The Last Steward

by Janelle Garrett

“Insolent child.” The boy didn’t seem angry, only perplexed. A look of genuine confusion was on his face. “So. You throw in your lot with the Creator? I had thought you wiser than that. Very well.”

  Iron-like grips snagged Brate from his feet, tossing him to the ceiling and holding him there. The boy morphed, spinning back into the form of the Prince of Chaos. Brate sucked in a breath, reaching for the Deep that was still just out of touch. Struggling, he immediately regretted his strong words. What had he been thinking? That just because he was courageous he could escape the grip of the Liar himself?

  The house began to crumble. The shaking roof collapsed around Brate and he shot into the sky. A scream ripped from his throat as the Liar leaped, following him into the heavens. Higher and higher they flew, until the house below was a speck in a giant plain. Gasping, Brate tried to draw in a breath, but the air was thinning. His lungs constricted until finally their ascent stopped.

  The Liar floated beside him, looking out over the ground below. “Are you certain of your decision, Brate Hightower?”

  Brate distinctly felt the weight of the choice before him. Sucking in a lungful of weak air, he tried to stave the dizziness overtaking his head. Spots danced before his eyes, black at the edge of his vision.

  Was it worth it? He could see it so clearly. Sitting on the throne, the kings of the sphere bowing before him, Anyia at his side, his son on his knee.

  At his core something stirred. The Rift. It surged, reacting to his thoughts, enticing, beckoning.

  “I am certain,” he managed to gasp out, and the Rift receded. The Liar looked at him, then shook his head, unbelieving.

  “You will change your mind.” The certainty in his tone was strident. “In time, you will see.” The Liar laid a hand on Brate’s arm, and pain shot through his limb, racing to his shoulder and down his wrist. Brate jerked away, looking down...

  He stood with his foot poised over the steps, looking up at the broken house, exactly as it had been moments ago. He stopped, not placing his boot down. He fell back, looking at the house as fear raced through his blood. What had just happened? Had it all been a dream?

  Something prickled on his skin. A burning sensation grew, and Brate looked down as his arm ignited in fire and pain. A handprint was clear on his forearm, burning red and angry, then snuffed out to form a blackened outline on his skin.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Anyia Shallowgold

  What had happened to her? Brynn walked toward Anyia. The woman had aged at least five years in just the few short months it had been since Anyia saw her last. Her blonde hair was now ringed with white, dark circles under her eyes, and more wrinkles on her forehead. Compassion shot through Anyia. This was the woman who had taken care of her when her own parents dropped her off at the doorstep of the Lodge to be raised by strangers.

  Brynn’s eyes sought Anyia’s and her face lit up. Anyia set aside the letter she had been writing, standing to embrace her mentor. Light flickered on the walls of the cave, giving an ambience that had long grown repetitive. The day couldn’t come fast enough when she could once again live under the sky instead of in the ground.

  “You look tired, dear Anyia,” Brynn said, pulling away to take Anyia’s face in her hands. “Please tell me you are taking care of yourself.”

  Was she? Well, if she had to wonder, the answer was probably no.

  “I’m sorry I had to summon you like this,” Anyia said, sitting down on her chair and gesturing for Brynn to sit beside her.

  “I hear tell you are the Benefactress?” Brynn said, phrasing it like a question. “What happened to that Hightower lad who traveled with you?”

  “There is too much to explain,” Anyia said, running tired fingers over her fatigued eyes.

  “Rumor has it that he is the Bender. The cities are stirring, and I’m not sure the stirrings are all that pleasant.” Brynn’s dark eyes were alight with worry. “When I saw you last, I would have sworn that he cared for you.”

  “When you saw me last the Sisterhood still held to our vows, too. Everything has changed, Brynn. Nothing will be the same in the Lands.”

  Brynn nodded. “I think you are right. Isa has said as much.”

  “I’m glad you have brought him up. I seek him out. Desperately, in fact.”

  Brynn’s face transformed, her smile fading and brow creasing. “You seek him? As do I. He no longer walks the streets of home. He hasn’t sent word of where he is, only that he won’t be coming back.” Tears glinted in Brynn’s eyes, and she wiped them away, turning as if to hide her face. “Why do you need him? As I recall, you weren’t too fond of him.”

  Anyia started to protest but stopped herself. It would do no good to deny the truth. It would only waste time. “Have you heard tales of what transpired in the Forest City?”

  “You mean the confrontation between the Bender and the King? Those are only rumors. I doubt that the battle waged was near as epic as most claim. In fact, word has it that the new Princess will soon ride the streets with her warden, and the people will be allowed to meet her. That doesn’t sound much like His Highness is all that worried.”

  Interesting. Smart move by Voltaire. Anyia pursed her lips. He meant to make light of what happened and twist it around to suit his own story. Not surprising, really. If the people had any inkling of his true intentions, they would have rioted long ago.

  “Be that is it may, I was there, Brynn.” At her words, Brynn’s eyes widened. Anyia rested a hand on her arm. “Isa was, as well. Some things transpired that make it incredibly vital we find him.”

  “He has made no mention of this in the letters he has sent me,” Brynn responded, sitting upright in her chair. For some reason, it seemed as if her guard was up. Had Anyia offended her in some way?

  “How many letters have you received? What did they say?” Anyia didn’t try to keep the intensity from her tone. Time was running short, and the sooner they found him the better.

  “That is between a mother and her son,” Brynn responded, tone mildly rebuking. “Besides, as I said, he does not intend to come home. And he made no mention of his whereabouts.”

  “Brynn,” Anyia started, but then stopped herself. She had no right to press for the content of those letters. Right? But wasn’t she the Benefactress? Didn’t that give her the right? If it involved business related to the Sisterhood, then Brynn could indeed be compelled to produce the letters. But just because Anyia had the power to do so didn’t mean she should. It was Brynn. Her mentor. If Anyia owed anyone anything, it was her.

  The silence was stretching on, and Brynn gazed at her with a quizzical expression. “Are you okay, Anyia? You aren’t resting, are you?” Her tone was mildly accusing, what Anyia always imagined a mother’s concern would sound like.

  “I will rest later,” Anyia said with a wave of her hand. She let out a deep breath and shook her head. “To be honest, the pressures of leading the Covens is getting to me.” On impulse, she turned to Brynn, reaching for her hand as desperation grasped her. “You have to understand, Brynn. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this. I certainly didn’t ask for your inn to be destroyed, let alone to be assigned to the Bender, only to –” she stopped. No, she couldn’t speak of her feelings for Brate. Not even to Brynn.

  “My dear Anyia,” Brynn said, clasping Anyia’s hand in her own. The touch was comforting, and Anyia’s heart settled to a steady rhythm. “You take on too much. Come, let us discuss this. Is it true that the Sisterhood hides from the King? That you betrayed him?”

  “Not all is as it seems,” Anyia said, withdrawing her hand. She must remain strong. Not let anyone see her weakness. “The King...” should she tell all to Brynn? Would that help make her understand the importance of finding Isa?

  “Listen. You do not need to explain to me that people are fickle. Even the throne is not exempt from it. If there is anything I have learned, it is that the Creator is longsuffering with his people.” Brynn shook her head. “Isa always used to say that t
he heart of kings are like clay in the hands of the Creator, fashioned as he so wills it to be.”

  “If that is true then the Star has much to answer for.” Anyia didn’t even try to keep the bitterness from her tone. Brynn frowned, withdrawing her hand as Anyia sighed. “I’m sorry. Look, there is no other way to state this except...” she paused, once again fighting the warring thoughts in her head. Brynn’s expression turned wary.

  “Just say what is on your mind,” Brynn encouraged, although her forehead was lined and her mouth tight.

  “I must see those letters. Do you have them?”

  Brynn sat straight, face relaxing and going blank. “So. You have changed, Anyia.” Her tone made it clear that she was not pleased with the transformation.

  Guilt shot through Anyia, but she steeled herself. She was the Benefactress. “Please, just answer the question.”

  Varying emotions flitted through Brynn’s eyes. Then, with a sharp nod, she said, “I have them.”

  “Give them to Tatiana when you leave.” Anyia gestured toward the Recorder, who stepped forward and took Brynn’s arm. Anyia stood and turned from them as they departed. What was she becoming?

  But she knew the answer. She was becoming what she must, for the good of the sphere.

  ***

  Ezra Carp

  The blue sky above Ezra’s head was bright and welcoming. He glanced up, squinting against the sun’s rays. The heat penetrated the skin on his face, and Ezra smiled. He would never rue the weather again. There was only so much a man could take of being sequestered beneath the ground before he lost his mind.

  “Master?” The voice was gruff. Ezra glanced down. The ship’s captain was gazing at him, his twisted nose telling the tale of too many fights. “Will you need passage, or do you wish to smile like a loon at the sky all day?”

  “Not passage. I desire you to take a letter to the Black Continent. For that is your destination, yes?”

  “A letter.” The captain folded his arms across his skinny chest, shaking his head. “I hope this letter is of no import. The journey is long and perilous, and if you are not a seaman, you have no idea of the dangers we face on the open water.”

  “Does a letter face those same dangers?” Carp tried to keep the sarcasm from his tone, but it still leaked through. “Surely it is not an odd request.”

  “Aye, it is an odd request, Master. Unless you are the King or an emissary, I see no good reason why you would need to send word to a faraway land that is about to be overcome by the Underground.”

  Ezra frowned, gazing more fully at the captain. “What word has reached your ears?”

  “Surely you have heard it?” the man scoffed. “The rumors abound. Twisted creatures assault the sultanate. The Sultan’s Black Guard are being overrun.” The captain shivered. “One of the fates I do not desire is to be overrun by the Dragons.”

  “Surely a man of the sea wouldn’t give much credence to rumors so far away.”

  “I have come to believe that if word has reached this far this fast, there must be some truth to the story.” He rubbed his nose, sniffling. “After all, if my cargo wasn’t so important and the price paid so steep, I would not take the venture myself.”

  “Why do you go then?” Ezra asked.

  The captain glared at him. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “I would entrust you with this letter.” Ezra pulled it from his back pocket, along with four frills. The captain seemed to instinctively reach for the coin, but Ezra pulled it away. “It means the fate of the sphere for it to reach the right hands.”

  The captain grunted as if he didn’t believe him. “And whose hands would that be?”

  “D’nie Voltaire, the emissary to the sultanate.”

  “The King’s cousin? I’ve heard of him.”

  “You will take it, then?” Ezra flashed the coins once more, and the captain eyed them with greed. “I will give half now, plus four more if you bring back word from the emissary.”

  The captain snatched the letter, and Ezra kept from laughing. Leave it to coin to bend a man to his will. “Deal.” The captain spat on his hand and Ezra followed suit. They shook on it.

  Ezra strode from the docks, glancing back to the captain who placed the letter in his pocket and then barked orders to the men loading cargo. What exactly was he carrying that was so important? If it was true that the sultanate was under siege, such a journey would indeed be dangerous. The Dragons, if such beasts weren’t more legend than truth, were not to be trifled with.

  He edged his way around a tall building to glance about, and when no soldiers were in sight, he lifted the cowl of his cloak to hide his face before marching into the street. He was a wanted man, but his mission was important.

  Kyla’s tavern was much the same. Ezra stayed outside to make sure it wasn’t watched. When he was satisfied he went to the merchant who stood outside the door. Merchant probably wasn’t the best term. Sellguard was more like it. The disguise fended off unwanted patrons while maintaining the secrecy Kyla so desired. She avoided taxation laws, yes, but she also was able to trade in much more than alcohol and a few illegal card games.

  Ezra paused as the man eyed him. “I would seek Kyla. Please tell her Ezra Carp is here.”

  “Brick off,” the sellguard said, sneering at Ezra.

  And here he was, asking so nicely. Ezra embraced the Deep, maintaining the shield keeping him from detection. The globe underneath the skin of his ass burned, and the urge to hold more of the turbulent waters filled his soul. Resisting was becoming easier. He kept only a small trickle, releasing it toward the man who still glared at him. Gently, as if getting a newborn baby to sleep, Ezra wrapped it around the man’s head and lowered it into his skull. The enchantment was more difficult than most. It required the right amount of power mixed with the right amount of pressure.

  The guard dropped, and Ezra caught him, lowering him to the ground. It would wear off shortly, so Ezra left him there and stepped through the door.

  The tavern didn’t have many patrons this time of day. A card game was being played in the corner, three men hunched over their winnings and staring at the hand before them. A few women, probably merchants, huddled at another table, glaring at him as he entered. Well, pardon him for disturbing whatever plot they were hatching.

  A door at the back pulled at him. What was it Constance had told him? Three knocks? He strode forward as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Knocking, he waited.

  Nothing.

  The men at the card game glanced over at him. He opened the door and stepped through as if he belonged there. As soon as he shut it, darkness enveloped his senses. What was this? A tiny room? Was anyone here?

  He didn’t have long to wonder. Something sharp and cold was laid against the side of his throat. A telltale tickle of breath flitted on the back of his neck. “I come as a friend,” he said, quiet and calm.

  “No friend of Kyla’s would enter without the proper code.” The voice was low and directly in his ear. Ezra had no desire to harm this man, but if he wouldn’t let him through, he would use the Deep to force his way in.

  “She will let me in.” He tried to project confidence into his voice. “Tell her Ezra Carp would seek -”

  “That’s a dangerous name to use in this city, lad.” The steel was pressed hard into his skin, but not enough to draw blood. “A pretty price has been placed on your head.”

  Ezra opened himself to the Deep, letting it flood in. He shoved the man back with a flow of air while spinning a blue light in his hand to illuminate the small space. The man snarled and rushed forward. Vacant sockets filled where his eyes should have been, but that didn’t seem to stop him from knowing where Ezra was. The knife was a blur in his hand, and if Ezra had not had the Deep as his aid, he would have been cut open and his blood spilled to the floor.

  He lifted his hand, and the man flew to the ceiling, stuck. The knife was frozen beside him. It was an enchantment that would have been difficult indeed if not for t
he globe in his skin, aiding him.

  And Pol had done it to him with ease.

  Ezra shoved the thought away. He reached up, snatching the knife and then letting the man fall, who landed with a thud on the ground. Ezra stepped over him to enter another door not two feet away.

  Just as he stepped through the man had regained his feet and launched at him again.

  “Peace, Almond.” The voice stopped the old man in his tracks.

  An old, familiar face turned toward him from the fireplace. Yellowed teeth jutted from a long chin, wrinkled face weathered by years of hardship. Long, scraggly hair the color of a mouse hung to thin shoulders, which draped a short, squat frame. Kyla raised an eyebrow.

  “I seek your expertise,” Ezra said, glancing back at the blind man who huffed back to the small room and slammed the door.

  “Pardon his temper. Almond is protective, yes, but also ill-mannered when proper protocol is not followed.” Kyla waved a hand, indicating that Ezra should sit at the large table before the hearth. He did so, folding his long frame into a high-backed chair.

  “My mission is urgent, and –”

  “It can wait, Ezra Carp. I should tell you, having you here could get me in big trouble with the King.” Her small, beady eyes blazed. “I will not have you putting my operation in jeopardy.”

  “I seek someone,” he continued, ignoring her. “A man. More specifically, a carpenter.”

  “The bounty on your head could feed me for a year,” she snapped, turning back to the fire. “And the bounty on the carpenter for two.”

  Ezra’s heart thudded, stomach clenching with anticipation. “You know where he is?”

  “Child, if I knew where he was I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you, now would I?”

  “You care not for the bounty,” Ezra said with a mocking laugh. “If you did, you would have already captured me.”

  “You? A warlock? I could have done no such thing.” She turned back to him, shoulders relaxing and eyes cooling. “There are far too many male accessors roaming the streets of the Forest City for my liking.”