by Cara Witter
Saara’s eyes narrowed. “Cursed? Perhaps. If that’s what you want to call it when your god wants you dead.”
Nikaenor shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for her to see what he could become. Especially before she’d made up her mind to like him. He wondered if she was thinking the same about him. “Not dead,” he said. “In pain. And to be—different.”
“So you don’t belong here.”
Nikaenor shrugged. “I don’t belong anywhere.” Ever since his curse, part of him had felt that way, even in a family that loved him and a town that was mostly accepting of him.
Saara nodded like she understood and looked off into the night. “We have that in common, it would seem.”
Nikaenor couldn’t help but smile. That wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Still, something deep in his gut tugged at him. That strange sensation, that draw he felt towards her which he realized was the same guttural pull that drew him toward the ocean, as if his body was being moved by invisible strings like one of Old Man Hawkins’ marionettes.
He would sooner face every soldier from here to Berlaith than answer the call into the ocean.
“All right,” she said. “If you’re coming with me, so be it.” She began to walk toward the south road, still glaring at him, as if daring him to join her. Nikeanor knew he should go back inside and pretend he had never seen her leave. But the thought of it left his mouth dry, and his thoughts thick and slow as swamp water.
“I keep my blade on me at all times,” she said over her shoulder. “Even in my sleep. Don’t you forget it.”
Nikaenor swallowed, wondering if this wasn’t a second curse come upon him—to be destined to marry a girl who made such threats when he hadn’t done anything to provoke her. He found a bent stick in the wood pile, one that had a second branch growing off it at a right angle. He laid it on the thatch mat outside the side door where his sisters would go for the eggs in the morning, one branch pointed to the door, the other to the road south of the house. It was a trail sign, one he’d used many times while hunting with Ronan. It meant he was well and had taken the path the branch pointed to.
Nikaenor took one step forward, then another. Part of his brain reeled at the idea of leaving Ithale, not sure where he’d wake in the morning or when he’d be coming back. He imagined his mother opening his door in the morning to shout at him for lazing about, only to find his bed empty. Esta and Emmeline asking a million questions about when he’d be coming back. Questions none of them could answer, least of all him.
The rest of him couldn’t help but wonder what was beyond the boundaries of the marsh, and what he might see in a big city like Berlaith where more people lived than passed through Ithale in a year.
Besides, he knew that if he let Saara slip off without him, he was going to regret it for the rest of his life.
He looked back at the tavern, at the warm yellow light spilling from the windows, and swallowed past a lump in his throat.
Nikaenor said a quick prayer to Mirilina and—checking once for soldiers—made the sign of the waves over his brow.
Then he followed Saara into the night.
Thirteen
Daniella paced through the familiar gray stone halls of Castle Peldenar, past narrow arches and the few tapestries her father had left hanging, past the places in the walls where she could draw runes and enter into nooks and crannies no one else knew about. It had been years since she’d been in the passages, and yet still her skin crawled, like that Drim might be in there. Watching.
She steeled herself. Her problem today was not the Drim, but her father, whom she had disobeyed by returning early. And without even pretending to complete her assignment, even if they both knew it had only been an excuse. The sooner she told him what had happened, the less time she’d have to spend enduring his judgment for her failure. Daniella rehearsed the words she intended to say in her head. I made a startling discovery, Father, that necessitated my early return.
Perhaps she should have sent a letter. Daniella turned a corner toward the main staircase that would lead to her father’s office.
And found herself not three paces from General Erich Dektrian. He wore his general’s uniform, the black and gold fitted coat with gold buttons and medals shining. His dark hair was smoothed back, and his boyish face beamed at her as she approached. Mere weeks ago she would have found that wide smile adorable. “Ella!” he called. “I’d heard you were back.”
Daniella slowed her step. She remembered the first time she’d seen that smile, at a function honoring Erich and his cavalry. She’d heard of then-Captain Erich Dektrian, of course; everyone had. To hear people talk, Captain Dektrian was single-handedly responsible for the conquest of Andronim—a bit of a stretch, certainly. But the truth was that Erich and his band of riders turned what likely would have become a years-long campaign into a shockingly quick takeover. In one bloody, three-day battle, Erich and his men—only fifty of them—had held the bridge over the Trace River against overwhelming odds, trapping the deployed Andronish forces in Sevairn and preventing them from returning to aid the king in Drepaine. And while Erich held the river, the Sevairnese armies were able to march into the capitol city itself, taking it with hardly a fight.
And when he’d turned his attentions to her, making her feel like she mattered to someone—someone like him, no less—she could hardly believe her good fortune.
Fortune, it turned out, had little to do with it. And now that smile turned her stomach.
Yes, she definitely should have sent a letter.
If he noticed her hesitation, Erich didn’t show it. He strode up to her, and for a horrified moment, Daniella thought he might sweep her into his arms. But he stopped just short and looked her over in earnest.
“I heard about what happened to you in Drepaine,” he said.
Daniella crossed her arms. “You mean what happened to Braisia.”
“I should have been there,” Erich said. “I asked your father if I could come along to protect you, but he insisted that he needed me here for the spring march. I should have insisted—”
“I didn’t require your help,” Daniella said, her voice sharp. “Nor will I ever.”
Erich looked crestfallen. “Ella,” he said. “I—I’d hoped that in your time away, you’d reconsider . . .” He gave her a beseeching look.
If it was only the betrayal, only that he’d been paid to pursue her, she might have eventually forgiven him. But the way he’d acted before she left Peldenar—climbing into her room unbidden at night, refusing to listen to her pleas, scaring her . . .
There had been signs of such behavior even before she learned the truth, she saw that now. But she’d been blind to them, so much more afraid of losing the one person who loved her than she was of the angry outbursts or petty jealousies.
No longer. She wanted none of it.
“I’m afraid you were mistaken,” Daniella said. She brushed by him and headed up the stairs at a pace she hoped would deter him from following.
It didn’t. All the way to her father’s office, she could feel him behind her, though he didn’t come so close as to demand her attention, only shadowed her like a specter. It was enough to make Daniella wish she was back in the company of Lord Jaemeson.
Or better yet, neither of them.
As she approached her father’s door, Daniella looked back over her shoulder once. And though she could swear she’d heard him there, now Erich was gone.
Daniella shook herself. She had more important things to concern herself with. If she could reveal Lord Tehlran for what he was, then the trip wouldn’t be wasted, even if it did mean she was back in the presence of General Dektrian. While her father might not be the kindest of men, there was one thing she definitely knew about him: he didn’t tolerate deviant magic.
As Daniella moved up to the door, she nearly bumped into a man
coming out—Lukos, her father’s hired Vorgalian mage. He wore the pointed purple hood of his profession, but unlike other Vorgalians she’d seen, Lukos also had large, swirling black tattoos across his thin cheeks and down his narrow jaw. Diamis wasn’t one for the expense of Vorgalian light globes when lanterns would suffice, or heat charms when bathwater could be boiled. But he did consider it worthwhile to have a mage in his employ to craft charms for general defense and to supply potions for troops to use in battle. It fit well with her father’s views in general—Castle Peldenar had little of the luxury of the Andronish Palace, but it sure as all hells could hold up against a siege.
“Good day,” Daniella said.
Lukos gave her a wolfish smile. “Is it?”
Daniella squirmed. Vorgalian magic was certainly not forbidden, but being too near the man always caused the hairs on Daniella’s neck to rise. Perhaps because he always seemed oddly . . . excited to see her.
“I certainly hope so,” Daniella said finally.
Lukos bowed his head and turned, though he was still smiling as if merely having seen her made him happy.
Between him and Erich, Daniella nearly welcomed the greeting she was likely to get from her father. Daniella stepped between the heavily-armed guards who stood at the entrance to the office. She knocked and heard her father’s voice from within.
“Enter,” he said.
She pushed open the door and was struck, as always, by the sheer presence of books. The study had once been the personal library of the Drim Speaker, and while her father had gone to great lengths to purge their way of life—destroying religious statuary and tapestries and anything that might be considered “frivolous”—he’d kept all of the man’s books and added to them over the years. The walls were lined with shelves, all of them packed full. When Daniella was younger, her father used to select volumes for her and encourage her to read them. She’d inherited his love of the written word; it might be the only thing that they shared, besides blood and the color of their hair.
Even now, as she walked in, Diamis leaned over his sturdy oak desk, a large volume spread open in front of him. He shut the book before she could make out a word of it.
Daniella drew herself up and straightened her skirts. “Good day, Father,” she said. Though after Lukos’s response, she found herself questioning that phrase.
Is it?
If she could unseat a blood mage from the governorship of Andronim, it certainly would be. And perhaps she’d be able to persuade her father to send her on more excursions, having proven herself valuable.
Diamis gave her a single sharp nod. “It looks as though no harm has come to you.”
Daniella nodded, noting the other books spread around his desk. She’d read several of them herself; as she grew older, Daniella had grown tired of accepting only the books that were offered to her, and weary of selecting her own works to read from the castle library. So she’d taken to sneaking into her father’s study for books, always careful to put them back exactly where she found them when she was finished.
That was how she’d first read about the runes in the wall—it was hidden in one of the dustier volumes of Drim lore she’d found at the back of a lower shelf. If her father had read that one, he might have known more about his own castle. Daniella had always been proud that she’d discovered the secret he’d missed.
Diamis cleared his throat. “You’ve returned home early. Against my orders.”
“Yes, Father,” Daniella said. “And I’m eager to tell you the reason—”
“Look at me when you speak.”
Daniella jerked her head up, away from the books. This wasn’t exactly a warm welcome home, but she didn’t expect warmth from her father. She’d often wondered, especially when she was younger, if her mother would have been more familiar with her, had she not died in childbirth.
Her father studied her calmly. “Better,” he said.
She kept her breathing as steady as she could under his gaze. Finnian Diamis often appeared to be more statue than man, large and broad of shoulder, strong chiseled features under flaming red hair. He dressed plainly for what would be expected of the leader of the empire of Sevairn, in black leathers trimmed in gold, without a crown or any jewelry.
“Well,” he said. “Out with it. Don’t hold me in suspense.”
Daniella struggled to form her mouth around the words. “A servant approached me while I was in residence at the castle. She’d happened upon some startling things. A body.” She cringed. “A body covered in runes. Dark runes—blood magic.”
Diamis stared at her, his face stone. “Blood magic,” he said. “And you’re familiar enough with dark magic to have recognized the runes?”
Daniella hesitated. She’d learned quite a bit about the history of blood magic from her father’s books. But not, of course, the ones she was supposed to be reading.
“I know they weren’t Drim runes,” she said. “And the dead body was certainly suspicious.”
Her father’s gaze sharped. “You saw these bodies.”
Daniella flinched. Should she tell her father that she’d been snooping in Tehlran’s own rooms? She didn’t see how she could avoid it now. “Only one. In Tehlran’s own bedroom.”
He raised an eyebrow, though he looked more amused than anything. “And you spent a good deal of time there. In the Lord Governor’s bedchamber.”
Daniella winced again and cursed herself. She should be putting forward a confident front, earning that respect her father was so good at commanding.
But instead, she kept trembling. “I allowed the maid to show me what she’d seen. I didn’t want to bring it to your attention without warrant.”
“And this maid.” Diamis ran a finger absently over the tooled-leather cover of one of the books on his desk. “What was her name?”
“I don’t recall,” Daniella said, and her father’s eyes narrowed. She should have said that she preferred not to say, made some excuse about how she’d promised her protection and couldn’t go back on her honor. But then her father would have wheedled her anyway.
“Really,” he said. “Can you describe her?”
Daniella faltered. Anything she said might get someone killed. “Only in vague terms. I would hate to cast suspicion on the wrong woman, especially when she revealed this to me out of loyalty, and in good faith—”
“And you saw Tehlran himself with this body?” Diamis asked.
Daniella felt as if he was trying to catch her in a lie, one of his favorite methods of intimidation. She shook her head. “No. But it was locked away in his own wardrobe and—” Daniella forced herself not to wince this time. She shouldn’t have mentioned the lock. Now he would surely ask how she’d opened it, and—
But her father’s face softened. “Thank you for bringing this to me,” he said.
Daniella let out a long sigh. “Of course,” she said. “Will you . . . have someone look into it?”
Her father adjusted the ring on his finger. “I wouldn’t have expected this of Tehlran. He’s always been loyal to me. It will be a tragedy if I have to have him killed.” He fixed his eyes back on her. “But you’re sure.”
Daniella took a small step back. Her father had never given her any responsibility before, and now she felt the weight of Lord Tehlran’s life on her shoulders. But she’d seen the body in his own chambers. And if Andronim was being run by a blood mage—
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”
He nodded. “Did you tell anyone else?”
Daniella shook her head. “No, Father.”
Her father smiled. “Good girl. I’m glad you brought this to me. Imagine if someone else had discovered it. After the way the people turned on the Drim—they might have come after us for his crimes. I suppose I’ll have to make an example of him. It’s a shame, with all the unrest. Making a transition now will risk further reb
ellion.” He paused. “The timing is suspicious, isn’t it?”
Daniella saw where her father was going with this. Could the body have been planted there, the whole thing an elaborate ruse to get Daniella to believe in Tehlran’s fabricated misdeeds, to tell her father and further destabilize Andronim?
Nessa had seemed so sincere, but now that Daniella thought about it, the story had been quite elaborate. The explanation of how she’d come to clean Tehlran’s rooms, when it wasn’t her usual job. Her knowledge of lock picking—the way she’d bothered to pick the lock when she couldn’t possibly be blamed for breaking an item in a secure cupboard. Could her nervousness have been an act, or a fear of being caught orchestrating a plot?
Daniella couldn’t deny that it was possible. “You think she was working with the resistance.”
He made a show of looking like she’d suggested it first. “It’s possible. It will be hard to root out the treason,” he said with a meaningful look, “if you’re certain you can’t remember her name.”
Daniella squared her shoulders. Her father had no more evidence for his story than she had for hers. She was trying to word that in a way that wouldn’t sound like an insult when he spoke again, his voice full of finality. “I’ll look into it. But I expect you may have been the victim of a ruse. I regret ever sending you there. Tehlran may not be guilty of blood magic, but he certainly overestimates the security of Drepaine.”
Of course. The one request she’d been granted, the one excursion she’d been permitted to take, and he regretted it, despite her news. Diamis rose to his feet, and Daniella took an involuntary step back. If her father noticed, he gave no indication. Instead, he appeared deep in thought, surveying the austere room.
Daniella’s eyes caught on a book on a high shelf above his head, squashed between the many others. She recognized the worn leather of the binding, the faded runes on the spine.
It was the book where she’d learned about the Drimmish runes. The one that she’d used to piece together the way to open the passageways. It was only a text about Mortichean agriculture in the post-Banishment era, one that had seemed particularly dry before she noticed the occasional rogue slash in the margins, as if the booksmith had made a stray mark with his quill. The runes had been explained only in a cipher in the appendix, the pieces only clear if the pages were bent over one another in the right way, lined up just so. It had taken her weeks to piece it together after she’d figured out it was there.
