The Obsidian Tower

by Melissa Caruso

  I jerked away, and Kessa stopped, her gaze clouding.

  “Do you trust me?” she asked quietly.

  That was one Hell of a question. She’d spied on me, and I’d only known her for a couple of days. I hardly knew anything about her. Kessa’s warm brown eyes waited, layers of sadness and joy laid bare and vulnerable within them.

  “Yes.” I forced myself to smile and tried not to look as if my heart were pounding. “I’d love your help. Thank you.”

  I flinched when her deft fingers brushed my back, a confused mix of warmth and terror coursing through me as her businesslike touch worked up and down my spine, drawing the cage of boning tighter around my middle.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, so softly I almost didn’t hear it. “I know it’s hard to trust a spy.”

  I shrugged, uncomfortable. “No harder than it is to trust an atheling.”

  Ashe flashed me a smile at that.

  Kessa did my hair next. Every muscle in my body locked rigid as her graceful fingers unraveled my braid and slid nimbly through my hair, twisting and pinning. Electric shivers ran down between my shoulders each time her warm hands brushed the back of my neck.

  “Like riding a bear,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  At last she was done, and stepped back with a look of great satisfaction. “There,” she said. “I’m no Raverran lady’s maid, but that should do. Take a look!”

  She gestured grandly toward an oval mirror standing in the corner. The woman in it was a strange creature: a fine Raverran lady in a sapphire-blue gown with a silver-and-blue brocade stomacher and petticoat, jewels sparkling in her dark hair. Acres of skirts fluffed out around me, and I felt inexplicably important in the middle of all this rustling, gorgeous fabric, like a jewel proudly displayed on a silk pillow. She’d done my hair up in a hybrid style, coiling several Vaskandran braids up on my head with elegant Raverran tendrils cascading around my face. The lady in the mirror appeared poised and regal, and far more confident than I felt. The jess gleamed on my wrist, a promise of a freedom I’d never known.

  “With a vestcoat over everything, you should look less Raverran and more of a mix,” Kessa said, tapping her lips and eyeing my reflection critically. “What do you think, Ryx?”

  I touched my hair; parts of it were stiff with potion. “I don’t look like myself,” I laughed. That was the point of Raverran clothes, I supposed—to shape you into some artistic creation of the one who designed them. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

  Ashe snorted. “Tell me about it. Do you know how long it took me to get used to these things?” She twirled, and her red skirts flew out around her. Her eyes slid to Kessa, to see if she was watching. “But they’re not bad to fight in, if you avoid low lunges. I can hope a war breaks out at the party, I suppose.”

  Kessa poked her shoulder. “You’re incorrigible, Ashe.”

  The light, floaty bubble that had risen in my chest popped. War was a very real danger right now. It had been easy to forget, getting ready for the reception, that I was going into one of the most important battles of my life.

  This was my chance to impose normalcy back on the negotiations. To show the envoys that even with my grandmother mysteriously absent, even with violent death and unexplained magic marring the proceedings, we could still have orderly and civil relations with each other. That peace could prevail between us.

  “Right,” I said, my voice steady and strong as if I weren’t the slightest bit afraid, “let’s go.”

  Afternoon light streamed breathtakingly golden down through the glass ceiling of the Aspen Hall, filtered into molten radiance by the leaves of the living aspen trees that gave the grand room its name. The Witch Lord’s power kept the coin-shaped leaves perpetually autumn gold; the stark white trunks formed a double line of slender columns flanking the hall. Intricate leaf patterns of inlaid woods in varying shades covered a floor almost too lovely to walk on. If the visiting diplomats weren’t impressed by the beauty of the space, there was something wrong with their souls.

  It certainly possessed sufficient grandeur for the Vaskandran ceremony to open the negotiations. The envoys, Aunt Karrigan, and I stood in a loose circle around a great bowl of lustrous magic-shaped wood, abstract shapes swirling in eye-pleasing patterns in the varied shades of its grain. The rest of the assembled reception guests watched as Voreth and Aurelio poured earth from their respective countries into the bowl from clay jars, and then Severin and Celia stepped forward to plant seeds from Alevar and the Empire side by side in the fresh earth. Lady Celia moved with a confidence that made me suspect she’d rehearsed this strange custom in advance. Severin’s swaggering grace was no less than I’d expected. Hells, that man could make planting a seed look like he was giving the Graces’ gift to the earth.

  The next part should have been mine. But it was Karrigan who stepped forward and held her hand above the bowl, coaxing green shoots up from the seeds the envoys had planted. It was her magic that wound the shoots together as they grew, shaking damp green leaves from tender buds, until two young saplings stood proudly twined in the center of the bowl.

  “Let us meet in harmony and leave with accord,” I announced, my voice ringing out in a room full of whispers. “I welcome you all to Gloamingard.”

  At that cue, soft strains of string music filled the air, and the formal ceremony ended. Servants hurried out to uncover the dishes waiting on the buffet tables; the guests broke up into fluid bunches, a murmur of conversation rising to the ceiling.

  Right. Time to mingle, then. However that worked.

  I pushed my jess up my arm, the cold metal unfamiliar against my skin. I hadn’t told my aunt about joining the Rookery or getting the jess yet, and I doubted she’d be happy about it. And of course the sleeves of this cursed Raverran gown ended just above the elbow in a fountain of dripping lace cuff, which fell back to expose my wrists if I lifted my arms at all.

  Nearly a hundred people circulated through the room, between the full delegations from Alevar and Raverra, the Rookery, and various officials, mages, and courtiers from Morgrain. All of them gave me a wide berth, as they’d been warned to do; I caught some alarmed sidelong glances in my direction, and Vaskandrans flicked the warding sign at me.

  I should wander about, listen, talk to people and try to nudge them to think and do what I wanted—but I balked at the crowd. The air felt raw on my bare hands. Every instinct urged me to get out of here before something terrible happened.

  Ashe sauntered up to me with a grin stretching her face, resplendent in her red gown, Answer gleaming wickedly on her hip.

  “Relax,” she said. “You look like you’ve never been to a party before.”

  “I haven’t,” I admitted, forcing myself to hold my ground and not open up more space between us even as my muscles tensed at how near she’d come. “This is my first one.”

  Ashe’s brows flew up. “What, did they stick you in a box for your whole life?”

  “No, no. Gatherings like this are just too dangerous.” I waved a hand around the crowded Aspen Hall. “It was necessary.”

  “Maybe.” Ashe didn’t sound convinced. “It was still cruel.”

  “No one did this to me,” I objected. “No one forced me. It’s just common sense.”

  Ashe snorted. “You think you can’t be cruel to yourself?”

  I couldn’t think what to say to that. Suddenly my life seemed gray and small, and I could only stare at her, too aware of the cold clasp of the jess around my wrist.

  Ashe’s eyes slipped past me, and she frowned. “Whoops, I have to go rescue Kessa from a boring conversation. She just gave me our secret signal. See you after the ball. Can’t wait to take another look at that cursed black rock of yours.”

  “See you then,” I said, still feeling a bit numb. Ashe was already gone.

  I barely had time to shake my head and push my jess back up my arm before Lady Celia swept up to me, neatly as an intercepting warship
, resplendent in a gown of Raverran ocean blue and gold. She held two glasses of red wine, and offered me one.

  “I’m delighted to find a decent wine offered up in Vaskandar, and I suspect I have you to thank,” she greeted me, her eyes sparkling.

  I stared at the extended wine cup for a second too long. She’d come so close—but she must know about my jess, since Aurelio was part of her delegation. Still, there was no sense in letting my habits get sloppy, so I avoided her fingers as I took the glass and inhaled the fruity sting of its scent.

  It was my turn to say something. Damnation. I was still new at this casual conversation business.

  “Mmm,” I ventured.

  “Your domain is full of surprises,” Celia said, half a smile crooking the corner of her mouth. “That stone in your tower chief among them, of course.”

  “I assure you, I was surprised, too.” The words fell out of my mouth before I could consider whether it was a good idea to take her bait. “I’ve lived here since I was four years old, but I’ve never seen the inside of the Black Tower before.”

  “And yet from what I glimpsed as I arrived, you seemed to activate it easily enough,” Celia observed, her gaze knife-sharp and analytical. “Do you think you could command its magic?”

  “That’s a rather bold question.” I had to get better at controlling my face; I dragged my eyebrows back down to a more neutral position. “Why do you ask?”

  “Consider this. That artifact undeniably represents a great deal of power.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “From the Serene Empire’s perspective, it’s power in the hands of a domain with which we currently enjoy cordial relations, but which historically has been our enemy. If you can’t control it, it’s a potential threat. If you can—well then, it’s also a potential threat, but of a different sort.”

  “Given that my family has guarded this artifact for thousands of years and never used it in Morgrain’s various conflicts with the Empire, I think you don’t have anything to worry about,” I said.

  Celia lifted an elegant gray brow. “Come now, Lady Ryxander. Surely you’re not so simple as to believe that a power having gone unused will stop people from coveting it or fearing it.”

  “You’re referring to this Raverran faction that’s collecting magic for a supposedly inevitable war,” I guessed. I should ask Jannah to gather what information we had on them for me; they sounded likely to become a problem.

  “Ah, the Zenith Society. Yes, but not only them.” Lady Celia took a sip of wine, analyzing me over the rim of her glass; I filed the name away in my memory. “Surely you must have noticed that the vultures are starting to gather at your borders.”

  Hells. Morgrain, like most Vaskandran domains, usually depended on its Witch Lord’s connection to the land for intelligence, while the Serene Empire had a vast spy network and lightning-quick communications. We were effectively blind without my grandmother, even to what was happening on our own borders; Lady Celia might well know something I didn’t.

  I couldn’t let her see that. Showing weakness could be fatal right now.

  I gave her a gracious nod of acknowledgment. “My lady, this is Vaskandar. The Witch Lords are always circling each other, looking for weaknesses.”

  “Precisely.” Celia tilted her head, locks of gray hair swinging free by her jaw. “And what exactly is the succession situation here in Morgrain? I’m told that Witch Lords usually have only one heir, to prevent complications in the passing of magical dominion—but your family seems not to follow that rule.”

  My fingertips whitened on my untasted wineglass. “That’s true. We believe that a larger family better sustains our domain, with more powerful mages to protect our people and more political marriages to keep our alliances strong.” All to help guard the Black Tower: Blood endures through ages long, the Gloaming Lore advised us.

  Of course, there was more to the current size of our family than that. But I was hardly about to explain to Lady Celia the horrifying implications of what my broken magic would do if I gained magical power over every living thing in Morgrain, or that my aunt and uncle had taken it upon themselves to have more children just to ensure I wouldn’t somehow inherit the domain and unintentionally turn the place into a desolate lifeless wasteland.

  “That’s hardly relevant, though,” I concluded, unable to keep an edge from my voice, “since the Lady of Owls is alive and well.”

  “Naturally, naturally.” Celia waved a jeweled hand. “But perhaps some of your neighbors might entertain hopes to the contrary. Please forgive me if I’m curious about what they might expect to happen with the succession if they were not in fact doomed to disappointment.”

  It was a fine and unsettling point. Our neighbors would likely expect my father and aunt and uncle to fall upon each other contesting for immortality and dominion over the land—which many would take as a signal to invade during our moment of weakness and seize our precious land for themselves.

  The Empire apparently knew it. Everyone saw Morgrain as undefended, and they were preparing to pounce. Wonderful.

  “Our succession is clear,” I said, trying to sound firm enough to close any perceived door of opportunity. “My grandmother has decreed that her eldest, Tarn, will inherit the domain, and the whole family is in agreement. No one will try to stop him from establishing his sole magical claim.”

  “Oh, good,” Celia said. “I’m glad to hear the succession is uncontested.” Her gaze slid pointedly to where Karrigan stood talking to Severin, standing with all the bold confidence of a Witch Lord in her own domain.

  Odan appeared at my elbow, a few feet back for safety. His posture remained rigidly correct and controlled as always, but urgency flattened his mouth behind his bushy gray mustache.

  “Might I have a word, Exalted Warden?”

  “Of course. If you’ll excuse me a moment, Lady Celia.”

  Celia nodded graciously and withdrew—not quite far enough that she wouldn’t have a chance to overhear, of course. Raverrans. I moved off a little farther and turned my back to her in the hopes of better blocking whatever news had Odan looking troubled on an already trying day.

  “What new disaster are we facing this time?” I asked.

  “I’d say not a disaster, but at this point I’m making no assumptions, Warden.” Odan dropped his voice. “The Honored Atheling Ardith of Kar has arrived at Gloamingard. They’ll be here any minute, but I wanted to give you some warning.”

  “Ardith!” I glanced around the Aspen Hall in a panic. Ardith was a child of the Fox Lord of Kar himself; they delighted in shaking things up as if the world were a jar of fireflies. “Why now, of all times? Wait, of course they’re coming now. Hells take it.” I sighed. “You’d better show them in.”

  Ardith, however, was not the type to wait for an introduction. They sauntered into the hall at that very moment, sporting a cheery grin and a buttery soft leather vestcoat with cutouts of swirling autumn leaves showing flashes of vermilion silk beneath. Their blaze of red hair fell loose to their shoulders, and a jeweled rapier hung at a dashing angle on their hip.

  I was standing near the door, so their eyes fell on me at once. No colored ring interrupted their wickedly gleaming hazel irises. Born with magic too weak for the mage mark, Ardith was out of the line of succession, but a royal atheling of Kar and a force to be reckoned with nonetheless.

  “Hello, Ryx,” they greeted me. “Nice dress.”

  “Thanks, Ardith.” I’d met them several times in the course of diplomatic relations with Kar and rather liked them, but they were invariably trouble. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here?”

  Odan shook his head at my blunt and casual language as he withdrew, but Ardith tipped back their head and laughed.

  “What, you don’t believe I’m just here for the free food? I can sense a buffet a hundred miles away.” They started drifting inexorably in that direction; I followed, keeping a wary distance between us as if they were a prowling wolf.

 
“I won’t deny that might be your ulterior motive,” I said, “but you can’t expect me to believe you can’t get a good dinner in Kar.”

  “Maybe I have other reasons.” They flashed a sharp grin. “Maybe I heard strange rumors, and I’m curious.”

  Lovely, there were rumors spreading already. “What rumors?”

  Ardith made a dramatic gesture. “The Black Tower open at last! A mysterious artifact of great power discovered within it! Naturally, I’m dying of curiosity. Though not so literally as Exalted Lamiel, I hope.”

  I stopped in midstride, cold running down my sides like corset boning. “How do you know all that?”

  “Oh, a bird told me.” They cocked their head. “I’d guessed it must be from the Lady of Owls, but now I hear she’s on some unannounced leave of absence, which frankly sounds rather ominous. You’ve been busy here, haven’t you?”

  “Rather unfortunately so, yes.” I stopped myself halfway through reaching up to fidget with my hair as my lace cuff started to slide back from my wrist. “You have no idea who sent this bird?” It had to have been someone at the castle. Who in the Nine Hells would think it was a good idea to drag the Fox Lord into this? He was a significant force in Vaskandar, two centuries old and deviously cunning, with powerful allies. Maybe he was whom Lady Celia had been referring to with that talk of vultures gathering at our border.

  Ardith shrugged. “Not really. Could have been one of our spies, I suppose.”

  “Spies!”

  “Oh, come on, you have them, too.” With effortless grace, they grabbed a glass of golden Morgrain ale from the tray of a server passing by on their way to restock the buffet. “Anyway, it’s not as if any of this is secret. The news is all over the castle and in town, and it’s spreading from there. I was close enough that I thought I’d pop in to see what was going on, but I’m sure others will come soon enough. Everyone always wants to stop and stare at an overturned carriage.”