Then again, forcing the issue seemed an unkindness. Why ask her to bear the weight of his crimes? Pressed to the point, she might very well decide that she couldn’t. And if she asked him outright if he’d killed Duke Palin Loren … he’d probably confess.
Maybe she’d decide to execute me after all. And maybe I’d deserve it.
She was made of better stuff than him. Better stuff than her father. Or any of these contemptible aristocrats who dared covet her place. It was written all over her features, as if it had been sculpted there by some unknowable genius: genuine, unconcealed grief, as painfully beautiful as she was. In it was the proof of her virtue. Here was one woman who had never desired power.
Her transparency would get her killed without him, and might still even in spite of his efforts. But the sweet, innocent sorrow it revealed was rare and precious, and it deserved his protection. The innocence might be crumbling, but the heart of the woman it shielded might yet survive.
You are not my hostage. Because I respect you, and I give you my servitude. You hold that power over me.
All this time, she hadn’t broken her unwavering stare. The rich reddish warmth of her eyes could be stunningly cold.
Finally, she spoke.
"In my absence …” she started slowly, “you couldn't expect to hold that power. Being promoted after a victory like yours is ordinary—but five ranks? No. You’ve received other commendations in the past for bravery, but few promotions. I can’t delude myself that any other person in my position would find a way to demote you down to captain or even remove you completely, regardless of what you’ve supposedly accomplished. Your ambition … and success, make many people uncomfortable. You need me in order to survive. Did Palin deserve to die because you so much as suspected he might be a threat to you?”
… It may shock you, my Lady, but I really did kill him for you, not for me. Because I have what it takes.
He was within millimetres of saying it.
… Don’t. Don’t even.
"Even if you were out of the equation, my Lady, do you honestly believe anyone would dare try and execute me? Or succeed? I don’t care if this is an autocracy, my men won’t do it."
"No, I think someone would assassinate you," she rejoined placidly. “… Skip all that fussy military drama. I also think you’re bluffing. Whatever you have, it’s not cohesion, and it isn’t loyalty. I believe you have a few close confederates—who you likely as not do not trust either—and the rest follow you because somebody else told them to—and because they misapprehend you as a hero.”
"What's this really about, Milady?" He leaned forward. "Are you trying to ascertain how many people I've killed? How many people I'm going to kill? What—or whom—I'd kill for? Trust comes with time. I think we're both fairly direct people. If you really want to know how I came to be here …”
He paused, taking a deep breath. Maybe it was time to take a leap of faith.
“… I'll tell you the whole story. All of my crimes. Just ask."
The colour drained from her face, her back rigid with tension, the papers trembling in her unsteady hands.
There was a knock at the door.
"—Who is it?" she called, shattering the overwrought silence.
"It's Dans, Milady. I have Adar Sovin here to see you."
"There isn’t even a guard on that door!” Corin flew off. “And you knew the whole time!” He dropped back against the chair, exhausted.
She rolled her eyes. "Really, Costellic, you worry too much. Like you said … you’re here, aren’t you? So it’s okay. Come in Dans."
The door opened and a thin, middle-aged wisp of a man trailed in. Lady Loren jerked her head toward him. "This is Dans," she said to Corin.
"Hello Dans.”
"This is Cor—"
"I know who—"
"—in Costellic," she finished, frowning.
"And this, my Lady, is Adar Sovin," Dans announced, ushering a second man into the room.
~~~
Julia shivered with the damp chill of early morning. The sun had swollen above the horizon, but it was ensconced in a remote, high veil of bright, pearly clouds, which only deepened the shadow of the outer wall, preserving the dewdrops that littered the grass like discarded diamonds.
A dozen yards away waited a portal into another world.
Shortly after dawn, she had followed Gulthor around the shoulders of the mountain, Freedom’s glossy neck shimmering softly with the colours of daybreak, a melted, muted black rainbow flowing across the powerful muscles beneath his hide.
There were no words for the experiences that had graced this transcendent morning—experiences which were nothing to the laconic man riding beside her. The forest by day was every bit as amazing as she’d dreamed, the cool, damp air whispering possibilities against her bare ankles. Though she didn’t catch a glimpse of anything remotely supernatural, it was not hard to imagine the Elders at home in their hidden sanctuaries concealed within the green, glowing depths. At one point, a slender, small, shadowy creature had emerged from the trees, its four spindly legs planted in the leaves, its coal black eyes glittering up at her.
For a long while, she had stared back, uncomprehending, but as it darted back into the shadows, she recognized it from its dappled coat. It was a fawn, like those the hunters chased from frame to frame in the murals on the dining room walls.
Later, the trees had thinned to sparse patches, giving way to soft, tall grass that rustled, the side of the mountain dropping away, plunging toward the countryside below. A fork of the road swooped down the hillside, cutting a straight orange line across the dusty green and golden fields, a vision of freedom unobstructed by turrets, rooftops or walls. The early morning light shimmered pink, the shadows blue beneath the hills. Mist hovered over the road, a sun-charmed faery veil melding into a dark line in the distance. Twisting in the saddle to look back, she’d strained her neck as they delved yet again into the dim, cool shelter of the forest. Never before had she seen anything so luminous. She’d been desperate to catch every last drop.
And now this. A gateway into a strange new world, the world of Telyra’s enemies.
"… I said ... a lot's changed for you fast, hasn't it."
Gulthor’s gruff voice, pulling her out of her reverie.
Several riders exited the Loren gate and rode past, snatches of their laughter and conversation drifting backwards on the breeze as they vanished into the forest.
The instantaneous rapport she had felt with Rizaq—even though she had met him only the other night—had never applied to Gulthor. She was fairly certain it never would. In his words, she sensed barely concealed derision, or perhaps disgust.
“Read my mind,” she acknowledged anyway, looking away.
He nodded at her arm. "Did he do that to you?"
"Yeah. It's ... not like that though."
"Accidents happen," he shrugged. "Do you know what to do?"
"Not really," she admitted, squinting curiously through the gate. There was a small stone gatehouse, similar to the one where she’d been held up the other night. A small crowd bustled in the street, but very little traffic passed in or out. Vendors were raising colourful tents and setting out baskets and trinkets and reams of cloth; shop owners were changing the signs in the windows and propping open doors. The cobbles sparkled underneath the opalescent sheet of the sky.
"The palace is central north to south, several blocks west of the Wall, right?"
"You can't miss it. It’s bloody enormous. If he was being less screwy about this, you could've gone up on the Wall to get the layout." He unfolded the map and handed it to her. "This is Lacsimilia Avenue. It intersects with Palace Promenade.” He pointed. “If you were to turn west on Palace Promenade, you could follow it clear to the west gate. But to your right ... you should see the palace. There is another street parallel to Lacsimilia called Victory Way, which divides the rich neighbourhood from the slums of Harmony. I recommend totally avoiding that area …” He pause
d. “Are you sure you don't need anything else?"
This last was perfunctory, curt, clearly a mandatory civility. Tiredly, she took the map, swaying in her saddle.
The task was daunting, and she was running on six hours of sleep. But energy seemed to crackle around her like static electricity, and there was an ionized newness to the air, a uniqueness she’d felt only one time before. Those first months with Lord Telyra still shined through the dusty rafters of her life, a beacon of sunlight in a grey, pointless past. It was sickening how much of the time since had dissolved back into the meaningless morass. Perhaps that was just the nature of everyday life stripped of its emotional highs. But damned if it wasn’t at least partly his fault. She wanted to feel alive. He’d made her feel that way for all too brief a time. Now, he was standing in her way.
Young and already living in the past. How pathetic is that.
But today … was a defining day. A new beacon. A day to stand outside of time.
…. See if anything could stop it.
Gulthor was still glaring at her tersely. She rolled her eyes.
… No, you don’t have to babysit me anymore.
"It's okay,” she mumbled. “You can go. I'll be fine."
Without another word, clearly thrilled to be well shot of her, he pulled his mount around and disappeared into the trees, the clop of his horse’s hooves unnaturally loud, ringing through the clear morning air long after he vanished down the mountain path.
She stared after for a while at the empty road. Then she approached the gatehouse, passing into the even darker, colder shadow under the gate.
A scarlet-clad guard lifted his head off the desk, pushing unkempt caramel hair out of his eyes.
"Who're you," he said. He made it a statement, not a question. “Official business only. Otherwise you’re gonna have to turn right back around, missy.”
"I have a letter," she announced, showing him the seal. "I need to deliver it to Lady Loren."
"Fine," he said, lazily extending his palm. "Hand it here."
Already, the hassles were starting …
"... No. I said I need to deliver it to Lady Loren.”
"No? If you want it delivered, you've got to hand it over."
He reached out the window, making to grab the letter right out of her hands. She snatched it back rapidly.
"No. I've got to give it to Lady Loren. Not you."
The guard snorted, then let out a hearty guffaw. "You're having a laugh. Things don't work that way here. We have a chain of command here. You can't just cut straight to the top. Lady Loren's a busy woman; she has a city to run.” He snorted. “… If she’s capable of it,” he mumbled under his breath. “Give it here."
"But this is from Lord Telyra!" she said, jabbing her finger at the seal. "Are you stupid? It's important! Lord Telyra receives messengers all the time—"
"There is a prescribed channel for messages.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and spoke slowly, enunciating loudly, as if he were explaining a challenging concept to a two-year-old. “The quickest way for you to get your letter to Lady Loren is to pass it through me. When my captain comes by, I'll give it to him, and he'll give it to—"
"No!"
"What’s your problem? If it's a letter, it speaks for itself. If it was a spoken message, it’d be spoken, not written. You’re not needed. You’ve done your bit, go home!"
"Master said to put it in Lady Loren's hands. Myself. So I will."
"He meant—"
"He meant what he said. I'll find her myself if you en’t gonna be no help."
He snorted again. "Good luck with that then. Don't come whinging back to me at the end of the day—"
"I won't," she shot back and stowed the letter back in her saddlebag forcefully. Pulling away, she spurred into the street.
~~~
Adar Sovin ducked his head under the doorframe, but when he straightened up, Corin observed that this was unnecessary. The man was little taller than he was, and clearly enjoyed affectation. He might have been in his late fifties or early sixties, but his close-cropped black hair showed no signs of greying and his pale skin stretched severely across his long, narrow cheekbones. The eyes, small and whitish, were shadowy and deep-set in their sockets, putting Corin in mind of a living skull without a grin.
Disregarding him altogether, the man surveyed Lady Loren with rigid, blank expectancy.
She stared vacantly back, and when Sovin still didn't take the initiative, she introduced herself and then gestured across the room.
“… And this is my general, Corin Costellic.”
"Pleased to meet you, my Lady," Sovin answered in a gravely baritone, bowing low.
Lady Loren waited, her mouth open, but when it became clear the gaunt, black-haired man had no interest whatsoever in acknowledging Corin, she pressed on.
"And you, Mr. Sovin. What did you wish to speak to me about?"
He withdrew a pamphlet from his unembellished robes and handed it to her. Standing back, he crossed his arms over his thin chest.
She glanced down at it perfunctorily. "... Yes?"
"I am a priest of our small church. I wish to establish a mission inside the city."
"Why not simply do so? Why seek my permission? We have no laws against religious freedom here."
"We wish to present our mission to the new head of state. Assuming you are not already familiar with us of course?"
He smiled, his lips unpleasantly red, a jarring splash of sanguine colour in an otherwise colourless face—a face that remained eager.
Watching this, it occurred to Corin that there was some unspoken subtext underpinning the words, expressed by that greedy, upturned mouth. Now that was odd. Why should this priest of an obscure order expect familiarity from Malek Loren’s successor?
Lady Loren had raised her shoulders in a slight shrug. “I can’t say that I am.”
The priest’s own shoulders dropped slightly at this. "Ours is the one true God, and our survival depends upon satisfying Him.”
"Most of our people are monotheists already. Or agnostics. There are a few who believe in the old gods, but polytheism is more in vogue across the Wall. I suggest you try there; Lord Telyra is an atheist who believes in only his own might. Would that not be better ground to sow your seed—?"
Sovin’s smile reappeared, but morphed, faltering. "We have already tried to reach Lord Telyra. And I do not think you understand me. This is not a god of old, tired mythologies, nor a modern vogue. The God is not hypothetical, but real, here and now, in this very city."
"Oh …?"
"He is the Shadow that feeds on the Fire of our hate. The war is His sustenance. But we might, through punishing ourselves—through self-mutilation, self-denial and sacrifice—sate His hunger. And through punishing the few, the dregs of our society, we may spare the many, our better brothers."
Lady Loren was smiling uncomfortably, blinking her eyes like she had sand in them. She turned the pamphlet over. "If such a god were to exist ... should we not instead refuse him his feast? Should we not defy him—? Establish your mission if you must, but do not expect any aid from me or my government—"
"It’s not really a he,” Sovin interrupted in irritation. “Not a person the way you think of one. Conventional morality does not apply to the God. It does not put value on our petty human lives. We cannot comprehend the vastness of Its mind. We must make choices.”
"We're not interested," Corin cut in smoothly.
Adar Sovin snapped his head around, surveying him with snooty contempt—the first acknowledgment of his existence. His eyes were underground eyes, the pale, watery orbs of a creature long accustomed to darkness.
"Does this man speak for you?"
"No, he speaks for himself. And he doesn't want your religion. And she doesn't either,” he responded, smirking.
Lady Loren’s uncomfortable smile brightened into something resembling sincerity, and she raised her eyes, flicking them over Sovin’s shoulder for just a fraction of an i
nstant. She then turned them on Sovin, her expression sweet but infinitely uninviting. "Thank you for your time," she said as he turned back around. "But I don't wish to sanction any religion. Particularly one of blood and victimization. I think we've got plenty of that going around as it is, and I have no interest in it. Wrong is wrong, no matter the reasons.” She paused. “And if you do decide to open a mission here, we will be keeping a close watch on your activities, as presently, your attitude falls counter to the goals of my regime. Sacrifice of the ‘dregs’ of our society? How far are you ready to go for your real-and-present god? This state will never substantiate murder."
A cloud of wrath passed over Sovin's features, and Corin’s grip tightened on his knife; it seemed the man might react explosively, but he didn't. Instead, he growled low in his throat, like an animal, and spat, “It already does.” With a grumpy snort, he snatched the pamphlet right out of her hands and turned on his heel, exiting the study.
Furious, Corin lurched out of his chair, ready to tear off after him, but ...
Pick our fights. That one’s not worth it.
“Why can’t people just be nice?” she sighed, shaking her head. “I really do believe that man had murder in his eyes.”
“Then we should arrest him,” he suggested.
“Corin, I’m a bit concerned you would arrest anyone who looked at you wrong.”
“Maybe not at me.” He smiled. “But at you? In a heartbeat. The way he tore that pamphlet right out of your hands—”
There was movement in the door, furtive and edgy.
He looked up. Dans had reappeared, wide-eyed, his questioning gaze fixed on Lady Loren.
"It's all right," she shrugged. "That was a waste of my time, but I'll be screening these appointments more carefully from now on. And I’d appreciate it if you did too, Dans."
"Should I escort him out of the palace?"
"Yes!" she said enthusiastically.
"Crazy fanatic,” agreed Corin. We'd better get going, Milady. It’s time.”
~~~
Lacsimilia Avenue bore very little resemblance to Lord Telyra's frugal lanes. Here, everything shined: Storefronts were resplendent multi-level mansions and restaurants were miniature palaces adorned with pillars in marble and gold leaf. Doors of polished, engraved wood inlaid with rubies and sapphires were fronted by doormen garbed in fine, embroidered tunics in gold, scarlet and purple. Freedom's footfalls were crisp and clear on the sparkling pavement.
Talystasia: A Faerytale Page 28