The Queen of Lies

by Michael J. Bode

  It didn’t matter that Jessa would lose herself. The prospect of her mother with the power of a fully realized pureblood tempest was motivation enough. It was her freedom or the lives of half a million people.

  Daphne’s body exploded in a flash of golden light as radiant plate mail formed over her body in response to Satryn’s attack. The priestess grabbed Satryn’s leg and flung her across the room with inhuman strength.

  Jessa reached Heath and ripped at his robe, trying to find the blade’s hilt. He grabbed her hand. “No.”

  She shook her head. “I have to. I’m the only one who can stop her.”

  Heath shook off the effect of Satryn’s shock as golden light washed over his body. “No, there’s a better option.”

  Daphne and Satryn were fighting. The priestess was clad in translucent armor made of sunlight, and Satryn struck her repeatedly with her Storm blade.

  “I’m guided by conviction,” Daphne avowed, as she punched at the Stormlord. “Something you’ll never understand.”

  Satryn fell back, but her expression was calm, as if she were appraising a jewel.

  Heath got up from the floor and pulled the scabbard off his back.

  “Lady Satryn,” Heath said, holding the blade aloft, safely ensconced in its leather scabbard, careful not to touch the hilt, “please, I have a tribute for your benevolence from your supporters within the city. It’s a long-lost relic of your ancestors.”

  Daphne’s luminous armor flickered as Satryn struck it repeatedly. And Satryn wasn’t even trying. She was incredibly quick, yet she seemed almost bored.

  Satryn glanced at the sword. “I’ll pass.”

  “Backup plan.” Heath set the Sword in Maddox’s lap and tried to gently nudge the hilt under the mage’s hands. “Just grab it,” he said through gritted teeth, as he wedged the hilt under Maddox’s delicate fingers. “Please…”

  And then, in the span of a second, the fingers closed. Maddox blinked. “Ohhhhh, hells no,” he groaned. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  He bolted up and waved his hand. The sofa flew across the room, twisting in midair to miss Daphne, and slammed Satryn against the concave glass wall of the cell. He twirled the Sword in one hand and jammed it against the glass next to him. The blade glowed with white light as he pushed it through.

  Maddox said, “She’s toying with you. We can’t kill her. She’s already taken the mantle of Tempest.“

  “I would have sensed it if the empress passed,” Jessa said.

  “You looked pretty out of it at the manor.” Maddox shoved the Sword through the glass. The glowing sigils flickered. “Besides, the lightning burst only happens with violent deaths of immediate family. Do you have a Thunderstone?”

  “I had one at the manor, but I was—”

  “I was there.” Maddox grunted as he dragged the edge of the blade through the glass. He stepped back and stretched out his hand. The Sword moved along the arc of his hand, carving a circle through the glass. “We need to find Esme.”

  “So you’re the swordsman who saved my life?” Jessa asked.

  Maddox grumbled, “Him and a few hundred other people, including your great-great-great grandfather, Arix. So listen to me when I say that none of you have seen the power of an Archtempest…and let me work.”

  Jessa glanced over her shoulder. Satryn blasted the sofa that pinned her into wooden splinters and cotton. Daphne, still clad in her solar armor, fell on her with twin blades that sprang from the sleeves of her robes. She was holding her off but just barely.

  The sword cut a perfect circle out of the glass. The glowing wards died. The circle of glass blasted backward into a million shards. Two Invocari hovered next to the wall, waving their hands and summoning their void magic.

  “Good,” Maddox told them. “You keep her busy. It’s a long story, but Loran will vouch for me. And by Loran…I mean your fucking boss, the Grand Invocus.”

  The Invocari looked at each other.

  “This blade is a starmetal alloy,” Maddox grunted impatiently. “Plus it was designed to reflect magic, so don’t even think about using that creeper sorcery on us. Princess, Heath—come on!”

  A crash of thunder exploded behind Jessa, shaking the tower. Satryn glowed. Her body was transparent, and her eyes shone like cold moons. She stood gracefully, arms outstretched, as Daphne slashed her with her blades. But the metal passed through her; Satryn had become pure energy.

  “That’s why we need to get the fuck out of here.” Maddox waved his hand and lifted Jessa through the hole in the glass. Heath was already on the other side.

  “I know of a weapon that can slay her, but we must have your leave to find it,” Jessa explained to the Invocari.

  “Go,” one of them said. “And Princess?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save your fiancé.”

  “Thank you.” She placed a hand on her heart.

  Maddox grabbed Jessa’s arm and dragged her around the edge of the circular cell toward the elevator. “Cordovis did you a favor. Torin was a fucking tool.”

  “What did he ever do to you to earn such harsh words?” Jessa was stunned anyone could speak ill of the boy.

  Maddox paused and blinked. “I have absolutely no idea. Give me an hour to process this guy’s memories, and I’ll get back to you. There’s a lot to unpack in here, and it’s a bit of a headfuck.”

  Heath took the lead. “We need to get to Esme’s blood specimen from my house so we can track her. Hopefully the Invocari can deal with your mother.”

  “You can’t suffocate living electricity,” Maddox said sourly. “They’re all dead.”

  As if on cue, a pair of thunderclaps reported through the circular chamber as blinding light illuminated behind them.

  They made their way to the elevator shaft, but the lift was gone. Invocari floated up like vengeful spirits from the darkness and floated past. They had opened the airlock. Jessa saw that Daphne was still standing, but she wasn’t looking hale or healthy. The light that sustained her armor flickered and waned as Satryn poured lightning into her.

  “What about Daphne?” Jessa insisted. “We should at least make sure she gets out.”

  Heath placed a hand on her shoulder. “She can get out whenever she wants. She’s buying us time. We need to use it.”

  Maddox scowled irritably and raised his hands. The metal cage of the lift came screaming up the shaft. Sparks flew from the sides of the cage as its tracks screeched in protest. The box slammed to a stop, and the gate flew off, ripped from its hinges by an invisible force. It slammed into the glass cage behind them.

  “That’s kind of cool,” Maddox said, admiring his handiwork.

  Heath and Jessa jumped inside, and Maddox joined them. He scowled at a control box with levers and buttons, and the lift plunged downward. Normally it was a slow process to get to and from Satryn’s prison, but this time the cage was in nearly a freefall. It slammed to a stop, making Jessa stagger.

  “Come on,” Maddox said. “We need to move.”

  Heath rubbed his chin. “Are you okay, Sword?”

  “Do you care?” Maddox snapped. “You never ask how I’m feeling unless you want something, and I am done being your fucking doormat. All you ever do is use people, Heath. You use them up until there’s nothing left, and then you toss them aside like garbage. I won’t be managed anymore!”

  “Sword,” Heath said calmly, “there was nothing we could have done differently in that situation.”

  “Stop it!” Maddox shouted as he made his way out of the tower with Heath and Jessa trailing behind.

  Jessa wanted to interrupt, but the tension didn’t lend itself to her opinion. And she didn’t have anything useful to offer. She wondered what would have happened if Heath had given the Sword to her.

  Maddox spun and loomed in Heath’s path. His words were cold and sharp. “You could have taken the blade yourself. You didn’t. I devoted my life to you, and you’d rather die than make
me a part of it. I see you for what you are now. You’re a coward.”

  “I wouldn’t be me anymore,” Heath explained. “I wouldn’t be your friend.”

  “And I wouldn’t be me anymore either,” Maddox said. “We’d be something new together. You have to give up some part of yourself sometime, Heath, or you’re going to have a long, lonely life.”

  “Maddox…or Sword,” Jessa interjected, “I’m grateful for your assistance, but we need to find the Thunderstone. Mother is powerful enough to cause a great deal of damage to the city, and it’s only a matter of time before she floods the canals. For the sake of the city, I ask you put your feelings aside. For now.”

  He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Ugh. Just give me a second to process this. Every gestalt is different, and this one is intense.”

  He stormed off.

  Jessa and Heath looked at each other. Heath shrugged, and they followed Sword.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Integrity

  SWORD

  IT IS THE great lie we tell ourselves to think of ourselves as single individuals. We are each a thousand warring factions fighting for control of a single narrative and rewriting history with each victory.

  —THE STORYTELLER, TRAVELER PROVERBS

  THE PROBLEM WAS that Sword despised Maddox, probably more than anyone in recent memory. Maddox knew Sword as Catherine. He didn’t much care for her either. In fact the two of them only barely tolerated each other when he and Heath were an item, something Sword, when it was Catherine, a, actively had told Heath to stop.

  His brain felt as if it had been dipped in lemon juice, rolled over broken glass, and drop-kicked into a bucket of fire ants. His heart ached. His mind flashed back over his memories, reexperiencing events from Maddox’s perspective. He didn’t want Maddox’s memories. He didn’t want to feel the hurt of his best friend turning a cold shoulder to him.

  Maddox was cocky and boorish. He wasn’t even that good-looking. Sword tried to imagine what Heath saw in him besides wild sexual chemistry. Sword felt the heat of arousal as he recalled being bound into submission and fucked senseless. The hot sting of shame followed shortly after.

  Sword felt betrayed that Heath had been so intimate with another person, especially someone as unworthy as Maddox. But the anger went worse than betrayal; it was…jealousy. Heath never had touched Sword, never even flirted. Catherine was a proud and beautiful lady, but she was older, and Heath was uninterested anyway. But he was smitten with Maddox.

  And he felt a ping, a common point of understanding. He looked at his new reflection in the edge of his blade and saw a kindred spirit. Someone who also had struggled for the affection of someone who had remained forever out of reach. And then the gestalt fell into place, like pieces of a broken glass rising from the floor and fusing into something fragile but intricate.

  “Okay,” Sword said. “Assimilation complete or whatever. We’re all good in here. Sorry about earlier.”

  “It’s only been a few seconds,” Heath said. They were still walking toward the exit to the Invocari tower. The Invocari had taken up positions in the stairs. They rasped orders in their creepy metallic voices for them to evacuate.

  “You know how the people who piss you off the most turn out to be exactly the same as you? It’s kind of like that,” Sword said. “Give me a week, and I can probably remaster a new school of theurgy from my memories.”

  “Think of it as an upgrade,” Heath said.

  Thick gray clouds roiled above. The sky had a strange greenish pallor like it was going to throw up. The wind carried the scent of petrichor, which Maddox’s nose detected very strongly. But beneath the fresh smell was a murky, salty undertone like the rotting carcass of a great sea creature washed ashore.

  “I’m also immortal, so this was a hasty improvisation with permanent consequences,” Sword added, “for me. And us. The feelings are difficult to control. This psyche was systematically eviscerated. As much as I’m using Maddox’s infrastructure, he’s coopting my emotive responses to repair the damage.”

  “Would it be helpful to sing your battle shanty?” Jessa offered. “I find it comforting to return to the familiar. Plus it’s been stuck in my head, and I need a distraction.”

  Sword chuckled. “It’s beneath my current vocal talents.”

  Heath rolled his eyes. “Maddox does have good pipes. You don’t want to encourage him, or he’ll be serenading on top of the bar.”

  “Explains why he got along so well with Mother,” Jessa quipped.

  “It was an interesting relationship,” Sword admitted.

  “So what happened between the two of you?” Jessa asked Heath. “You obviously have a history. I don’t mean to pry too deeply if the subject is sensitive, but Mother did make known Maddox’s proclivities.”

  “We had a thing. Maddox was a clingy alcoholic with a short temper,” Heath admitted. “There was a lot of passion, but it…affected my judgment. Made me unfocused. With the life Sword and I lead, that can get you killed.”

  “The father of my unborn child revealed himself to be a spy for the Coral Throne,” Jessa said. “I understand the need to be vigilant in matters of the heart.”

  They approached Heath’s house.

  “You live here?” Jessa asked, looking at the three-story property on the intersection of two canals. It had a small lawn with well-tended rosebushes and a skinny apple tree.

  “It’s modest compared to what you’re used to, I’m sure,” Heath said.

  They stepped into the foyer, and Sword remembered it through Maddox’s blurry, drunken memories. It was like reading the runny ink from a book that had been soaked in bourbon. Plus every person saw things differently. Maddox needed glasses, probably as a result of his reading practice with inscription.

  “You’ve done well for yourself, Heath.” Jessa marveled at the tile mosaic in the entryway. “I know assemblymen who can’t claim such well-appointed accommodations.”

  The walls were adorned with artifacts and souvenirs from Heath’s adventures. There were tons of weapons (falchions, flails, and more exotic implements of death) and paintings of far-off places. Sword remembered most of them fondly.

  “That’s high praise from royalty.” Heath bowed. “I’ll just be a minute upstairs. Sword, get her anything she needs.”

  He retreated up the stairs.

  “So do I call you Sword or Maddox? Maybe Sworddox?” Jessa asked.

  “We’re not doing that. Sword’s good. It’s kind of stupid, but you know, it keeps things straight in my head.”

  “Sword”—Jessa turned to him—“I never got to properly thank you for the sacrifice you made to protect my life.”

  “It’s nothing,” Sword said, making his way to the dining room. “For me it’s like ripping a favorite pair of trousers. A little upsetting but easily replaced.”

  “I almost took you myself,” Jessa declared suddenly. “Would you consider me the equivalent of trousers? And forgive my naïveté in these mundane matters, but can’t trousers be mended?”

  “Sorry. That sounded anthrophobic. Some deaths have upset me; others were a huge relief. The big guy was somewhere in between. Do you prefer red or white?”

  Sword waved his hand in front of the wine cabinet and withdrew a bottle from it. The cork separated itself from the neck of the bottle as it reached his hand. He drank, savoring the flavor and aroma of the newly opened bottle. Maddox’s olfactory senses were phenomenal. Sword could equate every note of fragrance to a property of the soil or a step in the aging process.

  Jessa folded her arms. “How can you drink at a time like this?”

  Sword peered at her. “How can you not? You just found out Satryn raised you to be a pawn in her scheme to topple the Protectorate. I think that qualifies.”

  “Esme defeated you handily last time.” Jessa was starting to sound a little whiny, “If you impair your reflexes, you’ll stand even less of a chance.”

  Sword chuckled deviously to himself. �
�Yeah. This is going to be a fun fight.”

  Jessa shook her head. “I wish I shared your confidence. Perhaps if we show our strength, Esme will simply hand over the Thunderstone without bloodshed.”

  “Sure,” he said without any hint of seriousness. He called up the stairs, “Hey, Heath! I just remembered something. I know who Evan Landry is. We don’t need the blood.”

  There was no response.

  “Did you hear me, Heath?” Sword’s face darkened with concern. “Hey, buddy, you okay up there?”

  They waited for a moment then went up the staircase with Sword in the lead and Jessa following. He charged to the armory and saw Heath collapsed on the floor, with the vial of blood in hand. He had hit his head on the sharpening wheel in the center of the room. Sword leaned in and grabbed his face. Heath’s eyes were closed and fluttering back and forth. He smelled the faint whiff of char and sulfur. Wisps of it were coming off his eyelids.

  “Harrowers,” Sword said. “It’s a psychic attack.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Get me a stylus. It looks like a pencil with a gem on the end of it. There’s one in the display case at the end of the hall. There’s a poisoned needle in the handle, so just smash the glass. Hurry.”

  To her credit Jessa already was making her way down the hall as he was speaking. The sound of thunder and exploding glass echoed down the hall, and Jessa ran back with the stylus in hand. She tossed it to him, and he caught it midair.

  The facts and theories of Maddox’s mind clicked together with memories of old magic. What he was attempting was the height of foolishness. A seal mage required familiarity with his instrument. This stylus was completely foreign to his hand; it required practice. Performing glyphomancy on the fly without the protection of a binding circle—well, that was just idiotic.

  Sword started to inscribe the seal on the floor. Between Maddox’s muscle memory and the superior coordination that came from Sword’s intelligence, it was simple to create the initial circle. His arm moved with mechanical precision.

  He knew the seal he wanted—Amnayleth, the Seal of Mystery. It was impossible to know what it did unless you had obtained one (or shared a body with someone who had it), and the seal’s magic preserved its mystery in a variety of unexpected ways. Fortunately it couldn’t erase the pyromaniac witch-hunter’s memory of having it. It gave you amazing, vivid dreams.