A moment later, Spite skidded into the corridor ahead. One arm had been shattered, with splinters of bone jutting from torn flesh halfway between elbow and shoulder. The wrist and hand were both twisted round too far, the thumb now on the outside and the palm facing forward. In icy fascination, Envy stared at the mangled limb as Spite staggered towards her.
‘Help me!’
Behind Spite, the Azathanai stepped into view.
Envy lashed out with raging fire, snaking round Spite to engulf the Azathanai.
He was knocked into the wall behind him, but only momentarily. Rolling his shoulders, he leaned forward and pushed through the coruscating magic that now roiled to fill the corridor.
Spite reached Envy, slipped past, and kept running.
Something tore Envy’s serpents of fire into shreds. Squealing, the girl backed away as the Azathanai advanced.
* * *
Sword in hand, Ivis stepped through the doorway. Beyond the cloakroom alcove, the main hall beckoned him forward. At first he saw no movement in the large chamber, although the flames from the hearth threw writhing shadows everywhere, as if a fever had taken the fire.
A moment later, he saw the boy. Wreneck was kneeling before the hearth, feeding wood into it with a strange, mechanical rhythm. Burning wood was piled high, spilling out over the stone surround.
‘Wreneck!’
The boy did not turn, nor give any other indication that he heard his name being called.
Ivis approached, uncanny chills riding his spine.
In the fire’s frantic flames, he saw something like a face. A woman’s, round and soft, with eyes promising everlasting warmth. Ivis felt his legs moving, bringing him closer to the hearth. He barely heard the sword fall from his hand.
She … she is beautiful …
He was beside the boy now, feeling the fierce heat against his face, seductive as a lingering kiss. He saw her hands, reaching out to beckon him still closer.
‘Ivis. I know you. From Raskan’s blessed memories, I know you. Feel the terrible sorcery surrounding us? Seething through this cursed house? It invites, yes? Sweet as a caress. Look to the boy. He wants to join me, but he has protectors – they resist, though we are kin. I tell them, my womb can hold them all. Them, the child, you. I can keep you safe from the little creatures – oh, Draconus, look what we made here! Surely, lover, we can take some ragged pride, but mind the edges!
‘I can keep you all safe. Come now, Ivis. Did you not dream of fire? For this keep? For the girls, prison bars of flame. Cages of cracked stone, rubble, blackened beams, and upon it all – when at last the fury cools – a blessed shroud of snow. Let them dig their way out – it will take months, if not years.
‘Come now, feed the fire, and for that gift I will repay you in turn. My sweetest kiss, my swallowing lips, my red all.’
Burning logs had toppled out from the hearth, rolling across the thick rugs. One came to rest against the legs of a chair, with small tongues of flame licking upward.
Ivis knelt beside the boy. Together, side by side, they pushed more wood on to the raging mound.
Warm. Ivis smiled. Winter dies here. Here and now.
Winter dies.
Surrounding them, the flames laughed.
* * *
Sandalath rocked, her arms drawn in, wrapped about her body. My boy. I’ve lost my boy. She had seen Ivis leave the barracks, had seen something like a parting between the master-at-arms and Lord Anomander. She had watched the Houseblades preparing, gathering gear as if they were all about to flee. The First Son’s promises seemed to be crumbling in her mind. My son is in there. Yalad mocked my concern – and now look at us.
‘Milady …’
Frowning, Sandalath fought to focus on the face opposite her. ‘Surgeon Prok. What is it? What has happened?’
‘The keep has caught fire,’ he said. ‘I feel I should prepare you. It is not the flames we must worry over – not too much, that is. The smoke is what kills more often than not.’
‘Fire?’
‘In the main hall, milady. The front entrance is blocked – none will come through it. That said, there are other exits. The annexe behind the kitchen, for example. Wreneck knows it, I’m sure.’
‘The house is burning?’
‘Ivis is a brave man.’
She looked to Lord Anomander again, but the First Son had not moved. He stood framed in the doorway, snow swirling in around him. ‘He will do something,’ she said. ‘He always protected me.’
Yalad had been drawn away by one of the Houseblades. The horses were in a frenzy outside the stables. Then there came shouts and Surgeon Prok rose. ‘Forgive me, milady. The horse master has been injured.’
She watched him hurry away, and found herself alone. Gathering up her cloak, she rose and walked through the press of Houseblades with their kits crowding the dining tables, their quick and sure movements as they buckled straps and checked bindings, their closed-in faces as they concentrated on keeping fear at bay. It was all understandable and all very professional.
She was at the barracks kitchen door when Lord Anomander turned and raised his voice. ‘We are leaving the compound now – every outbuilding is at risk from those flames, including this one. Finish up what you’re doing – we are now out of time for anything more. Assemble at the gate, and be quick about it!’
It was well that the First Son had taken command, with Ivis now gone.
There are other ways out. And in.
Sandalath walked into the kitchen, moved down its length to the side door that opened out on to the refuse pit. As she stepped into the night, the howling wind swept in to embrace her, shocking in its intensity. Skirting the pit, she moved along the outer wall towards the main house. Into the shadows between a storehouse and the wall, and then out again, with the servants’ door now directly opposite.
It was unlocked, though she had to pull hard as snow had drifted up against it. Heat and smoke gusted into her face, biting at her eyes.
I used the servants’ door to sneak away from Mother, to find Galdan in the fields beyond. He liked his wine, did Galdan, so I’d bring him a stoppered jar, from the cellar. For afterwards.
Along this corridor, then. Mother hears nothing.
I’ve come for my son, finally. This time, no one will take him away.
She moved beneath the smoke, which roiled along the arched ceiling of the corridor and then began tumbling down as she went deeper into the building. But things were strangely unfamiliar. A doorway she had expected wasn’t where it should have been, and here, when the passage should have swung right, it now swung left.
Ivis. You must have undressed me. In the carriage. I was so hot. Faint. Your hands were upon my body, but I don’t remember that. I wish I did.
She stumbled against stone steps, bruising a shin and then a knee as she fell against the hard edges. Smoke was pouring past her, rushing upward. She heard a scream, and then a piercing howl from somewhere above. Orfantal?
Sandalath climbed upward.
* * *
Caladan Brood stepped into the main chamber. Before him, filling most of the room, was a figure wrought in flames, its belly massive, swollen and stretched as it rested heavily upon the flagstones. In its burgeoning, it had pushed the dining table against one wall, while simply crushing most of the chairs. Above this belly, still huge and yet disproportionately small compared to what lay below, was a woman’s upper torso, heavy breasts, rounded shoulders, a fat-layered neck beneath a round face. The eyes were black coals amidst the fire, fixing now upon the High Mason.
‘I felt you, brother.’
‘Olar Ethil, do you have them?’
She nodded, her expression satiated. ‘I do. Safe.’
‘Will you yield them, when this night is done?’
‘Do you ask it of me?’
‘I do.’
‘For you then, Brood, yes, I will yield them. But what of you? Are you proof to these mundane fires?’
‘For
a time,’ he replied. ‘Enough. Your daughters hide.’
‘You hurt them badly.’
‘And if I finish it?’
Olar Ethil laughed. ‘Draconus cannot hate you more than he already does.’
‘And you?’
She shrugged. ‘I am here, am I not? Protecting these two mortals.’
‘From your daughters? Or from the fire you so eagerly unleashed?’
‘Both.’ She waved a languid hand, the motion making a roar. ‘You built well. Too good a home for the likes of me.’
‘Your vengeance, then, for his having rejected you. That, Olar Ethil, is petty.’
‘Beware the scorned woman.’
‘Then why save Ivis and the boy?’
The woman was silent for a time, eyes narrowed to slits as she studied Caladan Brood. ‘Not the path I chose.’
‘The Finnest in the tower?’
Slowly, she nodded. ‘Do you wish to know more?’
‘Is it my business?’
‘No, I think not, brother. I’ve done little thus far. Made use of a weak mind, too fragile for this or any world. No. This is between Draconus and me.’
‘I did not know you parted with such vehemence.’
‘We didn’t. Until his servants betrayed me. I gave of myself. I made a gift. I took into myself a tortured soul, and brought it peace. For this blessing, that soul’s companions delivered terrible pain.’ She paused, and then waved the hand a second time. ‘Look about you, Caladan. See how even your gift to Draconus has been twisted. Those who would stand near him – each and all will end up suffering.’
Caladan Brood tilted his head as he regarded her. ‘You have cursed him.’
‘He curses himself!’ The scream was an eruption of flames, transforming the chamber into an inferno. She then laughed. ‘Best leave now, brother!’
‘And your daughters?’
‘I will drive them out – is that not enough? Leave their fate to their father – he deserves no less!’
Nodding, Caladan Brood strode into the flames, making for the front doors. The fire sought to devour him, only to flinch back on all sides. This demanded some effort on the High Mason’s part. With each step he took, the flagstones cracked beneath him.
* * *
The flames curled strangely as they edged round the corner ahead. Envy slowed her painful steps. Those are not mine. But not real either. This is another kind of sorcery. I feel it, like a well-fount – reeking of my essence, but far worse. She stared as the fire twisted upon itself, formed a face in ceaseless motion, as if every expression was nothing more than a mask beneath which raged some undeniable heat. Truths. What the skin hides.
A woman’s face, now smiling, now speaking. ‘Oh, look at you. Naughty girls – you gave me Malice, but not the living child, whom I would have protected. No, the undecided child. Held between life and death by your father’s protective spells. Of course, he sought only to keep you free of the risk of death, knowing well the wildness of your spirits.’ Her smile broadened. ‘As ever, he meant well. What parent does not dread outliving their children? But then you broke her neck.’
‘Not me! It was Spite!’
‘There are two chambers to the heart, child, and so you were named in answer to your twin sister. Meaning, you two are in truth one, bitterly divided in the hopes of weakening your power. But poor Malice, who came after, what was left to her? Denied a place, denied a home … what other name could attend such a child?’
‘It was an accident, Mother! An accident!’
The flames spun closer, the face swelling to crowd the corridor. ‘I have your sister, Envy. Caladan broke her badly. He might well have killed her, had I not sent him away. He might well have killed you both, and by that laid waste to your father’s lands. How many would have died? Too many, child. You two are not worth their lives.’
Envy sank down on to her knees. ‘Help me, Mother. I’ve been bad.’
‘You are of my blood,’ Olar Ethil said. ‘And for that reason alone, I will spare you the wrath of the Finnest. But my, how you and Spite have poisoned it! She will see Draconus. How unfortunate, because the thing inside that husk bears little resemblance to your father. Still, what comes of this fated meeting will shatter the world.’
‘Save us! We’ll be good – you’ll see!’
The massive face tilted slightly. ‘Good? Well, let’s say you’ll have plenty of time to ponder such promises. For now, daughter, let’s make for you and your sister a most displeasing tomb.’
Envy shrieked as the floor gave way beneath her, and then from above descended a mass of shattered rubble and splintered wood, as the house began its tortured collapse.
She’s burying us! Mother, you bitch!
* * *
Sandalath was thrown against a wall as the tower rocked around her. Steam swirled hot through pockets of bitter cold, and water streamed down the stone steps. Wreneck was waiting for her – just a little further. He sat huddled, curled up. She could see him in her mind. Moaning under her breath, she righted herself and continued upward.
I remember this tower. I remember a door. I didn’t like it, that door.
We went up to the top, to watch the battle. Such a terrible day. So many lives lost, their souls torn loose, spilling out, riding cries of pain into the air – how it swirled around us!
Orfantal – no, Wreneck – no – I don’t know. I can’t think!
She hesitated, and then stumbled upward, as if a fist was pushing her, driving into her back. She heard the echo of cackling laughter.
I was never strong. Mother told me so. She had to take care of everything. All the mistakes I made. Galdan, our games. The child that came of that – I didn’t know it worked that way. If they’d told me, I wouldn’t have done any of that. But then it was too late, and Mother had to fix things, again, to make it right.
All the lies, the stories. She told me I couldn’t be a mother, not to Orfantal. You can’t be allowed to love a mistake. You can’t be the one to nurture it, watch it grow into something you can’t control. Every child is a hostage. Every child is to be sent away, until the face fades from the mind. This, Mother said, is the only freedom left to me.
She reached the landing, where the water was gushing out from the rents in the massive blackwood door. The stones were glowing as if trapped in a furnace, revealing that the water was black as ink. Dorssan Ryl. It was the lord’s gift to Mother Dark, the way it changed. Draconus turned it into liquid night, into the blackness between the stars.
See how it pours!
Orfantal. I am coming. Nothing to fear, not any more.
I didn’t mean to burn the stables down, but I was angry. At Mother. I was so angry! But oh, how those horses screamed.
She could hear them again, as if the flames carried their voices in triumph, lifting them into the night amidst all the sparks and smoke. She saw poor Wreneck, so young, all covered in soot and scorch marks, his hair crisp and crumbling, his eyes filling with tears as he fought against Jinia’s grip, as he tried to run back into the stables to save the horses.
And how Orfantal stood off to one side, still in his nightclothes, staring at Wreneck with one small fist pressed up against his mouth.
Shush, Wreneck. It’s too late for them. Too late for everyone.
And Mother spinning round to glare at the stable boy. ‘This was your fault, wretch! Listen to those screams, child! You killed them all!’ And then she marched forward, raising her cane. And the blows rained down, upon Wreneck’s head, and Jinia’s forearms and shoulders, and all Sandalath could do was stand, frozen, helpless, hearing the cane striking flesh and bone, staring at Orfantal who watched it all but understood nothing.
Hush, my son. The screams are only in your head. It’s done with, now. Just the flames and their eager roar.
She reached the door. The latch was loose and almost fell away from the wood panel, and the door swung easily.
‘Lord Draconus! I knew you would return! It was the Azathanai,
setting fire to the stables – can’t you hear the horses screaming? Oh, please, stop it now – stop all of this—’
He reached for her, lifted her from her feet – she’d not known him to be so tall, big as a giant. But hostages were always young. It was being young that made them precious, so Lord Anomander told her, laughing as he wheeled her through the air, and how she squealed her delight, safe for ever in his strong hands.
But now she hung suspended in the air, in a chamber with its stone walls gouged deep on all sides, as if clawed by a trapped beast. With more rents crisscrossing the wooden floorboards, with the ceiling beams looking chewed, shredded.
She felt something like a fist curl in her belly, low down, and it grew. Back arching, Sandalath gasped as her clothes stretched, as she swelled, skin tightening. Galdan! Look what we did! I didn’t know! Mother is furious with me! She says it’s a snake – a snake inside me, and it’s growing!
Fluids spilled from between her legs. She saw Draconus, looming before her, his face twisted in something like helpless frustration. She felt one of his hands reaching down, reaching in, and dragging the baby out.
She watched as he lifted the thing between them, and saw immediately that it was lifeless, a slick, red doll with flopping limbs. Snarling, he flung it away.
Another fist made a knot in her belly, began growing.
Another dead child. A bellow of fury from Draconus as he threw it to one side.
She lost count. Stillborn after stillborn. Mind glazed with shock, eyes unable to close or even blink, with not a single breath drawn, she watched as the scene played out again and again. There was no pain, no sense of anything beyond the swelling, the terrible release, and then his howling anger.
Until everything changed.
A child’s cry, small fists waving about, feet kicking.
Mother, I didn’t mean it. I swear. I didn’t know.
Draconus pulled her close, pushed the wailing creature into her arms.
She looked up into the man’s eyes, but those eyes, she saw now, did not belong to a man. They were as black and depthless as the waters of Dorssan Ryl. When he opened his mouth, as if attempting to speak, the inky waters poured from it. Anguish twisted the face. Releasing her to drop to the ravaged wooden floor, where she almost lost her balance, the figure staggered back, as if in horror.
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