“She has pressing business with another surviving member of your late husband’s court,” Corgansetti said.
Terestere wondered which one. From her reports, the whereabouts of Cardinton and Adelfried were still unknown to the king. Ainslen’s hunters had captured Melinden. She pursed her lips. “How many of them made it here?”
“A dozen lesser ones.” As usual Corgansetti had no intention of playing his hand too early.
“One of my people said Aidah Rostlin visited several months ago.”
“She did.” The Patriarch’s brow furrowed for the briefest of moments.
Let him think on what else I might know. “What did she require?” Crossing paths with Aidah Rostlin and her daughters had been a surprise and a stroke of luck for which Terestere had praised Hazline. The woman’s husband, Kesta, had been a staunch supporter of Ainslen’s bid for the crown. Another woman might have remained in Kasandar after Kesta’s death, hoping her husband’s service would be remembered, and that she would be given a place in the new court. She smiled now, thinking on the encounter, glad that she took the time to thoroughly know the woman and her children.
“She petitioned for the Order’s writ of safe passage to the west,” Corgansetti answered.
“Carador?”
“Beyond.”
“Ah,” Terestere said, feigning surprise.
When she met Aidah, the woman had broken down and blubbered about the loss of not only Kesta but of her son, Gaston. Such weakness had curdled Terestere’s insides. She pointed to Aidah’s daughters and told the woman that they were her strength now; they needed her if they were to live. She impressed upon Aidah the brilliance exhibited by the children under her tutelage. Of course, the poor woman had continued to rant, lamenting that her life was already over.
Terestere had laid a hand on Aidah’s shoulder, listened to her, and given her a dose of encouragement and willpower, convincing the woman that there still was life. She pointed out the collection of riches, whispered that she knew of the gold and precious stones, and other treasures contained within the trunks. In any kingdom they would be worth their weight in trade. Terestere provided a decree of visitation from the Berendali High King, advised Aidah to visit the Patriarch for a writ, and sent her to seek out her new life in the west.
By the time they parted ways Aidah rode with her back straight, whispered prayers to the Gods to beg for vengeance, and set off toward the Chantry. Terestere smiled inwardly with the thought.
“So, what brings you here,” Corgansetti asked, snapping her from wistful memories.
Time for business, then. Good. “My husband’s reign has ended.” Terestere didn’t need to state the obvious, but it was good place to begin things.
“So it has.” Corgansetti shuffled over to one of the cushioned chairs. He waved her toward a similar seat as the one he took. “You wish to know what course remains for you now that you’re no longer queen.”
She almost said she was and would always be a queen, but instead, she replied, “Queens typically do not survive Succession Day, so is the way of Far’an Senjin.” She lifted her dress a bit as she made her way across the carpeted floor. How she wished for a pair of trousers. Dresses were more obstructions than applications of practicality.
“The Game of Souls is a pitiless thing,” Corgansetti agreed.
“My late husband played it well, but in the end, he lost.” She gave a wistful smile.
“He did.” The Patriarch’s face remained expressionless. He would give nothing away.
The man’s nonchalance brought a measure of respect and loathing. Here he was, faced by a possible enemy, by the wife of the man he helped kill, and he acted as if it were nothing. Such were the ways of men, overlooking women. Thus, she gave them what they expected, beauty and a body. But not today. “You’re skilled, Corgansetti, you have always been.” She dropped any pretense of friendship, letting hostility seep into her voice. “Jemare relied on you, and yet you stabbed him in the back. The Farlanders? Of all the people to call upon, you chose them?”
The Patriarch shrugged. “What were we to do? Rely on the other counts? Ainslen was set on crushing them. Your husband erred by giving too much freedom to the rest of the Empire, a free hand to the Smear’s inhabitants and their guilds. The Heleganese, the Farish Islanders, the Thelusians, and the Kheridisians must be converted; every city in the Empire must have chantries. That was the agreement. Jemare became so addled by his own strength he forgot the Order won him the throne.”
“After all he did for the Order, you turn away from him over religion, and bring in heretics to boot.”
Corgansetti’s face grew dark with anger. “The Word must be spread throughout the land,” he said, teeth clenched.
“Yes, I remember, the advent of the Dominion. Do you realize what you’ve done?” She shook her head at the man’s disregard for what he’d wrought. “Now the Farlanders are here, there will be no rooting them out.”
“A way exists.”
“Yes, it does, and it involves bringing together the Empire entire, now an impossible task because of Ainslen and the Farlanders.” The vein along her temple throbbed with her rising voice. “The people have ever been fickle, never taking well to invaders or to the spirit of the game being broken. Look to Kasandar, the people rise up, fires burn across Kasinia, the Thelusian Stonelords have massed their armies, the mercenaries in Marissinia … Ainslen’s support is thin, at best.”
Corgansetti nodded. “Precisely. And that is where you come in.”
Frowning, Terestere paused before uttering another word. Seeing her apparent confusion, the Patriarch smiled.
“The people have always loved you,” he said. “No other queen has ever held their adoration in such a fashion. Who knew that going among them to give food or hand out medicine, to simply acknowledge them, could glean such results? The Stonelords, the Marish kings, the Heleganese, they all speak well of you. Even the secretive Kheridisians seem taken by you. Allowing you to live will sway some. Marrying Ainslen will make the Empire whole.”
Her mouth formed an ‘O’ as she allowed shock to encompass her features, but the idea was one she’d already considered. Let him think it is his. Jemare had always searched for power, but he failed to understand the strength of the people themselves. Corgansetti, on the other hand, bore no such misconceptions. His lips twisted into a slight smile at her reaction.
“Why do you think Ainslen would agree to this?” She already knew the answer but asked anyway.
“He has always wanted you.”
As do you, although you’re supposed to be a eunuch. She saw through his lie, and the lie of so many other wisemen, their reactions, however controlled, giving them away. Besides, whores talked when paid well. As with most men, the Order had a taste for the exotic, like the Kheridisians or Thelusians. They had plenty to choose from in Melanil.
“Don’t pretend as if you were unaware.” Grimacing, he waved her off. “With your flirting it became obvious to some, even if Jemare ignored it, the same way he chose not to see your relationship with the Consortium leader, Delisar. Ainslen has always coveted whatever Jemare owned.”
She did her best not to show a reaction to the Patriarch’s revelation. “What makes you think I had a relationship with this Delisar?” With the name came pain and worry. Delisar was slated to die.
“Do not play coy with me. You hid it well, but you had one rendezvous too many. I had always wondered what made the guilds decide to operate under Jemare’s terms.” He leered as he regarded her, hunger in his eyes. “I suppose you can be very convincing.”
You have no idea. She relented. Corgansetti would have this small victory. “How else was I supposed to make the commoners believe in Jemare if I did not give them something of their own? As with most men, the Consortium leader coveted me, so I gave him a taste of what he wanted
for the sake of Jemare’s rule.”
“Sensible but costly. Be warned. You are to do nothing to save this man. If he is indeed a Dracodar, allow Ainslen to have his way.”
“You would let the king have even more power?”
“He will need it.”
Although she agreed, she mulled over the idea of freeing Delisar. She even allowed herself a dreamy moment where he was king. As quick as she imagined it, she discarded the dream. Too many would rebel against it, as they would against a woman on the throne. Maneuvers in the shadows were best. She would rule even if the masses were oblivious to it, even if it meant purging whatever she felt for Delisar from her mind.
“Why do you think I’d agree to what you suggest?” she asked finally. “I could simply follow the former Countess Rostlin.”
“You are assuming I would give you a writ of passage.”
“I’m a queen. That has far more value.”
“Were a queen,” he said, smiling cruelly. “Who is to say I would even allow you to leave here? I could hold you until Ainslen’s hunters arrive, turn you over to them, and not influence whatever decision he might make.”
The queen smirked. It was good to know where the real power lay. “You could do all those things, and you will, but for one. You will let the king know exactly how useful I could be.”
Corgansetti was peering at her, eyes narrowed. “What makes you so certain?”
“You said it yourself, you need me. The Farlanders are a threat, yes, but there is one more imminent, closer to home, an enemy whose armies will pass here first if they win out.” Terestere smiled sweetly in response to the Patriarch’s smoldering gaze. “You were relying on the combined might of the Empire’s Blades and the Farlanders to lead a surprise invasion into the west, but something has changed. The Berendali and their allies are already marching on us.” His silence was all she needed as confirmation. “So, you need the Empire whole sooner than later. However, there’s still the issue of the Farlanders. What happens when they’re denied that which they seek?”
“By the time the Order is finished with them, they will be carrying the Word to their lands.” The glint in the Patriarch’s eye prickled her skin.
She knew the effect of words all too well. People thought of themselves as dangerous, but they were mere tools. Words. Words were the true weapons. One could carve out entire kingdoms with the right ones, melt the iciest hearts, and sway the most stubborn minds. One could even convince a man to kill a king.
Resisting the urge to smile again, she listened as Patriarch Corgansetti laid out his plans. Not since the Thousand Year War had one kingdom controlled Mareshna in its entirety. Those times were lost in the annals of history, much of what was known today mere speculation, the Dracodar blamed for bringing forth the plague that robbed man of his knowledge, and brought a new era, an era where man had assumed his rightful place.
The Order thought to maneuver her like a piece on a game board to acquire its goal. She would let them, for now. Their moves were her moves, their assets her assets. With each shift they revealed more of themselves, parts she could use, for to know a person thoroughly was to discover exactly what they desired the most. In knowledge lay the ultimate power. From them she would take more than they did from her.
6
Lessons in Lethality
For what felt like the thousandth time, Keedar stood before the Treskelin Forest, inhaling its rich scents while he peered in the direction his brother had gone. A storm brewed overhead, promising a deluge that would flood the forest. As if to remind him, lightning radiated among the clouds, and thunder rumbled its retort. In Kasinia, the wisemen would be chanting their prayers to the Grey God, begging Keneshin for mercy. Keedar could almost see himself doing the same to ensure his brother’s safe return, but in his experience, the Gods did not answer men, if they even existed.
A month had passed since Winslow’s test began, a month of worry, of waking late at night from nightmares of his brother’s suffering. He hated the wait, hated not knowing his brother’s condition. Keshka seemed unconcerned, going about his daily routine of training Keedar before poring over old tomes in the cottage. After his own time in the woods’ frozen hollow, Keedar couldn’t help the dread that crawled in his belly. He’d barely survived.
How are you holding up, Wins? Did you remember to make a hole for air? Are you hearing the things I did? Are your darkest thoughts and deeds haunting you?
Keedar tried to shake off the images in his head, the voices, the things that had visited the hollow. Delisar had been there, lamenting his capture, begging for help, often screaming as Ainslen devoured his soul. Other times it was his mother, Elysse, cackling madly as flames consumed her, scales showing through charred flesh. Gaston came and went as he often did in Keedar’s nightmares, his eye socket a mass of pulpy flesh where the knife had pierced it. Rose and Raishaar came also, blaming him for their deaths at Shaz’s hands. Shaz would come, eye drooping, face scarred, laughing as he kicked Keedar in the ribs. Eventually he could take no more. Squeezing his eyes tight he shook the thoughts off before they consumed him.
“Shouldn’t we look for him?” he called out.
“Why?” On the porch, Keshka closed his book and leaned back in his chair. “He has only been gone a month. You survived for two before returning. A test can last as long as three.”
Keedar grimaced at the idea of surviving that long. Two months had been torture enough, the last week like the tales of Purgatory, filled with voices, horrific visions, and a fight, a fight with a beast he felt more than he saw. He still couldn’t recall its appearance but was certain it had claws. What else could have left those gouges on my arms and back? He trembled with the memory of that battle, the craving to kill it had brought out of him. He swallowed at the thought of his brother facing such a monster. “What if more bounty hunters appear, but this time with us as targets?”
“A few of them might be out there, but as I said to your brother, I doubt they will venture this far into the Treskelin, and if they attempted to, they would die long before they reached the clearing. Just be patient.”
His father’s unconcern needled at Keedar. “What if we wait and he doesn’t return?”
“Then he belongs to the forest.”
“Are you this callous with the lives of all your children?” Keedar asked.
“All of the others but you two are grown. They’re fathers, mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers … in their youth I worried for them as much as I do for you. If I wasn’t concerned I would have let you live with me all these years.”
Keedar ground his jaw. “You say this with one breath, but in the next it seems as if you would let the forest take Winslow without a care in the world.”
“He knew the risks, son. Once he accepted the challenge, it was out of our hands. The forest won’t allow us to interfere.”
“How could it stop us?”
“The same way it stops the cold, the same way it can make the clearing for the Fast appear where it wills.”
Keedar stared off into the forest, the clamor of its denizens a distant thing at its outskirts, closer to Kasinia. Bears bellowed, wolves howled, and a korgan cat added its snarling growl, all joining bird twitters and the cries of various other animals. The nimbus of the Treskelin’s ancient white ash trees spanned as far as he could see. “So we have to wait? Couldn’t you undo the forest’s hold?”
“I’m strong, not all powerful.” Irritation colored Keshka’s tone as he returned to his book.
Keedar stopped himself from pleading. It wouldn’t change the old man’s mind. That much had become clear about Keshka. He was immovable on what he thought to be the correct decision. Keshka’s stubborn trait reminded him of Delisar. The thought sparked memories of Delisar’s honey-colored hair and eyebrows so thick they touched. A far cry from Keshka with his snowy hair and
black-streaked beard. Keedar had no reason to doubt the man he once called uncle, but he couldn’t help his attachment to Delisar. The situation seemed surreal, a story from a guiser’s tale.
When he’d asked after Keshka’s decision to place him in Delisar’s care, the old man would say the life he led was one fraught with danger, one where he was constantly traveling, that a child’s wellbeing was a risk he could not afford. Although Keedar understood, the reason wasn’t enough for him. Something inside him wanted more.
The spiral of thoughts brought him to their mother, Elysse the Temptress, an assassin, wanted by the nobility for many a crime, the most heinous among them the slaying of Prince Joaquin, King Jemare’s son. No surprise their home had been attacked on the Night of Blades. Why didn’t you help? He eyed Keshka. You could’ve defeated your enemies. Instead, Mother died at the hands of Jemare and Ainslen. Keedar held his head back, staring into the sky’s murk.
“Sometimes sacrifice is necessary for the greater good,” Keshka said.
Keedar let out a slow breath, chest trembling as memories rushed him. He could feel and see Delisar on the night the King’s Blades captured him, the blood soaking his clothes, the tears they’d shared in the closet of their old home, their last hug. Mother’s demise superimposed itself over that image in a night filled with swords, her laughter, and her golden scales. In it all he saw Ainslen’s face and wanted to pummel it bloody with his bare fists.
Moments like this, which were too common of late, brought him back to Delisar and Keshka’s lie. Well, not lie but a denial of truth. His lips curled at the thought of Keshka’s words to explain it all away. For the past two years Keedar believed his abilities to be the natural product of soul, simple applications of the cycles. Not once did he suspect he’d already possessed enough control to be considered a melder. Why did you two keep the truth from me?
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