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The first chapter of Spirit of the Sword: Faith and Virtue follows over the page.
I
Felix
"Randa. Randa, wake up!"
Miranda yawned as she opened her eyes, and wiped at them with her free hand as she sat up in bed.
Outside her room, at the top of the tower in the house of Lord Quirian, it remained dark. The room itself was shrouded in darkness, with not a torch or candle lit. The only light came from the arm of Lucifer, captain of Quirian's Lost, as he stood over Miranda's bed. Swathed in a black cloak, his face obscured by a silver mask, he seemed an eerie, even malevolent figure in the lack of light, like the kind of monster that mothers used to terrify their children to bed after suppertime. The tip of the index finger of his iron arm, the conduit of his sorcery and the replacement for his missing limb, glowed with a pale blue light. It was enough to cast a gleam upon his face mask, and illuminate him staring down at Miranda, but not enough to banish the shadows from the room or imitate the coming of the sun.
"Captain," Miranda murmured, brushing some strands of her silver-white hair out of her face. "You've returned. Is Lord Quirian with you? Does he wish to see me?" She doubted that Lucifer would have abandoned Lord Quirian in the wilds to come back here alone, nor could she envisage any other reason for him to wake her in the middle of the night.
Octavia began to stir beside Miranda in the bed; she pulled the sheets around her as she sat up. "Captain? What’s wrong?"
"Has Lord Quirian returned?" Miranda asked again. "Does he wish to see me?"
"He has returned, but no, he has not sent for you," Lucifer said. He sounded as though he might crack in two at any moment. "Not yet, at any rate. I'm here because... I have to... I must speak with you at once. Alone. Abigail, Octavia, leave us."
Abigail smiled. Miranda's maid had no need to wake up, because Miranda had never known her to sleep. Certainly she had never caught her napping, and yet the old woman never seemed anything less than perfectly fresh. Certainly no one who had been woken in the middle of the night could have sounded as smug as she did. "You have discovered the truth, haven't you? Now this should be very interesting." The old woman got up, and hummed as she left.
Octavia reached out and took Miranda's hand in her own, as her beautiful tawny wings spread out behind her. One of them curled up around Miranda's shoulders, the soft feathers enfolding her more warmly than any comforting arm. Otherwise, she did not move.
"Octavia," Lucifer said loudly.
"I want to stay," Octavia said carefully, her golden eyes fixed upon Lucifer's silver mask. Her heart-shaped face was open and guileless - her honesty was one of the things Miranda loved her for - and now her concern was written plain upon her face for all the world to see. "Captain you sound...wrong. It worries me." She took Miranda’s hand inside her own and squeezed it tight.
"I have heard that you have been... improper with our guest," Lucifer said coldly. "I will punish you for that later. For now, out!"
"Punish her? Improper?" Miranda said. "Am I now so weak and foolish I cannot have any relationship that is not forced upon me? It was I wooed her, if anything. No, she shall not be punished if you or Quirian or Prince Antiochus want to see another golem rise from the stone. She stays with me now and when she wishes, she stays with me in bed for so long as she wishes, and she will suffer no repercussions for either fact. Do I make myself clear?"
Lucifer laughed, a hollow and a bitter sound. "You were always headstrong, 'Randa. It used to drive Michael mad the way you'd talk to him." He closed the door.
Miranda frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Lucifer kept laughing, as he tossed back his hood and threw away his mask to hit the far wall with a crash, laughed until his laughter turned to tears as raised his face to look at her. "It's me, 'Randa. It's me, Felix. I'm your brother."
Octavia gasped and let go of Miranda's hand. Miranda herself hardly noticed. All she could do was stare into that face. Those brown eyes filled with tears. That untidy black hair. And he called her 'Randa. Only Felix had ever called her that, from when he was a baby and he couldn't say her name properly any more than he could say his own. Everyone had called him Felix, but only he had ever used his childish abbreviation of her name.
He took a step towards her, tears still flowing, but Miranda raised one hand to stop him.
"Don't," she said, gently but firmly at the same time. The bedclothes rustled as Octavia climbed out of bed, though she was nearly naked under the covers. Her tawny wings unfurled to their fullest extent, spreading from wall to wall across the room. She did not reach for the two-handed sword propped up against the wall, but Miranda felt a slight rustling against her skin, a gentle kiss like a summer breeze, and knew that her lover was preparing air magic in case she needed it.
"'Randa," he said, sounding hurt by her fear. "It's me."
"Then why have you been calling yourself Lucifer?" Miranda said. She got out of bed herself, careless of her immodesty, and with one hand reached for her ebony walking cane as her twisted leg protested the sudden action with a twinge of pain. "Why didn't you say anything before now?"
"I didn't remember who I was then," he said. "I... Lord Father said... he said that he didn't want me to know who I was... he told me Lucifer was my name. I didn't remember my life before meeting him. But now I do, some of it. I remember scraping my knee when I was seven, and you healing it. I remember our cat. I remember how you used to tell Michael off for babying me. I remember that I used to think you were so mean; but now I realise you just wanted to take care of me, in your own way."
"Felix," Miranda whispered, her tongue drying out just saying the name. She took a few steps closer towards him, not afraid now, for how could she be afraid of little Felix, her brother, back with her after so many years?
"'Big sister," Felix gasped, and he fell into her arms, sobbing upon her shoulder. "I'm sorry 'Randa. I'm so sorry."
"What for?" Miranda asked as she squeezed him tight, afraid to let go of this miracle that was beyond the power of even her magic to conjure up. "What have you got to be sorry about?"
Felix looked up, trembling in her grasp. "I killed him. I killed Michael."
Octavia caught Miranda as she fell, her arms letting go of Felix as her legs collapsed from shock.
"Dead?" she murmured. "You killed him?" Michael, dead? After all she had done to try to protect him? After trying so hard to make him see reason, to save him from himself. It was almost funny, she had left because she was certain he was going to get himself killed and now he had she was surprised. It would have been funny if it hadn't felt like she was being crucified.
"I'm sorry," Felix repeated.
"Why?"
"I don't know, he said...Lord Father said...I was so angry. Seeing him made me hate him so much. Lord Father told me what an awful person he was, and that was what I remembered; only now I'm remembering more, and I don't think he was as bad as I thought he was. I think… when I talked to you about my brother, about Lucifer's brother, I think I was remembering Michael all this time." Felix knelt before her. "'Randa, what have I done?"
"You have done absolutely nothing," Abigail said as she opened the door. "I know you didn't want me to intrude upon the happy reunion, but it suddenly struck me that you were not in possession of all the facts. Michael is not, in point of fact, dead. So both of you get off the floor and stop moping, it’s most unappealing to look at."
"Not dead?" Felix sounded torn between hope and disbelief. "But I drove my sword into his belly! I saw him die!"
"And die he did, then he got better," Abigail said blunt
ly. "In more ways that one, actually. A rare occurrence, but not absolutely unheard of."
Miranda levered herself onto her feet with her cane. "And how would you know this when Felix does not?"
Abigail smiled. "A lady must have her secrets, no? But if you don't believe me then you can always wait for Metella to return, and she will confirm what I have told you."
"Metella?" Miranda said. "Metella isn't here?"
"No, she didn't come back with the rest of us," Felix said.
"Then how did you... never mind, that's the least important thing I've learned tonight," Miranda said. "Felix, can you step outside for a moment, I need to get dressed."
"What for?" Felix asked, a touch of nervousness entering his voice.
"I'm going to go and see Lord Quirian and find out why in God's name he decided to keep the fact that my little brother was alive and in his house from me," Miranda said. "And he'd better have some bloody good answers."
Miranda dressed quickly, throwing on her clothes in her eagerness to get some answers out of Lord Quirian, impatient of Abigail's assistance and of the need for it.
Octavia dressed too, through her hands trembled slightly and her nervousness was plain to see.
"Octavia," Miranda said, her voice as gentle as she could make it. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
Octavia, who was bending over at the time, looked up at her, her eyes wide as they stared at her from between her bangs of golden hair. "If Lord Father wanted this kept secret from you... he might not be pleased that you know the truth."
"I'm not afraid of Lord Quirian," Miranda said. "He needs me far more than I need him."
"Unfortunately that's less true than once it was," Abigail muttered. Miranda didn't bother asking her to clarify; she had found that there was little point.
"I'm worried," Octavia said. "You seem angry."
"I've got something to be angry about, don't you think?" Miranda asked.
"Yes, of course, but," Octavia hesitated. "Don't let it get you into trouble, please."
Miranda smiled. "With you to look after me, I'm not afraid."
Octavia straightened up to her full height, the span of her wings making up for her thin, gangly frame, and picked up her sword.
"I was brought here by Lord Father," Octavia said. "He raised me, he gave me a home. But I'm yours now, for ever or until you get tired of me. And so I will protect you, even from Lord Father himself if need be. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Nor I, you," Miranda said. "But now, if you're ready, it's time to go and see your Lord Father about someone I already had to learn to do without."
She led them - Felix, Octavia and Abigail, too - through the corridors of Quirian's palatial villa, striding far ahead of all the others for all that she had one bad leg and they had two good ones each. Her stick landed heavily upon the floor. With every step Miranda's anger became more settled, like a fire burning comfortably inside a grate. How dare he keep this from her? How dare he? And to leave Felix to tell her that Michael was dead, or not dead. Lord Quirian had many things for which to answer, and she meant to make him answer for all of them.
Lydia and Cebriones were on guard outside Quirian's study, but both of them wisely stood aside as they saw Miranda coming towards them. She pushed the ornate carved doors ajar and strode into the room. "What is the meaning of this?"
Quirian sat at the back of the room upon a chair of carven oak, still in his leather cuirass and his dark travelling clothes, his head bowed, a sword in its scabbard resting across his knees. He looked up, and Miranda saw that he had only one eye and a cruel scar where the other had been.
"Ah, Filia Miranda," he said softly. He did not smile, nor sound enthusiastic to see her. If anything, he sounded tired. "I suppose that by now you have heard the news."
"About Felix? About Michael? Yes, I know it all now," Miranda said. "And you have some explaining to do, my lord."
Quirian stared at her from out of his one good eye. "Ah. Yes of course." He was silent for a moment. "Would you care to sit? Refreshment, perhaps?"
"The only thing I thirst for right now is the truth," Miranda growled.
Quirian nodded. "Of course. Forgive me, Filia, for not coming to you myself I... I am very weary, and sick at heart with grief. Many of the Lost have perished in the ruins of Aureliana, by the hands of your brother and his friends. It was in that struggle that your brother Michael lost his life."
"I am told that Michael lives," Miranda said.
Quirian's eye narrowed. "Indeed? And who told you that?"
"I did," Abigail said. "Though you needn't be so modest, Quirian, after all it was you who sent Metella to tend is to his injuries, and those of his companions."
"Metella has... cared for him," Quirian murmured. "Well, I didn't want you to get your hopes up unnecessarily, Filia, but it seems that you are not the only woman in my household who can work miracles."
"So it is true," Miranda said. "Michael is alive."
"So it would seem," Quirian said.
"Praise God," Felix breathed.
"Praise Turo indeed," Quirian replied. He sighed. "If that is all, Filia, I have had a long journey and I am very tired, so perhaps-"
"It is not all," Miranda yelled. "I am glad that Michael lives. Overjoyed. But that does not excuse the fact that you have had Felix for the last five years. Why didn't you bring him home? Why didn't you tell me my brother was alive when I came to work for you?"
"I did not think you would be interested," Quirian said. "By his own account, you never cared for him when he was alive."
"Felix?" Miranda turned to give her little brother an arch look.
Felix smiled nervously. "I was ten years old, I didn't understand. And you did shout at me a lot."
"And one must remember that at that time my gallant captain did not even realise he was your brother," Quirian continued. "As for the first point, I did not take him home because I did not consider him to be safe there. Three children living together, bereft of a parent’s loving care, hardly what I would call a good home. I thought I could raise him much better myself and I produced a fine man as I am sure you will agree. Would you and Michael have done so well?"
"I think we might have," Miranda said. "And we might have averted many of the troubles that befell our family besides. Felix, do you realise how much your death hurt both of us?"
"Ah, so we are concerned not with Felix himself but with your own happiness and convenience?" Quirian said.
"No, of course not, I just meant," Miranda growled. "Never mind. I do not have to explain myself to you, and there is nothing you could say to me will make me forgive you this is. It is inexcusable, and I will not forget it."
Quirian smiled. "I would be disappointed in you if you did, Filia. Is there anything else?"
Miranda hesitated. "Do you want me to see if I can repair your eye?"
"I doubt you could, Filia," Quirian said. "After all, I do not have the original orb with me. And the pain is nearly gone by now. And I have ways of mitigating the hindrance." He laid one hand upon the gilded hilt of the sword that lay upon his lap, and rose to his feet, towering over Miranda and everyone else, casting a shadow across the room as he drew forth a shining blade, greater than three feet in length, glimmering in his hands like white gold, shining upon him like the sun. His ruined eye snapped open, and both orbs shone a brighter blue than ever before. "The powers of the sword enable me to see even though the eye be damaged. My enemies will gain little joy from my injury."
"That sword is quite a weapon it seems," Miranda said.
"Semper Fidelis, the sword of Cupas himself," Quirian said, staring at the sword as the light played up and down his face. "If I were to impale you upon this blade then all your power would be absorbed into it, and so long as I held the sword so would I hold the power. In essence, Filia, I could kill you and take all your magic."
Miranda raised one eyebrow. "Should I be worried?" she asked dryly.
Quirian chuckled. "I
mean no harm to come to you, Filia, have no fear. I took this sword not to use it, but to keep it out of the grasp of those who would."
"Gideon Commenae?"
"The very same," Quirian replied. "Though...now that the blade is in my hand, I feel some use for it coming to mind. Abigail, would you mind stepping forward."
Abigail smiled, and as Miranda stared at her she... changed. The facade of the old woman fell away completely, the grey hairs, the wrinkled face, the bent back, the crooked fingers. Everything but the eyes, those grey eyes that had been so impenetrable, they alone remained, set in a different face. A younger face, ageless and flawless, with hair as black as midnight falling to her waist.
"Hello again, Quirian," she said. "I suppose the blade recognised me?"
"That, and you revealed yourself by showing off your knowledge," Quirian said. "That was always a flaw of yours."
"As your flaw was that you always believed you knew better," Abigail replied.
"You... who are you?" Miranda demanded.
"You should be honoured, Filia," Quirian said calmly. "The goddess Silwa has been your handmaiden these past weeks."
"Goddess?"
Silwa smiled. "I would like to thank you, dear, both for you kindness and for your willingness to share your thoughts. It has been very enlightening."
"Catulla," Miranda said. "She said... you didn't die because..."
"If a god could be killed by having their throat cut there wouldn't be many of us left, would there?" Silwa asked.
"You can be killed by this blade," Quirian said. He advanced upon her warily, sword held out and ready. "You did me a kindness once, my lady, but that was many years ago and the debt is all paid up now. You are mistaken if you think that I will let you leave here."
Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) Page 73