“You have to control it somehow,” Verte snapped. “Do you understand that? As it is, whenever your power manifests, it will push others toward your will. If you sign terms with someone in that condition, you are guilty of magical manipulation of a contract. If you lie with a woman, you are guilty of rape. If one of your followers gives you so much as a copper coin, you can be charged with theft. Even if it is not intentional, if you are aware you are creating this enchantment—as you now are aware—and you do nothing to stop it, you will end up on trial for magical malevolence. Then you won’t just be branded like a criminal, you’ll be one.
“Please. Celadon,” he sighed, running out of the energy he needed to fight this battle, which he already knew was probably hopeless. “Let someone teach you to shut it down. A few days of study is all it would take.”
Eerily, Celadon started to smile.
“I will not join the Napthol’s cult,” the Quin pronounced, “and I will not be branded, and I will not accept responsibility for an affliction that you and your kind have set upon this city. Arrest me if you will. My followers will see my trial, and they will recognize it as further evidence that all I have warned them of is true.”
That was one of the many things Verte feared.
“You don’t think your followers might be a bit angry to learn they have been magically manipulated by a man claiming to hate all magic?” Verte asked as he unlocked the cell door.
If it were considered maleficence for a person to accidentally use magic he didn’t know he had, half the members of the Order of Napthol would have been locked up before their fifteenth birthdays. Now that Celadon had been informed of his power’s potential, any illegal use of it would be considered a crime, but Verte couldn’t arrest him on the suspicion that he might break the law.
Celadon stepped out gracefully, careful to keep his distance from Verte and Tealyn. The guard was doing an impressive job of keeping her expression impassive despite the revelation of Celadon’s power. If she felt shocked, horrified, or even amused at the irony, it didn’t show. Verte made a mental note to acknowledge the discretion later.
“The Quinacridone’s followers trust me. Nothing the Terre could do would turn them against me.”
Verte tried to think of an excuse to hold the preacher, because he knew letting him go would be a disaster, but the laws were clear. Celadon was innocent—so far. Arresting him would be illegal, and sure to cause a riot when all the Quin in the city protested the unfair incarceration. On the other hand, given how unlikely the other Quin were to notice or even report sorcery, how out of hand could he get before an official report ever reached Verte?
Could he set someone among the Quin covertly to watch Celadon? Maybe one of the guards, equipped with a charm to ward them against cold magic persuasion, could feign allegiance with the sect?
Another task for this morning, as early as possible.
“You’re free to go,” he said grimly. “I highly recommend that you speak to someone at the Order of Napthol about learning to control your power before it gets you in further trouble. Or, if all you want is to get rid of your power, come to the palace and we’ll do that. If you come of your own free will, the procedure will be as confidential as you like.”
Celadon snickered. “Never in your life, Terre, will I come to you for help.”
He stalked out of the jail. Verte gave up on any further attempt to reason with the damn Quin that day. He wouldn’t listen.
Celadon would end up back in this jail soon, Verte suspected. How soon would depend on how clever and careful—and anxious to be a martyr—he was, and whether Verte could successfully plant someone in the Quin group without raising suspicion.
Verte followed Celadon through the doorway just in time to see the preacher intercept Naples. The sorcerer was sleepy-eyed, but an aura of power surrounded him like a bonfire’s heat. What had he been doing since he was released from his duties at the ball? Or, perhaps, whom? Verte recognized the languid undercurrent of the magic, because it was similar to the one Henna’s took on after they made love, as if her power was as stimulated and satiated as her body.
Naples and Celadon come to a stop inches from each other.
“Sir?” Tealyn asked softly. “Should we step in?”
“Be ready,” Verte agreed.
“Have a good night?” Naples inquired with faux sweetness.
“Out of the way,” Celadon barked. His power rose to his will and shoved at the wiry young sorcerer.
Naples was no null Quin. His eyes widened and he braced himself as if against a blow, his power rising in a wall around him. In a sleight-of-hand Verte couldn’t quite follow, the sorcerer drew a small dagger.
Verte had only managed a single step forward before Naples, instead of turning the blade on the Quin, slid it across his own palm, drawing a fine line of blood. Verte put a hand up to halt Tealyn; he would give this another moment to play out.
“I want to apologize for yesterday,” Naples said, with a subtle thread of power that flared when Celadon begrudgingly accepted the offered handshake. When the sorcerer’s blood touched Celadon’s skin, Celadon’s eyes unfocused. He swayed a little and the tension went out of his body. “Come back to the Hall with me,” Naples urged. “We should chat.”
Verte knew his mother was sometimes able to replace the hours of preparation and ritual most sorcerers required for major magic with a few drops of spilled blood. He had tried unsuccessfully to learn the technique, and was surprised to see it wielded so effortlessly now, especially since he had thought the Order of Napthol disapproved of blood-magic.
Celadon jerked back, aware that something had happened, but too ignorant to recognize exactly what. “Not likely,” he snapped, before shouldering the sorcerer aside.
Naples let out an incredulous snort, and watched the preacher storm off. As Verte closed the distance between them, Tealyn only two paces behind, Naples sheathed his knife, saying, “He’ll come. He just needs time to decide it was his own idea.”
Verte suspected it was true. Naples was ringing with power right now. His magical suggestion would echo through the Quin’s head until he couldn’t resist it anymore.
“That was illegal,” Verte pointed out.
“Think the Quins will press charges?” Naples shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like a good idea to let him walk around like that, and he’ll never agree to get help willingly.”
Verte pondered the words, and the situation. He settled on saying, “Don’t push him into anything more than necessary. We will all be safer if he can control his magic, but if he pledges himself to the Order of Napthol overnight, I’ll have to intercede.”
“I’ll try not to put you in a position where you have to protect the Quin,” Naples said, his tone faintly teasing. “Now if you’ll pardon me, Terre, I should get back to the Hall before my date arrives.”
They parted ways. Verte hoped Naples would be able to do something to minimize the threat of the Quin preacher. In the meantime, Verte would still seek a volunteer among the guards who would be willing to try to infiltrate the group, and check in with Wenge, and search for a tear in the veil between this world and the divine, and—
A servant ran up to him, gasping, “Osei. Your parents are with them, but—” He broke off, struggling to catch his breath. “First Royal house,” he managed to say. “In the market. Terra said to find you. Said to tell you they need to . . . expand the net?”
The last few words had a questioning lilt to them. He was repeating a phrase he had been told, but wasn’t sure what it meant.
The First Royal queen was here. Now. Why? It was too early. She wasn’t supposed to arrive until after Kavet had completed its negotiations with the Third Noble House.
It didn’t matter.
No, it mattered, but what mattered more was that they needed to step up their plans. They had always intended to try to snare the First Royal Queen in the enchantment. It would be harder because they hadn’t fully subdued the Third Noble House ye
t, but they could do it.
They had to.
When Verte reached the market, he slowed his steps to a sedate pace so that he could compose himself before entering the Osei’s presence. From across the square he saw not just the First Royal Queen, but the entirety of the First and Third courts standing in front of his parents.
As he crossed the cobbles, he picked up the strands of the magical net, taking up some of the slack his parents hadn’t been able to manage. The power felt rough and trembled as he seized it; he needed more sleep, food and ritual time to recharge before he could manage it with any finesse.
Thankfully, he wasn’t working alone.
All around the market, members of the Order of Napthol had come out. They pretended to be busy with other tasks—helping to right booths and pick up wares that had been toppled as if from an earthquake, shopping, chatting or even reading—but their lips moved with murmured spells and their auras flared with power. They could feel the spell and were doing what they could to support it.
“Verte,” Terra Sarcelle sighed in relief. She patted his shoulder; it probably looked maternal, but he knew she was linking their power so he could better support the work she was already doing to control the Osei queens. “May I present to you Queen Negasi of the First Royal House of the Osei. Queen Negasi, this is my son, Verte.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Verte saw Celadon and Naples enter the market. Celadon’s power buzzed along the net, threatening to break its trembling threads. Naples immediately caught the preacher’s arm and urged him toward the Cobalt Hall; the sorcerer hadn’t been in the market long enough to know what was going on, but he knew how delicate the spell was, and how disastrous it would be if Celadon chose this moment to be a bastard.
Verte bowed slightly to the Osei queen, in acknowledgement that she outranked him. “We are honored by your presence,” he said.
The high queen of the Osei inclined her head slightly. Unlike Nimma, who seemed to have attempted somewhat to match her host’s coloration, Negasi looked like something molten, her skin all shades of ruby and gold with a flowing, shifting quality to it that strained Verte’s eyes when he tried to focus on her. Her hair, which was short and lifted like a bird’s crest, was tropical blue and turquoise. Only her eyes, which were pure, gemstone green, seemed fixed.
Pick up the strands of the net, Verte told himself, trying to keep the thoughts to the back of his mind while focusing on inane details with the front. Weave them tight and don’t let go.
Chapter 18
Henna
We can do this, Henna thought. Prayed.
She had backed away as soon as the high queen’s attention was off her, and now joined a dozen other members of the Order of Napthol as they tried to lend power. Most of them probably couldn’t read the spell well enough to understand its purpose, but even the weakest among them could tell all three members of the royal family were struggling to pour their magic into something. They helped in any way they could.
Henna was too far away to hear what words were exchanged by the two opposing royal parties, but she didn’t need to. The words were irrelevant—as were her own fears of what would happen if they failed. She knew what these creatures could do to those who crossed them.
I am not helpless anymore, and I am not alone. I am one of the most powerful sorcerers in the Order of Napthol and I have all my fellows with me.
The net of power the Terres and Terra had cast was truly a thing of beauty. It wasn’t designed to be used this way—having so many practitioners clumsily throwing magic at it—but there was no other choice. It was clear the royal family didn’t have the strength to wrap so many Osei so quickly, not when the high queen had landed in this place already seething with murderous intent.
But it was working.
Sweat burst from Henna’s brow as she struggled with her end of the spell. She tried to visualize it as one of the nets hauled by the stinking fishing ships during the tuna migrations, a massive thing capable of wrapping and catching any wriggling prey that came its way, but ended up with an image more like a spider’s web, slowly spinning into place. Until it was fully formed, it was fragile; its edges tore whenever anyone pulled too hard, and it would shred completely if the Osei noticed it and fought back.
She recognized me. What if—
No, now is not the time. Do this first, and nothing else will matter.
Do this first, or nothing else will matter.
Terre Verte put a hand on the high queen’s arm, leaning toward her as if he were one of her princes seeking her attention. Henna could see the way that contact strengthened his magical hold on her. The Osei looked at him fondly and ran a hand down his hair; he closed his eyes and allowed the touch, clearly more concerned with the spell than his dignity.
Henna had to look away, lest her revulsion carry mentally to the Osei.
By the time she had composed herself and turned back to the group, it looked like the danger was passing. The Osei of the Third Noble House nodded, then took their leave of their high queen and walked still in human form toward the docks, where they could change shape and take to the air without doing additional damage to the market. High Queen Negasi still had her hand on Terre Verte’s shoulder, but the touch appeared idle. She was nodding calmly to Terra Sarcelle, and smiling.
The hot strands of the spell had settled on each Osei, and were beginning to melt around them like candle wax—soft now, but soon they would become hard and encasing.
A relieved sigh at Henna’s elbow made her blink tired eyes and glance toward Helio. He slumped against the wall beside her, holding a silver disc, a focus tool he used for more complex magic. Unlike Henna’s skin, where sweat had gathered, Helio’s was clammy-pale, and there was frost rimming his fingernails and dusting his eyelashes.
Too much power, Henna thought, remembering the possibly otherworldly creature Maddy had heard about. We’re risking so much. Too much?
Never too much. No, not when she knew so vividly what it meant to be claimed by the Osei.
“It looks like the danger is past,” Helio breathed. “They can handle the rest.”
He tried to stand, and his knees buckled. Henna caught him, and they both ended up back against the wall, too weak to support themselves.
They weren’t the only sorcerers struggling to return to the mundane world. On the front steps of the Hall, Maddy squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths to ground herself before she tried to stand. In her arms, Clay stared in fascination at the magic suffusing the market. Other, less powerful initiates and novices gathered themselves however they could. A young novice pushed herself to her feet next to a stall selling fragrant oils, exotic herbs and spices, and hot foods warmed on a brazier.
Too fast; the girl’s face grayed and she swayed in a faint. The light, wooden stand had been knocked off-balance by Osei wings, and now as the novice stumbled into it, one of the shelves collapsed.
Crash.
Glass shattered. Oil splattered into the brazier and flared into orange and yellow flame that leapt to the wooden shelves and the clothes of the dizzy novice, who shrieked as fire touched her. Others leapt forward to smother the flames and help the merchant recover his wares. Henna reached out toward the fire, intending to smother it with a blanket of power.
They weren’t the only ones startled by the clamor—and distracted, too distracted, at too delicate a moment.
A shriek of rage, unlike anything that had ever come from a human throat, hit her like a slicing knife. She spun to face the royals just in time to see the First Royal queen recoil, ripping out of the still-coalescing spell.
“Witchcraft,” she snarled. “I can scent it now. How dare you?”
Terre Verte reached toward her. Whether he planned to call his magic or beg for lenience, Henna would never know. The enchantment broken, the Osei high queen leapt into the air, returning to her natural form. The wind from the first drive of her immense wings slapped Henna to the ground. She heard the crash of more market bo
oths toppling. Helio kept his feet, but only barely.
“She’s leaving!” he gasped as he offered Henna a hand to help her up.
“I don’t . . . no,” Henna whispered in horror as her eyes made out the Osei queen, who was still ascending rapidly. Helio must not have seen what she held.
Queen Negasi had Terre Verte gripped in her claws.
No.
Henna had seen an Osei lift a shark, tuna or marlin into the air—then dash it against the rocks to kill them before eating. Compared to one of those thousand-pound fish, Terre Verte was small and so very frail.
“Fight,” she whispered desperately to Verte. The Osei queen’s body shuddered under the assault of his desperate magic. Her mates circled near her, voicing their concern in high, birdlike cries, but unable to fight an enemy gripped within their queen’s talons.
Down on the ground, Henna heard the palace guards shouting questions and orders to each other, but what could they do? Kavetan soldiers’ swords were made of steel, but what use was a sword against a predator of the air?
Queen Negasi was two hundred paces above the market before the Terra overcame her shock enough to react. With a cry she snatched up a shard of broken glass from the ground and used it to slice a long wound down her own arm.
Black power like tar flowed from the wound. The Terra flung her arm out, scattering drops of blood across the cobbles.
A creature answered the Terra’s call. It flowed like smoke and fire from the pool of scarlet blood and coal-dark magic, insubstantial as mist but vicious as a whip.
“Dear Numen,” Henna whispered.
“No,” Helio choked out. “Not there.”
Henna’s eyes couldn’t follow the movement of the beast as it shot into the sky, but she knew when it struck the Osei queen because she screamed, her flight faltering. Savage rents appeared, a startling crimson, in previously flawless snow-white wings.
“Bring back my son, you thrice-damned bitch!” the Terra shrieked.
Another cut, another splash of blood. The beast’s power glowed more brightly, an indigo sun, and the Osei queen fell. Close to hitting the ground, she tossed Verte away. He fell to the cobbles, dazed but breathing. The Osei queen hit the ground gracelessly; one shoulder and outstretched wing struck the front of the palace, knocking loose a chunk of marble. She snapped at the ethereal monster the Terra had summoned.
Of the Divine Page 15
