by Hannah West
I laughed, nearly hysterical. “You wasted your resources bringing me here. Valory would never agree to make him an elicromancer.”
“So he was wrong to think Valory Braiosa’s scruples were negotiable, just like the tyrant she overthrew?” Mathis asked in Nisseran.
“She’s nothing like the Moth King.”
“Did Emlyn Valmarys not reward the loyalty of his mortal servants with elicrin gifts?”
“Yes, but—”
“And Valory Braiosa gave you yours in secret, without consulting the other members of the Realm Alliance?”
I didn’t answer. The night she’d given me my elicrin stone, the desire to use my new magic for good had overpowered my unease about outside perceptions.
“Publicly, she claims to comply with your noble majority votes,” Mathis said. “Privately, she’s doling out elicrin gifts to mortals.”
I tried not to reveal how deeply his comment burrowed under my skin. “You’ve prevented King Agmur from making me a means to an end. Am I free to leave at will?”
“In due time,” Orturio said. “But I hope you’ll consider our interference a favor—a favor you might see fit to repay.”
Of course. My freedom would come at a cost. I should have known.
“What do you want?” I asked, steeling myself for the possibilities. Did they plan to extort me? Use me like the Ermetarius men had used Rayed—as a precious Realm Alliance vote that could be cast in their favor when they needed it?
“Your help rescuing my princess from the tyrant queen, as a start,” Orturio said.
Tucking away my surprise, I set my full goblet to my lips and let the robust flavor swirl over my senses. “What has Ambrosine done now? Emptied the royal vault? Taxed the poor people out of hearth and home?”
“She has subdued the king and usurped his authority,” Orturio explained. “She murdered the high priest. She is changing laws to sunder the faith from the crown. She is imprisoning dissidents and persecuting Agrimas believers.”
I stared at him. “That can’t be true.”
“Oh, it is,” Mathis said. “And she’s taxed poor people out of hearth and home. And demanded the edifice tithes as repayment for centuries of support from the crown.”
Guilt bored into my belly like a corkscrew, but Mathis wasn’t exactly trustworthy, and I knew nothing about Rasmus Orturio. “The Realm Alliance would know if that were true,” I said, jutting my chin in defiance.
“Oh, would you?” Mathis laughed into his goblet. “Because you have so much experience maintaining foreign contacts and alliances? Because the myriad problems within your own realm aren’t keeping you occupied?”
“Ambrosine is vain and greedy, but she didn’t challenge Devorian’s claim to the throne despite being the eldest child. And when he abdicated, she didn’t try to stop you from taking over as regent. She’s never been power hungry.”
“People change.” Mathis brushed the rim of his glass again, insouciant.
“How would she even accomplish those things? We restricted her magic just like we did yours.” I gestured at his gold-flecked elicrin stone.
“The locals have some superstitious theories,” Mathis explained. “But I think she resorted to dark elicromancy to seize what she desired. Her poor husband or the priest tried to reign in her frivolity, and she simply would not be denied. It’s a family trait.” He smiled as though it were something to be proud of.
“How could Myron allow this?” I asked, shaking my head. How did the Realm Alliance not know? Why did no one ask us for help?
A cold dread turned in my stomach. Perhaps I already knew the answer to that. We had already failed to hold Ambrosine accountable once. The people of Perispos did not trust us to save them.
“Myron is a castrated king,” Orturio answered. “He still signs decrees, but only at her behest.”
He swilled the rest of his wine and pushed back from the table. “Perhaps it’s better for you to see than hear. Come.”
Sleep seemed ever out of reach as our open-top carriage sped away from the estate. Orturio had bound my wrists again, though thankfully with soft strips of cloth this time.
I watched the countryside roll by and found it difficult to believe that a reign of terror had fallen over this kingdom. Serene, crisp green hills billowed toward woodlands to the south and toward the outline of the city proper and the palace in the northwest—where Glisette was just out of reach. If only she knew. She would come for me and punish anyone who had laid a finger on me.
Soon the taste of smoke coated my tongue. The light wind carried a haze that stung my eyes. Through it, I saw a town of red-clay roofs rising up from the slope of a valley. A structure of jagged, blackened stones overshadowed the other buildings on the square.
“Is that an edifice?” I asked Orturio.
“It was. Now it’s a pile of stones.”
The taste of ash thickened as we rolled into town, greeted by the wary stares of locals and sun-withered vagabonds. The ruins surrounding the edifice looked more dismal the nearer we drew. My lungs itched with the urge to cough.
The driver eased to a halt in the edifice courtyard.
“Did she do this?” I asked Orturio as we debarked from the carriage and hiked over heaps of gray rubble and shards of stained glass. Only the skeleton of the edifice remained standing. So badly, I wanted to see Glisette, to know she was all right, to ask her how this could have happened without our knowledge. But Orturio instinctively knew I had thoughts of escape. He followed close behind, cloaking me in his large shadow.
Inside the edifice we encountered utter devastation. Everything not made of marble had been burned to crisps. Chunks of structural stones had warped in the heat and crumbled.
I picked my way over the wreckage to the pale altar, smudged with black marks. Falling debris had broken off an arm of the Holy of Honesty. I couldn’t recall her name, but I remembered why she held a key in one hand and a candle in the other: it symbolized that no truth could stay locked away or obscured forever.
I spotted the broken hand holding the key and bent to retrieve it.
We should not have shown Ambrosine mercy. But Glisette had seemed so thrilled at the thought of sending her far away, and Valory had wanted to prove she could be merciful. I’d hoped that the measures would be enough to restrain Ambrosine.
But clearly, that hope had been in vain.
“The priest, the altar attendants, a few townspeople, and even one of my brethren died,” Orturio explained.
“Your brethren?” I asked, breathless with disbelief.
“My organization fights for the preservation of the faith. The high priest recently gave us an ancient religious artifact of immeasurable value. He wanted to keep it safe from the queen. We believe she killed him trying to obtain it. So we planted a rumor that it was hidden here and hid a fake instead, hoping she would come and we could ambush her. But she only had interest in destroying it. She sent soldiers to torch the place and everyone inside without even searching it.”
“Why?” I asked, despair over the Realm Alliance’s mistake weighing heavier with every ash-ridden breath I took. “What grudge does she hold against Agrimas?”
Orturio had let me wander deep into the edifice unaccompanied. Now he approached me and motioned for me to give him the broken bit of statue. Confused, I offered it to him, but he did not take it. Instead, he loosened the tied cloth around my wrists.
“You are free to recover your strength and leave if you wish,” he said. “Or you could atone for your role in pardoning Ambrosine Lorenthi. You could the join the Uprising. You could become our agent and return to the Realm Alliance to affect meaningful change. You could make it your mission to prevent your powerful allies from bringing yet another disaster on defenseless mortals.”
Orturio set something cool and hard in my palm. When he lifted his hand, I found an iron figurine. It was the Holy of Loyalty.
“King Agmur promised you peace and equality for Erdem’s mortals, but he
wanted an elicrin stone in exchange. We promise you peace and equality for all mortals…and we only want your allegiance.”
“We want to return to a simpler time.” Mathis ambled gracefully through the wreckage and fixed me with a calculating stare. “Before Queen Bristal, before the academy, before magical and royal bloodlines intertwined, elicromancers nearly went extinct. The remaining few minded their business in the mountains. Mortal kings reigned. There was order.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You would give up your elicrin stone to be a mortal king?”
“To bring peace, yes. We want all elicromancers to surrender their stones, and it starts with us, when we’re ready.”
“There was peace and order before the Moth King too,” I argued. “The Conclave set laws for elicromancers. They confiscated elicrin stones when necessary, and the Realm Alliance held them accountable. There was balance. That’s all the new Realm Alliance wants.”
“None of that prevented the Moth King,” Mathis pointed out.
The reek of soot stung my nostrils. I looked around at the ravaged edifice. Mathis was right—if elicromancers could have solved the world’s problems, they would have already. Queen Jessa, as the brilliant former leader of the Realm Alliance, would have. But even she couldn’t keep her own kind from using their powers selfishly. Even elicrin Healers charged a gold aurion just to disappear a wart from a finger because if they deigned to heal every disease or injury, they would have to sacrifice their time and luxury.
Maybe elicromancers’ chance to prove they could rule justly had already passed. Maybe it was time to step aside, regardless of our good intentions.
The uncertainty must have shown on my face. Orturio’s eyes sparked like flint as he said, “Show your loyalty to your true people. Use your influence to advocate for defenseless mortals.”
He closed my fingers into a fist around the Holy of Loyalty. “Help us end the chaotic reign of elicromancers forever.”
SIXTEEN
GLISETTE
EARLIER THAT DAY
THE huntsman’s knife flashed in the daylight falling through the trees. He took one menacing step, then another, his soles silent on the bed of moss and strewn leaves.
“Wait, no! Please!” Navara begged through tears of desperation.
But every plea I nearly mustered died in my throat. What was the use of living now? What did I have to protect, to cherish, to fight for?
My family had nearly unraveled when news of my parents’ deaths reached our ears. And since that day, Devorian’s and Ambrosine’s selfish choices had tugged on every loose thread until only Perennia and I remained tightly woven. Without her, all was lost. Ambrosine had severed the cords of sisterhood in every direction.
If I survived this, Devorian and I would grieve together, dine together, discuss insipid diplomatic affairs, but things would never be the same. Ghosts would abide between us, in the empty seats, within the wardrobes of unworn dresses, behind the faces of our loved ones in every portrait.
The huntsman took a third step, shifting a calculating glare from Navara to me. Perhaps he had not yet chosen which of us to kill first.
“My father has always treated you kindly, Sev,” Navara said, trembling. I remembered more Perispi than I thought, grasping her meaning. “He compensated you and your father fairly. You remember taking me on my first hunt, don’t you? When I was eleven and you were fifteen? Father only brought me to make me feel important, and you played along like he asked. You let me think I killed that quail. But when I cried over having killed it, you told me the truth.”
The huntsman listened, pausing mid-movement like a predator whose prey had glimpsed him prowling in the shadows.
The tendons in his hand and forearm swelled as he tightened his grip, preparing to bleed us out like swine. How fitting that Perennia and I would both die in this forsaken country, just like Mother and Father.
“Giavna, giavna, Severo!” Navara sobbed. It was one of the first words I’d learned in lessons: please. I’d heard it only in the context of mundane, polite exchanges, such as Please pass the tea.
“Kill me, if those are your orders,” I managed to croak through the grief that clamped around my throat. “But spare your princess.”
I closed my eyes and waited in darkness for the brief, horrible pain, and the peace that I hoped would follow after.
The huntsman roared, but the strike didn’t come. I dared open my eyes and saw him stab his deadly blade into a mound of mossy soil.
Navara expelled a gasp of relief.
The huntsman raked stiff fingers through his hair. “She wants proof,” he said. “She will kill my family if I don’t deliver it by nightfall.”
“What kind of proof?” I asked in Perispi. Aside from my elicrin stone, which she’d already stolen, any trophy he could present as evidence of my death would be a grisly one. The possibilities turned my stomach. My sister had become a monster. “A tongue? A hand? A head?”
“She asked for the princess’s lungs,” he answered, and added a word I didn’t recognize: taolo.
“What is taolo?” I asked.
“Liver,” Navara supplied breathlessly.
“And from you”—he looked at me—“hair ripped out by the roots.”
I wanted to laugh despite the grim situation. Ambrosine was too craven to even request more than a lock of hair from me.
“That coward,” I muttered. Tears blurred my sight. I leaned my pounding head back against the rough bark and licked the salt from my dry lips. “Kill me. Use whatever you need from me as proof for both of us.”
“There has to be another way!” Navara said, but the appeal sounded halfhearted. She was noble and sweet, but only human. Of course she didn’t want to die and have her corpse carved up and brought to Ambrosine as some morbid memento of triumph.
I ignored her and spoke to the huntsman. “She won’t know the difference.”
Even as I said it, something inside me thrashed with the blind will to survive, but fled as soon as Perennia’s name whispered through my mind, a lonesome autumn wind dragging along shriveled blossoms.
“No!” Navara cried. “I can’t face her alone. I need you.”
“You do realize I just offered to serve up my bloody guts to save your life?” I said, a hysterical laugh threatening to break loose. “Now you’re begging me to help you destroy her? You can’t have it both ways.”
Navara stared at me, at a loss.
“Do we have a deal?” I asked the huntsman.
He nodded solemnly.
“My friends can help you,” I said to Navara. “Send word to the queen of Calgoran. Tell her everything.”
The princess’s throat bobbed, but she, too, gave a small nod.
I looked back up at the huntsman. His features may as well have been carved of marble for all they revealed, but in his eyes, determination battled doubt.
He was accustomed to watching creatures accept death when they stared into his eyes. A strange understanding seemed to settle between us. I wondered why the Agrimas teachings did not name a Holy of Mercy. My grief-addled mind imagined him as a statue in the Edifice of the Holies, draped in white, swiftly putting suffering creatures out of their misery.
Steeling himself, the huntsman took up his knife once more. “It will be quick,” he promised.
I shut my eyes again and waited for the slice of the deadly blade.
“I can fool her,” I heard the huntsman say.
I blinked my eyes open. An odd anger pounded at my chest, which made an unseasonably cold wind nip at the ends of my hair. Normally, that anger would transfer to my elicrin stone if I allowed it, brightening the misty chalcedony with power, which I could direct as I wished.
Now that anger would fuel the raw magic that had lived inside me before I received my stone—the unwieldy magic that didn’t ask permission and was no slave to my better sense.
“Stop toying with me!” I shouted, and suddenly I wanted to live, in spite of everything.
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry,” the huntsman said. He lowered the knife. “I don’t want to do this. But if she knows I’m lying, she will kill my family. That’s why I…otherwise I wouldn’t…” He trailed off. “All I need is a lock of your hair. I’ll let you go, and I will hunt for the other parts. But you cannot show your faces.”
“We won’t,” Navara vowed, lifting her stately chin. “We’ll stay hidden. Your family will have nothing to fear, Sev. If we come back, it will be with an elicromancer army.”
“Can you survive out here?” he asked.
“No,” Navara said.
“Yes.” I spoke over her.
“Take my pack,” he said, tossing it at my feet. “Go deeper into the woods, where the foresters will be less likely to find you. The hair?”
“Just give me a moment.” I closed my eyes and tried to fortify myself, but a fiery pain tore across the left side of my scalp before I was ready, adding to the throbbing in my head. I brayed and struggled against my bonds, wishing my hands were free to massage the tender area. A thousand curses formed on my tongue, but my better judgment told me not to insult the hunter who had just agreed to find other prey.
“It hurts more when you expect it,” he said, grasping a bloody clump of golden hair. He slipped it into a pocket and severed the ropes holding Navara hostage. As she worked to untangle herself, he sheathed his knife and retrieved his mount, disappearing amid the dense trees.
Navara finally broke free. She clambered the few paces toward me and worked at the knots in my rope.
“What do we do now?” she asked in Nisseran, giving my tired mind a respite.
Crawl in a hole and die, I thought. “First of all, where are we?”
She paused, eyes searching the woods. “I don’t know. South of Halithenica. Woods this dense are a few hours’ ride from the city gates if you’re traveling light. Sev must have led his horse for it to take so long.”
“I think Ambrosine drugged us,” I said, tasting the pungent residue of a veracamum root elixir. Ambrosine had once recommended it to help me sleep in the weeks following Mother’s and Father’s deaths. “I don’t remember anything.”