by Joseph Lallo
“You’re crazy.”
“Not crazy, I’m right. I’m finally righting all that has gone wrong for our land. No Imperfect should be murdered for his ability. No children should be left on the ice floes. I intend to put things right. I don’t care what you think of me. I need you. You will come.” Tandor’s bloodshot eyes stared like a madman’s. “I’m out of patience and out of time.”
A net of icefire flowed from the metal of his pincer hand.
Isandor threw up an instinctive defence. Strands of icefire clashed in mid-air. Shatters exploded through the hall.
Isandor groped for the door handle behind his back. Tandor’s net hovered closer. Isandor strained to hold it off, but his golden stream was weakening.
Tandor laughed. “Out of ideas, boy?”
The door to the central room opened. “Oh, I thought I heard you, Tandor—”
Isandor stumbled back, into the heat of the room. The net of icefire melted away.
“Isandor?” she gasped. “When did you come in? Oh my boy, congratulations. The Queen’s Champion.”
Isandor hugged her, noticing over her shoulder how Tandor slipped the dagger back into his belt and smiled. Was he his mother’s lover? By the skylights, no. She had to be more intelligent than that.
He was shocked how tired his mother looked, and how pregnant. He had never before realised she was quite so old and small and fragile.
“I . . . thought I’d come to see how you are.” By the skylights, how could he get all his things and leave the city now?
She stroked his hair. “I’m sorry, but your bed is occupied.”
“It doesn’t matter. You know I can’t stay. I have to get back to the Knights. I just needed to get . . .”
No, he couldn’t say that, and he couldn’t flee either. Tandor wasn’t after him in particular, but was after Imperfects, and Isandor knew one other Imperfect. He must warn her. And he couldn’t leave his mother to deal with this twisted madman alone either.
“I was . . . I was just going. I need to be at the hunt ritual.” His courage sank. He had fully expected not to attend. He’d watched his uncle kill an animal often enough to know that he didn’t want to do it.
“Oh yes, of course.” She smiled. “I’m proud of you, my Champion.”
Tandor still glared.
“Will I see you at the arena?” Isandor took another step towards the door, and then another one. Tandor watched him, but didn’t move. He didn’t dare. So Tandor cared about his mother.
“Maybe.” His mother’s gaze met Tandor’s. “I was waiting for you to come back. You could give me a hand. I need to someone to go to the tent in the festival grounds to get . . .”
Isandor ran.
Chapter 19
THE DOOR CLANGED and Isandor was gone, leaving behind a tense silence.
“Champion?” Tandor asked.
“Yes, Isandor was made the Queen’s Champion. Didn’t you hear that?”
“The Queen’s Champion.” Wasn’t that one of those silly titles?
Her grey eyes searched his face. “You could at least pretend to be proud for me. He flew very well.”
“He shouldn’t be with the Knights at all.”
“Tandor, we’ve had that argument already. You can’t change the boy’s choices. I don’t understand why you’re always so nasty about him. I’m sure he would have liked knowing that you wanted him to survive.”
Tandor bit his tongue. Giving her answers she wanted would only lose him valuable time.
“Loriane—”
“No, listen, I need your help.”
“Loriane,” Tandor protested. With all his being, he wanted to go after Isandor, but with all these people in the streets, there was no way he could do what he wanted. He searched Loriane’s face for signs of what she had understood of their confrontation. As Pirosian, he knew she didn’t see icefire, but she had to suspect something. She had seen him facing Isandor. By the skylights, since when had the boy become so strong? He had never received training.
And why had Ruko not turned up yet? He should have recovered by now.
“I need you to run up to the tent at the festival ground and get a few things. It really can’t wait, Tandor. Myra’s pains have started.”
Tandor started to protest, “I can’t go out there. The Knights—”
“Then can you look after her while I’m gone?”
“What—me?” By the skylights, no.
“I don’t see anyone behind you.”
“But Loriane—”
“Just sit here with her and give her water if she wants. Rub her back if you feel like being useful.” She yanked her cloak from the hook on the wall.
“But what if the child—”
“It won’t,” Loriane said, her eyes intense. “Trust me. This is going to take a very long time. I’ll be back soon.”
Soon? Tandor took in a sharp breath. The dagger at his waist burned against his leg, a freezing burn from where Isandor’s icefire had hit it.
“Please, Tandor. All I want for you is to sit with her so she’s not alone.”
Panic welled up in him. Did she know about his past experience? Loriane’s eyes were pleading. “Please, Tandor, be my hero. I don’t know who else to ask.”
Oh, my Queen. He bent forward and brushed her lips with his.
“How long?”
“Not long. I’ll be back before the hunting season ritual starts. I take it you want to watch it?”
“Uhm—yes.”
Lies, lies, all such horrible lies. If only he told her he wanted to make her his queen after he had defeated the Knights, if only he showed her his grandfather’s ring, the Thillei royal seal, if he told her why he needed Isandor and Myra, if he told her why he needed the crossbreed child she carried . . .
Loriane would hate him, he was sure of that. And that was why he loved her.
She tied up the cloak’s fastenings over the bulge of her belly. “Well then the sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back.”
A few steps and she was at the door, which Isandor had so recently slammed behind him.
Loriane, be safe.
If there were reasons out there for her not to be safe, he had created every single one of them.
She blew a kiss to him and was gone.
Tandor grabbed the door handle to the inner room door, gathering courage. He listened, but heard no noise. Heard in his mind the screams of a young woman. Fifteen years it had been, and he had never forgotten.
His hand strayed to the dagger at his side. Myra was Imperfect. What if he . . .
Another deep breath.
He could just wait here, outside the room, until Loriane came back.
No, he couldn’t. Myra was young and frightened. Ontane would hear about it if he left her alone.
He pushed open the door. Stale warm air wafted out of the room.
Myra sat on a low stool next to the stove, leaning forward. She breathed heavily and didn’t look up when he came in.
Tandor stood there, frozen, until her breathing slowed. She looked up.
“Don’t just stand there. Shut the door.” Her voice was husky.
Tandor did, although he would rather have bolted out. He took a few uncertain steps towards the couch. The dagger bumped against his leg.
As if he felt his thoughts, Myra’s light blue eyes fixed on it.
He gathered courage. “Do you want me to—”
“Don’t touch me.” Her voice was sharp and full of distrust.
That nightgown wasn’t very thick, and showed the tight curve of her belly. She was skinny, just like . . .
“I won’t,” he said, swallowing nausea.
He settled himself on the couch. Her sharp gaze followed him, even when her breathing became harsh.
Then she bent forward, uttering a low moan.
Tandor folded his arms over his chest, pulling them tight to stop his trembling. The metal rods of his
arm bit into to bottom of his other arm.
Myra’s moan became a cry.
Tandor cringed, clenching his teeth.
Stop it, be quiet.
In his mind, he went back to that dressing room, the smell of furs around him. The shrill sound of a woman screaming. Keep your hands off me! Get out! A blood curdling scream.
Footsteps, the clanging of a door, voices, male and female.
Someone else runs into the room.
A female voice yells, push.
Another bloodcurdling scream.
Tandor stands there, frozen, dizzy, while the woman screams and howls. There seems no end to it—
“Can I have drink?”
Myra’s voice shook Tandor out of his nightmare.
“Yes, sure.” He rose and almost fell from dizziness. He must forget what had happened and avenge what the Knights had done to her and his family. He must complete his life’s struggle. His mother and other surviving Thilleians relied on him. She had not survived the massacre for her son to be such a coward.
Lies, lies, lies. He told everyone he was southern, but his mother had given birth in the merchant’s house in Tiverius. He’d never even been to the City of Glass until his mother took him when he was about ten.
He was Chevakian, and a coward.
There was a carafe of water on the table. He took the glass out of Myra’s sweaty and trembling hand and filled it up. His hand also trembled, and he spilled some water, which he mopped up with a towel.
By the time he had finished, she was moaning again, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. The thin nightgown didn’t do much to hide her pale skin. Her right arm ended in a withered stump just above the wrist
Tandor felt for the dagger at his side. If only he had the courage, he could solve all his problems now. He gripped the hilt, studied her back for where to cut. The dagger slid out of its sheath. He lifted it, gathering strands of icefire around his hand. And hesitated.
If he took her heart, what would it do to her? Would it freeze her in a permanent state of agony, making her useless for his purpose? What about the child? It could be killed. If he waited a bit longer, he could have two servitors.
He hesitated. Too long.
Myra pushed herself back up. Quickly, Tandor slipped the dagger back into its sheath.
“Can I have that water now?”
He handed the glass into her good hand. She gulped deeply and gave it back to him.
Yes, it would be better to wait.
* * *
The front door clanged.
Tandor flew up from his seat by the fire. Loriane came into the room, her cheeks red from the cold.
“And?” he asked. Behind him, Myra was still moaning.
She frowned at him. “And what?”
“Did you see where Isandor went?”
“No, I didn’t ask. He went to the festival grounds, I imagine. He’s got the hunting ritual to lead.” Loriane looked past him, shrugging off her cloak. “Any progress?”
“I don’t know. She told me to stay away from her.”
“Tandor, I can’t believe you.” She dropped her basket and went to Myra, speaking soft words. The girl cried while Loriane rubbed her back. She gripped Loriane’s hands.
“Don’t go, please, don’t go.”
“No, I’m here now. Not going anywhere until you have that baby.”
Loriane started unpacking items from her basket. Bottles, salves, bandages, all sorts of things. Tandor glared at her in the silence. Did she need all that? Couldn’t she hurry things up a bit?
“There are a lot of Knights in the streets with a lot of gold on their collars,” Loriane said without looking up. “I heard someone say that the Queen is there, and that it was her who declared Isandor champion.”
“What—the queen? Jevaithi? In the Outer City?”
“I just told you.”
Myra’s gasps started again. Loriane was telling her to be quiet. Tandor waited for it to pass, scrunching up his hands behind his back.
When Myra had gone silent, Loriane wiped her face with something that smelled like mint.
“Thank you,” Myra whispered. “You’re doing so much for me. I’m sorry.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t let another mother suffer.”
Tandor clamped his teeth. Why didn’t she hurry up with this dreadful business?
“What is the Queen doing here?”
“I don’t know. Watch the races, I guess.” Loriane dipped the cloth in water.
“I’ve heard rumours she wants to see the killing.”
“Eeew. What’s so great about that?” Myra said. Her voice was husky. “I never watch. The tavern’s much more fun to be around after Newlight.”
“Well, there is that, too,” Loriane said. “But I think she’ll be heading back before that time. The Knights were tense and didn’t look very happy to let her come here. Poor girl.”
No, poor Tandor. His whole plan was falling apart. The children gone, Isandor with the Knights and the last two Imperfect children either out of reach or unwilling to help. The street was crawling with Knights, and Ruko had not yet returned.
Meanwhile, the Heart was beating at a faster rate than before, feeding more and more icefire into the air. If the children were in the palace, they might absorb some of it, but if he couldn’t get to them soon enough, who knew what would happen?
He heard his own voice echoing in his mother’s palatial living room. But it’s lunacy! I can’t do all that alone.
The spirits of our family will guide you.
By the skylights, Mother, what good were spirits?
He was stuck here with two pregnant women. He could run out, but there would be nowhere for him to go, except to be discovered by the Knights, and have them follow him back to his last Imperfect children. Jevaithi was here, but he couldn’t use her; there were too many Knights. He might be able to use icefire, but he was not invincible, not alone, and who said that Pirosian with his sink wouldn’t be there?
He jumped when two hands grabbed his shoulders from behind.
“You are so tense, Tandor.”
“Don’t you have to look after . . .” He gestured at Myra.
“There’s nothing much we can do except wait. She’s not yet close to giving birth.”
She massaged the muscles in his shoulders. Myra sat hunched over, breathing harshly through another pain.
Loriane continued in a low voice. “I’m worried about you, Tandor. It feels like there is something going on. You bring this girl here, I don’t know why. Then what were you trying to do to Isandor? If I hadn’t seen you come to my house with him as a baby, I might have thought you were trying to kill him back there. What has he done? I’d really like to know what this is about. Having you here is a risk for me, too. My clients are of the city nobility and I have taken enough of a gamble already looking after Isandor. You come here, barge into my house with a young girl about to give birth in the middle of the Newlight festival and I get no explanation. I’m busy, I’m pregnant, and I don’t have time for your plans, even less so if you keep them secret.”
“I told you life was too dangerous for Myra in Bordertown. I thought you understood that.”
“Then why come here where there’s even more Knights?” Myra asked
Tandor balled his fists behind his back. Why did sound carry so well in these damned limpets?
“She’s right,” Loriane said. “I believe she would have been much better off at home. She’s only a young mother and it’s not right to—”
“Don’t talk to me about not right!” Tandor whirled.
A moan from Myra interrupted him. She clutched her belly, panting and crying.
“Calm down, calm down,” Loriane said.
“It hurts, it hurts!” Myra screamed.
“Breathe like I told you.”
Myra’s screams faded into heavy panting.
Tandor turned away, looki
ng at the door. All his hair stood on end. He could not stand this much longer.
When Myra’s harsh breathing subsided, he continued. “I’ll tell you what is not right. My family was murdered. My grandfather hacked to pieces as he tried to protect the wonders of the City of Glass and his throne. I was exiled. I have lived my life for this plan. I am not going to let it slip through my fingers.”
“Tandor, what happened is a long time ago. It’s not even something you personally remember.” She let the shameful truth hang in the air, You were born in Chevakia. “Let it go.”
“And let Imperfects suffer? Let Imperfect babies be killed?”
“I think Isandor is proof that things are changing.”
“It is not. You know that. He would have been killed if it hadn’t been for me, and he’s only with the Knights because he shapes icefire around an illusion of the missing part of his leg, without ever having been taught how to do so, and because someone put it in his head that being with the Knights was a noble thing to do.”
“Isandor is not stupid. He just doesn’t care for your pointless quest for revenge.”
Loriane’s eyes blazed with anger.
Not pointless. Tandor saw his mother’s proud figure, exiled matriarch of his family. Isandor would return to the Thilleians, no matter what. Tandor would send that message that would end his mother’s pain: it is safe to return home.
“Loriane, they killed my family. They’re continuing to kill any children born with my family’s blood. The Knights took the fifty children from Bordertown. I saved those children, every single one of them.” His voice spilled over. The Knights would have left those children on the ice floes.
“For what aim, Tandor? That’s all I’m asking. Because you saved Isandor, and then hardly cared about him until now. You never told me who this boy is. You never gave me any guidance. And now it seems I have done everything wrong by letting him do what he wanted.”
Tandor stared at her, raising his clawed hand. “Oh, I give up.”
“Give up? You never even started. You try and bring up a child. It’s not some . . . possession you can dictate what to do. If you wanted him to see your ways, why haven’t you been around more, and explained to him what he is and what you meant for him to become?”