“Scribe,” he said. “That’s your Function. You’ll travel to Jaliss with me. There, you’ll be trained in writing the capital dialect. After, you’ll be placed into service at the geognosts’ monastery.”
I stared, still unable to move. Scribing? I didn’t even know where this geognosts’ monastery was. Avill’s words from the morning sprang to my thoughts. Don't let them take you, she'd said.
“Master Havialo,” the registrar said. “I appreciate your interest, but the Registry has already assigned her a Function. Her expertise at the sluices will serve the Emperor’s glory.”
The mage—Master Havialo—turned an expressionless face on the woman. Moments later, the floor trembled, the beginning of a shake. A gust of wind struck the building as the earth rocked beneath us. My heart raced, but I still couldn’t move. Only storm winds blew that hard, but the sky had been clear when I’d entered the building. I knew almost nothing about geognosty. Was the gust the earth mage’s doing? And what about the paralysis? I couldn’t make myself want to move, no matter that my instincts screamed at me to flee.
“Her Function is scribing,” Master Havialo said, still fiddling with the silver band on his finger. “You’ll record the results in your ledger after we leave. I will see she presents herself to training after I escort her to Jaliss. She’ll obtain her writ there.”
As he spoke, the registrar’s eyes grew distant. She nodded blankly then jerked when another burst of wind slammed the building, setting the framing shivering.
My thoughts felt sluggish, my muscles filled with ice. During a quake, the safest place was outside. Still, I couldn’t make myself move.
After a moment, the registrar shook her head, a confused look in her eyes. “The Prime Registrar will not appreciate you threatening our authority.”
“Perhaps your prime will take it up with me directly, then,” the geognost said. Following his words, the earth beneath us heaved again and then quieted.
“I’ll see to it,” the woman said through gritted teeth.
“Now,” the mage said, turning to me. “I assume you know how to ride.”
Ride? Now? How could this be happening? “Master Havialo,” I said. “…Sire. I’m supposed to become a sluicer. Everyone from Numintown does.”
“Apparently not,” he said. But something in his face, a certain stiffness, suggested his casual shrug was anything but.
“W—When?” I asked. I’d promised Avill I’d turn fugitive if they tried to take me away. I’d have to run tonight. Today. As soon as I was out of sight of the mage and registrar.
“Saddle two horses,” Master Havialo said, glancing at one of his henchmen.
The man assented with a curt nod and strode for the door. He rolled a shoulder as he passed before the stony gaze of a protector.
Master Havialo turned to me. “You have until the mounts are ready. We leave immediately after.”
“Wait. What about my things? And I need to see my family—” My throat closed down over my next words.
He scanned my clothing. “You’ll receive a uniform when we reach the capital. If your other garments are like these, they’re unsuitable for travel anyway. I’ll see to your provisioning at Dukket Waystation. If your family is waiting outside, you may say your farewells. Otherwise, perhaps you can pen a letter. In the common tongue. Peninsular dialect.”
Was he mocking me? I balled my hands into fists. Why scribing? Had something in my comment about reading brought this on?
“Of course, if you just stand there chewing your lip, I’m afraid you’ll forfeit what little time you have.” He nodded at the door.
Stumbling, I hurried to the exit and fumbled at the latch until I managed to open it. Wilona, Enno, and his father were just reentering the hall, having abandoned it during the quake. Their eyes widened when they saw me.
“Well?” Enno asked.
“My mother and sister. Are they outside?”
Enno shrugged. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
As I shoved out the door into the bright glare of midday, Wilona called out. “Wait, Savra. Where’s your writ?”
“Oh, just let her go,” Enno said.
Wilona said something in a low tone lost beneath the rush of blood in my ears. As the door clicked shut, I scanned the trampled area in the center of Numintown. I needed an escape route. Inland would be best. The tangled brush between the shore and the peninsula’s spine would hide me until I could find somewhere more permanent.
Moments later, hoof beats sounded as a pair of freshly saddled horses trotted from the stable. The henchman sat astride one and tugged the other’s halter by its lead.
I bolted just as the door opened behind me. Down the stairs and along the front edge of the porch. From the doorway, a man muttered a curse.
The earth reached up and slammed me. Except that wasn’t right. I’d fallen. Caught a toe. How? I rolled, scrambled, tried to gain my feet. The street lurched, sending me toppling and the horses snorting.
When I tried again, the geognost—Havialo—was abruptly beside me, lifting me by the arm with fingers strong as iron cuffs. “Listen to me, Savra,” he said near my ear. “You are in more danger than you can imagine. Do what I say, and you and your family may live. Fail to listen, and you—and they—are most certainly dead.”
“I don’t—”
“I know you don’t understand. But you will have to trust me. Everything depends on this.”
The horses drew up beside us. Somehow, my foot found the stirrup, and my other leg swung over the animal’s hindquarters as I heaved myself up. Some part of my mind was responding to his warning while the other parts still scrambled for ideas. Me? In danger? How could this be happening? I’d made Avill a promise. But if the man spoke true, I had to go in order to protect her.
With a forced calm like an eggshell ready to crack, the geognost circled the mounts and took the reins from his henchman.
“Proceed as we agreed,” Havialo said before mounting up.
The henchman nodded as Havialo clucked to his mount. Just like that, we were trotting away from Numintown. Away from Avill and my broken vow to always stay near her.
Chapter Four
Kostan
Steelhold, Emperor's chambers
ILISHIAN WALKED THROUGH the palace corridors with quick, birdlike steps. His expression discouraged—no, forbade—questions. Like cold clay waiting for a potter’s hands, his flesh lay unmoving over the bones of his face.
While pacing down the final corridor leading to the Emperor’s chambers, my scattered thoughts coalesced into twin daggers of hatred and fear. Soon, I would look evil in the eyes. But what if I saw my own reflection there?
I swallowed, took a deep breath and forced my fists to relax. I even glanced at the walls, noticing the ornate onyx carvings mortared between the granite blocks. Emperor Tovmeil had something to say to me. Perhaps I’d take this opportunity to say something back.
On either side of the double doorway into the Emperor’s chambers, candlewicks sent flames as long as my forearm toward the ceiling. In the fires’ hearts, teardrops of deep purple danced. As Ilishian approached, the tongues of flame leaned toward him. I stopped a few paces back while he tapped on the door. A muffled invitation penetrated the heavy mahogany.
“Armor your spirit,” the mage commanded.
I nodded and pinched the silver ring I wore on the middle finger of my left hand. Like the other Scions, I’d been given the band on my tenth birthday. I’d worn it for a year before my argent-mage trainer allowed me to sip Maelstrom-blessed seawater from the Tempest Goblet, attuning the band to my spirit. After the Ascension, if I were to become a minister rather than Emperor, I would receive a single gold ring blessed with aurum magic to strengthen and speed my body. As Emperor, there would be many, many more blessings. A black iron ring and accompanying ferro rank, to start.
As I focused my mind on the silver encircling my finger, hard and smooth against my sk
in, I groped for an awareness of my spirit’s boundaries. It had been over ten days since my last session in the Hall of Mages, and as always, my control over my spirit-self wavered. To concentrate, I pressed my tongue against the back of my front teeth. My first, flailing attempt to harness my internal power grazed Ilishian’s spirit instead. He curled his lip in disgust. It took three more tries before I sank a hook of my awareness into my personal well of power. With a relieved sigh, I expanded my thoughts to encompass my spirit, commanding it to ward against attack.
“I’d heard you struggled with simple spirit control,” Ilishian said, his voice tinged with disdain. “I hadn’t realized how hard your instructor had worked to gentle that news. It’s a wonder the Goblet didn’t reject your attempt at attunement.”
My eyes flicked to Ilishian’s hands—like many high-ranking mages, he wore both a silver and a gold band along with the black-iron rings on his fingers and in his earlobes. A good metalogist could master any of the three disciplines, argent, aurum, and ferro, but usually focused most of their energy on one. He noticed the direction of my gaze and smirked.
I raised my chin. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t heard the criticisms before. Even the other Scions could sense my fumbling attempts at manipulating my spirit-self. And as for controlling the minds of others, not even ten attuned rings would grant me that ability.
My failure to wilt under his disappointment sparked something in Ilishian’s eyes. “I was beginning to think you had no spine at all,” he said. “I thought we might all be doomed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, squeezing the latch and pulling open the door to the Emperor’s private chambers.
As I passed the candles, heat brushed my cheeks. The flames were testing me. My spirit armor crackled in response, feeling as if sparks traveled over my skin. Moments later, the sensation vanished. I stepped into the Emperor’s rooms.
I wasn’t sure what I'd expected. The public hall where elite subjects could pay tribute—at the distance of hundreds of paces from their ruler—dripped with Maelstrom-relics and gems. Candles burned in holders forged from Maelstrom-blessed black iron, no doubt enchanted to immolate any attackers. As for the Emperor himself, Tovmeil never appeared without at least a dozen protectors ringing him.
But now Emperor Tovmeil stood before me in a simple chamber furnished with straight-backed chairs that appeared fashioned by journeymen woodworkers. He wore a simple tunic and trousers, the fine weave of the linen the only concession to his station. If rough-spun, the clothing would have been more suited to a Prov labor than the ruler of the entire Atal Empire.
I was so shocked I lost my grasp on my spirit armor. Behind me, Ilishian snorted in disgust as he shut the door with a click.
“Would you like to sit?” The Emperor asked me, gesturing to one of the simple chairs.
My tongue lay dead on the floor of my mouth, a useless corpse. All my hatred stood behind it, clamoring for justice.
Emperor Tovmeil clasped his hands behind his back as he paced two steps one way, two steps the other. A thoughtful look consumed his features. After a moment, he raised his eyebrows.
“Perhaps this will be easier if I simply command you. Sit, Scion Kostan.”
Still, I stood frozen by anger and shock. The Emperor rolled his eyes, strode to a chair, and sat.
“There,” he said showing his palms. When he did, a heavy bronze bracer peeked out from beneath his tunic sleeve. Bronze was an uncommon metal to be worn beneath clothing. Unless one of the Maelstrom-metals had been melted into the alloy, it wouldn't grant him special abilities. But it wasn't ornamental either. Otherwise, why hide it under his sleeve?
Finally, I stepped stiffly to the chair and sat, keeping my face even. Surely, my feelings for the man swam in my eyes, but I wouldn’t speak them aloud. Not yet.
The Emperor cast his gaze toward the door. “Ilishian? Would you sit, my friend?”
The mage shook his head and remained beside the door. “Better I stay here in case we have need of defense.”
A flash of regret crossed the Emperor’s face. “You’re right, of course.” He turned his eyes to me. “You wonder why you’re here, I assume.”
“I was under the impression we wouldn’t meet in person unless I Ascended,” I said, only remembering after a moment’s pause to add, “your eminence.”
The corner of his mouth twisted in a bittersweet smile. “Please forgo the ridiculous title. In any case, the selfish part of me still yearns for the day when I pass on the throne. It’s contemptible, isn’t it? Wishing to lay this burden on someone else? Though to counter that, I will say I’ve never relished having to choose between exile and execution following the ceremony.”
“I imagine not,” I said, off-balanced by his words. I wanted to tell him the real abhorrence wasn’t his thoughts on the Ascension. It was his treatment of the Provs and even the merchant-class Atal. Yet somehow, I couldn’t reconcile my image of a savage tyrant with the man sitting three paces from me, elbows on his knees and fingers laced loosely together. Emperor Tovmeil seemed almost… gentle.
He sighed. “I wanted to kiss the Prime Astrologer when she brought news of your birth omens so early into my rule,” he said. “Not that an emperor may lower himself to such acts of affection. In any case, I pity the rulers who sit the throne into their seventh or eighth decade.”
I found myself nodding in agreement. The Emperor was only fifty years old. He’d Ascended just ten years before the astrologers proclaimed that thirteen Elite-class children—no more, no less—would be born during the new moon at the midpoint of Deepwinter. And true to their prediction, the other Scions and I were born within minutes of one another during the darkest night in the eight-year seasonal cycle.
In two years, one of us would Ascend. Most elderly emperors chose execution following their abdication—after fifty years ruling an Empire, beginning a life somewhere beyond the Stornisk Maelstrom seemed impossible. But Emperor Tovmeil was young still, in relative terms. I wondered if his choice would be different.
“You hate what the Empire does, don’t you?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts.
My stomach clenched, forcing breath out of my lungs. I’d prepared to tell him how I felt, but now that the question was forced, my courage fled.
“The girls who clean our brands,” I said after a moment’s fumbling. “Blindfolds would work as well as removing their eyes.”
The following silence pressed down on me like the blade of the headman’s axe. From behind, I heard Ilishian shift.
“Look at me,” the Emperor said after a moment.
I met his blue-gray eyes, determined to recover my bravery. The Emperor didn’t blink as he pulled back his sleeve to show the bracer I’d glimpsed when he sat. He raised it before me. Forged with ornate designs, the metal fastened with three clasps on the inside of his forearm. It stretched from his wrist nearly to his elbow.
After giving me a moment to inspect it, he dropped his arm to his lap. “You were meant to learn these things upon your Ascension, but circumstances have forced me to act. I deeply regret burdening you with this knowledge early.”
“My Ascension?” My head ached as I drew my brows together in confusion.
He brushed away my question with a wave of his hand. “In a moment. Have you learned of the Ascension Relics?”
I looked more closely at the bracer. Now I understood why he wore it. Judging by the burnishing at the edges, it was a Maelstrom relic, softened by the kiss of the waves. But I’d never heard of relics associated with the Ascension specifically, unless you counted the Tempest Goblet.
“I haven’t.”
He nodded. “Neither had I when my time came. But some Scions are more… cunning when it comes to learning things that should be hidden from them.”
At the implied criticism of my abilities, I tamped down a flare of pride. Instead of speaking, I simply nodded.
“In any case,” he went on, “when an Emperor or Empress Ascends the throne, two relics are attuned to the new ruler. This—” He pointed at the bracer. “—and this.” He pulled back the collar of his shirt, revealing chiseled muscles and a pendant on a heavy silver chain. The pendant itself was a polished banded agate, lines of red and purple crossing the stone.
“The Heart of the Empire and the Bracer of Sight,” he said. “No one but Ilishian, me, and those present at my attunement knows of these relics. Not even my wife-consort—I remove them before visiting her. If you’ve become accustomed to having servants help you bathe and dress, perhaps it’s time to send them away. Because if these become yours in two years, you will have a need for privacy you’ve never known.”
“Yes, your eminence.”
“As I said, I have no need for titles.”
“And you still haven’t answered my question about the servant girls. There is no need to blind them.”
“I was like you,” he responded. “Though you won’t believe it now. The servant girls you are so concerned about… I helped one escape. I was about your age when I crept outside my room in the middle of the night. I hurried to the servants’ quarters and grabbed the nearest blind girl from her bed. She protested, of course, out of fear of punishment. But I carried her away out to the wall anyway.”
“And?” I asked. If he’d been successful, perhaps I follow his plan. But if I helped some escape, wouldn’t more girls be blinded in their places?
Emperor Tovmeil swallowed, then continued. “When the guard at the gate looked away, I slipped onto the path overlooking Jaliss. I guided the girl to the inside edge of the path and told her to hurry. But I’d been wrong about the guard. He hadn’t looked away. My guardians felt I’d been too soft with the servants lately. They wanted to teach me a ruler’s hardness. As the girl fumbled her way down the steep descent, a protector grabbed me. He got a hand over my mouth before I could yell, but the girl's ears were sensitive. She turned long enough for me to see the panic on her face before the second guard slammed into her. He’d been waiting on the path the whole time. He knocked her over the edge. She screamed until she landed in the city below.”
Heart of the Empire (The Broken Lands Book 1) Page 3
