by Becky Allen
Gesra had warned her to keep it as close as possible—it had been Gesra’s duty within her generation. But she was too old to face a potential battle now, though frankly, Erra thought she was still plenty fierce. There was nothing soft about that woman, even if she was a little stooped from age.
Erra regarded the reservoir in front of her and the work that was being done, building a bridge across to the center island. There were only a few days left to get it done—they had to be able to reach the island for Nallis Kavann’s vow ceremony, a scant few days away. It should have been done already, but things kept going wrong—ropes that might have frayed, or might have been cut; support stones that had either been stolen or forgotten in a warehouse. Strange things that no one could prove were done intentionally but had slowed the process down. In response, Lady Callad Kavann had brought in more guards to keep everyone away from the build site, and the builder in charge had gotten rid of his usual workers and instead brought in a bunch of muddy, wretched Closest.
It would have been easier if the reservoirs weren’t still flooded from all the rain. Erra wondered why the Highest didn’t simply bring the water level down for a few days—but of course, there probably wasn’t anything simple about it. She hadn’t been taught the magic that allowed the Highest to control the reservoirs yet, but she would learn someday, when her father was older and she started assisting him more with his duties. All she knew for now was that it was incredibly difficult, which was probably why building the bridge was preferable. But the Well was so important that sometimes that magic was worthwhile. Erra actually looked forward to being trusted with its secrets. It would be a vastly preferable duty to using the brand.
“I don’t understand how this is supposed to make things safer,” Erra said, squinting. There were clouds in the distance and the air was thick with water, enough that she felt moist even out on solid land, but for now, the sun was shining through and reflecting back off the water. “They obviously have no idea what they’re doing.”
Out in the reservoir, the Closest workers were slowly laying down foundations, large stones attached to ropes that had to be spread all the way across the reservoir to keep the bridge steady. The farther out the workers got, the slower the going was. They were all ungainly in the water, barely able to move the stones and keep afloat at the same time. Splashing echoed back to the bank, but no shouts or other noise. Even out in the water, the Closest maintained the silence of the Curse.
“It is slow, Highest,” the Twill who’d been hired to build the bridge agreed. “But Lady Callad wanted to make sure there would be no more…interference. I swear it was none of my crew causing trouble, I’m sure of it, but she insisted. And the Closest, well, they do what they’re told. No chance of anything going wrong.”
“Ah.” That made sense. And it didn’t matter. The Closest didn’t have to be good at the work, they just had to get it done within the next few days, and the Twill could have groups of them here working through the night if need be, though the dark would make this process even more difficult. “Where did they come from?”
“Oh, I borrowed them out from one of Lady Callad’s steward’s estates, and the steward, too,” the Twill said, gesturing down the shore to where a red-robed Avowed was keeping a bored eye on the proceedings. That made sense, too; the Curse only forced the Closest to obey members of the Avowed and Highest castes, not the Twill. The builder would need someone Avowed around to keep them in line. “She arranged the whole thing—it’s cheaper for me than my own crew, anyway. And she needed it done like this. Just in case.”
“There won’t be any more trouble,” Erra assured him. She was here, brand at her side, to make sure of that. Because if it hadn’t just been incompetence that had caused trouble for the builder, it was probably the mage girl. If she showed up, Erra would be waiting.
Erra had been practicing with the brand, under Lady Gesra’s instruction. It was magic, a weapon that could destroy any mage. It had been created generations ago, by the last of the Highest who had wielded true magic, left to his descendants as a gift to protect them—and with them, the world. It would respond to one Highest in every generation, as it did for Erra now and had for Gesra before her, but because of the vividly real images of fire, it was hard to hold on to. If Erra could master that, learn to grip it without being overwhelmed, she’d be more than a match for the mage girl.
Erra hated the visions that happened when she held it, now even with her eyes open. It was as if the world caught fire and no one else noticed it at all. She had to ignore not just what she saw, but what she felt, smelled, even tasted. The smoke and blood. The stench of death. But even though she dreaded holding it steady while she and the guards fought, maybe it would be for the best if that battle happened here and now. If this whole thing was ended quickly.
Assuming Elan wasn’t with the attackers, if they showed up…
But no, no one except a few gawkers appeared on the shore. Erra examined those onlookers, but they seemed to be bored Twill and Avowed, no one threatening. She turned her gaze back to the water.
A Closest woman was hauling an enormous stone out toward where the water deepened. The stones all had holes broken into them, with ropes strung through so they could be dragged. Later, the rope would be attached to the main lines of the bridge. For most of the trek out, the woman could drag with one hand and keep her other hand on the main line, but the deeper she got, the more she needed that hand to keep herself afloat.
For a moment she went under entirely, water rippling out from where she’d been before she broke the surface again, coughing, hands empty. The stone was gone. She winced, took a visible breath, and went back under. Erra waited for her to surface, this time with the ropes she’d lost. And kept waiting.
None of the other Closest moved to help, caught up with their own ropes and work. Erra frowned. The water rippled again, and one of the Closest turned toward it, alarmed. But he didn’t move to help, just made his own way forward, careful and slow. And still the woman didn’t surface.
Finally Erra couldn’t stand the carelessness anymore. “Hey!” she shouted, and everyone turned to stare at her. She pointed at where the woman had gone under, caught the eyes of the nearest Closest workers. “Help her!”
The Closest responded immediately, several of them dropping their burdens and ducking under the water. Their movements were all jerky and awkward, no grace but plenty of power. Someone found the woman and pulled her upward, and it took two of them to drag her to the shallows. All three of them collapsed into the mud. The woman was still for a moment, but one of the others rolled her onto her side and she coughed.
Erra let out a relieved breath, but the Twill made an irritated noise. “Those supports are cursed expensive; get back out there! Find them all, get them in place!”
The two Closest who’d dragged the woman ashore moved to go back to work—the woman wasn’t conscious. “Wait!” Erra called.
They waited. The Avowed who was supposed to be supervising them watched, too, frowning a little, but he didn’t gainsay Erra. No one here would dare. Erra stepped nearer to the Closest, pulling her robe up, even though the hem was already coated in mud. “Why didn’t you help her sooner?”
“We…we were ordered to keep working, Lady,” one of them said, his voice shaking. Water beaded on his skin. The workers were only wearing sodden underclothes, even the women. “Not to stop until we’re done.”
“But she was drowning!”
The Closest didn’t reply—couldn’t, since he hadn’t been asked a direct question—just swallowed, not looking at her. His gaze went to the woman on the shore for a moment, and he bowed his head.
“Has anyone else died?” Erra asked. “How many?”
“Five, Lady,” the Closest said.
She turned to the Twill, and the Avowed who’d joined them. “Did you see? Did you realize?”
“I…well, they’re only Closest, Highest,” the Avowed said with a tiny shrug.
“We
don’t really have time to pull out the ones who go under. There’s too much to do; we’re not even halfway there yet,” the Twill added. “Highest.”
Erra swallowed her disgust. Yes, they were only Closest. No one would miss them in the long run—well, they probably had families. The woman who’d nearly drowned didn’t look like she was much older than Erra, but then again, Erra herself already had two children.
She’d never actually seen any Closest so near before, or thought much about them one way or the other, aside from knowing why they’d been cursed. But for all they carried traitors’ blood, it wasn’t their carelessness that had led to the woman nearly dying, and for all the Closest didn’t matter, that wasn’t fair. “Well, pay closer attention to them, then,” she said. “And you—get her out of the way, make sure she’s all right, and then get back to work.”
The Closest ducked his head in acknowledgment, then reached for the woman. The other one scurried back into the water to work. Erra frowned, watching them go. Five dead, pointlessly. No wonder the bridge was taking so cursed long to build—maybe it really all had been just the builder’s incompetence.
She reached for the brand under her robe, letting her fingers brush it for a moment before yanking them back. If that was the case, she didn’t need to be here at all. But as the second Closest hurried back to the water, she thought maybe it was a good thing she was anyway.
—
Erra made her way through the arched gateway from the beautiful gardens of Danardae into the estate house. The tile mosaics were so vibrant they practically glistened, even in the lantern light at this late hour. Erra stopped in at the nursery, a set of rooms that housed both of her children, always attended by several Avowed. The woman who sat with them now looked up as Erra stepped into the room but held a finger to her lips—the children were sleeping.
Even so, Erra walked toward their mats, just to look. Efenn, the older, had the darker skin and tighter curls of Erra’s husband. She was nearly three now, and slept steadily. Jarren wasn’t quite a year, and was fussier every time Erra held him. But she smiled anyway, because he was sleeping now, too, and because he resembled his mother’s side of the family—Elan more than anyone. That had been obvious from the first moment Elan had held him, smiling and laughing, thrilled to be an uncle for the second time.
Erra had to look away from her child for a moment, hit by something like longing as she thought of Elan, who’d always been so much better with the children than she was. If she hadn’t been one of the Highest, it would have been different; she’d have been able to marry Andra and her closest relative would have been her heir. She could have waited as long as she wanted to have children. Instead, her father had wanted Elan out of the line of succession, so he’d selected Halann and she’d married him, and together they’d had Jarren and Efenn. She didn’t regret that, or a moment of the scant time she was able to spend with them, but she had no particular interest in their father.
“Are they well?” she asked the nurse, who nodded.
“Yes, Lady, and they’ve both just fallen asleep. But if you’d like me to wake them…” The reluctance in her voice made it clear that getting them to sleep had been a struggle, so Erra shook her head.
“Let them rest. I’ll see them in the morning,” Erra promised, and backed out of the nursery.
Halann was waiting for her in the hallway. Her husband. She braced herself.
“Good evening, Highest. You’re back late. I hope the day was fruitful.”
“It was,” she said, voice sharp.
Halann waited for her to say more, so she refused. Which was a little spiteful, but he’d only married her for the power being elevated into the Highest family would give him. He was her father’s lackey, not hers, and though she’d done her duty to him, she had no interest in giving him information he’d use to build up more power of his own.
“Well,” he said finally. “I’m sure you already know your lover is waiting in your study.”
“Yes, so if you don’t need anything from me, I’ll go see her.”
Halann crossed his arms, petulant. “Run off to her, then.”
“You knew about Andra when you agreed to marry me,” Erra said, already striding past him, but he followed.
“I didn’t know she’d still be here, years later.”
“I told you I wasn’t going to put her aside. You get your power, I get my mistress.”
Halann scoffed, but there was no argument for that. Erra loved Andra—and even if she hadn’t, she’d only ever been interested in women. Once Halann had realized that, he was the one who’d ceased being more than civil. Part of Erra wished they’d at least been able to be friends, since her position of power meant she had few of those, but the marriage was what it was.
Besides, she had Andra.
The study was small but private, and Andra was waiting for her inside. She was lounging on one of the cushions, helping herself to a mug of Erra’s favorite wine. Erra had to catch her breath, overwhelmed for a moment. Andra, with her painted lips and eyes, dripping with jewelry beyond what even most Avowed could afford, was almost unbearably beautiful. Even in the torchlight she glittered and glistened, wearing a deceptively simple dress that hung off her curves, and a smile on her face.
Erra shut the door behind her and took the moment to breathe. Andra stood, walked toward her, and after only a moment’s pause took Erra into her arms, kissed her gently. “You look exhausted.”
“I feel better now,” Erra said.
“Good. Sit with me,” Andra instructed her, and folded back down to her cushion. She poured a mug of wine for Erra and as Erra sipped, she said, “Would you rather relax first, or hear the rumors first?”
“Rumors,” Erra said, and set the mug down. She fixed her full attention on Andra. Erra was isolated by her position, though she was slowly working on creating a network of informers who would keep her up to date on what was happening in Danardae—things no one wanted anyone official to know about. It was slow going, though, finding people who were trustworthy but willing to talk.
“They aren’t good,” Andra said carefully. “And there are a lot of them. Especially about Elan.”
“What do they say about him?” Erra asked, clutching the mug a little tighter.
“Mostly just repeating what your father said—that he’s dead in the desert with the lady of Aredann. But there are other stories…Someone is spreading word that he lives—and that he broke his vows.”
“People like to tell lies about the Highest,” Erra said, careful to avoid directly lying. She hated when her position forced her to lie to Andra. “Anything to embarrass us. It’s petty.”
“I don’t think that’s what this is,” Andra said. “People were so angry during the drought—they said the Highest had no plan to help. That the Highest didn’t even care.”
“That was never true.”
“I know,” Andra said quickly, placating. “But it’s what people said. It’s what they felt. This seems to have grown out of that—all the anger.”
“But the drought is over.”
“Yes, but it lasted so long, and now with all the flooding…” Andra shrugged. “People who live near the channels and the rivers lost their homes. They’re angry.”
That was nothing Erra didn’t already know. That anger was the only reason the Highest weren’t certain the mage was behind the bridge’s sabotage—it was possible, barely, that there were Twill who were lashing out at them. But right now, the mage was a much more important problem, so Erra dismissed that quickly. “When the rainy season ends, we’ll handle it.”
“But in the meantime, they don’t have anywhere to go,” Andra said. “So they talk. And what they’re saying is that Elan broke his vows—and that he had some kind of help from a mage to do it. That the mage is going to strike—”
“No,” Erra said, sharp, interrupting. “Listen. That’s…All you need to know is that you don’t need to worry. No one does. The Highest know about those rum
ors already, and are ready to handle anything that might happen.”
“So something might happen?” Andra asked. “Erra…Erra, is it true? Elan is alive?”
Erra hesitated, but no, she didn’t want to lie. Not about this, when it was so vital, and not to Andra, who she trusted. She relied on Andra, not just to report back on what she heard in the city, but to listen to her, to support her, to understand her. Andra had known them since Elan had been a gawky child and Erra herself had been only a slightly less gawky adolescent.
Erra and her mother had stepped into what was considered to be the best jewelry store in the cities. Every display had been beautiful, but what had caught her attention was the apprentice standing in the shadow, looking awed by the way the Highest had swooped in. It was before Erra knew her father wanted to marry her off, so there had been no harm in it when she’d flirted with the apprentice, or when she’d invited the apprentice to deliver the earrings she purchased herself, directly to the estate house….
It had been just a flirtation, awkward kisses and giggles and smiles as they’d gotten to know each other. Then it had been something more. Andra had taken over the shop when her instructor had retired, handling the jewelry and the business both, despite the headaches that sometimes plagued her. Erra had been forced to marry Halann, had become her father’s right hand, had had Efenn and Jarren. But somehow, she and Andra hadn’t fallen out of each other’s lives. Somehow, in fact, Andra had become one of the most important people in Erra’s life, one of the only people she really, truly trusted. Her father, Elan, and Andra.
So she nodded. “Yes. Elan is alive—and he’s in trouble. I need you to find him for me, Andra. Because if the other Highest find him first, they’ll kill him. If I can hide him away, fix whatever he broke…you have to help me.”