Souldrifter

by Garrett Calcaterra

  “I have made mistakes, I admit,” the fake queen went on. “But always I have loved you, my people, and I love our kingdom more than anything. Emperor Guderian and Don Bricio left our fair kingdom in tatters, though. Even with the aid of the finest advisors and generals Sol Valaróz has to offer, I have been unable to restore the peace and harmony we deserve. That is why I have enlisted the aid of the Old World Republic.”

  The fake queen stood and held up one hand welcomingly to the doors at the back of the dais. “My people, I present to you Senator Emil and Ambassador Mahalath of the Old World.”

  Soon now, Fina told herself, blinking the sweat and blurriness from her eyes. Very soon.

  • • •

  Blinded as he was with the black hood, Caile had no idea where he was, but it was far from Lightbringer’s Keep, that was for certain. His captors had dragged him away through some hushed corridor and outside into a courtyard. He was able to discern that much by the noises and smells around him, but then he’d been heaved into the back of a horse drawn wagon and carted off. The city noises all sounded the same to him. Someone better acquainted with Col Sargoth might be able figure out where they were by the unique calls of vendors or roaring of steam-powered rickshaws, but not Caile. All he knew was that he’d been in the cart for a quarter hour before it came to a stop and he was dragged out again.

  It had to be Commander Buell who had ordered him captured, Caile knew. It was cavalrymen who had taken him, and they wouldn’t act except under Buell’s orders. The real question was, who was Buell in league with? Caile had a brief glimmer of hope at the thought it might be Talitha, but that made no sense. If Talitha needed him, she had simpler ways of summoning him.

  Well, you’re about to find out soon enough. You did ask for it.

  The cavalrymen dragged him through the dirt of another courtyard and then into a corridor. Caile could hear the footsteps of his captors’ boots clacking on stone. And then it was down a stairwell, through another corridor, and into a chamber that echoed with the cavalrymen’s footsteps, where Caile was dumped onto the stone floor.

  “Up onto your knees!” one of the soldiers barked.

  That proved to be easier said than done with his hands secured behind his back, but after a few moments he managed it. Someone yanked the hood off of his head then, and he was assaulted by the light of a dozen torches in sconces at the far wall of the tiny chamber. Caile had to squint to focus his eyes. He was in what looked like a cell, he realized. Not good. To either side of him were his armed escorts—four cavalrymen—and standing in front of him were two figures cloaked in black. With the torchlight behind them, he could see them only as silhouettes.

  Well, I am a prince, Caile thought. I best play the part.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. “I’m here under the authority of Queen Makarria of Valaróz, Conqueror of Sargoth, Dreamwielder.”

  “Queen Makarria cannot help you,” one of the figures said.

  Caile recognized the voice immediately. Lady Hildreth?

  She stepped closer into the light so that he could see her face beneath the dark waves of her hair. Beside her, the other figure lowered the hood of his cowl and Caile saw it was Commander Buell.

  “As we speak, the dreamwielder is surrendering Valaróz to the Old World,” Lady Hildreth said. “And you, young prince, are utterly alone. And a fool.”

  Caile didn’t believe it—Makarria would never surrender—but Lady Hildreth was right about the second part. Caile was utterly alone and a fool both.

  • • •

  Senator Emil was addressing the court, but the words meant nothing to Fina. They were merely background noise to the high-pitched buzzing in her ears. Her stomach was in knots, and her hands trembling. It’s time.

  She blinked the blurriness from her eyes and glanced from the fake queen sitting at the throne to the crowd of people below her. Prisca was out there, near the forefront, watching the creature she thought was her daughter, shaking her head in confusion alongside Galen and Captain Haviero. I’m sorry, Prisca. Read my letter and you will understand.

  Fina wiped the palms of her hands on her breeches and reached for her dagger, knowing the sword would end things too quickly. The Royal Guards were a dozen steps away. The Old World legionnaires were intent on their own masters, paying Fina no heed. None of them would be able to reach her in time. Only the body thief knows what I’m about to do. Fina pushed aside the pain of the knots in her belly, and pulled the dagger from its sheath.

  The fake queen looked up and smiled just as Fina lunged forward.

  Someone in the crowd screamed, but Fina was focused on gripping her dagger tight. She jabbed it once into the fake queen’s belly, right below the ribs. Hold tight! she screamed in her mind. On the second jab, the fake queen grabbed her around the wrist and everything was chaos: a cacophony of sounds, a blur of smells and colors, and a prickling sensation like a million needles in her skin. Hold tight, Alafina!

  When she opened her eyes with a gasp, she was sitting on the throne, looking up at herself. A knife was buried in her belly, the pain blinding and hot, but she pushed through it and held tight to the wrist in her grip. Guards were rushing up the dais, she realized. To save the queen.

  “Halt!” she croaked. “Stay back!”

  The guards stopped, uncertainly, pikes lowered and ready.

  “It’s all right. Stay back.”

  Blood was spilling out to soak the royal gown and trickle down the throne, but Fina was calm. She still held tightly to the hand that wielded the dagger. The body thief, wearing Fina’s body, stared down at her, amused. “Fool,” it whispered. “You’re bleeding out, and as soon as you die the guards will abduct me, and I’ll be gone, out of this body and into another.”

  But then Fina saw a cramp convulse through the body thief’s body. Slow realization dawned on the creature’s face. It blinked its eyes. Once. Twice.

  “What have you done?”

  The body thief tried to pull away, panicked, but lost its footing in the blood spattered on the floor and fell to the ground with Fina still holding tightly. Fina willed herself off the seat of the throne to kneel beside the body thief and hold the trembling body down.

  “It’s all right, everyone,” Fina said, her voice trembling, motioning the guards to stay back. The pain in her belly was excruciating. Only the blue sashes of the royal gown held her guts from spilling out.

  “What have you done?” the body thief asked again. The skin it wore—Fina’s skin—was soaked in sweat now, and pale as a corpse. Trembling.

  “Wolfsbane,” Fina whispered. “Poison. I was ready for you this time.”

  The body thief’s breaths were shallow now. The guards on the dais were stepping slowly toward her.

  “Stay back,” Fina said, coughing up a gout of blood.

  Someone screamed, “Help her!”

  Prisca, Fina realized. The guards were rushing forward. The body thief’s breaths had stopped, but she had to be sure. With the last of her willpower and strength, she yanked the dagger from her belly and slit the body thief’s throat. Only then did Fina finally let herself go.

  20

  Lost

  The woman stabs Makarria in the stomach, once, twice, but it’s not Makarria—only Makarria’s shell. Both of the women fall from the throne to melt away into a pool of blood that becomes a turbulent sea. A woman’s scream becomes a crack of thunder, and lightning peels down from the veil of clouds stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. A ship glimmers in the distance, rising to the crest of a wave for a moment, then disappearing in a trough the next. Waves crash down upon the deck, splintering the main mast, but the ship somehow stays afloat. A flame grows from where the mast is sundered, yellow and strong, a beacon of light in the darkness of the storm. In the center of the light is Makarria, but the waves build up and crash down upon her, dragging her beneath the sea.

  And then all is black.

  Caile is alone, in a tomb of rock.
He cries out someone’s name. Makarria, he calls out, but hears nothing in response. Talitha, he calls out. Taera, he calls out.

  But Taera is watching her factory as airships fly out of the hangar, one after another. Guderian’s war machines approach from the west. To the east, the surf in Kal Pyrthin Bay grows as the Old World ships draw nearer. The waves lick at her ankles, then her calves and thighs. And her hands are covered in blood, viscous and dark like naphtha…

  Taera awoke with a strangled gasp, the bed sheets of her tiny bunk wrapped around her face and neck, her body soaked in sweat. It took her a moment to remember she was still onboard Casstian’s Breath, not in her own room. She threw the bed sheets aside and stepped out of the tiny cabin onto deck, expecting it to be deep into the night, but the crescent moon was still low in the sky to the east. She had been asleep for not even an hour, she realized. Far below, she could see the silent forms of the Old World ships at anchor. Beyond them, to the south, was a sprawling darkness that blotted out the stars along the horizon, just as in her vision.

  A storm is coming, she told herself and then slipped belowdeck back to the warmth of her cabin and bed.

  • • •

  “What do you know of this? Why did the dreamwielder send you here?”

  Caile shook his head, still not believing what Lady Hildreth had told him. Makarria surrender to the Old World? Never. But at the same time, Caile hadn’t heard from her since leaving, and he’d left her in a dire situation with the Old World and the Brotherhood of Five both pressuring her. After what Caile had done to her, perhaps it was all too much and she had bowed the Old World’s will. Caile took a deep breath. All he could do now was take care of himself and do what he was tasked to do.

  “I was sent here to make sure the Old World had no possible excuse for invading,” Caile said at last, shifting the weight on his knees, which were already aching from kneeling on the stone floor. He didn’t know who Lady Hildreth and Commander Buell were in league with, but he would throw the truth in their face to find out, he decided. “The Old World sent emissaries to Queen Makarria, insisting the Sargothian election would fail and that chaos would break out. They offered her aid, but their offer was little more than a demand to join them and solidify the Five Kingdoms under their rule. She told them no, and I was sent here to make sure the Sargothian election was carried out lawfully and fairly.”

  Lady Hildreth narrowed her eyes. Beside her, Commander Buell stood, his expression implacable.

  “The Old World would come offering more than threats,” Lady Hildreth said. “Daggers mixed with honey has always been their way.”

  Caile narrowed his eyes. “Yes. They urged Makarria to disband the election committee and claim dominion of Sargoth herself, as was her right when she killed Guderian. They suggested the Five Kingdoms would be stronger and more unified under her rule.”

  “And you mean to tell me she was not seduced by the prospect?”

  “I could ask you the same, Lady Hildreth.”

  Lady Hildreth shot up one eyebrow in surprise. “The Old World Republic has nothing to gain from me, but it makes sense they would see an opportunity in a young queen, just as they have seen an opportunity here in Sargoth where there is no king at all.”

  Caile nodded, wanting to believe Lady Hildreth, but not daring yet to believe she might be an ally. “If Makarria wanted to rule Sargoth,” he said, “she would have claimed it when she killed Guderian.”

  “That was before she was even coronated Queen of Valaróz. Before you became her advisor; the young prince who served as ward to Don Bricio in Valaróz, and then to Guderian himself here in Col Sargoth; the prince who killed Wulfram and stood by as his father’s throne was given to his older sister instead of him. It seems to me, you might have motives for ambitions beyond simply advising Queen Makarria.”

  Caile was shocked by the insinuation. She trusted him less than he trusted her, it seemed. “Pyrthin law dictates the throne to fall to the eldest child, regardless of gender,” he told her. “It has always been such. And Taera and I had a brother—Cargan—older than both of us before Guderian killed him. The throne was never meant to be mine. I knew that. I never wanted it. And I’d never council Queen Makarria to lust for more power. Trust me, we’ve had our hands full as it is trying to remove the stain of Don Bricio and that madman Guderian from Valaróz.”

  Lady Hildreth’s face hardened at Caile’s mention of Guderian, but only for a moment before returning to her placid expression. “Why then would the dreamwielder submit to the Old World?”

  Caile stared at her for a long moment, debating how much to tell her. What does it matter? he decided. She seems to be just as concerned about the Old World as I am, and I know little and less. Let her be as flummoxed as me.

  “I have to admit, I don’t know. Makarria’s initial plan was to come here to Col Sargoth herself to oversee the election, but then something happened…”

  “What something happened?”

  “Our wine was drugged and I did something horrible to the queen, though I can’t for the life of me remember doing it…”

  “Perhaps it was more than drugged wine,” Lady Hildreth suggested. “Sorcery, perhaps? As I said, the Old World mixes honey with daggers.”

  Caile’s eyes widened. The thought of ensorcelment had not even occurred to him, but it made sense with the timing of it all. His inexplicable assault on Makarria had followed right on the heels of the Old World arriving and the assassination attempt on Makarria. A sorcerer, a spy of some sort, would explain much.

  “I don’t know,” Caile admitted. “You may be right. Whatever happened, Makarria sent me here in her stead, and I’ve not heard from her since. She was under vast pressure, both from the Old World and the Brotherhood of Five. If, as you say, the Old World had something to do with drugging—or ensorceling me—perhaps they did the same to Makarria. That’s the only thing I can imagine that would explain it. There’s no way Makarria would surrender to the Old World of her own accord.”

  Lady Hildreth regarded him silently for a moment, then turned to Buell, standing beside her. “What think you, brother?”

  Brother? No wonder Buell went to her. Caile had gone to inspect the war wagon factory fully expecting Buell to rat him out to the houndkeeper or one of the guildmasters who might be in league with the Old World. He’d never suspected it would be to Lady Hildreth, though, or that the two of them were siblings. Apparently, it wasn’t well known, otherwise Thon would have mentioned it to Caile.

  “He’s either a fine actor, or he’s telling the truth,” Buell said.

  Lady Hildreth huffed. “All princes are fine actors, but you’re right. I see no reason for him to be in league with the Old World.”

  “You’re satisfied then?” a voice said from behind Caile.

  Caile craned his head to the side to see who it was speaking, expecting it to be one of the cavalryman, but it was someone new who had snuck into the cell silently behind him: the houndkeeper.

  Natarios Rhodas gave him a lopsided grin, then turned to Lady Hildreth again. “I told you he was nothing more than a pawn in all this.”

  “Why is this worm here?” Caile demanded. He’d had no interaction with the houndkeeper outside the election council meetings, but Caile’s father had told him enough about Natarios Rhodas to know what sort of man he was. “If anyone is in league with the Old World, it’s him.”

  “Sweet prince, I’d be offended by your cruel words if there weren’t some truth to them,” Natarios said. “But I promise, we are bonded by a mutual foe now.”

  “The schemer has turned to us for aid,” Lady Hildreth told Caile, “if only because those whom he schemed with have turned their schemes against him.”

  The houndkeeper smiled wanly. “Yes, well, maybe we could discuss all this someplace more comfortable now that we’re all friends. Someplace beside a warm fire, perhaps?”

  “Soldiers, unchain Prince Caile,” Lady Hildreth said, but she grabbed onto his shoulder before th
ey unbound him and gave him an apologetic frown. “I’m not holding you as a prisoner, Prince Caile, but you’re not exactly free either. You must stay down here and out of sight. Ambassador Rives wants you taken captive to use as leverage against your sister, and I trust not even my own household staff to keep our secret. Idle gossip could easily reach his spies’ ears and implicate me. We can’t afford that yet, and it’s best if you’re not seen here either, houndkeeper.”

  Caile said nothing as the cavalrymen unlocked the irons binding his wrists and helped him to his feet. It was best to stay silent and learn what he could, he decided. He was in Lady Hildreth’s own estate he knew now, and in no imminent danger.

  “There’s no fireplace, I’m afraid, but we can retire to the guardroom and speak there,” Lady Hildreth said, leading the way out of the cell.

  “And perhaps some wine?” the houndkeeper suggested.

  “No wine.”

  Caile followed in the wake of Lady Hildreth, Commander Buell, and the houndkeeper, who cowed away from Caile’s presence but dared not push his way past Buell in the cramped corridor of the dungeon. Behind Caile, two cavalrymen stayed on his heels. They trust me some, but not wholly.

  Lady Hildreth led them to a larger room, more brightly lit, and replete with a square table and chairs, but otherwise no more comforting than the jail cell. “Sit,” she told them.

  Caile took the seat across from her, leaving the houndkeeper to sit to his right, who looked none too pleased by the prospect judging by the way he scooched his chair as far away from Caile as possible.