Lasis broke his silence. “Perhaps they do not like it when they don’t have the answers.”
Shadri grinned at him. She was a sturdy and self-sufficient young woman who wore thick bundled skirts and layered upper garments, because they offered plenty of pockets to keep all the things she might need. When she had wandered the land alone, Shadri carried an enormous pack stuffed with supplies like food, notebooks, darning needles, sulfur matches, nubs of candles, a lead stylus, and little packets for specimens she found along the journey.
Ever since arriving in Norterra, Shadri had been eager to talk about everything she had learned in her travels. She pestered everyone from the firewood boy Pokle to Queen Tafira herself with anecdotes and with whatever questions popped into her mind.
Lasis opened the door of the remembrance shrine, and Shadri peered inside. This was one of her favorite places. She had read dozens of volumes and scrolls, studying names and the associated lives, talents, tales, treasures, and descendants. Her eyes were shining when she looked at Tafira. “So many people left so many different stories!”
“Pay attention to the living ones as well, dear girl,” Tafira said as they entered the building. “A person’s legacy should be experienced, not just remembered.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. The books and scrolls around her had a wonderful smell.
Lasis pulled the door closed behind them, and Shadri caught a glimpse of the long scar across his neck. He had told her the story—only because she asked him repeatedly—of how the frostwreth queen had slashed his throat when she grew bored with him as a captive lover, but his Brava magic had kept him alive. Shadri wrote down that story and logged the document into the remembrance shrine.
The young scholar strutted forward, looking at the tables and shelves of books, wondering where she should start today. Once they entered the foyer, Legacier Thooma came to greet them. Upon seeing Shadri, the matronly legacier showed a wary, put-upon expression, as if she had suffered a multitude of the girl’s questions, but she gave a warm and respectful welcome to the queen.
Tafira rested a hand on Shadri’s shoulder. “My personal legacier has done great work chronicling the story of the recent attack on Lake Bakal. She has acknowledged the generous assistance your people gave her.”
Legacier Thooma responded with a pinched smile. “Of course, my queen. I tasked two of my junior legaciers with fetching any documents she requests.” She sighed. “It must be quite an exhaustive history she is writing.”
“It’s our legacy.” Shadri felt defensive. “We need to share it, fill the archives with details and supporting documentation on all the vassal lords, the soldiers, and their families. Everyone in the Commonwealth has to remember the people who fought at Lake Bakal, and the people who died there.”
Lasis stiffened. “They deserve to be remembered.”
The queen’s expression fell. “Often I come here by myself so I can reflect on my life and the legacy I leave. I consider the turmoil I’ve endured and the love I have experienced to counterbalance the pain.”
Shadri’s words came out in a rush. “Can I write more of your story, my lady? Everything you remember about your home village, the local godling, and what happened when the Commonwealth army came?” She imagined telling a romantic tale. “And how your beloved Kollanan swept you away?”
A fleeting smile touched the corners of Tafira’s lips, before her expression shifted. “It was not an entirely joyous tale, dear girl. Perhaps not all of the details need to be remembered.”
Sunlight streamed through the many-paned windows, illuminating the main reading room beyond the first line of shelves. Tables were covered with old volumes, some open for reading, others stacked. Shelves along the walls held books organized by family name and by year. Helpful legaciers moved about assisting patrons who came to remember lost loved ones, history students, solicitors researching property disputes, young couples studying their genealogy in preparation for marriage.
As they followed Thooma into the reading room, they saw the group of Commonwealth escort soldiers at one table, still wearing their capes and doublets with the open hand of the Commonwealth. Thick leather-bound books were spread out on the table, but Shadri doubted the men had been researching long-lost uncles.
When Captain Rondo looked up and saw the queen, his expression tightened. He offered a stiff nod, the briefest gesture of respect. “Queen Tafira.”
“I did not know history was one of your interests, Captain.”
“As the people say, each day brings a new surprise. My men had a surprise today, as well. King Kollanan asked us to remain in Norterra, even though the konag has been murdered and the three kingdoms must prepare for war.”
“The king asked you to remain behind while he traveled south to Suderra to meet King Adan,” Tafira said. “We are glad for your added strength to help protect Norterra, if anything should happen while my husband is gone.”
The guard captain looked away, frowning.
Shadri spoke up. “Scouts say that many roads are impassable due to the eruption of Mount Vada.”
“And yet, the courier made it through, with his news of Conndur’s murder.” Rondo reached across the table and pulled a large volume toward him, which displayed a map of the Commonwealth. “The high route should still be open, far north of Mount Vada, although the snows will close it soon.” He closed the book. “But we will stay, as King Kollanan commanded. I hope he is not gone too long.” Resentment roughened his voice. “While my men and I wait, we intend to gather information that may help the Commonwealth. We will add it to the report the king sends to Convera.” Two of his soldiers perfunctorily looked down at the books in front of them.
Shadri took quick interest. “And what information is that? Can I help?”
Rondo looked at her and did not seem to know who she was. “We search for evidence of any other Isharans who might be in this land. They could be spies or saboteurs. The konag must know.” He looked down at the book in front of him. “Norterra is safe and far from Ishara, and thus it would be a good place for the enemy to hide. There may be spies.”
“Oh, I doubt you’d find Isharans here,” Shadri said, matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen any.”
Other soldiers distractedly traced the patterns on the pages, avoiding Tafira’s gaze. The queen remained proud, her eyes bright. Her long dark hair was bound in distinctive, colorful scarves that made her stand out, made her look foreign.
Rondo said, “I can’t even sleep at night, knowing what the Isharan animals did to our beloved Conndur. Cutting him to pieces!”
“His bonded Brava should have protected him,” Lasis interjected, as if to shift the focus of their ire. “Utho failed in his most important duty.”
Shadri knew the terrible things Utho had done to Elliel, as did Lasis. But the soldiers were not distracted by the Brava’s comments. Shadri sensed anger and unease rippling from the Commonwealth soldiers like heated air from a stoked fireplace.
Rondo said, “Even a Brava can’t defend against outright betrayal. Konag Conndur was wrong to trust any Isharan.”
One of the other soldiers, Sergeant Headan, muttered, “Isharans aren’t human like the rest of us. They don’t understand the same pain or the same loyalty.”
It was clear even to Shadri, who often didn’t notice such things, that his sharp tone was directed toward Queen Tafira, whose exotic garb, dusky skin, and large brown eyes were distinctly Isharan.
Bristling at the comment, Lasis placed a hand on the pommel of his sword and tossed back his black cape to give him more freedom of movement. The Commonwealth soldiers shifted and several stood, ready to assume fighting positions.
But Tafira raised her hand. “What you say may be true about some Isharans, Captain.” She looked at him until he turned away. “When I was just a girl, my stepmother hated me, because my father had gotten a farm girl pregnant. He accepted me and loved me as his daughter, but she cast me out of the house the day after he died.
“I survived by helping people, doing odd jobs. I thought they liked me, but when Commonwealth raiders came burning fields and razing villages, my people believed their only hope was to make a sacrifice to our local godling.” Rondo’s soldiers listened, though with clear reluctance. “Ours was a gentle godling, but the villagers were desperate because monstrous Commonwealth soldiers were raping and slaughtering and burning their way across our countryside. There was no way to stop them.”
She leaned closer to the table, intruding on the space of the uneasy soldiers. It seemed that Captain Rondo and his fellows stopped breathing.
“My people needed blood for their sacrifice—and they considered me the most expendable person in the village, the least wanted. They were going to sacrifice me.” She squeezed her ringed hand into a fist. “But Kollanan rode in and stopped them, and he prevented his own soldiers from committing atrocities. He saved me that day.”
Rondo and his men were uneasy. “I didn’t fight in that war,” he said. “But I will fight in this one.”
“As well you should, and I hope you and your men can keep yourselves from committing the atrocities of your predecessors,” Tafira said. “Our features and our clothing did not make us enemies, Captain. Neither does the name of the land where we were born. What matters is what is in our hearts.”
The queen turned to leave, and Lasis ushered her away with Shadri in tow. Though the scholar girl had been unable to study any new documents this day, she had learned a great deal.
12
ICY winds scoured the towers, but the movement of chill air inside the frostwreth palace was as faint as the last breath of a dying man.
Queen Onn lectured Birch as she glided through the corridors on slender legs. “For many centuries we remained dormant in our glacier, restoring ourselves through periods of spellsleep.” Her gown was silver and white, as if woven from strands of hoarfrost. “The sandwreths crawled under their dusty rocks to recover, while we preserved ourselves in the purity of the ice. Now we are strong again.”
When the queen flashed a pale smile toward him, Birch flinched. She seemed disappointed that he wasn’t awestruck. Onn led him deep into the ice, where passageways had been carved by magic, melting and refreezing the water until it was as smooth and hard as glass. Their footsteps barely whispered on the slick floor, and Birch hurried to keep pace with her.
“I want to show you our numbers, boy. Maybe I will even let you witness the coming battle when we slay the sandwreths. After that, we wake the dragon Ossus.” When Birch didn’t respond, she snapped, “Are you glad to be with us?”
“Yes,” he said, adding nothing else. He had learned that the less he said, the less chance there was of accidentally making Onn angry.
As she strolled along, the queen muttered more to herself than to him, “The children of Raan must pay for how they corrupted the love that Kur shared with my ancestor Suth. They are an inferior race, just as humans are. And my drones are even more disappointing.” She seemed frustrated with herself.
Onn strode into a complex of giant grottoes hollowed out of the glacier ice. Wreths of different castes moved about: armored warriors, aloof nobles, dour mages, and burly lower-caste workers performing necessary functions. Teams of drones also moved underfoot and beneath notice.
“Thousands of us were injured during the last wars,” Onn continued, “and lay dormant as the centuries passed. The land was drained of magic, and we had hoped the world would regain its power after so much time. Thus far our mages have not recovered fully.” She shook her head. “But I will never consider myself weak. No frostwreth is weak.”
Tiers of frozen chambers, like sealed-over cells in an insect hive, studded the grotto walls. Thin, transparent ice covered the chambers like a window, and each cell held the motionless, blurred figure of a dormant wreth.
On walkways above, drones scampered about performing incomprehensible tasks with the spellsleep chambers. Warriors strolled along in full armor as if trying to impress one another. Mages pressed their palms against the ice windows, monitoring their frozen comrades inside.
“Thousands of frostwreths underwent cycles of spellsleep,” Onn continued. “See how many still remain to be awakened! Using spellsleep, I sidestepped the centuries, awakening only a few days at a time so that my body did not age. See, I am still young and ready for war.” She touched her face with sharp silver fingernails. “I lost neither my beauty nor my strength.” She drew in a deep breath and exhaled a cloud of frost.
Drones shuffled about, getting in the way. A wreth warrior cuffed two, knocking them aside. The creatures scuttled away, avoiding further blows.
Onn sneered at them. “If my magic were at full strength, those drones could have been magnificent creations, like our humans, but they are lacking in so many ways.” She gave a wistful smile. “Fortunately, we have superior warriors of our own.”
The queen led Birch to a nearby cell, where a bald mage smoothed over the ice window. Thin tubes like vines ran through the ice and into the rectangular chamber, pumping a silvery fluid. The tubes emerged from the chamber covered with icicles connected to aquamarine jewels that powered them, pulsing with faint blue light.
The spellsleep enclosure contained a muscular male warrior clad in diamond and sapphire plate armor. His neck was thick, his jawline strong. He seemed to exude enough power to melt the ice even in his frozen state. Queen Onn pressed her face against the ice, breathing so that a sheen of melted water appeared like liquid diamond droplets. With one of her nails, she scratched a thin line on the surface.
“Irri—that was his name. I wonder why…” Her voice trailed off. “Now that Rokk has gotten himself killed, I think I shall wake this one. Irri can comfort my loneliness. He was quite good at it, I recall.” She glanced at Birch, then issued orders to the mage tending the spellsleep chamber. “Make certain we balance our overall awakenings so that we have the proper proportion of warriors, nobles, mages, and support workers. Our numbers will increase dramatically.” Her gaze bored into the mage’s craggy features. “Do it properly.”
The bald mage bowed. “Of course, my queen.”
Onn strolled along, peering into the transparent ice at her preserved frostwreths, and on the second tier she paused before another chamber. The frozen cell held a tall, beautiful woman with pale, bone-cold hair. Unlike the other wreths, who wore armor or garments in their chill sleep, this woman was naked, her skin as pale as snow. Her features reminded Birch of Queen Onn’s.
“My daughter. I will wake her along with the others, because I need all my frostwreths,” Onn muttered, as if she had forgotten the boy standing next to her. “But Koru is often intractable.” She looked down at him. “I also had two sons, but they were killed in the wars. Koru remains. By staggering our spellsleep cycles, she and I manage not to be awake at the same time. I did not see eye-to-eye with her.”
Looking at the naked woman in the ice, Birch finally spoke. “That’s your daughter?”
“See how beautiful she is.”
The boy obliged with a nod.
“Koru was strong in battle, although she argued against me as much as she fought against the sandwreths.”
“Will she fight Ossus?” Birch asked. “The dragon?”
Onn frowned. “Yes, she will fight Ossus. I will have to wake her.” She seemed to be bracing herself. “We need all of my subjects.”
“Maybe she can kill the dragon with the spear behind your throne,” Birch said.
“Maybe,” Onn said. “Or maybe I will.”
13
THE empra’s tower rose above Serepol, stretching skyward as if the architect believed he had the strength of a godling. In the spacious upper chamber that was Iluris’s private residence, Cemi gazed out the large windows, which were open in hopes that the fresh air might revive the unconscious woman on the bed. The empra did not stir, but the breeze ruffled Cemi’s short brown hair.
Two hawk guards, resplendent in gold and scarlet armor, kept watch inside the ma
in chamber; three more guarded the outer door, with additional ranks stationed in the corridor.
Cemi usually enjoyed the view from this dizzying height, but today she felt overwhelmed, as if she were falling free with no landing in sight. Inhaling the salty air that blew in from the nearby harbor, she surveyed the waterfront, where the streets were cluttered and crowded, filled with craft districts, smithies, tanneries, weaver shops, merchant offices, warehouses, fish markets, and the docks themselves. In the opposite direction, wide streets stretched toward the city center, where the long-dormant Magnifica temple would soon rise high.
Crowds filled the entire fountain square directly below, in front of the palace. People of all professions and classes, knowing that Empra Iluris was gravely injured, came to offer their support and energy. Even from so high up, Cemi could hear the murmur of their prayers, and she drew strength from it. The chants rose and fell, followed by a lull, then an even louder resurgence. The people were passionate, summoning their faith to strengthen their beloved empra. Those prayers were a safety net that kept Iluris safe and alive.
Leaving the open window, Cemi went to the woman who lay on her lavish bed with colorful silk sheets. The unconscious face of her dear mentor was etched with deep lines that might have been worry, might have been pain, or might have been nothing at all. “Please get better,” she murmured.
Iluris’s head was freshly bandaged with white gauze. Cemi and one of the trusted court doctors, whom the loyal servant Analera had chosen with the approval of Chamberlain Nerev, changed the dressing and inspected the wounds daily, but Iluris’s condition remained the same. She appeared lifeless, but a mirror held up to her nose showed the faint exhalation of breath. Cemi sat next to her, talked with her, though it was a one-sided conversation and a confession.
Captani Vos carried a jeweled cup to the bed, and Cemi shook her head. “I just tried to give her some water.”
“No, this is for you. You must also care for yourself. There may soon come a time—”
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