by Vela Roth
The Dexion spread his arms. “I am ready.”
When Skleros rammed his fist into the Dexion’s breastbone, Chrysanthos’s jaw dropped, and Cassia’s whole body jerked. The mage of Anthros buckled around the necromancer’s hand and fell to his knees.
The prisoner’s body undulated and writhed on the floor behind Skleros. Cassia was vaguely aware of the other necromancers swaying on their feet and Tychon slumping in his chair. But her gaze was riveted on Chrysanthos.
He clawed at Skleros’s hand like a wild animal. Cassia’s body wanted to turn away, and her legs insisted she run. But the weightless linen that hung upon her felt like a vice, and she couldn’t escape. She had just enough reason to wonder what was wrong with her, why the torture of Chrysanthos’s hateful soul should matter at all to her.
The war mage’s touch burned through the necromancer’s leather gauntlets. The smell of charred flesh filled the room. Skleros didn’t flinch, just stood with his feet braced and his fingers twisted in the front of the Dexion’s costly robe.
Chrysanthos let out a snarl, which turned into the wail of a dying man. The fire writhed and crumbled. The embers gave way beneath Cassia’s feet. Flames spun around her.
She didn’t know which way she was falling.
Solid ground knocked the wind out of her, and she had no breath to move or flee. If she had fallen into the solar, it was all over.
With a gasp of effort, she scrambled onto her feet and looked all around her.
Darkness and stone. Safe.
She stood panting for a moment. No sound came from within the solar. She stepped back into the hearth, slowly, for her head still spun.
The Dexion of the Aithourian Circle lay crumpled on the necromancer’s mud-stained boots. Was Chrysanthos dead?
But suddenly he heaved at the air and braced himself up on his forearms. Skleros reached down and helped him to his feet.
“I apologize for your burns,” Chrysanthos said. “I do hope they won’t leave any more scars than you already have.”
Skleros snorted. “Note that I bothered to aim elsewhere than your pretty face.”
“My mother will thank you.”
Chrysanthos staggered to Tychon’s side and asked him a question in the Divine Tongue. The ashen-faced apprentice shook his head. Cassia couldn’t see Eudias, but heard his uneven breathing from somewhere to her left. It seemed he was cowering in a corner as far from the brutal ritual as he could get.
Cassia recalled the night when, in this very room, Dalos had almost tasked Eudias with assassinating Callen. That threat to Callen was past, for their enemies had mistakenly decided he knew no secrets that made him a threat. But for a moment, Eudias had faced the prospect of murdering him, and the apprentice had looked as willing as if he were about to face his own certain demise.
Now he was the first to say, “They are dead. All of them.”
No one moved toward the still, prone bodies of the six necromancers.
“Yes,” Skleros returned. “They are. Moving power takes power. I used them up.”
The Gift Collector availed himself of one of the concoctions he carried at his belt. He applied salve and bandages to his wounds with the air of a man rolling a smoke. The clean, bitter scent of medicinal herbs banished the stench of his burns and the prisoner’s offal.
Cassia stared at Skleros’s hand. She rubbed her breastbone, and her heart hammered back against her.
Lucis smiled. “I am impressed.”
48
Nights Until
WINTER SOLSTICE
Hesperines shall be permitted to exercise any power on convicted criminals or miscreants acting in clear violation of the law to the detriment of honest people.
—The Equinox Oath
Into the Storm
A whorl of snow stole Cassia’s breath and her first glimpse of Orthros.
If not for the weather, she might have looked ahead and beheld the Hesperines’ home by the light of the moons. But leaning forward in her saddle and peering through the snow, she could see nothing beyond the caravan of weary mortals around her. She only knew they had entered the pass because the others had come to a halt.
Against the swirling white, her fellow members of the Tenebran embassy were dark forms shaped like mounts and riders. Ghostly flurries whipped about them, by turns outlining or erasing them from the face of the mountain.
Thanks to Cassia, the dozen travelers the king had authorized had swelled to fifty-six. As the king’s oh-so-secret embassy had hastened north, lords and mages from every corner of Tenebra had attached themselves along the way in response to anonymous reports of the Hesperines’ invitation. No suspicion would fall on Cassia or an innocent scapegoat while Orthros’s beacon shone. With that light in the sky for all of northern Tenebra to see, a spy in the solar seemed an improbable explanation for how the king’s plans had become widely known. From across the land, the courageous, the foolhardy, the desperate and the devout had come, and they now waited together to enter Orthros, unsure of whether they would ever return.
They did not have long to wait. The sun set early this far north. Nightfall would soon arrive, and with it, their Hesperine escort.
The wind, although strong, was strangely gentle, shushing around them like a comforting voice. The cold was fierce enough, though. Even bundled in layers of wool with a hood and scarf to protect her face, Cassia felt as if winter gnawed on her bones. It was the necessary cost of leaving all her furs in Tenebra. Her only regret was how her refusal to wear them worried Perita.
The small, shaking form on the next pony was Cassia’s friend, who now shared a long-suffering glance with her over their mufflers. The hazards of mountain travel made them curse the injustice that they were not entitled to ride astride as the men were. Instead they must teeter sidesaddle atop their ponies past one sickening drop after another, holding on as best they could through their bulky mitts and layers of skirts. As if either of them still had maidenheads to be damaged by a horseback ride.
The tall bundles of fur on horses that loomed nearest them were Callen and Benedict. Callen guided his horse a little closer to his wife, while Benedict cast a worried glance over his shoulder.
The knight fretted quietly, “I hope this wait in the snow is not too difficult for the Semna. Such cold is unhealthy for her bones.”
Perita followed his gaze, frowning at the bundle on the horse litter not far behind them. “She didn’t survive decades as the Prisma of the Temple of Kyria to crumple in a bit of winter weather. She may have been retired for twelve years, but her magic and her determination are as strong as ever.”
“Her two attendants are capable healers, should she need their care after this ordeal,” said Benedict.
“We’re more likely to need the Semna to use her magic on our frostbitten toes,” Callen replied.
Benedict declared, “I will carry her or any other lady in the embassy myself if the need should arise.”
“Is that how you do things in Segetia?” Callen demanded. “In Hadria, we don’t let other men handle our duties to our women. Should my lady or my wife need carrying, it won’t be from you, thank you very much.”
Perita patted her husband’s hand. “Who said we need carrying?”
Knight nuzzled Cassia’s foot, offering her all the warmth he could. Thankfully he fared much better than humans out here, well-equipped with his broad paws and dense fur. Cassia spoke to Knight just to keep her voice from rusting, although she did not feel like making conversation, only like staring forward and training all her senses on what—who—lay ahead.
“This is practically your native land, isn’t it, love? Your folk were first bred in these mountains to guard against our toothy northern neighbors. What an honor to be the only liegehound ever invited to Orthros for a visit.”
Lord Severinus the Younger approached, riding through the gathering toward the front of the caravan. The pale-haired lord drew reign next to Cassia. “You couldn’t ask for a better ally out here tha
n your hound, Lady Cassia. I’ve lost count of how many of my men would be dead if our liegehounds hadn’t pulled them out of the snow.”
Cassia tugged her scarf down, the better to speak. “We’re fortunate in your knowledge of the area as well, Lord Severin. Having a guide who hails from the north is indispensable. The mounts you have provided us have not missed a step.”
The young lord sighed. “I wish I could have taken you on a tour through the mountain villages instead of this fool’s errand. There isn’t a tenant who doesn’t know your name.”
“I am humbled, my lord. All I did was give you advice on plants.”
“Your counsel regarding frost-resistant crops and blight prevention saved my people from starvation. They will never forget you.”
Lord Severin’s hollow cheeks made it clear he had not eaten while his dependents went without, but they were all beginning to recover.
“Their good opinions are an honor, but I hope they know the one who saved them—and continues to save them—is you, Lord Severin.”
He looked away. “I do what I can. But my father’s domain is treacherous.”
“You’ve accomplished a great deal in your efforts to mitigate that damage.”
“And yet somehow I always feel a step behind.” He lowered his voice. “I am still uncertain why I was approved for this venture. I am hardly the one to represent anti-Hesperine sentiment in the negotiations. My father knows better than to expect me to champion his cause.”
“I know you chafe at being taken away from your duties.”
“I am too busy fulfilling his responsibilities while he chases rumors of Hesperines. I have no time for this.” With that, he gave her pony a pat on the shoulder. “The equines of this region are as excellent as the canines. I wish I could say the same for the weather and the men.”
Lord Severin joined Chrysanthos at the front of the column for a word. Mage and warrior were difficult to tell apart under piles of cloaks and furs, but Chrysanthos had made sure to distinguish himself by remaining in the lead every step of the way.
He pirouetted his horse to face the others, and the posturing further assured Cassia he was indeed the Dexion. He spoke over the wind so all could hear. “Martyrs’ Pass. I need not remind you how it earned its name. As you well know, few humans ever set foot here, and fewer still survive it. Tonight we go where mortals have always feared to tread. Be on your guard.”
Lord Severin cleared his throat. “This is the place where the king’s emissaries always halt to meet with the Hesperine envoys to arrange the Equinox Summit.”
“How fortunate they have been,” Chrysanthos said, “to survive that once-in-a-lifetime encounter. However, all who have ventured beyond this point fell victim to the weather, the blood ward—or the Guardian of Orthros. This is the only known route between Tenebra and Orthros, and the Hesperines have warned us the way is impassable without their aid. Whatever the case, we can be certain that proceeding further poses mortal danger. For the sake of our noncombatants, we have little choice but to wait for the Hesperine forces to arrive and take us over the border.”
Lord Severin advised, “Hug the cliff that rises above us and avoid the slope on our other side. It falls off gradually at first, but can carry you far down indeed if you stumble. As we wait for nightfall, keep watch for the usual hazards. Frostbite, wolves, bears. We are close enough to the border that no human brigands should pose a danger, for even the most intrepid heart hunters dare not venture this close to the Hesperine Queens’ magic.”
“Thank you,” Chrysanthos said in the tone of a dismissal.
“Happy to serve, Dexion.” Frowning, Lord Severin rejoined the rest of the embassy and commenced yet another of his tours of the group, checking harnesses and appointing torch-bearers.
On impulse, Cassia double-checked the straps on her gardening satchel. Its seams were fit to burst with the glyph stone lying in the bottom, wrapped in Solia’s flametongue garments, under the ivy pendant, Cassia’s spade, and Lio’s gifts.
Perita clicked her tongue and teased, “How much of your garden did you cram in there, my lady?”
“I hope we’ll find out when we get there,” said Callen. “I’ll win our wager yet, Pet. I still say there’s at least one whole pot with a living plant in it.”
“Nonsense. Plants can’t live in bags, and my lady left all her potted plants with the Kyrian mages. It’s sacks of soil so she can start something from seed when we get there, although gods know how it will grow in the dark.”
“I had to bring something to keep me from growing bored in Orthros while the men are talking,” Cassia replied.
Perita’s eyes gleamed with mischief, and Callen let out a hmph.
Cassia had carried her satchel herself all the way from Solorum so no one would wonder at the weight of the bag. She only gave her shoulders a rest in moments like these, when she could fasten it securely to her saddle in front of her.
She felt safer from Chrysanthos when she had the glyph stone close at hand.
The Dexion gestured to some of the men. “While we await the Hesperines, I’d like a word with a few of you. Skleros, Tychon, to me. Yes, yes, you as well, Eudias. Lord Gaius, Sir Benedict, if you would join us.”
Benedict turned in his saddle. “I’ll only be a moment, Your Ladyship. Stay close to your guard and your hound!”
She lifted a hand to reassure him. He rode forward, and Eudias followed on his donkey, nodding to Cassia on his way. Her two would-be guardians joined Chrysanthos’s other chosen few in a huddle with Lord Gaius, one of Lord Hadrian’s gray-haired loyalists. The Dexion led them still further ahead, as though he did not trust the wind to conceal their hushed words.
If Lucis had his way, the Dexion and those few at his side would be the only emissaries to Orthros. The king expected the Cordian mages and the representatives of Segetia and Hadria to further his ends. Cassia was not done demonstrating that he could no longer take the support of the most powerful lords in Tenebra for granted.
She wondered at Chrysanthos’s tolerance of the interlopers who had joined “his” embassy contrary to his and the king’s wishes. But then, Chrysanthos tolerated Cassia. He seemed unwilling to take any risk that might tempt the Hesperines to revoke their invitation, even if it meant bringing along everyone his enemy had requested.
He did not seem eager to do without the Tenebrans’ aid against nature, either, as his reliance on Lord Severin had shown. As if with Anthros’s own fire at his heels, the Dexion had battled the wretched autumn weather and raced to beat the snows that would close the path to Orthros. Under Chrysanthos’s leadership, and with the help of Cordian fair-weather spells and speed charms, the embassy had performed the feat of traveling nearly one thousand miles from Solorum to Frigorum in only thirty-one days.
As dusk approached, the white gusts dimmed to silver, and torches flared to life around Cassia, only to gutter and struggle to survive in the wind. Their lights, although feeble, were many.
The blizzards that had hounded them as they approached had robbed Cassia of the sight of the Hesperines’ famous beacon. But she knew it gleamed up there in the sky even now, marking the way.
Somewhere ahead, amid that chaos of white and gathering dusk, lay the invisible border between Tenebra and Orthros. It was a mere strip of ground, marked with neither banners nor walls. Nay, this line was drawn in centuries of bloodshed and the protective magic of two ancient Queens. And at this moment, in a veil of winter weather. Was that too a Hesperine working? Did Cassia even now look upon the Queens’ ward as she watched the dancing flakes of snow?
If Cassia could just see through the storm, she would lay eyes on it at last. The divide between his world and hers.
She was almost there.
Once she finally made it across, what sort of welcome would she receive? The Hesperines had requested her specifically. Surely not merely because she was the only relative of the king’s who was an option.
Lio must have told his people something abo
ut her. He was not prone to keeping secrets from them, and that night they had parted, she had released him from his promise of secrecy to her.
She would not assume there was anything personal about the invitation. Assumptions were foolish. Dangerous, even.
Dangerous to your plans? asked her uncompromising voice. Or to your heart?
Her heart pounded, and she wanted to leap from the pony’s back and run ahead. She stared northward again, now into darkness, blinking fast to keep the snow from gathering on her eyelashes.
They were so near. Her Hesperines.
Hers? Could she really presume to have any claim on them? She did not even know if her claim on Lio, such as it was, still held. All she could say with confidence was that they had a claim on her. That was hers to decide, and she would not let anyone dispute it.
Cassia felt like one great knot from head to toe, and not because she was clinging to her pony. What else would stand in her way now, when she was so close? What might rear its ugly head at the last moment and halt her?
She barely caught herself before glancing about her as if something might leap at her out of the storm. Or from among the mages and free lords. After so much effort, she could not believe it would be as easy as riding over the border, not until she was safely on the other side.
A distant sound pierced the storm. A bird’s cry? A creature’s bellow? The sound echoed through the air again, a high, brazen tone that resonated through the pass. That was a mortal instrument. But not like any hunting horn Cassia had ever heard.
What mortals could be out here, other than the embassy?
“Heart hunters!” Lord Severin warned.
A voice called back to him from somewhere in the storm. “Death to the Hesperine allies! Death to the betrayers of mankind!”
A chorus of hunting horns sounded. Amid their clarions came a crack that echoed through the pass as if the world were splitting open. Cassia’s pony shied beneath her. Tightening her knees, she gripped her satchel with one hand while she fisted her other around the reins.
