The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2)

by M. D. Presley

  “I don’t give two wet shits about succession. I care for Jaelle alone.”

  “Then prove it by accepting her decision.”

  “Impossible.” It was all Luca could do to keep from yelling. “I will not believe it until I hear it from her own lips, alone, without you or anyone else here. She will say she loves Gideon to my face without you vultures watching!”

  “Now that is the real impossibility, my boy. It would be unseemly for a married woman to be left alone with a former suitor.”

  “But you promised her to me!”

  “No!” Simza bellowed, the force of her voice enough to drive Luca back. “I promised you and I promised her she would make her own decision, which she did. She took Gideon’s hand of her own accord, a proper blushing bride. Ask anyone in attendance, which is your only recourse. Because if you disobey me in this, Luca, you will have broken your vow. There will be punishment for that, and it would break my heart to discipline you. Know that, no matter what. None of this would be possible without you at my side, and if I could, I’d give you the world. Anything you ask in gratitude for your service. But Jaelle is not mine to give nor yours to take.”

  Luca trembled as he realized his position. By taking any action in approaching Jaelle, he would forfeit her hand. Yet to do nothing would earn him and his family everything. Every inch of him smoldered at the unfairness of his ordeal, but the glimmer of a grin on Simza’s pressed lips showed this to be the trap he was meant to fall into. So instead of giving in to his pique, Luca stormed out the door before either of the two bietalas could catch up.

  Outside, he found Isabelle, the girl unable to stifle her smirk. It reminded him of Simza’s, and for a moment, Luca wondered if his right hand had been in on Simza’s plan all along. But Isabelle had provided him the stones from Dama they were sent to collect, and he remembered how harrowing their last trip had been. If not for her, Luca would not even be aware of his matriarch’s treachery until Jaelle was beyond his grasp in Gideon’s Polis home.

  Jaelle was married.

  His knees nearly buckled, Luca catching Isabelle’s shoulder for support. The smugness left her face at his touch, but Luca barely saw as his situation crashed down upon him. This was no story of old with the hero riding in at the last minute to put an end to the impending wedding to an evil prince; Jaelle was already wed. What made it worse was Luca knowing full well that she would not be coerced to go quietly to some public execution. No, Jaelle would kick and scream to make her displeasure known to the whole wolari.

  That meant Simza was right in that Jaelle willingly married Gideon.

  Luca’s knees fully gave way and he found himself caught in Isabelle’s arms. She strained under his weight, but Luca hardly registered as his mind reeled. Jaelle was lost to him and there was nothing to be done. She was gone, and the future he fought for was now already past tense. The realization of it nearly stole his Soul, but just as the last flame of hope flickered at the edge of oblivion, he spied the faint golden glow.

  His face pressed against Isabelle’s shoulder, his breath had activated his imbued Listener pin. Reassured by its radiance, Luca stood, causing Isabelle to stumble, but he did not notice as he walked on, his cocksure stride returning with each step he took away from her and back to his beloved.

  ***

  His bietalas delayed his hastily put together plan until well past midnight, as did the loss of the trellis Jaelle often took advantage of for their illicit rendezvous. Its absence was the first thing Luca noticed as he scouted Simza’s building. His approach would not be easy, Luca forced to scale the neighboring building to catch the overhanging ledge that might grant him access. It was not a direct route to Jaelle’s window, but it would have to do.

  It would do, Luca assured himself.

  He was pure in his heart, and according to her pin, Jaelle’s affections were never in question. This meant he was destined to succeed, and the insurmountable hurdles like the loss of the trellis became no more than minor inconveniences.

  =She already took another. Why run down a squirrel already gone when another will come?

  “You’ve obviously never been in love,” Luca answered sagely.

  Isabelle stormed away, her Mind again taking refuge in the Nahut language. She would not follow him on his fool’s errand either, but Luca did not mind. He had love on his side.

  He slipped into Simza’s building easier than anticipated, though when he considered it, Luca realized he knew the abode better than anyone not currently residing there. He made his entrance through the hallway window by sliding his lockblade through the sill and pane to flick the lock. The fit was tight and drop daunting, but Luca paid neither any mind as he shoved himself through. He knew the table with a vase atop it awaited him, so Luca paused halfway through to gently set both aside before shimmying the rest of the way. Again he halted, listening to the hallway for any alarm. Petro resided on this floor, and though Luca did not fear the man, he had no desire to puncture his pupil’s flesh, either. Finally sure he was safe, Luca flitted down the hall.

  His aim was Jaelle’s room at the end, but as he approached, Luca suddenly wondered what he would do if he found Gideon sharing the wedding bed with her. Part of him understood this could very well be the case, but each time his mind sidled up to the notion, it recoiled in horror.

  He sighed his relief when he found the single sleeper. The darkness obscured her identity, but Luca could tell by smell alone as he settled onto the bed. Jaelle did not stir, Luca drinking in her face in as the seconds ticked on. In repose, she was effortlessly lovely in a way he hated to disturb, but he laid his hand to her check and whispered her name.

  She awoke, eyes going wide as he gently begged her silence with his shushes. Recognizing his voice even without words, she relaxed, only to stiffen again as he leaned in close enough for his lips to brush her ear.

  “I came for you. Will not leave until you tell me you love another.”

  He felt the strange sensation of her breath catching rather than having heard it. Stranger still was how she kept her thoughts hidden.

  “Just say go,” he whispered, blowing on his pin and casting them both in its golden glow, “and I will go.”

  Despite her defenses, Luca felt her roiling turmoil, Jaelle finally throwing her arms around him to whisper. “What they showed me… Luca, my love. The future, it’s not ours to decide. Unseen hands write our fate, and we must either follow their course or leave the path entirely. That path… Luca, they showed me. It’s you, but I fear. How can I walk something that leads us there?”

  Her words dissolved into sobs, Luca barely able to make them out. “You don’t believe the bix sticks any more than I. What future is this you saw?”

  “A circle, Luca. A circle we run, though we think it straight. There is no end, only the endless flow. Mother showed me an escape, and Luca… I was weak. I took it instead of you.”

  Unable to understand her words, Luca instead held her tighter to feel her resolve crumbling with each breath. Feebly she pushed against him, but he held firm and soon her arms held him just as tightly.

  “A fool. I was a fool to think I could escape you. Forgive me and never let me go.”

  They sealed their elopement with a kiss. Neither saw another way out, and neither desired to look. Her kisses tempted him to stay, but Luca’s mind focused on their impending escape. He was still considering which clothes she should pack when the door flew open. Simza’s silhouette was obvious, but the thin man leading her remained a mystery until he spoke with his Polis accent:

  “I am somewhat sorry it came to this, Dolphus. A bit.”

  His pronunciation was genteel, yet Luca noticed Gideon’s lockblade already in hand. And as he casually spun it across his knuckles, Luca saw the snare he again willingly walked into. Simza’s size exiled her to the first floor since buying the building, so her presence on the second story was clearly orchestrated in advance. No longer was this about a spurned suitor, rather a criminal invading the
matriarch’s home.

  “No,” Jaelle cried as Gideon’s twirled pattern turned so intricate that Luca lost track of it. “Not this. Let him live! Please!”

  “My dear, you are distraught. Let me do away with this ravisher to put you at ease.” Gideon hardly mustered any attempt at emotion, perfunctorily running through his lines as his lockblade flicked open in the man’s equally practiced routine. Such technique eclipsed anything Luca ever attempted, so he kept his hands raised and away from his own blade.

  His beard could not hide Gideon’s sneer. “At least draw and give yourself some dignity in death.”

  Luca knew he would be afforded no dignity, lockblade or no. Gideon just needed a pretext to make his execution palatable, but Luca knew pretext would not be enough to stay the aggrieved husband’s hand. Just as certain was Gideon’s mastery of Erro’s techniques, but Luca refused to be cowed. Gideon might be a masterful duelist trained by the best, but Luca learned brawling from Bo.

  Waiting for Luca’s hand to snake to his pocket, Gideon was caught flat-footed by Luca’s rush. Forgoing his own lockblade, Luca’s arms wrapped around his enemy’s waist as he drove his shoulder into his stomach and bore them both to the ground. He felt the air exit Gideon as they hit, but his eyes never left the Hammat’s hand. To his credit, Gideon kept hold of his blade, but Luca latched to his wrist with both hands.

  On the ground, all Erro’s studied stances and practiced poses vanished as it devolved into a scrambling contest of strength. Having earned his living through hard work, Luca knew the advantage was his, but still could not break Gideon’s grip. Erro’s exercises at the Hottenkof School of Tshi paid their dividend, and Gideon’s hand might as well have been wrought from iron. His flesh still proved pliant when Luca bit down, earning a yelp and dropped blade.

  Gideon bucked and thrashed all the harder as his assailant claimed the weapon, and Luca immediately understood why. The hilt was encrusted in silver, chased and embossed all down the blade and casing. It was a gentleman’s weapon, surely passed down from father to son and something the Ikus should feel ashamed for even looking at too long. Luca felt none as he rode out Gideon’s tantrum, the Hammat’s own blade hovering before him.

  “Yield.”

  “Ix culla, grubber.”

  Honor demanded a death at the abominable utterance, and so Luca fed the blade Gideon’s flesh, though not his life. Not yet.

  The thrust demonstrated his mastery of not only Bo’s lessons but Erro’s as well: the blade perforated Gideon’s lungs perfectly. The boy would be dead in minutes if he pulled it free, which was why Luca left it. He had beaten the Cousin, Gideon’s life his to claim at his leisure.

  “These are your terms.” Even Luca marveled at the calm command in his voice. “You will renounce all claim to Jaelle. For that, I will allow Simza to save your life. Then you will return home and never say Jaelle’s name again. For that, you will earn your blade back. Agreed?”

  The look in Gideon’s eyes and thoughts Luca could catch said he did, and for a moment, Luca believed his victory might be so simple. Then the son of Rabe Chunvin’s pride roared back, and the Hammat spat in Luca’s face.

  “You Ikus bugs. You upjump pests pretending to be something. You come from shit and will return to shit soon enough. When I return to Polis, I will tell them your treachery, your theft. Your whole worlari will be labeled tsor for that. I’ll see to it. You’ll be cut from the tribes, from the lines. No messages will flow to you. You’ll wither then die and no one will even remember your name. I’ll make sure to see to that.”

  Gideon’s threat was severe, Simza’s gasp asserting as much. Excommunication was rare, but not unheard of. Cut off from any source of income along the lines of ley would spell the tribe’s death knell. And the son of a Polis rabe, it was possible for Gideon to enact his threat. Luca did not care either way. He had no intention of remaining anymore. Having served Simza so long, he now knew how to survive outside the tribe.

  “For that threat, you forfeit your knife. As for your life… do what you will with the rest of the wolari. It makes no matter to me. All I care about is your claim on Jaelle. Renounce it now or join the flow.”

  Gideon seethed silently, Luca flicking the hilt of the impaling blade to speed his decision. The Hammat winced, Luca reaching for the handle a second time before Gideon relented.

  “I renounce all claim.” Luca’s grin bloomed at his victory as Gideon went on. “Because I was sold a whore.”

  Luca almost yanked the blade then, but forced his hand away to avoid the temptation. Through his Listener Mind, Luca felt the full onslaught of the Hammat’s hate, as he was sure both mother and daughter did.

  “You think I would not notice she was no maiden when I took her?” Gideon’s face twisted maliciously as he noted Luca’s glower. “Oh yes, I took her at my whim. And she was willing, so hungry. She squealed for me like a pig. Disgusting.”

  Luca reached for the protruding handle only to find Simza’s hand already there. Such speed from her surprised him almost as much as when she tore Gideon’s knife free.

  “Ix culla,” she said before spitting in the Hammat’s face.

  Scarcely any blood bubbled from his wound. Instead, it filled his lungs to sluggishly choke out any chance at last words. At any point Simza or Jaelle could save his life, but they watched his feeble fight against the inevitable. No one lifted a finger as his struggle faded by the second.

  “You did this, you and your terrible love. Your refusal to see what’s before you as you reach for what’s beyond your grasp killed him and every one of us. I gave you more than any grubber could have even dreamed, but it was never enough. You truly are the boy swallowed by the sea.”

  In his daze, Luca could not tell if Simza’s words were real or his father’s echoing in his head. It did not matter though: her words were as true as when his father said them years ago. Like a miner chasing after an elusive golden vein, he dug deeper and deeper until he collapsed the tunnel upon himself. He had been warned, Luca knew, but he barreled on ahead, confident somehow his impossible marriage to the next matriarch would occur. He might as well have expected to breathe water for the possibility of that eventuality, but he never desisted.

  And for all his efforts, he had doomed his love. Simza and her wolari could hang, but he had led Jaelle to damnation. True the two of them might escape into the wilds to eke out a short life, but that was not the future Jaelle deserved. She stood above all of Sol’s wondrous creations, yet his grubber love tore her down to wallow in the dirt. She deserved more than he could give, and so Luca stood.

  “Ix chani Ikus belano.” His dry tongue tried to thwart the words from escaping his mouth, and Luca swallowed before reiterating them in Acwealt. “There never was an Ikus spirit within me. Ix chani Ikus belano.”

  Simza cocked her head as Jaelle gasped at his renunciation of the tribe. By repeating the utterance three times before witnesses, Luca disavowed his ties to the Dobra. With it, he made himself a tsor.

  Decorum dictated Simza turn her back on him at best or, more likely, call for her bietas to execute him, but she instead held him with her gaze. Gideon’s bloody knife still jutting from her hand, she embraced him.

  “Tsor,” she said, the kindness in her voice contrasting with the viciousness of her words. “I cast you out to reside where the wild ley roams. May you end alone in agony.”

  Then, to Luca’s surprise, Simza squatted beside the gurgling Gideon. He thought perhaps she would make some attempt at saving his life, but Simza’s healer hands covered his mouth and nose as she began a recitation in an ancient language Luca recognized, but did not know. When she finished, she removed her hand just as a final sigh escaped Gideon. As his life left him, Simza resumed her chant, holding Gideon’s own silver lockblade above his gaping mouth.

  Able to pass through anything but glass, the ephemeral Breath that bestowed life could escape a corpse from any angle. But as Simza spoke, she coaxed three breaths, one after the other, out
of Gideon’s throat. Each one passed through his family’s priceless heirloom, and as they did, it darkened. At the first one, Luca thought it a trick of the light, a shadow cast by the disappearing Breath. The second cemented the effect, and by the third, Simza turned the lockblade black as pitch.

  “Black,” Luca heard himself muttering. “The black work requires blackness first.”

  “Tsor you may be, but you will not be unarmed.” Simza held the hilt to him. “With this open, you cannot be defeated. Keep it close. Every hand will be raised against you and you will find no open doors. You will not lead a bloodless life, Luca, but with this, at least you will lead a long one.”

  She pressed the imbued blade into his hand, and Luca’s fingers fumbled with the weapon. Despite her recent touch and the Breath funneled through it, the silver was cold as it was dark.

  Luca scarcely felt it as he looked to Jaelle. She opened her Mind, and he knew she would run with him until the ends of Ayr. She would be his bride and love him forever in poverty so long as he but asked.

  He turned away and heard a swallowed sob. Luca wanted nothing more than to scoop her up, together riding away to the rest of their lives alone in the wilds. But her mother was right: his would not be a bloodless life, and he loved Jaelle too much to condemn her to the life he earned.

  She might have meant it as a benediction, but he knew Jaelle’s last words would haunt him the rest of his days:

  “I will love you even into my next turn on Sol’s flow. Your love has stained me, Luca.”

  Chapter 33

  Blotmonad 29, 567

  Horses possessed more control than Marta. Even those wearing blinders set down straight roads and driven with the whips of men invisible to them, those horses possessed more mastery of their fate than she. They at least operated without any illusion of free will, aware only they must obey or endure the lash. If they still did not obey their betters, then they would die. Marta was instead cursed to labor under the delusion she decided her own destiny. Even when she believed she had cut all of Carmichael’s strings, she still found herself playing her part in his performance without ever having seen the script. Despite all her strengths, she was just a dumb brute lumbering ahead whenever she felt the kiss of his lash.