by Keri Arthur
Face them and not kill them.
The door opened. She was not immediately visible.
Donal stepped to one side, allowing me to enter first. I felt no easier with him standing at my back. In fact, it probably would have better had he been in front—at least then he would have stood between me, the queen, and any temptation I might have to lash out at her.
I walked into the room.
She stood to the left of the door, in the middle of the room.
And despite the grip I had on my emotions, despite knowing I could not react in any way, the mere sight of her unleashed twelve years of festering anger and impotence, and there was absolutely nothing I could to stop it.
As the earth under my feet began to rumble and the room shake, I grabbed my knife, took six long steps, and thrust upwards with the blade.
Five
I didn’t kill her.
The point of the knife didn’t even break her skin.
But it was pressed against her throat just under her jaw, and if she so much as twitched the wrong way, it would have drawn blood.
She didn’t twitch.
She didn’t even call for the guards.
She merely studied me, one dark eyebrow raised. She was typical Mauvaissian in build—muscular, with black hair, red-brown skin, and dark eyes. What made her stand apart—and gave her the Red Queen moniker—was the red stain that dominated the whites of her eyes, making it appear as if they bled.
“If you kill me, Nyx, I must warn that both you and Lord Donal will be dead a heartbeat later.” Her voice was calm, her tone cool.
“If I was here to kill you, you wouldn’t now be talking.” My voice might be even, but my inner turmoil was very much reflected in the tremors that vibrated through the floor. “I’m merely satisfying a long-held desire while restraining deeper urges.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of those deeper urges. We’ve explored many of them over the years.”
“Yes, we did.” I pressed the knife just a bit harder against her skin. A small bead of blood welled around the knife’s point. She didn’t flinch. It wasn’t in her nature to do so. “But they were never my urges. You knew that, just as you knew I was wearing restraint bracelets and had no choice but to do as you wished.”
“But did you not gain pleasure from those experiences?”
Her expression was utterly confident and for a very good reason—I had. But that was not the point.
“No amount of pleasure can ever justify the denial of choice, Marttia. In using the power of the bracelets to make me do as you wished rather than simply asking, you went against all teachings of the goddess Eisha. For that, there one day will be a reckoning.”
I pulled my knife from her throat and forced myself to step back. The rumbling earth immediately calmed, but it was warning enough that until I was used to accessing and controlling her, I would have to watch my temper. Otherwise I might inadvertently kill someone.
“If that is Eisha’s wish, then so be it,” she said calmly. “I for one do not regret the time we spent together, even if I had the advantage.”
“But it is one you no longer hold,” I said. “Don’t ever hope for a repeat, Marttia, or my blade will taste your flesh more fully.”
“In these lands, that is considered a threat.”
“In mine, it’s considered a promise.”
Anticipation gleamed in her eyes. Anticipation and desire. I ignored the first and went cold at the thought of the second.
Behind us, Donal cleared his throat. “Ladies, as entertaining as all this is, we have greater problems to discuss.”
Marttia’s gaze jumped past me. “Forgive me, Lord Donal, for my rudeness. Welcome to Rodestat, though I am somewhat at a loss to understand why a highland lord would be a part of Divona’s relief squadron, or why your father requested such secrecy for this meeting.”
Donal stepped up to stand beside me. He was close enough that his arm brushed mine, and I rather suspected it was deliberate. A show of unity against the queen, perhaps.
“Please, call me Donal.”
A smile touched her lips, though her gaze was speculative as it swept between the two of us. “Then call me Marttia—at least when we are not in more formal company. What brings you here?”
“The wind whispers of troubled times ahead. Rainer paid no heed to the warning, but I hope you will, given Rodestat will bear much of the brunt of what comes.”
“How so?”
Donal quickly updated her on everything he’d already told me, and then added, “Whoever—whatever—comes will hit us sometime within the next few months. We need to be prepared.”
She frowned. “Prepared for what, though? We have more than enough weapons, food, and water to outlast a winter-long siege, and there is very little chance of the garrison’s walls being breached, let alone Rodestat’s. The Skaran do not have that sort of technology to hand.”
“It’s not the Skaran who will attack. It’s a completely new foe.”
“There has been no unusual movement in the Wild Lands. I would have been notified if there had.”
“This threat doesn’t come from there, but rather from the lands beyond the Skaran borders.” The air stirred and Donal hesitated. “It’s currently fifty miles beyond them, in fact.”
“Which probably puts it in the dead zone. Not an area we can access easily.”
I frowned. “What’s the dead zone?”
She glanced at me. “It’s a once lush land that was totally destroyed by a volcanic eruption over nine hundred years ago. No one lives there.”
I frowned. “Surely nine hundred years is more than enough time for regeneration?”
“Yes, and much of the area has recovered. It’s really only a wide strip of land that runs directly from the old volcano that hasn’t.” She hesitated. “But even in the regrowth areas, there is—as far as we can ascertain—no wildlife. If animals are unable to survive there, it is unlikely any possible threat to us could.”
“I take it, then, you don’t have patrols out that far?” Donal asked.
“Indeed not. Not only are the Skaran in the way, but it’s also impractical to carry the amount of provisions needed for such a journey. We cannot get vehicles through the Wild Lands or over the mountain passes—and any work done to make either passage viable for such movement would only make it easier for the city to be attacked.”
I frowned. “Then how can you be so sure that those lands remain uninhabited?”
Her gaze flicked to me. “Because we’ve trained blue hawks to carry small vision recorders into both the Skaran lands and as far into the dead zone as possible.”
Blue hawks were small birds of prey who were native to Cannamore as a whole, but more prevalent throughout Mauvaissia. In ancient times—before the development of halos and scribe pens—they’d been used in wartime situations to deliver messages between the front lines and the commanders at the rear. Part of the reason most armies no longer used them was the fact that their flight range was limited and they could only be used in the daylight hours.
Donal frowned. “Even so, we cannot ignore the wind’s warnings—”
“I will not endanger my people or even the Divonian relief squad to seek out a threat that might not eventuate, no matter what your mistress says,” Marttia said. “The Skaran fiercely protect their borders and will spot any incursion within hours. And with winter almost on us, the mountain passes are already close to unusable.”
“Neither of which is a problem for a wind mage. We’ll go over the Skaran—they won’t even see us.”
Marttia frowned. “But why won’t the wind simply tell you what the threat is?”
“Because she can’t actually see it—something blocks her in two locations.”
That raised my eyebrows. “What can block the wind?”
His gaze met mine. If the ethereal glow in those rich blue depths was anything to go by, the wind still spoke to him. But it was the concern so evident behind the glow that worried me.
�
�Another air mage. Or magic.”
“How likely is either?” Marttia said.
“Before I arrived in this city, I would have said virtually impossible.” His voice was grim. “Few outside the Westal Ranges have the ability to speak to the wind, and even fewer can control her. As for magic—I don’t think there’s been a spell master in Cannamore for many centuries.”
“Personal magic and small spell makers still exist here, though. And the great mages certainly left behind many items of magic—both the King’s Sword and the restraint bracelets are evidence enough of that.” I rubbed my arms lightly, but it didn’t do much against the growing chill. “And how would we know if any spell masters had been born? It’s not like anyone keeps track of the bloodlines anymore.”
“That’s because the last known grand master died without offspring.” Marttia frowned. “If, however, that situation has changed, we need to know. This place is all but impervious to traditional weaponry, but it was never designed to withstand the forces of magic.”
“None of our cities are,” Donal said. “Which is why we need to start preparing.”
If Mauvaissia fell, then my homeland would be the next one hit. With the earth no longer responding to the king, she would have to rely on nothing more than her walls and her people—and our walls were no stronger than those of Rodestat.
Of course, in such a situation, the earth might recant her withdrawal from the king. And with the earth at his disposal, there would be few enemies he could not defeat—even one armed with magic.
Warmth stirred under my feet, and then a deep, rich voice reached into my mind and said, no.
Tears briefly touched my eyes even as fierce, bright joy leapt through me. For twelve long years I’d been waiting to hear the voice of the earth again. To do so now—so loudly and so clearly—was something I’d almost given up on.
But the anger that ran through the denial had me frowning. Not even if Divona was under threat?
No. He is a betrayer and, as such, will not be tolerated and cannot be obeyed.
Meaning that on his death, his voice will not join yours?
The stain of evil will never be welcome amongst us.
I wondered if the king was aware of the consequences yet to come. Wondered if he’d even care. With his mind fragmenting, it was very possible he wouldn’t.
“And how does one prepare against magic when there are no spell casters in these lands?” Marttia asked.
“I can’t answer that question right now,” Donal said. “But between earth and air, we’re not exactly helpless.”
“Earth?” Her gaze shot to me. “You were the reason for the recent tremor?”
“Yes.” Despite my best effort, anger crept into my voice as I added, “Did you think the king forced those restraints onto me just so I could become a plaything for all and sundry?”
“I was given the impression all Divonian princesses wore them.”
I snorted. “And who gave you that impression? The king? My brother?”
“Brother.”
She reached out—whether to offer comfort or an even an apology I had no idea and really didn’t care. I stepped back quickly and her hand touched nothing but air.
“Don’t,” I said, voice sharp. “Not ever again.”
Her expression told me she both saw and heard the anger, but I was pretty sure she didn’t understand it. Just as I was sure if she had intended an apology, it wasn’t, in any way, related to her usage of me. That, like many other things, wasn’t in her nature.
She let her hand drop and glanced at Donal. “I wouldn’t wish to sanction a journey into those lands without first informing the incoming commander and scout captain. If Rodestat is in danger, they need to be made aware of the situation.”
“I agree,” Donal said.
“How soon do you wish to leave?”
“Sometime within the next week, preferably.”
Marttia nodded. “There’s a major storm forecast in three days; it would provide you with more cover and lessen the chance of the Skaran spotting you.”
It also gave us more time with our respective teams, and that was vital—at least for me. Dravan was obvious assassin material, but I doubted he’d be the only one. My brother had always hedged his bets.
Marttia glanced at the wall to our right. “Hargon, please summon Commander Gallego and Captain Marx to the war room immediately.”
“Yes, my queen,” an unseen male responded.
“Soldiers hidden within walls?” Amusement twitched Donal’s lips. “I thought the Red Queen was above such things?”
Marttia’s smile warmed the dark depths of her eyes. “She is, but she isn’t a fool, either. This way, both of you.”
She spun on her heel and walked toward the far wall. A small section immediately slid to one side, revealing six soldiers standing either side of a bright hallway. They snapped to attention as Marttia approached, then turned crisply and gave escort. We wound our way through various halls and staircases; gradually the plain corridor gave way to wide red halls that were furnished with bright tapestries and lit by natural light.
After climbing a final, very long set of metal stairs, we approached a solid-looking door guarded by a man and a woman. Once the door was coded open, Marttia led us into a long room in which the opposite wall was entirely glass. The view beyond was amazing—we were so high up that both the Red City and the garrison lay before us. Had it been daylight rather than night, I suspected we might have been able to see the tree-covered hillside on the far side of the garrison wall. No wonder it was called the war room; from this vantage point, Marttia would see everything that went on without any sort of help—though I had no doubt there’d be all manner of communication devices here, even if they weren’t immediately visible.
As we moved toward the long stone table that dominated the room, I spotted a metal tower to the far right and realized we were in the red arch that soared across Rodestat.
Marttia sat at the head of the table, Donal to her left. I hesitated, and then walked across to the window, staring out over the night-covered streets. We were so high up it was impossible to see if people were moving along them, but even if they were, they would have been little more than insects.
I crossed my arms and tried to ignore the insidious whisper that I was no better than those insects. That I had no right to be in this room.
Silence reigned for who knew how many minutes, but I could feel the weight of approaching steps through the stone under my feet and watched the doors via the reflection in the windows. They eventually opened; Gallego and Marx entered, and then stopped to incline their heads at Marttia—an informal acknowledgment of her rule and all she generally required. Had it been Divona’s court, a full bow would have been given.
“Gentlemen,” Marttia said, “please sit. Princess Nyx, I would prefer it if you also did so.”
I turned and walked back to the table, but I didn’t immediately sit. Maybe it was childish, but I simply didn’t want to be seen obeying her orders. I wasn’t one of her people—I was her ruler. Or would be, if I ever gained the glass throne.
Commander Gallego’s gaze swept me, but he kept a tight lock on whatever he thought of my presence in the room as he turned to Marttia and said, “May I ask why you’ve called this meeting? We’ve had no information about an incoming attack by the Skaran.”
“Lord Donal requested this meeting. It is he who should explain why.”
Donal immediately did so. When he’d finished, Gallego frowned and leaned back in his chair. “The recent skirmishes with the Skaran give no indication they are under threat from another quarter. If they faced a new foe, their attacks against us would have eased.”
“This threat hasn’t yet reached their borders. As I said, it lies at least some fifty miles into the dead zone.”
“Impossible,” Gallego commented. “There’s no life in that blighted place, and no way to survive there. Even the water is said to be poisonous.”
“
And yet some regeneration has occurred on either side of the dead strip, has it not?” I said. “Given the flight range of a blue hawk, it’s possible repopulation has occurred elsewhere even if it hasn’t reached the outskirts of the dead zone yet.”
“Even if that were the case,” Gallego said, “it doesn’t alter the fact that the Skaran would be aware of any imminent attack and would have reacted accordingly. That they haven’t altered their thrusts against us speaks volumes of this unknown, unseen threat.”
“If the area is as barren as you say, Commander,” Donal said, “they’d have no reason to venture that far into it.”
“So what is it you wish of us? The Wild Lands and the Skaran lie between this unidentified threat and us. We have no vehicles that can safely traverse either the Wild Lands or the Peaks, and walking is impractical given the distances involved. And I, for one,” he added heavily, “am loath to waste time on something as insubstantial as the whispering of the wind. Sorry, Lord Donal, but the garrison’s resources are limited.”
“I think you’ll find Lord Donal understands that,” Marttia said, “and he’s not asking for the garrison force to be used in a quest into the dead lands.”
“Then what is the point of this meeting?” Gallego said.
“Aside from apprising us of a potential threat, you mean?” Her voice was deceptively mild given the flare of annoyance that made her eyes gleam with bloody fire. Gallego, I surmised, wasn’t one of her favorite people.
“Yes, obviously.”
“I want any maps you might have of the place,” Donal said, “and any information you can dig up about the area, either before or after the eruption.”
“The only maps we have of the area are archived ones,” Marx said. “They’d be of little use now, given that the quakes that continue to plague this entire region would undoubtedly have changed the topography.”
“There’d still be some markers in the landscape that remain the same,” Donal said. “We’ll also need basic survival supplies—”
“Enough.” Gallego’s voice was curt. “Forgive me, Queen T’Ivio, but approval for such a mission lies with me, not you. Aside from the fact we work in units of five for good reason, Lord Donal has no more rights within the squadron than any other criminal—”