Lavery frowned at the vial. “That doesn’t sound very good.” He sighed and dropped it into the bag, returning to the troughs.
One of the women coughed and jerked violently. “Why have you come here?”
“I’m on my way to Coraen.”
“Coraen,” she said, almost wistfully. “You should turn back.” Her tone turned dark, shuddersome.
“I can’t turn back. It’s very important I go there. Do you know a shortcut? Maybe those needles, or, um—did you call them mutations? Maybe one of those can help you. Help make you better, I mean. And you can show me—”
“No,” the woman said forcefully. “There is nothing for me in Coraen. There is nothing for you, either. Turn back.”
Lavery made himself look bigger, more confident. “I’m not going back. If you won’t join me, then I’ll go alone. But I would like to help you before I leave.”
“What is your name?”
“Lavery Opsillian.”
“Lavery Opsillian, you have a good heart.” The woman groaned as a blister on her lips burst. “The world could use more of you. Help us sleep, please.”
Lavery fiddled with his thumbs. “The same way I helped those men sleep?”
“Yes.”
“What about, um, Amelorris?”
“We are… too far… gone.”
He’d hoped there was another way, but he understood. If nothing could save these women except death, then death was what they deserved. He didn’t care for being the one who had to do it, and he didn’t watch, but he granted them their wish. He removed the troughs remaining in the two furnaces, lined all six women up, and said goodbye to each as he injected them with what they called the sleep mutation.
The last woman he came to, the one who had coughed frequently and told him to turn back, attempted to raise her hand. She could not. “Lavery Opsillian, my name”—a cough—“is Ereni Klaek. If I am wrong and there is something for you in Coraen, tell them of my fate when you reach the city.”
“Of course,” Lavery said. “And there will be something for me, I promise you.”
It looked as if Ereni was trying to smile. “I hope so. You are not from here, are you?”
“I was born in Valios. That’s very far south of here.”
“This is not a good land, Lavery. Remember that. Although I am thankful you strayed from your path on this occasion, you must never stray again. Do you understand?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Goodbye, Lavery.”
Lavery lowered the needle. “Goodbye, Ereni.”
Ereni Klaek took her last breath, and Lavery noticed the world around him felt far colder.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Come, now. Cheery up, yeah?”
Oriana regarded the man several feet down from her with disdain. He called himself Adran. As it turned out, Adran was impressively annoying.
“I’m a prisoner,” Oriana said, feeling sweat tickle her nostril and being unable to do anything about it given her bound hands. “I’m not happy.”
“Could be worse,” Adran said, oblivious to the fact that uttering that phrase had never, not once in all of history, turned frowns into smiles. “Ever get shoved deep down in Valios’s dungeon?”
“I’m not a criminal. So, no, I’ve not.” The evening sunset splashed pinks and oranges across Oriana’s face. It wouldn’t be long before she’d not see anything except the pillar before her.
“Way I see it,” Adran said, rubbing his shiny almost-but-not-quite bald head, “you’re in here for somethin’. Anyways, bad place, that Valios. This, though? Ah, this ain’t nothin’. That’s why I came down here, you know? To Torbinen. If you’re gonna make a life as a thief, best make it here. The confines are quite chirpy, as far as these things go.”
To be fair, Adran was correct on that front. Torbinen’s place of imprisonment wasn’t beneath the ground like Valios—thanks to being level with the sea—and it wasn’t high up on a destitute floating island like the Peak in Haeglin. It was about a mile from Torbinen, against a cliff. It had no roof, and its windows were iron bars, allowing the cool coastal air to gust through.
Had there not been a wall behind her, Oriana could have seen the ocean.
She heard it well enough, though, and she wondered if she’d get to touch its waters once more. A silly thought, in truth, because she had spotted Rol when the guards were hauling her away. Well, Rol and Horace Dewn. Why the spymaster had accompanied Rol, she couldn’t say, besides it likely involving her. The point was, Rol knew her location, and he’d come for her.
She hated the idea of being a damsel of distress, but wrought iron clasped her ankles to a pillar of stone. What, exactly, what she supposed to do for herself?
“So, what’d you do?” Adran asked. “Pocket a little coin that wasn’t yours? No harm, right? Victimless crime, that.”
Oriana’s head lolled against her shoulder apathetically. “I told the queen to stick it up her ass. More or less.”
Adran laughed. “Her primness probably didn’t take kindly to that. Ah, she might be a hag, but there have been worse queens throughout history.”
Olyssi’s face popped into Oriana’s mind. “Much worse,” she agreed.
The other prisoners were quiet. Some were sleeping, some were sick. Mostly everyone wanted the days to pass so they could go home. Oriana was counting hours, not days. If Rol himself couldn’t free her, then her sorcerers would bear down on this place like a hurricane on a cape village.
Oriana closed her eyes. She wished she could have pulled her smock down over her butt. It was bunched up, and because of that the dry dirt floor, had been scratching at her exposed thighs for hours.
Sleep took her eventually, late in the evening. Evening became night, and night slowly but surely became morning. Oriana counted three more nights and four more mornings before finally someone came for her.
It wasn’t at all a person she wished to see.
Farris Torbinen, of all people. Her many silks flowed out over her feet, hiding all but her toes. She was flanked by two Queen’s Blades carrying iron shields emblazoned with the Torbinen eel and holding broadswords that glimmered in the morning light.
She flung a hand behind her. “Go,” she said dismissively. The guards retreated into another room.
“Your Highness,” Adran said, bowing his head. “It’s a pleasure to—”
“Shut up, Adran,” Farris said.
“Right away, Your Highness.”
Farris settled herself before Oriana, chin high and smug. “Did you ever think you’d find yourself here, dear?”
“You’re making a grave mistake,” Oriana said.
“Do your legs hurt?”
Oriana tried to hide her wincing, but the cramps in her calves was making that difficult. “Nothing I’ve never felt before. Have you come to free me?”
Farris paced. “That depends,” she said, drawing out each word. “Where are your sorcerers?”
Oriana concealed a smile. If Farris hadn’t located them yet, she’d never find them. That must have been what Rol was up to and why he was taking so long. It made sense—he had to find a suitable location for everyone to retreat to.
“If you don’t give me answers, dear, I can make your stay more miserable than you can imagine.”
“You can try.”
As Farris retreated into the shadows, shaking her head, Oriana saw her reach into the sleeve of her silks.
“In the nine months you and I have learned much about one another, what has led you to believe I’m ever unprepared?” She appeared within the pale yellow sunlight again. She flicked something into the air. It landed with a clank and skittered into Oriana’s ankle.
One touch and Oriana knew immediately what it was. Her blood ran cold. It had a flattened diamond shape and felt hard and smooth. Oriana held it up to the light, revealing the color of ice.
She swallowed her worries. “Any potter worth his salt can craft a molding of a scale. It’s not impressive, F
arris.”
The queen folded her chubby hands at her belly. She smiled. “I see distress in those green eyes of yours, Ori. Would I see anger if I told you Sarpella cried when I pried it off?”
Oriana lurched at Farris, but iron chewed into her ankles and the clasps yanked her down. “You bitch!” she screamed, her greasy, unkempt hair falling into her eyes. “If you hurt her—” She couldn’t finish the thought. She trembled with rage.
“There it is,” Farris said, a sardonic warmth to her voice. “Now, we can put an end to all of these games. Tell me where you’ve hidden your sinful sorcerers, Oriana. Or I’ll return with a dozen scales, each taken from your precious dragon’s face.”
Oriana couldn’t stop herself from shaking. She’d never felt this furious before, not even when Olyssi had murdered their father. Sarpella was her baby.
Good mothers do whatever they can for their children, and they sacrifice much. Sometimes good mothers, even the best of them, do bad things—even the worst of things—to help their children.
Oriana was about to do a terrible thing. A deed so heinous that she’d regret it for all her remaining days. She knew this, and still the alternative wasn’t a possibility she considered.
“They were at the Pinnacle,” Oriana said, head down. She spoke softly.
“Were?”
“If someone saw me taken away, they might have alerted everyone.”
Farris tilted her head. “And who would have seen you?”
“I don’t know. My laborers visited the city proper frequently. You know this.”
Farris rubbed her hands. “I am a lady of my word, Oriana. Your dragon will be spared.” She smiled. “I hope you haven’t misled me. Sarpella should hope that as well.”
“Oriana!” hollered a throaty voice from deep in the confines. “Oriana… ah, hells. What the piss is your last name? I can’t read this.” He quieted down and said, “It’s what? Ah, that Oriana. Right, then.”
A door opened, and in the darkness not yet pierced by dawn, Oriana saw Rommel, the confines’ “premier guardsman,” as he called himself, come waddling in. He pulled his belt up by his thumbs. “Oriana, you have—ah, er. My apologies, milady. Fenrik didn’t inform me you were coming. Or that you were here.” There was obvious contempt for Fenrik in Rommel’s voice.
“That’s quite all right,” Farris said. “Finish telling Oriana what she has. I’m curious as well.”
Rommel loosened the neck of his ill-fitting shirt. “She has two visitors, milady.”
Farris looked intrigued, and Oriana felt intrigued. Two visitors could only mean… unless… which would mean… well, now she was losing her train of thought.
“What are their names?” Farris asked.
“Amon and, er. Ah, right—the other one calls himself Bastion. But not that Bastion, milady.”
“Bring them here.”
Rommel cleared his throat. “Right, milady. I’ll ensure they’ve no weapons, and then—”
“I have a feeling that won’t be necessary, Rommel. Tell my guards to return.”
Rommel gave the queen a long, concerned look. “Yes, milady.”
“And quit calling me that.”
“Yes, mi—er… right.”
Farris’s Queen’s Blades soon returned to Farris’s side. Moments later, Rommel escorted in the supposed Amon and Bastion.
Farris snorted. “Bastion I understand. It’s clever. Humorous, even. But Amon? Is there a story behind that name?”
“My great-aunt’s husband,” Rol began, cut off by Farris before he could continue.
“So, your uncle?” she said.
“His name was Amon. I hated the name, hated the man even more. Not very funny or clever, but it has a story behind it.”
Horace Dewn steepled his hands. “It’s the close comforts and protections of home that so often undo us. I doubt you would ever travel with only two Queen’s Blades if you were, say, even ten miles from your walls. A poor decision in hindsight, wouldn’t you agree?”
Oriana hadn’t expected Horace Dewn to ever bring a smile to her face, but smile she did.
The brief spurt of happiness gave way to unease. While she’d expected Rol to arrive here, maybe even with Horace in tow, she hadn’t expected the two of them to confront the queen of Torbinen. There were plenty of ways for this encounter to go sideways, or completely upside down.
“Milady,” Rommel said, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “Is everything all right?”
“Quite fine,” Farris said. “Return to your post. And close the door,” she hollered after him. She turned her attention to Oriana, then back to Rol and Horace. “You followed me like a pair of hounds, did you?”
“From the ridge,” Rol said. He nodded at her Queen’s Blades and said, “Don’t blame these poor chaps. We stalk well.”
“We’re predators, you might say,” Horace added.
Oriana’s stomach knotted up. Horace, from what she knew and the single conversation she’d had with him, chose his words carefully. The man simply did not misspeak.
“The way I see it,” Rol said, “we all six walk out of here.”
“There are only five of us,” Farris said.
Rol pointed at Oriana. “Six.”
“I simply want it on the record,” Farris said, “so entertain me, dears. What if I decline the offer?”
Rol and Horace looked at one another. They shrugged.
“I’ll kill him,” Rol explained, winking at the guard standing before him.
“I’ll kill that one,” Horace said.
“And then,” Rol said, “we’ll both kill you. And if those two idiots you got posted here come runnin’ in, we’ll kill them too. Killings all around!”
The knot in Oriana’s stomach wound itself around another knot. She didn’t have guts anymore, just one huge knot. She tried reconciling Farris’s death with her wish of changing the world, and she couldn’t. The former would plunge an already disorderly world into chaos and make the latter that much more difficult to obtain.
But if that was the only way she’d be freed, then so be it.
“I hardly think it would be a certainty the way you envision it,” Farris said.
“And I hardly think that’s a game you wish to play,” Horace countered.
Farris parted her hands and brought them back together. “I’m sure you know the outcome of this decision of yours will not be positive.”
“That depends on whose side you’re on,” Horace said. “Would you mind if we say our goodbyes now? I have… errands to run.”
Farris put her wrinkly hand on Horace’s shoulder. “See you soon, Horace. And you, Rol.”
Rol cleared his throat. “Do you want to tell the guards to release her, or should we? I don’t think Horace and I will be as kind as you. Or as peaceful.”
The door to the confines thudded closed. A few moments later, it opened with a jangling of keys. Rommel belched and unhooked a pair of keys from his sagging belt. With a weary gaze at Horace and Rol, he waddled between the two men. He groaned and winced as he knelt before Oriana.
“Knees aren’t what they used to be,” he said, out of breath.
Oriana didn’t dare say it, but he looked no older than her. His bulging belly, however, was equivalent to two of her.
He unlocked Oriana’s clasps, grumbled and hissed as he pushed himself to his feet, wavering like a branch in the wind. Grimacing, he toddled on back to his post.
Rol crouched close to Oriana. “You okay?”
“Fine. I was wondering when you’d come.” She smiled.
“We took a few too many skins of wine to the face a few days ago, then got sidetracked with some damn good gambling yesterday. We had things to do.” He winked at her and inspected her ankles. “Got some nasty gouges, there.”
She flexed her toes, then took Rol’s hand and pulled herself up. “Are you two friends now?” she asked, with a nod of her chin at Horace.
“Acquaintances,” Rol said. “You never told m
e, by the way, you were made an offer to be queen.”
Oriana glanced at Horace, a mango slice of sunlight highlighting his almost always expressionless face. “It wasn’t an offer I accepted.”
“You should,” Horace said.
“You really should,” Rol added. “We better clear out, ’fore Farris sends in her thugs. We’ll explain more on the way.” He paused and looked at Horace. “Well, he will.”
“If you think I’m going to Haeglin right now, you’re mistaken. I’m not going anywhere until I find Sarpella.”
“Then you’ll be happy to hear that’s where we’re going,” Rol said.
“You found her?”
“We made spies out of your sorcerers; turns out some of them are damn handy. She’s about three miles out, on an island. Best haul ass there, girly, ’fore Farris decides to relocate her.”
BASTION ROOK TOOK stock of his new quarters. It was expansive, airy and open. Two vast windows allowed the noon sun to pour in, its golden fingers stretching across an old but impeccable wooden floor. The furniture was rustic, a bit too primitive for his tastes, but he couldn’t complain. These quarters, after all, had belonged to Raegon Gravendeer.
Olyssi had offered him the accommodations as a token of her appreciation for his role as her closest and most trusted adviser. Bastion had nearly balked at the offer. He thought it’d thrust him even deeper into the maw of notoriety and closer to the public eye. When you’re the puppeteer of a queen or king, you live longer and more successfully if you remain hidden in the shadows.
But Bastion had never intended to stay in the shadows forever. His move would come at some point. Sooner, rather than later. He’d already begun consolidating his power by positioning himself as the only voice Olyssi Gravendeer listened to and the only one she actively sought out.
There was a knock at the door. Bastion put a hand atop an emerald wood dresser, flicking off a layer of dust. “Come in.”
“Sir,” said a woman entering the room. Two more women filed in behind her. “The queen sent us to prepare you for the feast.”
The women had their arms wrapped around bulging piles of clothing. There were fabrics of all kind, tunics of all lengths, and colors of all shades ready and waiting for Bastion to pick and choose.
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