Deathcaster (Shattered Realms)

by Cinda Williams Chima

Destin had no interest in returning to Delphi, even in summer, when the weather was just barely tolerable. If things didn’t go as well as the king anticipated, Destin didn’t want to be around to catch any of the blame.

  He needed to get busy. He still had bodies to bury here in Ardenscourt before the thanes arrived, as he was fairly sure they would.

  27

  ATTACK PLAN

  Jenna’s time with the growing dragons on the mountain was a combination of intense training and magical roughhousing. She and the dragons flew everywhere the Boil allowed—on the far side of the mountain from the capital, at least.

  These days, they tested the weather boundaries, poking through the wall of wind a short distance, training themselves to counter the turbulence, preparing for an escape in the not-too-distant future.

  Lyss joined them as often as she could, bringing treats and gear and updates about what was happening in the capital. They made an odd sort of family, but it worked. Here, there was an illusion of safety, a sense of being high above the dangers below.

  Jenna had noticed the growing bond between Lyss and Slayer. Dragons might be prone to holding grudges, but they never forgot a favor, either. From the moment that Lyss covered for Slayer in the backpack incident, the young dragon was hers, body and soul. He was always showing off for her, demonstrating his best aerobatic moves whenever she was around, stealing looks to see if she was watching. He brought her gifts ranging from sheep’s carcasses to bits of quartz. When days passed without a visit from Lyss, he’d be trying to convince Cas that a reconnaissance flight over the harbor was in order.

  At times Jenna actually felt jealous. She was used to having the dragons to herself. Bonds with dragons were high-maintenance relationships, but both dragons and humans seemed to benefit.

  Lyss would arrive, tense and snappish from the tightrope she walked in the empress’s presence, her spirits ragged with worry. Gradually, her fists would unclench, her muscles uncoil until she was laughing at dragon humor and feasting on the results of the day’s hunt.

  Lyss’s ability to hear and communicate with the dragons was improving, but they were perplexed by her fragility, by her inability to grow scales when needed. They had to be careful that she wasn’t in the line of fire during their increasingly physical mock battles.

  Jenna, on the other hand, seemed to grow more impervious to flame every day. Now, even her bare skin was resistant enough to protect her temporarily against flame and blade until her scales surfaced to provide sturdier armor.

  Jenna had not really had friends since Maggi and Riley. Friendships were all but impossible for a girl who was keeping so many secrets. Then Adam Wolf had come along, with his lupine scent, solemn face, and grieving eyes, wearing armor of his own. It wasn’t until she’d broken through that armor that she realized how lonely she had been. Then he was taken away, too.

  Cas had filled the void in a different way, with shared mind and joined hearts. At times, though, when she was alone with the dragon, she worried that she was forgetting how to be human. Instinct often overwhelmed whatever veneer of civilization remained.

  And now, Lyss. Lyss was so different from her brother, and yet she reminded Jenna of Adam in so many ways. They smelled the same—of wolf, stone, heather, and the fresh air of high places. They shared the same iron-willed capability. They reminded Jenna of the heroes in the stories she’d read, holed up in her attic in Delphi. Stories full of farm boys who turned out to be princes, and warriors who slew the evil king and won the day.

  Lyss kept Jenna’s head and heart in the world of people.

  But she sometimes wondered—would she ever be fully human again? Did she want to be?

  Lyss was a constant reminder of what Jenna had lost, of what, even now, she might be losing. The sands of time were sliding through the glass; she couldn’t help feeling that she was running out of time.

  Was Adam Wolf dead? Was he alive? If he was alive, how long would that last, with the empress landing an army in the wetlands? Jenna knew from experience that if Celestine wanted to find you, she eventually would.

  Meanwhile, the dragons were busy conferring, wrestling with their own problem. Cas came to Jenna with their idea.

  Make armor for Wolf. He looked at her brightly, as if to say, See? Problem solved.

  “How would I do that?” Jenna said. “I don’t have a foundry. Anyway, a suit of armor would be awfully heavy for flying.”

  Cas’s excitement waned, and he sloped back to join his companions.

  The dragons went back to plotting and planning. One day, when Lyss was visiting, her jacket went missing. She and Jenna looked high and low for it, but it was nowhere to be found. The dragons pretended to help in the search, but they were working so hard to look innocent that Jenna knew they were the culprits. Dragons were great at playing tricks on each other.

  Lyss finally gave up, said her good-byes, and took the trail down the mountain.

  Once Lyss had left, Jenna confronted the dragons, hands on hips. “What did you do with the wolf’s jacket?”

  Cas pulled the jacket down from a niche in the rocks high above their heads, then dropped a pile of glittering scales next to it, a collage of brilliant colors. It appeared that they’d all contributed.

  Make armor for Wolf.

  Jenna studied the materials they’d gathered. She knew from experience how difficult it was to penetrate dragon scales. They weren’t the kind of thing you could poke a needle through, else they’d be useless as armor. But when she looked closer, she could see tiny holes around the perimeter. The dragons had already done that tedious work for her with tooth and claw. But what could she use to stitch them on that wouldn’t disintegrate in flying weather or burn away during a battle?

  She’d have to think of something. The dragons had done their part.

  By now, the fledglings were three-quarters the size of Cas, and becoming strong flyers. They were growing restless, less willing to abide by arbitrary human rules. Cas’s wing seemed to be nearly healed, though it still stiffened up every night while he slept. Jenna was getting too comfortable, living here with her dragon family, with events at home out of sight and out of her control.

  It was easy to blame her inaction on Cas’s injured wing, the fledglings’ inexperience, the challenge of the Boil. True, two dragons had flown through it, and both had ended up injured. But if the empress and her ships could come and go, then surely they could find a way. Maybe, with the empress gone, the Boil would subside.

  The time for waiting was over. The time for action had come. Or, as Cas put it, burn the nest, kill the hatchlings, claim the hoard.

  So, one night, until long after dark, Jenna and Lyss sat and schemed. The plan was simple—destroy the city, burn the ships in the harbor, then break through the Boil and wing it for the Seven Realms. If they encountered any Carthian ships along the way, they would burn those, too.

  Lyss wanted to take her Fellsian officers with them, but Jenna doubted they could be persuaded to climb aboard a dragon, not even to escape the empress and fly home.

  And so it was decided. Lyss would make one more trip down the mountain. The next day, she would return, bringing the supplies they would need. She’d spend the night at the camp on the mountain, and they would attack at dawn.

  28

  DEVIL’S BARGAIN

  By the time Lyss made her way back down to the city from the mountain camp, it was close to dawn. It would be another long day tomorrow after a short night’s sleep, but she still felt wide awake, her mind seething with plans. She had little to pack—the fleece-lined leather jacket she wore to fly in, the knit cap she used to confine her hair, the locket Adrian had given her, with images of her family inside. It was tempting to gather some of the supplies she needed before the sun rose. There was less chance of being spotted, but fewer excuses if she was caught. In the end, she decided to go back to her chamber and steal as much sleep as she could before the day began.

  To her surprise, the harbor front was a
wash with activity. Barrels of goods were being rolled up the gangway to the empress’s flagship, the Siren. Horses were corralled at the wharf, ready to be led aboard. It appeared that Celestine herself was preparing to set sail. Lyss debated whether this was good news or bad news. If Celestine sailed away, she would escape an attack on the city. Once under way, however, she would be a sitting duck on the Indio. And an attack on Celesgarde would be a lot less risky in her absence.

  Lyss was so focused on redrawing plans in her head that she didn’t notice the lamplight leaking from beneath the door to her rooms. She entered, closed and locked the door, then turned and saw that somebody was sitting in the chair by the hearth, the light from the flames reflecting off the goblet in her hand and the ropes of gemstones around her neck.

  “Empress!” Lyss said, tasting fear like rust on her tongue. “I— You’re up early.”

  “And you’re out late, General Gray,” Celestine said. “Or, should I say, ‘Your Highness’?”

  Lyss’s heart stuttered, then began to hammer so hard that it seemed it would crack her ribs. “I—I don’t know what you mean, Your Eminence. I couldn’t sleep, so I—”

  “Sit down, Princess,” the empress said, gesturing to the opposite chair. “The time for games is over.”

  For a moment, Lyss stood frozen, as a dozen frantic schemes slid through her mind, each pushed aside by common sense. Then she swallowed hard and sat, chin up, her hands on her knees, and waited.

  Celestine studied her with her unnerving amethyst eyes. “Before we begin, I am dying to know—what did you do with poor Bosley?”

  “Bosley?” Lyss waited one heartbeat, two, while the implications of that question sank in. “I pushed him off a cliff,” she said. Wetting her finger, she rubbed blood from a scratch on her arm.

  This empress feasts on fear, she thought. Don’t give her that satisfaction.

  Celestine laughed. “He was an insufferable prick,” she said, “but an excellent source of information. We talked for hours. I learned so much before he went missing.”

  “I should have cut his throat the night he arrived,” Lyss said.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because I preferred to push him off a cliff,” Lyss said. “And now, every night, I return to that spot and piss off the edge.”

  “I wondered where you went every night,” Celestine said. “I thought maybe you had a secret lover.”

  Use your anger, Lyss thought. You won’t get home if the empress sees you quake and sweat.

  Show no fear.

  Lyss conjured up a memory of Bosley rising into the air in Cas’s grip, arms and legs flailing, spilling shit and spittle, an expression of absolute terror on his face. She imagined killing him again in other, even more creative ways.

  “Ah,” the empress said, with a grudging nod. “I can see the wolf in you now.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “From the day your wetland officers arrived,” Celestine said. “Bosley was so pitifully eager to get into my good graces, especially when it meant destroying you.” She paused. “Why did he hate you so much?”

  Lyss thought of what she’d said to Jenna the night they met. Because he has the talent of a turd floating in an ego the size of the ocean. “It’s a long story,” she said. “Not worth the time it would take to tell it.” She decided to leave it at that. “So. You’ve known who I am for quite a while. Why didn’t you confront me before now?”

  “To be honest, I hadn’t decided what to do with you. By the time Bosley came, I already knew what an asset you’d be to our military efforts. I decided to let you continue to train the bloodsworn, with the idea of using you as leverage when we sailed to the wetlands. Now we’re ready to sail, and my officers still don’t have the capacity to lead a major military operation.”

  “Well,” Lyss said, “training takes time. Give me another six months to a year, and I think you’ll see progress.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have six months to a year,” the empress said.

  “That’s too bad,” Lyss said. “Does this mean that you’ll lead your armies yourself?”

  Celestine shook her head. “At sea, perhaps, and on land, from time to time. But my empire requires tending, and I have important business to take care of here in the islands at midsummer. That’s why I recruited you. As I said, I needed a commander with experience in land battles.”

  Lyss’s usual impatience was surfacing. Get to the point, you sadistic, gutter-swiving crow.

  Celestine poured herself some more wine, then thrust the decanter toward Lyss. “Would you care for some?”

  “No, thank you,” Lyss said.

  The empress laughed. “Are you afraid I will poison you? Or add you to the bloodsworn?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you plan to do with me and save us both some time?” Lyss said. “I’m not going to sit here and guess.”

  “Not even if it means you will live a little longer?” The steel was back in the empress’s voice.

  Lyss lifted her chin. “I’ll do what it takes to survive. Why don’t you tell me what that is.”

  “I’ll add you to the bloodsworn if I have no other choice,” the empress said. “I could hold you hostage to force the Fells to submit, but it seems that no one is left to redeem you.”

  Lyss tried to maintain an expression of indifference. “Is that so?”

  “Your mother the queen is dead,” Celestine said. She seemed to be watching for a reaction.

  Lyss tightened her hands on the arms of the chair, hardening her face into a blank mask. “Really,” she said through stiff lips. “I’d not heard that. What happened?”

  “She was poisoned,” Celestine said.

  Once again, Lyss stood waist-deep in a sea of wolves on that terrace overlooking the sea. Hanalea and Althea were telling her that her mother had been poisoned, that the Line was broken, that she was now queen.

  If her mother was dead, that meant that she was the last survivor of her family, the only one left in the true line. The last of the star-crossed Alisters. Her father, her sister, her brother, and now her mother had been taken from her by this damnable war.

  But the wolf queens had also said that her mother was alive. Had they lied in order to prevent her from succumbing to grief? Or had her mother died since their conversation on the terrace?

  Was Celestine trying to trick her into leading a fight against her own people?

  That last theory seemed most likely.

  “Alyssa.”

  Startled, Lyss looked up to find the empress gazing at her with an expression of deep sympathy, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry about your mother,” she said, reaching out and touching her arm. “There is no bond like that between mother and daughter.”

  Any conversation with the empress was like a series of zigzag ambushes.

  Playing for time, Lyss said, “Your sources—did they say who poisoned her?”

  Celestine shook her head. “The last I heard, there was a proposal to put your aunt or your cousin on the throne.”

  “Who?” Lyss’s mind went blank.

  “Your mother’s sister, Mellony. And your cousin, Julianna. She would be the heir after your aunt.”

  Aunt Mellony, who hadn’t displayed an ounce of ambition in Lyss’s lifetime? Still, people said that she had conspired with Micah Bayar to claim the Gray Wolf throne years ago. Julianna? Sweet, clever, agile Julianna, who’d put the last nail in the coffin of Lyss’s crush on Finn? Who, perhaps by now, had married him?

  “However, her rule might be short-lived. King Jarat is marching north with his army, meaning to add the final jewel to his emperor’s crown.”

  Lyss’s stubborn defiance was crumbling, eroding into despair. Maybe she would be better off staying here and letting the jackals fight over the carcass of the Seven Realms.

  She looked up, startled, as Celestine gripped both her hands. “They killed my mother, too. That’s what drives me. They killed my mother and stole
my legacy, and I’m determined to get it back.”

  “The queendom is not your legacy,” Lyss blurted. “It’s mine.”

  “And so it can be,” Celestine said. “It depends on you. You see, it’s not all bad news.”

  It took a moment for that to register. “What—what do you mean?”

  “It’s about your brother.”

  “My brother?” By now, Lyss’s mind was circling like a kettle of vultures.

  “Here.” Celestine pushed a velvet pouch across the table toward Lyss.

  Lyss rested her hand on it. “What’s this?”

  “Open it up and see.”

  Lyss undid the cord at the neck of the pouch and dumped the contents into her hand.

  She stared, speechless. It was her father’s serpent amulet. She hadn’t seen it since the day he’d died in the street and it disappeared, along with her brother.

  It lit up, illuminating the entire room.

  “My agents met with your brother in Tarvos a few weeks ago.”

  “I—I don’t understand,” Lyss said, running her fingers over the elaborate carving. “What would . . .” She stopped, gathered her thoughts, realizing that the empress might be fishing for information. “What makes you think I have a brother?”

  Celestine’s face hardened. “Don’t waste my time, Alyssa,” she said. “Your brother’s name is Adrian: he’s a wetland mage, two years older than you, and he came to Tarvos looking for you.” She paused, then said impatiently, “I thought this news would please you.”

  “I—it does,” Lyss said. “Or . . . it would. But—my brother is dead. What makes you think this—this person you found is my brother?”

  “He told us all about you,” Celestine said. “He wanted to strike a deal. He offered a ransom in return for your freedom. He sent this pendant as a token. He said that you would recognize it.”

  “Why didn’t he come himself?”

  “I’ve sent Captain Samara to fetch him.”

  Lyss closed her fingers over the amulet. “Adrian . . . is coming here?”

  Celestine nodded, smiling. “He is.”