Evrain folded his hands over the saddle pommel. “As a gesture of good faith, I’ll share something with you. Falla told you that the infection in your foot appears unnatural. It’s been held to simmering most likely by the salve which you described. What we haven’t yet shared is we believe we know the cure.”
I raised my eyebrows. “And?”
“Your ankle cuff. It’s wrought from Maelstrom-gold. As you’re surely aware, the gold from Cosmal grants power over the wearer’s body. Usually, that enables great feats of strength or quickness. In this case, that power is more a curse, holding the sickness inside your flesh. If we cut the cuff off for you, the ordinary methods for clearing an infection will almost certainly allow you to heal as normal.”
I blinked, in shock at his words. It made sense, I supposed. In our training in the Hall of Mages, we’d learned about the powers of Maelstrom-gold, but we’d never been instructed in bonding with the metal. Maybe that was because no one wished us to learn the true purpose of the cuffs.
Evrain narrowed his eyes at me, watching my reaction. What should I say? If I hesitated at the thought of having my cuff removed, Stormshard might see it as a hidden loyalty to the Empire and the Ascension.
In some ways that was true. I needed to Ascend. It would already be difficult, dangerous, and maybe impossible, to return to Steelhold and reclaim my position. I wore the Heart of the Empire, but that proved nothing. Only the Emperor and a select few advisers knew of the relic.
If I didn’t even have a cuff to mark me as an imperial Scion, how could I expect to be recognized? Because we’d been kept sequestered, few would recognize me. A scar on my foot would prove nothing but my willingness to injure my flesh to impersonate a Scion.
“Well?” Evrain asked. “You’re clearly surprised. Yet there’s none of the elation I expected.”
I grasped the saddle’s pommel with enough force to press the blood from my knuckles. “I was only considering the repercussions. You just mentioned the advantage in having an ally with access to Steelhold, but without my cuff, I have no proof of my status as Scion. Until I know who threatened my life, I believe it would be against our best interests to cut it off.”
Kei’s mouth turned up at the corner, creating a charming dimple. “Our interests?”
I blushed. I had said that, hadn’t I. “I’ve never cared for the treatment of Provincials under Emperor Tovmeil and the rulers before him. I swear it. You all are asking a lot for me to commit to an allegiance. I’ve only just escaped an attempt on my life. This is my first real experience beyond Steelhold’s walls. So I hope you’ll understand my plea for patience while I try to understand what I want. But yes, I believe we desire similar things.”
Evrain draped his reins over his horse’s neck and swung down, feet crunching on the grit that strewed the granite beneath. “Feel up to a short trip out there?” he asked, sweeping his arm toward the narrow trail that edged out the fin of stone. No more than the width of my foot in some places, the spire dropped off precipitously on both sides, the plunge ending in a jagged boulder field far below.
I licked my lips. “It might be a challenge one-footed.”
He strolled over to my side and tugged on the loose end of the slipknot fastening my injured leg to the saddle strap. “Consider it a chance to build trust.”
The big man grasped my wrist and helped me down. At his touch, I couldn’t help stiffening. The truth was, as a Scion, I’d had little physical contact with others. Occasionally, the other Scions had nudged me with an elbow, pushed a fist against my shoulder. And there’d been the kiss with Vaness, her surprisingly soft body and lips pressed against mine. But situations like this, where someone offered me help, had been so rare I couldn’t remember the last one. It felt nice. Once again, I glanced at Kei, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight.
Maybe I should trust these people after all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Parveld
In the Icethorn foothills
THE WAY JALISS crashed against the base of Steelhold’s sheer-sided pedestal, washing around the edges and even spilling into the chasm that separated the Hold’s spire from the Icethorn Mountains reminded Parveld of his long-ago boyhood. There’d been a girl. Lilik. At low tide, they’d played around the bases of pilings at the fishermen’s docks near the mouth of Istanik Harbor.
So long ago. Yet he could still see her smile, hear her laugh dancing out across the water.
He dipped his hand into the pocket of the duster coat he wore against the chill mountain morning and touched the silver-and-gold bracelet. Truesilver. Truegold. Not the tainted metals this Empire craved. Like other civilizations before it, greed would bring Atal down. Or so he predicted, particularly given the convergence of events here with the visions he’d had centuries in the past. Even now, he remembered drowning in an aquamarine sea of magic, glimpses of the future slapping his mind as water filled his lungs. So many visions, yet it seemed all of them led here.
He leaned back against the dry-stacked stone wall of the shepherd’s hut. Perched on a grassy terrace an hour’s climb into the foothills east of Jaliss, the small shelter did little to cut the night’s chill, but it hid him from sight when patrols of imperial protectors passed on the road below. Plus, if anyone happened to spot him, they wouldn’t question his presence. He’d given the previous shepherd enough real coin—not that tin scrip the Empire stamped in their presses and doled out to Provincial subjects—to fund a journey to the Aniselan ports and away to some free land. Parveld knew nothing about caring for sheep. He figured they wouldn’t starve on this well-grassed terrace. At least not until Deepwinter approached. Before finishing his time here, he’d find someone to take over their care.
As if to remind him of that vow, a young member of his flock butted him with hard nubs of emerging horns.
“Ow!” Parveld said, smiling as he laid a hand on the wooly head. He scratched around the animal’s ears, causing a rear hoof to paw the air in reflex.
The mountain sun shone strongly on Parveld’s chest and face. He was about to lay his head back against the wall and close his eyes when he felt the first glimmer of sparks crossing the fringe of his perception. As always—even when sleeping—he kept a portion of his awareness focused on the mystical aether surrounding him. Over the last twenty decades, he’d learned that his spirit sense extended to a distance of around ten leagues in any direction. A couple day’s walk at a reasonable pace. Ordinarily, he’d ignore newcomers until they were almost directly beneath his perch.
But these sparks were different. One glowed like a bonfire. Like the sun fallen to earth.
The girl approached.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Savra
Nearing Jaliss on the Atalan Plateau
ACCORDING TO HAVIALO, we were just a couple days’ ride from Jaliss when we turned off the road in search of his acquaintance who would alter the ledger. A narrow trail pressed through deep grass and willows to reach a rickety shack that crouched on the edge of a large pond as if hoping to catch minnows. We hobbled the horses at the rear of the building then circled the structure. A man in a courier’s uniform lounged on the porch that overlooked the water, feet propped on the railing.
“Havialo,” he said when we came into view. “I received your message—”
“Then there’s no reason to discuss it,” the mage said, cutting him off with a glance in my direction.
The courier shifted his gaze, looking me up and down, before returning his attention to Havialo. “You never were much for pleasantries.”
“And you never were much for duty when you can stare at a puddle,” Havialo said as he gestured to the pond. A stand of cattails grew at the far side of the porch, and dragonflies hovered among them.
I’d kept behind the geognost when he stepped onto the porch, and now I was glad for it. Havialo had a knack for irritating so-called friends, it seemed. At least there weren’t any protectors around for the courier
to summon.
The courier rolled his eyes. “I do everything required by my Function and run a discreet business on the side. If I take a moment now and again to enjoy my surroundings, I’ll not feel guilty for it. Anyway, I certainly hope this document is less complicated than the last. I thought you’d never be satisfied with the—”
Havialo stepped forward, raising the scroll tube in an almost threatening manner. “It’s just a single entry. Savra Padmi’s Function needs to read ‘scribe.’”
Dropping his feet to the porch, the courier yawned and stood. “I’ll just be a few, then.” He snatched the scroll tube from Havialo’s hand as he yanked the door open. When the geognost made to follow, the courier shook his head. “Take some time to enjoy my puddle. Storm’s fury, but you could stand to relax now and again.”
“I’d rather assure you complete—”
The man shook his head. “No good forger reveals his methods.”
Havialo looked ready to battle his way into the cottage. With a deep breath, he forced himself to relax.
“Please work quickly. We’d like to cover more distance before we camp. Savra here has never seen the Icethorns.”
The courier sighed. “As you say.”
Before the sun dropped a finger’s width down the sky, we were underway again. It was official. My Function was scribe. Yet while I should feel relief at moving a step closer to my writ and my father, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d missed something important in the men’s interaction.
***
A day later, I finally saw the Icethorns. Like jagged clouds, they soared over the grasslands. Never in my life could I have imagined something so beautiful—and forbidding. As we drew nearer, details emerged. Ragged cliffs punctured the snowfields, and narrow vales held dark strips of trees. It was all I could do to keep my eyes on the trail ahead. When the road turned to parallel the range, I gave myself a stiff neck by turning my head to the side so often.
As we rode beside the steep foothills, I imagined I could smell the snow that plastered their crests. Sometimes during Deepwinter, frost left long, white crystals on the brush near the spine of the Cosmal Peninsula. Once, Avill and I had begged off our tide picking duties and hiked inland to pluck the flakes from the leaves and watch them melt on our hands. But I could only guess what actual snow felt like. And the smell—the fresh air that sank from the mountain tops made me think of clean sheets, just laundered and dried in the sea breeze. Only cleaner.
After a camping one more night on the grassland, we drew within sight of the capital. The city of Jaliss surrounded a massive stone pillar like a besieging army. Sprawled beneath the towering monolith, the capital was a dark blanket of angular buildings and crooked streets. Even at midday, chimney smoke hung in a layer over the enormous settlement, deepening the shade that pooled in the streets.
Crowning the stone spire, the fortress was like nothing I had ever seen. Though the walls and buildings within were too far away to make out details, the Hold looked as if it had been carved from the mountain itself. The work of a master sculptor on an inconceivable scale. Even standing directly beneath the pillar, the actual fortress would be as far away as the distance between Numintown and the next nearest settlement. An hour’s climb from the city, at least.
On the side of the pillar facing the grasslands, a dark cut switchbacked up the sheer wall of the spire. I assumed it was an ascent trail carved into the mountainside. I shuddered at the thought of trying to navigate the trail.
Every few minutes we passed travelers walking or riding the other direction. Less frequently, mounted men and women trotted or galloped past us toward the city, casting incurious glances our way as they passed. Our horses’ hooves made hollow tocks against the cobblestone road.
Our arrival at Jaliss both excited me and struck fear in my heart. My new life would begin somewhere in its wide spread of streets. As we drew closer, I noticed that the buildings nearest the stone pillar were the largest. Likely home to the Atal elite. Whereas down on the grasslands, shanties crowded together. I had few illusions on where I’d end up living—if I stayed in the capital, that is—but I also imagined I’d be called to the upper districts to scribe letters and documents for the wealthier citizens.
Of course, I might not end up a scribe at all. Once Havialo helped me find my father, maybe I’d join up with Stormshard. The thought gave me a little thrill, though I hated to admit it. But I could also imagine Avill’s reaction at the idea. I’d already failed her once by fleeing Numintown. Why should I be the one to fight the Empire when my little sister needed me? My best choice—my most responsible choice—would be to demand that my father send me to the sanctuary. Maybe he’d join us, even.
As for Havialo’s offer to join his new renegade group, I couldn’t see a reason to choose that over my other options. He hadn’t mentioned it again, but I’d caught him appraising me more than once. I knew he still hoped. And somewhere down inside, I had a niggling fear of how he’d react if he asked and I refused.
As we drew closer to the city and the Hold, I squinted, searching for climbers on the path. It didn’t appear that anyone was making the climb—I wondered whether that was common. Another strange detail caught my attention: on the back side of the pedestal, it appeared there’d been a recent rockfall from the mountainside opposite Steelhold. A large patch of stone had fallen away, leaving behind rock much lighter in color. Judging by the size of the scar, it must have been a massive collapse. I hoped no one had been traveling through the chasm below.
I pointed it out to Havialo, and he reined up, staring in shock. I’d never heard him curse, but the words that fell from his mouth made me blush.
“Do you know what happened?” I asked.
“The Chasm Span. It’s gone.” Holding the reins tight, he continued to stare, muttering another epithet.
Traveling the other direction, an elderly woman approached, a herbalist judging by her basket filled with packets of dried plants. Master Havialo raised a hand, asking her to stop. She turned weary eyes to him.
“What happened to the Span?” he asked, gaze flitting between her face and the scar where the bridge had apparently peeled away.
The woman shrugged. “Not a soul in Jaliss knows. Or if they do, they won’t say.”
“No explanation from Steelhold? Someone inside the fortress must have seen.”
The woman snorted. “Likely you’re right. But since the gates have been shut since the bridge came down, I wonder if we’ll ever know the truth. Some claim they heard the alarm gongs the night it fell, but that’s just gossip mongering if you ask me.”
“Closed? Entirely? I don’t remember a time when the gates were shut,” Havialo said.
As they spoke, my gelding eyed the grass at the edge of the road. For once, I tugged at the bit, discouraging him. The woman’s gaze flicked to me, but she quickly dismissed me as uninteresting.
She sucked her teeth, shrugging. “Anyone who reports for their Function inside the walls has been turned away. No scrip for their efforts in making the climb, and of course the grocers and butchers won’t hand over their wares without scrip. There are stirrings in the Splits about raiding the imperial stores. Everybody has to eat, you know, whether or not the Empire wants us to perform the Function they’ve forced on us.”
As he took in the information, Havialo ran his hand through his hair. “Well, I’m grateful to you for the news.”
She said nothing in response, simply ducked her head and trudged on.
“If you don’t mind,” the mage called after her. “Where are you bound?”
She turned and gave him a gap-toothed grin that struck me as strangely ironic given the sadness in her eyes. “Think I can make Anisel before I die? Because I tell you, there’s a storm coming. And if I’m going to be swept up, I’d rather see a few different faces before I go.”
Havialo inclined his head and dug into his pants pocket, flipping her a steel coin. “Best of luck, my frie
nd.”
Ahead, a simple wooden building stood at the side of the road. On the single step leading from the ground to the door, a woman with the courier’s crest on her sleeve leaned against a post, looking bored. In front of her was a flat-topped podium.
“Wait here,” Havialo said, dismounting and handing off his reins. I started to ask why, but he was already gone.
The woman watched Havialo’s approach with mild interest. I couldn’t make out his words as he spoke to her, but after a moment she nodded and hurried into the small building. When she emerged, she carried a satchel, sheet of parchment, and a quill. From inside the podium, she fished out an inkpot. Stepping aside so Havialo could use the podium’s surface to write, she assiduously kept her eyes off the paper. Or at least, she pretended to. I caught a few sly glances in his direction.
When the mage finished writing, he folded the paper, dripped a small puddle of wax on the seam, and marked it with a sigil pulled from his pocket. He handed over the letter.
The woman hurried around the other side of the building. Moments later, she was thundering down the road on her horse.
I didn’t meet Havialo’s eyes as he returned. Whether he believed he was protecting me or not, I was tired of his secrecy.
“Now what?” I said, scanning the snow-capped ridge.
“Now we wait. Your father will be here soon.” As he spoke, his gaze slipped to the side.
If I wasn’t mistaken, he was lying.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kostan
On a Sharder patrol, Icethorn Mountains
MUSCLES IN MY lower back tightened at the dizzying drop on either side of us. Even seated beside Evrain upon a sturdy and flat bench of rock, the heights seemed to tug at me.
Heart of the Empire (The Broken Lands Book 1) Page 14
