by Callie Bates
Firmina lies curled up on herself, her skin soft, her breathing shallow. She’s naked. Vulnerable. My chest heaves. Have I ruined her mind? Made her like my mother? Am I like Madiya, then? Maybe killing her would have been more of a mercy. But I couldn’t do that.
I rub my hands over my face. I did what I had to do. But it doesn’t feel good inside me.
I need to find my brothers. And Elanna. Everyone.
I manage to crawl up to my knees. I flex my feet, trying to remind them that they know how to balance on the ground. But part of me is still convinced I should be flying.
A wild giddiness breaks out inside me. I transformed into a raven—me, Jahan Korakides, the damaged one. Like my ancestor Mantius. The man whom my father wanted to model me after. The man whom I imagined comforting me as a child. Mantius, who gave himself up for the greater good. Now I’ve discovered what he worked so hard to hide. He, and all the other sorcerers who sacrificed themselves to hide the wells. I can find them, and I can change everything.
I’m standing, my arms open, the sun warming me. Still naked. Everyone’s going to talk if I come back to Aexione like this. Part of me wants to dare them to.
But perhaps…One more time, I reach for the grotto well. Its power feels thin. Tired. It needs time to renew itself after first Alcibiades, then I, pulled so hard on it. But I make one last request, all the same. I can feel the weight of it in my mind. The shape.
Something rustles. My skin warms. When I open my eyes, I see a cloak has settled around my shoulders. It’s made of black feathers, thickly sewn together.
I draw it tight. My eyes are prickling. I find myself looking around, as if there might be a specter of a sorcerer peering at me through the layers of the past, but we’re alone in the garden. Bees drone in a flowered hedge. The sky gleams, impossibly clear.
Firmina is still unconscious. I sigh, but what else am I going to do? I’m not going to leave her here. I crouch beside her and lever her up into my arms, her weight surprisingly heavy for someone who tried to appear so delicate. I heave her onto my shoulder. She’s still unclothed, but there’s not much I can do about that. At least she’s breathing. The well is tired, and so am I. And even if I could, I’m not conjuring a feathered cloak for her.
I make my way out into the garden, trying to get my bearings. We’re well away from the palace—I can just make it out at a distance, beyond a wall of spearlike cypresses. To our left, past the shrubbery, a white wall presses through the softness of the garden. The Little Palace. Of course, it’s Firmina’s sanctuary—she must have intended to go there.
A shout carries up over the gardens. “Jahan!”
A woman’s running toward me, past the reflecting pool, up the long path. Her hair is flying loose. I open up my free arm and Elanna catapults into me, hugging me tight against her. I breathe in the scent of her hair. The warmth and weight of her. Finally, I let myself feel the terror of seeing Firmina fling the wood at El in what could have been a killing blow. I hug her tighter.
She pulls back, taking in my cloak and the lack of garments under it. And Firmina, flung naked over my shoulder.
“I took away her magic.” I explain, as best I can, what happened.
But when I finish, El still looks skeptical. “Where did that come from?”
She means my cape. I grin at her. “I conjured it. From the air. Like a real sorcerer.”
“You conjured a feathered cloak?” She’s snorting with laughter. “Not, say, a pair of trousers?”
Heat burns into my cheeks, but I find myself laughing, too. “My ancestor, Mantius, the one who transformed into a raven…”
“Oh, no, he didn’t have a cloak of black feathers, did he? He did?” But she stops laughing and kisses me swiftly on the mouth. “It’s quite a statement. Are you prepared for all the songs people are going to write now?”
“As long as they include you in them, I shall be quite content.” I pause. “El…is Leontius…?”
“He’s living still. They—they managed to stanch the flow of blood.” But her hesitation tells me he must be in danger yet. She shakes her head and gestures to Firmina. “He’ll manage. We need to sort her out first.”
“I’m not sure what to do with her yet.” I nod at the Little Palace. “And I’m a bit frightened to see what’s in there.”
Elanna draws in a breath. “Then we had better get it over with.”
We approach the Little Palace with caution, but it’s unguarded. Firmina must have taken her retinue to the palace itself. Perhaps she left this place under magical safety, but it’s evaporated now that I removed her powers. I lead the way inside, up the familiar staircase to the second-floor salon.
The door is locked. I reach for the smallest spurt of power from the grotto well and push the latch back. Together, we step inside.
Bile rises in my throat. The room is a disaster—furniture smashed and windows broken, drapes stripped from the windows. In the middle of the room, on the stained carpet, lies a pile of corpses. No telling how long they’ve been there. Flies buzz around them. They’re men—guards, all of them, in imperial livery, except for one near the bottom with a pale-blue sleeve. A witch hunter. Quentin.
Elanna gags, ducking behind a settee to vomit. The stench is overwhelming. There must be fifteen bodies, at least. Firmina killed them all—drained them for power, and so that she could escape.
The empress’s legs swing against my hip. Maybe I should have killed her when I had the chance.
But no. She’ll live to face the consequences of what she’s done. If she has any conscience at all—and I’m not convinced that she does—it will be a fate far worse than death.
I turn to El, who’s pressed both hands over her mouth. Tears swim in her eyes.
“Let’s go.” I take her hand. “We’ll send someone to identify the bodies. Give them a decent burial.”
Together, we walk down the Little Palace stairs and out into the bright day.
“Jahan!”
A boy is shouting in the distance. Rayka. He comes into view, running down the path. There’s a shape in his arms, long and limp, with a flop of dark hair.
I burst toward them. El races beside me. No. Not Lathiel, not after all this.
“He was trying to heal the people she drained!” Rayka’s actually crying, his voice thick, his face splotched with tears. He thrusts Lathiel’s body at me, shaking it as if our little brother weighs no more than air. “He took too much from the well. He just collapsed. I told him not to. The idiot…”
“Here.” I gesture for Rayka to set Lathiel on the ground, and I heave Firmina down, propping her against a tree. Elanna, wincing, covers the empress’s nakedness with her own coat.
I turn to my little brother, gathering him up, cradling him against me, his head lolling against my chest. The faintest breath touches my collarbone. He’s alive, but I don’t know how completely he drained himself. I don’t know how to fix what’s wrong with him. I don’t know if I have enough strength left, or if the well does. But I have no choice.
Gently, I touch Lathiel’s mind with my own. My body seems to creak; my head feels thick. But I can still reach into Lathiel. I can still feel a spark within him, though it’s fading. The shallow beat of his heart pulses against mine. Too slow. Too weak.
I whisper to him. Come back. Back together. Whole and healed. I pour the energy of the grotto well into him, the way he poured the energy of Mantius’s font into me.
It takes a long time. My head swims; even though I draw from the grotto well, my own energy seems to get mixed up in it. The well is tired, and so am I. I’m light-headed, as if I’ve been drained myself, and my mind is numb.
But when I open my eyes, Lathiel is gripping my arm. He’s still pale. Still breathing too shallowly. But there’s life in his eyes.
“I’m here,” I say. “I’m here.”
&
nbsp; He curls around, blinking slowly, and buries his face in my feathered cloak. I pat his back. He’s panting, hot breaths that stir the feathers. But I’m here for him, now, at last.
Something scrapes across from me. I look up blearily. Elanna and Rayka have been sitting across from us, watching. Waiting. Now El draws in a sharp breath. Rayka just stares, silent. His eyes are full of a nameless terror.
“It’s all right,” I say to him. “I brought him back.”
“Oh,” Rayka says, and he looks away, blinking fast.
Elanna’s watching me. “Will you be all right?”
I nod. I will be all right. I don’t quite trust myself to speak again, though. I know I need to get up. I have an emperor-apparent to find and an unconscious deposed empress to dispose of, along with the corpses of those she killed. I have an order of witch hunters to undo, and the bodies of Madiya and Alcibiades to bury.
But Elanna is murmuring to Rayka, and Lathiel is still clinging to me. So I stay where I am. For the moment, this is enough. I hold my little brother closer, and wait for his breathing to deepen.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Eventually, some palace guards find us. We leave them to identify the bodies in the Little Palace, and make our way slowly through the gardens to the palace. Lathiel seems reluctant to let me out of his sight. Rayka and Elanna scavenged some items from the Little Palace, and we’ve wrapped Firmina in a blanket, while I’m wearing a pair of trousers from the emperor’s old bedchamber. It feels strange to wear the clothing of a dead man.
The palace is a kind of ordered chaos, full of returned servants and befuddled courtiers and reformers. Aunt Cyra stands, hands on her hips, directing the removal of the worst detritus. If her commandeering tone is anything to go by, she’s survived unscathed. But before I can call to her, Sabina and Irene approach from the opposite direction.
“Jahan, come quickly!” Irene says. “I told the doctors you could help the emperor.”
I swing Firmina Triciphes down from my shoulder. “We need to put the empress—the former empress, I mean—in custody.”
“We’ll see to it,” Elanna says, gesturing for my brothers to stay with her. “You go to Leontius.”
I follow Sabina down the corridor to Leontius’s chambers. A cold dread has seized me, even though everyone tells me he still lives. At the door of his bedchamber, I stand rooted. I don’t want to approach the bed. I don’t want to see what’s left of him, to find him as empty and dead as Finn.
But I approach. Because I must. Because he’s my friend.
He seems shrunken in the massive bed, its golden canopy swallowing him up. Zollus Katabares sits beside him, his suit speckled in blood. He’s staring me down. But I ignore him and approach Leontius. His face is pale. But his chest moves, ever so slightly, up and down, under the embroidered coverlet.
I crouch beside him. Distantly I’m aware that my cheeks are wet. He makes a wordless noise.
And then he opens his eyes. “Jahan,” he whispers. He’s weak. Exhausted. But he smiles.
“Lees.” I’m gripping the coverlet. “I thought…”
A doctor has come up behind me. “Sir, you should move away—”
“It’s the Korakos,” Sabina raps at him.
“Oh, yes, with his magical remedy, I suppose. But really, my dear, you mustn’t believe…”
I ignore him. “There’s something I can try,” I say to Leontius. He nods.
I reach for his arm. Elanna said they had stanched Leontius’s wound, but it’s still weeping from the cauterized end of his arm. It’s pillowed in bandages. I peel them gently back. The wound seems to be a rupture—Firmina must have burst apart the barely healed fabric of Leontius’s skin. We’re fortunate, I suppose, that she attacked Leontius’s old wound instead of creating a new one, or Lees might be dead by now.
I bend over the wound. I’m damned tired, and so is the poor drained grotto well. But I have just enough left to reach for his muscles, for his skin. Just enough to whisper to the pieces of Leontius to sew themselves back together, Snug and neat, whole and healed. Just the way I did for those soldiers after Rayka massacred them. Just as I did for myself.
But it’s still not enough, even with the grotto well, to give him back his hand. The nerves and bone have been severed too long, and the pattern is impossible to re-create.
I open my eyes, and he’s watching me. Perspiration lingers on his forehead, but his eyes are alert. I find myself smiling, even though guilt that I can’t return his hand tugs at me.
“I feel the water,” he says. “Under the palace.”
My eyes ache. I pat his knee. “That’s good.”
“My father’s dead.”
“Yes.”
“I have to be emperor now.”
I look at him, not over my shoulder at the doctor or Zollus, who are staring, or Sabina, who looks proud.
I focus on my friend. He has a lingering fever I don’t know how to shake, and the loss of blood has made him weak. But he’s alive, and he’ll become strong again. The prince who needed a friend, and who chose a boy who wanted to change the heart of this empire. And here we are.
“There’s a lot of work to be done,” I say. “The palace is chaos. The Hall of Glass is missing its entire roof.”
He just looks at me.
“I don’t know what trouble the reformers have gotten themselves into. And your ministers and court have had the wits scared out of them…”
Leontius is starting to laugh.
“Also,” I add, “Firmina Triciphes tried to seize power. And Bardas is dead.”
“Jahan Korakides.” Leontius snorts. “When you’re around, there’s always work to be done. I just…I don’t think I can get up quite yet.”
“We’ll have the servants bring some food and drink. I don’t know how we’ll explain…everything.” I gesture at the palace around us, encompassing the missing roof and the empress.
Leontius shakes his head. “Did people witness what my stepmother did? The ministers were there, weren’t they? Zollus said the minister of state is dead. So many people have seen…We can’t hide the truth. They’ll blame sorcery.” His gaze slides to Zollus, and he bites his lip. Quietly, as if he’s ashamed, he whispers, “Our sorcery.”
“Our sorcery saved the day,” I reply. “Everyone saw me turn into a damned raven.”
The corner of Leontius’s mouth crooks upward. “Is that why you’re wearing a cloak of feathers?” He glances at Zollus and the doctor. “I think you had better tell me what happened.”
Behind me, Zollus clears his throat. “Don’t tire him, Korakides. Lees needs rest.”
I start to point out that Lees asked me to talk with him, but before I can, Leontius smiles at Zollus. It’s shy. Tentative. “Maybe you could have the servants bring me a hot tisane.”
Zollus goes to attention, deeply serious. “Or a cup of broth?”
“Or brandy,” Leontius says.
I laugh. “A cup of brandy?”
Zollus stares me down, apparently angry with me for making light of the situation, but Leontius sighs. “Oh, damn, yes. Make it a wagonload.” But then he smiles again at Zollus, with a little more confidence. “Just the broth and tisane. Thank you.”
“Anything for you,” Zollus replies, so matter-of-fact I wonder if I heard correctly. He marches off into the hall, rapping orders at the servants. The doctor and Sabina follow him.
I feel my shoulders relax ever so slightly. At last, my friend and I are alone.
“Jahan…” Leontius lowers his voice. “What do you think of Zollus?”
I laugh, surprised. If only Zollus knew he’d been sent out so we could discuss him. Here I thought Lees wanted to go over sensitive affairs of state. “If you need to ask my opinion of Zollus Katabares, then we truly haven’t spoken in a long time.”
Leontius’s face falls. He stares down at the coverlet.
Oh. Oh. All the gods, I am the biggest fool who ever set foot in Paladis! I scrounge for the merest semblance of tact. “He’s changed, though, you know. I never thought he’d stick by you the way he has. It’s…” Completely astonishing is not the right thing to say. “It makes him surprisingly likable.”
“He’s not what I always thought him, either. He’s…” A slightly addled grin spreads over Leontius’s face. “He’s loyal. And fierce. And…protective.”
And a much better choice for you than Finn, I think, but I have enough sense not to say it.
“But I’m emperor now,” Leontius says. He’s practically whispering. “I can’t…I have to marry. Beget heirs. I can’t just…be with whoever I choose.”
“You can still be lovers.”
He winces. “It’s not the same, Jahan! I want to—to give myself fully to a person. I don’t want to be like my father, who visited my mother’s chambers once a year, out of duty. It’s not fair. To me—or to Zollus, if he ever…if he…” He swallows and darts a glance toward the door. Zollus hasn’t returned yet. “Or to my future wife. You know the things people will say. The songs they’ll write.” He pauses. “What is it?”
I must be staring. I shake my head. “Nothing. I…” It was just how much he sounded like me. How many times have I told Elanna I don’t want to be like my father? But Leontius wants to commit himself fully—someday, anyway—to whoever he truly loves, and he can’t.
Yet I could. I could, and I never have. Because I’ve always been too afraid.
I force myself back to the present conversation. “You don’t have to marry. You could, I don’t know, adopt.”
Leontius snorts. “Oh, yes, I see the ministers agreeing with that! No, Paladis is going through enough upheaval. It will comfort the people to have a royal wedding.” He sighs. “A royal heir…”
