“Madam Consular,” Lothgarde began, but whatever he was about to say Karina did not let him finish.
“Leave us,” she said, turning her full frame—which was almost a head shorter than Lothgarde and Aqilla both—to face them.
Lothgarde bowed his head. “As you say, Madam Consular.” He left the room, Aqilla following closely behind.
When they were alone, Karina looked up at Carrieri.
“Let us speak frankly,” she said. “Tell me what is on your mind.”
Immediately, Carrieri began to pace back and forth before the map table. His thoughts always seemed clearest when he was in motion.
“My objective, first and foremost,” Carrieri said, “has always been the well-being of Khale.”
“So ride out to meet this woman,” Karina said. “Do your Goddess-damned job!”
“She is a Khalic citizen, is she not? And her people, they are Khalic as well, is that correct?”
“They may have been at one point,” Karina said, her eyes following Carrieri as he walked back and forth, “but they’ve all but renounced their citizenship. They’ve killed thousands of Khalic soldiers—”
“And our soldiers killed their people first,” Carrieri said, slamming his fist on the map table as he stopped pacing and faced Karina. “We forget that too easily. In Cineste, and then that idiot Kyfer,” he said, pointing his finger at Karina, “who your Parliament appointed, Madam Consular, against my counsel, slaughtered over one hundred tiellan civilians. Unprovoked. No wonder they’re out for our blood. Canta knows, we’ve shed enough of theirs over the past few months, let alone the past few centuries.”
Carrieri lowered his accusing finger and took a deep breath before he continued. “I will protect Khale at all costs,” he said, “from whatever enemies we face. Even these tiellans. Even if I think, in my heart of hearts, that it is wrong of me to do so. I have sworn an oath, and I will uphold it. You needn’t worry about that.”
Karina’s eyes closed, and she shook her head slowly. When she opened them again, the look she gave Carrieri was far too familiar. He wished he’d never seen that side of her, so that when he saw it now, it didn’t hurt so badly.
“When we assume these positions of service—and, let’s not fool ourselves, of power—we accept the responsibility to make the decisions that no one else will make. I don’t like this situation any more than you do, Riccan. But even I am subject to the senators, and the majority of them are terrified of this tiellan force. I understand why you stay behind, but know that I’m not afraid to use the power of the Parliament to order you to go if it becomes necessary.”
“If it becomes necessary,” Carrieri said quietly, “you won’t have to ask.”
Karina laughed quietly, looking down at the ground. “We’ve gotten ourselves into a fine mess here, haven’t we?”
Carrieri scoffed. He wanted to say it wasn’t their fault, that the foolish senators and magistrates and generals were the ones making the mistakes. But those were excuses, and Carrieri had no use for them. These people were under their authority, and thus they shared responsibility.
“A fine mess indeed,” Carrieri said. He wanted to reach out to her in that moment, to touch her shoulder, her hand, run his fingers along her cheek, anything to remember what their lives had once been like together.
But he didn’t.
30
Adimora
SWEAT POURED DOWN WINTER’S face as she finished another round of sparring with Urstadt in the late summer sun. The volume of cheers that rose at the end of their session jarred her—she could remember a few people stopping to watch in passing, months ago, but now there were dozens at least, gathered around the tip of the great rihnemin where Winter and Urstadt were training. She did not mind that the cheers had been for her defeat—the fight had almost been close, after all. And the tiellans had actually taken a liking to Urstadt, despite her being the only human among the Druids. Dozens of tiellans now dispersed as Winter took a deep draught of water from a skin near her belongings.
The majority of Winter’s Rangers remained in the Eastmaw Valley. They had set up a strong supply line from Adimora to the Ranger camp, extending through the Underway beneath the Undritch Mountains. For now, their position was strong. She spent most of her time in the Ranger camp with her soldiers, but on occasion returned to Adimora to report to Ghian, the elders and matriarchs, and the Cracked Spear. She enjoyed her time in Adimora; she was growing attached to the strange underground city, the great rihnemin, and her people there.
But Winter was growing restless.
Urstadt approached her, her glaive resting on her shoulders, both arms crooked over it, hands hanging limply. Her chest heaved up and down, too, and her tunic was soaked through. “You faltered in bu-haka,” she said. “And that flawed the rest of your form set.”
Winter nodded. She’d been aware of the mistake. She still had trouble balancing during bu-haka. The form required her to parry as she balanced on one leg, crouching like a coiled spring that then struck forward in the bu-hado, bu-lor, and then bu-hakan forms.
“Practice your balance,” Urstadt said, “and you might have a chance at besting me one of these days.”
Winter laughed, the sound strangely familiar in her throat. The past few months, she realized, had been more or less happy. She practiced with Urstadt for hours each day, and she loved the way her body felt afterward. The sweat and the soreness made her feel cleaner than any bath could. She had plenty of faltira, too—she’d been able to keep herself to less than one crystal a day, lately, and still had supply enough to last her another four or five months at that rate. She would need to figure out how to get more eventually, but for now she had enough.
She had led the tiellans in another decisive battle against the Khalic forces, this time against a large group of reinforcements en route to bolster the Steel Regiment. The River Setso ran red with the blood of Khalic soldiers for days afterwards.
After arriving in Adimora, the Druids had sent small emissary groups to the cities with the most prominent tiellan populations, and hundreds of tiellans had come to join their cause.
The Cracked Spear prisoners she had sent home after fighting their brothers before the battle of the Setso had told the rest of the tiellans in Adimora what had happened. Afterwards, the rest of the Cracked Spear chieftains had united with Ghian under the Druid title. They had pledged their fighters to Winter, and Winter had undisputed command of the Rangers on the field. She had made sure that was clear. In Adimora, however, the power dynamic was complicated—more complicated than Winter thought it needed to be. The chieftains each still had jurisdiction over their own clans, but Ghian was a figure of power in the city now, too. She respected the way he united the tiellan clans; where she intimidated, Ghian soothed, and where she divided, Ghian connected. His leadership was a valuable complement to hers, providing something she could not, and Winter was grateful for his presence.
And now, with the addition of the final Cracked Spear clans, and the influx of female Rangers and other tiellan refugees willing to fight, Winter could field almost nine thousand Rangers—more than half of which were cavalry.
Word of their victories had spread throughout Khale, and tiellans from all over the nation flocked to the Eastmaw Valley, and eventually to Adimora. Between Urstadt, Selldor, Rorie, Eranda, Darrin, and Gord, Winter could even say she had friends, again. Old and new.
And yet, despite all the good, Winter could not shake the feeling that she was an outsider. She experienced it while walking through the depths of Adimora, surrounded by a crowd of her own people, her kin—and yet felt no connection with any of them. Or she experienced it at night, alone, when no one else was around, when she wondered what in Oblivion she was actually doing, leading tiellan forces into battle against her own government.
But, for the most part, she was not unhappy. And that made her cautious.
“I don’t know whether I will ever be able to best you,” Winter said honestly.
>
“I do,” Urstadt smiled, “and you will not.”
Winter laughed again, but was interrupted by someone running up behind her.
“Commander.”
Winter turned to see Selldor walking quickly towards her. She tensed. The recent defeat of the Khalic reinforcements at Lake Dravian would not go unanswered. The Legion would come at her in full force, now. She just hoped it was later rather than sooner.
“What is it, Selldor?” Winter asked, wiping sweat from her brow. As she did, she caught scent of herself. Goddess, she smelled worse than she did after an entire day of fish-gutting in Pranna.
Then, behind Selldor, she noticed a group of tiellans walking towards her. They wore traditional tiellan clothing: long dresses and siaras for the women, long-sleeved shirts, trousers, and araifs for the men.
Tiellans were not, as a general rule, overweight. Winter suspected this had more to do with the fact that food, and ways to pay for food, were more difficult to come by for them than anything else. But the old woman who led the group walking towards her was immense, and Winter had seen her before.
This was Mazille—the tiellan woman who had sold her faltira in Navone, and the only other tiellan psimancer Winter had ever met.
An uneasy weight settled into Winter’s gut.
“I suspected it was you,” Mazille said, her eyes bright beneath a head of long silver hair. Despite her girth and age, she moved easily across the grass towards Winter. “From the moment I saw you, I sensed you were something special.”
“Do you know these people?” Urstadt asked.
“She and I are acquaintances,” Winter said, nodding at Mazille. “The others…”
She remembered rushing through the alley in Navone, fleeing other psimancers. She remembered feeling herself being lifted off the ground by another’s tendron.
Deep in her belly, the uneasy feeling grew.
“What brings you to Adimora?” Winter asked. She still held a sword; the sheathed tip rested on the ground with her hand wrapped around the pommel. She was suddenly very aware of her appearance: sweaty, smelly, and disheveled.
Why do you care what these people think of you? Winter wondered to herself. They are just like all of the other tiellans.
And yet they were not. They were like her.
“What brings any tiellan to Adimora?” Mazille asked with a smile. She stopped a few paces away from Winter, and her companions—five others, male and female tiellans, representing a wide age range—stopped with her. “The draw to our cause,” Mazille said, answering her own question. “The cause of the Druids. And, of course, rumors of a tiellan warrior who can’t be beaten in battle.”
Winter gripped the pommel of her sword. She had a frost crystal in the pouch at her belt, as she always did, but she did not want to take one in front of this woman and her companions. She could use acumency, of course, but that was always risky. Half of the time when Winter used acumency, she ended up in the Void, her body going dormant in the Sfaera. She could not risk that now.
But, for all she knew, these psimancers had their tendra at the ready, and could attack her at any moment.
Then, Mazille knelt before Winter, and her companions followed suit.
“’Tis our pleasure to present ourselves at your service, Winter Cordier,” Mazille said, her head bowed.
Winter stared at the people kneeling before her. Then she glanced around, suddenly very self-conscious.
“Rise,” Winter said quickly, regaining her senses. “Who are your companions, Mazille?” Despite their show of fealty, Winter still did not trust them.
“Ah, you do remember me,” the woman said, smiling. “Wasn’t sure that’d be the case.”
“You are the only other tiellan psimancer I’ve ever met,” Winter said. “I’m not likely to forget you.”
“Of course, my dear. Forgive my rudeness; I’ll introduce my companions. This one is Opal,” Mazille said, indicating another older woman, to her right. “She’s been with me the longest.” Opal was tall for a tiellan woman, and bone-thin, in stark contrast to Mazille.
Mazille pointed to an older man standing to her left. His pointed ears protruded from long locks of straight silver hair, despite his wrinkled skin and stooped stature. “Phares has been with me for almost as long. Orsolya and Astasios are siblings.” She indicated a man and woman, both a few years Winter’s senior. Both had long brown hair, and light brown, almost golden, eyes.
Finally, Mazille looked at the last of her group, a young lad, perhaps in his fifteenth year. Blonde hair. Light eyes. Serious expression. The lad reminded Winter very much of Lian. “Vlak’s our newest. He came to us shortly after you and I met, in fact.”
“Are they all psimancers?” Winter asked.
Mazille smiled nervously, her face turning red. “Ain’t typical for us to talk about such things in public, though—”
“I don’t care what you usually do and do not do,” Winter said. “I asked you a question.”
The color in Mazille’s face deepened. “Of course. We’re all psimancers, as you put it, yes.”
“Telenics? Acumens?”
Mazille frowned, and behind her Phares coughed. Winter was making them uncomfortable. Good. She was glad of it. They had to know they had the same effect on her, coming to see her here.
“I really think it’d be better to discuss this in private, Winter—”
“I think we’re discussing it quite effectively here and now.”
Mazille threw up her arms. “Well then. I’m a telenic, as you’ve likely noticed, as are Orsolya and Astasios. Opal and Phares are both acumens.”
“And Vlak?”
“Vlak is a voyant,” Mazille said.
A voyant. Winter had not met one face to face before. She stared at the young man without hiding her curiosity.
“Which one of you attacked me in the alleyway?” Winter asked. And then, suddenly, the reason the worrying weight had settled in her stomach was clear to her. If these people were psimancers, at least some of them were variants—they required the use of frost to access their power. There was a point where Winter would have done anything to secure more frost for herself. She was not sure she was beyond that point now, in fact.
There was no telling what these people might do.
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then Astasios stepped forward. “That was me, madam,” he said, bowing his head.
“He only did what I ordered him to do,” Mazille inserted. “The amount of faltira you bought from us was valuable. Can’t blame us for attempting to get it back.”
Winter snorted. She hadn’t stolen the faltira; she’d paid for it, and at an exorbitant price nonetheless.
“Forgive me, Winter, but we’ve traveled a great distance. We’re hungry. Let us get a meal. Let us rest our feet. Then, we’ll tell you all you want to know.”
Reluctantly, Winter nodded. She could use a bath, anyway.
* * *
That night, after cleaning herself up, Winter sat at one of the large campfires in upper Adimora. Mazille and her group had been billeted with the Druids in the upper city, near the massive rihnemin, and now sat around the fire with Winter. Urstadt had accompanied her at her request—for protection, and because Winter found there was very little the woman didn’t know about her. What she was afraid to tell Eranda or Gord, Urstadt already knew.
“I assume you have something to discuss with me,” Winter said, when Mazille remained silent across the fire from her.
“I do, Winter, but…” Mazille glanced at Urstadt. “I don’t understand why you brought a humans here.”
“Urstadt is close to me. I trust her more than anyone else on the Sfaera.”
“Never been comfortable around humans,” Mazille grumbled. “Ain’t sure I can—”
“You’ll either tell me what you have to tell me, in their presence, or you will not,” Winter said. She did not have time for such discomforts. There had been a time when she could hardly look a human in the eye.
Things were different for her, now.
Mazille cleared her throat. “Very well, Winter. We will do as you ask.” She paused, looking closely at Winter. “You have taken faltira recently, have you not?”
Winter forced her face to remain expressionless. She had taken a frost crystal when she’d seen Mazille and the others approaching. How had Mazille discerned this? “I have,” she said. No use hiding it.
“You have learned how to create it yourself, then? Is that how you perpetuate your supply?”
“I can provide for my needs well enough,” Winter said cautiously, although speaking of the topic brought the heavy suspicion back into her gut.
“But you have not learned how to make it yourself?” Mazille asked, her head cocking to one side.
“Not yet,” Winter said. She hoped the woman might offer to teach her, but no such offer came. It had been so long since she had spoken to someone who could help her learn more about psimancy. Kali had not approached her since their falling out in the Void, and that was fine with Winter. She had never trusted Kali.
She did not trust Mazille, either, but Mazille was here, and Winter might as well take advantage of that. Frost burned within her, and she was ready for anything Mazille might try.
“Do you know of the Nazaniin?” Winter asked.
Mazille nodded. “We have little to do with them.”
“They are psimancers too,” Winter said. “You could learn from them.”
“There is nothing of any importance we could learn from them,” Mazille spat. “They are abominations. They have inherited something that is not theirs.”
Winter narrowed her eyes. “They seem to understand psimancy far better than you do,” she said. “And unless you’ve hidden groups of psimancers throughout the Sfaera, there seem to be far more of them, too.” Winter realized how likely what she had just said might actually be. That was the Nazaniin’s tactic, after all—plant their cotirs in as many major cities as possible, gathering information.
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