by Callie Bates
“Keep an eye on Lathiel,” I tell him as he turns to go.
“Right.” But even though his tone is flat, I see his shoulders hitch upward. He might not be gentle with our little brother, but he’ll keep Madiya away from him. I know that.
Rayka marches off, and I crawl through the grate, the buzzing particles of the iron bars cold inside my skin. The tunnel lies completely dark, except for the distant gaps of light at either end. I feel along the walls for the open staircase leading up. I’m befuddled in the dark, and it takes too long to find it. Finally, though, I climb up.
And stop, sucking in my breath. Voices echo at the top. Guards?
No, not guards. I slink up one step, another. They’re in the sunken garden. Augustus never bothers to lower his voice; it echoes against the stones.
“…never going to accept you,” he’s saying. “You might as well not exist.”
My throat tightens. I grab at the stone wall, but it doesn’t cool the anger rising in me.
“You wouldn’t be the first to abdicate.” A woman’s voice, brittle and cold. Phaedra. “The son of Paladius the Second did. Where did he go? Omira? He lived on some little island in a beautiful villa. I’m sure he kept a garden. It could be just like home. You could even take Zollus Katabares with you.”
“He’s the only one who seems interested in your existence,” Augustus quips. “Since you lost Korakides…”
“I have no intention of abdicating.” That’s Leontius, his voice so quiet I strain to hear it. “I wouldn’t inflict that on my people.”
“They would hardly miss you,” Augustus says carelessly.
“I meant you,” Leontius retorts. “I wouldn’t inflict the two of you on the people.”
There’s a silence. I fight the urge to stride through into the garden and step in front of Leontius, my fists swinging. But he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t want my help or my friendship.
“I think you may wish to reconsider,” Phaedra says, her tone falsely pleasant. “You can go of your own accord, or you can go whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t think either of us is such a bad catch,” Augustus adds, sounding hurt. “The people adore us. We’re always in the newspapers.”
Not exactly a vote in his favor, I think. The newspapers love to mock him.
“So you plan to force me out.” Leontius sounds tired. “I won’t ask how, since I’ve never done a thing wrong. I’m sure you’ll concoct some nonsense and spin it as the truth.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” Phaedra says, with a smile in her voice. “We don’t need to. We know what we’ve seen.”
There’s another silence. I take an involuntary step forward. What do they mean, they know what they’ve seen? What on earth has Leontius ever done? Most of the time he’s digging in the garden, for the sake of all the gods. Not exactly execrable behavior.
“You can make all the claims you want,” Leontius says, but his voice is unsteady. He must know what they’re talking about. Why don’t I? “You still have to get Father to believe them.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Augustus says smugly. “Do you think he wants you to inherit? The one who begged him to stop ‘the assault on our people’?”
He did? But Leontius told me he wouldn’t take the risk…
“We all know most of the people rounded into the Frourio were innocents,” Lees says, his voice clipped. “And now many of them are dead because Father wanted to make a point. It’s weak. And abhorrent. I stand by what I said.”
“Then you should also stand by your imminent departure,” Phaedra replies. “Goodbye, older brother.”
Augustus chuckles. “Goodbye!”
There’s a rustle as they depart the garden. I’m left alone—shocked, in a way, but at the same time not surprised. It’s always only been a matter of time before Leontius’s siblings found a way to usurp his throne. What astonishes me more is the revelation that he stood up to Emperor Alakaseus.
Maybe I don’t know my friend as well as I thought.
I edge forward, peering into the garden. He’s standing underneath a myrtle bush. He doesn’t seem to be doing anything.
I almost go forward. I almost go up to him and say I want to help. That we can work together.
But he doesn’t want anything to do with me. And I need to find Firmina. She’s proven she’s willing to help us—and now she needs someone’s help in return.
I’ve waited too long. Leontius is walking away now, weaving a little, bowled over by some emotion. I can just see his head disappear into the colonnade.
I go after him.
* * *
—
THE PALACE HALLS have erupted into chaos. Servants run in every direction with food and bags, and ahead of me Leontius is calling out orders for someone to ready him a coach to Aexione. We pass through an open courtyard, laced with mezzanines above us. Raised voices break out overhead. The servants slow, looking up. Leontius stares. I hang back—nothing to see here—and crane my neck back.
It’s Firmina. I can see her silhouette, and hear her voice: “By my authority—”
Someone else rumbles a response, which echoes down into the courtyard. “You’ve been overruled by the Saranons, madam. My apologies.”
Damn it. I’m too late.
I sprint for the stairs. Firmina’s on the second floor, nose-to-nose with the captain of the guards. She’s dressed in a blue redingote for travel, but he’s gesturing her back into her chambers. “You’re to wait here until a full guard is prepared to escort you, madam.”
“But why am I being treated like this?” the empress exclaims. “I’ve done nothing to merit anyone’s displeasure!”
The captain hesitates, but even from here I can tell Firmina has turned her most beseeching gaze upon him, and he’s lost. “Of course not, madam—that is—your cousin Bardas has been discovered aiding and abetting the criminal sorcerers. Prince Augustus and Princess Phaedra believe you should remain with us, free from suspicion…”
“Oh, I see.” Firmina’s tone softens. It’s marvelous acting; the captain leans forward as if she’s hooked him with a line. “You are too kind, Captain. My cousin Bardas does the most ill-advised things—I am sorry to take responsibility for him. Do let me know when the guard is ready.”
She retreats into the chambers and the captain, flustered, orders the guards to hurry their preparations. I wait until the mezzanine has cleared somewhat, then melt through the wall.
I don’t see Firmina Triciphes at first. The room appears to be empty: just a collection of plush velvet furniture, a tea service, a fireplace filled with only coals. But before I can try one of the doors leading off the room, I hear a whisper.
You don’t see me. You don’t see me.
It’s subtle. Persuasive to anyone without sorcery. But it’s so well aligned with my own magic that I hear it.
And I see her, the way one glimpses a mirage, her arms braced on the table by the tea service. She seems somewhat insubstantial. I’m not sure she heard me come in.
The empress of Paladis is a sorceress? It seems impossible. Absurd. And yet there she is.
Bardas told me a sorceress was helping them…
“You’re very close,” I say. “I almost didn’t notice you at all.”
Firmina gasps. She turns, her hands up as if in self-defense. But then she sees me, and a brilliant smile bursts over her face. “Jahan! What are you doing here?”
“Bardas sent me,” I say, though the simple delight in her face puzzles me. She’s surrounded by guards and witch hunters. She ought to be afraid, but she’s not. “He thought Augustus and Phaedra might have accused you—which it seems they have. I’m supposed to escort you out of the city, to Aexione.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was going to manage that myself! But it is very chivalrous of you to
come.”
How skilled is she? “You might have had trouble once you were among people. Persuasion can be hard to maintain in a crowd.”
“I suppose you would know,” she says, with a smiling glance. “You’ve been brought up to practice sorcery, and I’m still learning.”
Brought up to practice sorcery? How does she know? Unless Elanna told her, there’s only one other person she could have heard that from. Madiya has been in the Deos Deorum—and before that, in Aexione. Elanna told me she’d met the empress and forged a treaty. Madiya must have been there, too. Bardas and Firmina have had her all this time and, I realize with a coldness running down my spine, I never asked why.
“I didn’t realize you were a sorceress,” I say. “You must have hidden it well…”
She grimaces slightly. “I inherited it from my poor father. He had some little magic—nothing much. Nothing the witch hunters could catch. But there’s a kind of madness that comes over sorcerers when they can’t perform their magic—have you seen it? It’s a kind of melancholy, brought on by having to live a lie, I suppose. It killed him in the end.” She looks thoughtful. “I learned a good deal from it.”
“I’m sorry.” I remember now that her father died the year before she caught the emperor’s eye. But my mind is still spinning back to Madiya. Has she given Firmina the laudanum, too? Rearranged the patterns of her mind, to make her a better sorceress? “And you’re…learning…from Madiya.”
“Oh! Sylvia, you mean.” Firmina tilts her head, apologetic. “I hope you don’t mind that we dug through your correspondence.”
“My correspondence?” I echo.
“I’m afraid so.” She offers me a charming smile. “We suspected you of knowing sorcery, you see, Bardas and I. Little things you did. The way you manipulated some of the courtiers into accepting you. And the story about how you saved Leontius’s life…it sounded like magic to me.”
I’m staring at her, my hands empty. I can feel my pulse at the back of my mouth. I should have known someone would see through the persuasion I worked on people, the lies I told about saving Leontius’s life. But I didn’t expect that person to be Firmina Triciphes.
“Then your brother came to court, and we realized he must be a sorcerer, too! Bardas heard some story about him setting off a musket without touching it.” Firmina shrugs. “And everyone knows you’ve been in legal arguments with your father. So Bardas…looked into things. When Alakaseus banished him from court, he went to the Britemnos Isles. Found your father.” She smiles. “Your father was very amenable to working with us, once he knew what we wanted. He introduced Bardas to Sylvia—to Madiya—and invited her to come here. She’s been helping me do so many things. Work persuasion. Move walls. Then you came back. Things are working out awfully well, aren’t they?”
But I can’t answer. My mouth has gone dry, because the obvious has finally hit me. It was Firmina Triciphes who destroyed the Frourio and let me and my sorcerers take the blame. This woman in her elegant redingote, who’s smiling at me.
“That was you,” I say stupidly. “You made the walls walk. You killed…”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen as it did!” she protests, catching my hands in hers. “I meant to frighten the imperial militia, and let the sorcerers escape. I didn’t mean—I didn’t know—”
She killed Pantoleon when she made the Frourio collapse—unless he had already been evacuated to the Ochuroma by then, which was a death sentence all on its own. She killed so many people. I heard their screams. I saw their bodies crushed by the bricks. My throat burns. I want to shout at her.
But her regret is genuine. Her palms are damp. Tears stand out in her eyes.
“Trust me, Jahan,” she whispers. “I would never have done it if I’d known.”
I nod, mechanical. Wordless.
“But I had to try something,” she says fiercely. “To have the power, and not use it to help…!”
I pull my hands free. “Madiya should have known it wouldn’t work.”
“She advised me against it.” Firmina sighs. “But our time is running out, and I have to take risks.” She glances at the door. “We should go now, Jahan.”
“Yes.” I shake myself alert. Later, perhaps, it will seem more possible that Empress Firmina has been a sorceress all her life. That she sent Bardas Triciphes to the Britemnos Isles to meet with my father. That he brought Madiya back with him. “We need to get you to Aexione.”
“Indeed.” She smiles slightly. “I must see my husband before my stepchildren find him first.”
“Come with me.”
She tucks her hand into mine, like a child—or a lover. When I look at her, she just gives me a winsome smile. I find myself thinking that if this woman is powerful enough to make walls walk—even if they end up collapsing—then I am not about to anger her in any way. Instead I pull her out the wall after me, into the servants’ corridor. No one to see here. We hurry down, passing behind the kitchens. No one gives us a second glance.
“You’re better at this than I am, Jahan,” the empress says warmly.
We come into the stable yard. Men are readying a coach—for Leontius? I see him trotting out through the colonnade.
I tug the empress along. “You can go with Lees—”
“I’m afraid that may be too slow. We may get stopped. And my stepson…” She wrinkles her nose. Of course, Leontius isn’t much fonder of her than Augustus and Phaedra are. I stifle a sigh. I’ll get her through the city, then teach her how to compress space for herself on the road. I’m surprised Madiya hasn’t taught her anything so practical—though if Firmina thinks she can move buildings, perhaps she’s skipped the foundational steps and gone straight for spectacle.
Somewhere behind us, in the palace, a shout goes up. It sounds like Firmina’s name.
“Oh, dear,” she says. “We’d better hurry.”
We run through the gate, dodging guards, and out into the street. It’s packed. Militia are streaming across the Great Bridge, ranks and ranks of them. I almost stop dead.
“Are they all going to Solivetos Hill?” I ask.
The empress purses her lips. “Some may be going to quell other protests around the city.”
The urge to run back to Solivetos is so strong I have to lock my legs in place. Elanna and Tullea can hold it, with the help of Rayka and the others. And if Firmina can persuade Alakaseus to treat with us, if she can counteract Augustus and Phaedra, then we all stand a greater chance of success. And survival.
So I tug her by the hand into the street. We’ll be faster on foot, and more anonymous, blending into the stream of pedestrians angling past the marching militia and into Vileia. Once we reach the broad avenues, I look about for a coach we can steal.
“That one.” The empress points to a bright-green phaeton, abandoned outside a mansion. It’s the kind of thing a flashy court dandy would drive. Firmina climbs in while I unhobble the horses. Nothing to see here. The vehicle bobs when I hop in, and Firmina’s already seized the reins. We charge forward through the streets. Just some young nobles out driving too fast.
We arrive quickly on the city’s outskirts. Mount Angelos rises ahead, delicate clouds clinging to its crown. The empress slows the phaeton, so I can explain to her how to compress space.
A boom rattles through the earth. At first I think it’s the mountain. But Firmina glances swiftly behind us.
It came from the city. From Solivetos Hill?
I’m swinging off the phaeton before I can even stop to think. “Can you manage without me? Even without compressing space, you should reach the palace before they do…”
She’s watching me with concern. “What can you do against cannons, Jahan? Come to Aexione and we can deal with Alakaseus together.”
Together? But I’m a criminal. The emperor will execute me long before he listens to a word I say. Besides,
Firmina Triciphes is the most charming woman I’ve ever met. She doesn’t need my help.
Another boom quivers through the ground. Elanna’s back there, in the city, without the full use of her magic. She, and Tullea, and Rayka and Lathiel. Bardas. Even Madiya. And all the others. I need to go back.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the empress, and then I turn and run toward the city.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The booming of the cannons doesn’t let up as I make for the Middle Bridge, falling in among the ranks of militia. Just another soldier. Once I reach the university quarter, I dive for the nearest cistern entrance. Rayka’s misdirect confuses even me. I stumble in two different directions before I finally let myself find it by touch rather than reason. Through the door, I fumble for an ancient torch on the wall, summoning fire out of it, and run down into the tunnels, to the steep stairs behind the pool.
But when I emerge into the lower temple, it’s to a deafening thunder of cannons. A wall in front of me shakes and collapses. I sprint for the steps, blind with pure fear. But the steps no longer exist. They’ve been sliced clean away, as if someone cut them with a knife. It must have been my brother; he said he had a plan for the stairs.
Another cannonball bursts through the stones behind me. I bolt, flinging myself to the ground just in time. I reach for the cannons with my mind, trying to slam the vents closed, but only one attempt seems to succeed. Somewhere, bells are ringing. The witch hunters must be blocking my magic. Even with the cannons thundering, even with the lower temple destroyed, the energy of the font hums through the air. Maybe I can use it to pull myself up the steep, wooded hillside.
I climb over the empty threshold where the steps used to be, reaching for a mulberry tree. I use it to lever myself up. Compress space. My feet slide—dirt falls—but I dig my fingers into earth and tree roots and hang on. Pull myself up and compress space again. A spray of gunpowder narrowly misses me. I reach to break the guns, but again my magic slides off.
