I stepped forward, dread building up an almost unbearable pressure in my chest. Grandmother, forgive me.
“There is one more matter you may want to consider,” I told them.
The attention of all the assembled people focused on me like the heat of the sun coming out from behind a cloud. I approached the table; every step across the garden felt like a mile.
Grace of Wisdom, help me avert a disaster instead of causing one, just this once.
My grandmother’s presence watched from the trees around us, ready, almost eager. She knew as well as I did the chaos I would sow if I told them the truth about her. The violence that would engulf the entire region as everyone turned on our domain—or, if she could arrange it, on each other.
As I took my place, I found my eyes drifting to meet Severin’s. I, too, knew what the truth could do.
“Honored Ardith is right,” I began. My voice came out uneven; my hands trembled. I clasped them behind my back. “There’s something we’ve been holding back, for fear of starting a panic.”
A hush fell across the orchard. I could see the question in their eyes: How could it be worse? Blood of the Eldest, if only they knew.
“There is a chance…” I swallowed. “No. I’m certain that a demon has already come through the gate.”
Severin made an inarticulate noise. The crowd erupted in gasps and exclamations; Ardith clutched their own sleeves, paling, and Lady Celia reached out to steady herself on an aide’s shoulder.
“So far as I know,” I continued, my throat dry to cracking, “there’s just the one. We need to make absolutely certain that this demon does not bring others through from the Nine Hells. And so I implore you, for the sake of Eruvia, to let us destroy the gate immediately.”
The orchard erupted into shouts and questions. I lifted a hand, not done yet; they fell silent at once, straining desperately to hear whatever horrors I might utter next.
So far, I’d spoken only truth, and I’d like to keep it that way. But I had to be so very careful threading this next needle.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed my grandmother’s absence,” I said. “She is currently keeping this demon contained, and she is the reason why you’ve seen so little sign of its presence in this world.” All technically true, but holy Hells, I felt like a liar. “It is imperative that she doesn’t face a threat to her domain that would require her personal intervention, causing her to shift her focus to war at this critical time.”
Murmurs swept through the crowd. Severin shook his head in a sort of stunned admiration, mouthing This was your plan?
“That’s all I have to say on the matter right now,” I called out. “Clearly this is another problem we must face and deal with, and there’s a great deal of information to be shared and plans to be made and steps to be taken. At this rite, however, we deal only with the question of what to do with the gate. I don’t want to distract from that all-important decision with a discussion that will take days. Let’s focus on the question at hand and make our choice. Will you leave a gate to the Nine Hells in existence while a demon is on the loose with the means to open it and unleash the Dark Days upon us all? Or shall we destroy the gate and limit the damage, and then turn our full attention to dealing with this singular threat?”
I shrugged, as if the answer didn’t matter to me. With a frightened uproar clamoring in my ears, I paced back to my spot next to the rest of the Rookery, my face turned up to the smooth purple sky to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze.
The debate continued with new urgency. Every time it strayed to focusing on the demon, I stubbornly directed it back to the gate. My announcement seemed to have served its purpose; the idea of keeping the gate around to study it seemed much less appealing when more demons might come through at any minute.
Voreth demanded proof that a demon had truly come through; Ardith countered by demanding proof that one hadn’t, but Foxglove officially vouched for the demon’s existence on behalf of the Rookery before that could spiral too far. Aurelio kept shooting me betrayed looks, his mouth set in a straight line. Hells, he of all people should know it was nothing personal. My mother had told me more than once that in Raverra, it was best to keep friendship separate from politics.
When everyone seemed to have run out of new things to say, I stepped up to the table again. “The time has come for us all to decide where we stand,” I declared. “Each party must bind ourselves to a resolution, with water or blood.” I turned to the Raverrans, softening my voice to explain. “Water is a promise. It can be conditional; it can be renegotiated later. Blood is a vow. When you bind yourself with blood, the earth listens. You cannot change your mind.”
Lady Celia nodded, her face schooled to polite understanding, her eyes a bit wide.
Ardith strolled up first, putting on a cocksure strut like armor. They took the bone cup and lifted it as if in a toast. “I’ve heard enough. I think it’s safe to say that the Fox Lord now favors destroying the gate. You convinced me, Ryx. I can’t claim to be quite as sure what the other Witch Lords would think, but let’s not give the Conclave the chance to muck this up, shall we?” They took a long swallow of the clear water.
Lady Celia strode to the table next, with all the determination of a soldier going to war. She paused to consider the cup. “My resolution is powerful enough for blood, but since I speak on behalf of the Serene Empire, it is not my place to bind the doge and the Council of Nine with my vows. Let me state as clearly and firmly as I can that the Serene Empire strongly backs the Rookery’s proposal to destroy the gate at once.”
As she took her sip of water, she glared over the rim of the cup at Aurelio. He pressed his lips together in silence; she must have had words with him.
Severin stepped forward, and every muscle in my abdomen tensed. Stand up to him, I willed him silently. Ignore that gargoyle glaring over your shoulder and break away from your brother’s shadow.
He stared at the cup a long time, his shoulders taut. One hand stole up and rubbed his neck, along the scars there.
“Come on,” I whispered, hands clenched. “You can do this.”
Severin reached out toward the cup. He glanced at me, his eyes clouded. Then he closed his hand, straightened his spine, and faced the crowd.
“My brother’s will is clear,” he said, his voice soft but carrying. “I understand the threat this gate poses, but as his envoy, I cannot agree to destroy it. Not unless I can return to Alevar with Exalted Lamiel’s killer for the Shrike Lord’s justice.” He turned to me, his eyes pleading. “Exalted Ryxander. I have no choice but to ask you: Can you deliver that justice?”
All eyes turned to me. I let out a long sigh.
“I’d hoped to avoid this,” I said. “But you give me no choice.” I straightened, letting my voice ring out loud and clear. “The Shrike Lord’s claim is false. I deny his grievance.”
The Raverrans exchanged puzzled glances; the Vaskandrans drew in shocked breaths. Severin went pale as bone.
“On what basis?” Voreth snarled, his knuckles bulging on his staff.
“Exalted Lamiel broke the laws of hospitality.” I pulled back my sleeve to show the long pink scar her dagger had left. “She trespassed in places she was told were forbidden and stabbed me with a knife. The only reason I have forborne from claiming a major grievance was out of respect for the Shrike Lord’s grief.” Voreth opened his mouth to protest, but I raised my voice. “She set a chimera on our people to distract from her crimes. It was her meddling that caused the gate to be opened. Morgrain could claim grievance after grievance from that night—and the Shrike Lord can claim none. No one murdered Lamiel; she tampered with dangerous powers and brought her death upon herself.” I glared at Voreth, since I couldn’t quite bring myself to meet Severin’s eyes. I hoped to the Hells his brother wouldn’t blame him for this. “You hold no valid grievance. I deny the Shrike Lord’s claim.”
Into the silence that fell, Ardith let out a loud whistle. “Well! That was comprehensive.”
/> Voreth started forward. “You have no right to deny this claim! You’re not even a proper atheling! You—”
Severin whirled on him, lips drawn back from his teeth. “You are not the Shrike Lord’s envoy, Honored Voreth.”
Rage darkened Voreth’s face, but he bowed. “Forgive me, Exalted Atheling.”
Severin turned to face me. Calculation narrowed his eyes. I tried to put an urgent message in mine: I don’t want this to hurt you. Help me figure out how to keep your brother’s wrath from falling on you for this.
No matter how the rite resolved, the Elk Lord wouldn’t back the Shrike Lord after all the doubts I’d cast on his grievance; and after what I’d said about my grandmother and the demon, the Shrike Lord should have trouble finding other allies against us. I’d accomplished what I needed for Morgrain. Now I had to make sure Severin didn’t bear the cost.
“I know nothing of the grievances you claim against the Shrike Lord,” Severin said. His features still formed a perfect picture of arrogant disdain; he was good at this act, damn him.
“Your lack of knowledge makes them no less true, and no less relevant,” I returned.
Severin hesitated. “Yet my brother felt Exalted Lamiel’s death. Someone else was involved. My brother will know the full truth, and have his vengeance.”
Ah. That was an angle I could work with, if a dangerous one. “If you have the truth, will you back the destruction of the gate?”
“If you direct me to the proper target of my brother’s vengeance, then he may pursue his grievance against that individual in place of his grievance against Morgrain,” Severin said carefully. “If he has no grievance against Morgrain, then I am forced to admit he has no claim on the gate.”
“Very well.” I took a deep breath. “Morgrain does not acknowledge your grievance, but nor will we withhold the truth. I will pledge to give you what information I have about Exalted Lamiel’s death.” I’d been willing to tell Severin the truth anyway, and I wasn’t promising to tell anyone but him. “What you do with that information is up to you.”
“Including the identity of this presence my brother felt?” Severin asked, reluctance dragging at his words.
Once I gave him my reply, I couldn’t take it back. But it would be unfair to force Severin to accept the consequences of his brother’s wrath while evading them myself.
“Yes,” I said.
Severin winced, so slightly I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t spent more time than I was prepared to admit staring at his face. His voice dropped so low I could barely hear him. “Will you bind yourself with a blood vow? I’m afraid my brother will accept no less.”
A blood vow was serious for anyone, but more so for an atheling with a blood tie to the land. There were all manner of stories describing gruesome fates for athelings who broke a blood oath, and I had no idea to what degree they were true.
Everyone was watching. Curse it, I was tired of ducking responsibility for Lamiel’s death. It might have been her fault, but still, it wouldn’t have happened if I’d made different choices.
“I will.” I drew my dagger from its sheath. Kessa bit her lip, trying to catch my eyes, shaking her head. But I understood the potential consequences, and by the Graces and the Eldest, I was done running from this.
I drew the knife across the back of my arm, along the scar Lamiel had left, steeling myself for the hot lick of pain. Blood beaded along the shallow cut, and I let a few drops fall to the fertile earth.
Think, Ryx. Think about how you phrase this.
I locked eyes with Severin, my blue mage mark burning into his gray one. “I swear to you that before you leave Gloamingard, I will tell you the further details of Lamiel’s death, including this other person involved.”
That was as much maneuvering room as I could give myself. My vow was only to Severin, and he might not choose to pass the information on to his brother. And if he did, well, the Shrike Lord might kill me, but it put the matter off until we could deal with the gate, and that was the most important thing.
Still, I couldn’t help a chill of foreboding at what I’d just bound myself to do. I might not consider Lamiel’s death murder, but I doubted the Shrike Lord would agree. Aiming his vengeance against me rather than Morgrain would leave me no less dead at the end of it, and now he would finally know his target.
Severin inclined his head. “I receive your vow. The Shrike Lord’s grievance against Morgrain is satisfied, for now. Let it be known that his deadly grievance against this individual, however, remains.”
That would have to do. I nodded grim acknowledgment.
He lifted the bone cup to me. “I pledge Alevar’s backing for destroying the gate, contingent on your fulfillment of that vow.”
And he drank, slow and long.
“Then all agree,” I declared, barely keeping my voice steady, “and this rite is concluded. The Rookery will proceed with destroying the gate, and afterward the Shrike Lord’s grievance will be settled.”
The tension in the orchard shifted. With the rite resolved, everyone began breaking up into clusters of buzzing conversation, talking agitatedly about the demon.
I withdrew from the light and the crowd, into the sheltering shadows of the orchard. Lady Celia would doubtless descend on me with questions in a moment, and Ardith would come sniffing after information; I had no desire to get pinned down by either of them. I laid my hand on the rough bark of an apple tree and took in a deep breath of its sweet scent.
“You’ve doomed me,” a voice husked, startlingly close.
I spun in my dark corner of the orchard to find Aurelio standing there, his face barred and patched in black shadows from a gnarled old apple tree that blocked half the light. Even with his expression partly obscured, I could see the emotion twisting it.
Given that I had potentially just consigned myself to the very real doom of the Shrike Lord’s vengeance, my patience for dramatics was thin. “No I haven’t,” I snapped. “For Graces’ sake, Aurelio, I’m trying to save us from a demon invasion.”
He shook his head, and there was something barely controlled in the motion, full of grief or pain that bordered on madness. “You don’t understand. I can’t let you destroy the gate, and go back to him a failure. I can’t. Not just for myself, but for my father.”
I went still. There was more going on here than I understood. “Aurelio, if you’re not safe with Lord Urso, I can give you shelter here.”
He laughed bitterly. “He’s going to take your jess, you know. There’s no way he’ll let you keep it now.”
My jess. Realization hit me like a bucket of swamp water, foul and cold.
I needed Aurelio to release my magic, or I couldn’t drain the gate.
He had the power to stop us from destroying it. He didn’t know it yet, because he hadn’t heard the plan—but if I asked him to release me, he’d figure out why I must need my magic, and he’d never say the release word. Not so long as Lord Urso wanted otherwise.
I had to trick him. I hated to do it, when he was staring at me with eyes brimming with unshed tears, clearly worried about his father and in desperate need of help. If I deceived him into releasing me, that would be the end of our friendship. My power would drain the jess, and Aurelio and Lord Urso would certainly have no motivation to get me a new one. I’d be back to my old life forever, minus one of the few friends I’d ever had.
No crowds, no parties, no travel, no Rookery, no hope of romance. And my grandmother, the one person I’d relied on for human touch, was gone.
Hells, at this rate I’d be dead anyway. I swallowed a knot in my throat.
“He can’t take my jess back!” It wasn’t hard to sound upset at the idea. I put my hand protectively over my wrist for good measure. “Not now. I need my power suppressed to touch Foxglove so I can let him through the Black Tower wards. Everyone is depending on me. I can’t let them down.”
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. It had come so easily, and I despised myself for it. Especiall
y as the struggle played out on Aurelio’s face, balancing his mission against his friend’s welfare.
His mouth resolved into a grim line, and he stepped back: one pace, two, three. Well out of reach.
“I’m sorry, Ryx,” he said, regret in his voice. “I never wanted to hurt you. But we need that gate.”
Hells, he was really going to do it. Panic leaped up in my chest, even though this was what I’d wanted. “Wait—”
Aurelio took a deep breath. “Exsolvo.”
The release word.
It was as if color rushed back into a world from which I had forgotten it had been drained. The air came alive with power around me: warmer, richer, more vibrant.
A great heady rush washed up my arm from the jess, tingling with exaltation, and it went cold on my wrist. I snatched my hand back halfway through reaching toward Aurelio, a muffled cry strangling in my throat. A leaf brushing my ankle withered, the life dwindling from it; I moved instinctively away before the whole plant could die.
“I’m sorry,” Aurelio said, his voice catching as if he truly meant it. “I can’t let you do this, Ryx. Now, if you’ll help me, I can get you a new one.”
For a moment, I pitied him. He was afraid, and desperate, and seemed to feel genuinely terrible about this. For a brief moment, I almost felt bad about what I was going to do.
But no. He’d been willing to damn me to a life without touch just to get me to do what he wanted. This was the price he paid for that choice.
I met his eyes, anger simmering beneath my skin, and yanked the jess off my wrist. Maybe it would be more prudent to let him think I was cowed, but I couldn’t summon a convincing pretense of meekness or remorse right now.
“Help you do what? Betray my country? Everything I do, I do for Morgrain.” I stuffed the useless jess defiantly in my vestcoat pocket.
His face went blank with shock for a brief moment before twisting to anger. “You tricked me! You wanted me to release you. Hells take you—you need your power to destroy the gate, don’t you?”
The Obsidian Tower Page 35