by Rachel Aaron
The queen tilted her head, considering. “The young Banage makes a good point,” she said. “Adela, release him.”
The sword vanished from Josef’s back, and the princess stepped aside to stand next to the queen once again. The other soldiers stood down as well, and Eli breathed a sigh of relief.
Josef lowered his arms and turned around, glaring daggers at his mother. The queen met him in kind, glaring so hard Eli was afraid the air between them would start to boil.
“Your friend has bought you a night of reprieve,” she said at last. “You will stay in the palace tonight. The guards will take you to your rooms, but before that, I want you to look at me.”
Josef’s jaw clenched, but the queen cut him off before he could get a word out.
“No,” she said quietly. “Do not speak. Look.”
And with that, the queen tossed aside her blanket with a bony hand. Lenette and Adela both moved to help her, but the queen pushed them away. Slowly, painfully, Theresa pulled herself to her feet, standing by her own power before the fire.
It was a sad sight. The silk nightgown hung from the queen’s bony shoulders. Her arms were so thin, Eli could have wrapped his hand all the way around her bicep. If her back were straight, she might have been as tall as Josef, but the queen was bent with age, her spine curved in an unnatural arc that forced her to lean forward. Even so, she straightened as well as she could before holding out her arms.
“Look at me, Prince Thereson,” she said, her voice as hard as the stone around them. “Look at what is left of Osera’s queen. The Empress’s hammer falls on our shores, and this weak, dying body is all that stands to face her. You’ve been stubborn as a pig all your life, but if I ever did my duty as your mother, as your queen—if I ever instilled even a stirring of love for you homeland in that bitter, guarded heart of yours, then, just this once, listen to my command. Do your duty. Be Osera’s prince, if only to pass on the blood of our ancestors, and I will never bother you again.”
She stood a moment longer, and then fell back onto her couch. Lenette was at her side immediately, fussing and pressing the queen’s blanket back across her legs. The queen paid the lady no mind. Her eyes never left Josef’s, daring him to defy her again. Josef didn’t say a word. When the guards moved to lead them away, Josef let them, but he never stopped watching his mother until the guards closed her doors behind them.
In Eli’s experience, “room” was a royal euphemism for prison cell, and his suspicions proved correct. The guards led them up a flight of stairs to a nondescript hall lined with heavy wooden doors, not barred but not exactly inviting either. They stopped at two doors right next to each other. Josef went through the first, Eli the second, stumbling in as the guards locked the iron bolt from the outside with a solid click.
Eli sighed at the barred door and then took a moment to consider his situation. He’d been in nicer cells, but not many. There was a feather bed, a porcelain washstand, an ornate wooden table with books, cards, and a lamp turned low. The wooden floor was carpeted, and the bars on the narrow window were tastefully obscured behind thick curtains. It was all very well done and, for a lesser man, very secure. Eli, however, was the greatest thief in the world. Five minutes after the guards left, he was hanging off the palace’s outer wall, banging on Josef’s shuttered window.
The swordsman opened the shutters on the third knock, and Eli wiggled through the bars to land in a heap on Josef’s rug.
“Well,” he said, brushing himself off. “That was exciting. Ready to go?”
Josef sat down on his bed and didn’t answer. Eli stood up, casing the room as he did. It was identical to his own, but Josef had pushed the writing table into the corner and was using the chair to prop up his weaponry with the Heart leaning against the wall. Eli grimaced, glancing from swords to swordsman. Josef bladeless was always a bad sign. Nico was also still conspicuously absent, despite the dozens of shadows available. Very bad indeed. He would have to tread lightly.
He walked over and took a seat on the bed, sinking down beside Josef.
“Listen,” he said. “Remember the plan? We made it. We talked to your mother. She told you what you were going to do, and then you told her what you were going to do. So that’s it. We’re done.”
Josef stared straight ahead and said nothing.
“I’ve been thinking about finding a nice job down south,” Eli continued. “Big money, exotic locals, lots of good fights. If we leave tonight we can probably catch the pirate king’s fleet before he goes back to sea. He’s supposed to employ some of the nastiest swordsmen on the continent. What do you say?”
He turned to Josef with a bright smile, but the swordsman didn’t even look his way, and Eli’s smile fell into a scowl.
“Powers, Josef,” he said, kicking the bed. “Snap out of it. We’re thieves, remember? No one expects anything from us. The queen makes a nice speech, but no country teeters on the presence of one man. You already have a cause, remember? You swore to become the greatest swordsman in the world, the worthy wielder of the Heart of War. That’s a noble goal, and you can’t achieve it here.” He stood up, tugging Josef’s sleeve. “Come on, get your things. I’ll call for Nico and we’ll all get out of here together, tonight, just like we planned.”
He walked to the window and was getting ready to climb out when Josef finally spoke.
“I can’t.”
Eli closed his eyes and cursed silently. When that was done, he turned, keeping his face cheerfully neutral. “Why not?”
Josef made a frustrated sound and ran his scarred hands through his newly trimmed hair. “Do you know why I became a swordsman?”
“Because you’re good at it?” Eli guessed.
“Because it’s the only thing I’m good at,” Josef said. “I was a miserable failure at everything else, being a prince, being a son, being a politician. I hated it, all of it. Swordsmanship was the only thing that made life livable. The only thing I wanted to do.”
He stopped, and Eli shifted awkwardly. This was the most Josef had ever told him about his past, and he wasn’t sure what the swordsman expected him to say. Finally, he settled for putting a comforting hand on Josef’s shoulder. Josef didn’t seem to notice.
“I made my choice when I was fifteen,” he said, his voice low. “In Osera, everything’s about the queen. You live for the queen, fight for the queen, die for the queen. I didn’t want to live for her, didn’t want to live for anyone. I wanted to be a swordsman, to fight for the sake of getting better, not because I was ordered to. So I took my swords and I left. Just walked out. I swore that I would return only when I had become the greatest swordsman in the world.” He clutched his fists together with an intensity that made Eli flinch. “The best,” he said again. “Don’t you see? If I falter, if I take even one step back, then all the problems I caused by leaving—my mother’s suffering, the messed-up succession, Osera’s shame at having a runaway prince—it will be for nothing.”
“Josef,” Eli said. “It’s not—”
“That’s why I never came home before when she tried to make me,” Josef rolled right over him. “But as soon as I saw the poster, I knew this time was different.”
He looked up, and Eli saw with a shock that his eyes were red.
“She’s dying, Eli.” Josef’s voice was so soft Eli could barely make out the words. “My mother is dying. Believe me, I want to dive out that window with you, but I can’t. Not now.” He took a deep breath and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “Her telling me she didn’t want me to be king was the final straw, you know. If she’d been unreasonable and demanded that I give up swordsmanship and take the throne, I could have told her to shove off. But all she wants is an heir, a child of the blood to preserve the family. How can I deny her such a small request?”
Eli didn’t think a child was a small request, but he said nothing. They sat for a long while, letting the silence hang like a dead thing in the air between them. Finally, Eli heaved an enormous sigh.
> “Bugger all,” he grumbled, pushing himself off the bed. “You picked a really bad time to have a fit of responsibility. Nico’s back on her game, we finally have the chance to pull some real heists, and you have to get all prodigal son on me, Thereson.”
“Don’t start, Eliton,” Josef snapped. “You must be feeling suicidal, posing as the Rector Spiritualis’s son. What made you think of that?”
“It was the best trick I had,” Eli said, keeping his voice casual. “Queen Theresa’s debt to Banage is well known. The name gave her cause to think twice at the very least, and if I hadn’t given her a compelling reason not to throw me out, you’d be spending tonight with the lovely Adela. Of course,” he said, glaring down at Josef, “if I’d known you were going to get all noble prince on me, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
Josef let the barb roll off with a shrug. “You’re being thicker than usual if you think it isn’t going to come back around,” he said. “This isn’t some idiot guard you’re bluffing. You know the queen is going to check. I’d bet money the Spirit Court is here tomorrow morning, hunting for your hide.”
“Really?” Eli said. “How much money?”
Josef arched an eyebrow. “You have a good reason why they wouldn’t be?”
Eli folded his arms behind his back. “Let me come at this from another angle for you. Anyone who pays attention to bounties knows that Josef Liechten pals around with Eli Monpress, right? So think, what happens when you show up out of nowhere with a handsome young man who looks even a little like the posters? Queen Theresa hasn’t hung onto her throne as long as she has by being an idiot. She’d figure things out real quick. By giving her another trail to sniff, I bought us time to escape. Which, of course, is wasted now.”
Josef rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Still doesn’t explain why you chose Banage. Seems needlessly reckless to me.”
Eli smiled grimly. “I wasn’t lying when I said the Rector Spiritualis was ashamed of his son. Let’s just say that Banage has more on the line than most in making sure that any Eliton appearances stay uninvestigated. Your mother can send messages all she likes, but if we see so much as an apprentice come down to investigate, I’ll eat your sword.”
“Now that I’d pay to see,” Josef said, tugging off his boots. “Get out of here, I’m going to bed. If I have to be home, I’m not doing it on no sleep.”
“Bridegrooms do need their sleep,” Eli said sagely.
The look Josef gave him wiped the smile clear off Eli’s face, and the thief wisely decided it was time to leave his friend alone. He stood up and wiggled out the window as easily as he’d wiggled in. He had time for one last wave before Josef slammed the shutter behind him. Duly rebuked, Eli hung on the stone ledge momentarily, searching the shadows for Nico. He knew she was there. He could almost feel her watching. He called her name softly, but there was no answer, nothing but the wind blowing up the mountain and the sound of the city below.
Feeling defeated and more than a little angry, Eli pulled himself along the ledge and through the bars into his room. He landed on the carpet and picked himself up, snuffing out the lamp with a wave of his hand. He crossed the dark room and collapsed facedown on his bed. He rolled around awhile, wiggling out of his clothes and tossing his wig over the bedpost. Finally undressed, he flopped onto the pile of pillows, turning his head from side to side in a futile attempt to cut off the massive headache he could already feel forming. Fifteen minutes later he was still awake, his head throbbing full force. Eli sighed in a drawn-out curse, grinding the heels of his palms deep into his eye sockets.
It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER
7
Miranda stomped five steps across her cell, hit the stone bars, turned on her heel, and stomped five steps back to the wall. She slapped her hand against the smooth, featureless stone before turning around to start all over again. Five steps, slap. Five steps, slap. Miranda gritted her teeth. The endless stomping was stupid, a waste of time and energy, and yet she could not stop. If she didn’t do something with all the rage inside her, she would explode.
Across the hall, Gin shoved his nose through the stone bars of his cell, orange eyes narrowed to slits against the constant white glow that seeped from the mountain’s stone. “Do it,” he snarled. “It’s past time for patience.”
Miranda shook her head and glanced at Slorn. He was sitting as he had been since they’d arrived, cross-legged at the center of his cell. His dark bear eyes were closed against the whiteness, his breathing was deep, and his face was slack, as though he were asleep. It was his ears that gave him away. They stood taut on his head, shifting to follow every sound Miranda made.
He’d been like this since the Guildmaster had locked them in here two days ago, completely silent, no matter how many questions she asked. It was his silence that made her angrier than anything else. She’d followed him here like a little dog, licking up every bit of information he’d thrown her, but now that he’d landed her in prison, he wouldn’t even talk to her. Just thinking about it made her shake with fury, but as much as she wanted to follow Gin’s urging, Miranda held back. It wasn’t the bars that kept her in. Gin could have broken them, she was sure, or any of her spirits could have, for the Shapers had not taken her rings. Once she was free, she was pretty sure that she could find her way out of the mountain if it came to that, but she didn’t try to leave. She couldn’t. Angry as she was, she’d followed Slorn to this mountain to help right whatever was going wrong with the world. Now that they were finally here, she wasn’t about to give up and leave just because things weren’t going like she wanted. Of course, that didn’t mean she was going to forgive Slorn for clamming up on her when she needed him most.
Across the hall, Gin pressed his nose against the stone bars, his tail lashing across the wall behind him. Miranda shook her head again, more firmly this time. Gin snorted and looked away, grumbling to himself. Miranda just took a deep breath and went back to her stomping. It might not help anything, but at least it gave her something to do. So she walked, watching her worn boots slap against the glowing white stone, five steps forward and five steps back.
She was still going two hours later when Slorn finally spoke.
“He’s coming,” Slorn said.
Miranda nearly tripped over her own feet. “What?”
On the other side of the stone lattice, Slorn was getting up. Gin was on his feet as well, his quivering nose pressed against the stone bars. Miranda ran to the edge of her own cell. They’d gotten their food an hour ago, so it couldn’t be time yet for the guard to return. But if she strained she could hear the distant sound of footsteps. One person, coming this way.
Miranda pushed away from the bars and started waking her rings, stirring each spirit. Mellinor was already awake when she touched him. He waited at the bottom of her consciousness, a deep, quiet pool, ready if needed. Gin was pacing in his long cell, his patterns shifting in tight swirls. He kept his head down and his teeth bared, ready to jump the second Miranda gave the signal. Only Slorn was calm. He stood at the door to his cell, arms folded behind him, waiting patiently as the steps came closer.
By the time the footsteps reached them, Miranda was ready. She clung to the barred door, rings flashing, but when the person came around the corner, she blinked in surprise. She’d expected another guard, but it was the Guildmaster himself who walked into view.
He wore a silk robe even finer than the one he’d worn the first time Miranda saw him. He did not look Slorn in the eye when he stopped in front of the bear-headed man’s cell, but his voice was the essence of calm as he addressed them, opening the cells with a wave of his hand.
“The Teacher will see you now.”
And with that, the Guildmaster turned on his heel and marched back the way he’d come. Slorn stepped out of his cell, falling into pace behind the old man. A moment later, Miranda did the same. Gin brought up the rear, stalking along with his head down and his ears flat, growling deep in his throat.
> When they’d first entered the mountain, the Guildmaster had taken them down to their cells through a maze of white glowing tunnels. This time, he led them up, following a wide, inclined tunnel that seemed to curve in on itself in a tightening spiral. He did not speak. Neither did Slorn. Miranda had several things she would have liked to say, but she kept her mouth shut as well. After all, it wasn’t like she was going to get an answer.
After ten minutes of climbing, the curving tunnel ended at a wide, circular platform. Miranda looked around, confused. It looked like a dead end, but even as she started to bring this point to the Guildmaster’s attention, the high ceiling slid away with a soft scrape, revealing a long tunnel up through the mountain. Forgetting her dignity for a moment, Miranda gaped openly at the enormous hole that had suddenly appeared above her. It seemed to go up forever, a curved tunnel of pure, glowing white stretching as far as she could see.
She was still gawking when she heard Gin take a hissing breath. A second later, the floor began to vibrate under her boots, and then it started to lift. Miranda gasped and flung out her arms for balance, but it was Slorn who caught her hand and kept her from falling. The bear-headed man held her eyes just long enough for a small, subtle wink before letting her go as the stone platform under their feet rose smoothly into the glowing tunnel. The platform picked up speed as they went, moving faster and faster until Miranda could feel gravity pulling on her bones. Then, as quietly as it had started, the platform slowed. A new, stronger light flashed overhead as a door opened in the side of the tunnel as their platform slid to a gentle stop before the largest, most beautiful hall Miranda had ever seen.
The sheer size of it took her breath away. The hall stretched out forever, larger than the Spirit Court’s hearing chamber, larger than the throne room at Mellinor, larger than the cave below the Council, larger, in fact, than any room she’d ever seen. The stone was the same glowing white as the lower levels, but where it had been smooth down below, here the rock was carved in subtle patterns that played with the stone’s light. Fat pillars dozens of feet across sprouted like trees from the polished floor at regular intervals, rising up to meet the arc of the carved ceiling high, high overhead. The walls curved as well, following the natural slope of the mountain. There were several large doors leading to smaller halls that branched into unseen rooms, but the largest of all was at the other end of the hall, directly across from where they stood. There, a great door pierced the wall of the mountain itself, opening out onto a large, circular balcony that looked down on the sleeping mountains, their snow-covered peaks glittering in the light of the full moon.