The Defiant Heir

by Melissa Caruso

  “I know of others. Can you break it?”

  “Let me think.”

  I ran my eyes along the complex lines of the diagram and the precise curls of the runes, searching for anywhere there might be room to work in an alternate meaning. The artificer had worked very carefully, chiseling each letter with clean edges my teachers would have praised, and measuring each line exactly. That usually meant a tightly woven work of artifice, with no room for meddling. But in some places the spacing between the letters was oddly irregular, opening gaps where there should be none; and there were subtle blank spaces in the design, spots where an experienced artificer should have put placeholder runes to avoid tampering.

  “The artificer who created this was controlled, not willing,” I breathed. “They worked in a back door.”

  “So you can sabotage it?” Zaira asked.

  “I don’t know yet. I can tell there are gaps where you could modify the design, but I need to figure out what the artificer wants us to do.”

  I studied the empty spaces, trying to read the shape they hinted at. As a whole, the artifice circle seemed designed to increase the pressure within the heart of the volcano while also keeping that pressure contained. But the containment could be dropped at any time with a command sent from a separate control circle. From what I recalled of the overall design, the control circle would also open a vent to release all the built-up pressure at the same time, triggering and directing the eruption.

  I laid my fingertips on the center of the design. They tingled faintly, and the rock was warm under my fingers. A terrible weight settled in my stomach.

  “This is already active.”

  “It’s going to erupt?” Zaira stepped back in alarm, as if distance from the circle might save her.

  “Not yet. All the circles around the mountain are combining their power to build up pressure, to prepare for the eruption and to make it more powerful when Ruven triggers it.” I bit my lip, remembering those outlines of zones of destruction on the diagram in his study.

  “I might be able to melt it with enough balefire,” Zaira suggested helpfully.

  “No! If you destroy it, that’ll release the containment. We could have an eruption right now.”

  The Lady of Eagles didn’t move, but I could feel her anger in the stone beneath my hands and knees. Far above us, a bird let out a harsh cry.

  “He pushes my neutrality too far. He can do what he wills in his own domain, but this half of the mountain is mine.”

  I lifted my eyes from the graven stone and found the Lady of Eagles glaring in the direction of Kazerath. I could almost feel her gaze sizzling over my head and was grateful not to be its recipient.

  “How will you, ah, respond to this intrusion?” I asked.

  “At the Conclave.” Her tone shut the door on any further questions. “It is where we resolve our grievances. You haven’t told me whether you can remove this scar from my mountain.”

  I looked back at the design and licked my lips. “Once the eruption issue is resolved, an artificer can remove it, and I’ll happily offer you the services of a Falcon to do so. But for now, I think I see how to at least stop this circle from building up any more pressure. We just need to add some cancellation and reversal symbols in the right places.”

  “And that’ll stop the eruption?” Zaira asked.

  “If we do it in most or all of the circles around Mount Whitecrown, and if no one triggers the eruption before enough pressure gets slowly and safely released. I can give you instructions for how to do the same with any other circles in your domain, my lady.”

  The Lady of Eagles nodded. “Do it.”

  I hadn’t exactly brought any stone chiseling tools with me in my satchel. I dug away at the rock with my knife, slowly scratching deeper and deeper until I created a groove I could feel when I ran my hand across it. I was painfully aware of precious time slipping away from me as the sun settled down toward Mount Whitecrown’s looming shoulder. As the shadows lengthened, cold settled over my bent back like a mantle of ice, but the stone itself warmed my busy fingers, and I kept carving away at the runes. Zaira yawned and settled on a rock to wait.

  Finally, when my knife had lost its edge completely and my fingers were scratched and bleeding, I finished. A faint orange light flared in the design for an instant, and I felt a subtle shift in the mountain beneath me. It was done. I’d accomplished one vital task on this cursed mission, at least.

  The Lady of Eagles stood watching, her golden eyes intent. Her presence pressed on me more heavily than Mount Whitecrown itself, looming above us in its ancient majesty with its heart of earth-shaking fire. After all, the volcano was only a small part of the domain she carried with her at all times, bound into her blood.

  “Perhaps you are of some use after all,” she said, “despite the disappointing lack of magical power in your branch of the line.”

  Zaira smirked at me and mouthed, Disappointing. But I rose and bowed to acknowledge the compliment. “I am honored to hear you think so, my lady.”

  “For this, I will forgive your tampering with the stones.” The Lady of Eagles lifted her head then, as if listening. “Someone awaits you in the village below.”

  I swallowed. “My lady, with all respect, I need to get back to the Empire as quickly as possible.”

  “You will come with me and meet him.” Her tone left no room for argument. “You must understand what you have done.”

  And with that ominous statement, she started down the mountain.

  “Of course she meant you.” I shook my head, but I couldn’t suppress a smile.

  Some private, foolishly hopeful corner of my heart had cherished the notion that the Lady of Eagles might have meant Marcello, come into Vaskandar to find us. But when the reverent villagers bowed us into the modest, thick-beamed village meeting hall, with its red-painted rafters adorned with designs of bright wildflowers, it was Kathe who waited for us.

  He perched on the edge of a simple wooden stage that faced six double rows of benches with sky-blue embroidered cushions, his feet swinging idly. The place felt a bit like a theater or a temple, but there were no velvet curtains nor statues of the Nine Graces. The flickering light of several winged bronze candelabras warmed the dim corners of the room and cast interesting shadows in Kathe’s black-tipped hair.

  Kathe stood and bowed to the Lady of Eagles, who gave him a gracious nod in return. Then he grinned at Zaira and me. “You’ve been busy.”

  “Yes, they have. And we must speak of this.” The Lady of Eagles didn’t gesture or even glance at the first-row bench as she strode forward, but green shoots sprang from it, the wood wakening back to life in welcome; slim branches sprouted from it and twisted into elegant patterns, shaping a graceful throne. By the time her measured tread brought her there, it was ready for her, and she seated herself with regal poise. “The mountain’s fiery heart is stirring, and in Kazerath you have unleashed chaos itself.”

  My steps faltered to a stop halfway between the two Witch Lords, as my insides lurched at her words. “By killing the Wolf Lord? Is …” I swallowed. “Is Ruven the Witch Lord there now?”

  The Lady of Eagles nodded. “Kazerath is his. He is making his rounds as we speak, blooding stones to deepen his hold on the domain, but the land already knows him as its master.” She turned the golden blaze of her mage mark at Zaira. “You have done Eruvia no favors by killing his father.”

  “It was that or let him kill me.” Zaira shrugged, but there was tension in her shoulders.

  “Ruven was the only heir, then?” Kathe asked resignedly, settling back down on the stage. “I suppose it was too much to hope he’d get embroiled in a contested claim. The Wolf Lord followed the old wisdom.”

  The old wisdom. What had Kathe said, during our picnic in the glass house? The wisdom among Witch Lords is to have only one heir at a time. If a Witch Lord’s blood connection with the land was inherited, but only one could claim the domain, it made sense that a single heir would be the
best way to ensure a smooth transition of power. I supposed having no heir would be even worse, since then the other Witch Lords might see one’s domain as up for grabs in the event of one’s demise.

  “Followed it in one regard, yes,” the Lady of Eagles said, her voice stern with disapproval. “But the Wolf Lord’s heir is a Skinwitch. That flies in the face of all wisdom, old or new.”

  Zaira settled on the edge of the stage, a wary distance from Kathe. “I’d be more worried about his personality than his magic. Ruven’s a rot-eating weasel.”

  “His charming personality is what makes him a Skinwitch.” Kathe grimaced with distaste.

  The Lady of Eagles nodded grimly. “The people who live in Atruin are mine,” she said. “I do not own them; they are free to do as they will. But they are mine magically, part of my domain. In theory, there is no reason I could not twist their flesh as I did this wood, or bend their actions to my will as I do the birds in the sky. But if I tried, my power would balk. It goes against a deep and vital instinct recognizing other humans as my fellows—one that Skinwitches do not possess.”

  I recalled Ruven forcing his servant’s bones to spike through his own skin, while the man stood frozen, wide-eyed, powerless to stop him or even to cry out.

  I shuddered. “So Skinwitches by definition are those who don’t respect or acknowledge the basic humanity of others.”

  Zaira snorted. “I could have told you that about Ruven without the lecture.”

  “But it’s worse than that.” My stomach twisted as I worked out the implications. “Before, Ruven had to touch someone’s skin to work their flesh, or to control them. Now, every single resident of Kazerath is going to be his puppet, even if he’s miles away.”

  Kathe nodded. “You see the problem.”

  “That’s bad enough even without a volcano raining down fire and ash on half of …” I trailed off, feeling the blood drain from my face. “Hells. The ash.”

  Kathe whistled. “That explains some things.”

  “What?” Zaira asked, looking between us.

  I cradled my forehead in my hands, stunned. “Half that mountain is Ruven’s. On a deep, magical level. A large eruption could rain ash on a huge area, literally sprinkling his claim across the land.”

  “He would have power where the ash fell thickly,” the Lady of Eagles confirmed gravely. “Another Witch Lord could easily brush such a weak claim from their domain, but in your Empire, there would be no one to contest it.”

  “Maybe he won’t trigger the volcano, now that he has his own domain,” I said desperately. “He’s lost his motivation to invade, hasn’t he?”

  But Kathe shook his head. “He needs power more than ever now. It’s common to have to fight off attempts by other Witch Lords to take your domain during the vulnerable inheritance period. Expanding his domain gets him more power to defend himself, and offering up pieces of the land he captures will garner him powerful allies. For Ruven, as a Skinwitch and a new Witch Lord, this invasion just became a matter of survival.”

  “Do not expect restraint from a man such as Ruven,” the Lady of Eagles said. “Holding the destructive wrath of a volcano in his hands, he will not hesitate to unleash it.” A deep, forbidding resonance filled her voice. “The sky will darken with his power. People and animals will breathe in his dominion with the ash-choked air. Plants will drink it up through their roots. He will take the lands the ash covers from your Empire as easily as walking into them; they will leap into his hand, already his.”

  My stomach twisted with revulsion at the idea of half the Empire under Ruven’s control. “We have to stop him,” I whispered. “My lady, will you help us?”

  The Lady of Eagles turned her gaze to me, and it hit me in that moment how ancient those eyes were. She was one of the first three Witch Lords, older than the Empire itself. How many wars had she seen? How many petty power struggles?

  “I will bring my grievance against him to the Conclave. I can mind my own domain. You must mind yours. Whether he invades the Serene Empire is none of my concern.”

  “So you’ll just let him become a full Witch Lord?” Frustration sharpened my voice more than I meant it to. “You’re one of the few people who might be able to keep him from taking over Kazerath!”

  “And that is why I must not interfere. If I begin picking and choosing who becomes a Witch Lord and who does not, it will cause far more chaos in Vaskandar than a mere Skinwitch ever could.” Her voice grew stern as old stone. “You are the ones who have brought this upon us by killing his father. It is your duty to deal with the consequences and prevent further disaster.”

  Zaira’s face twisted in disbelief. But, with some apparent struggle, she held her tongue. Apparently her disregard for consequences did not extend to insulting the Lady of Eagles.

  The Lady of Eagles caught her gaze and held it for a long time. Something built between them in the silence—some understanding or communication, from one mage who held life and death in her hand to the other. Neither of them looked away.

  Finally, the Lady of Eagles said, her voice softer than I’d yet heard it, “You haven’t found your place yet, child. If you seek a safe haven, Atruin is open to you and yours.”

  Zaira’s eyes narrowed. “So you can have your very own fire warlock?”

  The Lady of Eagles didn’t so much as blink. “I need no fire warlock.” Her voice resonated softly all through the building, and the ground beneath it, and the forest and mountains around us, and I had no doubt it was true. “I offer you peace within my borders, for as long or as short a time as you wish. That is all.”

  I held my breath. It was as close to freedom as Zaira was likely to find in Eruvia. The offer must be far more tempting coming from the Lady of Eagles than it had been from Ruven.

  Zaira glanced at me, her eyes dark and thoughtful.

  Hells. My duty to the Empire was to put a stop to this; we couldn’t lose our only fire warlock. I could almost feel my mother’s stern glance, urging me to do something—some subtle comment that would manipulate Zaira to choosing what I wanted her to choose, perhaps, without damaging our valuable relationship.

  But if you thought of all your friends as assets, then you didn’t have any friends.

  The lady rose, her mantle falling about her. “In this matter, you have all the time you need; my offer stands. But your time for other matters grows short, so I will leave you.”

  “Wait.” The word burst out of me before I could stop it, and I hopped down from the stage. I could feel Zaira and Kathe staring at me. “Did you ever meet my father?”

  She went still. I couldn’t read her ageless face. After a long moment, she said, “Yes. Once, briefly.”

  “Did you …” I floundered, uncertain what I wanted to say. Did you love him? Did you care about him at all? Are we family?

  “Many Witch Lords ultimately find they cannot bear immortality.” The lady’s voice went soft and powerful as an evening breeze, the warm summer kind that swept the heart clean. “They cannot stand loss after loss, and they resign themselves to death. I have found it best to remain distant from the lives of my descendants, unless they manage to secure a domain of their own.”

  “Ah.” A strange disappointment clogged my throat. “I see. Thank you.”

  The Lady of Eagles nodded. Then her eyes fell on my claw necklace, and she cast a piercing glance at Kathe. “I see this one wears your token.” She raised a brow at me. “Do you know its significance?”

  “It indicates his protection?” I hazarded.

  “It is a piece of his domain,” she said. Kathe winced at the revelation. By the gleam in the lady’s eyes, his discomfort amused her. “It does signal to anyone in Vaskandar that harming you will incur his wrath. But it also allows him to know where you are, generally speaking, while you wear it.”

  “Does it, now.” I glared at Kathe.

  He shrugged. “I like everything I do to have multiple purposes.”

  “You could have told me.” I tried t
o keep my tone light and neutral, as if I were merely pointing out a fact, rather than holding back anger.

  “My lady, if I’d told you, you wouldn’t have worn it. And if you hadn’t worn it, you’d be dead by now.” He shook his head. “You have no idea how many domain defenses in both Sevaeth and Kazerath left you and Lady Zaira alone because of that necklace.”

  “A good thing to know about crows,” the Lady of Eagles said, “is that they can be relied on—but never trusted.”

  She turned away, her winglike mantle sweeping behind her. An owl glided in through the meeting house window to land on her shoulder; she inclined her head as if to listen to it as she left. We had already fallen beneath her notice once more.

  Kathe cocked his head at me once she was gone. “Do you know your way home?”

  “About that. I don’t suppose you have a way to get a message to Highpass quickly?” I asked. Outside the meeting house windows, the sun was descending. Even with my message, they would have expected me at Highpass last night; it might already be too late to avert disaster. “I’m concerned the Empire may respond rashly to Zaira’s and my continued absence.”

  Kathe clicked his tongue. “We can’t have that. A war now would scuttle all my plans. Write your message, and I’ll send it with a crow.”

  “Thank you,” I said fervently, and dug in my satchel for writing supplies.

  “How will you return to Highpass yourself? If I’m not mistaken, you have personal reasons to hurry, as well.” Kathe eyed me keenly, and my stomach dropped. He was smart enough he might well remember what I’d said about poison at the ball in Raverra and make certain connections.

  I tried not to look as if I had anything to hide and immediately felt my face twisting into uncomfortable positions. “I might,” I said.

  “The quickest way is back through Kazerath and Sevaeth,” he said. “But for you, it might prove too dangerous. Those domains are raised against you, and it’s hard to arrive at your destination on time when you’re dead.”