by Becky Allen
It wasn’t like being cursed, but Jae didn’t feel free at all.
The first thing Erra was aware of was a throbbing ache in her head—then, eventually, the rest of her aches and pains. Her whole body seemed to be bruised and cut up. She opened her eyes slowly, trying to remember what had happened, where she was…
In a resting room. She’d been laid out on a sleeping mat. It wasn’t hers, and she didn’t recognize the mage-crafted patterns on the walls immediately, which meant she wasn’t in Danardae. She struggled for breath, her chest aching, panic welling up inside her. She’d been in the garden; the whole world had been on fire. It hadn’t been the awful visions she had when she held the brand, it had been real. She’d been in the middle of the fight, and her father—
Her father—
“Highest, are you awake?”
Someone stepped close to her. She nodded, which sent the world spinning, but it settled after a moment. She didn’t know the man, but he was an Avowed steward, judging by his embroidered purple robe. He crouched down next to her and handed her a mug of blessedly cool water.
“Thank you,” she managed. “Where…”
“You’re in Kavann, Highest, in Lady Callad’s care,” the steward said. “She asked to be notified as soon as you woke.”
“Yes,” Erra agreed. “Yes, of course. I should speak to her immediately, and the other Highest as quickly as they can get here—”
“They’re already here, Highest, waiting for you to wake,” the steward said. “I’ll let them know.”
He left her alone. She forced herself upright, first just leaning back against the wall. But that wouldn’t do. This wasn’t a proper meeting room, but it was spacious, with open windows and plenty of sitting cushions. She hauled herself to one of those.
Someone had cleaned most of the mud and soot off her, though a few places on her skin itched with dirt. She’d been dressed in simple clothes with a golden robe over them. It pulled across her shoulders, a little too small. It was probably Callad’s, too.
A minute later, Callad came in, flanked by Tarrir and Gesra. Aside from a nasty bruise on Tarrir’s face, they didn’t look too badly hurt. They hadn’t been in the thick of things, though. Not like she had, at her father’s side.
“What happened?” Erra demanded, even as they found seats. This was more comfortable than a formal study, though she had to concentrate to keep herself upright. She longed to sprawl back out on the sleeping mat but couldn’t afford to yet.
“Things did not go as planned,” Callad said, a note of dark amusement in her voice. “Are you all right now?”
“I’m conscious,” Erra said. That was all she could really say for sure. She had all her limbs, but when she brought a hand up to where the worst of the pain in her head was, there was a sizable lump. “I’ll live. But my father, did he, is he…”
“Gone,” Tarrir said. “I’m so sorry, Erra. But we don’t have time to mourn him properly.”
“I know,” she said.
“Danardae is a disaster,” Gesra put in. “The fire spread, and so did the panic—the riot. The marketplaces were completely ruined, overrun with violence and theft and—the whole city is a disaster. We’ve got guards stationed at all the bridges and walls just to contain it.”
Erra shut her eyes for a moment. Her home was in ruins—the city itself might not have been toppled, but the peace within it was gone.
“The cursed mage flooded half of Kavann, too, on her way out,” Callad added. “I’ve had my guards stomping out pockets of panicked Twill all day, just to keep the fear from spreading.”
“That’s not the worst part,” Tarrir said. “The Curse is broken—the world, the whole world, is in chaos. We’ve shut all the gates, but we don’t know what’s happening at most of the estates yet, except those we can see from the wall. And all we see is smoke. The world we knew is gone.”
Erra swallowed a wave of nausea. The Curse was all that had kept the Closest contained. They’d been traitors, so many generations ago; they still carried traitors’ blood. The Curse kept them in check, forced them to obey, obliterated any attempt at rebellion they might wish to start. The Curse was the only reason their ancestors had been allowed to live—the only way to ensure the world’s safety with them still in it. Now…
“Then we’re at war. The brand! Is it—where—”
“I have it,” Gesra said. “No thanks to you. We were so close—”
“She was nearly killed,” Tarrir interrupted.
“Next time,” Erra said. “When I face that mage girl, I’ll do it with an army. She won’t escape again, and once she’s gone, the Closest…we can’t let them live.”
“No, we can’t,” Gesra said, grim. “They have to pay for this. Especially the mage.”
“And Elan,” Erra said, and waited for the guilt and the sorrow to hit her. But they didn’t come—they’d been driven out by rage. Her father was dead. Dead. And Elan had been there, stood over his body, held his arm out to the girl who was responsible. The two of them were on the brink of toppling centuries of Highest rule, of unbroken peace, and the world Erra had always known was gone.
They all had to be made into examples.
“We need to take back Danardae first,” Erra said. “Restore order in our cities, to show that we will restore order to the world. Take as many guards as it needs. Get it done.”
“Good. Yes,” Gesra said. “You’re thinking like your father.”
That sent a shock of sorrow down her spine. Her father should have been there, been the one who would march triumphantly back into Danardae and rally his Avowed. Erra wasn’t ready to do it. She was injured, and she had no idea what she’d say to the people who looked to her for leadership.
But her father was gone and Danardae needed a strong leader, so she’d figure it out. Once Danardae was hers again, and all four of the central cities subdued, she’d follow wherever the cursed mage girl had gone, track her down, and end this. Erra had endured enough images of the world burning. Next time the flames rose, it would be at her behest.
“There’s a lot we have to tell you about being Highest,” Callad said.
“About how to control the Well?” Erra guessed.
“Yes…kind of,” Callad said. “I wish we had the time to do this properly. Right now, everything is—”
“There’s a lot no one knows,” Tarrir interrupted, but then he, too, faltered.
It was fierce, elderly Gesra who finally managed it. “The Well wasn’t crafted by the Highest.” Before Erra could even gasp, she continued, “The Closest created it. Which means we don’t have as clear control as you’ve been led to believe. But the Closest who made the Well—they were maniacs. Tyrants! They had all the water in the world and denied it to anyone who displeased them. Or for no reason at all. There was nothing fair about it. No order. The War, when it happened, was to wrest its power away from them—so that our ancestors could give the world order. There. It’s said.”
Erra reeled and had to slam a hand against the ground to catch herself. Her wrist jarred, but at least she stayed upright. Knowing the Curse was broken had tilted her world sideways; now it felt upside down. The Closest had been the rebels. Everyone knew the Closest had been the rebels. But Gesra was saying…
“We do control it, in a way,” Tarrir said. “When we abandon an estate, more water comes to the other places it’s needed. We’re careful. We’re fair. The Closest never were. But if the Twill—even the Avowed—knew we don’t have finer control…our ancestors couldn’t allow that. So they let the world believe they crafted it. Only we four in this room know the full truth. It must stay that way. Do you understand?”
“But…” Erra swallowed. She did understand. If her ancestors had seized the Well, not crafted it, they must have had a reason; they must have been protecting themselves. If they’d decided it was too dangerous for their descendants to know that, there must have been a reason for that, too. Now Erra understood why their enemies had been cursed to be
silent—to make sure that only the Highest’s victory would be remembered, not the way the War had started. That was what the world needed, if there was going to be peace. Her father had all but told her that.
It wasn’t the Well that held the world together. It wasn’t the Curse that kept the world in order. It was the Highest.
“I understand,” Erra said finally. “The Highest have to be respected—revered.”
“Exactly. Good,” Gesra said, nodding as if it was finalized.
“Things will be all right, Erra,” Tarrir said, his voice a lot more sympathetic than Gesra’s. “Right now you must feel…I can’t imagine. But we will honor your father by putting down this rebellion. His killers will pay. Now you need to rest so you can look presentable at Danardae when it’s time.”
“And we need to see to the prisoners,” Gesra said.
“We took prisoners?” Erra asked.
“Yes—a few. And I’m sure at least one of them will know something useful. Tarrir, help me up.”
Tarrir stood and offered his arms, helped Gesra stand, and led her out. Callad stood, too, but before leaving, she said, “Your mistress is here—she was the one who dressed you while you were unconscious. She’s desperate to see you.”
Andra. The world was out of order, but she still had Andra. “Yes, send her in, thank you.”
“Don’t let her distract you—you do need the rest,” Callad warned, but she followed the others out, and a moment later, Andra came in.
Somehow, seeing Andra made everything seem all the more real. Her usually painted face was plain, scrubbed clean. Her hair was frizzy, wild around her face, instead of held back by one of her beautifully crafted headbands. She wore no jewelry and only plain Twill clothing. Her eyes widened when she saw Erra, but a moment later, she knelt at Erra’s side and wrapped an arm around her. Helped her back to the sleeping mat.
“Are you all right?” Erra asked her, even as she lay down. She wanted to shut her eyes, but she wanted to pull Andra into her arms first.
“Yes, I—mostly. My shop is…” Andra shook her head a little and sat cross-legged next to Erra. “I only glanced at it for a moment. It’s been smashed, everything inside it is destroyed—stolen. All my jewelry…”
“I’ll take care of it. We’ll catch the thieves responsible,” Erra said. “As soon as everything else is settled, I’ll make sure they’re caught and punished.”
“Erra…”
“In the meantime, come to Danardae with me,” Erra continued. “You’ll be safe there, with the babies. I won’t let anyone harm you. I won’t.”
“Thank you,” Andra said, but her voice was thick with choked-back emotion. “But Erra, I—I had to see you—”
“I’m all right.”
“I have a message.” Andra reached up to scrub at her eyes, as if that would clear the tears out of them. “I got it last night, from Elan. I found him, I was trying to get to you, but your father, he…he had guards escort me home, I couldn’t even wait for you. Erra, I tried—”
“A message.” Erra made herself focus. A message from Elan. “Show me.”
Andra had carried it between her dress and her skin, keeping it hidden. A smart move. She handed the scrap of paper over now, and Erra felt a tiny pang as she recognized Elan’s writing. But she pushed that aside, let her rage and loss and terror beat it back. She unfolded it and read:
Erra,
We need to speak, face to face. As soon as possible. Do not let Father carry through on his threat tomorrow—Jae will not sit by and allow her people to be slaughtered. I fear if he carries through with his threats, it will mean his death. You must stop him.
Her hand shook with fury. His death—Elan had known. And had stood at the mage’s side anyway.
He is a liar. All the Highest are liars. I have learned the truth, I have been to the Well. It does not belong to us. It was crafted by the Closest—it was Aredann who was the traitor, not Taesann. Our whole world is nothing but a lie.
A lie. Elan might have thought he knew, but he didn’t understand anything. Whatever half-truth the girl had told him, he hadn’t bothered to learn the rest of it. Her father had been right after all. Elan was too easily manipulated, too willing to be swayed. He could never have been one of the Highest. He would never understand how to maintain peace—but Erra did.
I can explain it in person, and Jae can prove it to you. You must believe me. You must come meet with us, as soon as possible. I know you aren’t like Father, I know you will listen. You must.
By my hand,
Elan
He hadn’t signed it with a last name—he was no longer entitled to use Danardae as his surname. Not now that he’d been disowned and disavowed. He was no one anymore, nothing but a traitor and a madman.
“I don’t know how to reach him anymore, he fled the city with the mage,” Andra said. “But there must be some way…Erra, you can still stop all this—”
“Stop what?” Erra demanded. “They declared war when they killed my father. When that girl broke the peace.”
“Broke the Curse, you mean.”
“I will find Elan, and I will bring him to justice.”
“You don’t mean that,” Andra said. “You can’t.”
Erra didn’t say anything.
“Erra, he’s your brother! And if you can reach him, maybe he can help you broker a peace, without having to slaughter—”
“We’re at war,” Erra interrupted. “There can only be peace once we restore order—once our enemies are dead. Including that traitor.”
Andra recoiled, pulling her hand away from Erra’s on the sleeping mat. She was silent, her features twisted into an expression of fear, but she didn’t argue any more. She didn’t question Erra—no one questioned the Highest.
There was no room for kindness or mercy now that they were at war. The last of the sorrow Erra had felt faded away, ebbed like the waters of a receding flood. The world Erra had known was gone; she and the other Highest would have to build a new one from its ashes. And that world would have no place in it for traitors.
The Closest had started calling it the Break, and by the fourth day after, the immediate violence had ended. In other-vision, Jae soared above the estate town that had turned into their camp, widening her gaze until she could see it all. It was several hours of marching removed from the wall and the central cities—close enough that it was a large town, with its own reservoir and mage house; removed enough to give them a buffer. They’d sent word out in all directions, hoping to bring as many Closest here as they could, and now there were hundreds upon hundreds, from at least a dozen different estates.
The Twill who’d lived in the town had fled for the safety of the cities—assuming the cities were safe. No one knew what was happening behind the city walls. The Avowed had mostly fled, too; those who had stayed had been killed, or taken captive. As soon as Lenni had realized that, she’d pulled Jae aside to ensure the captives would be kept alive, guarded by the Order. Not executed, the way some of the Closest wanted.
Jae couldn’t blame any of the Closest for that, when back at Aredann she had killed the Avowed guard who’d raped her, and hadn’t felt a single heartbeat of sorrow over it.
It was possible—maybe even likely—that Elthis Danardae had been killed at the Break. Elthis, who had threatened Tal’s life to try to control her; who had left thousands of Closest to die at outlying estates; who had thought nothing of slaughtering masses of Closest to punish her.
She hoped he was dead. When she thought about it, all she felt was satisfaction.
But Tal wouldn’t have felt that way. Even after what Elthis had done to him personally. He wouldn’t forgive, but he wouldn’t kill, either, not if he could find a way around it. He’d be disappointed if he knew how Jae felt.
She’d promised him that if it was possible, she’d have mercy on their enemies. Now that the Closest were free, she had to keep that promise when she could. Besides, Elan agreed with Lenni that hostages could
be valuable, that they might be able to trade them for food or supplies.
So Jae let them live, and hoped the Closest who had suffered under them would understand. She wasn’t sure she would, in their place.
As Jae watched in other-vision, Closest were training with the weapons they’d found or stolen, drilled by a few members of the Order. It was a large force, strikingly silent for a group that size, determined and working hard. They seemed to learn quickly, with a fierce intensity.
They had no choice but to practice as much as they could, as quickly as possible. No one knew when or how, but everyone was certain that the Highest were going to strike back at them. Preparation would hopefully save their lives, though it was mostly Elan and Lenni who were laying out plans for what to do. For all the Closest looked to Jae as a leader, she’d grown up a groundskeeper, and cursed. She understood plants, not people. She had no idea what to do now that she’d broken the Curse, seeing through the one plan she’d been clear on.
“Lady Mage!” It wasn’t a shout—Closest never shouted—but it was urgent nonetheless. Karr hurried toward her. Jae stood before he had a chance to bow. “There’s a group approaching, I saw it from the rooftop. More Closest, but they’re frantic.”
“They might be followed,” Jae said, striding with him toward where Elan and a few Closest were talking, waiting for her.
“I didn’t see anyone after them, but they could be,” Karr said.
Jae glanced at Elan. He’d already heard. She nodded toward the hallway, the exit. “Let’s meet them, then.”
“You can stay,” Elan said. “It’s safest here. Just in case.”
Jae sighed. She’d heard that a few times in the last four days. Yes, her magic made her the single most powerful person among the army—but also the biggest target. She didn’t want protection, and she was as safe in the town as she would be anywhere, but even so she nodded.
“I’ll handle it,” Elan promised her. “Eat something—replenish. You never know when we’ll need you.”