Sword was sitting on a barrel, the book folded in his lap as he stared forward into space. He looked over at Heath and wiped his bleary brown eyes. “What’s going on? Did the prostitute drag that drunk bloke back to her aquatic troll cavern?”
Heath said, “What the hells are you doing back here? Are you…crying?”
“No.” Sword sniffed unconvincingly.
“It’s that book,” Heath said, looking over his shoulder.
“I thought I was going to have a tug, but…” Sword sniffled. “He was the love of her life, Heath. And he’s dead.” Sword tossed the book to the ground and kicked it away. He folded his arms like a truculent child.
You do a really good job of making people forget you aren’t human sometimes, Heath thought.
“You came out here to rub one out?” Heath’s fingers felt for the launching mechanism on his hidden springblades.
“Human beings don’t fully appreciate the myriad benefits, both physical and mental, of being able to do that to themselves at will.”
Heath snapped, “The Harbinger just appeared and told me the city is doomed. But he cut out before telling me anything concrete. I could have used you in there.”
Sword looked down like a scolded puppy. “Sorry.”
“Apologies don’t pay bounties. We have a job, so show some fucking professionalism,” Heath spat.
Sword listened very quietly, nodding attentively, as Heath gave him a rundown on the conversation. Heath tried to keep to the facts, but part of his mind was stuck on everything he should have said. Possibilities that didn’t exist. He showed Sword the flask but omitted the mention of his mother’s illness.
“You’ve faced these guys before. Was he right about what he can predict?” Heath asked, then offered more gently, “I’d appreciate your wisdom.”
Sword grimaced slightly and shook his head. “I don’t know that a Sword that possesses people is the right authority on the existence of free will and self-determination.”
“Other thoughts,” Heath said, pacing and searching the air for ideas. “Were there any clues he might have left?”
“Well…” Sword began tentatively, “he did give you that flask. He probably was more concerned that I’d drink it than anything about my trying to kill him. Travelers can be bleeding superior assholes, but I got no particular bone of contention with this one.”
“Why wouldn’t he want you to drink it?” Heath inquired. “Is it poison?”
“Wouldn’t work on us, most likely.” Sword shifted slightly on the barrel, “Memories are like…food for us, you know? I can absorb a lifetime of experiences and remain the same person. Traveler theurgy always comes with some fucking life lesson. They get off on that shit.”
“He wants to change me?” Heath asked skeptically.
“Good luck with that.” Sword laughed a little.
Heath pulled the flask out of his pocket. “Fuck.”
“Look, mate”—Sword reached out to put a hand on his arm—“this job is a lousy ten thousand ducats. We don’t need the fucking coin anyway. We tell the client what happened, turn in the flask, and let the Invocari sort it out. We keep the advance and go on our merry way—preferably to a city that’s not doomed.”
“Sword, even in a stupid body, you’re brilliant,” Heath’s face broke out in a wide grin as the realization hit him. “That’s what the Harbinger wants. If nothing can be done to stop the destruction, why even talk to me? He wants me out of this city. He thinks I won’t drink the flask because I’m afraid to face my ghosts. This is probably just water.”
“I seriously doubt that, mate.”
“He’s not getting rid of me that easily. And if he thinks he knows what scares me, he’s dead wrong.”
Sword bit his knuckle. “Or he could be leveraging your pride against you.”
“If it’s poison, I’ll heal.” Heath opened the flask and drank. The liquid tasted like rain and ash and pine, not pleasant but interesting in a way that wasn’t entirely horrible. He downed the flask and tossed in onto the boardwalk.
“It was just water.” Heath kicked the flask across the boardwalk. It clattered between one of the planks and plunked into the river below. “So what’s our next move?”
“Now you see the truth,” Sword said in a little girl’s voice, which made Heath’s skin crawl.
He scrambled backward, but Sword merely sat there, staring at him with a vacant stare.
Fog closed in; color and sound drained from the world around him. The world was swallowed by mist, and Heath gazed across an endless gray nothingness. He turned and felt frantically for anything to anchor him, but he found only cold mist and the gentle kiss of rain as it gathered on his skin. He stumbled toward the bar, but his steps carried him past where the wall should be.
His fingers brushed against the rough bark of a tree.
He called on his Light, but to his horror, his hands no longer were his own. His flesh was ghostly pale—nearly translucent—and instead of Light, a ball of fire blazed in his palm. In his right hand, he clutched the Sword, drawn to his side and thirsting for battle.
The laughter of children echoed in the distance as fleeting shadows darted through the mist. He snarled and lashed at the fog with his flame, igniting trees and plants. The fire burned hot enough to disperse some of the mist, and he found himself up to his ankles in thick black mud.
He had dallied too long in the moors. He needed to get to Reda.
SIXTEEN
Refuge
JESSA
ARMED WITH THE power of the Thunderstone and the knowledge granted by the Deep Masters of the Abyss, the Storm Raiders brought their flotilla to the Shining Bay and descended upon the coast of Mazitar.
The Wavelord priests were potent in magic but weak in spirit and fell before the fury and ruthlessness of the Storm Raiders. The Raiders’ Blood Sages burned their holy symbols of Kondole, the Thunder Whale, and raised the banners of Kultea, the Sea Terror. The Raiders’ women took the Wavelord men as consorts…and when the women were ripe with bastards, they slaughtered the lot in offering to the many-limbed witch of the deepest oceans.
From these Sacred Bastards, the Storm Raiders begat the Stormlords, and the Wavelords vanished into obscurity. This may seem cruel…but it is the way of nature. The strong devour the weak. So it can be said that weakness is the source of strength.
The strong need the weak to survive, just as our pirate ancestors needed the bloodline of indolent island dwellers to secure our mastery of the elements. Never forget they are a part of us. Master them wisely.
—TREATISE ON ORDERLY GOVERNANCE, A BOOK BY EXILED MONARCH DAO-CHUI
JESSA FELT BAD for thinking ill of her subjects, but they were dirty and malnourished. Their Thrycean was coarse and simple when they spoke. Most of them didn’t believe she was actually their princess or, worse, mistook her for her mother. She tried to remind herself that these people had lost their homes and endured a harrowing ordeal, many of them losing loved ones.
Her father had told her the people of Amhaven were resilient and noble in their commitment to simple life. She, however, just saw poverty and privation and wondered how much her father had gotten out among the people he had spoken so highly of. It said something about the state of affairs back home when the crown of Amhaven was ripe for the taking and no one from Rivern was even interested.
But Jessa forced herself to smile and handed out blankets and food, which she had paid for by selling Satryn’s jewelry. It was fitting because this whole situation had been her mother’s doing in the first place. Some of the people were grateful, but most took their charity and scuttled off. Her mother’s words floated into her mind: These people have no influence. Why are you wasting your time with them? You need to find a wealthy lord who can sway the Assembly.
Assemblyman Cameron had been very diligent in organizing the event. Jessa was positioned at the end of a pier, facing the refugee shelter. He had everyone form a line with checkpoints of made of up the city guar
d and Invocari, documenting names, and a seal mage to verify their status as refugees as opposed to beggars from the Backwash looking for a handout. The guards kept things moving swiftly and assisted those who were too enfeebled to keep pace.
As the line dwindled, Jessa noticed her supplies running low. It seemed, at the time, like a good idea to start handing out gold instead. With the countess graciously covering her living expenses, Jessa had little need for coin. Just a ducat to each person would do.
In this case her generosity was well rewarded with praise from an old woman with a stooped back, probably from a life of hauling kindling. Women collected bundles of fallen branches to use for the hearth; it was said that burning naturally fallen sticks would not offend the witches.
Cameron whispered, “It isn’t wise to show so much coin, Your Majesty.”
“It’s just a ducat,” Jessa protested, handing a coin to the next man in line.
The riot started shortly after she heard someone shout, “She’s got gold!”
Across the long end of the pier, her subjects charged toward her, each of them pleading. Mothers held their children in one arm, their palms extended as they rushed past the guards. Young men pushed the elderly out of the way as they trampled forward. She watched two men break out into a fight as the crowd stampeded around them.
Assemblyman Cameron placed an arm in front of Jessa protectively. “You’ll want to get clear. This is going to be extremely unpleasant.”
Jessa looked back toward the edge of the pier. It was only five feet away, the currents of the river lapping reassuringly at the dock posts. “I’m perfectly fine where I am and more than capable of handling this situation.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, as he turned and hunched against a shipping crate. He took in a huge breath and closed his eyes, as if he were trying to make himself invisible.
“What are you doing?” Jessa almost said.
The chill came upon her as if she had plunged into freezing cold water. Normally cold wasn’t an issue for a Stormlord, but this chill penetrated her flesh and made her bones ache. White mist rose from her mouth as her breath left her. When she tried to breathe in, she could find no air.
Across the pier she saw people falling to their knees, shivering, and clutching at their throats. The Patreans stood tall, bracing themselves with all their might, but even their faces were twisted with discomfort. Above them, three Invocari had risen a good twelve feet in the air, their hands outstretched.
Jessa continued to gasp for air, but she felt dizzy and tumbled to the planks of the pier. Desperately she dragged herself to the edge, trying to fill her lungs with lifegiving water before she suffocated. Then, just as she was about to pull herself over, it ended.
Warmth returned instantly to her body, though the chill remained. She heard a collective chorus of gasps from everyone on the pier. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cameron stand up and extend his hand to her. He pulled her up, and she stood unsteadily.
“The Invocari’s craft is unsettling, especially the first time,” Cameron observed. “If you hold your breath before, it helps. A little.”
“I couldn’t breathe…” Jessa exclaimed. She’d never been unable to breathe before. “Is that what it feels like to drown?”
“Most people would prefer to drown.” Cameron threw his coat over his shoulder. “We should get out of here.”
He looked up at the Invocari and forced a smile as he led Jessa down the pier. The Patreans cleared a path fairly easily. Most of the refugees scattered as soon as they caught their breath, but a few remained on the pier, not moving. Jessa’s silver eyes widened as a woman desperately shook an older man whose body looked drained of life.
“Is that man dead?” she asked.
“It’s possible, Your Majesty.” Cameron said as he ushered her along. “The Invocari don’t choose who they affect when they use their void magic for crowd control. A few seconds is all they need to disable a person, but for some folks, that’s more than they have. It’s not unusual for a heart to give out from terror either.”
Jessa shuddered. Of course she knew the Invocari were the reason the Dominance hadn’t captured the free cities, but to experience their power firsthand was another matter entirely.
She felt better as they made their way toward the falls. The cold mist from the waterfall invigorated her skin with a natural coolness that chased away the sense memory of the Invocari’s power. “Apparently Mother was right. I lack the common touch.” Jessa laughed grimly.
“Poverty and squalor turn decent folks into animals,” Cameron said. “Say all you want about character and resolve, but it only gets you so far down here. Your people are at the bottom rung of a very tall ladder. I should have stopped you from passing out your gold. The ones who won’t be robbed will spend it on drugs.”
“This entire situation is utterly unacceptable,” Jessa fumed.
He grumbled in assent, “I’ve been telling that to the Assembly for years. Maybe they’ll listen to you.”
“If it’s my destiny to be a tool for the political ambitions of others, I’d feel most comfortable in your hands, Assemblyman Cameron.” She offered a wan smile.
“Careful with your words, Majesty. I’m not known for my manners, and turns of phrase like that inspire my less-refined nature.”
Jessa sniffed. “Sometimes I wish people would treat me with less consideration and greater honesty. Truthfully what do you think will happen to my people? The problem goes beyond meager handouts and bedding.”
“Yes, it does. The problem is the entire structure of the city. With every new invention of the artificers, the city needs labor less and less. Do you know what a bath attendant is?”
“Of course,” Jessa scoffed. “I am, however, surprised you’d even know of such a thing. At the Silverbrook estate, the hot water comes through pipes in the wall.”
“And who cleans the bath?”
“One of Muriel’s automatons.”
“That used to be the job of two servants…three, giving allowance for an alternate,” Cameron emphasized. “Those three jobs no longer exist, and three unlucky souls scrape by for survival in the Backwash, Majesty.”
Jessa cocked her head. “But who would want to be a bath maid? It isn’t pleasant work hauling those large vats of boiling water.”
“It’s a shit job, but it’s a job. The people down here don’t benefit from new innovations. What happens when the scholars discover how to make cheaper automatons to fill the roles of porters, fishermen…hells, even whores?”
“I hadn’t considered this…” Jessa paused. “But surely there’s a better solution.”
Cameron chuckled. “If I could, I’d give everyone money who didn’t have it. But that’s why I’m not popular in the Assembly. There’s no opportunity in Rivern. The more the city progresses, the less it needs its citizens. Less use it has for refugees. There’s no refuge for them here in Rivern.”
Jessa nodded. “Then what would you advise?”
“You won’t like what I have to say. The ones who come here are too destitute to start over, even if they had homes to return to.” Cameron sighed. “If I were in your shoes, I’d use my connections to the empress, reunite Amhaven with Thrycea.”
“My people fought bitterly for their independence,” Jessa recalled. “Thousands died under my grandfather’s rebellion to throw off the yoke of imperial influence.”
“And how many of those who sacrificed still live today?”
Jessa nodded stiffly and followed him back to the lifts to the Overlook.
As they walked back to Silverbrook Manor, Jessa said, “Perhaps I should abdicate my claim.”
Cameron looked at her with curiosity and disbelief. “Your Majesty, it was a shit show down there, but it’s hardly reason to give up. You made a good effort, and no one can fault you for that.”
“People died. In front of me,” Jessa protested. “And it’s all because of a dispute over my claim. I can’t allow this fighting in
my own kingdom to continue and say it’s for the good of my people when they clearly suffer. I can’t defeat Rothburn, and he can’t defeat me, so he attacks those who are defenseless. If one of us is to lead, then perhaps it’s best that it be a duke with no ties to Thrycea.”
Cameron paused as the first drop of rain fell on his hand. He looked to Jessa. “Have I said something to upset you, Your Majesty?”
Jessa looked up at the clouds as more rain splashed across her face. “This isn’t my doing, but I’m certain to be blamed for it.”
The rain fell harder.
Cameron raised a hand to shield his eyes. “Can you becalm this weather? It’s some distance to your residence.”
“Oddly we can only make storms. We have no dominion over what Kultea sends of her own volition,” Jessa confided.
The rain descended in sheets, causing her to laugh. The roar of falling water echoed off the street and the Trident River. The few people in the street scrambled for cover as merchants hastily covered their wares with tarps. She had to yell over the rain, “I can’t soothe the storm. We need to get inside.”
She grabbed Cameron’s hand and led him down the street. Her clothes were soaked, and the raindrops lashed her eyes, but she felt nothing. Cameron stumbled behind her, blinded and shivering from the ice-cold water that clung to his coat and shirt.
They raced down the street, Jessa focusing on pushing as much of the water away as possible. Deep puddles split before them as she navigated through the downpour. They raced down streets and alleys until they arrived, breathless, at the gates of the Silverbrook estate.
Still holding his hand, she waited with him in the storm as the automaton gate recognized her and retracted.
“I should take my leave, Your Majesty.” Cameron offered a slight bow.
Jessa grabbed his hand again. “Nonsense. You’re soaked. Come inside.”
The Queen of Lies Page 12