The Obsidian Tower

by Melissa Caruso

  I couldn’t do any of that while a huge lie stood between us.

  “I’m sure of it,” I said, my voice gone husky with emotion. “I’ll show you how sure I am. Do you want to know the truth? Who really killed Lamiel?”

  Something flickered in his eyes. He lifted a finger and laid it across my lips, a cool warning.

  “No,” he said. “Don’t tell me.”

  I pulled back from his touch, the moment broken. “You saved my life,” I said. “I owe you the truth.”

  “I don’t want the truth,” Severin whispered. “I’m too afraid of it. Because I know what the truth can do.”

  Three hours before dusk I was in my room, answering messages and writing letters and trying not to think about the upcoming Rite of Blood and Water, when a soft but decisive knock sounded at my door. I rose and opened it cautiously; Ashe had insisted on standing guard, so I didn’t have any fear of assassins, but at this point I expected a new emergency every time I so much as opened a cupboard or heard someone call my name.

  It was Foxglove. He lifted a bottle of wine and both eyebrows. “Need a drink?”

  “I don’t drink,” I said. Though with the jess, I theoretically could, but I saw no reason to get sloppy in habits that might still save the lives around me.

  Foxglove shrugged. “Want to watch me drink, then?”

  “All right.” I stepped aside for him, desperately curious as to what this might be about.

  Foxglove strolled over to my breakfast table, hooked its single chair out with his foot, and had the wine bottle open almost before he finished settling in it.

  “You and I, Ryx,” he said, pouring himself a glass, “have a difficult decision to make tonight.”

  “Oh?” I pulled over my desk chair, the only other seat in the room, and sank down warily opposite him.

  “About your grandmother,” he said.

  Well, pox. I didn’t want to think about my grandmother. I froze, trapped.

  “Specifically, what to tell the governments of Vaskandar and the Empire about her.” Foxglove lifted his glass to me. “Sure you don’t want some?”

  “We can’t tell them,” I objected instinctively. “They’ll all turn on Morgrain in a panic, just as they did over the gate.”

  “Believe me, I’m aware of the irony of Eruvia throwing itself into chaos in order to try to fight the Demon of Discord.” Foxglove drained half his glass, then topped it off again. “I hope you can also see that we can’t keep information this important to ourselves. We can’t let the demon catch Eruvia unaware.”

  The demon. I couldn’t call her that, or think of her like that; she was still my grandmother. I laced my fingers together on the table to keep my hands out of trouble.

  “I don’t trust them to make decisions for me about something this important,” I said, forcing my voice flat. “Not the other Witch Lords, and not the doge and the Council of Nine.”

  “That’s the crux of the problem,” Foxglove agreed. He eyed his glass as if it were an old enemy, then downed another long swallow. “I made the mistake of putting blind trust in my superiors, once.”

  “Your superiors in the Rookery?”

  “No.” He paused a long moment, considering the glass in his hand. “My superiors in the imperial assassins.”

  “Oh!” I made absolutely certain not to push my chair back away from him, because I hated when people did that to me. “You must be, ah, very good.”

  The imperial assassins were an open secret, an implicit dagger hidden behind the Serene Empire’s smile. No one seemed to know how many there were, or much about them, and none could point to an instance where the Empire had definitively used them, but everyone knew they existed. My mother had cynically surmised that the Empire might not even make use of their talents at all—the mere fact of their existence was enough to give that extra bit of leverage to certain negotiations.

  Foxglove shrugged off the compliment. “I’ve lost my edge, these days. Let’s just say there’s a reason I hate the Zenith Society, and I understand your reluctance to trust the government better than you’d think. But they still need to know that there’s a demon loose.”

  I pulled my braid over my shoulder and began reworking it, as if by unraveling my hair I could unravel the problem. “We still don’t know what my grandmother’s going to do, and we have no idea what the best way to respond is going to be. Right now she’s not doing any harm.”

  Foxglove cocked one eyebrow. “She deliberately leaked information that could still cause a global war.”

  “All right, fine. But that’s what she did when she was playing.” I shivered. “We have a relatively stable situation now. If we attack her and make her angry—if we set something off before we have any idea how we’re going to deal with her—it could get so very much worse.”

  Wine made its rising music as it flowed into Foxglove’s cup. “I do sometimes wish it weren’t my job to deal with these things.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  We both thought for a moment about the dark and terrible consequences if we bungled this—or at least, I assumed Foxglove thought about that. I was mostly staring into a random corner of my room in blank horror. Every time I tried to wrap my understanding around the idea that a demon was loose in Morgrain—never mind that she was also my grandmother—my mind shied away.

  “Have you considered that you may find it easier to get backing for destroying the gate at the Rite of Blood and Water if people know there’s a demon already in the world?” Foxglove asked. “Fear is a powerful motivator, and no one will want her to let more demons through.” He took a more cautious sip of wine, his half-hooded eyes pensive. “Right now we’ve got Witch Lords wanting to avoid meddling with the gate and a major Raverran faction hot to study it. There’s no guarantee I won’t get orders any minute to leave it alone, and I have to follow them if I do. But this rite has enough representatives of imperial and Vaskandran governments involved that if they back us, we can go ahead and destroy it as soon as we have the enchantment ready, and it would take an unequivocal command at the highest levels to stop us.”

  “You have a point.” I closed my eyes. It was too easy to imagine the fiery orange rings of my grandmother’s mage mark watching us from the shadows in my room. “I’d vastly prefer not to play that card yet unless I have to, however.”

  Silence fell between us. Then Foxglove sighed. “I’ll tell you what. I won’t report anything to my superiors until after we destroy the gate. After all, we don’t have any proof your grandmother is a demon, and I wouldn’t want to alarm them with an unconfirmed theory.”

  “Thank you,” I said, with feeling.

  “As for the Rite of Blood and Water… Well.” Foxglove emptied his glass and set it decisively on the table. “I’m trusting you to come up with a brilliant and clever plan sometime before sunset.”

  The sun was getting low, and I didn’t have a brilliant and clever plan yet.

  The Aspen Hall trembled with whispers. The golden leaves above us shimmered in a wind that I certainly couldn’t feel down on the floor, if it existed at all. Diplomats and aides stood in tight clusters of two and three, rumor and truth twined together around them like strands of smoke, hissing and spreading like wildfire.

  The Rookery moved through the hall, lighting those flames and putting them out. Kessa soothed tempers with a touch or a laugh, bringing people drinks, calming and charming with her gracious smile. Foxglove and Bastian laid out the plan for destroying the gate with convincing logic and detail. Ashe lurked in the corners like the Demon of Death, her grin daring the murderer to try anything under her watch.

  It was our last chance to privately try to get everyone on our side before the Rite of Blood and Water. Everyone could see the sun bleeding out on the crest of the hills through the windows. We were almost out of time.

  There was at least one more person I needed to talk to before the rite began—one vital ally whose support I had to confirm.

  Thirty years ag
o, when my grandmother made Odan her steward, some of the more ambitious mages in Morgrain were offended. She’d told me, with a chuckle, that some had even dared to ask her how she could have chosen him as her steward, when he had not a drop of magic in him and there were plenty of mages, marked and otherwise, eager for such a prestigious post.

  My grandmother had told them that the choice was simple: she already had plenty of magic, and didn’t need more. Odan had something she did need.

  As a child, I’d never thought to ask what that was. Odan had so many clear virtues that he seemed an obvious choice; his excellence was a given. Now, however, I wondered. If the virtue she’d prized him for turned out to be, say, undying personal loyalty, I could be about to make a terrible mistake.

  I pulled him aside in an empty corner of the Aspen Hall, dropping my voice barely above a whisper. “Odan, I need to warn you about something. No one else in the castle knows besides the Rookery—no one else can know, not yet, not even Jannah.”

  “Of course, Warden.” Odan’s gray brows descended like storm clouds. “This is about the Lady of Owls, isn’t it?”

  I stared at him. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged, an uncomfortable movement. “I had a dream that I saw her, Exalted Warden. If it was a dream. The touch of the Hells is on her, isn’t it?”

  The knot in my throat tightened. I forced myself to nod. “If she comes back—returns to Gloamingard and starts giving orders—what will you do? She’s still the Witch Lord.”

  He met my gaze squarely. “I told you before. I’m a guardian, the same as you. This castle is my charge.” He shrugged off the horrifying implications of a demon Witch Lord as if they were irrelevant, mere dust that had fallen on his shoulders. “If her orders would harm the castle or the people in it, I won’t obey, and I’ll tell her so. That was the promise I made her when I took my post, Warden.”

  A rush of gratitude coursed through me, so strong my eyes stung. “It’s good to know I can count on you, Odan. Listen—if all goes well at the Rite of Blood and Water, we’re going to attempt to destroy the gate directly afterward. It’s too dangerous to risk letting it fall into the hands of anyone who wouldn’t guard it as vigilantly as you have.”

  He gave a slow nod. “I understand, Warden. If the lady appears while you’re working on that, I’ll see what I can do to distract her.”

  “Thank you.” I took a deep breath. “I’d like you to increase the guard around the old stone keep. Cover every possible entrance with battle chimeras and human guards—use everyone we’ve got if you have to. I want guards on every window and door, every hole in the wall big enough for a cat to crawl through, every secret passage that leads there, every roof and tower and wall an enterprising person with a grappling hook could leap to or climb.”

  Odan nodded, shifting his weight to his toes with readiness. “I’ll see it done, Warden. Good luck with the rite.”

  There was more I wanted to say—so much more—but we both had jobs to do. I returned his nod and let him go do his.

  Severin prowled the hall like a restless panther on a leash, Voreth lurking behind him as always. Now that I’d begun to know him better, I could read the tension in the set of his shoulders, the uncertainty shadowing his eyes. Sympathy pinched my heart; I had to protect Morgrain first, but by the Graces, I’d do what I could to make sure he wouldn’t face unpleasant consequences when he went back home.

  If he went home. Small flames of anger licked up inside my ribs at the memory of his scars. Maybe I could convince him to stay here and escape his brother altogether.

  Ardith sauntered over to me, rapier swinging at a jaunty angle on their hip. “Hullo, Ryx. Ready for the rite?”

  “No,” I admitted. “You?” I tried to keep my tone as casual as possible, forcing my breath not to quicken. It would be nice to someday once more be able to hold conversations with people I considered more or less my friends without wondering whether they had tried to kill me.

  “Not even close,” Ardith confessed. “I originally came here to take advantage of your hospitality and do a bit of low-pressure spying. It was supposed to be so relaxed that I didn’t even have to hide that I was snooping, and could just lounge around making a nuisance of myself and drinking your beer. But my father and his allies keep giving me more responsibilities, and suddenly I’m representing half the Conclave in this idiotic rite.”

  This was doing nothing to slow my speeding pulse. “Ah. What have they asked you to do?”

  Ardith grimaced. “The worst possible thing. Represent their interests to the best of my judgment. I hate using my judgment.”

  “I’d be happy to lend you mine,” I suggested, with a smile I hoped was charming. “I’ll gladly make all your decisions for you.”

  “I wish you could. That’d be easier than trying to sort out and balance all the things half a dozen different Witch Lords want me to do.” Ardith sighed. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you about it, but I wanted you to know I’ve got them all breathing down my neck, so don’t take anything I say or do personally.”

  “Whenever you say things like that, I get this awful sinking feeling in my stomach,” I confessed.

  “Me too, Ryx. Me too.” They flipped me a cheery wave. “Good luck! How bad can it get, right?… Don’t answer that.”

  They wandered off to go talk to Severin and Voreth, which didn’t set my mind at ease at all.

  I scanned the hall for Kessa, hoping to ground my burgeoning worries against her common sense, and spotted her glossy black hair and crimson-trimmed vestcoat sticking out from behind one of the great aspens. She was talking earnestly with someone, and it took me a moment to recognize Ashe. Those athletic shoulders followed a vulnerable curve, and her spiky head ducked with what might even be shyness. As I watched, she reached out toward Kessa with a tenderness I was certain no enemy had ever seen from her, and their hands slid together.

  I turned away at once, covering the smile that spread across my face. All right, that had saved my mood. Maybe tonight wasn’t completely doomed after all.

  “Ryx.” Aurelio appeared at my elbow. “May I speak to you privately for a moment?”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  He glanced around, then beckoned me aside; we walked to the far end of the hall together, alone beneath the shifting golden leaves.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the Rite of Blood and Water and the Rookery’s plan for the gate,” he said, his voice low. Worry clouded his eyes. “I’m concerned that everyone is going to make a terrible mistake.”

  “Aurelio, I can almost guarantee you that we’re going to make a terrible mistake. There are no good ways out of this mess we’re in.”

  “True enough, but we have to find the best way we can.” He ruffled the back of his hair. “And you’re the only one who can make sure that happens. You’re the most powerful person in Gloamingard right now.”

  I laughed, startled into it. “I can think of several people who would disagree.”

  “Not when it comes to the gate.” His gaze bored into mine, sincere and urgent. “As the last member of your family in Gloamingard, you’re the only one here who can let people through the wards to destroy it. No one can do anything to it without you. Really, when you come down to it, you’re the only one whose opinion matters.”

  “I don’t think that’s true, but all right.” I had to make enough arguments tonight; I wasn’t going to start one with Aurelio over whether I was as insignificant as I felt.

  “Of course I have to put in my plea for you to make the right choice.” He smiled an apology and spread his hands, as if to say What can I do?

  More pressure. Exactly what I needed. “Aurelio…”

  “Hear me out.” He hesitated, as if he had to choose his next words very carefully. “I’ve been thinking about this and talking to Lord Urso. We have almost no understanding of the Hells, but it sounds as if they may be the source of all magic in the world. Don’t you think it’s a terrible idea to des
troy the gate without fully understanding the implications?” He spread his hands. “The gate is contained now. Your ancestors kept it intact all these centuries for a reason. Let’s not undo their work with a poorly considered decision.”

  It was the same argument Ardith had said some of the Witch Lords had been making. If they were coordinating with Aurelio and factions in Raverra, I might face unified opposition tonight, which was bad news.

  I let out a long, tired breath. “Aurelio, you’ve got a valid point, and if we could somehow keep everyone from fighting over the gate, it might make sense to wait and study it. But even then, we’d be trusting that no one would gain access to it who would misuse it. Call me a cynic, but I don’t think humanity has that kind of wisdom or restraint.”

  “Well, we do have to make sure it’s in the right hands.” His voice shifted, and I had the impression he was repeating points someone else had made to him. “That’s one of the things that makes the gate irreplaceable, actually—that it appears to be a power source you don’t need a particular inborn magical talent to access. So we can make sure the gate is controlled by people with wisdom and vision, rather than people who happen to be born with a random natural advantage. Power is power, after all; it’s a tool to accomplish a goal. There are no evil means, only evil ends.”

  I snorted. “Now you’re sounding like that Raverran cabal—the Zenith Society.”

  A strange, guarded expression crossed Aurelio’s face. Cold realization hit my stomach like a swallow of seawater.

  “Hells,” I breathed. “You are a member of the Zenith Society.”

  It’s not what you think,” Aurelio said, reaching out as I backed up a step. “Ryx, listen to me. The Rookery has a skewed perspective on the Zenith Society—they had a bad run-in with one splinter faction, years ago. The rotten ones were purged then; those who remained were the ones who didn’t get involved in shady business.”

  “Does Lady Celia know of your affiliation, then?” I demanded.