That was enough to grapple with. Now, she was learning that the narrative she was a part of was a lie. The narrative was the murdering of her comrades, a conspiracy of lies from her superiors, a political corruption in the High Houses, a greed corroding their world so deeply that the Society of the Watchers had grown from within it. She was a cogwheel to warring, to secrets, to spying, and to betrayal. She didn’t want to be.
She took a deep breath and looked up at Nori-Rin, and she knew in a glance that they were thinking the same thing, that they were both pondering the same question in the end: should they work with the Saeinfinae, who was here with a battalion of guardsmen, who knew the monarchs and al-Loriaris and who al-Loriaris would work with to stop the threat plaguing the Infinity?
Or should they leave on a blind mission to find the Council, with no promise of locating them and no way of knowing if they might be stripped for disobeying orders when they did?
But could the Council really punish them? They had uncovered so much of what was happening to the Order. They had uncovered the Society of the Watchers. They had uncovered the pillars of light—whatever they were. They had even unearthed an assassination plot and greater machination to end the world. Could the Council really punish them for that? And could they really punish Svahta and Nori-Rin for working with the Saeinfinae, the son of Councilman Veiyel himself?
Nori-Rin seamlessly voiced Svahta’s thoughts like they were her own: “Say we agreed to your terms. Joined you. Kept everything down to a pip. I know you’re not telling us everything. You’re smarter than that. So say we do put our necks on the line for you, what’s the worst the Council would do if they found out?”
The Saeinfinae went quiet. It worried Svahta the way he didn’t meet their eyes when he said, “What the Council needs, the Council bends to their will. What the Council cannot control, the Council does not keep. You would be surprised what they might be willing to sacrifice in the name of pragmatism. I was.” The words were eerie, and Svahta wondered with a sense of dread what the Saeinfinae knew that he wasn’t sharing with them. He looked up at them at last. “I swear to you, you will not suffer alone. They know I doubt them now, and as such, I shall not remain your Saeinfinae for much longer, however that takes shape.” His smile was tired and somber. “I have enemies at every end, it seems, and all will see me dethroned.”
Svahta felt a little bad for him, and wasn’t that something: her, pitying a man immortalized and deified. She couldn’t help but warn him. “Whether that happens or not, ya should still be careful, Your Excellency. This society, it’s got its eyes on ya, and those things a’ light, they can take over anyone, seems like. I’d cut down on your staff if I was you.”
She cast a pointed look at the guards still in the greenhouse with them. If it had been up to her, she would have erected a ward when they’d gotten here and excluded the guards from all this information, but perhaps the Saeinfinae had a specific reason for widening the circle of truth to beyond just the three of them.
The Saeinfinae gave a small bow of his head. “I will take it into consideration, Guardian Muiraighaille. My personal guards I trust with my life and secrets bo—”
The door to the greenhouse squealed open abruptly. Feet thumped down the stone path at a brisk run, and then a guard was standing in the middle of their meeting. Snow melted in his hair and on the feathers of his multi-coloured wings as he tugged the black mask covering his face down and bowed. He was more metal than man in his armour, and what man he was was scarred. The right side of his mouth was a jagged white wound that stretched all the way up his cheek toward his missing ear. The queer smile it gave him looked loony paired with his widened eyes.
“I’m sorry to be intruding, Your Excellency,” he said in a rush, “but you have two gents at the front gate. Two members of the Council, as it were. Ihjen d’Arturis and Ihjen Hun. They demand an ear with you, and they’re, ah, on their way.”
The greenhouse became a blur after that. Guards were excused, marching out in a disorganized flurry rather than in a uniform formation. Only three stayed behind: a dark-skinned man with long dreads and a set of magpie wings, the scarred man who’d heralded the Councilmen, and the bat demon who had been standing behind the Saeinfinae from the beginning. Svahta looked at each of them in turn, listening to the snow smack the panes of the greenhouse, waiting for the creak of the door that would signal the arrival of the Councilmen. When it finally came, she felt nervous. Should she and Nori-Rin have hidden? What would happen if they were found here? Would it look worse if they ran now?
Down the leafy path of the greenhouse, two Councilmen hewed. It was the last ones Svahta would have expected to travel anywhere together: Erestenius d’Arturis and Bal’Ah Hun, the most loquacious and the least talkative of the Councilmen, respectively. Councilman d’Arturis’ hair was lank and black, brushing the ground with his every elegant step. He was still in his armour from the Order meeting, but now, it reeked of blood. Sharp iron. Beside him, Bal’Ah Hun’s breastplate was similarly congealed with gore. The hem of his silks were stained. He was horned and crane-ish in the dark of the greenhouse, like the creeping shadow in a nightmare. He towered over Councilman d’Arturis.
Svahta remained frozen. A bead of sweat rolled down her shoulder blades, and she barely suppressed a shiver. What had the Councilmen been up to, she couldn’t help but wonder, to end up looking like that?
“Erestenius,” the Saeinfinae greeted with a hollow smile. He was seated at his bench again, legs crossed. He made no move to stand or bow, and he gave no deferential tip of his head. “Bal’Ah. My lords, I didn’t expect to see you quite so soon. My father was here just this afternoon. Could it be that you’ve received new word on Maluviahl at last? I’m sure Artysaedra will be relieved to hear it.”
Nothing about Councilman d’Arturis’ face hinted at what he was thinking, and when he spoke, his voice was high and aristocratic, like a piccolo, out of tune with everything but itself. “She is still missing, Your Highness.”
“A pity. There have been no other occurrences?”
“None, Your Highness.”
“That is fortunate.”
“It is.”
“I do hope she’s found soon.”
“As do we.”
“You have no business for me then?”
The Saeinfinae’s words were all light and lacked any depth, volleyed back and forth between him and the Council easily. Svahta could only stand there and watch.
Lies, she thought. All of this. It’s all lies.
Councilman Hun’s eyes slid over to her, as though he could hear her thinking. His lips curled up into a predator’s smile. “You keep odd company at night, lordling. One would think with the unexplained disappearance of Maluviahl that you would know it is perhaps unwise to have so many Guardians in your Realm.”
“Is it?” the Saeinfinae said with a tilt of his head. “I was unaware. I suppose it is fortuitous that they were merely visiting.”
“Under what context?”
“As friends of Guardian Staatvelter, I would presume.”
Councilman d’Arturis’ mouth twisted into a sneer. “We were unaware Guardian Staatvelter had taken up residence in your Realm, lordling.”
“He has not,” the Saeinfinae said, “but he is close with Artysaedra. It is not uncommon to find him here. I was in the middle of informing your Guardians that he left days ago, when he found that Artysaedra had taken ill with pox. I have not seen him since.”
Svahta could tell the Councilmen didn’t believe a word of any of what they were hearing and hadn’t from the beginning, but they were playing a game—the Councilmen and the Saeinfinae—a game of empty words sharpened into weapons.
Councilman Hun glared. He was the one to speak next, dipping his crane-ish head. “He has returned home then?”
The Saeinfinae shrugged. “How should I know, lords? I am here, and he is not. Despite my title, I am not a seer of everything in the Infinity.”
“So it would
seem,” Councilman d’Arturis said snidely. “You’ve said Guardian Staatvelter is not present. Then these two wards of ours have no further business here, do they? We would be remiss not to escort Guardians Baakutunde and Muiraighaille back to their Realms.”
Nori-Rin opened her mouth before Svahta could stop her: “Oh, that’s all right. We can walk ourselves to our own doorsteps, Ihj. Gets a bit funny if you do it. Kiss at the end of the date and all. We dance around, decide if we invite you in or not. Might muck up our work relationship, don’t you think?”
Councilman Hun’s bird-thin face darkened. “We insist, Guardian Baakutunde; therefore, if you would.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the door of the greenhouse, and Svahta knew that there was no talking their way out of this. They were going to be escorted home by two Councilmen, both of whom were covered in blood and now suspicious of Svahta and Nori-Rin. “Enjoy your night, Raener.”
“Of course,” the Saeinfinae said with a tip of his head. Only when the Councilmen started down the greenhouse path with Svahta and Nori-Rin on their heels did the Saeinfinae call out, “Though, my lords, leaving fruitlessly as you are, I must wonder now why you saw fit to visit me so late.”
Councilman d’Arturis stopped in his tracks. Svahta tripped to a halt to avoid barrelling into him. She stared at his backplate. There was a long gash in the enchanted metal. “I suppose we came to ask you a question, Raener: do you stand by what you baselessly suggested in the scroll you sent us yesterday?”
Svahta could hear the smile in the Saeinfinae’s voice when he said, “I don’t know. Were those five really poisoned by foreigners?”
“Keep your nose firmly where it belongs. That is your final warning. You have always been too smug for a mutt’s bastard.”
“And you have always been too short on heirs.”
Together, the four of them—Svahta, Nori-Rin, and the two Councilmen—left the greenhouse and came out into a wall of winter air that cut like a blade. A flurry of snowflakes obscured the moon-hazed night. Out here, dozens of guards were huddled up, not far from the Saeinfinae even though they’d been dismissed. The Councilmen bypassed them without a glance, leading Svahta and Nori-Rin through the banks of snow and back into the castle.
They passed through a series of random corridors and made their way into a room with checkered floors, twinned staircases, and unlit crystalline chandelier, but they didn’t linger. They kept walking, passing from gilded hall to gilded hall, only coming to a halt once they entered the castle’s colossal foyer. Svahta had barely taken notice of it earlier, when she and Nori-Rin had begged their way inside the castle gate. The foyer was dark now but for the blaze of popping torches. She waited, staring at the marred steel of the Councilmen’s blood-caked backplates.
“We have matters to attend to more important that child-rearing,” Councilman Hun said without turning around. His voice was loud and echous. The light of the torches played across the midnight black of his gore-tendrilled hair. “Escort yourselves home and see that you stay there.”
“And remember,” added Councilman d’Arturis in his high voice. “Our eyes are always open, Guardians Baakutunde and Muiraighaille. They see ahead and behind.”
Nori-Rin raised a hand. “What about slightly to the left?”
Svahta could hear Councilman Hun grind his teeth. “Ensure you do nothing outside of our presence that you would not do within it.”
“Does that include touching myself?”
Without a response, the two Councilmen vanished, and Svahta winced as something pinched the back of her head. She turned but found nothing. Dismissing it, she elbowed Nori-Rin hard in the forearm. “You’re gonna get yourself stripped, ya fool.”
Nori-Rin snorted. “Oh, like the louts’ll have time to throw a Realm-wide competition to replace me right now. Who knew the end of the world meant job security.”
“I stress again: idiot.”
“Oh, absolutely. But your idiot at the very least, tiki.”
“Are ya ever gonna tell me what that infernal word means?”
“Not even on my deathbed.”
Svahta blew out a breath and turned in a slow circle, surveying the torch-lit foyer. It was formidable, its dimensions so expansive that a manor estate could have rested inside it with room to spare. Along its panelled walls were five portraits and a blank space clearly intended for a sixth. Two of the portraits predictably held the Saeinfinae and the Eijeinfinae, their likenesses no different from any of the others Svahta had seen in her life, but the three other portraits illustrated the children of the Veiyel household. There was Draven, painted in a white room to contrast his dark hair and browned skin. He looked barely escaped from boyhood; his cheeks were still round, his hair was cropped short, and the lace cinching his throat gave him the appearance of a swaddled babe. In the painting, he was looking at the artist with little emotion from behind a desk, a single piece of parchment underneath his folded hands. Kinrae, in the portrait beside his brother’s, was the epitome of a young gentleman, however: a stoic set to his soft mouth, a sharp angle to his high cheekbones, and a poise in the rigidity of his shoulders. He was both lace and steel, simultaneously. He was cast in brilliant white oils, his cheeks a gentle pink, but darkness encroached on the edges of his canvas, making the young heir a beacon in the inky blackness.
Artysaedra’s portrait was across the hall, next to the blank patch of wall. The painting was noticeably newer than the others, its oil fresher and less dulled. In her portrait, Artysaedra was unrecognizable compared to the woman she was today. She was lounging on a chaise in the painting, her wine-red gown billowing in a waterfall of silk from her neck to her slippered toes. A long braid of glossy black hair curled over her shoulder and into her lap. She looked gentle and feminine, ripe for breaking. The only thing that belied the image was her eyes: they were dark pits, and they spoke of death.
There were footsteps behind Svahta, and she turned. It was to her surprise that one of the Saeinfinae’s guards was waltzing toward them through the empty foyer. It was the bat demon who had stood behind the Saeinfinae in the greenhouse, a wordless apathy to her face. Torchlight glinted off her steel. Her boots clicked off marble. Her membranous wings twitched as she came to a stop and thrust out a scrap of paper at Svahta.
With trepidation, Svahta took it from her and read.
I will lend to you my personal guard, Kahvi Grimyaenath of the Honorable House da Veig. She is a seeress of some repute and a master of spellcasting, the likes of which is not oft seen in our kind. She will be of use to you and, as such, of immeasurable use to me. She will be a point of communication between us in a time during which we may mistrust even ourselves. I would offer no other in her stead. Fare thee well.
Svahta showed the message to Nori-Rin, who read it, looked up at the witch-soldier, then read the message again. She shrugged, and it was all Svahta needed in order to know that they weren’t going to contest this, as much as Svahta wanted to. If the Saeinfinae was assigning them a top-class guard with whom he trusted his own life, surely it was implied they weren’t allowed to decline. In the end, Svahta supposed they needed the extra hands.
She was still wary. There was no way for her to see behind this proclaimed witch-soldier’s eyes. There was no way to tell if she was possessed, if a sentient light dwelled inside the darkness her bones housed. Svahta looked the woman over, dissecting.
Now that they were in a lit foyer, Svahta got a better look at the Saeinfinae’s witch-soldier than she had in the greenhouse. In her armour, she was broad and androgynous, her face heart-shaped and her forehead tall, clipped only by a deep widow’s peak. While she towered over Svahta by a good six inches, she was still shorter than Nori-Rin by at least half a head. In her crazy nest of tawny-red hair were two bat ears, black, pointed, swivelled forward. Black ash smeared a wide stripe over her eyes. Its presence made the pale colour of her irises stand out more. Their colour was entrancing and penetrating, the kind of grey-green of a lake during a thunderstorm. Svahta
felt on trial by them, pinned in place, like the point of a blade was pricking the skin of her throat, threatening more.
When at long last the woman smiled, bruise-red lips parting like the night birthed free of the clouds, Svahta could see that her teeth were stained black. The woman gave a twist of her gauntleted hand.
When the paper in Svahta’s hand went up in flames as a result, Svahta jumped. She dropped it, and there on the polished marble floor that danced with the reflection of the foyer’s torches, the letter burnt down to an insignificant amount of ash.
“I am very excited,” the witch-soldier said, drawing Svahta’s eyes up from the floor. The woman vibrated with energy. Her voice bore a strong lilt. “I am very excited indeed. It has been a long time since I left the castle without my king. I cannot wait. An adventure: it will be fun, no?”
Svahta stared at her, thoroughly taken aback. “Fun?” she parroted dumbly. “An assassination an’ world-wide destruction an’ the creators a’ the dang multiverse threatenin’ us to go home? That’s fun to ya? Your momma drop ya on your head as a babe?”
“Once or twice,” the witch-soldier said with a charming smirk, “but it cannot have done much damage to me, no? Here I am, ward of the Saeinfinae, given as a gift to you, a beautiful Guardian. I would be lying not to admit I am enjoying it. This is every woman’s dream, is it not?”
“Not really,” Nori-Rin cut in, and angled herself in front of Svahta. “I once dreamt I was a giraffe. It was odd. Not because I was a giraffe, mind you. But because I got elected mayor. Long neck and all. Spent the whole dream doing paperwork. Bit of a letdown, if you ask me. But you’ll pardon me when I say if anyone is going to enjoy themselves disproportionately to the situation”—and at this, her singsong soured—“it’s going to be me. That’s my thing, I’ll have you know. I have a lot of things. You should find your own.”
A Shard of Sea and Bone (Death of the Multiverse Book 1) Page 35