He shook his head. “A week ago, I personally sent word by commune to my kin, nearly a thousand strong, who are spread out alone or in small groups throughout the world. Not long after—” he paused, fists clenching “—their stars began going out.”
“What!” Jasside said. “How many?”
“Nearly half so far, but only those closest to the eastern coast.”
Jasside closed her eyes, pondering possible explanations and quickly arriving at the most alarming one. “Is it possible that the ruvak can somehow trace us through commune?”
“Light and dark are entirely separate realms, and neither have ever been breached by the other. Believe me, we have tried. What makes you think ruvaki magic can achieve in months what no one else could in thousands of years?”
“Chaos,” Jasside said, “does not play by the same rules.”
Gilshamed raised both eyebrows. “You are convinced that is what their power stems from, then?”
“Their source could be none other.”
“A wonderful observation,” Chase said dryly. “But how does that help us fight them? Chaos doesn’t sound like something easy to predict.”
“Like I said, the rules have changed. That doesn’t mean they don’t exist. We’ll just have to figure out what they are, and how to exploit them to our advantage.”
“Yes, well,” Arivana said, looking more than a bit lost, “back to the original point. How many of your kin can you send, Gilshamed? And when can we expect them?”
The golden man sighed. “All of the domiciles are roaming up and down the eastern coast, fighting alongside the ships of your great houses. We’ve . . . had losses. My priority right now is to reinforce them, and make sure no more lone valynkar are hunted down.”
“So, that means . . . ?”
“One hundred,” Gilshamed said. “I can spare no more than that. They’ll be here within the week.”
The queen, to her credit, hid her disappointment well. “Every hand will be put to good use. Thank you.”
Gilshamed gave her a tight-lipped smile.
Jasside turned to the king of Sceptre. “What about the situation on the ground? Anything more you need to help your forces?”
Chase grunted. “I wouldn’t mind another ten thousand of those daeloth. Have you got any hidden away?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“A pity. The only other thing,” Chase said, “is communication. I hate putting aside talented casters as little more than glorified messengers. It’s a waste. Have we no other resources we might put to use for that? Perhaps the young or the very old? They’d stay back from the front lines of course.”
Arivana’s eyes flared. “I don’t think we’re so desperate as to start sending children off to war.”
“The war is coming to us,” Chase said. “And the ruvak don’t discriminate. Once the fighting men are taken out, they will rain down mass slaughter with no regard for age or sex or station. Maybe my reports don’t do it justice.” He shrugged. “I guess only those who’ve witnessed it with their own eyes can appreciate how desperate we truly are.”
The queen lowered her eyes, sadness now mixing with ferocity. But not, Jasside saw, replacing it entirely.
“Sixteen is the minimum age,” Arivana said. “And volunteers only. I cannot in good conscience order anyone younger than myself into harm’s way. And they will be, make no mistake. I expect you will all do everything in your power to keep them safe.”
“Before our own safety,” Chase said. “Trust me, this will help tremendously, and will be better for them than simply waiting around to die.”
“How can you know that?” Arivana said.
“Because I’ve seen it in action. We start training young in Sceptre, you know. By necessity.”
The queen sighed. “Very well. I’ll see how many, if any, are willing.”
“As will I,” Jasside said. “Gilshamed, have you anything to add?”
The valynkar slowly shook his head. “No. You all seem to have everything well in hand.”
Jasside nodded. “Well, then, if there’s nothing else, I see that we all have quite a bit of work to do.”
They stood, but Arivana came up last. “There’s just one more thing. A minor matter, really. But one I can’t seem to do anything about.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling.
Jasside followed the queen’s gaze. She felt the pull of familiar power above them.
“Vashodia,” Jasside said. “She’s still giving you problems?”
“You . . . might say that.”
Jasside ground her teeth. Her mistress hadn’t been listening to her of late.
But there is someone she might listen to.
“Have no fear,” Jasside said, forcing a smile. “I’ll take care of it.”
Draevenus circled the great bird statue twice, gliding on the warm air that rose from the city. Flapping a few times to surge over the crest of the giant head, he landed on a plumed ridge jutting up from the neck—half in, half out of darkness.
He dismissed his wings, then stepped forward into his sister’s cold, comforting sphere.
“Good evening, dear brother,” she said, sitting legs crossed and with her back to him, the loose folds of her robe billowing like black ribbons. “How nice of you to join me. I hope you didn’t have to go too far out of your way?”
Draevenus braced himself as a gust of wind sang by. “Hello, Vash.”
“Not the most convenient place to corner me with your demands, I know. But then, you never did do things the easy way.”
“Your way, you mean.”
“One and the same, of course. At least here you can’t argue about the quality of the view!”
She raised her arms as if to embrace the city. Draevenus spared it only a glance. His eyes instead locked on to Vashodia’s hands, still covered in scales and tipped by sharp, curled claws. A reminder of what the rest of them had left behind, and of the completion his sister had willfully disdained. He’d stopped feeling pain at the sight of her months ago, and now felt only numbness.
A heart could only break so many times.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” she went on. “A thousand hues of lights glittering across the faces of a hundred unique towers, the least of which rises many times higher than any structure back home. Why is that, you think? Why, in nineteen hundred years, did none of our people try to build something so grandiose as this?”
“We didn’t care,” Draevenus said, feeling confident in speaking for his entire race on this. “We had dominion of the continent. There was no one to impress.”
Vashodia snickered. “On target as usual, dear brother. You might even say you’ve struck right to the heart of the matter.”
“What ‘matter’ would that be?”
She turned her head, assaulting him with her pale face, and gave him a sharp-toothed smile. “That we cannot win this war fighting as we have. As those . . . children would have us wage it.”
“Do you include your apprentice in that category?”
“Her most of all. She should know better. You see, we ruled the Veiled Empire in absolution. The concerns of both the outside world and our own citizens were negligible at best. It simply didn’t matter what they thought. We could do whatever we wanted with no regard for our reputations. Have you caught on yet to what I’m getting at?”
Draevenus nodded slowly. “The ruvak are the same as we were.”
“Oh, well done! Wits about you at last. I was starting to worry.”
“I don’t see how that affects the way we fight them.”
“And there they go again. Pity. It was fun while they lasted.”
“Vash . . .”
“A point. Right. Small minds always need to hear the point of things. Very well.” She sighed, turning back to face the city again. “The ruvak hold all the cards. They can do as they please. And every action we take only plays further into their hands . . . as long as we keep doing the expected.”
Draevenus swallowed the
lump in his throat. “You’re talking about the refugees.”
“Of course I am. We should have abandoned them to their fate and gone on the offensive right from the start. We might have stood a chance then. As it is, we’re only losing slowly, thinking it right to waste the lives of valuable fighters defending those too weak to defend themselves.”
“But—”
“No. We must put the survival of our species above all other concerns. Oh yes! We’ve all grown different coverings, but mierothi and valynkar are all undisputably of human stock. We’re not just fighting for the right to hold dominion over this world, dear brother. We’re fighting for the very right to exist.”
Draevenus hung his head. He could always tell when she’d set her mind and knew there’d be no budging her from this stance. The only consolation was that no one was listening to her. That fact, however, didn’t put him at ease. On the contrary, it filled him with dread.
“So go on, then,” Vashodia said. “Deliver your messages, the concerns of those who dare to rule in a time such as this. Go on, if you think any of it actually matters.”
At the moment, Draevenus wasn’t sure if it did, and the messages he’d rehearsed turned to ash on his tongue. So, finally, he decided on something else.
“Our brother was born last night.”
Her flinch, so slight only his assassin’s sight was able to perceive it, was the most surprising thing he’d ever seen her do.
“Half brother,” she said, recovering her composure so quickly he wasn’t sure she’d ever lost it. “And we’ve got countless numbers of those.”
“Not like this. No scales for one, and his skin is grey. Perfectly healthy, though. And perfectly natural. He’s something we’ve never seen before, Vash. Something new.”
“And you think this is cause for celebration?”
“How could it not be?”
She scoffed. “Of course you think as such. You still view Ruul’s final act as a gift.”
“It made us whole. Ended our stagnation. Gave hope to a people that had forgotten the word’s very meaning. If that’s not a gift, I don’t know what is.”
“It also promised death.”
Draevenus shrugged. “We’ll still live as long as the valynkar. But our kin are able to have children now. Real children. They’ll be able to leave a legacy beyond themselves, their own achievements. And maybe, just maybe, the rift between our sexes will start to heal.”
Vashodia said nothing for several beats, then slowly rose to her feet. She turned, stepped forward, lifted eyes that were, except for the ever-present malice, unreadable. She laid a palm against his cheek.
“And what of you, dear brother? Will you not partake of our god’s gracious gift?”
He sighed, closing his eyes, and shook his head.
“Why ever not?”
Draevenus glanced down at his arms. “This skin, my wings . . . those are enough for me. My soul is too stained to taste anything else. My heart is a burden. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy. Especially knowing what role I’m to take in this war.”
“The remorseful assassin. But you play the part so well!”
“As do we all, we puppets, dancing and jerking every time you twitch a string. Please, tell me that you at least have a plan?”
She hesitated, a slight tightening around the eyes. His stomach twisted at the sight.
My second surprise of the day.
“Find the weakness in our enemy and exploit it,” she said, a bit too cheerfully. “It’s only a matter of time until it’s discovered, a task in which you’ll play a most important part.”
Draevenus lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Naturally,” she said, lowering her hand and stepping away, “we can’t waste someone of your talents in open battle. You’re to go behind enemy lines—farther than you’d normally dare. If the ruvak have secrets, you can be sure that’s where they’ll be kept. I expect you’ll prove efficacious at prying them out of their cold, waxy fingers.”
“It seems it’s all I’m good for.”
“Nonsense. And besides, I’m sure you’ll have such a good time getting to know your new apprentice.”
“What the abyss are you talking about?”
“Light and dark together have proved an exceptional combination for combating ruvaki energies. It’s dangerous to go alone.” She pointed to the valynkar domicile hovering above the city. “I’d suggest you take one of those.”
“A valynkar apprentice, huh?” He smiled. “I think I know just the one.”
“Wonderful,” Vashodia said, clapping her hands. “Now off with you. My little machines are probably growing worried that I’ve been away from them too long.”
Nodding once, he turned, preparing to unfurl his wings. At last, though, he remembered what he’d originally come here to say.
“Vashodia?”
“Yes?”
“Jasside asked me, on behalf of Queen Arivana, to see if you would stop attempting to interrogate Sem Aira Grusot.”
“The spy, you mean. The assassin who started a worldwide war.” Vashodia giggled. “If the queen wants mercy for that one, I suppose I can relent. I’ll soon have others to play with. Perhaps they’ll prove more willing to answer my questions.”
Draevenus shivered. “And there’s . . . one more thing . . .”
She waved an arm. “Out with it.”
“People are wondering when you’re going to join the fighting. You’d be an unmatchable asset, you know. Beyond your apprentice even. Think how many lives—”
She glared at him.
“How many soldiers you could save, then.”
Vashodia peered to the northeast, narrowing her eyes, as if she could see something out there that no one else could. “Tell them all not to worry. The option to avoid combat will soon be taken from me, from all of us here. The only choice left will be whether to fight . . . or to die.”
Chapter 4
Mevon leaned against the rail at the stern of the ship, entranced by the frothing white wake behind them. The gentle rise and fall as the vessel surmounted swells, the lap of waves against the hull, the warm breeze laden with the scent of salt, the sprays that left the deck coated in a slim, slick layer of water—Mevon had never felt more at peace.
The armada sailing behind them, however, reminded him constantly of war.
The nearest less than a hundred paces away, the farthest lost in the dusk’s orange haze, the ships seemed countless.
“Quite a sight to behold, eh?” Yandumar said, patting Mevon’s shoulder as he joined him on the rail.
“Quite,” Mevon said. “How did you manage it?”
“Oh, we started building right after I took the throne. Lots of people looking for work about then. Came from all over the empire. For them, a newly freed people, the project became a point of pride.”
“They’re impressive. I’ve seen river barges and fishing boats, but never anything like this. Where’d you learn how to build them?”
“Archives below the palace. Deep below. Held all sorts of oddly shaped trinkets, each filled with information of some kind. ‘Repositories,’ Orbrahn calls ’em. Can only be read by a caster, of course. Ship designs were in one, ancient but still serviceable. I added what little bit I’d learned from my time outside the Shroud and, well, you’re standing on the results.”
Mevon smiled, as much for the explanation as for seeing his father in such good spirits. Such moods no longer seemed quite so fragile.
He looked up along the main mast and pointed to the flag standing stiff in the wind. Three vertical stripes—white, black, and red. “What does that represent?”
Yandumar flicked his eyes up, then closed them. “White, for the light we lost. Black, for the darkness we overcame. And red, for the blood we shed to earn our freedom.”
Mevon nodded once. “I approve.”
“I thought you might.”
Turning back to the railing, Mevon rubbed a hand along the stubble gar
nishing his jaw. He breathed out heavily through his nose.
“Something troubling you, son?”
Mevon grunted. “They’re waiting, right? That’s what you came to tell me. I suppose we should get this over with.”
“Ha!” Yandumar said, clapping Mevon on the shoulder again. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”
“We’ll see.”
They departed the railing together, marching past the man at the tiller and down the steep steps to the main deck. Sailors bustled about on tasks Mevon had little notion of, but seemed to involve a lot of ropes. Other than those barefooted, shirtless men, and a few archers and crossbowmen, the deck was mostly empty, making the massive ship seem far too vast for its crew. Most of the troops he’d seen spent the majority of their time in their cabins; even Mevon knew that wearing armor on a swaying deck was the surest way to find yourself in a cold, watery grave.
Yandumar led him near the prow and held open the door to his personal cabin. Mevon stepped inside, squinting as he transitioned from natural if fading light to the bright blue of dark-forged lightglobes; a paradox if ever he heard one.
His eyes adjusted quickly. Three figures stood waiting before him.
“Hello,” Mevon said. “I suppose it’s been a while.”
Idrus and Ilyem greeted him with a respectful nod, the former with curled corners of his lips. Orbrahn, kneeling over some strange box, rolled his eyes and chuckled.
Mevon had anticipated glares or crossed arms or outright sneers. This . . . he didn’t know what it was yet, but it wasn’t nearly as hostile as he expected.
“I’m sorry about what I did,” Mevon continued. “Disappearing like that. Making you all think I was dead. I don’t expect you to forgive—”
“Do you honestly think we care?” Orbrahn said.
Mevon stared at the young, dark-haired caster, whose face seemed locked in a perpetual smirk. “I don’t understand.”
“You think any of us wanted to hang around after the fighting was over? Pah! Administrating an empire’s boring business. We’re not mad at you. Well, maybe a little. But only because we didn’t think of it first!”
Mevon shook his head, disbelieving his ears.
The Light That Binds Page 5
