by Aaron Crash
His dusza felt empty. He’d come close to using every bit of magic inside of him, but he had to ponder Siteev’s words. He shouldn’t have been able to cancel out her spells, and yet, he had.
Swaying lights twinkled from the north—it was from a lantern hanging off the bow of a boat. Ymir retrieved his hatchet and his battle ax, and he waited, because he knew who it would be. The Princept Della Pennez had found them with her fucking magic.
The boat approached. Della stood next to the lantern. Behind her, on the deck, were Gharam Ssornap and Brodor Bootblack, along with a few other orc guards. One steered while the other four rowed. It was an official college craft, with the coat of arms painted on the side of a wooden shelter at the back. It also had a mast, though there was no sail—it didn’t need one with the orcs oaring furiously.
The Morbuskor man grumbled laughter. “Boy, you have ruined my dancing tonight, and caused us such trouble. You are a pain in my backside.”
“At least it’s only your ass,” Ymir said. “I had to stab Siteev Ckins through her heart. It seems so many of us are having a bad night.” The lie felt natural on his lips. Better that he take the blame than Jenny.
The casual mention of murder made Brodor glower. Gharam couldn’t even look at the barbarian.
When the boat pulled alongside the island, the Princept floated up and landed on the stone. She went up to Ymir.
He smiled at her. “I suppose I’m in trouble for killing the professor. Would it matter that she tried to murder us first? It seems she didn’t like that a barbarian had magic. Imagine that?” He searched her eyes, trying to discover if Della Pennez was a part of Siteev’s mysterious “we.”
“I will deal with you later,” the Princept snapped. “First, let me see to these other scholars. Brodor is right. You are a pain in our backsides.”
Ymir stepped back. He was glad Della was there. The Princept bent over Jenny first, and whispered, “Jelu cura.” The red burns vanished from the swamp woman’s face, but she stayed sleeping. The Princept healed Lillee next. The scrapes on the elf’s skin healed over right before his eyes.
Magic could be so powerful, so useful.
Yet he recalled what Siteev had said. She’d claimed the Akkiric Rings were evil, and he’d put one on his hand. He pulled it off and felt the shift in his power immediately. It did focus his power, but it didn’t affect him either way. He put it back on. The ring was fine.
He helped load his friends and the body of the professor onto the boat.
Then the Gruul guards started rowing them toward the hidden docks. They’d been fortunate. Clouds cluttered up the heavens, and in short order, rains fell. The Princept and her people took shelter with Ymir’s two women lying on cushioned benches.
As for the clansman, he stood out in the downpour, rejoicing in life.
Siteev was dead. He wasn’t. And there was power in that—in the beat of his heart, in the magic ring on his finger, and in the magic filling his soul.
People were afraid of him. Good. They should be.
Chapter Thirty-Six
THE HONORED PRINCEPT checked a clock and saw it was a little before midnight. That explained her weariness.
Della sat across from the barbarian at her desk in the Librarium Citadel. It had been quite a night, and still, it wasn’t over. Ymir’s two friends were in the infirmary, awake and doing well. Thank goodness for that. Both were high-profile scholars in their own right.
Yes, the Sullied elf, this Nehenna girl, had been cast away by her kingly father in Greenhome, which is why she was at the Majestrial. Her death, however, would’ve spread through the Ohlyrran Forests and cast a pall on Old Ironbound. Fewer elves would be willing to trek across the continent.
As for Jennybelle Josen, she came from a rich, powerful family. Her mother might not have the will to send investigators, if not assassins, but the aunt, Jiabelle Josen, was not so tame. Jia was a fearsome woman and not someone Della wanted to trifle with.
The Princept would have to send a sand letter to the Alumni Consortium. She knew what their reaction would be: a full investigation into the death of Siteev Ckins. They would want to know how she died and the nature of her relationship with the barbarian. Also, there would be questions about that barbarian’s performance in his First Exam.
Della didn’t think the investigation would end her career at the Majestrial. Other professors had died, other scholars had as well—people had a way of doing that, especially when magic was involved. They did what they could to keep people safe. Life was fragile. Death was hungry.
Ymir, son of Ymok, wasn’t going to say a word.
The music still played in the Throne Auditorium. Scholars still danced. The party wouldn’t end until dawn, not until the sun rose on a new day. Some scholars would stumble from the party into the Chapel of the Tree for the early morning sabbath services.
Della, herself, had done such a thing when she’d attended Old Ironbound two hundred years prior.
She noted his silence. “You aren’t saying much.”
“What is there to say?” the clansman asked. “I would imagine you’ll turn me over to the StormCry constables for trespassing in the Sunfire Tower and then for the murder of Siteev. I’ll find a way to escape, and I’ll find one of these hedge mages to teach me more. Or maybe a Gruul shaman. At least on the Blood Steppes I could sell my ax for money while I learn. It would be more interesting than the drudgery of this place. Courtly Manners and Arts? You would’ve wasted my time with that nonsense.”
He chuckled as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“You’ll find a way to escape?” she asked.
“Bash a skull. Kill a constable. Use my magic to weaken the iron bars of a jail cell.” He grinned at her. “The bars in the Flow Tower came away easily enough. I nearly fell.”
“We know,” Della said with some distaste. She pondered what he’d said, his plan, his future. “Can I see your ring?”
He took it off and placed it on the desk.
The Black Ice Ring. Siteev had been smart to think of the Akkiric Rings, even smarter to give Ymir the idea. Anonymously, of course. Della had seen that much, but then her Flow sight grew hazy, unclear. She wasn’t as gifted with Flow as she was with Sunfire. And yet, she’d seen Siteev with Ymir as bright as day, as well as some other things.
Ymir smiled. “Siteev said the ring might be evil, but I don’t think it is. It does give me focus and extra power, but I can still function without it. Thank the Axman, not that he’d care. I’m just glad I don’t have another curse to deal with.”
Della picked up the ring—ice and gold. She hissed in pain and dropped it. So cold, the ring had frozen her fingers in an instant. How could Ymir stand it?
He obviously could. He slid it onto his finger.
The Princept listed his sins. “Murder, trespassing, insubordination. Gharam will hold a grudge against you for decades. Also, destruction of property in the Flow Tower. We should turn you over to the Sorrow Coast Kingdom and their legal system.”
“You should,” Ymir said. “But you shouldn’t punish Jenny or Lillee. They are both innocent. I will make you a deal, Della. I won’t say a word about Siteev, or any of this, if you show leniency to those two.”
“You will call me Princept.” Della’s words came out forcefully. “And I will not be blackmailed. Siteev Ckins was a troubled woman with a past, the daughter of pirates. We can tell a story that she became obsessed with you, and you killed her out of self-defense. She will take the blame for this whole unfortunate situation.”
“And you won’t mention the ring?” Ymir asked.
“No,” she answered. “You won’t either. And you won’t wear it, not until everyone in your class gets their rings at the end of this year.”
“My class?” He lost his smile and cast his muddy brown eyes down. “I didn’t pass the First Exam. I don’t have a place here anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Della was genuinely confused.
Ymir shr
ugged. “I didn’t pass the First Exam.”
“But I sent a messenger to find you after I heard. You didn’t get the message?”
“I didn’t.”
Della clenched her teeth and shook her head. “Someone must’ve intercepted the message. I will find out who, and they will be punished. I sent for you, to tell you that while you failed, the examiner saw some irregularities in your test. She wanted me to review your case. You heard something different, didn’t you?”
“From Professor Leel, yes,” Ymir agreed.
“Professor Leel and I are going to have to have a long chat.” The Princept sighed. “You didn’t fail the First Exam, did you?”
“I didn’t.” He raised his eyes, which blazed blue before they turned back to brown. “I was sabotaged by another scholar, but I won’t tattle. We can blame Siteev for that as well. She had it in for me.” He furrowed his brow. “After all that’s happened, you can’t possibly want me to stay.”
Della wondered how much she should tell the barbarian. There were truths she’d rather keep to herself. She was playing a game, not only with her career at the Majestrial, but also with forces that were threatening Thera’s future. The next few years would be critical for a variety of reasons, from the merfolk in the Weeping Sea to the Wingkin from the southern continent to the rogue orc Gulnash.
And then there was this Midnight Guild. Siteev had been one of their agents, Della was certain of it. Best not to mention that to Ymir.
The Princept leaned back in her chair. She regarded him, trying not to stare at the devil’s dimple on his left cheek or the muscles of his shoulders or the swell of his hard chest. Keeping him around would provide her any number of amusements. She was grateful to that murderous bitch Siteev Ckins for one thing: she’d shown that professors sleeping with scholars was a terrible idea.
Della would keep her answer coy, peppered with truths, but not too many. “I don’t doubt that if you left here, you would find your way. You have a destiny. I’d be a fool not to see that.”
He scratched his face and gave her a bored look. “And?”
“And if you were to leave under suspicious circumstances, scholars, faculty, staff, the Alumni Consortium, they would all talk. Rumors would trump any sort of truth. And when you did rise? I would be the one to blame for not keeping you here.” She thought about what she’d said. Not a single word was a lie.
Ymir didn’t hide his bemusement. “Self-interest I understand. So you and I will have our story to stop the rumors. Siteev became obsessed with me, sabotaged my First Exam, and lured me to the AngelTeeth Islands. She tried to kill me. I killed her. Siteev Ckins will get the blame, and my crimes will be forgiven. Not by Gharam, no, but by you and the school. This deal must include Jenny and Lillee. They truly are blameless.”
She wasn’t sure he was telling the truth, but she liked his story. “No talk of the Akkiric Rings. And let’s be clear, you will not make another one.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because such power has a way of corrupting even the purest of people. And you are not pure.” She thought about asking him to give up the Black Ice Ring. Instead, she’d do her own research first. There were any number of rumors about such artifacts. It might be nothing. It probably was.
“I’m not pure.” His grin showed that. His arrogance as well.
She had to drive the point home. “No more creating magic items, do you hear me? Upon pain of death. I swear.”
“And who will kill me?” he asked. “You?”
She fixed her gaze on him. “Yes. You wouldn’t be the first scholar I’ve killed. Do not test my magic, my skill with a sword, or my patience. You are an exceptional young man, and I will not throw you away, not when you have accepted your dusza. You didn’t destroy it. That’s why Siteev attacked you.”
“I didn’t destroy it.” He didn’t glance away. “I’m going to use my dusza for the good of my friends. That’s the only reason why I’m staying at your elkshit school.”
That made the Princept laugh. “Your disdain is entertaining. In time, you will become a powerful alumnus of this fine institution. You will look back at these years as the best of your life. You like to learn, Ymir, and you like the women here. Both feed your ambition.”
“You don’t want to know about my ambition.” He changed subjects. “Siteev was working for others. She mentioned a ‘we’ that wanted me either without magic or dead. You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you?”
Della kept all emotion off her face. He might as well have asked her if she thought it would rain. “I have no idea. Like I said, she was troubled.” After the lie, she too changed the subject. “You will go back to your work study program, you and Lillee. I heard about the arrangement you made with Darisbeau Cujan and Odd Corry. I’m not sure how that came to be, but that ends. Now.”
Ymir’s lips curled into a grin, ever so slightly. “And so, you want to lord your power over me because you’re unsure of yourself. Very well. I will allay your fears. Yes, I will go back to sweeping for now. But not Lillee, not until winter solstice break. By that time, I will have enough to buy us both our full tuition and our housing.”
Della laughed and shook her head at the clansman. “You barter well. I pity the Summertown fisher folk. I would imagine those contracts were very sophisticated.”
The praise didn’t impress Ymir. “I’ll work. Lillee won’t. We have our story. Do we have a deal?”
The Princept waved a hand. “The elf doesn’t matter. The rings do. No more studying them, and you won’t use that one until the end of the year. You’ll work directly with me for your class schedule. If I assign you a class, you will go to it.”
“Or you’ll kill me?”
He hadn’t forgotten the threat. She wasn’t sorry for making it. “Nothing so dramatic...unless I see you embrace any kind of dark sorcery. Then, yes, you and I will fight. I won’t die like Professor Ckins. And I won’t be overpowered like Professor Ssornap”
“Your threats are entertaining,” Ymir echoed what she’d said.
The barbarian stood and spit in his hand. He held it out.
Della liked that. Their juices would seal the deal. She stood and spit in her hand. They clasped their wet palms together.
“We are bound by spit but also by Siteev’s blood,” Della said. “Let hers be the last death that either of us has to deal with during your time here.”
They dropped hands.
Ymir smiled at her. “What did we agree upon again? You should’ve written up our agreement, Princept. My memory isn’t very good at times.”
He spun and strutted down the steps, barefoot, without a robe, adorned in elk leather.
The Princept watched him go. She sat down and rubbed her hands together until the spit dried. She thought of the old adage about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. Yes, keeping Ymir at the Majestrial was a very good idea, though it might strain the credulity of some faculty members. Gharam Ssornap, for one. The old Gruul professor would want Ymir expelled, not so much for killing Siteev, but for disrespecting him.
Della thought about the scholar who had sabotaged Ymir’s First Exam. And who had intercepted her messenger? Could it be Professor Leel? It could. More likely, it was one of the men he’d bested, the Cujan man, or the Corry lad, or even the Farmington viscount. But what if it was another agent of the Midnight Guild?
The Princept would have to keep watch, keep scrying, and keep sending sand letters to her contacts at the various universities and guilds. A hidden enemy was about, one who would kill scholars if it fit their agenda.
Della would acquire her own allies in the fight against them. Perhaps Ymir would join her.
She raised her hand to sniff Ymir’s spit on her skin. She grinned at her shame, curled her hand into a fist, and tapped her lips. She was two hundred and fifty years old, and yet, at times, she could still be such a horny schoolgirl. That idea was thrilling and just a bit unsettling.
Chapte
r Thirty-Seven
NEARLY ONE IN THE MORNING, on the most exhausting night of her life, and Jennybelle Josen stood in the Librarium Citadel, conflicted.
Should she walk back to her apartment and slip on a gown? Maybe find one for Lillee? Or should the two go into the Throne Auditorium as they were—damp from the AngelTeeth Islands, their hair a mess, and their energy levels depleted. Still, Ymir would be there. He’d visited them, told them about his long conversation with the Princept, and then offered to stay.
Jenny could see how much he wanted to go down to the Throne Auditorium, and she knew why. At least that was one mystery that didn’t need solving.
The Josentown princess was feeling good. The Princept’s healing magic had held, as did some appann root they got in the infirmary. And no one was getting kicked out. Jenny couldn’t believe how well it had gone. They wouldn’t be expelled. They wouldn’t be punished. Even better, Ymir wanted him and Lillee to move in with her. That would be tricky. The longer they kept their relationship a secret, especially from Nelly, the better.
Jenny finally made up her mind. She latched onto Lillee’s arm. “We’ve got to go freshen up. This is our first feast together, and we look like ragamuffins.”
Lillee grinned at her. The elf girl didn’t say a word, but she drew close.
They ran to Jenny’s apartments, threw off their clothes, and threw themselves under the warm water to get some of the brine off their skin. Lillee soaped herself while Jenny watched. The elf girl was singing a beautiful melody to herself. The lyrics were in Ohlyrran.
The Josentown princess was tempted by the slender figure of the singing elf, and those big pink nipples, and her fleshy oheesy. Lillee still had her cuff on, though. That was probably for the best. They could have sex later.
Jenny had a blue gown she zipped up with matching blue slippers. Finding anything to fit Lillee was going to be much harder. The elf was far taller and far less busty, and her hips were not as lush. Also, her coloring was different than the swamp princess’s.
