by Sarah Hawke
Master Kristoff cocked an eyebrow. “Weren’t you the one who told Torelius he was incompetent straight to his face? There has never been any love lost between you and the Legion, Kathryn. Or have you changed your mind because the Wreath will be their next target?”
Farrow’s cheek twitched, and she abruptly stood from her chair. “I don’t have to listen to this. If you want to try to try and convince Darkstone to play your game, I won’t stop you. But until then, there’s nothing we can do that won’t make the situation even worse.”
With that, she stormed out of the room, her servants and guards close on her heel. A grim silence settled across the chamber for several moments before Duke Arland finally grunted and gulped down another glass of brandy.
“Always such a charming woman,” he mumbled. “It’s truly a wonder her husband died so young.”
“Shut up, Darian,” Luriel growled.
“Er…yes, darling.”
The duchess stood and glared at Master. “We’ve shifted our forces as close as they can get to the border without arousing suspicion, but Farrow is right: we can’t do anything more without Darkstone’s support. We need a large enough force that Lucian can’t realistically hope to fight back. I won’t bathe Sanctum in blood while the vaeyn stand on our doorstep.”
“Darkstone will join us,” Master assured her. “Don’t worry. Just keep your men ready. We’ll need to make our move by the end of the month.”
“So be it,” Luriel whispered. She glared at Master Kristoff for a moment longer before nodding to her husband. “Let’s go.”
The Arlands and their servants left, and once the chamber was empty I finally abandoned my perch along the wall and slipped in behind Master. Larric didn’t even acknowledge my presence; his eyes remained fixed on the doorway.
“Farrow will come around eventually,” he said, his voice as carefully measured as ever. “Once she realizes that no one else actually wants peace, she’ll have no choice but to support us.”
“Except by then it may be too late,” Master grumbled. “I guarantee the Vaeyn will launch a new offensive by summer, possibly before. And if Mavarinth falls…” He shook his head and balled his hand into a fist. “Gods know what they’ll do to our people. The city’s already filled with refugees; they won’t have anywhere else to go.”
Larric calmly folded his hands behind his back and paced over towards the middle of the room. “Then perhaps we need a change of tactics.”
“There’s nothing to change,” Master said flatly. “Uniting the Quorum is our only chance.”
“In the long-term, yes. But in the short-term…” The bodyguard turned back around, one eyebrow cocked. “We both agree that the Legion can’t defend Mavarinth on its own. The First Army remains shattered, and the Third was rerouted to Abenhold after Balagarde. Torelius has tried to cobble the scraps together into a patchwork force, but it won’t be enough. We need to get the city aid in other ways.”
“If you’re suggesting we send them troops, we don’t have any to spare. Every soldier I’ve secured from the nobles in the city will be needed when we make our push against Lucian.”
“I’m not talking about soldiers,” Larric said. His eyes flicked over to me for a fraction of a second before returning to Master Kristoff. “We have other allies who would never risk themselves politically by throwing their resources directly at the Emperor, but they might be able to help in more…discreet ways.”
Master’s brow furrowed in thought. “You’re talking about the Black Lions, aren’t you?”
“They are one option, certainly. They have access to all the resources Mavarinth could possibly need.”
“They’re also criminals.”
“Yes, but in this situation that could be a significant advantage,” Larric said. “They’re the only organization in Sanctum with access to enchanted equipment that isn’t directly sponsored by the Covenant. Employing them will allow us to maneuver without interference or oversight.”
Master hissed softly as he paced over towards the wall-length window at the back of the chamber. He clearly had no interest in contacting the Lions, and it was obvious why: they were the most notorious gang of smugglers in Sanctum, possibly in the entire Empire. They bought, scavenged, or outright stole any Aether-infused items they could get their hands on and then sold them to the highest bidder. I had heard rumors about their exploits even back when I had been living in Mavarinth; they were probably the Covenant’s third most-hated faction in Calhara, right beyond the Faedari and the vaeyn.
“No,” Master said after a moment. “It’s too risky. Even if I could trust them to provide what we needed, their price would be too high.”
“At first probably, but I’m sure we could talk them down with promises of concessions after the war is over,” Larric replied. “Free access to the ports in Mavarinth, an ‘understanding’ with the guards in Stormcrest…whatever it takes.”
Master Kristoff glanced back over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. “I can’t believe you of all people are seriously suggesting opening Glorinfel to the Black Lions.”
Larric shrugged. “You wanted suggestions and I’m giving you one. We don’t have many options.”
“Couldn’t you ask the Artificers directly?” I suggested. Both men turned to look at me in surprise, and I resisted the urge to cower. “Some of the nobles in the city seem to believe they’re on the edge of the revolt from the Covenant. Perhaps we could take advantage of that.”
“Perhaps you should keep your mouth shut when you’re not down on your knees,” Larric growled with surprising force. “You have you no idea what—”
“She’s right,” Master interrupted. His fingers tapped against his chin in thought, and he waved me over to him as he sank down into the couch by the window. I dutifully shuffled over and nestled into his lap, thankful to be as far away from his glowering bodyguard as possible. “I had almost forgotten about the near crisis at the Infintium. The Artificers were on the verge of open revolt, but the Covenant managed to buy them off with a few concessions. I doubt the truce will last, though…and we could exploit that.”
It took several uncomfortable moments, but eventually Larric’s cold blue eyes left me and fastened onto Master instead. “I still think working with the Lions is a safer bet. They’re more predictable.”
“Maybe, but if we play this correctly…” Master trailed off in thought and squeezed appreciatively at my thigh. I had brought him a library’s worth of secrets and information over this last month, all plundered from the minds of the various nobles I’d serviced. He had been able to use much of it to blackmail them into supporting his cause, but in this case we might have found something even more valuable than soldiers or gold.
The Artificers were the lowest social caste of Bound channelers in the Empire, beneath even the Tel Bator—the “spellswords” who served in the Legion—and far below the Inquisitors and the priests. I had never really understood why, given that the Artificers were responsible for crafting all of the arms, armor, and other Aether-infused items used by the imperial war machine. Their job was every bit as important as the soldiers fighting on the front lines. But then, social respect in the Empire was only rarely based on merit or accomplishment. The Covenant treated the Artificers like common laborers because that was exactly where most of them came from—they were drawn from the general population after being screened for channeling aptitude. And in many ways they were treated as much like slaves as the orcs or the faeyn.
The Inquisitors had put down several labor uprisings over the years, but with the war going on, the Artificers working in the Infintium—the largest and most productive manufactory in the Empire—had become bolder and bolder with their demands. They knew that the Legion couldn’t afford to take the time to replace them, not with the vaeyn advancing so rapidly, and so they had begun to use that fact as leverage to secure better working conditions and higher wages. I wasn’t sure how much if any progress they’d made recently, but if we could gain
them as an ally…
“The Infintium keeps a massive storehouse of supplies,” Master went on after a moment. “Healing salves, enchanted ammunition, siege devices…exactly the supplies Mavarinth will need.”
“Supplies the Covenant will notice have gone missing,” Larric pointed out. “If the Artificers sell you anything, they’ll be charged with treason. The Inquisitors would string them all up the moment they found out about it.”
“They can’t—that’s the whole point. As long as the war goes on, the Artificers are basically untouchable.”
Larric grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms. “And what about when the war is over? You really want to be allied with them?”
“Right now my focus is on the present,” Master told him. “We can deal with the future if and when it comes.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about that anyway,” I said, immediately drawing another baleful glare from Larric. “The Artificers have been stockpiling supplies for months—supplies they haven’t even told the Covenant about. Perhaps we could convince them to send along those extra supplies instead.”
“The Covenant can’t miss what they don’t know about,” Master mused with an ever-widening smirk. His eyes twinkled devilishly, and he squeezed at my thigh again. “It’s almost too perfect.”
“It is too perfect,” Larric growled. “Where did you even hear this ‘rumor’?”
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. He had no idea that I was Unbound; he had no idea that I’d been systematically rummaging through the thoughts of half the city’s nobility. So what could I possibly tell him?
“From me, probably,” Master lied with a dismissive wave. “I was mentioning a meeting I’d had with Lord Calaris a few days ago. He was the one who brought it up. In any event, it’s a possibility we can’t ignore. We should be able to buy off those supplies easily enough, and no one will be the wiser.”
Larric’s brow furrowed. “If you say so. I still think it’s a waste of time at best and a serious risk at worst.”
“Your opinion is noted. Regardless, I want you to make a trip to the Infintium and see what you can arrange.”
The bodyguard blinked. “Me?”
“Yes,” Master confirmed. “I can’t afford to be seen speaking with the Artificers directly. A visit from a Grand Duke would draw far too much attention to the situation.”
“But a visit from your guard-captain wouldn’t?” Larric countered.
“Not even close to the same degree, no. You are relatively unknown, and here that will work to our advantage.” Master grinned as he rubbed at the bare skin on my arms. “Besides, your service has been impressive enough that I think it’s time I granted you some new responsibilities.”
For a moment, I thought Larric might actually refuse. He was a paid employee and not a slave, after all; he was not compelled to obey Master’s wishes. But over the last few months I had noticed that the two men seemed to have a much closer relationship than I’d first thought. Perhaps it had something to do with Larric’s still-unexplained exile from the ranks of the Inquisitors…or perhaps it was something else entirely. Either way, the man eventually just sighed and pinched at his nose.
“You realize there will be an entire squad of Inquisitors guarding the facility,” Larric murmured after another few seconds. “If any of them recognize me, it might compromise the mission.”
“They can hate you all they want, but as the representative of a Grand Duke they can’t deny you access. You’ll be fine.”
Larric’s cheek twitched. The movement was faint and almost imperceptible, but I saw it as clearly as if he’d been scowling. “I see.”
“We’ll discuss the details over the next few days,” Master said as he gently lifted me off his knee so he could stand. “I’ll submit a visitation request with the prelacy, and that should handle any potential bureaucratic problems. You’ll also be taking Elara with you as another bargaining chip.”
The bodyguard glanced over to me yet again, and even though his face remained stolid I could see the disgust in his pale blue eyes. “Are you certain that’s wise?”
“Avenari are harder to come by than healing salves and Aether-infused swords,” Master replied. “For laborers, anyway. Besides, everything I’ve heard about the First Artificer suggests that he’s something of a glutton, especially after winning a few victories over his employers. Trust me: he won’t be able to resist her.”
“If you say so,” Larric said quietly.
“I do. Now go ahead and figure which of the men you wish to bring with you. I’ll fill you in on any additional details later.”
The younger man nodded curtly. “Very well, Your Excellency.”
He half-marched, half-tromped out the door, and a few seconds later Master and I were alone.
“I’m so proud of you,” he said with a smile. “You’ve performed just as perfectly as I knew you would.”
“Master is most kind,” I replied, my cheeks warming. “I’m not sure what to expect with the Artificers. I’ve never attempted to pierce the mind of another channeler before.”
“You’ve pierced mine,” he reminded me, “and trust me, their training is minimal. The priests don’t trust them with any potentially threatening spells.”
“As you say.”
He smiled and touched my shoulders. “Don’t worry, my dear. Larric will be there to protect you as usual, and I’ll get you as much information as I can on the First Artificer before you leave. By the time you head out you’ll know exactly how to break him.”
I forced a tight smile in return. “Of course, Master. I will try to make you proud.”
“You always do. Especially today.” He leaned forward and kissed me softly, and a shudder of delight rippled through me. “Now return to your chambers and keep practicing. I may stop by later to check on you.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, nodding. I was halfway across the room before he called out to me again.
“On second thought, why don’t you visit me in my bedchambers after dusk this evening?” he asked. “We can pick up where we left off last night.”
I smiled again, and this time it was genuine. Maybe there was something of the old Master left inside him after all. Maybe his mad scheming and thirst for revenge hadn’t destroyed him completely.
“I will be there,” I promised, then turned and left the room.
Chapter Three
We set out for the Infintium at dawn three days later, and for once Master didn’t tuck me away inside a carriage. He gave me my own horse, in fact, which I found both exciting and a little terrifying. I was a passable enough rider—my original owner back in Mavarinth had generously taught me the basics—but I was amazed at how incredibly exposed I felt riding through the streets of Sanctum without a sheet of wood to hide behind.
It was silly, of course, considering that Larric and five of the other house guards were escorting me. I was as well-protected as any caravan, and we were only traveling a few miles outside the city. But eventually I realized my discomfort had nothing to do with a fear of being ambushed. The truth was much simpler: I was scared of being seen.
Over these last few months, I had grown accustomed to being a ghost. I was invisible within my room until Master had need of me, and I was invisible in the carriage as I rode to and from the estates of the other nobles. I was even invisible inside their homes until they decided they had a use for me. But as degrading as that treatment might have been, I had learned to use it as a shield—and a weapon. No one considered a lone avenari to be a threat, and that misconception had proven to be every bit as powerful as my Unbound blood. The thought of losing my protective veil was harrowing, to say the least.
But as the war continued to deteriorate, Master would invariably grant me more and more responsibilities in the days ahead. I needed to get used to the attention. I needed to get as comfortable in the spotlight as I was in the shadows. I had done it before with Duke Arland at the Winter Gala and again for a time at h
is estate, and it would have been a lie to claim that I hadn’t enjoyed it. The control, the power, the knowledge that even in servitude I was not a victim…
I could embrace the role if I had to. And perhaps the first step was learning not to be afraid the moment I left the safety of the mansion.
I managed to settle my nerves by the time we passed through the northern gates and onto the White Road. The path was clean and well-kept this close to Sanctum, and merchant caravans from Abenwreath and even Sorthaal poured into and out of the city. It wasn’t until late morning when we veered off the main road that the Infintium itself became visible on the horizon. Even shrouded in the distance, the tower was impressive. It was easily the height of any of the grand spires in Sanctum, and the base was almost as wide as Master Kristoff’s entire estate. All in all it was more like a small castle than a mere tower, and I wondered distantly how much remained of the original structure from the days of Sanctus Veshar.
According to official Imperial history, the Infintium marked the site of one of Veshar’s earliest victories during the Great War. His small army had clashed with the forces of a powerful faeyn sorceress, and his triumph had been a seminal moment in convincing the orcs to rebel against their elven masters. Just six months later the Clan Lords had agreed to join with Veshar’s forces, and the orcs had actually led the charge against the last faeyn stronghold in Sorthaal years later.
The story had never set well with me for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the simple fact that the vast majority of orcs currently living inside Imperial territory were slaves. Why would the Clan Lords have forsaken one set of masters only to kneel before another? I also couldn’t understand how Sanctus Veshar’s army, supposed only two-hundred strong, had possibly overwhelmed an Unbound sorceress and her “legions of defenders.” But at this point the details of the war didn’t seem to matter as much as the result, and for the past several hundred years the Infintium had served as the unofficial home of the Artificers.