A Shard of Sea and Bone (Death of the Multiverse Book 1)

by L. J. Engelmeier

  She pressed it to her nose and took a slow, deep breath, like she was savouring a fine wine. There was the obvious smell of papyrus, but underneath it, she caught whiffs of sand and vanilla, and then—yes—musk. It was a heavy musk, like a man’s sweat. Lye was mixed in with it. There was even the faintest scent of urine on the page, too.

  “This,” she said, wide-eyed. “This smells exactly like the man that followed me earlier. Bet my chet on it.”

  “What?” Svahta said. Her tattooed hands froze on the tiger. “Someone was followin’ ya?”

  “Don’t worry about it, tiki.”

  “I’m worryin’ about it, obviously.”

  Bala-Yan cut into the conversation, all manners: “If the man was following you, he may have been trying to deliver this letter to you.”

  Nori-Rin shook her head. “I doubt it. He ran from me the second I acknowledged him.” She flipped the letter over in her hands, then flipped it back. “Why would he scat?” she asked, confused. “Then come back to deliver it anyway?”

  The room was silent, even the hall devoid of music and conversation. Nori-Rin could hear the fluttering heartbeats of the animals around the room, the sluggish churn of blood through Bala-Yan’s and Svahta’s veins. The fairy lights in the room dimmed and surged, and Nori-Rin stared at a section of them until her vision blurred. She had a creeping suspicion what was going on, but it was Svahta who opened her mouth and confirmed it.

  “Mysterious note delivered to a Guardian,” she said. “Now why’s ’at sound familiar?”

  Nori-Rin sent Bala-Yan out of the room, snapping a tight ward into place around her and Svahta. She turned in her chair. “You agree then. You think this is related to the murders, too.”

  “I do. Coincidence is like street magic,” Svahta said. “If ya spend too much time dazzled over its tricks, ya miss the hands really movin’ the pieces. We gotta look past the coincidence here. See the hands. Someone followin’ ya? A strange letter?”

  “I’m the next mark,” Nori-Rin said, and flapped the letter. “But I have the advantage of knowing it’s a trap.”

  “It’s still a trap,” Svahta said darkly. “Should send a battalion a’ your guard to answer it, if anythin’.”

  “I should,” Nori-Rin said, but then she waggled her eyebrows. “Or we could investigate ourselves. The two of us against the world, just like the old days. What are the chances they could take us both, tiki?”

  Svahta glowered. “We don’t know how they took down the other four Guardians, an’ we don’t know what power they got under their command, neither. ’Sides, ain’t like we can call for help none if we need it. Council’s gone, an’ they’d strip us if they found out we disobeyed ’em anyway. S’not a good idea, Ri. I don’t like sittin’ around no more’n you do, but I ain’t eager to chase down death blind. If ya want us investigate this—fine. I can’t stop ya. I know I can’t. But send your guards. Let ’em get sight a’ our enemy ’fore we go chargin’.”

  “But if I send my guards, the enemy will see them coming. They’ll scat, and we’ll lose this lead,” Nori-Rin argued. “The Council isn’t here, tiki. Unless they’re hiding under my rug, of course. But I don’t think so. Pretty obvious, fitting eleven people under it. Big lump. What I’m saying is, you’re right. They’re gone. They won’t know what we do. All we have is ourselves right now, and we have the upper hand. We’re the only thing that might stand between our comrades and more murders—”

  “Your murder,” Svahta said, stern. “I ain’t riskin’ it.”

  “It wouldn’t stop with me. You know that. They’re not going to stop until they’re stopped.”

  Svahta looked down at her lap, suddenly quiet. Her shoulders hunched inward as she took a deep, shuddering breath and swiped at her face. The sight shot through Nori-Rin’s chest like an arrow, and she instantly felt guilty. All she wanted was another adventure with her su-lanah, the blood pounding through their veins. It always made Svahta smile. It always made the past slip out of her eyes a little bit more. And if it meant a chance at saving the rest of the Order while they were at it? Well, she didn’t see the harm.

  Nori-Rin crossed the room, nudging her tiger out of the way, and knelt at Svahta’s feet. The rug dug into her knees. Dropping the letter to the side, she cupped Svahta’s knees tight. “It won’t be like your family, tiki,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Nothing bad will happen to me.”

  “Ya don’t know that,” Svahta said. “If I lost ya, too, Ri? I don’t think— I can’t survive that. I won’t. You’re my best friend. You’re ’bout all I got left.”

  “You won’t lose me.”

  “You don’t know that, Ri.” Svahta looked up from her lap. Her eyes were full of anger. “I know we got duties to police this multiverse—to save it—but don’t rush into that fire. Don’t be an effigy on the altar.”

  “We have to be,” Nori-Rin said. “If we don’t lay our lives on the line for others, we aren’t worth their faith in us. We’re soldiers. We fight to save every life but our own. So come on. Try to have a little fun with me at least. A little near death experience is just what our week needs.”

  Svahta leaned back with a sigh. Her face quickly ironed out into a mask, her crystalline eyes hard. “Go on then. Open the letter.”

  They split the wax together.

  Guardian Baakutunde,

  I have in my possession a rare creature from the Realm of the Fortune Sea whose care I trust to few. Those few are unavailable, as is the Guardian of Fauna, and my beast is taken with affliction. Word of your talents healing beasts has reached my ears, and I write requesting your assistance. Price is no object. Time is of necessity. I plan to display the creature to visiting royalty at a ball I’m hosting at week’s end. You may arrive whenever suits you. My Palace Guard has been informed.

  Empreja of Bal-Hakur,

  High King of the Realm of Sands,

  Member of the Saeinfinae’s High Court,

  His Majesty Nelo al-Loriaris

  BE SO LUCKY

  _______________________________

  Life is a recipe. The ingredients are to taste.

  unknown

  THE GRAND REALM OF THE INFINITE

  THE WEST WING OF THE CASTLE OF THE INFINITE ROYAL FAMILY,

  MOUNT DRAKIS, LUTANA, CAPITAL CITY-STATE OF THE ONE COUNTRY

  Draven had always thought the scorch mark on the ceiling of his laboratory looked like a lumpy banana.

  He set a row of full-meal potions out on his workstation, the jars hastily labelled with askew writing. He smiled fondly when he noticed that Kinrae must have finished brewing the coagulation potion he’d abandoned earlier that morning: the cauldron it had been in was clean now, and its muddy mess had been packed tight into a series of jars along the counter, all of their labels neat and tidy in a perfect, looped hand: coagulation, untested sample.

  He remembers what I’ve been working on, Draven realized, warmed by the thought. He’s been watching my progress.

  Kinrae was rummaging around in the storeroom behind him. Glass clinked against glass. Eventually, his brother emerged, arms laden with a stack of both human and demon healing salves in little tins, a few phials of warming potion, and a potted plant overflowing with tendrils of green leaves. He crossed the room awkwardly, set everything on the worktable, and then twisted and turned at the waist with a grimace, pulling at his breastplate.

  Draven sympathized. His own armour was annoying him, too, confining where his cotton shirts and trousers had been forgiving. On top of that, it was hot, what with so many layers of padding underneath the metal. Draven wanted to strip down to his smallclothes and frolic through the snow banks. Maybe just shove a handful of it down the front of his lambskin leggings. Sweat was already rolling down his temple.

  “That everything?” he asked Kinrae.

  “It is everything you asked for, Brother, yes.”

  Together, they tucked the supplies away in a burlap sack, which clinked and clanked every time it moved. Draven shove
d it through the invisible seams of the Realm into the ether, the space between worlds, where it would be safe and remain in stasis until he needed it again.

  Having accomplished everything they’d come here for, he and his brother left the laboratory behind and came out onto a second storey walkway overlooking the small western courtyard. The courtyard was quiet. A fountain with a hooded figure at the center was frozen over and coated in several inches of snow. The dry rose bushes lining the cloister whispered up against one another in the breeze. Not a gardener or servant was in sight. Snowflakes drifted down in a hazy flurry from the overcast sky, which had darkened with the arrival of late evening. Draven wondered how long it would be until the snow melted—the mountain keeping it longer than the valley—how long it would be until he could look down from the balustrade and watch Kinrae read at the base of the fountain again, his thumb damp, his hand always poised for the turn of a page. Sometimes, it took the better part of an hour before Kinrae noticed him and looked up, a smile on his face. It always made Draven’s heart quiver.

  He sighed. He was sure his feelings for Kinrae would vanish after his brother took a wife, and if they didn’t, he’d make them. After all, nothing spelled awkward family dinners like incest.

  It would have been a much simpler problem had Draven only wanted sex from his brother. But I want more, he thought. I want to hold his stupid hands. Kiss him when he loses himself in a book and starts mouthing the words. I want to sneak him lemon tarts because he has this lemon-tart-specific smile that lights up his eyes and I would listen to him drone on about politics for at least five solid minutes. Five whole minutes. And I wouldn’t even complain. He paused. Well, not much. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

  He didn’t notice Staatvelter had joined them until he cleared his throat. Irritated, Draven wrinkled his nose, which had begun to drip. Staatvelter was in the uniform of a castle guard like they were, all sharp points and polished steel, but he didn’t have a sword and he was short enough on top of it that he didn’t look intimidating. Instead, he looked like a bearded heap of metal.

  Staatvelter shivered and cursed the weather in a harsh accent, grumbling something in Anavene, then asked, “Are you ready yet?” He looked miserable, his nose cherry red. “We need to go soon. Sae’s been nagging me for hours. I’m losing my mind.”

  “Are you her pageboy now, Staatvelter?” Draven asked, and Staatvelter glared at him. “How cute.”

  “If this is how you’re going to act the entire mission—” He stopped himself and shook his head. “No, you know what? Never mind. I’ll be at the front gate with Sae. Feel free to join us after you’ve expended all your sarcasm, Your Highness.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’ll take no time at all.”

  Staatvelter stormed down the walkway and disappeared through a door that led back into the castle. Draven watched him go with a smirk. Any victory over Staatvelter was still a victory.

  “Brother?” Kinrae asked, and Draven hummed, distracted. “You’ve never explained to me why you’re so antagonistic toward Guardian Staatvelter. What happened between you two?”

  Draven blinked over at him. “Excuse me?”

  Kinrae hovered, a peculiar expression etched on his face, something between concerned and confused. It was hard to hold his gaze without feeling vaguely uncomfortable. Draven’s eyes found themselves drawn up to Kinrae’s hair instead, which was pulled into a high braid on Kinrae’s head, as white as the falling snow. He looked elegant, both feminine and masculine.

  “You two were close friends for many years,” Kinrae said, “closer than even he and Artysaedra as I recall. I never happened upon one of you without the other. For a time, I thought you had replaced me.”

  “No one could ever replace you,” Draven said, suddenly very uncomfortable. He turned toward the courtyard and leaned over the balustrade, toeing at some of the snow gathered on the walkway. “Isn’t it enough that you know I hate him? I don’t want to talk about what happened between us. It’s been two years.”

  “So something did happen then?” Kinrae joined Draven at the balustrade. He mirrored Draven’s stance. “You two fought?”

  “We didn’t fight.”

  “You must have disagreed over something. You were vehement in your avoidance of him, Brother, until he stopped visiting the castle at all. Now you two ridicule each other at every turn.”

  “We didn’t disagree.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Draven.”

  “Nothing—”

  “Draven, something had to have—”

  “Nothing happened, Kinrae—”

  “Brother.”

  “Sun and stars,” Draven said. He swiped the sheepskin palm of his gauntlet over his face, behind his swooping bevor. His hand caught and smeared some of the snot dripping from his nose. “Fine. All right? Fine. He just… He kissed me, I suppose,” he half-lied. If Kinrae wasn’t going to let this go, lying to him was unavoidable. Draven couldn’t tell his brother what they’d really fought about, what had really happened between them. “One minute, we were talking, and the next, he was— Well. Needless to say, it was hard after that to remain friends. Surely you can understand.”

  He chanced a look over at his brother, who was frowning down at the snowy courtyard. His face flitted through several emotions too quickly for Draven to pin them down, but when it finally settled on one, it was anger. Kinrae’s voice, however, was calm when he asked, “Why would he do that? Kiss you?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “You were”—Kinrae went a little pink—“interested in him?”

  “I’m sorry,” Draven said, taken aback, “he throws himself at me and you ask if I was the pursuant party?”

  Instantly, Kinrae looked apologetic. “I— You were— You were not interested in Staatvelter then?”

  “No,” Draven said resolutely. He kept his eyes on his hands. “Regardless of what the masses may think, I don’t sleep my way through every member of every envoy that crosses our doorstep. I have a set of standards. I don’t have interest in everyone, and I’m not shy if I do.”

  “I…” Kinrae trailed off. “I apologize.”

  For several long moments, the only sound was the soft fall of snow in the evening. When Draven couldn’t take the silence anymore, he sighed and turned away. He knew he was being unfair.

  No matter how many rumours circulated the castle, no matter how many judgmental glances Draven got in the streets, no matter what his reputation was, Kinrae had never treated him with disgust. At most, Kinrae was awkward about the subject, but never malignant. Draven was lucky for that. He knew he was.

  Would I be so lucky if he knew the man I desired was him? Draven wondered. Would he still be standing here if he knew the thoughts I’ve had about him? Draven knew his brother wouldn’t, and that was why he’d never say anything about it. He’d made that decision twenty years ago. Telling Kinrae the truth would destroy their relationship, and while being cast from their family for his perversions was a storm he could weather, losing Kinrae? It would kill him.

  Draven turned back to his brother. “Don’t worry. None of it matters. I haven’t been interested, as you say, in anyone. For years. And even if I had, it wouldn’t have been Staatvelter. Isn’t.”

  “I see,” Kinrae said quietly. “Is he interested in you? Guardian Staatvelter, I mean.”

  “No,” Draven. “Staatvelter only did it to be an ass.”

  “I don’t see the correlation.”

  Draven threw himself back against the balustrade and racked his brains for a half-truth he could give Kinrae without risking too much. “Well, we both know Saedra has whatever qualifies for a crush in her barbaric mind on Staatvelter, right? Perhaps crush is the right word. I’m sure she thinks punching a man is foreplay,” he said, and sighed. “My point is, Staatvelter knows she does, too. He knows she’s in love with him. I’ve told him before, incessantly, but he still— He wanted to prove he didn�
�t love her back, and that I didn’t— But it was the way he did it. Who tries to hurt someone they care about like that? He was her friend. Not to mention, he was supposed to be my friend, Kinrae. He was my best friend, for eighteen years, the one person I trusted not to—” He cut himself off, bringing his momentum to a halt before he accidentally revealed something he couldn’t. He looked away. “I shouldn’t have trusted him. He used me to prove a point, and he threw our friendship away to do it.”

  “He hurt you.”

  “He did,” Draven said. “I know you trust Staatvelter, Brother, but don’t. He’s not the type of person who cares who he hurts, even if those people are his friends.”

  RAZE THE PRAIRIE

  _______________________________

  A hollowsoul was spotted this evening off Route Forty-Four, taken down by the sheriff and twelve of his men. We, ah, got report of three casualties, including Sheriff Whitcock. Condolences to his family. So, ah, gotta take this time to urge our fanged listeners out there to, uh, please remember the dangers of human blood. Ya’ll’ll go nuts during the moon phase you were born under. Crazy bloodlust. Lombardo, he, uh, he says it only takes draining twelve human bodies before the state’s permanent. Ongoing, folks. No more monthly munchies. All the time. All the crazy. And eventually, uh, all the ugly. So if you’re a demon who’s been exposed to human blood, we, uh, we ask you: please submit yourself to the nearest containment and rehabilitation center.

  transcript from a radio announcement broadcasted in the Realm of Whistling Cliffs

  THE HIGH REALM OF SANDS

  THE THRONE ROOM OF THE EMPREJA’S PALACE,

  HIGHTOWN KHAJAL, CAPITAL OF BAL-HAKUR

  “For the third time, we did not send that letter, Miss Muiraighaille,” said Prince Ali al-Khajalis, the six-hundred-and-fifty-third son of Nelo al-Loriaris, “and we do not need the rumours your presence will bring to this palace. I have answered your question. Now leave.”