Deathcaster (Shattered Realms)

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Dragons read emotion along with whatever you’re saying,” Jenna said. “That’s why it’s never a good idea to try to lie to them.”

  “Oh,” Destin said, flinching, wishing he could close the doors to his private thoughts.

  “So they can tell that you are worried about the pirate. They can tell you care about him, and—”

  “All right,” Destin said quickly. “I get it.”

  Ash cleared his throat. “If you’re going up against Celestine and her stormborn, you’re going to need another wizard along,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”

  Destin stared at him. “But—you and your sister just reunited. You’re a prince of the realm. You—”

  “I’m expendable,” Ash said. “I’m the spare, remember?”

  “You are not expendable,” Lyss growled.

  “Your Majesty, requesting permission to go to the Northern Islands,” Sasha said. Everyone turned and stared at her, and she flushed crimson. “If Pricker will take me, I mean. I’m good with a sword, and I’m not critical to the war effort here. Prince Adrian is a member of the royal family, and should not go off without a guard.”

  “I think I see what you mean,” Lyss said. “I’ll allow you to go, Talbot, on the condition that you come back alive.”

  “I’m going, too,” Jenna said. “This is my fight. It’s been my fight from the beginning.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” Ash said. “Celestine has been hunting you for years, and now you want to walk right into her hands when’s she’s holding two more magemarked?”

  “I’ve been hunting her,” Jenna said. “I chased her all the way to Carthis and back again.”

  “Does she know that?” Ash said, raising an eyebrow.

  For a moment, Jenna seemed to be at a loss for words. Then she said, “She’ll know I was there when she gets to Celesgarde and finds it destroyed. Anyway, I don’t intend to walk right into her hands.”

  “If we both go, who’s going to look after Cas?” Ash said.

  It turned into a free-for-all, with all the dragons and most of the humans wanting to come along.

  Destin looked from person to person, ambushed by their willingness to join with him. He’d been the enemy of some of them for years. Some others he’d just met. They had a war to finish here, rebellions and governments in shambles all over the Realms, deaths to mourn, crimes to punish. Granted, Celestine had proven to be the enemy to both Arden and the Fells, but dealing with an enemy across the sea is more easily deferred than any close-up crisis.

  “Look,” Destin said, “I hoped at least one of the dragons would be willing to come with me, but I never thought to draw more volunteers. For those of you who haven’t been to Carthis, it’s not exactly the garden spot of the world. Plus, we’ll probably all die.”

  “The Northern Islands are worse than Carthis,” Jenna said. “Just being honest,” she added.

  “Well, we can’t all go. There is a war to fight here,” Lyss said. “But I think this mission is important to the Realms, beyond our—beyond our desire to get our friends back. We have every reason to believe that Celestine is hunting the magemarked because they make her more powerful. We can’t afford to have her come back stronger than before. So. We need to choose those best suited for the job.”

  “It doesn’t make sense for Queen Alyssa or Mat—ah—King Halston to go,” Sasha said. “You’re both needed here, to lead the armies now and to rule when the war is over.”

  “I should go,” Jenna said. “For reasons already mentioned.”

  So, in the end, it was decided that the team would comprise Destin and Splash, Jenna and Ash with Goat, and Sasha and Pricker. Lyss and Slayer would care for Cas and work the war in the Realms, along with Shadow and Lila.

  68

  DOMUS NAZARI

  Evan Strangward hadn’t been seasick since he was a boy—during his first year serving under Latham Strangward. He’d sailed some rough waters since then, but the remedy for rough waters was always his skills as a ship’s master and weather magery. Now both he and Breon were locked in the hold of Tully Samara’s ship as it pitched and rolled in the currents off Carthis Head, and Evan was horribly, humiliatingly sick. He felt sorry for Breon, having to put up with it. He didn’t even want to be with himself.

  He tried to calm the winds and quiet the seas, but it was like trying to force water through a closed spigot. With the collar locked around his neck, he couldn’t find the ocean currents, nor grab the air flowing through his fingers, nor pull lightning down from wherever it lay hidden until he called it.

  Samara made no effort to relieve the discomfort of his unwilling guests. Apparently, the empress’s sole stipulation was that they arrive alive before midsummer’s day. Locked in the hold as they were, there was no chance they would spook the crew or throw themselves overboard.

  Breon didn’t try to engage Evan in conversation. He spent most of his time sleeping or daydreaming or singing softly. Even without his spellsinger gift, his voice was soothing.

  Eventually, the seas subsided, the ship steadied, and Evan’s stomach quit churning. He assumed that meant they’d crossed the channel into the shelter of the islands. Soon after that, he heard the rattle of the chain as they dropped anchor.

  “Well,” Evan said, “it seems we’ve arrived.” When Celestine sees what’s happened to her new capital, maybe she’ll kill you outright.

  They heard voices approaching—Samara’s silky baritone and the familiar voice of the empress. The hatch to the hold was lifted away, casting a square of light onto the floor.

  “What is that stench?” Celestine demanded, pressing her gauntleted arm across her nose.

  “It seems that the Stormcaster cannot stomach a channel crossing,” Samara said scornfully.

  The empress leaned in, casting her long shadow across the floor. When she saw Evan and Breon, her face went chalk white and her eyes darkened from a lavender to a bruised plum. “How dare you allow Nazari princes to lie, bound hand and foot, in their own sick and scummer?”

  “Y—Your Eminence,” Samara said, his arrogance sliding off him like a seal from a rock, “I thought you would be pleased that I—”

  “They are blood of my blood, born to restore this lineage to its former glory.” She sat back on her heels. “I have been too long in the wetlands, it seems. When I left you in charge of my holdings here, I assumed you were up to the task. Now I return to find the entire Desert Coast in rebellion, my capital in ruins, and my line disrespected.”

  Samara seized on the last piece of that. “But . . . they are disloyal connivers. The Stormcaster admitted that he destroyed your new capital. The spellsinger will betray you the first chance he gets.”

  “Of course he did,” Celestine said. “Of course he will. That’s what we do. That’s what keeps the Line fresh and strong. This is how we win back the empire.”

  To see the shiplord’s expression was almost worth the price of admission. Clearly, he believed that the empress was not playing by the standard rules of royal fratricide.

  “Cut them loose,” Celestine said. “Get them fresh clothes and a bath. I’m not bringing them aboard my ship in that condition. Mind that you tread carefully, Captain. I will demand from them a full accounting of their treatment.” And then she disappeared again.

  It wasn’t easy for Evan to get into the tub after days of lying on the floor in one position, but Samara assigned two of his bloodsworn crew to assist. The hot water did wonders for Evan’s muscles and joints. Getting rid of his filthy clothes did wonders for his mood. When he scrubbed under the silver collar, his fingers found his magemark and he realized that it hadn’t responded to Celestine’s presence.

  When they emerged on deck for the first time, he saw that they were anchored in the familiar harbor at Celesgarde, surrounded by the ruins of the city. The Siren was anchored nearby. Evan saw no signs of life along the waterfront or among the buildings on the shoreline. It looked much as they’d left it when they’d departed for
Carthis, down to and including the remains of their camp next to the tumbledown palace. Yet the empress seemed more energized than angry about it. To a point, Evan could sympathize with Samara’s confusion.

  But only to a point.

  The empress sent a skiff to fetch them back to her ship. Samara wasn’t invited. It was just her bloodsworn crew and the three of them. When they were almost to the ship, a shadow fell over them. The crew pointed, shouting, “Dreki!”

  Evan looked up and saw a dragon fly over the harbor, its flight just a bit erratic. Familiar. Recognition pinged through him. Splinter. He must have followed them after they left the cave.

  Before he could react, or shout a warning, a greeting, anything, Celestine launched a bolt of lightning, sending the dragon tumbling tail over head, disappearing into a clump of trees. Evan kept watching the spot where he’d gone down, hoping to see movement, signs of life.

  Nothing. Evan’s heart clenched, hoping the young dragon wasn’t one more casualty in this endless hunt.

  As soon as they boarded, the Siren raised anchor and left the harbor, sailing southeast before the wind. Evan and Breon moved as far forward as they could, enjoying the wind in their faces after so long locked up in the hold.

  At first, Evan thought they might be returning to Carthis, but instead of sliding between the two southernmost islands and into the straits, Siren turned sharply east, circling the easternmost of the islands and slipping into a protected harbor on the far side.

  I know this place, Evan thought. Scent and sound dragged him into the past. Memories flickered through his head—of he and his brothers and sisters packed into a small boat, sliding through the cove in the dark. Then there came a clamor of alarm on the shore, a flotilla of boats giving chase, plunging through a storm, the rain and seawater mingling with the tears on his face. Crying for his sister. Crying out for his brother, Jak. Crying for the only home he’d ever known.

  As soon as they dropped anchor, Celestine came forward and found Evan and Breon huddled together in the bow, both crying, overwhelmed with loss.

  Celestine looked perplexed, even alarmed for a moment, and then her eyes fastened on Evan’s collar. “Ah,” she said, ruffling his hair. “It’s all right. You don’t need this anymore. You’re home now.” Kneeling, she fished a key from her carry bag, unlocked and removed their collars. “You won’t be needing those here,” she said, dropping them onto the deck. Extending her hand, she helped first Breon, then Evan to his feet.

  The first thing Evan noticed was his magemark. Now that the collar was gone, it was pleasantly warm, sending soothing tendrils of heat over his shoulders, deep into his muscles and down his arms. It radiated calm, up through the base of his skull, down through his body to the soles of his feet so that he felt like a tree taking root. All of the aches and pains from the voyage here faded away, replaced by a sense of peace and well-being. Breon, too, looked smitten. He fingered the back of his neck, his face lit up with wonder.

  Celestine smiled at their moonstruck expressions. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

  Evan was enchanted by the beauty all around him—the small, round pebbles on the rocky shore, the peaks, partially clothed in evergreens, that rose from the sea, the waterfalls cascading down from high valleys, plumes of spray at their feet. The colors of the pines, the sea, and stone so vivid they hurt his eyes. So vivid that they smothered the whispered warning in the back of his mind.

  Next to the shore stood a high-roofed longhouse built of red timber and gray stone. Clustered around it, brightly painted houses reflected in the still waters of the cove.

  The air was intoxicating, perfumed with flowers and a hint of sulfur. The scent penetrated to the bone, in the way of memories from childhood. Evan felt relaxed, almost floppy—embraced. When he looked over the gunwales, the water below the keel of their ship was crystal clear and seemed to go down hundreds of feet. What would it be like to dive into the water and keep swimming down?

  “It’s an old volcanic crater,” Celestine said, noticing him staring down into the water.

  “Where are we?” Evan asked.

  “We are home,” she said simply. “This is the ancestral home of the Nazari, where our stories have always begun and ended,” she said, echoing the song Breon had been singing. “It is the foundation of our power, the seat of our legacy.”

  “It’s nice,” Evan said, his murky mind unable to come up with anything more descriptive than that. “I feel like I know this place.”

  “We were all born here,” she said. “We lived here together until you were taken away from me.”

  “Who took us away from you?” Breon said.

  “Enemies of the Nazari line,” Celestine said. “They trapped me here and took you away. At midsummer, six years ago.”

  Being trapped here wouldn’t be so bad, Evan thought.

  Loosing the bindings on the skiff, Celestine swung it over the side and cranked it down into the water.

  “Come,” she said. “Let’s go ashore.”

  Breon looked back toward his cabin. “Should we bring our—?”

  “No,” Celestine said. “Everything you need is here.” She disappeared over the side.

  Everything we need is here, Evan thought. But Breon scooped up the silver collars and slid them inside his coat.

  I should tell Celestine about the collars, Evan thought. But he wasn’t going to rat on his brother.

  They climbed down the ladder after Celestine and found seats on the center thwarts. She handled the oars. They were languid passengers. Evan trailed his hand in the water.

  A small crowd of bloodsworn stood on the shore, waiting for them.

  “Welcome back, Empress,” they said, hauling the skiff onto the beach. “Welcome, Princes.”

  Princes, Evan thought. We’re princes. He could smell the scent of roasting meat emanating from one of the smaller buildings. His mouth watered and his stomach growled. He’d eaten next to nothing on Samara’s ship, and now he was ravenous.

  Celestine led them into the longhouse. It was as beautiful inside as it was on the outside. It had high, beamed ceilings and a massive stone hearth at the center open on four sides with a chimney at its center that stretched all the way to the roof. The sides of the Great Hall were lined with curtained-off sleeping benches. At one end was a passageway to a barn. At the other, a hallway with bedrooms and a library, each with hearths of their own.

  Breon and Evan followed Celestine down the hallway to their rooms. “Rest and relax for now,” she said, “while I prepare for tonight.”

  “What’s tonight?” Breon said.

  “It is Midsummer’s Eve, when the Nazari magic comes closest to the surface.” She took their hands. “Can you feel it?”

  Magic seethed through all three of them, a connection, unbreakable, inviolate. They were a chain of magic, with Celestine at the center.

  So this is what it’s like to have a family, Evan thought, his heart full to bursting. Yet a memory flickered in the back of his mind, like a warning beacon on a faraway hill.

  “You see?” Celestine breathed. “We belong together. We always have. After tonight, you will never be alone. Tonight, you join the Nazari line. Tonight, we rise.” She paused. “Say it with me now, in the tradition of the Nazari. ‘Tonight, we rise together.’”

  “Tonight, we rise together,” they recited, like speakers at the temple.

  “You’ll find suitable clothing for the ceremony laid out in your rooms. The attendants will come for you when it is time.”

  And she walked away, back toward the great hall. Evan listened until the sounds of her footsteps faded, feeling a profound sense of loss.

  Evan went into his room, sat down on the bed and ran his fingers over the clothes. Silk and wool, he thought. Silver and blue, to match his hair. Dress clothes and smallclothes. Very fine, and they looked like they would fit.

  He opened the trunk at the foot of his bed. It was empty. There was just the one set of clothes.

  It h
adn’t occurred to him to ask how long they would be staying.

  It hadn’t occurred to him to ask any questions at all.

  Strange. He was usually a curious kind of person. Now it was an effort for him to keep moving.

  This is home, he thought. This is where your story began.

  He slipped to the floor and walked out into the hallway. Breon’s door was open. The spellsinger was lying on his bed, staring up at nothing, opening and closing one of the silver collars, as if fascinated by the soft click the latch made.

  “Why did you bring that along?” Evan said. It made him uneasy for some reason.

  Breon eyed it, looking a little perplexed, as if having trouble remembering. “Silver is valuable,” he said. “Silver sells for a good price at the market.” He ran his fingers over the buffed surface. “Aubrey always said that once you get your hands on some silver, the rest comes easy.” His face clouded. “Aubrey,” he whispered.

  Evan had no idea who Aubrey was, but it didn’t matter. “Everything is here,” he said. “This is where it begins.”

  “This is where is all ends,” Breon recited, as if the words had lost their meaning. “The shattering, the rejoining, forged in the bleeding earth . . .” His voice trailed off. “I forget the rest.”

  “Let’s go look in the library,” Evan said. “Maybe there’s a book.”

  Breon shrugged, rolled off the bed, and followed Evan across the hall. They stood, side by side, in the arched entrance to the library. The walls were lined with shelves of leather-bound books, enough for a lifetime of reading.

  As if in a dream, Evan ghosted along the shelves, scanning the bindings. He could make out most of the words, although the titles were in a language more akin to Fellsian than the language spoken along the Desert Coast.

  Breon wandered over to a large, round table, with an elaborately bound book lying on it.

  “Evan. Look at this.”

  Evan left off reading book spines and came to see. Breon traced the title of the book with his forefinger. It was stamped in gold—Domus Nazari. House Nazari.