The Obsidian Tower

by Melissa Caruso

He flicked an ear back to point toward me, as if this answer caught his attention. After a moment, he stretched, flexing his claws on the railing, bushy tail lifted for balance.

  “Do you always do what she tells you?”

  “Well, she is the Witch Lord of Morgrain.” I thought about it. “But no. Not always.”

  “Then you touched it because you wanted to.”

  “I need to learn more about the obelisk. Touching the stone was the only way we could think of to do that.” I tugged my gloves off and ran the soft leather through my hands. “You know something about that stone. Don’t you?”

  “I know many things,” he said, with great gravity.

  “Do you know where my grandmother is?” I asked, unable to keep my voice from roughening. “Have you talked to her?”

  His tail swished. “We’re in communication.”

  My heart quickened with hope. “Is she all right?”

  He stared at me a long moment from his vantage on the railing. I couldn’t tell if he was considering the question, consulting magically with my grandmother over what to tell me, or just thinking about his dinner, curse him.

  “She’s as well as you or I,” he said at last.

  “Then why did she vanish?” I demanded, my frustration bursting out. “Why isn’t she here at Gloamingard?”

  “For the simplest reason of all,” he said. “Because she doesn’t want to be found.”

  “This is a crisis!” I threw down my gloves. “It makes no sense for her to disappear now. What in the names of the Eldest is she doing?”

  Whisper’s tail swished behind him, writing his restless thoughts on the air. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft and surprisingly deep.

  “Ryx. I’m going to tell you something, as a favor.”

  My skin prickled. He shouldn’t be able to strike dread into me with such simple words.

  “Yes?” I asked cautiously.

  “Leave this alone.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Don’t dig any deeper. Patch up your human political problems, seal the Door, chase out the rooks, and forget any of this happened.”

  He caught me in the intensity of his stare, no longer aloof but layered with meaning I couldn’t begin to read.

  “I can’t,” I protested. “You know I can’t.”

  “As your friend,” he said, with careful precision, “I am asking you this. Leave it alone.”

  Your friend. Hells. He’d sunk his claws in my soft spot.

  “I wish I could,” I said quietly. “I wish things could go back to the way they were before Lamiel came, before the Door opened, before I touched that awful stone. But I need to know what I unleashed, Whisper.”

  “Why?” He glanced away when he asked it, as if he didn’t care.

  Which meant that it was an important question. I turned it over in my mind with the serious attention it deserved.

  “Because if I caused any harm, I need to do what I can to fix it,” I said at last. “I can’t just walk away from a mess I created.”

  Whisper tilted his head. “Is that truly what you want?”

  “Yes.” I forced conviction into my voice.

  He stared at me for a long moment. Then he rose and stretched, with deliberate languor. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “What?!”

  “Not with this.” He leaped down from the railing, landing lightly on the balcony. “I’m afraid we’re at cross purposes. I may be your friend, Ryx, but I have never pretended to be your ally.”

  “Friends are allies,” I protested. “If you know something, tell me!”

  His yellow gaze slid away from me. “In all my life, I’ve only ever made one promise. I’m not going to break it now.”

  This was news to me. Whisper never talked about himself—his purpose, his origin, any of it. I wasn’t sure even my grandmother knew much about him.

  “What promise?” I breathed.

  “If I told you that,” he said, “I’d have already broken it.”

  And he slipped away like a wisp of smoke from an extinguished fire.

  Do you have any idea what sort of promise Whisper might have made?”

  I’d finally gathered the resolve to talk to Aunt Karrigan, drawing her aside before we entered the Old Great Hall for dinner. My first question to her was tactical: she wouldn’t be expecting this one, so maybe it’d throw her off and we could have this conversation on my terms.

  “What, that cursed spook of a chimera?” Karrigan frowned. “No. You’re not bringing him into this mess, are you?”

  So much for escaping her disapproval. “I’m pursuing any leads I can to find out where Grandmother is. Have you heard from her?”

  “No.” She scowled. “And neither has Tarn or your father. She didn’t talk to anyone in the family before she pulled this disappearing trick.”

  I dropped my voice low enough to make certain the sharpest ears couldn’t overhear us. “There’s no chance she’s… in trouble, is there?”

  “What sort of trouble could bother a Witch Lord in her own domain?” Karrigan shook her head. “I know the land was agitated earlier—even you must have felt it—but I don’t sense anything like that from her now. She’s fine. This is some gambit of hers.” Anger colored her voice.

  “What are the rest of the family doing?” I hated to have to ask, but even my own father was more likely to talk to Karrigan about important matters of domain security. Everyone in a Witch Lord’s family had a place and a role, based on how much magic they had—everyone except me, who had magic but couldn’t use it. And since I wouldn’t fit in to the hierarchies of Vaskandran society, it was easier to ignore me altogether.

  Karrigan grunted. “They’re following my mother’s orders like good little children, and staying away. But you can bet they’re watching our every move to see what happens.”

  She started for the wide doors to the Old Great Hall, finished with our conversation. As I followed beside her, however, she leaned in close to me, coming much nearer than anyone would dare who couldn’t counteract my power. “I’m about to sit down at this table to host an imperial noble, and I barely know why she’s here. I have no patience for Raverran duplicity. What do I need to know?”

  I swallowed a complex and bitter cocktail of possible responses. You need to know that I’m the host here, not you. You need to know weeks of strategizing and preparation. You need to stay the Hells out of this and be polite.

  I couldn’t say any of that without starting a fight. It would be easier to let Karrigan have her glory—to step back and allow her to be the face of Morgrain. As long as she was willing to listen to my advice, she could be my mask and gloves, the safe and acceptable face I presented in public while I guided matters from a few steps back.

  I had only a moment before we took our places at the table and our guests started arriving, so I kept my explanation short.

  “Whatever you do, don’t insult her, because we want the Empire to ally with Morgrain if the Shrike Lord decides to attack us.” Karrigan’s brows lowered as if she might argue, so I pressed on. “The most important thing we need to do now is make sure Alevar and the Empire sit down at the table together and come to an agreement over Windhome Island. We can’t let them walk away, or we get a war.”

  Karrigan grunted. “If either of them go to war with us, they’ll regret it.”

  Maybe, but so would we. “Let’s not give them the opportunity to make that mistake.” She looked unconvinced. “Please, Aunt Karrigan. I know you don’t follow politics outside of Morgrain, but believe me that this is important. The Alevaran envoy is going to show up soon, and they’re going to be furious, and we have to do whatever it takes to get them to calm down and talk to us and to the Empire.”

  “Fine.” Karrigan didn’t look happy about it, but she wasn’t a fool, either. She dragged out the host’s chair at the center of the high table and dropped into it with the arrogant confidence of one born to rule.r />
  I settled in my place near the end of the table, with several chairs removed between me and the next seats to create a buffer, misgivings multiplying in my heart.

  The Old Great Hall began to fill, castle staff and guests trickling in to take their seats for dinner. The Rookery arrived at one of the lower tables, talking animatedly; Kessa spared me a grin and a wave. They had the look of people excited at an idea, rather than stumped or worried, which seemed like a good sign. I’d have to talk to them after dinner. They drew their chairs close together, smiling and nudging one another and generally acting like friends having a good time. A twinge of envy pricked my chest at their closeness, and all those casual touches.

  I’d touched a friend once. Her name was Rillim, and I was in love.

  She had the mage mark, so she could resist the fatal pull of my power if she was ready for it. She’d stayed at Gloamingard one summer when we were both fifteen; she had a smile full of wry humor, bottomless brown eyes, and graceful hands. I’d held one of those hands, her fingers warm and soft in mine, a thrill of glorious discovery coursing through me.

  When I’d confessed to my grandmother that I was thinking of asking to court her, she’d sent Rillim home. I never saw her again.

  I’m sorry, Ryx, my grandmother had said. You can’t ever be that close to someone. There’s too much at risk.

  I’d been furious, but she had a point. No one could be braced and ready all the time. I stifled the ache of longing in my chest and turned my gaze away from the Rookery.

  Lady Celia and Aurelio arrived at the high table. Tension rode up my spine and settled in my shoulders as my aunt and I greeted them. Now the game was on again, and everything I did had to convince them that diplomacy could advance, if not smoothly, at least effectively.

  Aurelio came around the end of the table to say a more personal hello, which made my heart leap more than it should have.

  “Feeling better?” he asked, with a nod at my arm.

  “Mostly.” I flexed it, feeling only a slight twinge of pain.

  “Excellent.” He grinned. “I’m sorry the circumstances are somewhat dire, but it’s good to see you again, Ryx.”

  “And you.” My face warmed.

  Raverran custom demanded I make polite talk about inconsequential things, but I had almost no practice with this sort of casual conversation.

  I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I didn’t expect to see you in uniform.”

  “Ah, yes, do you like it?” He adjusted his collar self-consciously. “My mentor—Lord Urso, you remember him, he worked with your mother—managed to arrange an officer’s commission for me. I’m very grateful. I’m only an ensign, but it’s still unusual for those who aren’t of patrician birth to start their military careers as officers.”

  That was one of the things my mother was most proud of about her home country—that unlike in Vaskandar, where your entire future was determined by the degree of magic in your blood, in Raverra you could rise through the ranks on merit. “And is your family proud of you?”

  Aurelio rubbed the back of his head, reddening a little. “I’ve never seen my father smile so widely as when I came home in the uniform.”

  “That must be nice,” I said, a bit wistfully.

  Aurelio shook his head. “Your family should be proud of you, too. I still can’t believe they look down on you for having unique magic. If you lived in the Empire, we wouldn’t scorn your power. We’d use it.”

  I couldn’t think of a polite way to point out to Aurelio that given that my magic seemed to only be good for killing and destruction, I’d rather people didn’t see it as useful. It was a rare and wonderful thing to have a friend speak up for me; I wasn’t going to ruin it by arguing with him.

  “What are you doing on a diplomatic mission?” I asked instead. “Don’t you have a Falcon to attend to?”

  “Not yet. I’m an officer without a Falcon—which makes me perfect to act as an adviser for negotiations centering around magical military matters, like this incident with Windhome Island.”

  “An adviser already! Well done.” I gave him a knowing smile. “Of course, I’m sure your presence in that uniform will also remind Alevar that if they make this a fight, the Serene Empire has considerable magical power to bring to bear, too.”

  He laughed. “See, this is how I know you’re Raverran. You understand how we think.”

  There was nothing particular to Raverra about displaying magical power as an unspoken threat, but I smiled back. “Vaskandar learned our lesson about Raverran magical might in the War of Ashes,” I agreed. “I’m hopeful that Alevar will be willing to settle the Windhome Island dispute peaceably.”

  “Good.” Aurelio’s brows drew together. “But what about you and Morgrain? From what I’ve heard about the Shrike Lord, he doesn’t seem the type to forgive and forget the death of his betrothed—but he’s still sending an envoy. That’s a good sign, right?”

  “Not really.” I hesitated over how much to tell him. But he’d been honest with me about the Raverran factions, and my fears were all rooted in matters that were common knowledge in Vaskandar. “Since Witch Lords can’t effectively settle their disputes through violence, in Vaskandar we rely on a system of favors and grievances.”

  “Ah.” Aurelio grimaced. “The death of his betrothed sounds like a pretty serious grievance.”

  “It is. We’d have to offer up a fairly dramatic favor in return to have any chance of the Shrike Lord declaring himself satisfied. Which we may not be willing to do, since her death was an accident.” Those last words went stiff in my mouth; Lamiel’s death might not have been murder, but it lacked the innocence of an accident.

  Aurelio frowned. “So what happens if he won’t accept a favor?”

  “Then it all comes due at the next Conclave.” The gathering of Witch Lords existed to resolve disputes, among other things, but the death of his betrothed was a sufficiently dramatic grievance that the Shrike Lord might be able to get enough allied domains on his side that he could invade us. Or worse, win the support of one of the Eldest. I suppressed a shudder at the thought. “Suffice to say it would be far better if we could find a way to pay back the grievance.”

  “But her death wasn’t a murder,” Aurelio protested. “She tried to get past a lethal ward and it killed her. Right?”

  I hesitated a second too long. Graces help me, I’d never liked lying, and I had no practice at it.

  Aurelio was no Vaskandran atheling, used to having his word treated as divine edict in a land directly dependent on his magic for bounty and protection. All his life he’d had to read people for the slightest chance at advantage. He didn’t miss the flinch I couldn’t keep from my face.

  “Grace of Mercy,” he whispered, his eyes widening. He barely mouthed his next word: “You?”

  I shook my head frantically. Not to deny it, but because there were too many people in the room. No one was close, no one seemed to be listening, but by the Eldest, I couldn’t risk anyone overhearing this.

  He stared at me, mouth still slightly open, the truth slowly spreading to every corner of his face. I braced myself for him to jump up and denounce me. Or possibly worse, to recoil in horror, shutters closing forever between us in his eyes.

  Instead of drawing back like I expected, he leaned forward, his face serious.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” he whispered.

  Gratitude shook me like a wind through dry leaves. I managed a faint smile. This must be what friends did; they kept quiet about the people you killed.

  Lady Celia called Aurelio over to her side then, and we all sat down for dinner. Between the empty space around me and the vacant places for the Alevaran envoy and their second, it was a sparse and unbalanced table. My spine locked ramrod-stiff, but Lady Celia sipped a glass of the red wine I’d had brought out for our Raverran guests, relaxed as if there were nothing strained about the circumstances.

  “I do hope the Shrike Lord won’t become too distracted to
seal our agreement,” she said. “It would be rather awkward to leave half a fleet sitting off the coast of Alevar indefinitely while he processes his grief.”

  I swallowed. “I can see why that might be inconvenient.”

  “Mind you, we can spare the ships.” Lady Celia chuckled, somewhat ominously. “I’m more concerned that certain Raverran factions who favor an aggressive exercise of our magical might will succeed in their push for a retaliatory strike while we wait.”

  Karrigan grunted. “So long as your navigators know where the coast of Alevar stops and the coast of Morgrain begins.”

  “Hopefully it won’t come to that,” I said, wishing I could kick my aunt under the table.

  Lady Celia swished her wine around in her cup. “Alas, there are those in my government who consider it low risk to bombard the coast of Alevar with hurricanes and magically augmented cannon fire, since so long as we don’t set boots on the shore the Shrike Lord would have no way to retaliate—or at least, not without coming through Morgrain.” She lifted her glass. “Something I’m certain everyone at this table wishes to avoid.”

  “That is why we’re mediating this negotiation,” I interjected, before my aunt could voice whatever stronger reply I could feel building like a storm around her.

  “Of course.” Lady Celia smiled wryly. “Hopefully the negotiation can proceed despite this unfortunate incident with Lady Lamiel. One does feel a bit like the Grace of Majesty in the Dark Days, wrangling all the petty kings to agree to band together against the Nine Demons while the Demon of Discord kept them fighting over trivialities.”

  Aunt Karrigan relaxed back into her chair with an appreciative grunt, the prickle of her gathered power fading from the air. “We have that story, too. Except in Vaskandar, we say it was a great mage who got everyone to work together, not your Grace of Majesty.”

  A commotion sounded outside the Old Great Hall, on the far side of the stout oak doors that sealed its entrance archway woven of delicately curving antlers. Karrigan frowned and lifted her head, and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was: if our grandmother were here, she would have known what approached, and whether it was a cause for alarm. Without her, we were blind.