast. “You should be grateful to my mistress, sorcerer,” said the rider in a tone that was both arrogant and casual. “Without her, the woman’s spirit would have simply drifted away.”

  But what could have done this? Avanasy clenched his teeth to keep the question from bursting forth. It is against all the laws of nature.

  Except that in Ingrid’s world, the magic was buried so deeply that only the greatest effort called it forth. What, then, would a tiny spell, or the lightest brush of a spirit power in that other world be in Isavalta where the magic hung heavy in the air? He had not stopped to think. Heedless in his own need for her, desperate in his need to return to Medeoan, he had not even considered that some hurt from that encounter would be harmless in her world and yet would show as a gaping wound in Isavalta.