Fire Dance
Page 40
She thought of the world to which she journeyed, the world beyond this, and wondered if there would be others to meet her there. Or if it was a void into which one tumbled, as into sleep. A mystery Edrien Letrell had never unveiled to her. Perhaps such revelations were forbidden even to the dead.
Valanir had died trying to save her. If she had a chance to thank him, or ask forgiveness, that would be something.
It should have been you, she’d said to him after Darien died. So coldly. At the time she’d seen the shaft sink home, by the look in his eyes. She did not doubt he’d remembered those words, carried them. If not for that, would Valanir Ocune still be alive?
Lin stiffened against the stake, against the cut of the ropes, as the flames encircled. Remarkable that regret could torment her even now, at the end of everything.
Or perhaps, now that she looked at the shape her life had taken—an arc completed—she could not help but see where it was flawed. Where she had failed.
The flames rose higher. Lin became aware that in all the valley she—the fire she fueled—was the only source of light. Otherwise it had grown completely dark. Here, then, was her task.
Vanquish a shadow.
The song around her gathered force. Still it sounded like cries of grief. More so as time passed. Building almost to rage, if mourning could be called thus. Her death was to be sacrifice and a weapon—both at once.
It was hard to imagine that beyond the portal were any she loved. Such was the most desperate desire of man poured in prayer to all the gods. That yearning for continuity. But desires and reality were not akin—a thing life and even the people she’d loved had taught her again and again.
Smoke surrounded her, shortened her breath. It would not be long.
Nearly done. Nearly done, at the last.
She was in a hall of columns. It was cool here. She wondered if her body had given out, if she’d fainted or suffocated and was now in a dream. The singing was still audible, but less, as though it came from a great distance. This was a place of peace, where she glimpsed a pool just beyond the colonnade. Its surface like a mirror.
And there beside her was Edrien Letrell, looking fit and handsome as he had in his youth. His youth, which she knew so well; had practically inhabited. How much she was attached to, understood, admired, loved, envied, hated this man. How often had she not been sure where the revered Seer ended and she began. And now he stood beside her. Separate. Resplendent in blue and gold, as if for some occasion. The famed gold harp at his side.
The singing was pitched higher now, she could hear. As if the Fire Dancers emptied their voices, themselves, of all they had.
Edrien’s gaze was full of humor. “That numskull brought me back, not knowing what it would do. To me, or to you.”
“Darien? He was well-intentioned,” she said. “What’s more, he has paid.”
He reached out and traced the mark above her eye. “This should be yours. Yours alone.” He laughed. “There are many worlds,” he said. “I never thought to learn more than I had already discovered in the realm of death. But now there is so much more I know, having lived through your eyes. Yet never will I be able to translate it to music. A loss I must accept.” He took her hand, set it to his lips. “Safe travels, always,” he said, with sparkling eyes.
Lin was kneeling in a pile of ash and dirt, back in the open field. Her clothes had burned away. So had her bonds. She looked down at herself, at her arms and legs. Ash made a grey film on her skin. But beneath this, there were markings. Delicate lines spiraling around all her limbs, that shone through the patina of ash. Markings like gold.
“The sacrifice is done.” Sicaro, coming forward. He sounded awed. “Bring the Court Poet something to cover herself.”
Lin found herself wrapped in white, a soft cloak. Her thoughts were descending back to the reality of where she was; she didn’t understand. “The sacrifice? But…”
“You’re alive,” said Sicaro. “I wouldn’t question the goddess in this matter. But if I could suggest something…”
She stared up at him. Hugging the cloak tight around herself. Wonderingly she stared at her own hand, that at various angles shimmered gold. Two enter into the dance. One survives. “The Magician,” she said. Murmured to herself. As if in answer, from the depths of her mind where once had been another voice, was silence.
“You weren’t alone,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. She strode to the heap of ash, not caring what they thought or what they might see of her body when the cloak shifted. Knelt before the pyre that had earlier been a tower of flame. That had been some time ago; the night nearly done. She wasn’t certain what she searched for, but she found it in the remains of the fire. A round, smooth stone. Black, yet a splendor of many colors. Seemingly every color in the world showed in it as it caught the light.
She cupped it in her hands. This was what remained of him. Of the Seer Edrien Letrell. And she was certain as she had ever been that he’d meant it for her. A black opal, such as had never been before in an Academy ring.
Nor had there ever before been a poet quite like her.
The stone was warm from the pyre. She strode back towards the king of the Jitana. “It’s true—I was not alone when I came here,” she said. “I am now.”
* * *
SHE was bathed, gently, by women in a tent. Clothed in a dress of her choosing, soft linen, but grey. She wanted nothing just now of colors. Her thoughts were with the dead. The women respected her wish for silence.
Later that day, a horseman rode into camp with tidings. “They battled all through the night,” said the man to King Sicaro. “No use. Though Majdara is intact, yet. We believe the shadow was halted, perhaps even sustained damage, before it could reach the capital. But…”
“What news of the Zahra?” said Lin.
He looked at her, then at Sicaro. The king nodded, granting permission. The horseman said, “It is burning.”
EPILOGUE
WHEN they dragged him into the underground chamber Ned was already considering the ways he could ensure a good death for himself, if nothing else. The room was shadowy, lit with torches, but he could see it was furnished like a tavern. That matched the description he’d expected. The Brotherhood of Thieves had become familiar to him in the past weeks, as first he’d stalked various of their members, looked for an opening. Ever-nearer to his target.
What he had not expected was that they might find him first.
The men who held Ned between them were enormous and armed with knives; there was no use struggling. They threw him down, hands rough in his hair, which had grown shaggy, as had his beard. Gripping his hair, they pulled his face up to the light. One said, “We found him, Master. What are your orders?”
A figure came forward. Looked down upon Ned. He stared up at the figure, clad in breeches and a dashing red cloak, but still familiar. A sword was buckled to her side. “It seems I found you, Rihab,” he said. “Or perhaps you found me. Was I a loose end?”
She approached, set a hand on his head. “Raise him up,” she told the men. They did so, and Ned straightened, loosened his shoulders. Now he could look into her eyes, though this was no help; they were unreadable as ever. “I knew you sought me,” she said. “I know everything that happens in this city, Ned.”
“So it’s you who took over the Brotherhood,” he said.
She smiled. “I’ve always valued your intelligence. Even if you never did beat me at chess. Yes, I took over the Brotherhood.”
“You killed the Safehouse chiefs.”
She nodded. “Men I admired greatly, but they had to die. There was no other way. You understand, Ned. That is the game.”
“What I don’t understand,” he said, “is what you want. Being what you are. What do you play at here?”
Her expression was gentle. “Ned, I lied to you. But I also told you the truth. It’s true I am a Fire Dancer. I am the daughter of King Sicaro, sent to the Zahra to seduce Eldakar and spy on him. My true
name is not Rihab. It is Myrine. The name of a long-ago warrior queen, such as my father hoped I’d become.”
Ned cleared his throat, which had grown hoarse. “Yet you say you told the truth.”
“Yes. I wanted you to know, Ned, because there was something in you I thought I could trust. What I told you the night in the garden was true. I came to the Zahra to conquer and was, myself, conquered.” She smiled. “I am, I’m afraid, a disappointment to my people in that regard. I love Eldakar and will do anything to protect him. But was powerless to do so in the Zahra. Was a liability to him there, with the politics in play. But here in the city is a force that has always been organized, well-trained, strong. All they need is a new purpose. And leader.”
Ned’s jaw dropped. “You can’t mean…”
She smiled. “I see you’ve got it. Eldakar escaped the invasion and will try to rally the provinces. This fight will continue, that is certain. He will need help. And here, in Majdara, is a force at the ready.”
“Which you will lead.”
“Which I lead.”
Ned breathed deep to still the rattling of his heart. He wanted to go bravely. “Now that you’ve told me all, I imagine I am indeed a loose end for you—Myrine. Will you do one thing for me? I would get word to my wife. I’d have her know … that she is free. So she won’t have to wonder what happened to me.”
The queen—for so he could not help thinking of her—laughed. “Ever the honorable knight. Still unaware of how the pieces upon our battleground interact—the acts that must be carried out. Not those executed by caprice, or worse—in error.” Her fingers trailed down the back of his head, through his hair. Sending a chill all through him. Coming to rest, at last, at the back of his neck. “Kill you?” she said. “I’d hoped, rather, that you would join with me.”
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Acknowledgments
I received invaluable feedback on the final draft of Fire Dance from Batya Ungar-Sargon, Scott Hawkins, and Seth Dickinson.
These books would not exist without the encouragement and steadfast support of my agent, John Silbersack, and my editor at Tor, Marco Palmieri. I especially appreciate their patience as I took time to wrestle this book into what I needed it to be.
Most of all I am grateful for my life partner, Jack Reichert, who is a source of light in this world.
Tor Books by Ilana C. Myer
Last Song Before Night
Fire Dance
About the Author
ILANA C. MYER has worked as a journalist in Jerusalem and a cultural critic for various publications. As Ilana Teitelbaum she has written book reviews and critical essays for The Globe and Mail, the Los Angeles Review of Books, Salon, and the Huffington Post. Last Song Before Night was her first novel, followed by Fire Dance. She lives in New York.
Visit her online at ilanacmyer.com, or sign up for email updates here.
Twitter: @IlanaCT
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Map
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part II
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part III
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part IV
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Tor Books by Ilana C. Myer
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
FIRE DANCE
Copyright © 2018 by Ilana C. Myer
All rights reserved.
Map by Jennifer Hanover
Cover art by Stephan Martiniere
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-7832-3 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-6104-6 (ebook)
eISBN 9781466861046
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First Edition: April 2018