by Jann Rowland
And it was that part of Skye that had him dropping his chin down to his chest, his body shaking with silent sobs. Yet though his heart was broken and his faith in everything shaken, no tears fell. His wounds ran too deep to allow for the catharsis of tears.
Tierra never thought she would be seeking out Quicksilver. But she was desperate—so desperate—to try any avenue available to her that she was willing to do anything to help Skye.
Her argument with Skye had shaken Tierra’s equilibrium, and though he was not completely closed off to her, he was distant at best, often eschewing any attempts at conversation, much less reconciliation.
Her current distance from Skye notwithstanding, Tierra could not sit by and allow the situation to remain as it was if there were any opportunity to effect his release. Though Tierra was less certain of these underground Groundbreathers than ever before, she could not believe that people who followed Terrain could be so morally reprehensible as to renege on their promise to release him once they had the Fenik under their control.
It was unfortunate, then, that Tierra felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as soon as she entered the room where Quicksilver had agreed to meet her. Tierra had never had a high opinion of the man, as he undoubtedly knew. Rather than viewing the open curiosity she had hoped to see on his face when she met with him, he displayed nothing more than a knowing smirk, as if he were aware of her errand and knew of the power he possessed.
And he likely did, she decided, though it would not dissuade her from trying to attain her goal.
“Princess Tierra,” the man greeted her when she entered. “How may I help you?”
“You may help me by keeping your promise to release my fiancé.”
“And why would I do that?”
“You mean apart from the fact that you promised to do so?”
The man’s smile was positively unpleasant. “Of course, apart from that.”
“I hardly think I need to elucidate!” Tierra snapped.
“Please humor me, Princess. What possible reason would I have to release the Skychild?”
Tierra threw her hands up in the air, wishing irrationally that they were closed around Quicksilver’s throat. “How about the fact that he and his people have never done you harm? How about the fact that you might provoke a war with the Skychildren if you hold him? What about having a little common decency? Or are you as morally repugnant as I have suspected all along?”
“Your opinions on my morality are of no concern to me, nor are your words concerning common decency. As a Groundbreather, I find it indecent for someone to be romantically involved with a Skychild, one of the children of my god’s hated enemy. Furthermore, did the Surfacers not hold this same man as their prisoner for several months?”
“He was not king at the time,” Tierra snapped.
“Perhaps not. But even if he is king now, I doubt his people have any means of finding him here, so deep within the earth.”
“You underestimate the Skychildren.”
“I merely acknowledge the reality of the situation.”
Tierra looked at the man, wondering whether there could be any way to force him to do what she wished. Assuredly not, she decided, much though she wished it was different. He was undoubtedly the physically stronger one, and even if she possessed the greater Groundbreather powers—something of which she was not at all certain—he likely had guards nearby, and there was little in the room to work with anyway.
Tierra, therefore, played the only card she had left.
“Please release the Skychild as you promised. If you do so, I promise to give you my full support. I will stop protesting and will renounce my engagement. Will that do?”
A snort told Tierra what the man thought of her attempt.
“Your support—or lack thereof—is irrelevant,” Quicksilver said. “You seem to have put an unwarranted amount of faith in your own importance. In fact, you are only a minor player in this entire affair. You played your role because you were forced to. I have what I want, so there is no reason for me to bargain with you.”
“But why have you done this?” Tierra exclaimed, her frustration boiling over. “What possible reason could you have for keeping him captive? The Skychildren have never plagued the Chosen! How could they when the Chosen have been hidden underground for all these years?”
“You are far too simple-minded, Princess.”
“Is it simple-minded if I lack the information necessary to understand?”
Quicksilver shook his head. “I had thought you would understand by now that what is happening is bigger than some kind of vendetta. Having the Fenik in our hands means the Skychildren will not be able to use it against us, and their king rotting in our prison will ensure that his people will be less effective in fighting against us. We will thus soon be able to defeat the Skychildren.”
His last statement was spoken in a seemingly nonchalant tone, but Tierra thought it was the crux of his declaration. It also made no sense whatsoever.
“I believe your mind has gone high in the sky if you think we can defeat the Skychildren.”
“Do you doubt your god’s power?”
“I doubt our ability to reach them in their cities on the clouds—unless the Chosen have managed to unlock the secrets of flight. Are you, even now, preparing some contraption that can lift Groundbreathers up into the skies to take the fight to the Skychildren?”
Quicksilver chuckled. “You should give up fishing, Princess. You are not likely to catch anything, and the effort makes you look foolish.”
Tierra scowled at him.
“Run along and play with Canyon, Princess,” Quicksilver said. “Of course, why he is interested in making such a disappointment as you his queen is something I will never understand.”
“You forget I am betrothed to another.”
“And you forget your betrothed is unlikely to ever be released from his prison. You should take what you can get. Canyon is a king, after all. Perhaps your Skychild will enjoy the images he receives from you when Canyon is bedding you. There is little chance he will ever have the honor to do so himself.”
Tierra swung her hand forward almost without thought, but Quicksilver evidently anticipated her slap, as his hand darted up to catch hers before it reached him. She glared at the man while she attempted to wrench her hand from his grasp. He just stood there, watching her, a coldness evident in his expression.
“I suggest you leave, Princess,” Quicksilver said, the contempt in his voice shocking Tierra even further. “You would not wish me to become displeased with you.”
“You would not dare harm me,” she spat. “Canyon would not allow it.”
“In case you have not noticed, I do not take orders from Canyon. Now, go!”
Quicksilver released her roughly and called for the guards outside his rooms.
“The princess is leaving now,” he said when they appeared. “See to it that she returns to her quarters.”
Left with no choice, Tierra allowed herself to be led away, enraged all over again when Quicksilver turned away in apparent disinterest.
Of greater concern, however, were Quicksilver’s words and threats. Tierra did not know what to think of them. That he was an unpleasant and disgusting sort of man had been proven to Tierra many times over the course of their acquaintance. He was speaking in riddles yet again, obfuscating and revealing just enough to confuse her.
Tierra forced herself to think of the situation rationally.
Assuming that Quicksilver was telling the truth when he said he was not taking orders from Canyon—and based on what she had seen, she believed that was the case—then who was he taking orders from?
The actions of these “Chosen” seemed to indicate a lack of respect for Tierra’s people. The death of Tierra’s father indicated that the Chosen were not taking orders from the royal family on the surface world, and while there were some unhappy barons on the surface who might have been willing to act against Tierra’s father, Quicksilver wo
uld not have chosen to trot at the heels of such personages. After all, Quicksilver was not even intimidated by King Canyon’s position.
If Quicksilver felt unimpressed by kings, then who could command his obedience? What higher power was there?
Almost unbidden, Tierra’s mind went to Terrain. An arrogant man like Quicksilver would surely bow to no less than a god. The notion seemed ridiculous—Terrain had not intervened in the affairs of his people for centuries!—yet it also seemed fitting.
Canyon did not appear to question the authority of Quicksilver’s master, which was odd in itself. And surely Canyon would have done so if Quicksilver followed anything less than a god. His feelings for Tierra should have meant much more friction between him and Quicksilver than she had seen thus far. Furthermore, the Chosen genuinely believed themselves to be closer to Terrain. Tierra had dismissed the notion as arrogance, but what if they were not far off the mark? The pieces formed a troubling picture.
Assuming it was true—and Tierra was not certain that it was—then it would mean that Terrain was not quite the god Tierra had believed him to be. While Terrain tended to inspire fear more than love, he was nonetheless greatly respected by the descendants of those whom he had originally chosen to be his people. Tierra had always viewed him as a fair and wise god who would have supported the efforts she and Skye had been making to heal the rift between the Groundbreathers and the Skychildren.
But if Terrain did hate the Skychildren enough to set into motion a plan that involved killing Tierra’s father, capturing the Skychild king, and retaking the Fenik, then what would that say about the character of Tierra’s god? The thought left a bad taste in Tierra’s mouth.
She did not want to believe that her god was that malevolent. She rejoiced every week in dancing to praise him, after all. But if Terrain was indeed the sort of god who would set such plans in motion, was he worthy of her adulation?
Her head was swirling so thoroughly it was beginning to ache. But she could not help thinking back to the conversation she had overheard between Quicksilver and Canyon about Terrain being assailed. If Quicksilver had become involved in the affairs of gods, then what was at play here? This was not merely a matter of destroying the Skychildren, though that appeared to be a factor. But how could it be possible for Terrain—a god—to fear anything? And if something could happen to Terrain, then did that mean something might happen to Celesta as well?
Tierra did not know exactly what was happening. But she did know that she had not even been told the half of it. And with the way things had been going, she doubted she would learn more anytime soon.
The Waterweavers took to Celesta the sky goddess’s suggestion of sacrifices all too eagerly, and soon, as she had designed, the altars they raised to Terrain ran with the blood of scores of Groundwalkers.
But their perversions were even darker and more twisted than Celesta had designed, for they delighted in the pain and suffering they inflicted upon their victims, and they were fascinated with the flow of blood upon their altars.
And as the number of sacrifices grew, the Waterweavers’ thirst for blood and flesh began to increase, and they began to hold wild gatherings in which they cooked the bodies of Groundwalkers on spits and then feasted on them, the raucous laughter of their delight mingling with the ecstasies of their demented worship.
When Terrain learned what they had done, he grew exceedingly wroth, and in his rage, he descended upon the Waterweavers.
“How have you come to this end?” cried he in pain and anguish. “I have loved you as my own. She who created you would be horrified at your actions.”
The Waterweavers cried out in despair and humbled themselves before Terrain, pledging never to perform such abominations again. But their taste for the flesh of Groundwalkers consumed them, and though they had made promises to Terrain, they soon found the temptation to be too great to ignore.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Altar
Tierra’s despair grew by the day, and it only increased when she finally received a visit from Canyon.
Tierra had not been particularly polite since Skye’s capture, so the king of the Chosen had opted to give her space to process everything that had happened. When he at last appeared in her room, Tierra’s attendants made themselves scarce, disappearing into the hallway.
“What do you want?” Tierra snapped at Canyon. Her mood had only been worsened by the fact that River had sunk deeper into depression after Skye had been captured. Tierra needed to get herself and her fellow captives out of Hearth soon. There was no other option.
“I have come to tell you something,” Canyon said softly. He appeared ill at ease, avoiding her eyes and shifting in place. “I thought you should know before it happens.”
“Know what?”
“I have been trying to think of a way to prepare you for this news, but I am afraid there is no easy way to tell you. As a result, I shall simply come out with it.” He took in a deep breath. “We have been commanded to sever the connection between you and the Skychild king.”
“What? Commanded? By whom?”
“The orders come from Terrain himself.”
“No,” Tierra said adamantly, shaking her head. “I refuse to believe you. That is not possible. What Terrain has brought together, no man can tear asunder.”
“No man can break the bond,” Canyon said. “That is true. But Terrain can undo what he has done.”
“Even if I did believe it was possible to break my bond with Skye, what makes you think I will believe your claim that these orders come from Terrain?”
“I do not even have to tell you this much,” the king said, spreading his hands. “You need only rest assured that what I have told you is the truth.”
“Is this something Quicksilver has told you? Has Quicksilver been given a direct method of communicating with our god? Is that why you stoop to lick his boots at the slightest word?”
Canyon’s eyes narrowed. “I may yield to Quicksilver’s orders, but he is only a man.” He paused to take in a few calming breaths, and Tierra felt a sense of satisfaction at the fact that she had hit a nerve. “But I did not come down here to speak of him. I came to warn you that your mental connection to the Skychild king will soon be broken. I wished for you to be prepared.”
Something about the steel in the king’s voice convinced Tierra, and she crumbled. “Your Majesty, please do not do this!”
His face twitched. “Tierra, you know you do not have to speak to me so formally. Please call me ‘Canyon.’”
“Canyon, then,” Tierra said hastily, “you must not do this. There is no reason to sever my bond with Skye!”
As though she had not spoken, Canyon told her, “I particularly wished you to know because of the process involved in removing the bond. There are certain stringent . . . rites that are performed on one of the two parties. The person who undergoes the rites is not . . . guaranteed to survive.”
“What?” Tierra asked hoarsely. “Skye might die?”
Canyon winced. Her pain seemed to give him pain. “Yes, he might.”
“Please, Canyon,” Tierra begged, “you must not do this. Tell me what I must do to change your mind! Tell me what I can do to convince you this is wrong!”
“If our god says it is right, I cannot stand in his way. I must do as he requests. You would do best to forget about that Skychild entirely, Tierra. If you do, you shall save yourself much pain.”
“I do not care about pain!” Tierra exclaimed. “I care about Skye! What you are doing is utterly senseless. We have both been captured by you and your people. There is no need to sever our bond. You must not do this—”
“I am sorry, Tierra,” Canyon interrupted her. “Truly, I am. But this matter is set in stone. The Skychild king shall undergo the rites, and you will be locked in your rooms until the rites are over.”
“No! You act as though you care for me, but anyone who took my heart into account would know that this will break me. If Sky
e dies, then I shall be sentenced with a living death. I will never be able to forgive myself.”
“This is not your fault, Tierra,” Canyon said, looking pained. “You know that. There is no need for you to blame yourself.”
“He hates me right now, Canyon. If you take this away from us, he may never speak with me again.”
“Would that be so bad, Tierra? The two of you are of different spheres. Given time, you will surely realize this is for the best.”
“I can never think that,” Tierra whispered. “I could never so cavalierly dismiss everything we have shared.”
Canyon appeared almost as lost as Tierra felt, but she had no inclination to feel empathy for him.
“Will you not help me?” she asked him.
“I am sorry, Tierra. I can do nothing.”
“I should have known,” Tierra spat, the red haze of anger descending over her. “It is not as if you have any true power, after all. I should not have even thought to ask a puppet king such as you to intervene, as you are obviously so emasculated by that man.”
Ignoring the look of shock on the man’s face, Tierra spun on her heel and stalked from her sitting-room. All her dreams were as ashes, trodden underfoot by these detestable people.
Within the dubious sanctuary of her personal bedchamber, Tierra found her two attendants, and she bared her teeth at them, unwilling to be in the presence of even one of the so-called Chosen.
“Get out!” she snarled at the nearby Violet, who was fussing with something on one of the shelves.
In another part of the room, Garnet gave Tierra a wide-eyed look. Meanwhile, Violet started and attempted to respond, “Your Highness—”
“Get out, now!” Tierra yelled, causing the two women to jump. “Both of you leave my room before I throw you out myself!”
Garnet immediately curtseyed and scurried away. Violet followed her outside the room at a more sedate pace, though she moved faster than normal. The door closed behind them, leaving Tierra alone.