It did. And it terrified him too.
But he only nodded. Then he turned to Kashkari and Amara. “It would appear that we have found another way into Atlantis.”
After they had gone over the logistics, Amara wished to spend some time in prayer and asked Kashkari to join her. This left Titus and Dalbert alone.
“Miss Seabourne asked that I keep an eye on your back, sire,” said Dalbert. “May I take a look at it?”
Titus had nearly forgotten about his injury. Despite his strenuous day, his back had not hurt. Dalbert too pronounced himself satisfied—apparently the remedies had worked as they ought to and he did not need to be bandaged anymore.
They sat down again around the dining table. “Any more questions I can answer for you, sire?”
Dalbert knew him very well—something else Titus had failed to appreciate. He exhaled. He might as well, as the opportunity would not come again. “I encountered mentions of my father in my mother’s diary for the first time this morning. You served my mother during the time of their courtship. What can you tell me about him?”
Dalbert seemed to be considering his choice of words. “He was . . . a simple man, simple in the best sense of the word—frank, kind, and lively without being silly or irresponsible. Had I a daughter or a sister, I would have been pleased if she’d brought home such a young man.”
“But?”
“But my daughter or sister would not someday become the Mistress of the Domain. She would not be expected to face complicated and difficult situations—or deal with a hostile enemy that required the most careful and delicate of handling. Your father would not have been an asset to a woman in such an environment—but a liability. A princely house is no place for a man who does not understand treachery or deceit.”
“Are you certain he does not understand such things? He is Sihar, is he not? Is it possible for a Sihar man to come of age without understanding something of the complexity and cruelty of the world?”
The Sihar, for their practice of blood magic, had long been shunned by the rest of the mage community. And though it was no longer acceptable to openly discriminate against the Sihar, the old bigotry had endured in subtler and sometimes more insidious new guises.
“You would think that the prejudice that surrounds them would breed bitterness in every Sihar heart. And yet I have found that is not always the case. Sometimes the response of those who receive a disproportionate share of the world’s ugliness is a startling beauty of character, a warmth and joie de vivre that one cannot help but be attracted to and moved by. Yet I was convinced that he would wither if she were to make him her consort—it requires a certain sternness, a certain ruthlessness, if I may say so, to successfully wear the crown. Her Highness, as such, did not possess enough sangfroid. If she were to ally herself in marriage with a man even more temperamentally unsuited to rule . . .
“In any case, I recommended that she go about it the old-fashioned way: marry one of her barons to strengthen her position and keep her lover away from the gaze of the public. But Her Highness was an idealist. She didn’t want to follow my advice, even though she acknowledged that it was sound.
“We disagreed strongly over the matter—it was probably the most strained our relationship had ever been. Then one day she came, distraught, and asked that I never seek to harm her beloved. I was hurt that she thought I would overstep my bounds to such an execrable extent, and I told her so.
“For the first time in all the years I’d known her, she wept. She told me that something terrible would befall him and begged me to promise her that it would not be at my hand or my instigation—as I was the only one in whom she had confided his identity, who had the means and motive to remove him from her life.
“To put her at ease, I volunteered to take a blood oath. She declined to bind me with one, saying that my word was good enough. She next agonized over what to do about her father. He was not opposed to a youthful indiscretion or two on her part, but she had kept her affair in extraordinary secrecy because she feared what he might do if he were to find out that her lover was Sihar. In the end she decided not to say anything to Prince Gaius and to marry only after she ascended to the throne, when no one could gainsay her—or arrange for her beloved to meet with an unfortunate accident.
“The second week of January 1014, your father went on his annual volunteering trip abroad. The Sihar community of the Domain is far wealthier than those in many other realms, and the young people of the community often traveled overseas to help their less fortunate kin—this was in the years before the January Uprising, when mages still had the freedom of instantaneous interrealm travel. Though Her Highness missed him desperately, she was glad he was away from the Domain, away from her father’s caprices.
“He was expected to return in a fortnight, before the start of spring term, but he never did. When he was confirmed missing, I spoke to everyone who knew him. His friends who had gone abroad with him agreed that he started his return journey before they did, with every intention of resuming his everyday life in Delamer. But somewhere along the way he disappeared.
“I reported my findings to Her Highness. She rose, pale and shaken, and told me that she had already seen a snippet of my report in a vision—except she’d thought she would have more time.
“She asked me to keep searching. When every avenue of inquiry came to a dead end, she confronted her father at last. They had an awful row. He was adamant that he’d had nothing to do with it—that had he known, he would have indeed done something, but there would have been no secrecy, at least not between father and daughter. He would have let her see exactly how he’d deal with this unsuitable young man.
“She did not believe him. She told him that the child of ‘this unsuitable young man’ would sit on the throne. Well, you are the Master of the Domain, sire.”
Titus gripped his hands together. “Do you believe Prince Gaius?”
“I don’t know that I do. He certainly took pleasure in telling the ugly truth, but he was not above a convenient lie or two. After all, if he had been behind it, what was the point in confessing at that late stage?”
Titus nodded slowly. “Do I . . . do I look like him at all, my father?”
“You have something of his aspect, sire; but in the main, you bear a far greater resemblance to Her Highness.”
“Did my mother keep any images of him?” Would he at last have a glimpse of his father? Would he recognize something of himself in the smile that his mother had loved so much?
“If she did, I did not find any among her belongings after her passing.”
Disappointment cut sharp and deep—it was not to be, then. Titus should be accustomed to yet one more of his heart’s desires not being granted, but the feeling of emptiness inside Titus only intensified.
He pushed aside the sensation of loss. “You said he was expected to return before the start of spring term. Was he a student?”
“Yes, sire. At the Royal Hesperia Institute.” The Royal Hesperia Institute, situated at the other end of University Avenue from the Conservatory, had been built by the Sihar so that their children too could receive an advanced education. “He was a student of botany.”
Realization dawned. “The vine that my mother loved to sit under? Did he give it to her?”
“Yes, sire.”
How often had he seen his mother, caressing the stem or a leaf from the vine? And when was her room without a garland of the small golden flowers, draped over a mirror or a bedpost?
Titus swallowed the lump in his throat. “Am I named after him?”
“Yes, sire, you are. His name was Titus Constantinos. His father—”
“Was Eugenides Constantinos, who ran the Emporium of Fine Learning and Curiosities on University Avenue.” Now it all made sense. “What happened to him?”
What happened to my grandfather?
“Titus was his only child, and I’m afraid the loss was too much. He sold his shop and moved back to Upper Marin March. He died a
few years later.”
And Mrs. Hinderstone had bought the place and opened her sweets shop, where Fairfax loved to go for pinemelon ice, not knowing that she was sitting in the very same spot where her fate was first written. And where his parents had met and fallen in love.
“Thank you, Dalbert,” he said. “Let me not keep you with any more questions.”
Much still needed to be done before they left the mountains.
Dalbert rose to his feet. “If I may, sire, I would like to accompany you.”
It was tempting, terribly tempting, to say yes. “I would give my wand arm to have you. But war and destruction are coming to these shores, and you will be desperately needed here. You know who can be trusted. Help them to protect my people.”
Dalbert inclined his head. “I understand, sire.”
Titus rose and touched his forehead to Dalbert’s. “Thank you, Master Dalbert. Thank you for everything all these years.”
Dalbert, with a sheen of tears in his eyes, bowed and left.
Titus wiped the heels of his hands across his eyes as he watched the departure of the man who was the closest thing he had to a father figure.
There was nowhere to go now but Atlantis.
CHAPTER 13
PALACE AVENUE, THE BIGGEST THOROUGHFARE in Delamer, passed before all five mage-made peninsulas that constituted the Right Hand of Titus. It was not the liveliest place at night, as most of the grand edifices on either side housed the various agencies and departments that ran the business of the realm—the House of Elberon had always understood that the trick to surviving a few incompetent rulers was a strong bureaucracy capable of seeing to the day-to-day operations of the Domain even if an idiot sat on the throne.
But usually one could expect to see some flow of traffic and pedestrians, attending a concert in the public parks or going down to the beach for a moonlight stroll. Tonight the avenue was utterly empty and the reasons, scores of them, hovered motionlessly overhead, each metallic bird shining a harsh light upon the capital city, which together mashed into an overbright ceiling that shut out the stars.
Armored chariots.
There were none directly above the Citadel, but the nearest one was at most a mile away. And for five miles around the Citadel, it was a no-vaulting zone.
Titus whispered a prayer and leaped onto his carpet. He shot out of the shadows of a grove of blue linden, crossed Palace Avenue, and sped up Citadel Boulevard. There were guards along Citadel Boulevard, but as he passed overhead, instead of challenging him, they saluted: the underside of the flying carpet glowed with the image of a phoenix and a wyvern guarding a shield that bore seven crowns, his personal standard.
The gate of the Citadel opened. He hurtled past, not slowing down until the walls of the palace itself blocked his way. Wrenching the carpet to a sudden stop, he jumped off onto the grand balcony.
What he was about to do offered neither strategic nor tactical advantage. In fact, it was a colossally inconvenient feat to attempt, for which he would have to sacrifice the last copy of the Crucible still in the House of Elberon’s possession. But some things could not be helped. He was the sovereign of these lands, and on the eve of war, he must address his people.
He strode to a podium near the balustrade, placed both hands on its smooth, cool marble top, and recited the password and the countersign.
There came the sound of a small bell being struck, a soft reverberation that did not seem as if it would carry far. Yet it would be heard inside every home, classroom, and place of employment in the Domain, as would his voice.
Already, lights from the armored chariots were swinging toward the Citadel.
He inhaled deeply. “To the mages of this great city and this great realm, I speak to you as a crisis approaches. For months you have heard the rumors, of unrest far and near. But now Atlantis has declared hostilities upon us, upon all who will no longer tolerate its oppression. Protect yourselves, safeguard the ones you cherish, and shield those who cannot shield themselves. Better yet, fight for them.
“I cannot defend every one of you, but I will defend this realm to my last breath.” Which would be drawn elsewhere, for he would never see his own country again. “Remember always: Fortune favors the brave.”
The armored chariots careened toward him. And was it his imagination, or did he hear a faint but rising chorus of “and the brave make their own fortune”?
There was no time to listen more closely. He placed the Crucible on the podium. “I am the heir of the House of Elberon, and I am in mortal danger.”
As the last syllable left his lips, a hand closed around his arm.
Titus flung the hand away, his wand drawn and pointed, his heart pounding. But the person who landed in the tall grass with a cry was not an Atlantean soldier. Her eyes round, her hands held out in a gesture of supplication, she cried, “Please don’t hurt me, Titus!”
Aramia, Lady Callista’s daughter.
Behind her, Sleeping Beauty’s castle loomed in the distance, its turrets illuminated by light from torches and cressets far below. The dragons that guarded its entrance roared, a bit too loudly for the minor disturbance of their arrival on the meadow.
Instantly he was on alert, scanning the sky above.
“I wanted to tell you to get out,” said Aramia, getting to her feet. “Uncle Alectus has already informed Atlantis of your presence at the Cit—”
Titus yanked her behind himself. “Praesidium maximum!”
The strongest shield he could summon was barely enough to defend them against a shower of swords and maces. He swore. Bewitched weapons of this quantity—provided someone had not been editing the stories—could only belong to the Enchantress of Skytower, who should be busy besieging Risgar’s Redoubt.
Yet the massive silhouette outlined against the hills west of the meadows was none other than that of Skytower itself, a bulbous-looking stronghold set atop a huge rock formation roughly in the shape of a cone.
What the hell? Risgar’s Redoubt was a good hundred miles away. And Skytower, for all its other impregnable virtues, did not travel terribly fast. To keep Kashkari and Amara safe, he had stowed them inside the Crucible before he approached the Citadel, no more than fifteen minutes ago. How had Skytower managed to cover so much distance in so little time?
And where were those two?
“. . . me come with you.”
He turned sharply toward Aramia. “What?”
She swallowed. “My mother will now always be known as the one who betrayed you and your elemental mage. I need to redeem her, to undo some of the damage she has unwittingly caused.”
But he had already stopped listening. Kashkari and Amara zoomed toward him, pulling up into a vertical climb to check their breakneck speeds. Their carpets circled back and hovered ten feet overhead.
“Get off the ground!” shouted Amara. “Now!”
Belatedly Titus remembered that once the Enchantress’s weapons dropped down, they only became more dangerous. He shook open his carpet, pushed Aramia onto it, and jumped on himself, gaining just enough altitude to avoid being hacked to pieces by a line of rampaging swords.
“That’s the woman who crashed the party,” said Aramia.
Titus ignored her and spoke to Kashkari. “When did Skytower get here?”
“An eternity ago,” said Kashkari. “Or five minutes. You weren’t kidding when you said it was dangerous inside the Crucible.”
He had warned them in no uncertain terms to expect the worst when they got inside. But he had not expected this much trouble. As far as he could tell, the Crucible became more dangerous the longer it was kept open as a portal. When he had reentered the Crucible from the library of the Citadel to find the wyvern he had used for his steed lying in pieces on the meadow, the Crucible had been in use nearly an hour, if not more. But this time the Crucible had been open all of fifteen minutes.
“Praesidium maximum!” he cried, as another swarm of bewitched blades hurtled toward them, razor-edged and sibi
lant. He turned to Aramia. “Say ‘And they lived happily ever after.’”
“No. I’m coming with you.”
“You are not. Get out.”
“You have to make me.”
Under normal circumstances, he only had to take her by the arm, say the exit password, incapacitate her while they were outside, and then come back in again. But he could not possibly leave the Crucible right now, not when it must be surrounded by Atlantean soldiers on the grand balcony.
Nor could he push Aramia off the carpet and leave her to fend for herself until she came to her senses, not with the forest of hacking broadswords underneath them. And he did not have time to reason with her—Atlantean soldiers would follow them into the Crucible any moment now. But if she left the meadow, she would no longer be able to leave the Crucible at will, no matter how many times she shouted, “And they lived happily after!”
Not while the Crucible was being used as a portal.
“This is your chance to live.”
She shook her head, her face set.
He swore and spoke to Kashkari and Amara instead. “North-northeast. Fast as you can.”
He would just have to get rid of Aramia later.
“Who is she?” asked Kashkari as they sped in the direction Titus had specified.
“Lady Callista’s daughter. She grabbed on to me when I got in.”
“How can we trust her?” demanded Amara.
“If I go back out, the Atlanteans will interrogate me under truth serum,” Aramia pleaded. “And they’ll put me in the Inquisitory and keep me there, because they’ll know that I wanted to come and help you.”
“The Inquisitory is the better option for you,” Titus said impatiently. “Where we are going, everyone will die.”
“And it’s that much worse than spending the remainder of my life in a windowless cell in the Inquisitory, never to see the sky again?”
His answer was unequivocal. “Yes.”
Aramia fell quiet.
They flew at blistering speeds. Already they had passed over the market town from “Lilia, the Clever Thief.” Dread Lake, in the distance, was visible by its waters, which glowed an eerie red. And beyond that . . .
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