by Giles Carwyn
He pulled a sculpted green bottle from the sack tied to his waist. It glowed, filled with tiny lights of every color of the rainbow. He held it out to her.
She glanced at it, but did not take it.
“It would be a lot easier just to kill you,” he said in a low voice. “But I’m a softhearted fool. Drink this, and you’ll see the whole picture.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“You should know. I already sent you a bottle.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Reef scowled and held the bottle out to her. “It’s Siren’s Blood. The real thing. Not the watered-down swill the Gold Islanders sell to foreigners.”
“I don’t know what a Gold Islander is.”
“Yes you do. You think they’re Silver Islanders. So do they, but all they care about is flesh, wine, and gold. Much like the fools in the Summer Seas.”
She reached for the bottle and brushed his fingers as he gave it to her. His skin was warm, rough. He wasn’t a phantom.
“And what will drinking this show me?” she asked.
“The truth.”
Shara looked at the man doubtfully, but there was no trace of mockery in the Silver Islander’s face. He was deadly serious. With a firm nod, he stood up and backed away.
“I may have been wrong about you,” he said. “I hope so. But I’m not wrong about the boy. He must not wake until the time is right.”
“And when is that?”
“Certainly not in my lifetime. Perhaps in yours.”
He continued backing up until the shadows obscured him, and all Shara could see was his hulking silhouette.
“Keep that bottle away from the Awakened Child of Efften and the black-hearted crone from Physendria. They are conspiring to bring the Summer Fleet through your locks. That must not happen.” He continued walking backward, though his deep voice still carried to her.
“Drink the wine and all will be made clear,” he said. “Drink it all.”
Shara looked down at the ancient bottle with the swirling points of light trapped inside. It felt strange in her hand, too heavy for its size. There was a subtle but unmistakable power trapped behind that glass. She could feel it without even trying. When she looked up again, Reef was gone. She searched for him with her magic one more time, but there was nothing, only darkness and the storm in the distance.
CHAPTER 17
Issefyn stood on the Long Bridge watching the Emperor’s flagship in the distance. The market was deserted this time of night, and a simple glamour easily kept her hidden from the two fin-helmeted goons standing guard on the docks.
Arefaine had been in the city nearly three days, but the two of them had not had a chance to speak yet. Issefyn had been waiting for an opportunity to catch the girl alone, but that was proving much more difficult than she imagined. Their eyes had met briefly when the girl first disembarked, but that was all. They had a lot to discuss after all this time.
Seeing Arefaine again had reminded Issefyn of herself at that age. The court of Physendria had been a gilded brothel. Young women from every house schemed their way into the beds of highborn noblemen, each certain that the treasure she held between her legs was more precious than the next. But Issefyn had always been a survivor. She knew how to mark her quarry, run it down, slit its throat.
Arefaine resembled a young woman Issefyn had known long ago. Sessepha had been Issefyn’s primary rival for the king’s interest, a sleek little bitch with impeccable manners and mastery of every courtly nuance. She swung her beauty around like a whip, wounding or entangling as she chose. The king practically salivated whenever she was around. Sessepha would surely have wed the fool if she hadn’t perished when her father’s ship sunk off the coast of Physen. There had been only one survivor of that crash, Sessepha’s best friend and confidante, Issefyn, who emerged half-drowned on the beach.
Issefyn learned the most important lesson of her life from her friendship with Sessepha. Your enemy’s trust is the best dagger with which to slay her.
I will sink you, too, Child of Efften, she thought. I will swim in the waters that birthed you and claim your secrets for my own. Then we will see which of us deserves to sit on Efften’s throne.
Morgeon’s daughter finally emerged on deck for an evening stroll. She walked to the prow of the ship and watched the moon setting over the Citadel. The child sorceress was backlit by the silvery orb, and her silhouette reminded Issefyn of the first time she had ever seen the Awakened Child of Efften.
The tiny girl had stood before one of the impossibly tall windows in the pretentious throne room of the Opal Palace, only a slim shadow against bright moonlight as she looked out to sea. The child had worn the black gown of Ohohhim nobility, her face powdered, her long dark hair combed and oiled to perfection.
Had it only been six years since that moment? It seemed like a hundred. At the time, Issefyn had recently joined the Zelani of Ohndarien. She had barely begun to spin the web that would entrap her son’s murderers. She didn’t want to kill the women quickly, artlessly. She intended to take her time, savor the moment. At Shara’s request, Issefyn and Ossamyr traveled to the Opal Palace to seek an audience with the Awakened Child of Efften, to search for any clues that would awaken her precious Brophy from his eternal sleep. They stayed in the palace for months, honored guests of the Emperor. Several times, the Emperor received them. Several times, Ossamyr requested an audience with the Awakened Child. Every time they were politely received and politely ignored. Ossamyr’s feeble patience was quickly spent, but Issefyn had her own plans. She wasn’t about to let propriety—or the pathetic Carriers of the Opal Fire—keep her from her quarry.
Using her magic, Issefyn easily slipped past the guards, following the scent of power through the labyrinth of the Opal Palace. In the cold, empty throne room, she found Arefaine standing by that tall window, gazing out at the surf. Issefyn could still hear the arrogant child’s first words.
“A warm welcome to you, my sister,” Arefaine said, never taking her eyes from the moon.
“You don’t belong here, child.”
“I know. And you believe you have come to liberate me?”
Issefyn had been irked at the tone in her voice, but continued without a ruffle. “These sleeve-chasers are afraid of you. They hold you back, keep you locked in the shadows when you were meant to outshine the sun.”
“Yes.” The child paused for a moment, then said, “You are a descendant of Efften.”
“My grandmother’s grandmother was born there,” Issefyn admitted, wondering how the girl could possibly know.
“Tell me about it.”
“It would take me years to teach you the secrets of Efften. I could take you as my apprentice if you wish to learn. We could leave tonight. No one would know until you were already gone. I can show you more than your chalk-faced monks could possibly imagine.”
Arefaine turned, her pale blue eyes looking calmly into Issefyn’s soul.
“But I’m already stronger than you.”
Issefyn laughed, a genuine laugh at the arrogance of youth. But Arefaine’s calm, steady gaze rattled her confidence, and she stopped laughing. The young sorceress’s first lesson would have to be humility. When Arefaine found herself dancing like a puppet on Issefyn’s strings, she would keep a civil tongue around her new master.
Issefyn reached out with her mind to infiltrate the girl’s thoughts. Suddenly, Issefyn was under siege. She gasped and stumbled under the onslaught. The press came from all around her like undeniable claws, grabbing, crushing, rending. Issefyn found herself in the battle of her life. She pushed back viciously, but she might as well have been trying to throw the Great Ocean off her back. She was enveloped, smothered, and could not find her compass. Darkness covered her eyes, and Arefaine disappeared from sight.
“I could kill you now.” The little bitch’s voice floated at her from every direction at once. Issefyn lashed out, flinging her will into the darkness. “
The Carriers would find you here, cold and dead. They would merely think an old woman died of a sudden strain.”
Issefyn groped about the room again, blind, desperately seeking the girl’s mind. But it wasn’t there. Nothing was there. Just empty darkness.
“Now, you were talking of masters and apprentices,” Arefaine said. “I have a proposition for you…”
The memory faded, leaving an acid taste in Issefyn’s mouth.
The sting of defeat had been Issefyn’s constant companion for the last six years. Taken off guard, she had not been prepared for a thirteen-year-old to have that much power. The next time would be very different. The child had spent hundreds of years entombed in the black emmeria; it had changed her in ways Issefyn had never anticipated. Arefaine was neither slave nor master of the dark power. The two had become one, fused in a fundamental way that Issefyn did not yet understand. But she would, and very soon.
Once she learned how to tame the power of the emmeria, she would twist it—and the girl—to her own uses. All it took was patience, time, and observation. Eventually, Issefyn would find the means to transform the bitter taste of defeat into something far sweeter.
Until then, she played the part of the faithful servant, a fawning sycophant dazzled by the girl’s plans of resurrecting the Doomed City. At Arefaine’s request, she’d returned to Ohndarien to guide Shara’s training and lock the Zelani mistress’s sights on the creation of the containment stones.
Issefyn had planned on the trip being a short one. She originally intended to steal the emmeria from the sleeping fool’s dreams and teach herself how to use it. But she could never get past that wretched Heartstone and the gilded box they’d locked him in.
So she had waited, hiding in the guise of a bootlicking matron, biding her time until the child returned to Ohndarien to claim her birthright. This time Issefyn would not be caught unaware. This time Morgeon’s daughter would be the one stumbling helpless in the dark.
Issefyn returned from her musings and realized that the girl had left the prow of the ship. She briefly considered intensifying her glamour and sneaking aboard, but there was no need to push that hard yet. Their time would come. She was about to leave when she stopped suddenly and turned around.
The child stood at the edge of the bridge, her long black robes fading into the darkness. If not for her white-powdered face, she would have been impossible to see. Issefyn felt an immediate rush of fear and revulsion and struggled to keep them hidden from her rival.
The Awakened Child glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. Issefyn smiled as if she belonged there, biding her time, skulking like a rat in the shadows.
“Let us talk,” Arefaine said, her quiet voice somehow carrying across the distance.
Issefyn nodded and walked over to meet her.
“I was waiting for you to come see me on the ship,” Arefaine said.
Issefyn paused. Her magical touch had been so soft. How had the little bitch detected it? “My apologies. Watching from the shadows has become a habit of mine.”
She waited for the girl’s reply, a dismissive bit of forgiveness for the humiliating role the girl had condemned her to. It did not come. Issefyn hated herself that she even paused to look for forgiveness from this girl. Ohndarien had changed her. The city had a hard shell, but the people within were softhearted and weak. She had spent altogether too much time here.
“Time is short. I shall be missed,” the white-faced child insisted. “What news of the Summer Cities?”
Issefyn fought to control her emotions. After six years of being Arefaine’s eyes and ears in this cursed city, the corrupted whelp was treating her like a servant, a basket of information to be emptied and discarded. Careful to shield her thoughts, Issefyn saved her anger and related what she knew.
“Lord Vinghelt will be leaving Physendria shortly. He plans to rally the fleet as soon as he returns to the Floating Palace. They should be here by midsummer.”
“What of his opposition?”
“A man named Reignholtz is the leader of those who oppose him.”
“Is he strong enough to hurt our cause?”
“Not without winning a duel, but I just received word that he sent one of his captains to Ohndarien.”
“Who?”
“His adopted daughter, a horse-faced peasant girl by the name of Lawdon. She’s had ties to Shara and Baelandra since before the Nightmare Battle.” Issefyn’s man in the Summer Cities had better be right about that. If that fat sadist was letting pieces slip, she would be forced to pay him a visit.
“Make sure she doesn’t speak with anyone, especially the council.”
“Of course.”
“And what progress have you made with the council? They are critical.”
“My apprentice has been in several of their beds. They will not be a problem.”
Arefaine said nothing, did not commend her for keeping the most powerful people in Ohndarien so artfully under her thumb. Issefyn smoldered in silence, keeping her breathing even.
“All of the fish are in my net except Shara,” Issefyn continued. “I have withheld dominating her at your request.”
“You’ve withheld because Shara is stronger than you,” Arefaine said.
Issefyn’s jaw tightened, but she kept her thoughts placid.
“Do not worry about Shara-lani. I will bring her to our side,” Arefaine said. “If I give Brophy back to her, she will see reason, and Ohndarien will follow her lead. We will take the other road only if necessary.”
Ohndarien will never join you without deception or force, Issefyn thought. But she did not say it. “I have carefully dissected Shara’s mind in my years here,” Issefyn said. “She may fawn pathetically over that dead Flower she barely bedded, but she is not a fool.”
“Watch your tongue. That dead Flower is my kinsman.”
Issefyn bowed her head. “My apologies. I have been trapped in one place too long. It tests my temper. I’m sure you know what that is like.”
Arefaine did not respond to the bait. Issefyn continued. “The fact remains. The Farad peasant will never join our cause willingly. She is no child of Efften. We must eliminate her before our plans can proceed.”
“I will draw my own conclusions about the Zelani mistress. She was instrumental in my release from the nightmare. I will give her every opportunity to find the truth for herself.”
Issefyn scoffed inwardly. The self-deluded child’s grasp of “the truth” was laughable. She still planned to use the black emmeria to build a paradise on earth.
“I will find a way to make Shara our sister,” Arefaine said softly.
She may bow to you, Issefyn thought. But she will fly for me.
“Brophy is the key,” Arefaine continued. “Shara’s love for him, this city’s love for him, these are the levers I will use to pry Ohndarien’s gates open. After that, our path leads straight to Efften.”
Issefyn nodded. My path may lead to Efften, she thought. But yours leads to the bottom of the ocean.
CHAPTER 18
You’re not going to drink it, are you?” Baelandra asked, holding the bottle of Siren’s Blood. The multicolored lights swam around Shara’s chambers as she peered through the glass.
“Of course not,” Shara said, taking the bottle back from her. It made her nervous to have it in someone else’s hands.
She’d asked Baelandra over to the school as soon as she’d come back from the wall. She’d wanted a second opinion on her mysterious visitor.
Baelandra shook her head. “I can see why he’d try and turn you away from Arefaine—the Islanders have always hated magic—but why would he poison you against Ossamyr?”
“I have no idea. Maybe he drank a little too much of his own truth.”
Baelandra smiled. “He actually called Ossamyr a crone? If he thinks she’s a crone, I hate to hear what he says about me.”
“Exactly. And what’s the nonsense about the Summer Fleet in Ohndarien?”
“That might actuall
y have a kernel of truth to it,” Baelandra said. “The occupation of Physendria is going badly for the Summermen. I’ve heard one of their princes is pushing to launch a massive counterattack against the rebels. With the mountain passes held by the resistance, they couldn’t do that without sending troops through Ohndarien.”
“Vallia would never allow that.”
“I know.”
Shara looked at the bottle again, suspicious of the way she was drawn to it.
“You’ve never tried this stuff, have you?”
Baelandra tried to keep a straight face, but Shara couldn’t help noticing the tinge of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks. “Bae?”
The older woman shrugged. “It was a long time ago, I was very young.”
“What was it like?”
A distant smile crept across Baelandra’s lips, and she let out a long breath. “Let’s just say that I was very lucky I didn’t come home pregnant that night—”
“No—“
“Because I wouldn’t have known who the father was.”
Shara laughed, trying to imagine Baelandra in a drunken tryst. “You’re a walking scandal.”
“There wouldn’t have been a scandal if I’d kept walking.”
Shara’s laughter was cut off by a faint knock at her door.
Shara felt a twinge of disappointment. She didn’t get to just relax and joke with a friend nearly enough. “Come in,” she said to Galliana.
Her niece opened the door and entered the room, giving a small bow.
“Shara-lani, Arefaine of the Ohohhim is here at the school to see you.”
Shara raised her eyebrows and glanced at Baelandra. An unannounced visit from an Ohohhim? That was certainly odd, though not unwanted. Shara had extended Arefaine an open invitation to visit the school after she had revealed the containment stones. There was a great deal she wanted to talk to the young woman about.
“Thank you, Galliana. Please escort her up to my room.”
