by Giles Carwyn
Quinn sighed. “You are right, of course.” She glanced up, her vapid blue eyes looking deep into Issefyn’s. “Thank you so much, my friend. You are very kind to take this time to help me get my thoughts in order.” Quinn squeezed her hand. “I will see you tomorrow.”
And more importantly, you will see Ceysin this afternoon. “Good day, dear. Don’t hesitate to send for me should you need anything.” The pounding in her head drowned out Quinn’s parting words as Issefyn strode down the garden path, heading for the front gate.
The moment Quinn shut the door; Issefyn’s stately walk became a quick stride. Everything was moving too slow and too fast at the same time. If her man in the Summer Seas did his job, the Summer Fleet would arrive at the Sunrise Gate within a month. Once that would have been music to Issefyn’s ears, but a stubborn stone had dammed up the river, and her name was Vallia.
Illisa, the Sister of Autumn, was a reasonable young woman, and she listened well to Issefyn’s council. She wasn’t the problem. And after a week of Ceysin’s gentle ministrations and constant suggestions, Quinn and Baleise were wet to the knees and aching to spread Ohndarien’s legs to the Summer Fleet. Without the protection of the Heartstone, the Sisters of Autumn, Summer, and Spring were ready to do whatever Issefyn wanted.
But Issefyn would dearly love to rip out Vallia’s throat.
Arefaine needed the Summermen to join Ohohhom’s fleet in the Great Ocean just after the end of the stormy season. Unfortunately, Issefyn had missed her opportunity to end Arefaine’s life during the spell that woke Brophy. And so she must continue to play the loyal lackey. But the Summer Fleet would take her to Arefaine’s side once more, and more importantly to the emmeria-filled Heartstone. One way or another, Issefyn would gain the power—and the revenge—she deserved.
But the withered old Sister of Winter adamantly refused to break with tradition. Ceysin had already tried his hand at seducing her, but the hag’s dusty cunt seemed impregnable. And Issefyn had to be careful. The Sister’s eyes were hard, suspicious, and they didn’t miss much. If either Quinn or Baleise let word of their secret affairs slip to Vallia, Issefyn could easily find herself facing a squad of soldiers ready to toss her out the Physendrian Gate.
She could not afford to give Vallia more than one week to see reason. After that, well, there was more than one way to remove an obstacle.
The worst part was that all of this nonsense was keeping her from the only thing that really mattered.
The sun beat down on her, too bright. She squinted and wended her way up to the school. A badly turned stone tripped her, and she almost fell. Recovering with a whispered curse, she set out again just as fast. She had to get back to her room at the school. Her conversation with Quinn had taken far too long. The squealing pig had wasted half the day.
Issefyn finally reached the pink eyesore that she had come to loathe so much. Hurrying through the front gate into the courtyard, she noticed Baedellin sulking in one of the alcoves. It gave Issefyn a little thrill every time she saw Baelandra’s homely orphan blubbering in some corner. She had generously offered to foster the girl at the Zelani school while her father wallowed in his boundless grief. She had delightful plans for the little troll as soon as she found the time.
Hurrying across the courtyard she entered the school.
And drew up short.
Caleb stood there. His brown eyes caught her, held her for a moment. Usually, the man hovered at a distance like a castrated rabbit. But he lacked his usual emasculated air.
“Issefyn,” he said, standing in her way. “We must talk.”
She broke the intense stare and stepped past him. “Not now.” He touched her shoulder, and it jolted her.
“Yes. Now.”
She brushed past him, reaching the base of the stairs. “I cannot,” she said over her shoulder. “Perhaps later?”
He said nothing, but she felt his eyes on her back until she reached the next floor and passed from his sight.
She broke into a run, racing up the spiral staircase that led to Shara’s room. She yanked open her door and slammed it behind her, throwing the bolt.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and her gaze immediately fell on the wardrobe across the room. With her last scrap of willpower, she summoned the Floani form, filling her arms and legs with power. She grabbed the four-poster bed and dragged it toward the door. She could not afford to be interrupted. The situation might turn ugly if she was disturbed, and it was not yet the time for that. Not yet.
Once the bed was in place, she flew across the room and flung open the wardrobe doors. Sinking to her knees, she opened a drawer and removed the silk-wrapped bundle hidden beneath her clothes.
The blackened containment stone shimmered in her hand, humming with all the power of the world.
She laid a shaking hand upon its surface and gasped. Her mind cleared. The pounding headache drained from her skull. The itching on her skin soothed as if a cool cream covered her body. Her heart slowed, beating steadily.
The stone was fathomless, holding entire oceans. Once Issefyn learned to master it, she would no longer need Arefaine.
She took the stone to bed, crawled under the covers, and held it close to her chest. The howl of distant voices swirled all around her, blocking out the rest of the world, drawing her into their embrace. The stone had already spoken to Issefyn’s heart, teaching her to harness its power, make it her own.
She concentrated on the darkness within, calling it forth. A distant roaring filled her mind, like a great storm of ani coming closer and closer. She let the power flow through her, riding the beast, forcing it to serve her.
“Hello, Mother.”
She smiled, turning.
Victeris leaned against the windowsill. His obsidian eyes glittered, and his lips curved up in that sardonic smile that turned down slightly at the corners.
Ah, my beautiful boy, she thought. The strongest of my sons. Only you had the will to follow in my footsteps.
“You are looking well, younger than ever,” he said.
“I do what I must. There are many arts I never had a chance to share with you.”
He chuckled, a dark and dusky thing. “You will find that I am much more knowledgeable in death than I was in life.” He glanced at the window, traced the sill with his finger. “This is where I died, did you know?” he said, looking down. “Well, at the bottom, actually.”
“I know. The students still talk about it.”
“Brag about it, you mean?”
“Small minds tell small lies. They idolize Shara for betraying you. But we will pay her back, my son. You and I.”
He waved his long-fingered, delicate hand. “Small minds have small goals. Is this the mother I remember?”
Issefyn’s brow furrowed.
“The woman I knew would have wanted to see this entire city on its knees, the entire world,” Victeris said.
He crossed the room and crouched next to the bed.
“Why take them a piece at a time, when we could have them all at once?” Victeris whispered, running a slender finger along her cheek.
His touch sent a cool thrill through her, but she pulled her head away. “You forget yourself,” she said, fixing him with an imperious gaze.
He laughed, throwing back his head. “You summoned me, Mother. You called me back from the howling dark. We were born from the same soul, you and I. Play coquette with your reflection in the mirror, if you like, but I know the truth.”
“Perhaps.” She climbed out of bed, walked past him to stand at the window. She held the stone close, kissed it. “But I choose when and where to take my revenge. Not you. Not anyone else—”
“Certainly not a whelp like Arefaine,” Victeris mused.
“Watch your tongue, ’Teris. I am biding my time with her—”
“Yes, just as I ‘bided my time’ with Shara. I crafted her downfall for days while scuttling in my own shit. I plotted the perfect revenge right up to that moment when I made my valiant lea
p from that window.”
“Shut up!”
“Mother, really…” he said in mock surprise. He walked up behind her and closed his hands gently over her shoulders. His chest pressed against her back, and he whispered in her ear. “Why fight me? We are not enemies. We want the same thing, and the power is at your fingertips.” His hands slid down the length of her arms, touched her wrists.
She looked at the dazzling containment stone she gripped tightly against her chest. The howling voices grew louder, closer, more insistent.
“Set me free,” he whispered. “And together we will destroy the upstart. Her and all the rest.”
She stared out the window at the city she despised. One day, the world would be hers, but not this place. This place she would grind to blue-white dust and scatter to the winds.
“Yes,” he said. “Throw the stone out the window. Shatter it. Set me free. Set us all free.”
“But…”
Victeris’s hand tightened on her wrists, clenching hard. The sensation ran into her chest, squeezed her heart. She gasped.
“Do it.”
“But…”
“Now!”
A dull noise sounded somewhere behind her, beyond the constant roar that had engulfed them. Somebody shouted, and wood splintered in the distance.
Victeris shoved her forward, knocking her off-balance so she fell on the windowsill and leaned out over open space. He grabbed her wrists, trying to pry her hands off the containment stone. “Drop it! Set us free!”
“’Teris!” she cried, fighting him with every ounce of her strength. The distant howls crashed in on her all at once, knocking the breath from her. They were painfully loud. She couldn’t hear, couldn’t think.
“Issefyn!”
Someone jolted her, yanked at her hands.
“Issefyn, let go!” the deep voice demanded. “You’re dreaming!”
Victeris melted away. “You were too slow,” he hissed, his fading voice filled with disdain. “You have always been too slow, Mother. Just as you were with Arefaine.”
Issefyn kept fighting the hands, but they were strong. They wrenched the stone from her fingers. She cried out in pain as the roaring was silenced in an instant.
The world returned in a rush. A man lay on top of her, pinning her to the windowsill. She tried to throw him off, but he was too strong. He’d taken the stone. She had to get it back.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” Caleb practically yelled in her ear, his body heavy on hers.
The man’s ani swirled around her, calming her, grounding her.
“Get. Off,” she hissed. Her senses slowly returned to her, as did her anger. “Get off me!”
Caleb slid off her body and let her wrists go. She dove for the stone, but he snatched it away. She almost rushed after him, almost clawed it out of his hands. But the slow realization of what just happened, of what she’d almost done, closed in on her like a vise. That stone had bested her. That stone had twisted her, bent her over like a common whore.
Caleb carried the corrupted crystal across the room, wrapped it in a scarf, and set it near the broken door, shaking his hands. “Where did you get this!?”
She shuddered, rage bubbling up from her bowels, stinging her eyes. She blinked, squeezing the tears away.
“Who gave this to you? Did you steal it?”
Issefyn stared at the stone by the door. She could barely contain her anger. Her arms shook.
“By the Seasons! What possessed you, Issefyn? You could have destroyed the whole city!” He went to her, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her to her feet. “You know better than this. You can’t even pass the Five Gates. What made you think you could wield black emmeria?”
“I—”
“Come on,” he yanked her to her feet. “We’re going to the council. You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Issefyn’s searing rage slowly burned itself out, turned to ice. She shook her head. “No,” she murmured.
Reaching to the back of her neck, she slid the tiny blade from the butterfly clip in her hair.
Caleb turned, his hand locked on her wrist. “What?”
“I said, ‘no.’”
With one quick swipe, she scratched the little knife across his cheek.
He jerked back, hand touching his face, coming away with a smear of blood.
“What are you—!” he cried, as he grabbed her other hand and tried to wrench the tiny blade from her grasp.
Then the poison hit him, and his eyes went wide.
“Issef—” he started, but was cut off with a squeak as his throat swelled shut.
Ani flared, and Caleb was a blur. His fist smashed into her chest, driving her across the room. She crashed into the wall just below the window.
Baring his teeth, he pointed his finger at her, then doubled over. His fists clenched.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Issefyn murmured, sitting up.
Wind whistled out of his mouth for one long moment, then that, too, ceased. He clawed at his neck, crumpled to his knees, and curled up like a spider.
She stood up, smoothed her gown, and crossed to the doorway to pick up the beautiful, glittering containment stone. Then she sat on the bed, crossed her legs, and watched.
Caleb’s face swelled horribly large, doubling in size. He spasmed, flinging himself backward, smacking his head on the floor. His heels dug into the rug, and his hands twisted inward as the scorpion venom raced through his body. One last cry whistled out of his throat. He twitched twice, then lay still.
But the skin of his cheeks continued to swell, even in death. Finally, his face burst, spraying blood across the floor.
Issefyn shuddered, savoring the moment until the thrill slowly faded. Caleb’s foot feebly scuffed the rug once more.
She concentrated on her breathing until her center was restored, then slipped the blade carefully back into the hairclip. A wonderful little device, as dangerous to the user as the victim if one was not careful. But Issefyn was careful with everything, every movement of her life.
She had come across the hairclip a few days ago in Baelandra’s house while convincing Faedellin that his unfortunate-looking daughter would be much better off at the Zelani school under her personal supervision.
Issefyn touched Caleb’s body with her toe. Even after witnessing so many deaths, it still fascinated her how quickly the body became cool. The pathetic fool had wasted his life for a woman who never noticed him, as Shara wasted her life waiting for a man who would never return from the shadows.
Love my enemies at your peril, she thought. This is the price.
She glared at the exquisite stone she held in her lap. The power hummed through her as she stared into the depths of the black crystal. Someone or something lived within that infinite darkness, hiding under the guise of her dead son.
She would have to be careful. She couldn’t risk setting him and his kind loose upon the world. She had no intention of letting the emmeria sully her future kingdoms.
She seethed at the idea that the emmeria had nearly thrown her, but she would break it yet. One day she would ride that beast to the ends of the earth.
“And then, my mysterious friend,” she said to whatever lived within the crystal, “I will have my revenge upon you as well.”
CHAPTER 9
Ossamyr awoke on a soft bed. She drew a deep breath and smiled, sliding her feet across the cool sheets. It was good to be—
Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up. Dark, wooden walls, a small window looking out at cloudy mountains near the sea. The door across the room was slightly crooked in the doorjamb. Throwing the light covers from her body, she looked at the yellow linen shift she wore. Someone had cleaned her, dressed her.
Memories flooded back. She closed her eyes and let them come. After she had told Reef everything, he had nevertheless forced her to eat his sickly-sweet leaves. She had been honest with him that first time about everything she thought was relevant. But the second time, the
Islander’s amber leaves had stripped her defenses away, laying her soul bare.
She had sobbed on the filthy deck of that ship’s hold, whispering her most intimate details to her indifferent captor, things she had never told anyone, some things she had even managed to forget herself.
At one point in Ossamyr’s life, she would rather have died than tell anyone those things. She thought she would go to her grave with them unspoken. But Reef knew everything now, and somehow she was still alive.
Sitting up, she put her feet on the cool floorboards of the little room. She expected her guilt to crush her, her shame to overwhelm her. But somehow she felt lighter, hollow and cleansed.
And Brophy was alive.
After all her unexpected crying to Reef, Ossamyr found that she had one more sob in her, but she smiled as it bubbled up, then flung herself back on the bed and looked at the low ceiling. My beloved Brophy. You are awake. Alive.
She lay there for a long time, worrying about him. She desperately wanted to see him, help him recover from his ordeal, but knowing he was free was enough for now.
Someone else had paid her debt. Let them bask in his radiance. Ossamyr had other things to do before she could be reunited with Brophy.
She smiled as she stood up. Her muscles ached from her torturous confinement, but they did not drag her spirit down. Instead, she felt as if she had made Ohndarien’s wall run and slept for days afterward. Sore but refreshed.
What trial could compare to the hopelessness of trying to wake Brophy? Whatever came next, she knew she was equal to the task.
A simple, rough-spun dress had been laid out on the back of a wooden chair near the door. A plate of fruit and bread lay on the seat. Her belly growled, but she ignored it. She’d had enough of the Silver Islanders’ drugged food. She put the dress on, though. It hung low and was far too wide through the shoulders, but it would do for now.
Ossamyr crossed to the crooked door, tested it. It opened, and she raised her eyebrows. Silently, she crept into the dark, narrow hallway. A shaft of light illuminated the steps at the far end, leading up out of the hatch. She could hear the sounds of people above, distant shouting, equipment being moved. Seabirds cried to each other.
