The Defiant Heir

by Melissa Caruso

  I analyzed the sharp planes of his face. No marks of age creased his brow, and only the faintest of laugh lines flanked his eyes. Silver would be hard to pick out from the moon-blond roots of his hair, but I doubted I would find any. His skin lacked the rounded smoothness of lingering childhood but bore none of the sunken wear of middle age either. If I were forced to guess his age based on appearance, I might place him somewhere in his twenties.

  But the Lady of Eagles didn’t look much older, and she predated the Empire. It was the power of life itself that infused the Witch Lords, giving them an endless bounty of vitality that maintained them eternally at their prime. They probably all looked somewhere in their twenties. Clearly I would have to rely on other clues.

  “You’re too ambitious to be one of the oldest,” I said. “You would have carved out your place or died trying by now if you had centuries behind you.”

  He chuckled. “Is that the most precise answer you can give? I thought you were a woman of learning.”

  “Give me a moment.” I frowned at him. Older than Marcello, certainly; Kathe had reached an age where he’d stopped trying to prove himself to anyone. Younger than my mother? Graces, I hoped so.

  “Eight,” Zaira laughed. “He’s tall for his age.”

  “Only at heart.” Kathe grinned back at her.

  I slapped the table. “Forty.”

  Kathe lifted his eyebrows. “Is that your final guess?”

  If he was a hundred years old, I’d probably mortally offended him. If he was nineteen, that might be even worse. But I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Not bad.” He lifted his mug to me. “I’m thirty-seven, as it happens.”

  “An old man,” Zaira waggled her eyebrows. “Well, they do say experience counts where it matters most.”

  I kicked Zaira’s ankle under the table. “So where does that place you among the other Witch Lords?” I asked.

  “Ruven is the newest,” Kathe said. “Then the Aspen Lord of Ordun. He’s a relation of yours—a son of the Lady of Eagles. He moved in and took over the Oak Lord’s domain when he perished in the eruption of Mount Enthalus a few years ago, ousting the Oak Lord’s heirs. Then a couple of others, and then me. I’ve been the Witch Lord of Let since my mother died twenty years ago.”

  A strange thought struck me. I hesitated to ask, but Kathe’s expression remained serene. I traced my uncertainty on the tabletop with a finger. “If she was a Witch Lord, and immortal …”

  “How did she die?” Pain sharpened Kathe’s gaze, tightening the skin around his eyes. “There are some powers greater even than life itself, I fear. One of them is the sea.”

  I drew in a sharp breath. “She drowned?” It was a fear every Raverran understood, the finality of the strangling darkness below the lagoon’s sunny green surface.

  Kathe lowered his gaze to his hands. “She loved to explore new places, which is rare for a Witch Lord. It’s hard to think of a ship as dangerous, when there is so little that can harm you. And when hers went down, in a storm far out at sea, the life she held was enough to keep her alive in the crushing deep, unbreathing, trapped, for a long time. Too long a time.”

  “That’s terrible,” I whispered, horror filling me up and spilling over like cold, salty water.

  “When it takes so much to kill you, there is no such thing as a clean death,” Kathe said softly. “My mother could have kept herself alive much longer. Perhaps weeks or months. She might even have managed to escape the wreck in which she was trapped, somehow, and make her way back to shore. But she would not drain the life from her domain to sustain her own. She let it go.” He opened his hand, lifting it with a sort of slow, wondering grace. “And in that moment, every seed in Let sprouted in my heart. Every sleek, furry thing in its burrow, every bird testing the currents of the sky, every tree with its roots gripping deep into the earth and its hair shaken loose in the wind. Every child in the cradle, and every dog dreaming by the hearth. I held all of Let within me, pulsing through my veins with my blood.” Kathe closed his eyes. “It’s quite a strange thing, to lose so much and gain so much in the same instant.”

  His voice had remained calm, though my own heart ached with each beat. “I can’t begin to imagine,” I said huskily. But I could—or at least, I could picture a seventeen-year-old Kathe, bowed in agony under the sudden twin burdens of an entire realm in his mind and his mother’s horrifying death.

  “It wasn’t my best day,” Kathe admitted. “But it was twenty years ago.” He glanced out the window again, and rose. “Time to get into position, I think. The Aspen Lord has arrived, and the others are on their way.”

  I stood as well, Kathe’s story still weighing on my mind, and threw a few coins on the table for the proprietress. Kathe lifted his brows, as if the concept of currency were surprising, but said nothing. I knew they had money in Vaskandar; I supposed Witch Lords weren’t accustomed to paying for anything.

  I stepped gingerly in the road, avoiding the puddles that filled the deep wheel ruts left by a convoy of supply wagons that had passed earlier, on the way to the army encamped at the border. I’d worn a finer coat and breeches than I normally would while traveling, to make a good impression at the Conclave, and I didn’t want mud stains on my pristine white stockings.

  Lichen stood out brightly against the damp-darkened tree trunks around us, and trails of moss swayed from the branches, sucking up mist. Sodden snow hugged the shadows and hollows on the rolling forest floor, with more fog lifting up off them to add to the unreal cloud huddled close around us. The air felt raw on my face and hands. I reached into my pocket for my gloves and touched the comforting round rim of Marcello’s button.

  “I know,” I whispered. “I can’t believe I’m going back there, either.”

  I couldn’t see the castle with its towers like reaching black claws, or even the hill it crowned. But I knew the road up to it was near. We couldn’t be more than a few miles from the spot where Zaira had let her bitter flames rage through the forest.

  Zaira lifted her determined stare toward the invisible castle, as if the black rings of her mage mark could pierce the fog.

  “Terika,” she muttered. “On my way.”

  Kathe had sent our baggage ahead to the castle with porters, so we walked along the road unencumbered. A light of anticipation entered his eyes, and as he walked power seemed to accrue to him, as if he gathered it close with each step—or as if he slowly shed the cloak with which he normally disguised the full impact of his presence, like a bird dropping its dull winter molt one feather at a time to reveal a blaze of splendid color.

  It was hard not to feel like an afterthought, trailing behind him.

  A thought occurred to me, and I sidled up to Zaira. “Exsolvo,” I whispered.

  “Ahhh.” Her shoulders eased, and her spine straightened; a greater spark kindled in her eyes.

  “Sorry,” I murmured, guilt pinching my chest. “I should have done that the moment we crossed the border.”

  “Cursed right, you should have.” She stretched her arms over her head. “But better now than later. I don’t want to walk into the nest of vipers with my hands tied.”

  “You can ask me anytime, you know, for any reason,” I said. “Or I can just leave you unleashed all the time if you prefer.” I hesitated a moment. “Even back in the Empire.”

  Zaira’s brows lifted. “What about the law? I thought you were a good little citizen who’d go down with a sinking boat before you moored it in an illegal spot.”

  “The law allows me to unleash you when we judge the situation to be dangerous.” I took a deep breath. “I’d say our experiences to date suggest that the situation is always dangerous. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Zaira gave me a long, narrow look. “Must be nice, being a high enough rank you get to decide what the law means. Why now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why tell me this now, and not, oh, two months ago?”

  The heat of shame raced up my neck to my ears. �
�I should have. I hadn’t thought of that particular, ah, interpretation of the law yet. And I didn’t realize you might want your power unsealed even when you had no reason to burn anything.”

  “Hmph.” Zaira flexed her fingers. “I suppose there’s also the little matter that we were in a city full of thousands of innocent, flammable people then.”

  “Well, that too.”

  She poked my ribs with a bony finger. “But you’re a milk-faced, simpering idiot about obeying the law. You don’t have to follow laws if they’re stupid.”

  “Technically, you do,” I objected.

  Zaira snorted. “Do you think your mamma obeys every little law all the time?”

  “Well, she’s on the Council of Nine, so she can authorize …” I trailed off, thinking of several things she couldn’t authorize without convening the full Council that I was fairly certain she did on a regular basis. “No,” I admitted.

  Zaira gestured grandly. “The law is like a corset. Lace it too tight, and you might look proper, but you stop breathing.”

  I wasn’t sure I agreed with that analogy, but I suspected that legal arguments with Zaira were doomed to prove personally unsatisfying, so I made a noncommittal noise.

  Kathe paused, his head cocked as if listening, and then turned to me. “I should warn you.”

  That was ominous. “Yes?”

  “It’s traditional to make a dramatic entrance,” he said. “I’ve been too busy to come up with anything clever in advance, so I’m going to make something up as I go.”

  I swallowed. “All right.”

  “I can help you make it very dramatic,” Zaira offered.

  A wide grin started to spread across Kathe’s face. But then a thought seemed to strike him, and it faded. “Hmm. It’s poor manners to damage your host’s home.”

  “Oh.” Zaira sighed. “Never mind, then.”

  Graces help me, the company I kept was going to kill me. “Are there any other traditions we should be aware of?” I asked.

  Kathe started walking again, his stride brisk; Zaira and I had to stretch our legs to keep up. “Let’s see. The Conclave has three phases. First there’s the Arrival.”

  “I’m guessing that’s what we’re about to do now,” Zaira said, as we came to the place where the road branched and began winding up the hill.

  “Yes, but it also includes what I suppose you Raverrans might call a reception.” He frowned, as if he wasn’t sure that was the right word. “Everyone attends and can simply talk. There is no official business designated to attend to, so usually one uses it as an opportunity to sound out possible strategies and alliances. It’s the least formal part of the Conclave.”

  The idea that the reception could be the least formal event seemed odd to me, when I was used to them being court events with grand balls and a certain amount of pomp, but I nodded. “So would you say the dress is evening wear, but not court dress?”

  Kathe blinked. “Uh … I suppose I’d wear something warm, since castles are often drafty.”

  Zaira snickered and mouthed, Blood of your enemies.

  “Anyway,” Kathe went on, seemingly oblivious to my blush, “the second phase is the Reckoning, when we have a chance to resolve grievances and favors.” He caught my eye. “That’s possibly the most important phase. Grievances and favors are a form of currency among the Witch Lords.”

  “Oh? We trade favors all the time in Raverra, but our grievances are usually resolved more, ah, unilaterally.”

  “If someone has a grievance against you, you owe them a debt.” He waved a hand at the claws around my neck. “For instance, the Lady of Thorns attacked you with her whiphounds, even though you wore my safe conduct token and stayed on the roads. That gives me a grievance against her. A minor one, since you weren’t permanently damaged, but a grievance nonetheless.”

  “A minor one?” I objected. “A dozen good people were killed!”

  “But they didn’t carry my token. They had no safe passage, and they weren’t mine. I am owed no grievance for them.” He frowned. “And they weren’t mages. It’s foolishness at best, but I have had it made clear to me that the lives of nonmages count for less.” By the strain in his voice, he was thinking of his friend Jathan.

  “So you can claim a favor to compensate you for your grievance?” I asked. “Is that how it works?”

  He nodded. “Yes, or I can hold myself unsatisfied. A sufficient accumulation of grievances is cause for war. And anyone who has unsatisfied grievances piling up against them will find it hard to make or keep allies. Usually favors from another Witch Lord are valuable enough to let small matters go.”

  I had no doubt that Kathe held himself unsatisfied in the not-so-small matter of Jathan’s death. But I didn’t bring it up. “I can see where the results of the Reckoning might affect who allies with whom later on.”

  “Yes. Very much so. Certain Witch Lords tend to accumulate favors, and they can often call them in to sway the Conclave. Watch out for the Lady of Spiders and the Elk Lord; they both are highly influential in this way. If you can win one of them to your side, others will follow.”

  I recalled the maps in my books. “Their domains are expansive, too, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, and they’re old, especially the Elk Lord. Many defer to him.” Kathe lifted a finger. “Don’t expect me to help you much at the Conclave. I have my own matters to attend to; I won’t be spending favors on your behalf. But I see no reason not to arm you with enough information to fight your own battles.”

  “I’m used to that.” My mother had said almost the same thing when I’d started my efforts to gain support for my Falcon reform law.

  “I imagine you are.” Kathe glanced toward the trees; something fluttered among the leaves there. “After the Reckoning comes the Kindling, where we decide the matters of substance for which the Conclave was called. At this Conclave, the only question for the Kindling is whether to go to war with the Serene Empire. That’s when everyone’s candles are counted, and then the Conclave is closed.”

  I was about to ask what he meant by counting candles, but Kathe nodded sharply, as if answering a question.

  “Best to start gathering them now, I think,” he muttered, and lifted a hand.

  A crow flew to it from the trees and perched on his wrist, keeping its wings spread slightly for balance. Another followed, landing on his shoulder.

  “For our entrance, feel free to walk beside me or behind me, whichever you wish,” Kathe said. “I can ask them not to land on you, if you want.”

  By the time he’d finished the sentence, another crow had flown to his other shoulder; more watched from the trees. Black wings flashed among the green leaves, and crows glided ahead along the road, swooping to the next tree one after another, weaving a pattern in the air.

  “I’m not certain they’d go with my outfit,” I said wryly, gesturing to my bronze and chocolate brocade coat, its sleeves thick with embroidery.

  “Very well. And you, Lady Zaira?”

  Zaira watched the crows warily. “I’d rather not have their cold scaly claws on me, thanks.”

  Kathe grinned. “Ah, now I know the perfect way to annoy you, if I ever feel the urge to find out what balefire tastes like.”

  “I don’t recommend it,” Zaira growled. “No one’s ever asked for a second helping.”

  Kathe laughed. More and more crows kept gathering; the trees swayed and rustled with hundreds of feathery black bodies, and their shining dark eyes watched us curiously from the branches. They swept past constantly, one after another, sometimes brushing close enough to ruffle my hair.

  It would be easy to fall in behind Kathe and let him lead the way into this dangerous place, the lair of my enemy. But that would send a message that I gave him precedence. I gathered my courage and stepped up beside him, offering my arm.

  He took it. The crow on his near shoulder cocked its head at me and opened its beak, silently laughing.

  When we stepped out of the trees at the crown
of the hill, the three of us side by side, the mist had lifted enough to reveal the castle’s black towers stretching jagged and forbidding overhead. The orchid-colored leaves on the great tree glittered with frost, and all the vines on the castle had burst into purple blooms, unnatural against the gleaming, pristine white of the thin coating of snow covering the lawn. The wolves guarding the door were gone, replaced by human musketeers in black uniform doublets with violet trim.

  I barely had time to take it all in before the crows exploded out of the forest with us.

  Their wings made a great thunder, buffeting up a wind that whipped my hair this way and that. They rose around us in a cloud, trailing behind and above, claiming the air itself for their lord with their fine, glossy shapes, like slices of black laughter. There must have been hundreds of them; they cast us into shadow, blocking out the sun. The guards cringed away, throwing up their hands to shield their faces.

  It was all I could do to keep pacing along grandly at Kathe’s side, my arm through his. Zaira muttered a curse under her breath but fixed a murderous smile on her face.

  Kathe strode between the guards with an amiable nod to each. “Good afternoon,” he greeted them cheerfully.

  And we stepped out of the thundercloud of crows into the majestic gloom of Ruven’s castle.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The crows didn’t follow us into the castle. I supposed that would have been rude. They broke off in a double wave as they reached the gates, swirling up to the sky like huge black wings unfolding.

  The castle swallowed us with its quiet, oppressive presence. The air within felt heavy and dead, like that in a tomb. Every inch of my body remembered that this was a trap and screamed at me to leave before the doors swung shut behind us once more.

  But at the same time, some inner chamber of my heart quickened with excitement. The Conclave. No Raverran had ever attended before, but here we were, about to witness the most secret inner workings of Vaskandran power. A gathering of all seventeen Witch Lords was something to fear, but surely it must also be a thing of wonder and deep mystery. Really, when I got home, I should write a paper or two about this for the Imperial Library.