The Lightning's Claim

by K. M. Fahy

  She could kill her. Just a single bolt. It was no more than she deserved for the destruction and havoc she’d wreaked, for those she’d already killed and those she would kill in the future, all in the name of greed.

  Amadora took a step back under Kitieri’s glare, clinging to her twitching snarl even as it faltered, and Kitieri closed her lightning off with a clenched fist.

  Not yet.

  “You measure a Church by its power,” Kitieri said, for Amadora’s ears alone. “I measure it by its people. Its heart. A Church should serve, not control and murder. So you tell me, Amadora, who’s the real disgrace?”

  Amadora scoffed, emboldened by the absence of sparks in Kitieri’s hands.

  “You know nothing about power,” she hissed. “I did you a favor, sending you away. You’re just an ignorant little bitch playing at godhood, and I can’t wait to see you kill those snot-nosed little brats yourself.”

  Before she could take another breath, Kitieri’s fist smashed directly into her smug mouth. Amadora hit the ground with a cry of shock and rage, and Kitieri stooped to her knee to lean over her face before she could recover. Behind her, neither Haldin nor Catarva moved a muscle to pull her back.

  “Talk about my siblings one more time and I will end your miserable fucking life,” she growled through clenched teeth.

  “Officers,” Amadora cried. “I’ve been assaulted! Arrest her!”

  Kitieri stared at her, watching her wave to Haldin and Jorid. A quick glance back at Haldin’s expression was enough to send Kitieri into a fit of laughter.

  “You think they’ll help you?” she asked through continued bursts of giggles. “The people you’ve undermined, bullied, and imprisoned? The people you’ve treated as pawns? Why should they come to your rescue?”

  Amadora turned wide eyes on her, taking on the look of a cornered wild animal.

  “You’re finished, Amadora,” Kitieri said.

  Footfalls sounded behind her, and Kitieri glanced over her shoulder to watch Ghentrin’s large frame shadow the gateway. She studied him for a moment, unable to make out his expression with the lamp at his back. As Catarva spoke to him, a metallic scrape pulled Kitieri’s attention back to Amadora, and she turned just in time to see the flash of steel.

  Kitieri jerked away as the dagger’s blade sliced through her sleeve, cold metal biting into her arm. She rolled out of range before the blade could find more purchase, kicking the dagger from Amadora’s hand, but the woman had already lost her grip. She writhed on the ground, twisting and seizing with her mouth open in a silent scream, and Kitieri whirled to find Haldin’s hand outstretched. As he snapped his arm back, Amadora collapsed into a limp pile of black and magenta fabric.

  “Try it again,” he said, “and I will kill you.”

  Amadora gasped, desperate for air as her shaking body regained motion. “How…?” she wheezed.

  “How dare I?” Haldin leaned forward, and Kitieri was surprised at the intensity in his pale eyes. “Is that really the question you want to ask me?”

  “G-Ghentrin!” Amadora reached out her shaking hand, adorned with jeweled rings that sparkled in the light.

  “You brought this on yourself, Amadora.” A new voice came from behind Ghentrin, and Kitieri realized that Rulka had accompanied him. Amadora’s eyes darted to her before coming back to Ghentrin, hard and angry.

  “Ghentrin!” she snapped this time, regaining her strength. “Do something!”

  The man shook his head, his dark beard dragging across his chest. “Get out of here, Amadora,” he said. “They know. Everyone knows.”

  Amadora got to her feet, yanking her cloak close around her with a flourish.

  “You sniveling traitor,” she hissed. “Let me guess—you fell for the promise of forgiveness and some peaceful life if you turned on me. You’ve never had a spine. None of you have! I made this Church what it was, and I alone can promise your survival! But you want to go soft on me now. How rich.”

  She backed away, inching toward the edge of the light’s circle.

  “A real shame Stil’s pawns never managed to kill you, Catarva,” she sneered, with a cutting look at the Baliant. “The false Gadget I gave that man would’ve done well if this goddamned lightning hadn’t been there to test it.”

  Kitieri’s eyes widened, hot ire coursing through her veins. I fucking knew it.

  The cool night air brought nothing but dizziness as she sucked it in.

  “And you deserve to die with them,” Amadora told Ghentrin. “Your little moment of conscience will cost you dearly. You want to pretend at nobility and honor now, but it’s too late. You can’t take back what you’ve done, and you can’t stop the wheels you’ve set in motion.”

  She turned, sweeping her eyes over the small gathering. “You will all die, and I will relish your pain.”

  With that, Amadora spun on her heel and fled into the dark night. Kitieri rushed after her, intent on the billowing magenta disappearing through the border trees, but a strong grip on her arm pulled her back. She whirled, ready to fight the hand that held her until she met Catarva’s golden eyes.

  “Let her go,” Catarva said.

  “She’ll run right back to Stil!” Kitieri cried, ripping her arm from Catarva’s grasp to gesture after the disappearing cloak.

  “Let her.” Catarva looked down at her. “When can your Chief Advisor be ready?”

  Kitieri snapped her mouth shut, taking several steadying breaths through her nose. “She said midday.”

  “Perfect.”

  Chapter 21

  The late morning sun beat down on Kitieri’s back as they walked the streets of Shirasette. People scattered from their path, gaping at Catarva’s striking white robes as they passed.

  “I still don’t understand what makes you think Tiernan will see you,” Haldin said, walking on Catarva’s other side with his spear cradled in one arm. Five gray officers of Catarva’s personal guard trailed them, and Kitieri tried to keep Inra’s image from her mind.

  “He cannot refuse,” Catarva replied. “He is obligated by law to respond to a fellow Baliant, and if he cannot, there will be consequences.”

  Kitieri stared straight ahead, only half listening as her mind turned to the parts of the plan she had neglected to share with the Baliant.

  The high peak of the Church of Histan loomed over the rooftops, and Kitieri’s heart fluttered as her system flushed with nerves and, though she hated to admit it, fear. Stil’s long, pockmarked face flitted across her mind, and she took a steadying breath.

  To deny that Stil scared the shit out of her would be a lie. The worst pain of her life had been at that man’s hands, and yet here she was, walking back to him willingly. She glanced over at Catarva, still engaged in discussion with Haldin. What did she have to fear? She was half-fucking-god. Stil couldn’t touch her.

  “Kitieri?” Catarva’s soft voice cut into her thoughts. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I just… really hate this place.”

  As they left the shadows, walking directly into the glaring light of Histan’s Square, Kitieri braced herself. There was no turning back now.

  Squinting against the sun, she scanned the Square for Bat. Two brown cloaks broke from a small group of people near the pillar, mercilessly victim-free at the moment, and Kitieri squinted harder. Admittedly, she didn’t know much about the brown-cloaked children, but as she recalled her past observations of their extremely submissive, silent behavior, their interaction with a group of adults outside the Church struck her as odd.

  She broke away from Catarva and her guard, heading for the petite cloaked figure at the group’s center. The hooded head turned toward her as she approached, and the slight nod confirmed Bat’s identity.

  “You’re early,” Bat said.

  “So are you,” Kitieri replied. She could hear Catarva behind her and knew they needed to move before their arrival was heralded prematurely, but she glanced after the brown cloaks trotting toward the Church. “What
was that about?”

  “What?”

  Kitieri turned a glare on Bat. “That.”

  She pointed to the brown cloaks and caught the shorter one looking back at her. From under the hood, a wisp of straight, pale hair caught in the breeze as the taller one pulled them forward.

  Kitieri’s heart plummeted to the stone beneath her feet as she uttered the unconscious whisper. “Jera.”

  She launched after them, and a hand gripped her arm. As her body twisted involuntarily, Kitieri harnessed the momentum to swing a hard left hook into the side of Bat’s head. The woman reeled backwards, and another set of strong hands grabbed Kitieri’s arms.

  “That’s my sister!” she shouted.

  “Kitieri!” Catarva’s voice went in one ear and out the other.

  “You were supposed to keep them safe!”

  Bat recovered, leaning back as Kitieri attempted another swing that never reached full extension. Haldin pulled her back, holding her against him as she kicked and struggled.

  “Kitieri.” His soft voice in her ear dulled her rage as her breaths came hard and fast, and she looked back past Haldin to find the brown cloaks gone from sight.

  “Hands are feeling better, I see,” Bat said. “They’ll be fine! I told you last night—”

  “Both of them?” Kitieri shrieked.

  “It was Taff’s idea. He wanted to help.”

  Kitieri’s fury spiked again, and she bucked in Haldin’s grip only for the officer to spin her around away from Bat.

  “I understand that you are upset, but this is not the time,” Catarva said. “We need to move now, or Stil will be warned of our presence. We’ve already made too much of a scene.”

  Her hard tone forced sense into Kitieri’s wild anger, and her breathing slowed.

  “Okay. I know. I got it,” she said, splaying her hands.

  Haldin reluctantly released his tight hold on her as Kitieri drew deep gulps of air into her lungs. Confident she would keep her composure, Catarva turned for the Church stairs, every eye in the Square trained on her striking figure. Haldin stayed right behind Kitieri as she followed the Baliant, and Bat appeared in her peripheral vision just outside swinging range.

  “They’re invisible in those robes,” Bat said. “I promise. They were by far the best candidates for the job.”

  “Don’t fucking speak to me,” Kitieri hissed. “I am flattening your nose the next chance I get.”

  “Fair enough,” Bat said. “But you’ll thank me when this is over and you have that baby girl in your arms.”

  “Keep talking and I’ll upgrade you to a bolt of lightning.”

  “Shit, Bat, I don’t think the Baliant needs a personal guard.”

  Kitieri looked back at the new voice to find the small group that had accompanied Bat pulling off their cloaks, revealing sleek blue uniforms that matched the long sash trailing down Kitieri’s left side. The young woman in front flashed Bat a blindingly white smile, contrasting against skin darker than Catarva’s, her black hair pulled back into a tight bun.

  “Kitieri,” Bat said, “meet your Commander, Lara.”

  “Go to hell,” Kitieri snapped at Bat, before turning a kind smile on Lara. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander. Thank you—all of you—for being here.”

  “I assure you, Baliant, the pleasure is ours.” Lara’s bright smile widened.

  As they approached the wide Church stairs, Kitieri picked up the pace to walk directly beside Catarva. Tears of anger and worry for her brother and sister stung her eyes, and she bit down hard on her cheek to keep them at bay. If there was ever a moment to not show weakness, it was now.

  “Stop.” One of the red officers at the door put out a hand. “Who—”

  “You know who I am.” Catarva’s commanding voice bounced off the smooth Church walls, and the officer shrank back as he exchanged glances with his partner. “Baliant Catarva Tihnerin of the Church of Enahris, and…”

  Kitieri started as Catarva looked to her.

  “Baliant Kitieri Manon of the Church of Shirasette,” she introduced herself. The words may as well have been rocks on her tongue for how awkward they felt, but the red officers’ expressions changed quickly.

  “We demand to speak with Histan’s Baliant,” Catarva said.

  “Th-the Baliant is currently unavaila—”

  The officer’s words dried up in his throat as Catarva pulled out a tight scroll of papers bound with a silver ribbon, which she slipped off the end.

  “According to the law of Shirasette,” she said, eyes scanning the page, “a Church Baliant must be fully capable of carrying out all duties. This includes the responsibility of communication with their fellow Baliant, or Baliants, as the case may be.”

  As Catarva looked up, the red officer paled. “Go get Stil,” he muttered to the other.

  “Stil said he wanted no interruptions—”

  “Any Advisor, then.” The first officer spoke through clenched teeth. As the second reached for the door, it sprang open from the inside.

  “What seems to be the problem here?” asked a squat man in a black robe, and Kitieri instantly recognized him as the man who’d accused her of trading the fake Gadgets with the black market. Beso.

  “Advisor,” Catarva said, voice level and cool, “we have come to speak with your Baliant.”

  “Ah, Catarva…” Beso grumbled, looking as if he wished he’d never come to the door.

  “Baliant Catarva,” she corrected him. “And this is Baliant Kitieri Manon of the Church of Shirasette.”

  Beso’s beady eyes panned to Kitieri, growing three times their normal size. “YOU—”

  “According to city law,” Catarva spoke over him, “Baliant Tiernan has an obligation to reply to his fellow leaders. Written requests have been ignored and denied, and we are now demanding the Baliant’s presence.”

  Going red in the face, Beso looked between Kitieri and Catarva. “This… this wretch is not a Baliant! I will not—”

  “I assure you, she is,” Catarva said. “And currently in much higher standing than your own, given that she is able to speak for her own Church.”

  Beso’s red cheeks took on a purple hue, and a vein in his forehead looked ready to pop.

  “You know the law, Advisor,” Catarva went on. “Without leadership, your Church is invalid. A Church must have a capable Baliant, and it is our right to speak with him.”

  Through his sputtering, Beso managed to find a few of his words and drew himself up as tall as he could go.

  “These things must be handled through the Chief Advisor,” he said. “He is in close council with the Baliant, and will be able to—”

  “We didn’t ask for the Chief Advisor.” Kitieri’s own voice surprised her. “We asked to speak to the Baliant.”

  “You have no authority—”

  “She does.” The razor-sharp edge in Catarva’s tone cut across Beso’s words, sending him back a step. “Advisor, take us to your Baliant immediately, or forfeit the credentials of your Church.”

  Beso’s eyes darted between them as panic started to set in. Though Kitieri wasn’t familiar with the law Catarva had invoked, the Advisor clearly was. He huffed repeatedly, as if struggling to catch his breath, while his face changed colors.

  “Before sunset, if you please,” Catarva said with a cold smile.

  With a rush of pent-up air, Beso whipped around to march into the Church; Kitieri exchanged a quick glance with Catarva as they followed, officers filing behind them. As they made their way through the Sanctuary, Kitieri noticed an increase in red officers around them, lining the walls to watch their procession. Though their presence set her further on edge, every red uniform she saw here was one fewer to discover Eriat or her siblings. Kitieri ground her teeth, suppressing the emotion that welled up in her chest at the thought of Taff and Jera within these walls. If Stil discovered them…

  Beso stormed past Histan’s towering sculpture with its sword held high, shoving a brown cloak aside
on his way to the door. Kitieri sucked in a breath, sparks rushing to her fingers, but a hard glance from Catarva stilled her impulse.

  The Advisor labored up the stairs at an excruciating pace, puffing with each step. Catarva followed with poise and patience, while Kitieri felt ready to rip her hair from her scalp. The sun slid further into the afternoon with each passing window until she was fighting the urge to scream. The narrow staircase made her feel itchy and sweaty, and Kitieri tugged at the tight, high-necked collar of her robe. Glancing back, she caught Lara’s dark eyes, filled with the same frustration as she bobbed her head impatiently, and grinned. At least she wasn’t the only one.

  At long last, the marathon of stairs came to an end, and Kitieri found herself facing a set of double doors almost identical to those of Catarva’s chambers. Two red officers stood to each side, watching the congregation file up the stairs with mounting concern on their faces. As Beso charged straight for the doors, the officers stepped in to block his path.

  “I’m sorry, Advisor, you cannot enter,” one said. “By orders of the Chief Advisor, no one is to enter these chambers under any circumstances.”

  Beso rolled his eyes. “Get out of my way, will you?”

  “I’m sorry, Advisor. Chief—”

  “Well, Stil’s not here!”

  “I cannot—”

  “I am your superior!” Beso shouted. “Unless you want a taste of the pillar tomorrow morning, you will move.”

  Whatever fear of Stil the officers harbored, their fear of the pillar was clearly stronger, and Kitieri actually pitied the young men as they shuffled out of the way. Beso burst through the double doors into the Advisors’ empty meeting room.

  “Wait here,” he growled, continuing through the next door. Though she did not dare say it aloud, Kitieri was amazed they’d gotten this far. If Stil had come to the door instead of Beso…