by Sarah Zettel
“Thank you, Agnidh,” said Kiriti. “Permit me to attend you. Behule, my sisters, let you do as has been suggested and settle yourselves.”
Kiriti escorted Sakra to the study door. Behind him came a flurry of questions and protests, and Behule’s firm counters to them all. While he claimed a lamp to light their way, Kiriti, who had always carried Ananda’s trust, unlocked the door with a key from a bunch she drew out from under her overskirt.
Once inside, Sakra set the lamp beside a cold, covered brazier, and Kiriti locked the door once more.
“Now, Agnidh Sakra, I pray you,” she said, with the right of one who had stood by her mistress at least as long as Sakra had. “Tell me what you know.”
“Little enough,” he answered, regretfully. “The Avanasidoch has given us the key to Mikkel’s release, but …” He stopped. Something was wrong. A wind touched him, warm and subtle, tugging at his heart and teasing gently with his thoughts. It spoke of movement, of travel, of open doors and dance.
He had felt that wind before.
“No. Not here. What is she doing!”
“Agnidh?”
But Sakra did not answer her. He knocked the chimney off the lamp, and tipped it into the brazier. The oil poured down onto the waiting charcoal and the flame ignited them both with a soft thump. Casting the lamp aside, heedless of where it fell, he snatched up a spool of red thread and an embroidery needle that had been left on a chair.
He drove the needle into his finger until the blood welled out of it, dripping down and hissing into the fire. He threw away the needle and took up the thread.
“By fire, breath, blood and binding, let your road and my road be one,” he said. “There is nowhere you go that I may not follow. I see you from afar and I follow you swift.” He repeated the chant, again, and again as he looped the end of the thread around his right wrist. The magic ran out of him down the length of the thread, called by blood and breath, and shaped by his spell bond with Bridget. He should have gone more slowly. He needed time to shape the spell properly, but he did not have any. He forced the magic through the gate of his soul, feeling it drain away his strength as quickly as if he had opened a vein in his arm. There were protections here, and they gathered around him, seizing him, holding him close, rooting him to the floor, even as his bond with Bridget pulled him forward.
He cast the spool of thread into the fire. “I see you from afar and I follow you swift. I see you from afar.” His voice trembled as the flame seized the thread, drawing the substance of the spun cord into itself. “I see you from afar, and I follow you swift.”
The spell pulled him forward. Vyshtavos’s protections held him fast. Sakra cried out loud at the pain of being torn in two. He could not go, but he must. He could not stay, but he must. The twin imperatives ripped open his heart, his veins, his lungs and his mind. Pain lanced through the deepest part of him.
“I follow you swift!”
And all was darkness.
• • •
When Captain Chadek and the house guard marched Kalami back into the Great Hall, he saw why Medeoan had kept him waiting for so long. All trace of celebration was gone from the room. The high-backed chairs of the council lords had been set out in their semicircle; four on one side of the imperial dais and four on the other so that the dowager sat in their midst, and yet held sway above them. All sat in their appointed places, glittering in the finery they had donned for their holy day, and frowned down at him. The ninth chair, his chair, had been discreetly removed.
Chadek and his men knelt, and Kalami did the same. No matter what he felt, now was the time for discretion until he heard what his imperial mistress had to say for herself. She would explain why she had betrayed him before all this was done. She would most certainly admit her regret of it, or he would tear that regret from her.
But it was not Medeoan who spoke, it was Lord Tabutai, her puffed-up minister of state, who prided himself on his fine physique maintained by riding about on horseback chasing slaves and other lowlies in mock cavalry exercises.
“Valin Kalami, Lord Sorcerer of the Eternal Empire of Isavalta,” Tabutai’s voice boomed through the hall. “You are accused of having knowledge of a conspiracy against the person of our most beloved and afflicted emperor. What have you to say to this?”
Kalami was glad that he knelt with his head bowed so none of them could see how he bit his lip to stop the outrage that longed to fill his voice. At least he was only accused of knowing, not of doing. That gave him some room. “Am I on trial here, Minister?”
“You are not, but that is only by the grace of Her Grand Majesty.”
Kalami risked a look up. Medeoan sat on her throne, grave and impassive. The little council lords, men chosen for their impressive degrees of stupidity, fidgeted, sat rigid or cast their restless glances about the room trying to guess how to turn these freshly flowing tides to their advantage, each according to his stunted nature.
“I only wished to be clear on that point,” said Kalami, looking as close to Medeoan as he dared. They were not alone. She would not permit liberties here.
“But what have you to say?” demanded Lord Luchanin, the castellan, with his gold chain rattling around his skinny shoulders and his heavy, and entirely ceremonial, gold keys dangling from his bony hip.
“I say that everything I have done, I have done in loyal service to Her Grand Majesty.” Kalami let his voice ring out clearly. Make of that what you will.
Medeoan, who had been watching him, fixed her pale eyes on the far wall. So, you at least hear me, Grand Majesty.
“The three men Captain Chadek found in the emperor’s apartments are being questioned even now,” pointed out Lord Muntat with studied calm. Kalami had wondered when he was going to speak. The man cultivated a façade of unflappability, believing it made him imposing. As if anything could make up for the fact that he was only as tall as a half-grown boy with hands as delicate as a lady-in-waiting’s. “What story they have to tell will be weighed carefully with any silence you choose to maintain.” Silently Kalami cursed all those in front of him. Finon. Honored Father. He was not just being questioned, surely. He was being put to the question. He would not cry out. Kalami was certain he would not. He would defy the Isavaltans in silence to the end.
“I have given you my answer,” replied Kalami calmly. “If Her Grand Majesty does not believe that I am her loyal servant, then let Her Grand Majesty say so.”
“Tuukosov dog!” spat Lord Luchanin so hard his gold keys clanged together. “How dare you make any demand of your mistress imperial!”
“I swore loyalty and fealty as a free man,” answered Kalami, aiming each word like a bolt at silent Medeoan. You will answer me! “My life, skills and body are all hers to dispose of, but I have the right to be heard and answered by her as my liege in any court, opened or closed.”
“You have been told this is not a trial,” said Lord Muntat.
“But it is a court.” The dowager’s eyes had not moved. They remained rigidly fixed, staring at the doors at the rear of the hall as if willing them to open to admit some rescue or distraction. “For you are here at the express command of Her Grand Majesty to question me and judge my answers.”
“Grand Majesty.” Fat Lord Kondateve finally decided to stir himself. “Do you deign to answer this man?”
Medeoan closed her eyes. “Stand up, Lord Sorcerer.”
Kalami rose slowly to his feet.
Her right hand dropped onto her bundle of keys. She did not open her eyes. “Why does the Avanasidoch accuse you of this thing?”
Kalami spread his hands, and spoke the truth. “I do not know, Grand Majesty.”
That opened Medeoan’s eyes, and they shined with both hurt and anger as they studied him. What did she want of him? Did she actually expect him to take all the blame for the orders she had given? “But you have spent the most time with her. By your account, you spent weeks in her home. You must have some understanding of her by now.”
Are you admitting she is not what you thought she would be? Slow hope simmered in Kalami’s breast. Do you see that she is capable of lying to you?
Kalami hesitated, choosing his words with care. He could not openly accuse Bridget, not yet. “I know that she has been bewildered since she came here. I promised her safety, but I failed her, allowing her to be kidnapped, and then her abductor appears in the place I swore would be her sanctuary.”
“You say the Avanasidoch is addled?” scoffed Lord Budilo. He was the oldest of the councillors and one of Medeoan’s first appointments. Of all the council lords, he was the one who truly worried Kalami. Budilo had learned over the years to play the dowager’s sympathies almost as well as Kalami himself had.
“I say she is confused, and I say, perhaps, because she has come so suddenly from obscurity to prominence, she does not hear the inner voice that speaks of her natural loyalties.”
Lord Budilo narrowed his eyes. “Then you say others influence the Avanasidoch to make false accusations? Who would do such a thing?”
You will not trick me into naming names here, my lord. “Come, my lord,” Kalami answered, meeting the man’s gaze without hesitation. “We all know there are those whose loyalty to Her Grand Majesty is all seeming.”
Medeoan began to breathe heavily as the import of his words sank in. Yes, Grand Majesty, she has sided with Ananda. You already know that. You simply do not wish to believe it. You want to save your pretty palace of private illusions, but it is beginning to crumble, is it not? He found himself smiling inwardly. Perhaps I will have cause to thank Bridget for this night yet.
“It is your actions that we are here to question, Lord Sorcerer.” Lord Tabutai stretched out one strong, brown, callused finger to point at Kalami, lest anyone become confused as to who he was addressing.
But Medeoan lifted her hand, and Lord Tabutai was forced to withdraw his gesture. The dowager rose to her feet, and slowly walked down the dais to face Kalami.
“My lord sorcerer,” she said. “We have worked well and fruitfully together, you and I, have we not?”
Kalami dropped his gaze in all proper respect. “Yes, Grand Majesty.”
“There were those who said I could not trust you, but I did not heed their counsel and my trust has been most amply rewarded. I have always been able to turn to you when I most needed help.”
“I hope this is true, Grand Majesty.”
“Then help me now.” Kalami heard the undercurrent of desperation in the request. “Help me to understand what has happened here. Why did the Avanasidoch say she saw her father stand beside you? What did he try to tell her?”
Her lies saved your skin. She could have accused you, and then what would have happened? But you don’t know why she lied, and that distresses you. You want to make me say it. Then, if anything else goes wrong, the words are mine, and never yours. I can stand doubly accused while you look on in horror at the Tuukosov who so bitterly betrayed all your trust.
You shall not have that of me.
Kalami spread his hands. “Grand Majesty, I swear I know no more of all this than you do.”
As the echo of his words faded from the air, Medeoan sucked in a startled breath, causing Kalami to jerk his gaze up. Her face crumpled in grievous pain. At first, Kalami wondered if his words had actually reached her, but when she pressed her hand against her belly, he knew its cause was far different.
“Out!” cried Medeoan, sweeping out her arm, even as she doubled over. “All of you away from me!”
The council lords gaped all goggle-eyed like a school of carp.
“Out!” screamed their dowager. “Save the lord sorcerer, out!”
Chadek, with his usual dispatch and efficiency, decided it was time to lead by example. The captain formed up his men. They marched to the doors and held them open so that the council lords, who finally understood what was happening, and the flocks of servants in attendance, might file out and have those same doors close behind them. Medeoan reeled up the steps of the dais until at last she leaned against her throne.
“It’s broken, isn’t it?” asked Kalami softly. His voice sounded thin and small in the huge empty hall that surrounded them. “The binding on Mikkel. It’s broken.”
“No.” Medeoan gasped heavily, gripping her throne’s arm, her eyes closed in pain. “No, it is not that. It is … No. Mikkel is still safe.”
What is happening inside you, old woman? Kalami thought sharply, but he made no move toward her. If she did not wish to tell him the cause, she could cope with this pain on her own. Which of your threads is breaking?
But he would have no answer from her about that yet. He knew her well enough to tell that much. There were other tunes he must play for her before that one could begin. “He will not be safe for long,” he warned. “Bridget saw him tonight. She doubtless saw the girdle on him and she will soon tell your enemies where it is.”
“It cannot be,” Medeoan said, doggedly determined in her denial. “She is Avanasy’s daughter. She cannot betray me.”
“Grand Majesty,” said Kalami as gently as he could manage. “I did not want to believe it either, but, whatever Avanasy was to you died when his body died. It does not live on in this false daughter. She was raised in another world among strangers. However strong she may be, what happens to Isavalta or to yourself is beyond her comprehension and beyond her heart’s ability to care.”
“You are wrong,” she said, each word grating against his skin. “You must be wrong.”
“I am right, and Your Grand Majesty knows it.” Kalami knelt at the foot of the dais. “It is hard to let go of a cherished hope, and I grieve for all that might have been, but Bridget is not to save Isavalta, and that must be faced.”
Medeoan bowed her head, pressing her hand against her forehead. For a long moment, she was silent. Around them, the dying fires crackled and the candles and lamps flickered softly as they burned the ends of their fuel. Fading, all the fires were fading, and Kalami felt his chances fading with them. If he did not make her believe now, this moment, he never would. He would be forced to flee without his payment and his revenge. He would fail. He could not fail. Tuukos waited in its chains for him to ransom it. His great-uncle’s bones waited for him to take revenge.
“Grand Majesty, please,” begged Kalami. “Do not be alone in your burdens. Let me help.”
Medeoan pulled in a deep breath. With the strength of will that even Kalami had to admit had always been genuinely hers, she straightened herself up, overcoming whatever pain afflicted her. “You have ever sought to help me, Valin. All my deepest secrets, you have kept them well. The duties I could entrust to no one else, you have performed.”
“Then let me do so again. All is not lost yet. We have time to work a new plan, but we must do it now.” Kalami extended his hand, a gesture meant to urge Medeoan to reach for him, her faithful servant, waiting at her feet. “Your mind is clouded now in your grief. Let me help you before it is too late.”
“Yes.” She wiped the tears from her eyes with the wrinkled and age-spotted back of her hand. “You will help me, Kalami.”
“With all the power I command.”
She descended three steps toward him, grasping his hand, and raising him up. “Help me bring Bridget back to me,” she said gripping him tightly. “Help me make her understand — ”
Red, raw anger burst through Kalami’s thoughts.
“Do you hear yourself!” he demanded, tearing his hand from hers. “The great empress of Isavalta is ready to grovel on the floor before an ignorant peasant woman because she can’t see past her own follies!”
Slowly, the dowager drew herself up, growing icy cold in her certainty of her position and her power, despite all. “You will not speak to me so.”
“I will,” returned Kalami doggedly. “I will tell you that your empire hangs by a thread and you are ready to snap that thread in two!” He flung wide his arms in amazement. “How can you still trust her? What one thing has she done to earn your trust?�
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“Her blood — ”
Kalami would hear no more of it. Not again. Not ever again. “She is the bastard daughter of a man you killed thirty years ago!”
“I did not kill him!” shrieked Medeoan, falling back even as she cried out her assurance. “He gave his life willingly for Isavalta!”
There, there it is at last. A wicked joy cut through Kalami. “You killed him! You let him die because you could not make Vyshemir’s sacrifice!” He took a step toward her. She was so small and so pale under all her finery. She trembled from the weight of it, from all those burdens she’d sought to cast away from her even while she clung to them with a tenacity that had bled the life from her. “You’d trust that blood which has been whispering in her veins for all her life that her father died because of your cowardice!”
“No!” But she fled back up the dais, seeking to tower over the truth he spoke.
“She’s been to the Land of Death and Spirit,” he said, walking slowly up the dais. She would no more stand above him. Never again. He spoke the deepest truth now, and she would acknowledge it. She would acknowledge what she had truly done, and what Bridget truly was. “She’s walked in the presence of her family’s ghosts. How can you be such a fool to think her your friend?”
“I did not kill Avanasy!” The force of that scream rang through the hall as if she sought to shatter the stones with her cry.
No. You do not get to tell yourself that lie anymore. You are mine, old woman. I have licked your slippers for all these years, but now, you will wear my collar, you and your precious Avanasidoch. I will chain you up so tightly you will never trouble my people again. “You did.” He stood face-to-face with her, as if she were no more than a serving woman dressed up for a masquerade. “And if you do not now remove his daughter from your house you yourself will die of your folly and cowardice.”
Medeoan began to shake. She trembled so badly her keys clinked together, and it seemed she must break herself apart from shaking.