“Cerrin!”
I spun, anger boiling like acid in the back of my throat, curling tight about my fear. “Get Jaer and Pallin. Now!”
Behind, I heard fire sizzling close, felt a wash of heat across my back and glanced up in time to see a huge fireball roaring overhead, heard it explode in a house higher up the cliff above us. Olivia cried out, her eyes wide with fear now, and Jaer screamed.
“Olivia!”
She turned from where smoke and fire leaped into the sky behind our house, and in her eyes I saw the fear drain away. “Pallin,” she snapped. “Get your sister. We’re leaving.”
I turned back toward the bay, moved up to the stone railing as three more fireballs arched into the houses to either side. Screams came from the left, and a body fell from the cliff, trailing flames and smoke.
Real fear began to boil in my gut. The bay was choked with black ships.
I shoved away from the veranda, stalked across the patio to where Olivia waited with the girls inside the arched doorway. “Come on,” I said. “We have to get to the Wall.”
Behind, the veranda exploded into flame.
Ducking, Pallin trembling in my grip, we raced through the house. Olivia screamed at the servants as we ran, ordered them to get to the Wall. We spilled out onto the street, smoke blowing across the stone paving, people shrieking on all sides, a few stumbling with blood drenching their faces, others staggering, arms burned. A body lay in the gutter, facedown. The house two buildings down was a blazing inferno, flames leaping high into the air.
“Go!” I yelled through the roar when Olivia hesitated. “Go now! Head down—”
A fireball exploded in the street not ten paces away, the sound deafening, heat searing outward, a concussive wave that sucked my breath away, that knocked all of us flat, Olivia’s form slamming into my stomach and chest, her arms still around Jaer. Pallin was wrenched out of my grasp and pain scorched its way up my arm. I heard a muffled scream, smelled the sickening stench of roasted flesh, felt the hair on my arms singe, my face turn waxy with heat, blister—
And then I crashed into the stone of the street, the rounded cobbles gouging into my back. A form landed on top of me, crushed the breath from my lungs, but I lay stunned, unable to breathe, unable to think. I stared up into a blue sky interrupted by trails of heavy, dense smoke, the world reduced to a muted roar, to the scent of burned cloth and hair.
My breath returned with a startled gasp, my throat tearing as I sucked in air, then coughed. I fought the urge to vomit, tasted the bile at the back of my throat but swallowed convulsively, then tried to shift.
The weight holding me down didn’t move.
I glanced down, saw the blackened flesh of an arm clutched tight to a smaller body.
I screamed, lurched up onto my elbows, kicked out sharply, and then I saw the glint of gold on the child’s arm.
The bracelet. The bracelet I’d given her for her fourth birthday.
My heart stopped, caught in my chest for a breath, for an eternity—
And when it resumed, it brought with it a devastating calm.
I sat upright, clutched the two bodies close, ignoring the crackle of charred skin, ignoring the pain from my own damaged arm, saw the third body crumpled on the cobbles beside me, twisted in upon itself. I held Olivia and Jaer close, tears coursing down my face as panicked citizens of Venitte swept past, screaming, as fire scorched the sky above, exploding on all sides.
Then, still unnaturally calm, I stood, carried the two bodies—so light, so fragile—back into the house, returning a moment later to retrieve Pallin’s body. Calm, careful, my motions slow and methodical. I laid them in the cool shade of the inner sanctum, where the household fountain gurgled playfully, cooling the air. I arranged their arms across their chests as best I could, stroked the distorted metal of Jaer’s bracelet, still weeping, the tears coming in a flood, burning in the heat blisters on my face, then I drifted back out to the veranda, where the fireball that had struck as we fled had left a scorch mark on the stone, had eaten away a chunk of the balustrade itself.
I stood at the edge of the cliff and watched the ships burn their way down the bay, listened to the shriek of voices on all sides, listened to the spitting hiss of fire.
I watched the city of Venitte go up in flames.
* * *
I sat on the ground and let the rhythmic sound of the waves wash over me, breathed in the heady scent of the beach and let it clear my lungs of char and smoke and death.
Those are the Chorl, Cerrin said, and I suddenly understood the melancholy that always surrounded him, understood the self-pity, the self-hatred that sometimes flared up as anger, the vacant desolation of his voice.
And that was only the first assault, Liviann said, her own voice full of righteous anger, the first of the devastation. After the attack on Venitte, which we managed to halt at Deranian’s Wall and then repulse after two months of siege, they began marauding the coast, attacking ports, villages, setting up camps in inlets and coves. And their Adepts—
No, Garus barked. They were not Adepts. They could not control all branches of magic.
But they were powerful, Atreus intervened. And there were many of them.
So many it seemed we would never prevail. This from Silicia, a slight woman who usually remained quiet in the background. I remembered her death when the thrones were created, remembered the blood trailing from her mouth after she’d collapsed.
That is why we created the thrones, Cerrin said. We managed to drive them away, mainly by focusing on their . . . on their Servants. We targeted them, because that was their edge in battle. We Seven could not protect the armies against so many, and so we began hunting them, assassinating the Chorl Servants in their own camps, killing them in their sleep, focusing on them in battle.
Exterminating them, Garus said.
Silicia shuddered, her essence twisting with distaste. Atreus grew grim.
And it worked, Liviann said, her voice matter-of-fact. When their Servants dwindled, when we began to turn back their armies with ease, both on land and sea, they withdrew, back to the ocean, back to its depths.
But the coast was decimated. Cerrin shifted forward, his voice intent. Amenkor, Venitte, all of the major cities had been hurt or destroyed. We might have pursued them, wiped them out completely if possible, but winter approached. Most of the cities retreated behind their walls, concentrated on survival.
We sent out ships in the spring, Seth said, tried to find the lands they originated from, but we found nothing.
And we knew that there were no Adepts being born, that there was no one to replace us. Atreus again.
And so we created the thrones. Back to Cerrin. To help those that did survive after us, those that had some of the Talent, if not all.
We didn’t realize the thrones would destroy us, Alleryn said, her mouth pressed into a thin line. We underestimated the power that would be required in their creation.
You have to warn Amenkor, Varis. You have to prepare. Determination had entered Cerrin’s voice. And we can help you. All of the voices of the throne can help you. We have them under control now.
Let me think, I said, felt the majority of the Seven straining forward, ready to argue more. But Cerrin gave them all a stern look, ushered them back.
I sat on the beach, in the cove, and watched the sun descend toward the ocean. I thought of Erick, of Laurren, of Mathew and the entire crew of The Maiden. I thought of Cerrin’s memory, of Olivia and Jaer and Pallin, of him clutching their charred bodies to his chest. I thought of Venitte, reduced to burning buildings, columns of black smoke billowing into the blue sky, and thought of the vision of Amenkor itself burning, fire orange and pulsing in the night.
And when the sun began to set, when the first stars began to appear on the horizon behind me, above the trees, I stirred.
I rose up abo
ve the seclusion of the cove and looked for the White Fire. It blazed to the south. Without rushing, I Reached for it, felt the world blur beneath me, felt it grow more dense as I entered the influence of the throne, felt the life of the city fall over me like a mantle as I settled into myself in the throne room. As I settled, I felt people in the throne room, most removed toward the far end near the doors, but two others stood closer: Eryn, pacing in front of the throne, and Marielle, seated on the steps of the dais.
I gasped in a deep breath of air, the sensation sharp and painful, as if my body had grown accustomed to not breathing, then choked on the air and bent over in a fit of coughing.
“Thank the heavens!” Eryn murmured. And then, in a louder voice, “She’s back! Keven, send someone for Avrell. And get that healer back in here!”
The coughing fit ended.
I stood, stepped away from the throne, stumbled as tremors coursed through my body, worse than at any other time before, my legs so weak I could barely stand. I was suddenly surrounded—Eryn, Marielle, Keven—all talking at once, demanding explanations, demanding to know if I was all right, voices tinged with worry. Someone grabbed my arm, held me upright, helped me step down from the dais. Someone else tried to present me with a cup of tea, the scent of earth and leaves sharp, biting through the smell of the stone and tallow of the throne room, the bitter scent of fear beneath the stone, and suddenly it was all too much.
“Stop,” I said, too weakly to be heard. I tried to shove the helping hands away, but when no one retreated, when someone pressed a damp cloth against my forehead, fury flared sharp and fast.
“Just stop!” I shouted, my voice cracking through the throne room, bringing everyone up short.
Into the new silence, Avrell and a man I didn’t recognize hurried into the hall. Avrell, eyes wide, face as open and readable as I’d ever seen it, came to an abrupt halt as he saw me, the other man halting beside him. He stared at me, met my eyes, his own full of fear and worry, and then he bowed his head, murmured something I couldn’t hear, a prayer of some sort, and then he signed himself with the Skewed Throne across his chest.
When he glanced back up, there were tears in his eyes. “Mistress,” he began, but halted. He struggled to continue, but couldn’t.
Instead, he straightened, cleared his throat uncomfortably, then motioned the man beside him toward me.
“This man is a healer,” he said. Thin, with gray hair and kind eyes, the healer hurried forward.
“I’m fine,” I said, the tremors still shuddering through my arms, through my legs. I realized Keven was the one keeping me upright, and I leaned into his solid weight.
The healer took my hand and placed two fingers on the inside of my wrist as he began to scan my face, his lips moving, as if he were counting beneath his breath.
“I said, I’m fine.” I glared at him as I tried to pull my hand out of his, but I was too weak. He returned the glare and refused to let go, his count never faltering.
Avrell had moved forward and now stood directly behind him. In a calm but warning tone, he said, “Let him check you.” He glanced toward the waiting guardsmen, who stood hovering at the edges of the throne room, toward Marielle, who stood to one side in obvious distress. Eryn and Keven were also concerned, although they hid it better.
I tensed, ready to argue, but then relented.
The healer felt my muscles relax and nodded. Satisfied with whatever he’d found with my wrist, he laid a hand on my forehead briefly, then began probing beneath my neck.
As I waited, I felt something on my upper lip. With my free hand, I reached up and rubbed it, my fingers coming away with flakes of dried blood.
I shot a questioning glance at Avrell, but it was Eryn who answered.
“That happened late last night, about an hour after you sat down on the throne.” Her voice was grim. “That’s when we first sent for the healer. But he couldn’t help you, not while you were sitting on the throne. We couldn’t let anyone get close, and we didn’t dare take you off the throne. We didn’t know what it would do to you.”
I nodded.
The healer finished with my neck, then stepped back. “I don’t see anything wrong with her aside from the obvious trembling and the bloody nose. And the nose stopped bleeding hours ago. Some rest should handle the trembling.”
Everyone heaved a sigh of relief, the tense guardsmen in the background relaxing, Marielle signing herself with one hand.
“Satisfied?” I asked curtly.
Avrell frowned, assumed a more formal pose, then nodded. “Yes.”
I grunted, straightened, feeling more steady on my feet, and pushed past him, moving toward the doors, Keven remaining at my side. I felt everyone hesitate behind me, the other guardsmen in the room coming to attention and forming up near the door. Eryn, Marielle, Avrell, and the healer remained in the throne room.
“Where are you going?” Avrell asked.
“To my chambers,” I said, voice still harsh. “I need to rest.”
“What about Erick and the ship?” Eryn called after.
I halted, felt a stab of pain deep inside, felt my anger flinch.
But then I hardened and continued toward the doors. “He’s dead,” I said. “They’re all dead.”
* * *
They left me alone for two days, under the careful watch of Keven and his guardsmen. I stayed in my chambers for the most part, pacing my bedroom, or staring out at the city from the balcony. I watched the progress in the warehouse district while sipping tea and nibbling food brought by Marielle, although I wasn’t hungry. She’d enter, set the trays down on the various tables, her eyes lowered, her head bowed. But I could see her biting her lower lip with worry, could feel her wanting to reach out to talk to me, to comfort me, but not daring. Then she’d pick up the tray containing the used dishes and leftover food I couldn’t eat from the meal she’d left before and leave, Keven closing the door behind her.
I had Keven escort me to the rooftop twice, where I stood at the stone half wall at the edge and stared out at the sea or frowned down at the entrance to the harbor. Keven stood a short distance away, ready to leap forward and grab me if I showed any inclination to jump. I could feel the tension radiating from him, could taste his worry and smell him berating himself for not knowing what to do or say to make me feel better, all mixed in with his own grief.
They all thought I was grieving. For those lost on the ship. For Laurren. For Erick. But I’d already done my grieving, on the river and in that cove. On the Dredge, there was no time for grief. Not if you wanted to survive. The palace was no different. But the seclusion it allowed me was necessary. I needed to think. And learn—about the Chorl, about the Ochean. And I needed to plan. With the help of all of the voices of the throne, but in particular, the Seven—Cerrin, Liviann, Atreus, Alleryn, Silicia, Seth, and Garus.
They had been waiting . . . for me to be ready to hear them, to listen to them.
When Avrell and Eryn finally did send someone to speak to me, it wasn’t who I expected.
* * *
Keven knocked on the door, then looked in. “There’s someone here to see you, Mistress.”
I glanced up from the slate I held with a frown. If it had been Marielle, he would have simply let her in. I sighed and set the slate aside. “Send them in.”
Keven hesitated. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
He withdrew and a moment later William stepped through the door.
I rose with a start, thought immediately of the sketch I’d seen of myself on his desk, and felt myself blush. “William,” I blurted, then caught myself. The blush grew hotter.
He halted inside the door, scanned the room with nervous curiosity as if he had wandered somewhere he didn’t feel he should be, but then his gaze fell on me. He smiled awkwardly, still nervous—but not about being in the Mistress’ chambers anymor
e—and asked, “Do you want me to leave?”
“No. I was expecting . . . someone else.”
He nodded. “They almost sent Borund, but then Marielle convinced them to send me instead.”
Marielle. My eyes narrowed as I remembered her comments at the warehouse.
The silence grew. My gaze flicked around the room and fell on the slate on the settee.
The blush faded. William wasn’t here to see me. Not really. He’d been sent because Avrell and Eryn and the others wanted to know what had happened. They needed to know.
Because I couldn’t do everything necessary myself.
I sighed. “They want me to come out and speak to them, don’t they?”
I caught William’s grimace. “Yes.”
I nodded. He’d wanted this to be something more than just a summons from the First and the former Mistress. He’d wanted it to be about us. I could see it in his face. But something always seemed to come between us: the assassin after Borund, the ambush when William had been stabbed, my intent to kill Alendor. And now the threat of the Chorl and the Ochean.
I moved a few steps toward him, felt him tense, and stopped. I wasn’t certain what I should do, and so I fell back on what I did know. “Tell them to get everyone together in the throne room in an hour. All of the merchants and their apprentices, the captains of the guard, and whoever else with the guard they feel should be brought along, plus Avrell, Eryn, Nathem, and the Servants.”
William nodded solemnly, then turned to leave.
“And William.”
He paused at the door.
“I’m glad you came.”
His shoulders relaxed a little as he left.
* * *
I entered the throne room from one of the two side entrances near the dais and the throne itself, Keven and two other guardsmen entering a few steps ahead of me, the rest of my escort coming in behind. Conversation filled the room with a dull roar, the aisle before the throne and the spaces between the four massive columns on either side packed with guards in various forms of armor, Servants in white robes, Avrell and Nathem in dark blue, and a few multicolored, gold-embroidered merchant jackets and the plainly dressed apprentices. As soon as Keven appeared, his men fanning out along the dais of the throne, the conversation stilled, the room falling mostly silent. Only the faint sounds of rustling cloth and scuffing feet remained as people shifted nervously.
The Throne of Amenkor Page 60
