Winter sighed and began to pace the antechamber. It was lavishly decorated, with wide windows along one wall, and an ornate desk and chair along another. An elaborately patterned rug extended almost the full length of the floor, and various paintings hung on the walls. At the far end was the door that led to the emperor’s inner chambers. Urstadt stood near the table, glaive leaning loosely in one fist, in full armor.
“Have you been thinking about the Ziravi poem?”
Winter stopped. Outside of what was necessary, these were the most words Urstadt had spoken to her since they’d first met. “I… I suppose so,” she said, cautiously. Of course, Urstadt could be asking out of necessity, as well. Daval might have ordered her to.
“I did not think I would care for the poem. I don’t much care for poetry in general.”
Winter said nothing. Did Urstadt expect her to carry on a conversation?
“But the more I think about Ziravi’s words, the more I am convinced of their truth. There is a reason the emperor adheres to them.”
Winter walked to the chair. If Urstadt wasn’t going to sit, she would. “They’re one man’s words. I don’t see what genuine value they could really have.”
“Is that truly what you think?”
“So Cetro Ziravi thought it was important to love people. He apparently advocates destruction as well. What of it? His experience isn’t mine. And from what I’ve seen, there aren’t many people out there worth loving. And, more often than not, the ones you do love don’t make it very far.”
“You’ve lost people?”
Winter hesitated. She hadn’t realized what she’d been saying until she said it, and now she was not sure she wanted to have this conversation with Urstadt.
“Ziravi lost people in his life, too,” Urstadt said after a moment. “Lost his parents when he was young. Two of his sons as an adult. A sister. He was not unfamiliar with loss.”
Winter narrowed her eyes. “I thought you didn’t care for poetry. How do you know all this about Ziravi?”
“I may not care for poetry, but I am thorough. I do my research.”
Winter shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Ziravi responded in his way. I respond in mine.”
“Ziravi chose to respond. You choose, too, Winter.”
Thankfully, the door to the emperor’s chambers burst open just in time to save Winter from that bloody awful conversation.
Cova rushed out of the room, her normally composed face contorted. If Winter did not know any better, she’d think Cova was about to burst into tears. She rushed through the antechamber and out into the palace beyond.
“Do not hate me for what you don’t yet understand, daughter!” Daval shouted from the emperor’s chambers. But Cova was already gone.
Peculiarly, Winter was jealous. It was their relationship she coveted, she realized. They were father and daughter. They might disagree, but at least they had one another. Winter felt a tiny grain of compassion for Daval. The man was cruel, a murderer. But he was also a father.
Urstadt smiled at Winter. “The emperor will see you now.”
Winter took a deep breath, shoving whatever seed of compassion she felt for Daval back into the recesses of her mind. She stood and walked into the emperor’s chambers. Daval did not seem in a good mood. Winter did not know what had just transpired between him and his daughter, but it had obviously left them both unhappy. This was not the ideal time for Winter to be asking for favors. But she was here. Daval had told her to see him any time.
Winter wasn’t sure she could have stopped herself anyway. Feeling the power of her tendra, even for just a few moments, made her want more. She craved it, almost as much as she craved faltira.
The emperor’s chambers were divided into several rooms. The emperor’s bedchamber, a study, a massive closet, a garderobe and bathing area, the emperor’s personal armory, and a common area connecting them all. The combined space was larger than most Cantic chapels Winter had seen. They were surprisingly austere: simple rugs and curtains, and no art or decorations to speak of. The anteroom was more ornate, in fact.
Daval stood at one end of the common area, his hands clasped behind his back, facing away from Winter and out a large square window into the night. Winter could see the lights of Izet beyond the window, and felt her imprisonment even more keenly.
“What do you want?” Daval asked.
“I… I came to speak with you.”
“I told you to take the rest of the day to think about what we had discussed.”
“That’s why I came,” Winter said, her mind working quickly. If she told him what he wanted to hear, perhaps he would grant her what she desired.
Daval turned. The moment she saw his face, the horrible image of the black skull wreathed in flame flashed in her mind. Winter shut her eyes, but the image seemed burned into her memory. The skull stared at her, grinning, motionless.
“You’ve had a change of heart, then?” Daval asked.
When Winter opened her eyes, the skull was gone, and it was only Daval who stood looking at her. His eyes were in shadow, sunken back in his head, his mouth stern.
“I… I think I may have,” Winter said.
“Tell me.”
“I grew up happy,” Winter said. She had to spin the correct lie to really convince Daval. Starting from the beginning would give her time to form it. “For a tiellan, in a small coastal village, I grew up happy. I never knew my mother, she passed away giving birth to me, but my father… my father was a good man, and he raised me well.”
Daval said nothing, but remained motionless in front of the window.
How easy it would be to just… push him out of it. But the thought was ludicrous. Daval was strong—for an old man, he was incredibly strong—and Winter had no power to speak of around him. Not unless he granted it to her first.
“But my happiness was not without difficulty. I watched family after family of tiellans leave our village because the persecution became too great for them to bear. I watched my father lose business and lose friends. I’ve seen tiellans—men and women both—beaten to the very edge of life. But when Knot came, and when we… when we grew close… I thought all of that might change. For the first time in my life I thought that what little happiness I had to begin with might grow instead of fade.”
Winter looked down. “I couldn’t have been more wrong. My father was killed on our wedding day, by men sent from Roden. Knot left me. I followed him, and discovered psimancy along the way. But I discovered the addiction that accompanies it, too, and I’ve never been able to escape it. I’ve killed people, just to satisfy it. When we arrived here, I thought it all would finally end. And it did—but not the way I wanted. I thought we’d go home, our adventures over. Instead, my husband and friends were slaughtered. And I was left to rot in a prison cell.”
“What are you saying, my dear?”
“Everything I love has been taken from me. Can you blame me for finding it difficult to love anything else?”
Daval’s mouth turned down. “If that is your conclusion, then—”
“Let me finish.” Winter stopped herself, realizing she had interrupted an emperor.
“Go ahead,” Daval said, his voice like iron.
“I just wanted you to understand why I thought the way I did,” Winter said. “And how, despite everything that’s happened to me, I… I believe you’re right.”
When Daval didn’t respond, Winter continued. “I’ve been contemplating love, and Ziravi’s poem. My whole life, I only loved people that I thought deserved my love in the first place. But now… now, I think I might see another way. I think… I think the point is loving people even though they don’t deserve it. None of them do. Canta knows, I don’t.”
Winter knew she was making up the words as she said them, and yet somewhere, deep down, she wondered what exactly it was she meant. The whole point is loving people even though they don’t deserve it.
“Once I realized that, I realized the importance of ‘Wild Ca
lamity.’ I thought it was all about learning to love in order to destroy, but I had it wrong. Love is the end goal, not destruction. I think that’s what the last few lines are referring to.”
Love is the end goal, not destruction. Winter wanted to believe the words, but they weren’t true. They might even be true for others. They would never be true for her.
Winter tried to keep calm when she saw a slow smile spreading across Daval’s lips. His eyes were still sunken in shadow, but the smile was a good sign—wasn’t it?
“Very good,” Daval said. “I think you might be beginning to understand after all.”
They stood there in silence for a moment, looking at one another. Winter was not sure what else she should do. Should she ask about her tendra now? Was he in a better mood?
“I’m glad you’re making progress, Winter, but the hour grows late. If there is nothing else—”
“There is,” Winter blurted out. “What else do you want me to do for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I made an example of Hirman Luce today. When would you like me to do something else… like that?”
“You mean when will I lift your blocks again?”
Of course that’s what I mean. “What I mean to say is… I appreciate all you’ve done for me. All that you’re doing. And I want to know when I’ll next be able to repay you.”
Then, Daval laughed. The sound was strange, slow and halting, and before Winter could process what such a strangled, horrible laugh might mean, it was accompanied by another sound.
A thump of thunder that vibrated in Winter’s chest and shook the very foundations of the imperial palace itself.
And then Winter was in blackness. At first she wondered if she had slipped into the Void, but quickly realized this was very different. There were no lights, no little stars of color. Here, there was only darkness. A darkness at once familiar and unknowable, and more terrifying than anything she could imagine. A darkness thick and oppressive, like a great cold blanket that was too heavy and offered no warmth, no protection. A darkness she had experienced once before, months ago, when her friends and her hope were still alive.
And the Voice.
“Welcome back, little one.”
Deep, booming, and folded in flame.
“I am delighted to see you once more.”
A figure was walking towards her. Winter could hear the footsteps echoing, echoing infinitely in the dark. Winter’s nose caught the faintest hint of cinnamon.
“You can’t fool him,” the figure said. “Don’t try.”
“Mother?” Winter felt a terrible sense of repetition, as if she had had this conversation before.
“He knows you’re lying,” her mother said. “You had better not try it again. You’re only a tool to him, girl. A weapon.”
Winter shivered in the dark. “Mother, how…?”
“Don’t speak, child. You’re lucky I’ve come to you at all.”
Winter’s body shook, and she sobbed, once, but held the rest in.
Her mother laughed. “Weak. How a weak thing like you killed me, I’ll never know. But it doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m dead. And you killed me.”
“Murderer.”
In a flash of light, the darkness retreated, and Winter was back in the emperor’s chambers. She blinked, squinting in the torchlight, suddenly brighter than she remembered. Daval’s laugh still echoed in the chamber.
Winter shivered, unsure of what had happened. Had she imagined what she had just seen and heard?
“You’re clever, girl,” Daval said. “You can read people. Tell them what they want to hear. That’s a useful talent.”
Winter was speechless. The stark terror of what she had experienced in the blackness still echoed endlessly inside of her. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering.
“You will next serve me when I am ready. When I ask it of you. No sooner. That’s all you need know.”
“Yes,” Winter whispered, unable to do anything but agree.
“Very well. Be gone. Other matters need my attention.”
Winter walked quickly out the door, feeling another chill run up her spine as she turned her back on Daval. She walked past Urstadt without a word, and into the corridors of the palace.
Daval was more powerful than she had imagined, and more intelligent by far. She couldn’t outthink him. He was the emperor. He was her master. He was a daemon.
And he is a father.
Winter blinked at the thought. Again the seed of compassion came to her, seemingly from nowhere. How she could feel anything resembling sympathy for Daval, for that monster, was incomprehensible.
Winter walked back to her room, trying desperately to think of anything but Daval, darkness, and the harsh words of her own mother.
34
WHEN ASTRID FINALLY MADE it back to the Harmoth estate, she was surprised to see how much things had changed. The constant influx of people, tiellan and human alike, had certainly not let up. Even in the fading light—Astrid was already able to walk about without her hood up—she could see hundreds of people in the grounds. But there also seemed to be more order to what had once been all but complete chaos. There were distinct rows of tents, fires spaced evenly throughout, and at one edge of the grounds was a clearing where a group of people were milling about in the blue-gray light of dusk. And, strangely, one of the giant trees toward the center of the grounds was now nothing more than a charred skeleton, the earth beneath it scorched and blackened.
Astrid wondered what it was all about. Her most recent contact with Knot had been brief, only informing him of her success in acquiring the Nazaniin voidstone. She had not yet told him about Cabral and Trave, and he had not yet told her about whatever was happening here.
As Astrid maneuvered around a group of people firing arrows at a line of straw targets and past men and women sparring with wooden swords, she began to get some idea of what was going on. This was a training ground. And there, shouting orders, stood Knot.
Astrid walked up to him silently, hoping to surprise him. But Knot, ever aware of his surroundings, must have noticed her. When he turned to her, his eyes were bright, cheeks raised in a rare smile. He rushed to her and Astrid leapt into Knot’s arms. She did not know whether she was more surprised by the fact that Knot made the gesture or that she went along with it. Either way, Knot seemed genuinely happy to see her, and Astrid couldn’t even begin to describe the way that made her feel. After everything she had been through in Turandel, after all the violence and excavated memories, this was a welcome change.
“What took you so long, girl?” Knot asked, gruffly, setting her down.
“Oh, you know, here and there. Out and about, and all that.”
“Good to have you back.”
Astrid smiled. “It seems you’ve some news of your own. What’s all this?”
“More than you know,” Knot said. Then, he nodded to a young man next to him.
“Form up!” the young man shouted. “Training exercises end now! Form up for inspection, and then it’s off to dinner for you scum!”
Astrid raised an eyebrow. Scum? she mouthed to Knot.
Knot chuckled, shaking his head.
The people who had been training—Astrid counted about three dozen, human and tiellan, male and female—formed in a line, and the young man, Knot’s sergeant it seemed, went down the line, inspecting the sweaty, dust-crusted bodies. Then, Astrid recognized the young sergeant. It was Cinzia and Jane’s brother, the older one. What was his name?
Knot turned, and beckoned for Astrid to follow. “Eward can handle the rest.”
Eward. Of course. The lad had taken well enough to command.
“Come on,” Knot said. “Let’s talk.”
* * *
As Knot told her about the events of the past few weeks, they elected to walk around the grounds rather than head back to the house. As darkness fell they kept to the land behind the manor, where fewer Odenites ventured, so tha
t others wouldn’t see the eerie glow of Astrid’s eyes.
On her way back to Tinska, Astrid had resolved to tell Knot everything that had happened. Or, at least, almost everything. Telling Knot about her fight with the Nazaniin, the voyant, and the voidstone she had procured was easy; telling him about Cabral, and especially about Trave, was not. There was no need for Knot to know details about her past with Cabral and Trave, about what had transpired between them.
Knot seemed to take it relatively well. “So you’d been to Turandel before?” he asked, after Astrid had told him most of her story.
She nodded tentatively. “Decades ago. I’d hoped Cabral and his Fangs had moved on, or been killed by now.”
“Didn’t mention that to me before.”
Astrid shrugged. “Didn’t think you needed to know.”
Astrid felt his hand on her shoulder. “I… I am sorry for what you went through,” Knot said quietly. “What happened to you shouldn’t happen to anyone.”
Astrid looked away, hoping Knot wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.
“Now what has been going on here?” she asked, anxious to change the subject. “This place is very different.”
“A lot of things,” Knot said. “After the Kamite attack, and then the assassination attempt, we made a few changes. Cinzia and I oversaw an investigation, but nothing much came of it. We did implement a census, however, so we have a better idea of exactly how many people are here, and who they are. You’ve noticed the guard force we’re training.”
“I noticed,” Astrid said. “Your investigation didn’t yield any results? You told me the woman you killed couldn’t have been working alone. You still don’t know who she was working with?”
“We found a few of the tents empty, abandoned one morning,” Knot said. “We think they might’ve already fled.”
“But they might still be in the camp.”
Knot hesitated. This was obviously a sore point for him. “Might be,” he finally said.
“Surprised you haven’t been able to find them, someone of your talents.”
“I’ve had other things on my mind.”
“More important than finding the rest of these assassins?”
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