by T L Greylock
The academic in Eska would not have believed it possible for a body to crumble so completely, to fall to dust in empty clothes in an instant. The existence of organs and a great deal of fluid made the notion absurd. And yet her eyes witnessed exactly that. One moment Gabriel was kneeling on the ground, pleading for help she could not give, the next he was grey and cracking and gone.
“No, no, no, no,” Eska repeated again and again, falling to her knees just as Gabriel had, her hands reaching toward the vacant air he had so recently occupied, as though she could somehow summon him back. She heard Perrin take in a ragged breath. Heard, somehow, the song of a bird overhead. Heard her own sobs rip out of her throat.
And then Perrin was at her side, his hands hovering over the dust, the grey, chalky remains of Gabriel, until at last their eyes met, each desperately hoping to see something in the other’s face to reassure them what they had just witnessed was a lie.
It wasn’t, of course.
They made no further progress that day. After Eska’s tears dried, after she could no longer look at the pile of dust without her stomach heaving, she managed to lead the team of horses and the wagon a short distance away, into a copse of pines, though there was no distancing herself from the horror she had seen. Perrin followed, stronger on his feet than he had been since Cancalo, leading Eska’s horse. He returned to the campsite and collected the remainder of their belongings and together they sat in silence, Eska too numb to move.
When she did stir, the sun had passed its highest point. She checked to be certain the second clay jar was secure in her satchel, refused when Perrin suggested she keep it off her person, then extracted a tin cup from the canvas pack of equipment in the wagon.
Walking slowly, a stiff wind whipping her loose hair across her face, Eska returned to the place where Gabriel had died. Had disappeared as though he had never existed. The clay jar he had dropped was empty. Eska prodded it with a stick and saw that the grass beneath it had turned black and grey and dry. Taking care to keep away from the stain of death on the ground, Eska turned her attention to the ashy substance that had been her engineer. The tears returned hot and fresh then, but silent this time, as she scooped what she could into the tin cup before the wind carried it away.
“It was my fault,” she said when she returned to Perrin and the wagon. “I should have known better.”
“It’s not, and you know it. He wouldn’t want you to think that way,” Perrin said. “Your people love you, Eska, in a way my father’s employees never loved him—certainly Manon has never earned that kind of loyalty. She is too aloof, too distant and unknowable. They respect her, but they don’t love her.”
“I do not want love if this is what it leads to.” The harsh words burst forth unbidden and Eska frowned in their wake. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply and slowly through her nose. When she opened her eyes, Perrin was watching her closely.
“You don’t mean that.”
He was right, but that didn’t stop Eska from feeling it.
That night, Eska and Perrin slept—if they slept at all—close to each other, his arm tucked through hers, her back pressed up against his chest, each answering an unspoken plea from the other not to be left alone, each trying to banish fear and horror to the dark—if only until dawn.
Interlude 16
Fragment of a letter from Talarian, the Prince Among the Stars, fourth ruler in the Alescuan dynasty—recipient unknown
Let me make this world new for you. Let me break time and give us forever. I will burn any who stand in our way. I will lay waste to cities, drain the waters of the world dry, summon spirits of dead gods, cure the very stars of their envy—all for you, my love.
Let me show you. Let me do this.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Forsaking all other bonds.”
It was, without a doubt, the most reckless thing Manon had ever done.
Oh, to be sure, attempting to blow up a ship in full view of Toridium’s harbor authorities ranked high on that list and had the added factor of instigating immediate reprisal. And Manon had made any number of questionable choices while working alongside her father—jumping from the top of a monstrously tall waterfall, swimming the Borneau channel at night, and impersonating a priestess of Kela, to name a few.
But handing over the Alescuan reliquary—with the strange disc inside—to the Archduke of Arconia while keeping from him the fact that she had a second disc, that she was, in fact, carrying said disc in her pocket at that very moment—well, it defied sense, not to mention the laws of self-preservation.
Luca had tried to argue against the decision, or at least the decision to keep the second disc on her person rather than stashing it somewhere for safekeeping. The hunter had even begun to question whether it wouldn’t be best to just give the Archduke both discs, but a stern look from Manon had silenced him.
“I don’t trust him,” Manon had said. “Think of the second disc as an insurance policy. Having something a powerful man wants grants its own kind of power.”
And so they waited at the Varadome, ushered to a garden just as Manon had been on her previous visit, only instead of manicured hedges and citrus trees, this one was brimming with rose bushes in countless varieties and colors, the scent so strong it made Manon light-headed.
The Archduke did not make them wait long. He entered the garden from the opposite end, dressed simply in plain trousers and a loose shirt—as though their arrival had interrupted his dressing. Manon did not doubt for a second that the image was intentional.
Valexi Arcturos de Vauquelin-Preux smiled at Manon as he strode through the rose bushes, walking the straight stone path until he stood before her. He did not so much as glance at Luca, who lingered three steps behind Manon.
“Your journey seems to have agreed with you, Manon,” he said. “You look quite beautiful.”
Of all the things he might have said, Manon had not expected him to pay her a compliment. For a moment she had the sinking sensation that he might have expectations of her service to him beyond what they had agreed to, but she nearly laughed aloud at the thought. Somehow it seemed impossible to imagine the Archduke, handsome as he was, engaging in such activities. She returned his smile.
“It was quite pleasant,” Manon said. She could practically feel Luca’s discomfort.
“And the Principe? Hospitable, I hope?”
“He spoke to his hounds more than he spoke to me at our meeting.”
To Manon’s surprise, the Archduke laughed—a proper laugh, she felt, though she supposed she couldn’t be sure.
“Corannos has always prized his hounds above humans. I wouldn’t take it personally. I trust you recovered our elusive item?”
“I did,” Manon said, her heart fluttering for the first time. “But I have a request to beg of you, Commendatore.”
The Archduke removed one hand from behind his back and waved it, palm up, in Manon’s direction, the very image of a generous ruler. “Ask.”
Manon stepped to the side of the path. “I had assistance,” she said, indicating Luca. “This is Luca D’Armand. He serves as a guardian of the estate at Pontevellio. He chose to assist me, defying his superior. I am afraid the Principe would not look kindly upon his actions.”
The Archduke took Manon’s words in stride—but then he was the definition of equanimity. Manon wondered how many layers would have to be peeled back before Valexi Arcturos de Vauquelin-Preux revealed a true reaction to anything.
“By all means,” the Archduke said, “the young man is quite safe here, but I doubt my brother-in-rule will trouble himself with such small matters.”
Manon hesitated under the Archduke’s stare. She swallowed. “There was an incident, Commendatore. And the Principe will know by now that I was not at Pontevellio for the reasons I gave him and that I took something from his land. He will know that Master D’Armand helped me.”
“Incident?”
“It was my fault,” Luca broke in. Manon forced herself to continue looking
at the Archduke, trying not to show any change in countenance off which he could feed.
The expression on the Archduke’s face as he turned his attention to Luca at last sent a shiver across Manon’s skin. There was no outward alteration, nothing so obvious as malevolence or even calculation. And yet she had hoped to earn Luca’s safety in a manner that would allow him to fade from the Archduke’s thoughts—if anyone the Archduke laid eyes on was ever truly forgotten. That hope was dashed the moment Luca opened his mouth. It was like watching a hunter discover prey that had been invisible.
The Archduke turned back to Manon. “Is this true?”
“The fault lies with us both, Commendatore. There was an accident and one of the Principe’s hunting lodges at the estate burned down.”
The Archduke smiled and Manon tried not to flinch. “Come now, Manon, fire is your specialty. Take pride in your talents.” The smile disappeared. “However, this is troubling. I may not be able to protect your friend after all.”
And so they had come to it, the moment Manon had been anticipating since passing through the gates of Arconia the day before, since, if she was honest, the instant the reliquary opened in Luca’s hands. The second, smaller disc seemed to sit like a stone in her pocket, suddenly heavy with the weight of Manon’s fears. She knew what she had to say—just as the Archduke did. Manon had the distinct impression he had been planning for this moment from the first time he welcomed her into the shade of his citrus grove and poured her a glass of rosé.
When she spoke, she surprised herself with the clearness of her voice. “In exchange for his safety, I pledge myself to you entirely. To whatever task you set before me, to whatever service I can provide. Forsaking all other bonds.”
She had hoped to see a glimmer of satisfaction, of triumph, to know that her sacrifice meant something to him. All she got was that smile that flirted with benevolence.
“I will see what I can do.”
Despite the vague nature of the statement, what he meant, of course, was that the deal was struck. Luca would be safe. The Archduke of Arconia needed permission from no one.
“And now, Manon, you have what you wanted from me. What about what I wanted?”
Manon tried to maintain a neutral expression as she slid her leather bag around from where it rested against her back. Her fingers shook slightly as she undid the buckles and extracted the linen bag containing the reliquary. She held it out.
Valexi Arcturos de Vauquelin-Preux took it in his hands just as he would anything else handed to him, no ceremony, no relief, just ownership. He slipped the reliquary free from the linen, which he let fall to the ground. The ivory and gold shone brilliantly in the sun.
“I think you know what comes next, Manon.”
Six. There were six reliquaries—or so he had told her that day among the lemons. She nodded. “My father insisted he had knowledge of only one.”
This did not seem particularly upsetting to the Archduke. “No matter,” he said, smiling a little. “You will no doubt find other methods of tracking them down. And as it happens, I have a place for you to start.” He turned the box over in his hands and Manon’s breath caught in her throat. She had replaced the wax plug, warming it just enough to shape it back into place and smooth it over until it looked as it had before.
Manon ventured a question, one she had debated asking for days. “Do you know how to open it, Commendatore?”
The smile grew. “Each of the reliquaries offers a different puzzle. Did you know that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m looking forward to solving this one.”
Manon didn’t dare exhale her relief for fear of indicating that she knew more than she was saying. The tension that had been building in her chest since walking into the rose garden felt like it would soon burst free, and Manon fought to control her racing heart.
The Archduke told Manon to return the next day to receive information on how to continue her hunt for the reliquaries, then dismissed Manon and Luca with impeccable courtesy, summoning a steward to see them out of the garden and back through the halls of the Varadome. They were released outside the main gate and back into the heat of the day, the dome behind them nearly too bright to look at.
Luca said nothing until they had walked most of the wide lane leading away from the Varadome and into the city.
“Thank you. For keeping my secret from him.”
Manon felt little relief on that front. “He may yet find out, Luca.”
“But not from you.” The hunter flashed her a smile, sending Manon’s insides twisting with the knowledge that he trusted her implicitly. The smile vanished quickly. “You were right. About how he manipulates people. The Principe relies on threats and anger and cruelty. But he,” Luca shook his head, “he does it all with a smile on his face. I wonder which method would win out over the other.”
The thought made Manon shudder. “Let’s hope we never have to find out.”
“I’m coming with you, you know,” Luca said after a moment. “Wherever he sends you next.”
“I was afraid you would say that.”
And yet Manon smiled as she said it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Welcome home.”
Eska told Cosimo about Gabriel’s death first. That much at least she could do.
She and Perrin arrived in Arconia in the dark of night, but the next morning, before speaking with her uncle or addressing the questioning glances of her servants, before answering the summons to the Varadome, before conferring with either her mother or father regarding the accusations against her and her actions since that fateful day in Toridium, before seeking out Pierro Gustini to check on his research into the Iron Baron, she went to Cosimo.
It went about as she had expected, which is to say, it left them both in tears and Eska knew the hollowness she felt in her own chest was no doubt infinitely magnified in the soul of the man receiving her news.
There was no anger from Cosimo. She had not expected there to be, but that hadn’t stopped her from hoping, if only a little, that he might rail against her for letting it happen—that at least would match the guilt she felt in herself.
Eska offered him the dusty remains of Gabriel she had gathered from the grass, transferred from the tin cup to an urn made from blue-veined marble and purchased on her way to visit him. He accepted, though the act of taking the urn from Eska, of holding in his hands all that was left of the man he loved, brought on a fresh onslaught of tears. Eska left him after extracting a promise from him, a promise she did not think he would keep—that he would not be alone these next days, that he would go to family or friends. Eska knew her own heart and herself well enough to know she would want to be alone, so though she asked for the promise, she would not blame him if he ignored it.
As she returned home, she passed through the extensive park and gardens that backed up against the Lordican, reveling in the shade and the whispering branches of the trees and the sounds of children laughing as they played in the fountains. And yet Eska could see little other than Gabriel’s face as he died—and Cosimo’s grief. As such, she was not prepared to be accosted by a pair of riders—though accosted was far too harsh a term for the manner in which they sidled up on each side of Eska, just off her own mount’s flanks.
She stiffened as her horse reacted to the newcomers, but it was too late. The rider on her left surged forward and reached out and grabbed Eska’s bridle. From the edge of her vision, Eska caught sight of the telltale ring of daggers on the man’s sleeve and inwardly cursed herself for dropping her guard. The assassin sent to the banks of the Alencio was never going to be the Iron Baron’s last attempt on her life.
“What do you want?” She kept her voice calm for the sake of her horse. The mare danced under Eska. If she bolted, it would go badly for them both.
“Just keep riding,” the man on her right said, matching her easy tone.
“And if I’d rather scream? We’re hardly alone.”
“Do you see that boy?” T
he man made a small gesture in the direction of a maze painted on a stone terrace. A young boy was walking the maze, his gaze intent on his feet. “And do you see that woman?” The man’s fingers flicked again, indicating a woman standing at the center of the maze. She was smiling and Eska saw her say something. The boy looked up and smiled in return. “She befriended him moments ago using lemon candy. Unsupervised children are quite predictable.” The man looked at Eska. “She’s carrying a stiletto and is very adept at placing it here,” he said, tapping the soft spot below his ear where his jawbone met his skull. “I think you know what happens if you scream or try to get away.”
Eska’s skin crawled at the thought, but she fixed the man on her right with a heavy stare. “Only cowards threaten children.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse things.”
“Oh, I’m not speaking about you. I’m talking about your employer, Thibault de Venescu. You can tell him I said it, too.”
The man raised an eyebrow but said nothing in return. Instead, he glanced across Eska at his partner and together they increased their pace, forcing her to do the same. Ahead of them, a large, dense grove of trees deep at the back of the Lordican’s park blocked the city beyond from view—and separated them from the wide boulevards and grand houses of the eastern quarter.
It was, Eska realized, a good place to commit murder. The grove was a wild place, a far cry from the manicured hedges and carefully orchestrated trees of the rest of the park. Few people wandered into those shadows, preferring the sunshine and flowers offered by the open lawns. Even if her companions didn’t kill her the moment they passed out of sight, there was every possibility she would be detained there until the Iron Baron arrived to do the job himself. She didn’t doubt he had the stomach for it—and she had provoked him at their last meeting, not to mention foiled his previous attempt to have her killed. Either way, Eska knew she might not leave the shade of those oaks and beeches alive.