Deathcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Generally, the king’s tent was boisterous until late into the night, crowded with newly minted nobility, up-and-coming young officers, and camp followers, lubricated with ale and blue ruin. Tonight was different. The tent was lit only by three hooded lanterns and two tall, spare mages in black cloaks.

  In addition to King Jarat and the mages, there was a flock of the king’s blackbirds. Jarat, in his dress uniform, was the only one not clad in black. Destin felt like he was wading through the black-muck swamp in the Shivering Fens.

  “Karn,” King Jarat said, “I have someone I want you to meet.” He gestured toward the taller of the two mages. “Valentin is an official at the Fellsian court, but he is also, secretly, a priest of the true church, and an agent of the empire.”

  “Really?” Destin said. “You must be a remarkable man. There are not many mages serving as celebrants in the Church of Malthus. In fact, I believe you’re the first I’ve heard of.”

  “There are not many uncollared mages in the south,” Valentin said. “You must be remarkable as well.”

  Jarat seemed amused by this sparring between mages. “Valentin has provided much useful support to us through the years, beginning in my late father’s reign. He and his acolyte . . .” The king looked at the other priest expectantly.

  “Fabian,” Valentin put in.

  “Fabian—have agreed to help us win the city in order to extend the grace of Malthus into the sinful north.” Maybe it was his imagination, but Destin always detected a note of sardonic excess when Jarat spoke about the “true church.”

  “We’ve hit a snag, however,” Jarat continued. “I’d been assured that the witch queen would be dead and buried prior to our arrival, but now I hear that she is widely believed to be alive.”

  “The queen is dead, Your Majesty,” Valentin said, biting off each word. “I was there. I saw her die. The poison I used has never been known to fail.”

  “There is always a first time, isn’t there?” Jarat snapped, petulant as a child whose Solstice gift has gone missing.

  This exchange drew Destin’s full attention. This Valentin had poisoned Queen Raisa? Useful support, indeed, if it was true.

  “If the queen is dead, then why have there not been a state funeral, wailing in the streets, or . . .” Jarat paused, then added delicately, “the coronation of a new monarch?”

  “They refuse to acknowledge her death, Your Majesty,” Valentin said. “They have used glamours and conjury to convince the council that she is alive.”

  “Who is ‘they’?”

  “The queen’s faction is reluctant to surrender power, Your Majesty. That is all.”

  “Factions usually are,” Jarat said drily. “Where is she supposed to be, then, if she’s not been seen at court functions?”

  “Her attendants claim that she’s been relocated to a lodge in the mountains to rest and recover, but I sent a team there and it was empty.”

  While Jarat sparred with Valentin, Destin fixed his attention on Fabian, who’d said nothing so far. Destin leaned in to get a glimpse of the priest’s face within the shadow of his hood. He was much younger than his partner, in his late teens, maybe. He was gaunt, yet heartbreakingly beautiful, with smoky, haunted eyes and silver hair.

  He also looked familiar. Suddenly aware of Destin’s scrutiny, Fabian’s eyes widened, and he tried to turn away, but Destin gripped his shoulder.

  “Have we met?” Destin said.

  “No, Lieutenant.” The young mage pulled his head in like a turtle, as if he could disappear into his robe.

  “It’s colonel, actually,” Destin said. So they had met before—when he was still a lieutenant.

  Odd that he thought of the young priest as a boy, since he was close to Destin’s age. But Destin was good at reading the scars of emotional trauma. Again, Fabian tried to pull away. This time, Destin gripped his hand.

  “I’m Destin Karn,” he said, his voice and his grip warm and full of persuasion. “What’s your real name?” He caught a brief glimpse of a blood-soaked battlefield, bodies charred and blown to bits, dank stone walls reflecting candlelight, robed figures chanting prayers, and—something else. Something foreign—a very old and evil soul.

  With that, the walls came down. Flame crackled between them, and Destin yanked his hand away to avoid being burned.

  Destin met the boy’s eyes, and it was like looking into one of the fissures in the north where the seething blood of the earth comes to the surface. Fabian ducked his head and charged out of the tent.

  Jarat and Valentin swung around, staring after the young priest.

  Destin shook his head, shrugging as if baffled. “I was just trying to be friendly,” he said.

  “How dare you?” Valentin snarled. “How dare you lay your profane hands on him?”

  He gripped the front of Destin’s uniform tunic and dragged him in close, which gave Destin a fine opportunity to press the tip of his dagger through the priest’s robes. He hit metal several times before he found soft and yielding flesh.

  The mage’s eyes widened as he felt the prick of the blade.

  “Let go of me,” Destin said, his voice audible only to Valentin.

  The mage’s hand dropped away.

  “I know something about poisons, too,” Destin breathed. “Next time, I’ll share that knowledge with you directly. Whatever you’re doing to that boy, I want you to stop.”

  Destin took a step back and stowed his blade.

  Destin Karn—making friends wherever he went.

  King Jarat was watching the two of them. Destin knew the young king was familiar enough with the verbal knifework at court to know that something had happened. But, happily, he must have chosen to ignore it for now.

  “Valentin has conceived a plan to breach the city walls and get into the castle close without an extended siege,” Jarat said. He paused. “I do hope that the three of you can work together.”

  “Of course,” Valentin said. “It is all for the glory of God and the great saint.”

  Of course, Destin thought. Sieges are boring.

  “Thank you for this opportunity, Your Majesty,” Destin said out loud. “I am always delighted to work with men of the True Faith.”

  Per Valentin, the raid would coincide with a meeting of the queen’s council. Both Valentin and Fabian would be at that meeting. The two priests would secure the royal family while Destin, the Darians, and the blackbirds cleared the castle and the close.

  Destin had to admit, it was a good plan—for Valentin and Fabian. Destin’s team would have the bloody work of clearing the castle, floor by floor and room by room, while the priests ended up in control of the royal family.

  It might even be a trap. Traitors could be useful, but they tended to be untrustworthy. Traitorous, even. Hence Destin’s personal rule—never trust a traitor. It went along with never work with fanatics.

  By now, Destin wanted nothing to do with Valentin, Fabian, or the blood-drinking crows. Violence and bloodshed had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. Yet this was different.

  Jarat said that Valentin was an official at the Gray Wolf court. What official? By now, Destin knew a lot about the personnel at the Gray Wolf court. They wouldn’t use their real names, of course. They both must be members of the council, since Valentin said they would be at the meeting.

  So many questions, so few answers. So much to do.

  When Destin left the king’s tent, he was surprised to find no flock of crows waiting outside. Not that he missed them or anything. He threaded his way back across the camp, wondering if they had actually gone back to their tent as he’d told them to do.

  When he reached the tent that the Darians shared, he noticed that it was brightly illuminated from within. He heard hushed voices, chanting prayers. Curious, Destin detoured toward the tent, put his ear against the canvas, and listened. By now the voices had fallen silent.

  Just go, he told himself. There will be no way to unsee whatever it is you’ll see if
you look inside.

  It was hopeless. Destin circled around to the entrance, eased back the flap, and peered inside.

  The Darian Brothers sat in a circle on the ground, each with a hooded lantern. At the center of the circle stood the young priest, Fabian, now stripped to the waist. Without the robe, Destin could see how very thin he was, the ribs standing out, belly flat. His arms hung out from his sides, palms forward, and blood dripped from numerous cuts from elbow to wrist on both sides.

  The lamps underlit the priests’ faces, smeared with blood, their expressions of bliss. They seemed oblivious to Destin’s presence, but Fabian opened his eyes and looked directly at Destin.

  Once again, Destin sensed an alien presence looking out through the young mage’s eyes.

  “Don’t look so distressed, Colonel,” Fabian said. His voice sounded different, deeper, ancient, wistful all at once. Like a skein of voices spun together. “You cannot save me. I am beyond your reach.” He gestured at the circle of Darian crows. “I cannot deny them access to this body I inhabit. They are, after all, my children.”

  45

  RED WEDDING

  Lila lay awake in her fancy bed in Kendall House, berating herself for not having slipped free of this trap before it snapped shut. If there was one thing she’d always been good at, it was reading the weather and escaping before the storm broke. One of the benefits of being everybody’s girl was that she was nobody’s girl, too. There were no annoying bonds of loyalty to tie her to lost causes.

  Well, except for her family at Wolf’s Head. If she’d had her way, she would have died alongside them, but she’d arrived too late.

  And now here she was—chained by circumstance to a cause she’d never believed in before. Trapped in a castle under siege in a war she’d never committed to. Bullied by a dead wolf and guilted by a boy who’d always played by the same rules as Lila. Until now.

  Said boy was sleeping next door.

  But now she heard movement in the corridor outside, and before she knew what was happening, someone else was knocking on Shadow’s door. And she had a good idea of who that someone was. Hadley DeVilliers was staying at Kendall House, too.

  That was enough to spur Lila to action. She jammed her feet into her boots and slammed open her door.

  Hadley DeVilliers spun away from Shadow’s door, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Odd. She had a sword belted on over a rather fancy dress.

  “Hello, Captain,” Lila said. “Are you lost?”

  At that moment, Shadow’s door opened and he poked his head out, his curls in a snarl. “What’s going on?” he said, yawning, looking from Lila to DeVilliers. He certainly didn’t look like he was expecting visitors.

  “I heard an intruder in the hall,” Lila said, nodding at DeVilliers. “So I came out to investigate.”

  DeVilliers shot an irritated look at Lila, then turned back to Shadow. “There’s a situation, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Um. Go back to bed in your own room? Lila thought. But she could see from the captain’s expression that something was seriously wrong. “What’s the matter?” she said, moving in closer.

  “Finn and Julianna are getting married in the Cathedral Temple in half an hour,” DeVilliers said. “Julianna wants Shadow and me to stand up with them.”

  Shadow had an uncanny way of transitioning from nearly asleep to instantly awake. He motioned both of them into his room and shut the door.

  “They’re getting married in the middle of the night?” he said.

  DeVilliers nodded. “Julianna’s mother is against it, so they thought they would elope. Except that, because of the siege, they have to do it without leaving the castle close.”

  “I thought Princess Mellony was all in favor of the match,” Lila said.

  “Well . . . she is, sort of,” DeVilliers said. “I mean, she has been. But now Julianna says she’s dragging her feet, that she thinks with the siege going on and all, they should wait.”

  Sounds like good advice, Lila thought. Especially since they’ll probably have to serve barley and water at the reception.

  “Do you think Princess Mellony found out about Finn’s role in what happened to Sea Wolf?” Shadow said. “Is that why she’s changed her mind?”

  “Have you said anything to Julianna about Finn?” Lila said.

  DeVilliers hung her head. “I couldn’t. She was so excited and happy, and—it’s awkward. I mean, when we were children—”

  “Or do you think she already knows?” Lila said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” DeVilliers snapped.

  “Maybe Julianna’s the star of her own storybook romance. And the only person between her and the throne was Princess Alyssa. So Finn—”

  “No,” DeVilliers said flatly. “Julianna would never sanction that.”

  “You didn’t think Finn would blow up your ship, either.”

  “Are you absolutely sure about what you saw?” Shadow said.

  “There’s always room for doubt,” DeVilliers said, almost eagerly. “I mean, there was a lot going on at the time of the attack. Maybe I misinterpreted—”

  “You were pretty sure of yourself until now,” Lila said. “Is it possible that you’re just, you know, wimping out?”

  “I didn’t think I’d have to decide in the middle of the night!” DeVilliers cried. “I’d rather attack a flotilla of pirates than tell Julianna at her wedding that her fiancé is a traitor and a murderer.”

  She’s telling the truth, Lila thought. It’s not that she’s a coward.

  Well. She’d always wanted to be that person who speaks up and stops the wedding.

  “I’ll do it,” Lila said. “Just give me a minute to put on my armor.” When they stared at her, she added, “Just joking, but they probably won’t let me in wearing my nightshirt.”

  A few moments later, the three of them hurried down the corridors toward the Cathedral Temple. The palace was strangely deserted, though, to be fair, it was the middle of the night. Still, Lila thought, shouldn’t there be sentries on the walls, what with the siege and all? DeVilliers was the most familiar with the palace, since her parents had been on council in the past. She took them along the wallwalks and over rooftops, cautioning them to avoid poking their heads above the parapets on the outside walls in case the southerners camped below were looking.

  The Cathedral Temple was separate from the palace itself, but could be reached by walking across a courtyard or an overhead gallery. They opted for the gallery. They were nearly across it when they heard an alarm bell clamoring somewhere. Had the elopement been discovered?

  Maybe somebody else would stop the wedding, and they wouldn’t have to.

  When they reached the temple, they tried the doors on the gallery level, but they were locked. Circling around, they tried the doors on the other side, with the same result.

  “How does she expect us to be in her wedding if we can’t get to her wedding?” Shadow growled.

  Descending to the cellar level, DeVilliers finally found an unlocked door that led from the castle close into the crypts. Passing among the tombs of long-dead royals, they raced up several flights of steps that finally led out into the choir. They could hear voices in one of the side chapels.

  When they burst into the chapel, the celebrants looked up in surprise.

  It was a small wedding, even by wartime standards. By now, Lila recognized participants who were members of the queen’s council. Finn’s parents, Lord and Lady Mander. Finn’s mentor, Lord Vega. Finn’s uncle, Lord Bayar. It was no wonder Lady Barrett had asked Shadow and DeVilliers to attend. There was no one to stand up for her, unless you counted Speaker Jemson, who seemed to stand up for everyone.

  It was difficult to say who was more beautiful—the bride or the groom. Finn wore the stoles of his wizard house over a purple tunic that set off his silver hair. Julianna’s gown was an emerald green, her sheer gray shawl embroidered with gray wolves and owls, her sleek dark hair done up into a twist.

&nb
sp; “Oh!” Julianna said, her cheeks stained pink. “I am so sorry. We didn’t want to wait any longer for fear we’d be interrupted, so you’re a little late for the ceremony, but you’re in plenty of time to drink a toast with us.”

  “Scummer!” Lila blurted. “So you’re—you’re already married?”

  Bride and groom held up their joined hands, their wedding rings glittering in the torchlight.

  “How long has it been, Finn?” Julianna said. “Five minutes?” With that, bride and groom kissed, long and slow, in a way that threatened to set the entire room on fire. They split apart only when the sound of running feet in the main church drew their attention. Booted feet.

  Bluejackets poured from the main sanctuary into the chapel. They ripped Finn away from Julianna, pinioning his arms and stripping off his amulet. They handled Julianna more gently, mainly physically blocking her from sprinting to her husband’s side.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Lady Mander strode toward the bluejackets and their captives.

  A voice rang down from the gallery above. “Stand down, Lady Mander, if you do not want to receive the same treatment.”

  Lila looked up, half-expecting to see maybe-dead Queen Raisa again, but it was Princess Mellony, backed by more bluejackets, including Lieutenant Greenholt.

  “Finn sul’Mander, I charge you with high treason and complicity in the murder of my sister, Queen Raisa ana’Marianna; her son, Prince Adrian sul’Han; and the princess heir, Alyssa ana’Raisa.”

  “No!” Once again, Julianna tried to force her way to Finn, but was blocked by the bluejackets who held him prisoner. “Finn is not a traitor, and he’s not a murderer, either.”

  Lord Vega stared up at the queen regent, his face contorted into a mask of anger. “How dare you?” he shouted. “You lying, conniving, duplicitous witch.” Gripping his amulet, he extended a shaking hand toward Mellony, releasing a torrent of flame. Lieutenant Greenholt launched herself into the princess, shoving her sideways and down so that the lightning bolt missed.

  Undeterred, Vega charged toward the steps to the gallery. He had made it halfway up the stairs when Micah Bayar tackled him and the two wizards rolled all the way to the bottom, sending off sparks like a Solstice candle.