I felt a twinge of guilt I ignored. I’d already given Mam more than Roda ever had—more than she deserved, probably. “Thanks for that,” I said. I meant it, too.
“Where did you go?” Roda said. “Nobody knew what had happened to you, just that you left maybe a year before I came back. I didn’t think Bridie was well enough to travel.”
“Bridie died two years after you abandoned us,” I said. “Not that you’d give a damn about that.”
“Don’t you dare,” Roda began, then swallowed, and more calmly said, “I loved her. But that wasn’t enough to cure her. You know that.”
“What I know,” I said, “is you left me to take care of both of them and I was barely twelve, damn it, twelve years old in the slums of Thalessa with a drunken mother and a little sister who had fits, and I had to claw out a living any way I could because you were too wrapped up in your own needs to care about any of that!” That ache was starting to burn bright again, after all.
“I couldn’t stay!” Roda shouted. “I was turning into Mam—you think that would have helped any of us? I couldn’t make a living in Thalessa short of selling my body, I had to go, and I couldn’t take you with me!”
“Because you didn’t want to be burdened!” I shouted back.
“Because I couldn’t support the three of us!” she said.
“And you think I couldn’t have helped?” I said. “I was old enough to support two other people, but not to work with you to support three?”
Roda turned away. “I didn’t want Mam left alone,” she said, more quietly now. “I’m not saying it was the smartest decision. But I was the head of the family and I did my best. I thought I’d be back in a year or two.”
“That makes me feel so much better now,” I said. “Knowing you did your best. Like you did your best to find me. Was it a relief, knowing I was gone so you could go on with your life?”
“I did look for you!” she said. “I talked to everyone who’d ever known us, everyone you’d worked with—you just vanished as far as all of them were concerned. Mam didn’t even remember she’d had a daughter named Sesskia. At the end all she could do was babble about—you know, how she used to go on about our family’s lost glories and how we’d be living in a manor if not for Dad screwing up all our lives. I searched up and down the coast for over a year, thinking you might have stayed here, and in the end I had to give up because Balaen is huge and I’m only one person. I’m sorry, Sesskia.”
She sounded sorry. She sounded sincere. I didn’t care. “That doesn’t make anything better, Roda,” I said. I ignored the part of me that wanted to forgive her, the part of me that wanted her to make everything all right.
Now that I’m writing this, I feel guilty that I couldn’t forgive her. It’s been so long—what’s the point of holding onto my anger? But I can’t—I still remember how it felt the day she laid that burden on me, told me “you have to take care of them now” and then just walked away before I could do anything to stop her. And when I remember that, it’s as if she did it all over again. Maybe it makes me weak. I don’t know anymore.
Anyway, Roda said, “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in that procession. I thought, maybe it’s some other Sesskia, because why would my sister be hailed as a ruler? But it was definitely you. It was like being given a second chance. I’m sorry, Sesskia. I’m sorry I left and I’m sorry I didn’t come back in time. We’re all that’s left of our family. I don’t want to lose that again.”
My anger was slipping away no matter how hard I tried to hold onto it. I didn’t want to forgive her. It felt as if doing that would be like saying everything she did to me, to us, was all right. Like I didn’t have a right to be hurt by it. “What exactly do you want from me?” I said. “Money? Rank? Political power?”
She flinched. “I want my sister back,” she said. “I don’t care if you’re a fish scaler in Thalessa or Empress of the whole damned world. I want to sit with you and find out what you’ve been doing all these years and how you ended up on that platform in the center of Lethess claiming to be the new ruler of Balaen and this strange new country we’re cheek-by-jowl with now. I want you to forgive me, if you can.”
I shook my head and realized I was crying. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I don’t think I can.”
Roda’s shoulders slumped. She was crying too, and it was almost enough to change my mind. Almost. “I’m staying at the Salten Arms in Lethess,” she said, “down by the docks. You can find me there, if you decide you want to. Goodbye, Sesskia.” She left the tent, and I stood there, crying, because
I’m crying again now. I want to forgive her and I can’t forgive her. I hate her and I love her. She’s my sister, even though she abandoned us, and true God help me, I don’t know which of those things matters more.
I couldn’t talk about this at dinner in front of Radryntor, so I told Cederic I needed to talk tonight, but I don’t know if he’ll remember. I’m beginning to feel like he’s a stranger to me.
5 Teretar
Still nothing to report. Based on the kathana Terrael created to track the decline in magic, it’s not a regular decline (even though it never increases) so we can’t pick a future date and say that’s when it will be gone forever. It’s also not happening as fast as all of us feel it is; our fears are exaggerating the truth. I barely see Cederic these days, what with me being involved in research and him dealing with an increasingly testy Radryntor. I’m wondering whether she’s really that important as an ally.
6 Teretar
We got the word, finally, that the King and the God-Empress are married. Nobody in Lethess celebrated at all, but there was a funny undercurrent in Pfulerre I didn’t like. Cederic and I are going to address the city tomorrow to reassure them this changes nothing. I hope it works.
I keep thinking about Roda and trying not to, because it makes me so angry and guilty and I hate both those feelings. I wish she’d never approached me.
7 Teretar
I don’t know how effective that was. Cederic spoke about the God-Empress’s cruelties and the oaths he swore at his coronation. I told them about the King, about his weakness and how ineffectually he’d ruled Balaen, and asked them if they wanted someone like that co-ruling them. I think that made more of a difference than what Cederic said, but mainly because a lot of Pfulerrians have picked up on their consul’s bigotry. I don’t know how they reconcile disliking a Balaenic King ruling them with being fine with a Balaenic Empress-Consort ruling them. I just hope they go on doing it.
We’ve given up on trying to reconcile the two extremes of using willpower to work magic. It’s become obvious it’s simply impossible for human minds to fathom, and since the point of this is to restore a unified magic humans can use, there would be no point in that magic requiring something we can’t do. It feels like we’ve wasted so much time.
Audryn is back on her feet and looks perfectly healthy, but she got into an argument with Terrael about her coming back to active research and I had to add my voice to his. She cried a lot, then apologized, and then we hugged and I cried because I feel so overwhelmed, and I know how I’d feel if I were in her position. Unable to work magic, I mean. I have no idea what it’s like to be pregnant.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, though. I stopped taking the contraceptives after Cederic was nearly assassinated, in case the worst happens and someone—anyway, I haven’t told Cederic because it feels like superstition. Nothing’s happened, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like. I never pictured myself as a mother, mostly because I never dreamed I’d meet anyone I’d want to have a child with, so now I’m afraid because we have to produce at least one heir to keep all of this from sliding back into chaos when we’re gone. And it’s not just the giving birth; suppose I can’t raise my child—children, maybe—to be a good ruler?
This is so much greater a responsibility than most parents face, where if you have a rotten kid, he or she is only going to inflict that rottenness on a few people, not on an entire coun
try. I don’t want to talk about this with Cederic right now, not with everything he’s dealing with, and I probably shouldn’t worry about it until we’ve defeated the God-Empress and brought everything, or mostly everything, under control. But it’s something that worries me when I have time to spare from worrying about magic, or Radryntor, or Audryn.
I thought about going into Lethess today. Decided not to. Tried not to feel guilty.
Chapter Thirteen
8 Teretar
Radryntor noticeably cooler toward both Cederic and me. I think the only thing keeping her from changing her mind entirely about our rule is the Balaenic Army camped outside her gates. I’m prepared for us to leave the city if that becomes necessary. Cederic—I can’t believe I can’t remember the last time we made love. We’re just so busy…but I think we shouldn’t ever be too busy for that.
Anyway, Cederic looks grim these days, or I should say, looks grim to me; I doubt anyone else will see that in his normally impassive expression. Outwardly, he’s as calm and reassuring as ever, overseeing whatever Mattiak thinks needs his attention, sitting in judgment occasionally in Lethess and Pfulerre so people will see he’s a just ruler, drafting handbills to send out throughout the country condemning the King’s actions and reiterating his (Cederic’s) claim to the throne. I cannot imagine anyone better suited to this role, and I don’t think I say that just because I love him.
I’m going to wait up for him. I still haven’t told him about Roda—I don’t know if he even realizes she came to see me, because I bet Mattiak would think it wasn’t his business to discuss my business with my husband, and we haven’t had the right moment to talk about it yet. We need to remember we aren’t just these roles we’ve been playing, that at heart we’re two people who love and support and need each other. It’s hard to remember, these days, what it was like when all we had to worry about was the God-Empress finding out we were married and using that to threaten or hurt us. As if that were anything so trivial—but it certainly feels that way now.
9 Teretar
Fell asleep before Cederic came to bed, didn’t wake until after he was gone again this morning. Never had a chance to talk to him today—he was in Lethess most of the day, and I was with the mages, and then we had dinner with Radryntor and that was, of course, not a place where we could have a heartfelt conversation. Tonight for sure.
10 Teretar
See above, except this time I actively tried to speak to him and kept being called on for stupid little things I’m sure anyone could have handled, except, naturally, having the attention of the Empress-Consort makes people feel better. I wish I were just Sesskia again. I wish all of this were over. I wish Radryntor would stop being so stupid. I wish the God-Empress would drop dead and take the King with her. I wish Roda
I can’t bear how cynical and vicious I’ve become. Something has to change. I can’t quite bring myself to go into Lethess.
11 Teretar
More news out of Venetry, sickening news: the entire Chamber has been executed for “disloyalty.” We’re holding out hope this isn’t true. It’s come to us via rumor rather than official decree, but it seems so much like something the God-Empress would do it’s hard to stay optimistic. Not that I really liked any of them except maybe Jakssar, and Crossar was probably an active threat to us, but I didn’t wish any of them dead.
I’ve given up waiting for Cederic at night. Eventually, things will be less hectic, and we’ll have a chance to be together again. For now, I’m so tired I can’t bear it.
14 Teretar
No chance to write—well, chances to write, but not much to say. The new kathana that will unify how we apply our will to pouvrin is coming along very slowly, as expected, and everyone’s doing their best not to be impatient or worried at what that means about diminishing magic.
What I worry about all the time now is that bringing our two magics together isn’t going to make a difference. That magic isn’t diminishing, it’s spreading out the way it did after the worlds separated, and it can’t be stopped. Because, really, what does the world care if people can’t use magic? It’s not like it destroyed the worlds when that first stupid kathana split them apart. We just won’t have magic. And I refuse to think that’s inevitable. I think of how much Castaviran society depends on magic, of how many benefits Balaen might see from it, and it makes me more determined than ever to find a solution.
15 Teretar
Good progress on the kathana today. Everything else as usual. More news out of Venetry confirming the Chamber has been disbanded “in pursuit of a more unified government of our blended countries,” but nothing saying the Chamber Lords were executed. Hope that’s good news. Granea invited me for dinner and I made an excuse, then felt terrible. I’m not going to be magically dragged to wherever Roda is just because I step into the city. I hate this feeling.
16 Teretar
Kathana almost ready. We hope. Jaemis and Orenna seem confident; they’ve taken the lead on this, and by the verbal wrangling I infer they’re satisfied with the results. I’ve never seen two people so prone to expressing their fondness for each other by shouting. They’re like a couple of siblings born thirty years apart.
Radryntor is back to being cold. I think she took the expulsion of the Balaenic Chamber as a sign that the God-Empress is truly as pro-Castavir as Radryntor thinks we ought to be. I never see her except at dinner. Spoke briefly to Cederic today and he said we should definitely be prepared to force the issue.
Two more days, and we can do the kathana. I don’t dare make plans beyond that.
17 Teretar
I think everyone is prepared for their role in the kathana, even our Lethessian mages, who were completely unfamiliar with Castaviran magic until recently. It’s extremely complicated, so it’s a good thing the Balaenic mages don’t have to scribe th’an using their pouvrin or anything that would make it even more complicated. We’re using the offensive pouvrin, the mind-moving and fire pouvrin, to force a shape out of the th’an that will then bind the pouvrin into something less fluid, something will can gain purchase on. Whether this will affect all pouvrin and not just the two we’re using is still uncertain, as is whether this will make the magics come together, but we all feel confident about it.
Mostly confident.
I don’t think I’ve been this nervous about magic since I learned the mind-moving pouvra and was afraid I might kill myself using it. Sleep now, kathana tomorrow.
18 Teretar, noon
I’ve sat here gripping my pencil, not knowing how to begin, for an hour. I feel so weary, so defeated, there almost seems no point to writing anything. So I guess I should start with the list of the dead, so their names won’t be forgotten, Balaenics and Castaviran together because after this, the distinction doesn’t matter anymore:
Cerran, Aelisa, Loevaron, Selwen, Elevia, Bedaeka, Harisson, Obren.
Jaemis.
So few, when I write them down, and I should be thinking of how fortunate we are it wasn’t more, but every one of those names was someone I knew and cared about, even Obren and Elevia, whom I’d only just met. And I keep going over it. I know I shouldn’t. I had to have Orenna sedated because I couldn’t stop her trying to fix it any other way, but it’s impossible not to look at that list and think we should have understood it better, or been more patient, or something.
We started preparing early this morning, getting a good breakfast, some of us going for a run around the camp, others meditating, whatever limbered up their bodies and minds for working serious magic. I spoke briefly to Cederic, who was headed off for yet another meeting with Radryntor, and he told me he regretted not being able to be there, and he was gone before I realized I hadn’t kissed him goodbye. That felt like a bad omen, but I shook it off and went to do my own preparation ritual, which is to find a quiet spot and let my mind drift. That was hard to do today, and part of me would like to blame that for my contribution to the disaster, but I know that had nothing to do with it.
So I rested, and eventually went to where we were going to do the kathana, a big empty spot about a third of the way toward Lethess from the camp.
We needed something more permanent this time, so we we’d taken the trenching tools yesterday to dig a kathana circle out of the sod and carve out the inert th’an, which we filled with black clay we’d made by mixing white clay with charcoal. It took a lot of charcoal to get it good and black, and it left everyone’s fingers filthy, but the black stood out nicely against the pale ground.
Then we all took our places at the cardinal and ordinal points, kneeling in lines of four—that is, each point had four people lined up behind it, with Balaenic mages at the cardinal points and Castavirans at the ordinal points. I was the anchor, the last person in the row, for the northern point, Jeddan was farthest from me at the southern anchor point, and Jaemis knelt in the center, with his back to me, facing south.
The most complicated part, to me, was keeping the beat: there were five “musicians” with different instruments scrounged from all over Pfulerre, and I still don’t understand how they can tell the difference between two flutes that to me look and sound exactly the same, but it seems those small, nearly invisible differences matter. Maybe we used the wrong ones. I have to stop rethinking this.
Anyway, our five musicians each had a different type of instrument, drum, wooden block, fife, bell, and something that looks like a very short xylophone, and it took them about ten minutes to tune up and then get into harmony with each other. Then they began playing.
It’s the first kathana rhythm I’ve ever heard that actually sounded like music, and one of the things we worked hardest at, in preparing for this, was learning to identify when the melody reached the end and started over. I let myself relax and fall into the rhythm, which to me felt like a dance, and I remembered how the mages had swept back and forth across the kathana that summoned the Codex Tiurindi, and how beautiful it was, and that helped me relax even further.
After three repetitions, there was a sighing noise as everyone drew breath at once, and I can appreciate that now as I didn’t when I was absorbed in the rhythm, because it meant we’d passed the first obstacle, getting everyone synchronized. I was aware of movement on either side of me as the Castaviran mages to left and right brought their slates up and began scribing. I let the fire pouvra emerge from within me and began bending my will to its shape just as the mages across from our line began doing the same to manifest the mind-moving pouvra. That was how the pattern went: each pouvra in opposition to the other, with the Castaviran mages scribing th’an with the same effects, also opposite one another.
The Unconquered Mage Page 15
