Cursebreaker

by Carol A Park

  Vaughn had never wished more than he did right now that he could crack Ivana’s shell. There were thoughts shifting behind her eyes, far more than she let on, and he wanted to know what they were, and what she was feeling.

  He wanted to feel, for once, as if there weren’t a constant barrier between them, of her making.

  Then again, was it all of her making?

  Did he really want her to tell him those things, or did he want to know because he was nosy? Did he want to take without having to expose himself?

  He met her eyes again, and he remembered how, in the moments before she had killed Lord Kadmon, he had exposed himself in his desperate effort to find a way to stop her.

  Are you lost, too, Vaughn?

  He had the urge to laugh. The pair of them were a complete mess. But wouldn’t it be better to be a mess together, rather than alone?

  But there was danger in such intimacy; there was danger in even extending the offer.

  He broke the gaze.

  There was silence but for the chirping of birds in the woods outside the fort. Vaughn focused on the sound. Birds tended to be the first to notice when a bloodbane started prowling around. The more vicious ones didn’t come this close to the estate and town, but there was always the chance of running across a bloodsnake that had holed up somewhere.

  “What did he want with you? Did he say?” Ivana asked at last, quietly.

  Vaughn laughed, thankful for the change of subject. “He wanted to torture information about the Ichtaca out of me, but thankfully, he hadn’t set to real work on that yet. He was weakening me with dehydration and hunger and a few light beatings first, I think.”

  Ivana frowned. “How does he even know about the Ichtaca?”

  “That’s a good question with disturbing implications, and I don’t have the answer,” he said. Yaotel would surely want to know about it, though, if they ever managed to make their way to Marakyn.

  She shook her head. “But why go to so much trouble to find you? Why not some other Banebringer?”

  Vaughn rolled his shoulders. “He’s insane, Ivana. He hates me because our father became obsessed with hunting me down.” He leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. “And so didn’t give him enough attention afterward.”

  Ivana snorted. “Gildas’ son, that’s for sure.”

  “The power’s gone to his head. He gained it sooner than expected, and now he’s terrified of losing it.”

  “He needs to hire better guards, then. They were persuaded way too easily to leave their posts.”

  Vaughn shook his head. “Nah, it doesn’t surprise me. My mother…” He thought for a moment. “She’s perplexing. She could be the gentlest woman in the world one moment, and then the next issuing commands like a general. She was highly respected by the servants, the guards—far more than my father ever was. People feared rather than respected him.” He glanced at Ivana. She hadn’t had the best experiences with nobles. “I won’t pretend she was perfect. She had her flaws—a certain sense of entitlement typical of nobility, though I’d say it was more subconscious with her—but she was kind when it counted.” He paused and laid his head back against the wall. “And her marriage to my father was political. She hated him.”

  “I picked that up.”

  “Even so, she seemed different than I remembered. I…” He hesitated. “I was never certain if she would accept me. When I saw her…” He swallowed, glanced at Ivana, and looked away. He had been terrified.

  But he didn’t tell her that. That was a step too far, wasn’t it?

  “I’m assuming you’re going to want to leave sooner rather than later,” Ivana said, changing the subject.

  He breathed out. “After this? I don’t think I have a choice. Tomorrow morning, if I can manage it.”

  “Then we should rest. You especially.”

  “Gladly.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Demands

  The door to the conference chamber swung open without even a knock a mere five minutes into this latest meeting. One of the Ri’s couriers stood there, panting. “Your Excellency,” he said, sketching a bow to Ri Tanuac. “We’ve just received word. The Conclave vanguard has arrived at the northern border. I’ve a message from…their leader.” The courier held out a sealed envelope.

  Driskell looked at the envelope with trepidation. Inside that slight piece of paper could be their doom.

  Tanuac stood and took the envelope from the courier. “Thank you,” he said. “No return message yet.”

  The courier bowed again and left as quickly as he had entered.

  The entire room was silent. Yaotel, Danton, the four Gan, Ambassador Mezzo, Nahua, and General Gyano—Tanuac’s military advisor and head of the Donian reserve—stared at the letter. There was also a new face there, a plain but pretty woman with, like Danton, the creamy beige complexion of a Setanan. Even she seemed to know what it portended.

  Tanuac broke the seal, removed the folded sheet of paper from the outer envelope, and unfolded it. He read it silently first.

  “Well, go on,” Gan Herne said with a wave of his hand. “What do they have to say?”

  Tanuac cleared his throat. “The Conclave,” he said, “observes that we have yet to remove the Xambrian from our borders. They insist that we eject him to prove our loyalty to Setana. They demand a meeting at the border in three days’ time to discuss the details of our compliance.”

  Herne snorted. “Some discussion, with an army at their backs.”

  Tanuac handed the letter to Nahua, who read it and then passed it down the table for each of Tanuac’s advisors to read for themselves.

  The room was silent as the letter traveled. It reached Driskell last, and he read the message, which said exactly what Tanuac had said it had.

  He transcribed the contents of the message into his notebook and then handed the paper back to Tanuac.

  Ambassador Mezzo stood and folded his hands together across his mid-section. “It seems you have a decision to make.”

  “The decision has already been made,” Tanuac said.

  Dillion scowled, but the other three Gan nodded in turn.

  Driskell noted all of this in his notebook as well.

  “I might remind you that until you have Ferehar’s agreement, we will not attack Setana,” Mezzo said.

  Ferehar hadn’t even allowed the Xambrian ambassador in to see the Ri, and so the ambassador had returned to Xambria. In turn, Ri Airell had ignored any messages from Tanuac.

  It was clear to all involved that Ferehar could not be cajoled into cooperating via normal means.

  “I’m aware, Ambassador,” Tanuac said. He looked at Yaotel. “Where are we on that front?”

  “I’m still working on it,” Yaotel said. His eyes flicked toward the new woman.

  “That’s all well and good,” Beatha said, “but the Conclave is on our doorstep now.”

  “Which is why we still need to buy time,” Tanuac said. “And that is why we’re going to meet with the Conclave and see what they have to say. While we’re there, we’re going to take the opportunity to find out what we can about their army.”

  General Gyano folded his grizzled hands on the table and took the narrative over. “Depending on what we conclude about the Conclave’s intent and resources, we will formulate an appropriate plan to meet them. Meanwhile, the Gan have sent word to their respective quarters to muster the reserves. Those under Gan Herne’s purview are at the ready, and we expect others to be trickling in soon.”

  “If we’re forced to fight the Conclave army,” Fiacra said, “that will be the end of any façade of cooperation with the Conclave.”

  There was a heavy silence in the room.

  “I know,” Tanuac said softly, but his jaw was firm. “I’m sending Lady Nahua to negotiate on my behalf and Driskell as her scribe. A retinue of those deemed best able to assist with this mission will also go with her.”

  Driskell started. That was the first he’d heard of his extended involvemen
t.

  He jotted down the additional note with an unsteady hand and tried to look like the prospect of meeting with the Conclave didn’t terrify him.

  What if it was all a trap? What if the Conclave realized they weren’t going to cooperate and killed them all? What if Driskell screwed it up and gave something away? He was only a simple attaché, after all.

  “Dismissed. Yaotel, you and yours—remain for a moment. I have a few matters I want to discuss with you. You too, Driskell.”

  The others filtered out of the room, leaving Yaotel, Danton, Driskell, Nahua, and the new woman—and Tanuac himself.

  Tanuac waited a few beats after the door had closed all the way and then looked around the room. “Dal Yaotel. I believe the time has come for you to gain some trust. You have people who can move invisibly?”

  “Yes,” Yaotel said. “We call them moonbloods. The only one I have available right now is Yasril. What do you intend?” He nodded to Danton. “A lightblood could also be helpful if you’re just looking for some subtle reconnaissance.”

  “Yes, that’s all,” Tanuac said. “No fighting, no interaction at all with the Conclave if they can help it. Just find out the exact makeup of the army and what we’re going to have to contend with while Nahua and Driskell attend to the negotiations.”

  “I think they can handle that.”

  Tanuac nodded. “Good. They’ll leave in the morning. Now, as to the matter of Ferehar. Updates?”

  Yaotel’s brow creased. “Unfortunately, no. I’ve tried contacting the man I have there a few times in the past two weeks but haven’t been able to get a hold of him. Frankly, I’m becoming concerned something may have happened.” He nodded toward the woman. “This is Da Aleena. She just arrived in Marakyn yesterday. She’s not Gifted, but she’s an ally who’s helped us in the past. When I found out she had recently been in contact with Danton, I asked if she’d be willing to come to Marakyn to lend whatever assistance she could, and she agreed.”

  Aleena inclined her head toward Tanuac, and he nodded in return.

  “Since I’ve been unable to get a hold of my man, I’ve decided to send her on to Ferehar to either find and meet my contact or pick up where he left off, if necessary.”

  Tanuac drummed his fingers on the table. “That’s all fine and good,” he said, “but I confess that I’m a bit in Beatha’s camp here: time is a precious commodity and we don’t know when we may run out.”

  Yaotel’s face was grim. “I’m aware, Your Excellency.” He hesitated and then pulled out his communication device—the qixli. “If you don’t mind, I can try contacting my man one more time right now. Perhaps I’ll get lucky.”

  Tanuac waved his hand. “Go on.”

  Driskell leaned forward again. The devices were fascinating to him. Somehow, creating fire and turning invisible seemed less impressive feats—however fantastical—than being able to communicate with someone instantly across a great distance.

  Yaotel held the qixli in both hands.

  A few silent moments passed before the vague impression of a face appeared in the silvery aether inside it.

  “Vaughn?” Yaotel asked.

  “Yes. I’m here,” a voice said. It sounded tired; then again, it was hard to tell with the distortion the device caused.

  Yaotel’s face smoothed. “Thank the gods. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for almost two weeks.”

  “Was that concern for my welfare?” the man on the other end—Vaughn—asked.

  Yaotel grunted. “Any information yet?”

  “Enough to confirm what you already thought,” Vaughn said. “But I have bad news. I ran into trouble that made it hard for me to stick around, so I’m already heading to Marakyn. I’m about three days out. You want more now or when I get there?”

  “You can give me a full update when you get here,” Yaotel said. “But when you arrive, come directly to the consulate in the government ring. Ask for Lady Nahua if you can’t find me.”

  “Got it.”

  Yaotel put the qixli down and looked up at Aleena. “Meanwhile, can you be ready to head to Ferehar in the morning? Sounds like we’ll need someone to take over, so this is perfect.”

  Aleena saluted. “Sure thing.”

  “Good luck to all of you, then,” Tanuac said, standing. “The gods know we’ll need it.”

  Driskell’s hands were sweaty on the reins of his horse. Their small caravan included Nahua’s personal guards and Yasril and Danton masquerading as two more of Nahua’s personal guards—though if all went well, no one would ever notice them. They had almost reached where the Conclave army was camped.

  It had been a long two days for Driskell—each day another day closer to an unknown ending.

  The worst part was he couldn’t even say a proper goodbye to Tania. He had said he had been called upon to travel with Nahua on government business; he couldn’t tell her this government business was potentially dangerous.

  “Nervous, Driskell?” Nahua asked. She rode on one side of him in the middle of their small caravan. “I hope your horse doesn’t bolt.”

  Driskell looked down at his hands and unwound the reins from around his wrists, where he had unconsciously wrapped them until they were far too tight. “What if something goes wrong?” he asked, his voice low.

  “This is a peace-keeping mission, Driskell,” Nahua said. “They won’t attack us unless they feel threatened.”

  He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “But what if they aren’t fooled? What if they somehow know?”

  “What are you fretting about?” Danton put in from the other side of Nahua. “All you have to do is stand next to Nahua and look pretty.”

  Driskell looked over at him dubiously. “Are you sure you can do this?”

  Danton did a fancy wiggle in the air with his fingers, and a moment later, he transformed himself into a Conclave priest and then back again.

  “All right,” Driskell said. “But how long can you hold that for?”

  “Long enough,” Danton said.

  “What if you can’t?”

  “Driskell,” Nahua said, “stop worrying. Everyone knows the risks.”

  The other Banebringer who was with them, Dal Yasril, a so-called moonblood, was silent at that. His face was pale and his eyes aimed straight ahead.

  The reaction did little to comfort Driskell. “What do we know about this commander we’re meeting with?” he asked.

  Nahua wrinkled her nose. “His name is Bherg. I’ve never met him before, but I’ve heard of him. He’s part of one of the higher circles of priests in Weylyn City—the one who suggested the blood tests, actually.”

  Yet another soft mandate from Weylyn that Ri Tanuac had balked at. The little cylindrical blood testing devices were now part of the standard issue Watch kits, which Tanuac could do nothing about. But since, so far, the Conclave had only been enforcing the blood tests in the three central regions, Tanuac had gotten away with failing to implement the tests at the gates of Marakyn or including the random tests as part of their own Watchmen’s regular duties.

  If the opinion pieces in the newssheets were anything to go by, the people’s overwhelming opinion of the tests was negative.

  “They have a priest in charge of an army?” Driskell asked. “Does he know anything about leading an army?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Nahua said.

  Not long after, the caravan stopped.

  They all dismounted and led their horses on foot.

  Another few minutes brought them to the top of another hill and out of the woods—in sight of the army.

  They stopped to survey the encampment.

  There were more soldiers scurrying around than Driskell had ever seen in his life. It wasn’t that many, relatively speaking. He knew that, intellectually. But the sight still made a pit open in his stomach.

  “Looks like only about half of the army is here,” Nahua said, nodding toward the northern side of the encampment, where there was a line of me
n and supplies trickling in.

  Half? Burning skies. It already looked like enough to raze Marakyn to the ground.

  “Marakyn is well-fortified,” Nahua reminded him, as if reading his thoughts. “It would take more than this to threaten it.”

  “But what of all the towns that are unfortified?”

  “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  One of Nahua’s guards lifted a flag into the air with the symbol of Donia on it. Underneath, a white cloth had been tied as a symbol of peace.

  A handful of men detached themselves from the encampment and headed their way. Three of them were soldiers, but the fourth was attired as a Conclave battle-priest: a brown robe, belted at the waist as usual, but sleeveless and split at the front from hem to thigh—presumably to allow freedom of movement—with a tan shirt and brown trousers underneath. An ornate silver amulet rested atop the Conclave symbol embroidered in cream onto the chest of the robe—a glittering adornment against otherwise modest garb.

  Bherg, no doubt.

  “Here we go,” Nahua said. “Everyone ready?”

  No, Driskell thought. But he had no choice.

  The Conclave priest strode ahead of his guards to meet Nahua’s entourage. One of the priest’s guards carried a flag with the symbol of the Conclave, also tied with a white cloth.

  The priest approached them, his hands spread out, palms up. “Emissaries of Donia,” he said, “we greet you in peace.”

  Nahua dismounted, and Driskell followed suit. She, too, showed her empty palms. “Peace, brothers,” she said. “I am Lady Nahua, Ri Tanuac’s daughter. I speak on his behalf. This is my attaché, Dal Driskell.” She then gestured vaguely to the guards behind them. “The others are my personal guards.” Yasril and Danton, exactly according to plan, were nowhere to be seen.

  The priest’s eyes flicked toward the guards and then back. “Very good,” he said. “I am Bherg. I have hopes that we can put all this unpleasantness behind us.”

  Nahua bowed. “We certainly wish no further unpleasantness, Holiness,” she said.