Mistress of Winter

by Giles Carwyn

  Issefyn had also been the genesis of Shara and Ossamyr’s quest to find or create a second Heartstone. The mages of ancient Efften had used ani-imbued containment stones to store black emmeria, the vile refuse born of their selfish and hateful magic. Issefyn believed there were still stones hidden in the ruins of the shattered empire.

  Before Shara began experimenting with her own containment stones, she and Ossamyr had nearly lost their lives trying to sneak past the fanatical Silver Islanders who guarded Efften.

  Their attempts had failed miserably. The tattooed pirates were always waiting, guarding the destroyed empire as though it were the gate to hell. On their last attempt, Shara and Ossamyr had brought a full crew of senior Zelani, determined to use their collective magic to slip past the fanatics. But before they even caught sight of the mythical island, the steel prow of an Islander warship had appeared out of the darkness and rammed their vessel to splinters. Half of Shara’s crew died in the attack, and most of the others succumbed to thirst and exposure after drifting on the wreckage for days before finally washing ashore on a tiny island off the coast of Vizar. Laren had died in Shara’s arms within sight of shore.

  Shara had vowed never to take that path again and turned her attention to making her own containment stones, but Ossamyr refused to give up on reaching the shores of Efften.

  “Galliana, dear,” Issefyn said, turning from Shara to the girl standing by her side. “Would you hurry ahead and inform Caleb-lani that the stone has arrived and to begin making preparations for its arrival?”

  Shara bit her lip. With Ossamyr injured, she would have to rely on Caleb to be her second in the upcoming spell. Shara had complete trust in Caleb; he certainly had the magical ability. But she wasn’t sure if he had the backbone to do what needed to be done if Shara should fail. It was always something that had to be considered.

  “Of course,” Galliana replied with a slight curtsy, and hurried ahead.

  Shara and Issefyn continued east through the Night Market.

  “What’s wrong?” Shara finally asked. “Why did you send her away?”

  “I didn’t want to discuss finances in front of a student.”

  Shara nodded, bracing for the bad news. “How much did he want?”

  “Seven thousand.”

  Shara clenched her teeth. “Seven thousand? Is he mad?”

  Issefyn shook her head. “The man said he had a buyer in the Opal Empire who would pay him seven thousand five hundred for a flawless crystal of that size. But due to his great respect for the legendary Zelani of the Free City, he would go as low as—”

  “Right, right, right. What did you tell him?”

  “I told him yes.”

  “What? How?”

  “I looked into the man’s eyes. He spoke the truth. He had another buyer. We had no choice but to pay his price.”

  Shara grimaced. Issefyn would never pass the Fifth Gate and become a full Zelani, but she could certainly spot a liar.

  “Where did you get the rest of the money?”

  Issefyn turned to her, then shrugged. “Baelandra.”

  Shara closed her eyes. She should have known.

  “I invited her to come with me,” Issefyn explained. “I suspected we would not have enough.”

  “But she’s given us so much already, gold for half my failed experiments, Ossamyr’s new ship, the buyers she’s sent all over the world looking for relics of Efften, anything that might help.”

  Issefyn nodded again. That was all the emotion Shara could expect to see from her.

  “Where does she get the money?” Shara asked.

  “She’s borrowing heavily. She has been for years.”

  “But we can pay her back, if this one works, if this is the last time?”

  Issefyn shook her head. “Even if we cancel the planned expansion of the school, it would be fifteen to twenty years before we could pay her back.”

  Shara sighed.

  “We still receive offers for assignments with recently graduated students.”

  “No,” Shara insisted. “I won’t run my school like its former master. My students will always choose their own assignments. The ten percent they send back to us is payment enough.”

  “But so many choose assignments that don’t pay.”

  “That is their choice and always will be.”

  “Of course.”

  With nothing left to say, the two of them wended their way through the Night Market. There were still plenty of taverns and restaurants, but the place had simply never been the same since the Nightmare Battle. They left the empty market and crossed Donovan’s Bridge before trekking up the hill to the Zelani school.

  Ossamyr met them at the rose-colored marble gates of the school. Shara sighed at the sight of her, twin floods of relief and guilt mixing in her belly. Ossamyr had bathed, changed, and wrapped her calf in fresh bandages. She looked refreshed and ready, but no one recovered from the black emmeria that quickly.

  The former queen was twenty years Shara’s senior, but looked like her younger sister thanks to her Zelani magic. She looked younger now than she did when Shara first met her eighteen years ago. Ossamyr’s sun-browned arms made a striking contrast to her white Zelani gown, belted with gold at the waist and slit high up the sides of her thighs. She had never adopted the calm radiance of a Zelani and always looked like a woman about to rush into battle, every inch the Physendrian queen she had once been.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” Shara asked.

  “I made a promise. I intend to keep it.”

  Ossamyr had agreed to stay and make one last attempt at creating a containment stone if Shara’s crystal arrived before the first storm of the season. From the look of the black clouds rolling in from the east, the gem had barely arrived in time.

  “You aren’t strong enough for this,” Shara insisted. “You should be resting.”

  “So should you.” Ossamyr’s green eyes flashed.

  Shara said nothing, and Ossamyr did not move from the doorway. Issefyn waited patiently, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air.

  “Caleb has prepared your chambers,” Ossamyr finally broke the silence.

  “And he should be the one—”

  “No.” Ossamyr held up her hand for silence. “We both know what Caleb can and can’t do. And this is something he can’t do.”

  Shara could still see Ossamyr pinned to the quarry floor, howling in rage, her blackened flesh bubbling like boiling pitch. The woman was hanging by a thread, but for this job, Shara still trusted Ossamyr at her worst more than Caleb at his best.

  “Fine, enough,” Shara said, moving past her. “Prepare yourself. We will start tonight.”

  They passed into the center of the school. More than a dozen Zelani students waited under the eaves that bordered three sides of the open courtyard. News traveled fast. Everyone knew what was about to happen. Shara felt a slight pang of regret seeing all of the eager faces.

  Careful to maintain her dignity around students, Shara gave them a smile and a nod before moving through the foyer and up the steps to her chambers.

  Shara’s and Ossamyr’s feet touched the same steps at the same time as they rose together. They had climbed these steps so many times that they moved with the same rhythm. “How is the boy?” Ossamyr asked on the way up.

  Ossamyr called Brophy “the boy.” She loved him as much as Shara. She had carried and lost his child, and she still called him “the boy.”

  “The same as always,” Shara said. “But if all goes well, you can ask him yourself in a few days.”

  Ossamyr snorted with her usual die-hard pessimism. She couldn’t have survived the last eighteen years without some hope locked somewhere deep inside, but you would never know it to talk to her.

  The former queen refused to climb the Hall of Windows to visit Brophy. She hadn’t been up there since the very first time. It was too painful for her. She’d dedicated her entire life to waking him, but she couldn’t look him in the face.<
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  They reached Shara’s room together and found a crate the length of her arm lying open in the center of the room. It was packed with dried moss, and a depression in the center showed where the huge crystal had rested just a moment ago. Caleb must have already taken the stone to her workroom at the top of the tower.

  Shara took a quick look around her bedroom to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. To her left, her shelves were piled with stacks of books, some thin, some thick, all old. A stained quill lay on her latest page of notes next to an open bottle of ink. A Floani scarf and staff leaned against the tallest stack of books. Pots and jars containing the psychotropics used in the Balani form were clustered on the floor. A silver dish packed with sand and the stubs of Pinani incense lay next to them. These were the trappings of Shara’s life.

  Some people gathered pleasant memories. Some collected seashells. Some built a family. She collected bits of lost power, hints of secrets burned in Efften centuries ago.

  Forcing herself to go slow, Shara climbed the ladder to the open trapdoor in the ceiling, to her tiny workspace above.

  Caleb met her at the top, offering his hand to help her up the rest of the way. He was already naked in preparation for the spell. His body was lean and hard, his smile gentle.

  Everything had been laid out. The floor had been cleared, all the furniture and rugs moved away. The rat sniffed the air from its cage, and a silver dagger lay sheathed beside it. The tall, thin stand stood at the center of the room with a glimmering crystal resting between its three prongs.

  Shara hurried over and touched it with trembling fingers. Caleb held his lamp closer so she could get a better look. The shifting light projected shimmering rainbows onto Shara’s hand. There were dozens more drifting across her body, across Caleb’s tan skin, on the floor, the ceiling, and walls.

  The merchant had not lied. The gem was huge, easily the size of both of Shara’s fists. It was the largest she had ever seen, save the Heartstone herself. On the day of the Nightmare Battle, Ohndarien’s Heartstone had been nearly large enough to contain all of the black emmeria released from the baby. Nearly, but not quite. So Brophy had sacrificed himself to make up the difference, taking everything the Heartstone could contain and more into himself, draining the legendary diamond until it was clear again, swirling with vibrant rainbow colors. It had been Shara’s dream from the beginning to make up that difference somehow, so the Heartstone could finish the job it was created for, containing the black emmeria forever.

  At first Shara had tried to destroy the excess, but that was like trying to destroy the ocean by drinking it. Later, when Issefyn arrived, her hopes had shifted to building a second Heartstone, a smaller, lesser stone, to finish the job the Heartstone could not complete alone. Six times she tried. Six times she had failed. But she knew so much more now than she did then. And she had never had a flawless gem like this to work with. As perfect as love, as they said in the Summer Cities. As perfect as she must be this night if she wanted to see Brophy open his eyes again.

  Shara looked up as Caleb placed his hand on her shoulder. She returned his smile and turned to Ossamyr.

  “Go, you two,” Shara told them. “Get some rest. I’ll send Issefyn to wake you a few hours before I need you. Then go do what you do best. Love well. Love true. Fill your hearts. Fill your bodies, and bring me every mote of ani a human body can contain. We’ll need it. We’ll need it all.”

  She picked up the silver dagger, drew it slowly. “We’ll start as soon as you are ready.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Shara held her hand over the Sword of Winter’s pommel. She could feel the ravenous power locked within. Intangible fingers of emmeria strained against the edges of their prison, reaching for her, desperate to ride her flesh to freedom.

  Shara knelt before the newly constructed containment stone. She could hear Ossamyr’s steady breathing behind her, giving her strength. An alabaster bowl rested between Shara’s knees, and the unsheathed Sword of Winter lay across her naked thighs, its blade shimmering in the candlelight.

  Her long black hair was bound back tightly, and she wore only the belt of her office. The big blue stone glowed softly against her hip, grounding her. The facets of the giant crystal twinkled in the faint light.

  A fierce wind whistled through the city just outside the slender tower, strangely akin to the tortured voices that howled inside the pommel stone. Distant thunder rumbled through the walls of the windowless room. The storm Ossamyr had been waiting for had finally arrived. But she wouldn’t need it. Not this time.

  Shara had worked all through the day to imbue the crystal. The dream space within was vast, almost incomprehensible. It could hold all the power of every spell Shara had ever cast, could hold them all a hundred times over, a thousand times over. It was her masterpiece.

  It would hold. It must hold.

  Shara’s gaze strayed to the small cage at the very edge of the candlelight. A rat scurried about in its tiny prison, desperately looking for a way out. It could sense the black emmeria emerging.

  Shara closed her eyes and focused again on the sword. Do not think about the rat. We will not need it.

  Shara took a deep breath, accepting the waves of fear that washed over her, making them part of herself. Visions of the night in the Wet Cells flashed through her mind. She heard her laughter as Victeris crawled naked through his own filth before her. She had felt so powerful in those moments, so oblivious to what she was doing. She didn’t want to walk that path ever again. Without Brophy at her side, she would never be sure she could say no a second time.

  The black emmeria swirled through the pommel stone. It felt as if it were already crawling through her belly. Shara didn’t want to do this. Absorbing the black emmeria was like pushing a dagger into her own eye. Every part of her screamed to run, hide, find an easier way.

  “It’s time,” Ossamyr said, placing a light hand on Shara’s shoulder. She nodded, took a deep breath, and let go.

  She went slowly at first, letting the corruption leak from the gem into the palm of her hand. Her skin started to tingle, and fiery pains shot up her arm. A whirlwind of hateful voices blew through her body, threatening to overwhelm her thoughts.

  A single purring voice rose over the cacophony of the others. Hello, my love, I’ve missed you. Shara knew that voice, knew it well. She had never responded to it and never would.

  Concentrating on the black emmeria crawling into her skin, she kept her hand on the sword, absorbing the putrid ani until the pommel was clear and bright again.

  Where is the radiant woman I once embraced? You have withered in my absence, a shadow of your true self, and all for the sake of another?

  Shara’s forearm roiled and bubbled as inky stains rose to the surface of her skin and submerged again. The black emmeria worked its way through her body, desperate to puncture the thin veil of her willpower and consume her.

  Ossamyr reached over her shoulder and grasped the Sword of Winter. Taking it in both hands, she raised it, ready to end everything if the need should arise. Shara was suddenly very glad that it was Ossamyr standing behind her and Caleb waiting one story below.

  This is not who you are. You were meant for so much more.

  With Ossamyr’s help, Shara kept the surging blackness confined within her arm. The polluted ani writhed and twisted, threatening to rip her flesh from her bones. She focused on Ossamyr’s steady breathing, leaning on her friend for strength.

  You never used to be afraid of yourself, afraid of who you could become.

  Shara fought for control, her stomach lurched, and she nearly vomited on the floor. The retch doubled her over, and she swallowed back searing bile, breathing hard.

  “I’m all right,” Shara assured her friend, and she could sense Ossamyr’s grip on the sword relax.

  Ossamyr and Caleb had spent hours making love while Shara prepared the crystal, and the heat still radiated from Ossamyr’s body. She held the sexual energy like a contained inferno, an inferno
that Shara could tap at a moment’s notice.

  You are a shadow of what you once were, a withered husk fleeing from your beauty.

  Shara carefully reached to her side and picked up the small silver dagger. She drew the blade and placed it against her boiling skin. Her arms burned as if a swarm of bees fought beneath the surface, trying to sting their way out. Her hands started to shake.

  How long has it been since you’ve been touched? How long has it been since you let go?

  With a quick stroke, Shara sliced deep. The black emmeria erupted from the wound, and she cried out at the pain, cycling it back into her spell. The raging voices of the black emmeria roared into the room. Her vision swam, but she managed to direct the flow of blood into the bowl between her knees. Globs of black liquid splattered into the basin. The fluid undulated up the smooth sides of the container, trying to escape.

  Shara had learned long ago that blood could be used to stabilize the black emmeria. The corruption latched on to the living tissue, but could not grow to horrific proportions without a living mind and soul to bend to its will.

  This is not what you want. Let go of this prison. Let go.

  Shara gritted her teeth and forced the Emmeria out of her body. The corruption resisted, but with Ossamyr’s help they forced it into the bowl until her skin stopped bubbling, and the wound ran clean and red. With one last plaintive whisper, the voice faded away.

  Shara reached for the bandage on the floor next to her and quickly bound her wound. Blood soaked the white linen, but she would deal with that later. When the bandage was secure, Shara took a shuddering breath and prepared herself for the most difficult part.