The Sixth Strand

by Melissa McPhail

  As the guests parted in waves for Gemina and Pelas’s passing and closed in again behind them in a frothing wake of speculation, Tanis noticed four fish trailing them through the crowded seas.

  In the same moment, Gadovan thought to the others, We have a tail, and shared his vision of the same men with his cousins and Tanis.

  Each man wore a floor-length coat, similar to Pelas’s in style, though of differing fabrics and colors. Still, the garments seemed a sort of informal livery, perhaps intended to allow the men to better blend in with the guests. They were following Gemina unerringly.

  Is it just me, Jude thought tightly, or is she shouting, ‘Someone save me!’ to the world at large?

  It’s not just you. A strong protectiveness underscored Mat’s reply, as if he already had a hand on his sword and his teeth bared in a snarl.

  Easy, Mat. Gadovan walked with one hand draped behind his back, calm and self-assured, leading the rest of them with an easy stride, but Tanis could tell he was just as alert as they were. Stay focused on what we came here to do.

  The princess was meanwhile saying with well-practiced nonchalance, as if none of her subtext of danger and alarm existed, “Scholars are still pouring over di Matteo’s works to see if they can find the clues they believe the Immortal Bard left hidden there, the secret of how he achieved immortality without being an Adept.”

  “A fascinating proposition, Gemina,” Pelas murmured. Tanis—his thought struck hard—we might need to find another way to the weld.

  It’s too late now. Tanis was breathing deeply in an attempt to settle the vertigo upending his stomach. He shared his unbalanced perception with Pelas.

  ...I see. Came his bond-brother’s considering reply. Something important is happening here.

  Tanis forced a swallow. Evidently.

  They’d almost reached the far side of the ballroom and a door, scarcely visible behind the confection of gauzily dressed ladies and their escorts.

  “My nephew would be extremely interested to know your secret,” Gemina turned Pelas a smile that begged, Please play along, “and would reward you handsomely for the treasure of this unique knowledge.” Her hand reached for the door latch.

  “You make a strong case for considering it, Gemina.”

  She’s trying to tell us something with all of this, Tanis said to Pelas.

  Yes, so I gathered. But what?

  Smiling benignly, Gemina opened the door.

  They all moved through quickly. Tanis had barely stepped inside before Gemina spun and locked the door with a key from her purse.

  They were standing in a dim antechamber, lit only by the light sliding in through a slender parting of drapes.

  Gemina threw herself onto Pelas and kissed him passionately.

  My necklace—please! her thoughts shouted.

  Her necklace—Tanis began, but Pelas was already reaching to unhook the clasp. He handed the dazzling stones off to Tanis and poured himself more fervently into kissing the princess.

  Tanis reopened his mind to the Eltanese with a quick explanation.

  Do you see any patterns on it, Tanis? Gadovan asked, studying the necklace over his shoulder.

  Three, he told them, including Pelas in his reply. Not compulsion. It’s second strand—tracking her, maybe? And another... He couldn’t quite make out what the fourth-strand patterns were doing. These are similar to a pattern of warding but...not.

  An eavesdrop, I’ll wager, Jude replied, like he knew all about such things.

  Whether or not whoever was listening could still hear them when the necklace wasn’t connected around Gemina’s neck remained to be seen, a fact Pelas seemed aware of.

  He caressed Gemina’s cheek as he ended their kiss and murmured, low and desirous, as one lover to another, “Take us somewhere we can be together.”

  Her eyes were frightened, but she sounded both appropriately breathless and slightly amused when she answered, “There is no such place, Immanuel.”

  “We can’t be alone here, Gemina,” he said with meaning threaded nine layers thick. He brushed his thumb across her cheek, while his gaze chided gently, You wanted my help; now you have to trust me.

  She glanced around at all of them, exhaled a slow breath, and nodded. Then, visibly composing herself, she threw wide the drapes closing off the antechamber while saying with a perfect light-hearted amusement they all knew she wasn’t feeling, “No one comes here to be alone, my love.”

  Jude gave a low whistle.

  Holy dross of the gods. Mat’s eyes went very wide.

  Tanis took one look at what was going on in that room and thereafter tried to forget he’d seen anything at all. The spectacle made the earlier visions of Pelas and Gemina’s liaisons seem a child’s tea party by comparison.

  She took Pelas by the hand and drew him deeper into the room. Tanis tried to keep his eyes averted from the lovers all around him, but even staring at the blood-red carpet couldn’t obscure his peripheral view. A heavy haze scented the room, cloying and heady, clearly drugged. Tanis tried to breathe shallowly.

  Pelas brought Gemina’s hand to his lips while they strolled among the mass copulation, as though seeking the perfect bed or couch to sink down upon. There were many to choose from. “How long will we have together, Princess?”

  She smiled adoringly at him, but her bosom was rising and falling far too quickly for desire alone to be driving her breath. “You know they aren’t allowed to disturb us here,” she laughed, while her thoughts said, Leave the necklace.

  They were just then passing a tall-backed couch. Gemina pulled Pelas roughly against her. She fastened her mouth onto his, and he took her head between his hands as they dove into another passionate kiss, leaning partway over the back of the couch.

  Pelas cast Tanis the thought, Now, Tanis.

  Tanis looked around to be sure no one was watching, but it was instantly obvious that everyone was quite occupied with their own affairs. He let the necklace fall between the cushions of the couch.

  Pelas pulled Gemina tight against him and ran kisses along her neck. He whispered, “Which way?”

  She turned her head to give his mouth better access, but her eyes fixed on the back corner of the room.

  Make your way there.

  Pelas returned his devout attention to Gemina’s neck.

  By some tacit agreement, Tanis and Jude headed off together. Once again, they found hanging draperies obscuring an antechamber. Tanis slipped into darkness with Jude close behind, then they waited for the others. Pelas and Gemina were the last to join them.

  The princess unlocked the door and led them hurriedly through a maze of unadorned corridors until she stopped before a wall. She traced a pattern in the air, and a hidden door clicked open. Gemina ushered them all inside.

  Wielder’s lamps flared to life. They were in some sort of bedchamber, but clearly not the kind where you actually did any sleeping. The princess reworked the trace seal on the door and spun to face them. Emotion blazed in her eyes.

  “One of you ward the room,” she commanded.

  All of them immediately did so.

  Pelas turned to her. “Gemina—”

  “Immanuel, what the hell are you doing here?” she backed away from him, clearly shaken. “A real answer this time.”

  He shook his head. “My arrival is completely incidental to whatever is going on here. I regret to admit I had no idea you were still alive.”

  Gemina looked instantly to Tanis. “Is this true?”

  Tanis blinked at her.

  “Gemina—” Pelas said exasperatedly.

  “Is it true?” Her pale eyes were aflame, her breath coming fast.

  Tanis nodded. “It’s true, my lady.”

  She exhaled a forceful breath, then covered her eyes with one hand.

  “Gemina...” Pelas took her hand gently from her eyes, “what’s going on? Why did you think I’d come?”

  A flush had come to her cheeks, and her aqua eyes were glassy. “I thought Luf
tan had somehow found you and convinced you to help him, like you helped his father.”

  Pelas stilled. “What do you mean?”

  She slipped her hand free of his. “Fiera’s ashes, Immanuel, do you still expect me to believe you’re just a man?” She raked her gaze across him. “For thirty years after you left, Gabriel didn’t age. Luftan grew up thinking his father was fire-blessed.”

  Tanis gleaned from her thoughts that fire-blessed meant an Adept born to a Furie’s line, such as herself, but too much history and too many ramifications stacked behind the term for Tanis to understand fully what this implied.

  Pelas looked honestly shocked. “You think I had something to do with that?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “I don’t—” he exchanged a concerned look with Tanis. “I didn’t...”

  Tanis knew what he wanted to say—that he’d had no intention of prolonging Gabriel’s life. But Pelas couldn’t deny it because he understood better of his abilities now than he had then.

  The worry now circling Pelas’s thoughts was that it was entirely possible that he had caused the Furie’s temporary immortality simply by desiring nothing to change between them. Such was their power, his and his brothers, that by intent alone all manner of miracles and magic became.

  Gemina studied Pelas, appearing to read his every thought in the flickering dismay in his gaze, in the way his expression fixed with confusion, then twisted through guilt into apology.

  “So you didn’t know.” Irony curled one corner of her mouth. “Which proves nothing, save that you loved my brother.” Her gaze softened, and she touched a hand to his face as she added more gently, “But we knew that already.”

  When Pelas merely gazed at her, she touched her thumb to his lips. “Gabriel died thinking his long life was your parting gift. Do not regret it, whatever your role.”

  She lowered her hand and gave a slow exhale, and her outward agitation finally eased. Though from the way her thoughts blustered and whirled, a storm was still clearly battering her conscience. “Whatever you came here for, you’ve landed in a hornet’s nest.”

  “Tell us,” Pelas said. “Let us help you.”

  “The only way you can help me is by leaving before Luftan gets to you.”

  “Gemina.”

  That time his insistence drew a reluctant smile, redolent of a resigned submission, as if she never could deny him anything when they’d been together before, so why should it be any different now?

  “Very well.” She motioned them all towards an arrangement of chairs. “You’d better all sit down.”

  Fifty-five

  “No man can be free who himself enslaves others.”

  –Ramuhárikhamáth, Lord of the Heavens

  Viernan hal’Jaitar paced at the foot of Prince Radov’s bed, waiting for the healing sleep to wear off. He needed his prince lucid for what he meant to do...at least, as close to lucidity as Radov abin Hadorin could achieve.

  The terrace doors stood open to the setting sun and the scent of brine rising from the estuary. If not for the humidity that plagued all of Saldaria that time of year, they might’ve been in Radov’s ocean palace in Tal’Shira by the Sea.

  Behind Viernan, Radov stirred, muttered something unintelligible and faded off again. The sleep took hours to wear off, but Viernan didn’t have hours. He clocked a countdown’s swinging pendulum with each exhale and measured its race with the beating of his heart.

  Tick-tock, tick-tock...

  In his long life, Viernan had served seven princes of the Hadorin line. He’d watched Radov himself grow from a precocious child to a marginally adept ruler...at least until the Prophet Bethamin had pressed his thumb to the prince’s forehead.

  Once, Viernan had sired a daughter, but now she was gone, courtesy of Trell val Lorian. Viernan hardly felt it worth the effort of making another child. Offspring didn’t become interesting to him until they’d spent at least a score of years in the Sorceresy. Albeit, in all fairness, Viernan rarely found much interesting in life anymore.

  His prince really should’ve awoken by now.

  Viernan checked the currents, but they only showed that the sleeping pattern had in fact faded away, not how long it would take for Radov to surface beyond its departure.

  This was the fourth time Viernan had tried putting his prince in a healing coma to sleep through the pain of withdrawal from his absinthe addiction. The other three times had brought the real Radov back for a week or two, but as soon as the nightmares started overtaking his days again, the Ruling Prince returned to his wormwood mistress.

  This time Dore had worked the healing sleep. For all he focused his aims towards predominately revolting ends, the wielder had serious talent. Dore might’ve honestly challenged Arion Tavestra for skill if resentment hadn’t overpowered his reason so long ago.

  Viernan could wait no longer. He spun back to the bed and seated himself at its head. His hands assumed the Healer’s hold, and he sunk into rapport.

  He’d been talented once, too.

  In short order, Viernan found Radov’s life pattern and cursed at what he saw. He really should have done this several moons ago, but he’d been dreading what he would find, resisting in truth—unwilling to face what he knew he would see there.

  It was worse than he’d imagined.

  His prince’s life pattern was molding...mottled, not merely unraveling but rotting.

  Viernan released the Healer’s rapport and his hand from Radov’s forehead at the same time. He opened his eyes to find the Ruling Prince awake and watching him.

  “How bad is it, Viernan?” Radov whispered. “Tell me the truth.”

  Viernan considered how to answer. The mad prince would’ve wanted a truth only if it came so buried in confection as to be barely recognizable, but the Radov who Viernan had known for most of his life would’ve spit out even the thinnest coating of sugar.

  Viernan met Radov’s bloodshot gaze with his own dark one. “You’re dying, my prince.”

  Radov grunted. “I’ve been dying for a long time, Viernan.”

  “Yes, my prince.”

  “I feel like I’ve been living in a dream.” His voice was as faint as the fading sunlight. “I can’t clearly recall any part of the past year. What happened at the parley with Gydryn val Lorian?”

  Viernan answered slowly and gravely, “It did not quite go as planned, my prince.”

  “Shame.” Radov’s lids fought to close again. “I thought it was a good plan.”

  “It was a good plan, my prince.”

  Viernan touched Radov’s shoulder and cast him back into sleep. He stood and gazed down upon him, knowing what must be done and regretting the knowledge at the same time.

  Then he swept from the room.

  He found Dore Madden in a drawing room whose ceiling remained vibrant with frescos from Cyrene times, perfectly maintained under preservation patterns laid in by long dead Quorum Adepts.

  The wood floor, equally preserved, shone a complicated mosaic of ebony, willow and ash. Across the room, the zanthyr Leyd was reclining on a crimson settee with his shirt undone and his bare feet propped on the opposite arm, lazily smoking a gold siqaret.

  It wasn’t lost on Viernan that Dore Madden had never used these rooms until he started parading around as Arion Tavestra.

  Tick-tock, tick-tock...

  Dore had cleared off a long table and was using very distinctive marble pieces from the Prophet’s King’s board to mock up a little war game on the map spread out there. Wherever he didn’t have enough marble pieces, he’d supplemented with pale grey mushroomish...things that Viernan had eventually recognized and thereafter chose to forget having ever noticed.

  Dore looked up under his brows. “Ah, Viernan, good of you to join us. It’s all in play. All in play, do you see?”

  Viernan was studiously trying not to see.

  Leyd swung his legs down from the settee’s arm and sat up in the middle of the couch. He draped one arm along the curve
d back and splayed his legs like a man making room for a whore to do her business. “You really turned Trell val Lorian eidola?” He exhaled a cloud of smoke and grinned maliciously. “I didn’t think you had it in you, old man.”

  Viernan eyed him blackly. “I didn’t know thinking was part of your daily activity.”

  Leyd waved airily with his siqaret. “After Vaile and Náiir risked the Balance to fish Trell of the Tides out of Darroyhan, I thought surely you’d have learned your lesson. The First Lord has personally saved the prince’s life at least twice that I know of, and if Björn’s involved, you know Cephrael’s looking out for the man.”

  He took a long drag from his siqaret again, watching Viernan the while. Then he exhaled a cloud of scented smoke and grinned. “Do you have any idea how pissed they’re going to be? One of the First Lord’s precious Players removed from the field? Stars, but I want to be there to see that.”

  Tick-tock, tick-tock...

  Viernan stared ponderously at Leyd. “Is there any creature in existence more spiteful than you?”

  Leyd gestured with the siqaret. “The question you should be asking, old man, is whether anyone in existence has more right or reason than me to smite my enemies.” He rose and walked to a sideboard stocked with liquor and wine.

  Viernan followed him with his gaze. “Your enemies seem to be all the world and everyone in it.”

  Yet even as he said it, Viernan wondered if perhaps the zanthyr wasn’t targeting someone specifically with his hatreds, as a child lashing out against a parent.

  “All the world.” Leyd snorted contemptuously. “I’ve seen all the world come and go more times than I can count, old man. You’re all just interlopers at this point.”

  Viernan really knew better than to engage with the hateful creature, but stupefaction overruled his reason in that moment. “I’ve never encountered a soul who misuses immortality as you do.”

  Leyd eyed him lazily as he swirled his drink. “I didn’t ask to walk this earth for eternity.” A terrible menace underscored his words.

  And though he’d said it so quietly as to be barely heard, force rippled through the currents, knocking over some of Dore’s marble pieces and scattering the mushroom heads.