by R. K. Thorne
Pardon my eavesdropping but… you do have a blade.
Lara blinked. “Oh. I suppose you’re right.”
As usual.
“You’re not too humble, that’s for sure. What do you want me to do?”
Humility is for humans, Yeska said. Climb on.
After class, Nyalin brushed himself off and took a rather scenic route through the city to the park, then wound through several manicured flowered areas until he reached the open grassy area by the broad, dark water. Just a few hundred feet upriver, the Aoelin Shrine waited.
He walked along the paths lined with bloodred and dark purple flowers that were nearly as tall as he was, their petals as large as his head. The flower-lined paths carried him nearly the whole way to the shrine, their scent surprising and sweet.
He almost missed the roundhouse kick while admiring the stupid things.
Almost. He ducked and spun in the same motion, straightening to find the emperor behind him, knees bent, poised to fight. What, did he have a sign on his back asking people to attack him? If so, Raelt had put it there.
“I thought you said walk.”
“I did? I must have misspoken. I meant fight.”
Pavan launched a flurry of punches, and Nyalin blocked and dodged as best he could. More than once he danced back a few feet, scattering a cloud of dust along the path.
“Not bad. But you don’t take the offensive—”
“That’s because you’re, well, you know, and—”
Pavan’s eyes twinkled. “It’s not just because of that. And I’m not talking about just this fight.”
To prove he would take the lesson to heart, and maybe because he was a little obstinate, Nyalin launched his own roundhouse kick at Pavan’s head.
Pavan ducked with a squat and a grin.
“I tackled you just yesterday, didn’t I?”
Pavan’s assault resumed. “You did.”
“And chased you down,” Nyalin added, throwing in a half-hearted punch to the sternum.
When his fingers made contact, Pavan froze and stared down at the fist as if horrified, shocked, and offended, straightening.
“I’m sorry, I—”
Pavan smirked. “Got you there.”
Nyalin straightened too, dropping his fists to his sides. “You’re enjoying this.”
Pavan shrugged. “Maybe a little. It’s not often people find out about one of my disguises.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How many do you have?”
The emperor’s already broad grin widened. “A few. But we did not come here to talk about me. We came here to talk about dead people.”
“My hallucinations.”
“I was thinking of your mother. But yes, we should talk about what you’ve been seeing too.” The emperor glanced around them. The shrine was thoroughly empty, but he gestured toward the gently flowing river. “Come, walk with me.”
“Of course.” If it hadn’t been an order from his sovereign, he’d have done it anyway. Rabid wolves couldn’t drag him away. He had so many questions, and too many answers were locked behind iron, barred doors.
They set an easy pace. The river burbled beside them, calm and quiet, and birds flitted overhead.
“I grew up alone, you know,” Pavan began. “So did your mother. We had that in common. I was in the orphanage in Tiro. There were people providing a roof overhead, sort of, but little food. We slept on the floor. Some of the older children took to raising up young ones, or we’d probably all have just starved. I helped in my turn as I grew. It taught me how much people truly depend on each other, and how to go from being alone to building something more. But Linali didn’t have any of that. She was truly alone.”
Nyalin caught his breath at the sound of her name. People never said it. They always said, “your mother.” Or if they did use her name, they uttered it with unearthly reverence, like they’d praise Dala. Not with the warmth for someone truly remembered. And clearly the emperor remembered her—and fondly. But who didn’t? Nyalin stifled a flash of guilt at the thought.
“What do you mean, alone?” he said instead, as Pavan seemed to be waiting before moving on.
“She was wild. Living with animals. Simple language. Clothing she made herself.”
“How could a child possibly survive?”
“The animals helped. And so did the spirits.”
“Animals? And did you say spirits?”
“Yes. The animals—she perfected a spell that let her speak with a variety of gentler creatures, or sometimes she just broadcast her need to them instinctively, but yes. She was never sure if it had also been that way when she was a baby or if there had been a time where she had a mother. She always assumed others had come before, but we never knew what happened to them. And yes, there were spirits. Ghosts. Whatever you like to call them. The dead.”
“So that’s who I’m seeing. I’m not going insane?”
“They are very real.”
“The whole series of planes story. It’s real?”
“As real as you and me.”
“By Seluvae.” Nyalin stared across the water and the gardens to the black rooftops of the city beyond.
“What she had was an extremely unique ability. Beyond all the magic you’ve heard about, it was this ability that made her so strange, so memorable. So powerful.”
He frowned. “What was it?”
“She could cross the veil between planes. She could remain alive and exist on both sides, at least mentally. Sometimes physically.”
“Both sides? I thought the whole series meant there were many worlds. Is it possible to go beyond just one world, one afterlife?”
“She was never sure, never had time to try. But I think so. I think she could have made it to others, but our next world was the easiest. I don’t see why it couldn’t work. But she had enough on her hands dealing with one extra world on top of this one.”
Nyalin ran a hand through his hair. “That’s amazing.”
“Yes. It was. And it is.”
“Wait—you’re saying that’s what I’m doing?”
“Describe it for me.”
Nyalin recapped the flickering, the nausea, the greenish earth. The floating. It had felt like being in two places at once, he had to admit that. And what had Myandrin said? Both yes and no. Both alive and dead.
Pavan nodded. “It seems the same to me.”
“Who can help me?” Nyalin asked quickly.
“No one.”
“Well, how did she learn to control it?”
“I’m not sure she did control it, honestly. She wanted to, but it didn’t always happen at the best time.” For a moment, he could see some distant scene replaying in the emperor’s eyes, and he wanted desperately for the man to recount it all, detail by detail. But then—Pavan would have already if he truly wanted to. He mustn’t wish to if he wasn’t already sharing it. “She had no teachers, except the spirits themselves.”
Nyalin glanced down at his boots. Well then. He was so concerned about teaching, and his brilliant mother had taught everything to herself.
“She didn’t have any choice. She was alone, remember?”
“I’ve been alone,” Nyalin muttered. “What about you? How did you learn?”
“I don’t know how to contact the world of the dead. But ultimately I ran away from the orphanage and met a mage on the road who taught me a few things. And how to reach the city. Learned much of the rest here, during the war. And from Linali.”
“She taught you even though she taught herself?”
“How do you think I got so good at the animal sphere?” He smiled broadly. “Speaking of teaching, how is your learning going?”
“Nowhere yet, but it’s only been a couple weeks. It’s unpredictable.”
“I hope you don’t mind I accepted Cerivil’s proposition without your input.”
Nyalin shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“But it was what you wanted?”
“Oh, yes.” N
yalin nodded. “I mean, I approached him. I thought his loyalty to my mother might help.”
“Indeed. He was always a good friend to her.”
“Were they…” Nyalin started, suddenly wondering if an answer might be at his fingertips after all. “Did they…”
“Were they in love?” The words rolled off Pavan’s tongue as though they tasted bitter, tinged with longing. “No. He was always too wise for her, ultimately. And I believe he was already in love with his future wife.”
“Too wise?”
“Her manner of growing up… Let’s just say it encouraged risk taking. Boldness. Fearlessness. And a little oddness, I guess you could say? Eccentricity.”
“Cerivil is taking a risk on me,” Nyalin mused.
“No, he’s not.” Pavan shook his head. “If he gets what he wants, his clan will rise in power. It already has, just with you joining them.”
“I know.”
“That’s politics. But if he doesn’t get what he wants?”
Nyalin shrugged. “He doesn’t lose anything but time.”
“Exactly. And that is something he has enough of. And he doesn’t lose the initial boost. He won’t need to save face if he plays his cards right.”
“Should I tell him about the… the spirits? Did she mention her ability to him?”
“Doubtful,” Pavan said. “But only he would know for sure.”
“But she shared it with you.”
“Yes. Well, I witnessed it incapacitate her at some… inopportune times. I suppose she felt obligated to explain.”
“Such as?” He had to get more specifics out of this man. No one ever talked specifics.
The emperor grinned. “Perhaps I’ll tell you more on our next walk.”
Nyalin raised an eyebrow. “Next?”
“Have I bored you dreadfully?”
“No, no, not at all. I just don’t want to waste your time, and—”
“And there are other things about Linali you may need to know. It’s time I shared them. Let’s meet again in a fortnight. Same place and time.”
“All right.” Was he about to be dismissed? If he had any questions, he needed to ask them now.
“Was Cerivil the only reason you picked the Bone Clan to approach?” Pavan said, surprising him.
“I—uh.” Lying to his emperor seemed like a bad idea. But the truth…
Pavan stopped and gripped both of Nyalin’s shoulders warmly. “If it’s a woman, I say it’s worth taking chances.”
His eyes widened. “No—uh—well, maybe—”
“Love is worth going after, Nyalin.”
He managed to regain the ability to speak. “That’s an odd thing for a bachelor ruler to say.”
Pavan’s smile widened, but then softened with a sadness that stabbed Nyalin’s heart. “Is it?”
“I think so.”
“Perhaps I know the value of love better than anyone.”
Unira tapped a fingernail on the glass a few times. It clinked lightly. Wind whistled and moaned through her family’s private catacombs beneath the estate. Well, Giran’s family’s catacombs, or they had been at one time. She’d long ago burned what was left of the bodies and turned the ashes into the compost heap. Or maybe the dogs had the bones, who knew. What did it matter? The soul went on, once the body was vacated.
She had bodies with souls still in them, living bodies, and storing them was no simple feat. What was she supposed to do, build a bigger closet? Add them to the wine cellar? Oh, no. She needed somewhere special to store these bodies. Somewhere where she could tap their power.
And where her father wouldn’t know that she had them.
She tapped gently at the glass again and studied the black-haired woman in the chamber.
“Can’t you at least go gray?” she murmured. “Just a little?”
But she never did. The woman was frozen in time.
Unira pursed her lips. Her own hair had been peppered with gray for a few years now. In truth, she liked it. It made her feel distinguished and wise. And she was.
But it didn’t help that this was just one more way that Linali was perfect. Too perfect.
“I’m going to kill him, you know. I’m going to kill your son.”
She shouldn’t talk to the woman. Shouldn’t taunt her. She had no indication that her long-time rival could even hear her. She had snared many mages into similar traps, but she’d almost never released them, certainly not while they were still alive, so she didn’t exactly understand how the spell worked or if Linali was conscious in there. But it was so hard to resist taunting her.
“I know I’ve said that before. But he finds new ways to put himself in the way. I’m going to the city myself this time. I’m sick of the failures. I’ll stab the dagger and drink the blood myself if I must. Your blood would make a potent ingredient in the cauldron, don’t you think?”
She stepped closer to the head of the chamber. Bent down as if to speak right in her ear. As she whispered, her breath fogged the glass. “I’m going to end this, and I’m going to enjoy it. Now I have real help. And there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
Straightening, she stalked out, headed to the surface.
Chapter 8
Vindictive
Nothing worked. Nyalin and Cerivil spent three long hours in the breezy meeting rooms, taking all sorts of toys and equipment off the shelves, fooling with them, putting them back.
None of it made a difference. Nothing burst into flame or was doused with water or any such thing. Even with a practice blade, even with Cerivil’s help.
He readied himself for one more try. He imagined the magic coming from his core, then added in all the magic around them. Every last ambient drop. Then he could see it move, like a ball of white light, from him through the charm to the wood shavings, sparks flying, and…
And nothing.
Cerivil made a valiant effort to remain encouraging, but Nyalin could see through it. Their puzzlement grew by the hour, and their frustration by the day.
“Why would it work when Lara is here, but not when she isn’t?” Nyalin muttered, mostly to himself.
Never mind the bit of aching worry, the concern that she was not yet here. Wasn’t coming, it seemed. Had found something better to do? With someone who wasn’t so much of a failure?
She had been nothing but obsessively positive while he’d been around, at least verbally. Perhaps now he knew her true feelings.
“Let’s break now,” Cerivil said, finally admitting defeat. He sank into a sturdy chair and picked up a nearby whittling knife and stick, tinkering away as he spoke. “You’ve tried well. Labored valiantly. Hard work.”
“But no results,” he said, acknowledging the obvious.
Cerivil shrugged. “I don’t understand it. Lara’s presence shouldn’t influence anything. And I know she wouldn’t just lie about it. Would she?” Cerivil stopped and gazed at the ceiling thoughtfully, as if he’d decided maybe she would. His fingers continued to work.
“No, of course not. Why would she do that? Seems cruel to get my hopes up, and for what?”
“Cruel is definitely not her style, especially for no real gain. But on the other hand…”
“She can’t be lying,” he insisted. “Maybe it was a coincidence. Something different about that day or how rested I was or something.” Today had been harder than most, although he didn’t truly think that figured in. “Where is Lara, by the way?”
“I’m not sure,” Cerivil said, frowning. “But she’s… she’s been taking Myandrin’s death hard.”
Nyalin froze at the name. He could see them now, almost overlaid as they had been the day before, the wild light hair, the similar eyes. It was her brother in the afterworld.
He had to tell her. But how? How in a way that she would actually believe him and not think he was crazy? That was a tall order. He needed some kind of evidence, some kind of proof that the afterworld was real, not just a claim he was making. Could he bring something back? Or take
her there? Let her see her beloved brother from time to time?
He had so much research to do.
Cerivil was still talking, so Nyalin struggled to catch up.
“She’s been coming and going as she pleases, and sometimes staying in bed all day. And all night. Wandering the gardens.”
“She’s lost not just a brother, but also a purpose,” Nyalin murmured. “A future.”
Cerivil winced. “It’s too true. But I do hope she can still have a happy future, even if it isn’t the one she wanted or planned. And who knows, in a year or ten, or when children are grown, perhaps she can come back to those dreams.”
“Sounds optimistic,” Nyalin replied.
“What other option do we have?”
Nyalin shrugged in reply. “Thank you for teaching me today and working with me like this. I can’t begin to repay you.”
“It will all work out in the end,” Cerivil assured him. “We’ll figure this out.”
“When you see Lara for me, give her my regards, will you?” He sincerely hoped it wasn’t sadness that had kept her away. It left him feeling like a self-centered jerk for thinking she’d decided he just wasn’t worth her time. It was easy to forget the pain of others when his own problems clouded his mind.
He left Cerivil reading a book on his lounge and headed to find some food. One disadvantage of lunchtime walks with the emperor was that they appeared to include no actual lunch. He’d have to bring something to eat on the walk next time.
On a whim, he asked a woman carrying piles of linens where Lara’s room was. It was close, so he stopped and knocked once on the pale wood door. My, she made him bold. But his boldness was wasted, as there was no answer.
Either she was too sad to even get up, or she wasn’t there.
Whichever it was, he had a bad feeling about it.
The horse was unhappy about the ordeal, but not as unhappy as Lara would have expected.
Yeska carried them out over the low mountains and across the steppe. While the height made her heart pound, she couldn’t deny the view was stunning. They spiraled down to a stand of trees nestled between two craggy cliffs. The rough rock jutted out from a low mountain—brown, austere, and still quite beautiful. Yeska landed on a rocky outcropping. The entrance to a small cave yawned into the mountain. Water rushed somewhere close by, and cold, humid wind blew past her.