Blood Mercy (Blood Grace Book 1)

by Vela Roth

  If only her own course seemed so simple as the one that governed his life.

  She glanced at the sinking sun. If she did not dawdle, she had just enough time before dusk rites to talk to the Prisma.

  When she stepped into the antechamber, her heart pounded, warning her what her body would do to her if she went through with the plan she was about to propose. The knot in her belly agreed with Irene that Cassia had no place even attempting this. All her life, Cassia had agreed with that, too. Everyone had. Except Lio.

  Curse him. She was not doing this because of what he had said. She was doing it because she wanted her hours at that table to produce more than another night of sweating and nausea. Because she was just corrupt enough to want a place at that table and just virtuous enough to want to use it to erase the look of despair she had seen on the Prisma’s face at the news there would be no medicine.

  The vestibule door opened, and thankfully it was sympathetic Deutera who invited Cassia inside. Cassia entered with one hand on Knight’s ruff to steady herself, and Deutera departed, shutting the door behind them.

  The Prisma stood before Kyria, half turned away from the door. She had draped her apron over a nearby chair in anticipation of dusk rites. “Lady Cassia. Can I do something for you?”

  Cassia cleared her throat. Her stomach seemed to have leapt into it and lodged there to stop her words from coming out. She swallowed. “Actually I came to ask if I might do something for you.”

  The mage turned, wearing a smile that must have cost her a great deal of effort. “Do not feel you have anything to make up for, child. The rimelace is out of our reach.”

  “Perhaps it isn’t.”

  The Prisma’s brows lifted over her tired eyes. “You think there may yet be a chance?”

  Cassia swallowed again. “It would require broad permission from you, but if it is acceptable to you, I will do my part.”

  “Please, go on.”

  “If you will allow me…” Cassia’s belly flopped. Her sweat-soaked gardening dress would need washing when she returned to the palace. When she escaped…and fled toward her fate. “…I could convey to the Summit your concerns about the frost fever and plead on your behalf that they reconsider their decision regarding the Hesperines’ gift of healing herbs.”

  The Prisma came to her and took her hands. Her grip, firm but gentle, stilled Cassia’s shaking.

  Cassia dropped her gaze to their joined hands. The Prisma’s were strong and callused from hard work, brown from time spent in the sun. The little marks and discolorations on them were not unlike Cassia’s freckles, although she had been born with hers, and the Prisma had earned hers through a life of harsh endeavor and exposure to the elements. Cassia could imagine the hands that held hers had saved many lives, while Cassia’s had been busy clinging to her own.

  “You have overcome a great deal to suggest this,” the Prisma said. “I appreciate what more you must overcome to act on it. Kyria bless you for acting.”

  Cassia resisted the urge to tighten her hold on those hands. For steadiness. For…comfort? “Then you will permit me?”

  “Lady Cassia, I would not be ashamed before the goddess to beg you.”

  Cassia swallowed again. “What message shall I deliver to the Summit for you?”

  “Tell the truth about the outbreak. Inform the king and Council they must take immediate action to provide the medicine if they expect my mages to protect anyone. We are out of time. We must have the rimelace now, or there will be no hope.” The Prisma gave Cassia’s hands a squeeze.

  Cassia flexed stiff fingers and returned the gesture. “I will wait no longer to speak.”

  Cassia Speaks

  Cassia spent the hour before the Summit in her bedchamber, emptying her stomach until nothing came but dry heaves. When Perita finally dared enter despite the absence of a summons, Cassia knew dusk had fallen. She was out of time.

  Perita hovered a pace away for a moment. Cassia, her head still over her basin, imagined the girl wringing her hands.

  “You are too ill to go,” Perita said.

  “I must go.”

  Knight stood still and strong while Cassia used him as leverage and got herself to her feet. She paused to swallow repeatedly. Perita waited a moment, then closed in, a damp cloth in each hand.

  She pressed a cool rag to Cassia’s forehead. The other, which Perita must have warmed at the fire, she used to wipe Cassia’s mouth. Cassia made herself stand still and not jerk away. Embarrassment trembled in her already tortured belly. Then tears pricked at the back of her eyes. The final humiliation.

  With her usual diligence, Perita undressed Cassia and slid her finest linen tunica and bronze court gown over her head. They would be soaked with sweat in moments.

  Cassia could tell herself how many lives she might save. How glad and grateful the Prisma would be. That at least one person at the table would not judge her. He wouldn’t even gloat that he had told her so. He would congratulate her afterward. None of it was enough to get her out of this room, knowing she would speak before the king. Without his permission.

  Cassia clutched at Knight’s ruff, leaning some of her weight on him. Even he was not enough.

  Perita knelt and wrestled Cassia’s slippers onto her feet. She was dressed. No more excuses to delay.

  “We must go.” Perita twisted the knife.

  Cassia realized she could no longer see the room before her, just dark blotches on her vision. She lost her sense of where the floor was.

  Anger surged inside her. Her own body was going to betray her and prevent her from going anywhere. All this effort, wasted. She was going to tumble right to the floor in a dead faint, powerless to stop it.

  She flung out a hand, reaching for anything to steady her. Wood met her flesh. Bedstead? She gripped it with all her strength and dragged in a breath.

  She would not succumb. She refused. She would not be powerless.

  Her vision cleared, the roar in her ears eased. She could hear Knight whining and Perita asking her if she was all right.

  Cassia straightened. “I am ready to go.”

  Every step from her room to the pavilion was an act of will. She did not look at anything but the way in front of her own feet. Not at the free lords taking their seats. Not at the Hesperines across the table. Not at the Mage King’s throne and…him.

  She pushed herself through the final obstacle of the mage ward and walked straight to the herald with her skin stinging. She kept her head down at a modest angle, but looked in his eyes.

  He stared at her, his lip curling in an uncertain expression. She must not give him a chance to speak.

  She held out her hand, showing him her dirty fingernails and the Kyrian mages’ seal. The bluestone medallion engraved with the goddess’s glyph felt smooth and weighty on Cassia’s palm. She focused on it. “On behalf of the Prisma of the Temple of Kyria at Solorum, I submit myself as a speaker before His Majesty, the honorable Council of Free Lords, and His Majesty’s esteemed guests from Orthros.”

  Silence was a little bubble around her and the herald. It grew, swelling out and out. The herald looked her up and down. The whole Summit did so, she knew. But she only had to look at the herald. He bowed and retreated. Cassia did not watch, but she heard him murmuring, and the voice that answered in low tones was Lord Titus’s.

  Sooner than she expected, the herald returned. “On behalf of His Majesty, Lord Titus conveys his welcome and invites you to speak once His Majesty’s business is concluded.”

  At the very end of the night. She would have to endure through all the debates. “Convey my thanks to Lord Titus.”

  She was doing well. She had managed to get the words out of her mouth. Now she was finding her chair. Sitting down. Correcting her posture.

  One moment at a time. She would defeat each as it came.

  She did not hear the discussion. She tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that the speeches were more important to the free lords than her little scene be
fore the herald, and no one had time to speculate as to her intentions. The free lords’ voices blurred together, and then the musical tones of the Hesperines—not Lio, everyone but Lio. Her battle with herself allowed her to spare just enough thought to realize he was not speaking tonight.

  The king never spoke at the Summit. That was the one certainty she could rely on.

  To keep staring at Lord Nonus’s left heel was an excellent strategy. She would appear as if she were paying attention, but the king remained outside her peripheral vision.

  An eternity passed, one moment at a time.

  Then Lord Titus announced for the king what His Majesty did not want. “On behalf of His Majesty, I ask the honorable Council of Free Lords and our esteemed guests from Orthros to hear Lady Cassia Basilis.”

  Would the king lift a hand and put a stop to Cassia’s plan then and there?

  She stood. The green’s dampness seeped around the leather soles of her slippers and through the upper fabric.

  No one spoke. No one called out to halt her.

  The king was not going to prevent her. That meant she would face his judgment later. Most likely behind the closed doors of his solar.

  She felt as if she were swimming against a strong tide as she walked past the rows of chairs. Knight must be at her side, but she was aware only of herself and how she carried herself forward.

  When she approached the table, a space to stand actually awaited her there. Some of Lord Hadrian’s councilors had shifted their chairs farther apart. How had he convinced them to do that for her?

  Cassia came to stand at the table.

  The sheer number of eyes staring at her did nothing to diminish the power of those two pale, icy blue ones she knew were among them.

  If she had to kneel before him in this moment, she would never get up. But the Summit was the one occasion she could remember in her entire life when kneeling before the king was not required.

  On this occasion, Cassia was not even a member of the court. She was a representative of the temple.

  She reached out and laid the mages’ seal on the table with a thump. All eyes turned to the glyph on the medallion: a circle within a circle. A child within a womb. The world within the goddess.

  Cassia must look back at them. A timid plea was not enough. She must speak with knowledge…with authority.

  She courtesied deeply to the table at large in recognition of the entire Summit’s authority, then lifted her chin. Swept her gaze about the entire gathering. Those sky-blue eyes to her left almost caught her. She fled them.

  A different pair, deeper, darker, gleamed at her. She must not hesitate upon them either. Must not look for approval in them. She was not here to prove Lio right.

  She became aware of the night insects chirping. It was time to speak.

  “The Prisma thanks you for hearing her agent.” The words came. “Within the secrecy of these wards, she wishes to divulge a grave truth to you, my lords.”

  The words were her map, her safe path. Focus on the words.

  “The Solorum mages’ sisters in eastern Tenebra have borne witness to cases of frost fever.”

  Gasps, murmurs, grunts of surprise. She had dealt the most powerful blow she could tonight, and it had struck.

  “Even those of us without the Prisma’s expertise understand it is only a matter of time before the fever reaches every corner of the kingdom, as it has in years past. She need not remind you only rimelace is an effective remedy for children who fall ill. The gods’ will is mysterious, and they saw fit not to bless the temple with a healthy crop, despite the mages’ finest spellwork and most earnest prayers.”

  The gathering had fallen silent. She wished they were still muttering. It seemed like it might have made the most difficult part easier. Cassia licked her parched lips. She looked at Lio’s uncle’s forehead, then each Hesperine’s in turn. Finally at a lock of black hair across Lio’s own brow. “With respect, the mages implore you, our esteemed guests, to show Orthros’s benevolence and generosity yet again. They ask that you once more extend the offer of your gift of medicinal herbs.”

  Now she cast a glance around the Council again. “Lords and fathers of Tenebra, the temple asks that you consider their dire need and the danger to our children. They request that the honorable men who speak for Tenebra…and His Gracious Majesty…reconsider their decision, now armed with knowledge of this threat.”

  Cassia turned. She fixed her eyes on the hem of the king’s robe, and she gave him the mere courtesy owed to he who presided over the Summit.

  She had gainsaid the king.

  As if she had not just come as near treason as she might ever in her life, she turned back to the lords and courtesied again. “Thank you for granting the mages of Kyria your ear.”

  Victory. Escape.

  But she did not flee. She took the Kyrian seal in hand and walked back to her seat. This time she could no longer attempt to make herself an extension of the chair. She heard the debate going on before her. She had started it.

  Gazes sought and found her. Heads bent and whispered. She saw Lio exchange a long, meaningful look with his Grace-cousin Javed, the healer. Lio’s uncle murmured to them in the Divine Tongue, and Javed gave an answer Cassia did not need to understand. She already knew what the Hesperines’ reply would be.

  Javed stood and bowed to the Summit, turning to include everyone. Especially Cassia.

  “As the representative of Queen Soteira and all healers in her service, I would like to thank the mages of Kyria for their honesty.” He looked right at Cassia and gave her a nod. “I hope Lady Cassia will convey to them our deepest respect for their courage and the delicate way they have handled this difficult truth, which must certainly be contained to avoid public panic.”

  Cassia nodded in return. Her stomach thumped, but did not pain her.

  Javed continued his address, a lesson on the dangers of frost fever that revealed the depth of his knowledge and reminded the Tenebrans of the stakes. Was Cassia the only mortal there who recognized how sincere his concern was? With a healer’s sympathy, he made it known the Hesperines were more than happy to provide the rimelace and other medicines. Cassia had issued the threat. There could be no more effective follow-through than Javed’s heartfelt plea.

  After he concluded and took his seat, the free lords’ murmurs resumed and grew in volume, promising an intense debate. Lord Titus excused himself from the table and ascended the dais. Amachos lifted his hands, and an inner ward encircled the king and the other two men. It came down again almost as soon as it had gone up.

  Lord Titus’s eyes looked hollow as he returned to the table. A moment of silence dragged on before he spoke. And Cassia knew what the reply would be.

  “His Majesty’s answer is the same.”

  Cassia did not listen to the rest. There would be no debate. There would be no appeal. Only Lord Titus’s meaningless attempt to garnish the king’s refusal. But no one could make a death sentence palatable.

  Cassia did not feel like she would vomit again. She was not afraid. Her anger had deserted her.

  She sat, silent, and did not feel anything at all.

  Victory

  Lio found Cassia sitting on the rim of the Font, her arms around Knight. He drew a deep breath to smell her scent and let out a sigh of relief.

  When he drew near, she looked up at him. “I do not rescind my protest of your effort to bring me to the table. You should have asked me first. But if you had, I hope I would have had the courage to say yes.”

  “You changed your mind. Cassia, I am so glad.”

  “What a momentous night, when a Hesperine heretic helped a bastard girl, his fellow godsforsaken, to the table.”

  “As for not asking you first, I am sincerely sorry.”

  “I accept your apology. I was glad for my place at the Summit. As the free lords’ children die in their arms, they will remember my words and know the king is to blame.”

  Lio sat down beside her, the closest he cou
ld come to offering her solace. “Don’t quit the field yet.”

  “That’s the difference between us, Lio. I know when it’s time for a strategic retreat, and I’m not too proud to make it.”

  “Retreat, after what you did tonight? After such a victory?”

  She gave her head a single shake. “I lost. Naturally.”

  “Far from it. You laid waste to every man there who did not wish to hear you speak…and to your own fear.”

  The Light Moon was a mere slip overhead, but the Blood Moon’s gleam caught in Cassia’s gaze, revealing for once the hidden depths of her emotions to his sight as well as his Gift. “Then why doesn’t it feel like a victory?”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  Her arms tightened around Knight, but her eyes shone brighter.

  “The war isn’t over yet, and your ally from Orthros has arrived.” Lio gestured to himself. “With an offer of reinforcements. Let it be noted I am consulting with you before charging in this time.”

  “What more could we possibly do, Lio?”

  “We can give the herbs to the mages.”

  She sat up straighter, her feet hitting the ground. “Madness.”

  “Necessity,” he countered. “Strategy.”

  She was already shaking her head.

  He spoke quickly to make as much of his case as he could before she went back to being angry with him. “The king refused the herbs. That’s the end of it, as far as he’s concerned. It does not matter to him what becomes of gifts for which he has no use. He assumes the rimelace will sit with our other goods in the fortress until we return to Orthros. If those herbs disappear from our possession, he will never know.”

  “No.”

  “Cassia, think on it. What other choice do we have?”

  “Not to attempt the impossible.”

  “You already have. And you do not regret it.”

  She surged to her feet, and Knight moved with her. “Don’t—”

  “Don’t what, Cassia? Test your limits?”

  Her gaze flashed, and this time, her temper did not make Lio feel guilty or alarmed. Actually, he found it satisfying. Intoxicating.