Of the Divine

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  On the heels of that realization, a more personal, selfish reality asserted itself.

  “I don’t have a home.”

  A home, or any belongings. She had heard people say that the palace was locked down, that even the servants and visiting nobles who had been staying there had been kicked out onto the streets. The few things she still owned were there, inside that building.

  Could she go back to her father? She didn’t know if he would accept her, if she did. She didn’t know if she could accept him, if Numen forbid, his response to the Terre’s death was “good riddance.”

  Eventually she might have a place to stay, if she signed on as apprentice to the stationer, but she couldn’t beg help from him now. He seemed like a good man, but she didn’t know how he would react to learn that she had been staying with the Terre—one didn’t have to be Quin to wonder about the reputation of a girl living in the palace, with the prince as her benefactor.

  “Dahlia?”

  Jade touched her arm again, trying to bring her back to reality.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Where have you been staying?” he asked, the words spoken in the tone of one repeating himself.

  “The palace,” she answered.

  Jade’s eyes widened a little, but he didn’t question her. “You can stay at the inn tonight.”

  She nodded, too tired to do anything else. Jade wrapped an arm across her shoulders as they walked toward the Turquoise Inn.

  “I don’t have money.”

  “We’ll see about getting your belongings tomorrow.”

  She was still shaking her head, unable to form words to admit her situation, when Jade ushered her into the Turquoise.

  They had barely crossed the threshold when the innkeeper exclaimed, “No room! I have most of the Silmari delegation already—” He broke off as he recognized Jade. “Wait a minute. You’ve already got a room, number seven. You know I could have given your room away at three times the price if I weren’t a man of my word.”

  “I will see that you are rewarded for your integrity,” Jade said. “In the meantime, can you recommend somewhere my friend can stay?”

  “I would, but anywhere fit for a lady alone isn’t going to have space. I hear some of the nobles have given hard coin to board in private homes, since they couldn’t find anywhere else.”

  Jade frowned.

  “For, let’s say two extra bits, I have some extra bedding I can send up. Sleeping on the floor of the Turquoise is better than renting a vermin-infested room with a broken lock down by the docks.”

  Jade looked at Dahlia, who shrugged. She had been kicked out of her guardian’s home and accused of being the prince’s whore. Sleeping on the floor of a Silmari aristocrat could hardly damage her reputation further.

  “Could you send up a meal as well?” Jade asked.

  “Right away,” the innkeeper assured them.

  “Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” Dahlia said as she followed Jade up the elegant stairway.

  “You should try to eat, anyway. And get some rest.”

  Dahlia started to nod, then paused, looking at the single bed that dominated much of the room. She had considered her reputation before, but her mind was churning slowly, and she hadn’t worried about what Jade might consider the reality of the situation.

  Sex was not one of the topics a Quin lady was encouraged to be frank about—beyond saying no until she shared a marriage bed with her husband—but she formed her words with the same clarity she would use when discussing an important piece of school policy.

  “I appreciate your generosity and am grateful for a place to sleep,” she began. “I hope it doesn’t change your mind that I am not looking for a lover . . . or willing to, um, exchange services.” Her confidence deserted her at the end, after it occurred to her that lover might not be the proper term if Jade was expecting a more businesslike transaction.

  His brows rose with surprise, and she braced herself in case he responded with anger.

  “I do not know Silmari ways well,” she added, to cover her own discomfort in the face of his silence. “This seemed like a bad time for a cultural miscommunication.”

  Jade shook his head, chuckling. “If all the court ladies in Silmat were as frank as you, Dahlia, there would be significantly fewer garden duels at the palace. Kavetans in general are a bit more reserved than my own people, and your—” He broke off and swallowed hard, levity abruptly gone. She realized he had almost said, Your Terre, or something along those lines. “I was warned at the ball that you in particular come from a sect that is more conservative even than most. I respect that, as I respect your grief. We can set up a pallet on the floor once the extra blankets arrive. You can sleep there, or on the bed, and I will accept whichever you leave empty.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed. She didn’t know where she would have gone if he had responded by throwing her out, or had insisted on “payment” for the room.

  “Will you be okay if I leave you alone for a while?” he asked. “I want to go to the shipyard to see the situation there for myself.”

  “I’ll be fine. I barely knew him,” she admitted. “The Terre, I mean. We weren’t close.”

  He looked at her skeptically, as if wondering how she had ended up on the prince’s arm at the ball if they barely knew each other.

  Dahlia couldn’t help but wonder the same.

  “Even if you weren’t close, he was prince of this land.”

  “Thank you for letting me stay here.” She was jumping around in the conversation, but there were so many things she was trying not to think about, her mind kept hopping from one safe subject to the next. “I hope you find welcome news at the docks.”

  “Me, too,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll be back soon. Please try to get some rest, if you can.”

  What else was there to do?

  Dahlia pushed open the shutters on the window after he left. This side of the Turquoise offered what should have been a beautiful view of the square.

  She watched Jade cross the cobbles warily, staying far away from a group of soldiers mopping blood from the stone. Near the far edge of the square, a group intercepted him: Celadon Cremnitz and his associates. Dahlia couldn’t hear the words, but she could see Jade tense as he listened. Finally, he stalked away.

  Were the Quin chastened at all, or were they celebrating the Terre’s death?

  Dahlia closed the shutters, against the sight as much as against a chill wind that was rising in defiance of earlier spring weather. She sat at the foot of the bed, in front of a faux-fireplace that held a sphere of warm amber foxfire instead of wood and flames.

  She must have drifted into sleep, but thankfully, not for long enough to dream. She woke as the door opened, admitting Jade, as well as a burst of cold air from the hall.

  “Does Kavet’s weather always turn this quickly?” The cloak he shrugged off his shoulders and hung near the door was rimed with snow. “I was halfway to the docks when the sky went dark and it started to snow.”

  He shivered, moving closer to the foxfire and finger-combing pellets of ice from the dense, corkscrew curls of his hair.

  “If you don’t like the weather, wait an hour,” Dahlia murmured, repeating an oft-quoted mantra. She tilted her head, listening to the rasping hiss of sleet against the roof. “It sounds like quite a storm.”

  They both jumped at a peal of thunder so deep it made Dahlia’s teeth ache.

  “So it is. Do you get these often?”

  “Sometimes, usually in late winter or earlier in the spring though. I hope it isn’t bad enough to damage the fruit tree blossoms.” A late-spring ice storm had stripped half the flowers off the fruit trees one year, leading to a terrible fall for apples.

  “Happy spring. I prefer robins and daffodils, myself. Did I mention that Silmat rarely gets cold enough for ice? The rivers and lakes never freeze over.”

  “Sounds lovely.” Dahlia stared into the foxfire globe as she spoke, her mind curiously blank. />
  “It’s quite a place, even with the wyrm breathing down our necks.” Jade paused, perhaps considering how recent events would affect that problem, then continued on a lighter topic. “My portion of the family owns a shipping business, which is where most of our livelihood comes from—not just ocean trade, but up and down river, too. I’ve spent half my life on ships.”

  Hiss, hiss, hiss. When Jade stopped speaking, Dahlia could hear only the sleet, wind, and occasional thunder.

  “Go on,” she said. His voice was soothing, and his words kept her from focusing on the immediate past, present, or future.

  “Well . . . the port city is famous for its stone arches. The city is ancient, you see, and it ran out of space centuries ago, so they started building roads on top of roads, putting up bridges everywhere and covering the city in a lattice like the top of a pie. There’s no magic, but some of the art there comes close enough to imitating it . . .”

  She fell asleep to the sound of his voice mingled with the storm, and had curious dreams about dragons who came in with the snow and ate all the pink and white blossoms off the fruit trees.

  Chapter 21

  Naples

  Naples could think of worse places to get snowed in than the palace.

  He could have been trapped somewhere that relied on fire for heat, or somewhere without a fully stocked kitchen. Another home probably wouldn’t have had a plethora of guest beds to choose from, each more elegant than the last.

  Somewhere else, however, might have had someone to talk to instead of empty halls, empty dining rooms, and empty ballrooms.

  His footsteps echoed as he paced the foyer and waited for the hail to stop, or at least let up enough that he could make it across the plaza and back to the Cobalt Hall. He didn’t mind getting cold and wet when he knew warmth and dry clothes were only a dash away, but a hailstone the size of a chicken egg had narrowly missed his head the first time he poked it out; his arm still ached from where it had crashed into his shoulder. Despite his interest in healing applications for his power, he hadn’t mastered the Terra’s techniques well enough to apply them on himself yet.

  Hours later, he was still waiting. The hail had turned into sleet and driving snow, which would cause fewer bruises but kill him just as surely if he got turned around and lost in its blinding swirls or fell and broke an ankle on the shattered chunks of ice littering the ground.

  The Terra needed to rest, and Terre Jaune shouldn’t be disturbed. Naples kept telling himself that. Just because he was desperate for another voice . . .

  The power rising from the ritual rooms didn’t help. It swelled to fill the entire palace, pushing against the walls and windows like fermentation gas, waiting to explode the moment the cork was loosened. Naples’ head swirled with it, leaving him dizzy and feverish, no matter how hard he worked to block it out.

  I have to get out of here.

  Maybe if he stayed near the buildings and went around the plaza instead of directly across, he could make it. The storefronts might shelter him.

  Even if they didn’t, freezing to death would be better than this.

  He pushed at the casual side door, which he had been using since starting work for the Terra. Unlike the formal front doors, it was utilized whenever the royal family or their guests wanted to come and go without ceremony and trumpets.

  The door didn’t budge.

  Naples checked the lock, making sure it wasn’t engaged. The heavy latch lifted, but the wooden door itself stayed as solid as a mountain.

  Frustrated to the point of tears, he slammed his shoulder against it, to no avail.

  Iced shut. That’s all it is. There’s no need to panic.

  Naples flattened his palm on the wood and focused his magic into it, pushing heat into the ice—

  Invisible power, raw and feral, lashed back at him, sending him flying across the grand entryway until he slammed to a halt on the hand-woven wool carpet. He gasped in air to replace that which had been knocked out of his lungs and shook his head to clear it. Fine particles of ice fell from his hair to melt on the rug.

  What in the Abyss had done that?

  No, not in the Abyss. Cold power came from the divine realm.

  Naples pushed his aching body up and approached the doorway again, warily this time.

  He touched tentative fingertips to the doorframe first. No reaction. He moved to the door itself, and shivered convulsively; the wood paneling was frigid, far colder than it had been moments before.

  You don’t want to do that.

  Naples spun about, certain he heard a voice—but he was still alone. He stalked the length of the foyer anyway, calling, “Hello?”

  No answer.

  Fine. There were dozens of doors in and out of the palace. He would try the one that led to the gardens. It had a stone archway over it, so might not have gathered ice.

  The moment he saw that door, however, his hope of freedom died. He didn’t need to touch it in order to see the fine layer of frost decorating its surface.

  Could this enchantment be emanating from Terre Jaune, and whatever he was doing to heal his son? Could one sorcerer possibly raise this much power on his own?

  Naples raced back up the stairs, long legs taking them two at a time until he stood outside the Terre temple. He knew he shouldn’t disturb the king, but his desperation was stronger than his common sense as he slapped a palm against the wall and—

  Where is it?

  He looked up and down the hallway. He was in the right spot. Wasn’t he?

  Where was the door?

  He searched frantically, trailing his hand along the wall several meters in each direction from where the door should be, but there was nothing. It was gone.

  Meanwhile, the temperature in the hall plummeted. His breath started to fog. He stole a heavy wool and fur cloak from a guest room and put it on top of his own, but was still shivering as he once more stood before the door.

  He should have left earlier, to the Abyss with the hail. He probably would have made it. Now here he was, preparing to battle an inanimate object.

  He kicked it. It didn’t help or, to his disappointment, make him feel any better.

  Fine. Enough being polite.

  He pulled the knife the Terra had given him across his right palm, much as he had earlier with Celadon, and slapped the bloodied hand against the door. An ache of cold ate up his arm, but that pain, too, he could focus into his power and turn into heat.

  Something pushed back at him. He closed his eyes, concentrating—

  The world went dark.

  Very brave, idiot.

  Naples tried, unsuccessfully, to open his eyes. Failing that, he attempted to lift his head. No. Could he wiggle a finger?

  You would keep struggling until she crushed you, wouldn’t you?

  Eyes . . . It would be good to see—

  And you would struggle now. Relax. I won’t damage you. It has been a long time since your kind walked this realm.

  He felt something, and this time it wasn’t cold but searing hot, and he couldn’t even flinch away as the sensation trailed down his back like needles just taken from a forge.

  “Naples? Naples, can you hear me?”

  This time he managed to open his eyes, only to shut them immediately them against the glare of light. “Uugh. Where—”

  “Honey, it’s me. Are you back with us?”

  The second voice was his mother’s, which meant he was in the Cobalt Hall. The first voice, he recognized belatedly, had been Henna’s.

  He opened his eyes again, squinting. “How did I get here?”

  “We found you on the doorstep, burning up with fever,” Henna said. “You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

  “Three days?” Most disturbing was not that he had been unconscious, but the sound he could still hear: sleet and hail striking the roof and the walls. “The storm?”

  “Hasn’t let up. Thank Numen you weren’t caught in it.”

  At the word, Naples shi
vered. He didn’t feel the desire to invoke the Numini at this moment.

  “This storm can’t be natural,” he said.

  “It can be,” his mother answered, but her hesitation suggested she was pointing out a possibility, not a probability she believed.

  “Helio and I have been working together to scry the cause,” Henna added, “but I’m not strong with cold magic and Helio doesn’t have much control over his visions. We’ve also spoken to all the sorcerers in the Hall with any experience with weather control. No one here can do anything like this.”

  “Maybe the—” He tried to sit up but the effort of moving stole his breath. His muscles felt lax and the simple act made his head spin. As his mother bent down to help, he saw the dark circles under her eyes.

  “I’m sorry I worried you,” he said.

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “I . . .” What had happened? “I got in a fight. With a door.” He frowned. “I don’t even know how I got back to the Hall. I was in the palace when the storm began.” He briefly described his altercation with the strange power. He also mentioned Celadon—though he left out most of the details of their encounter—and watched his mother’s surprise as he explained, “The Quin has power. How much, I don’t know, but it’s cold power and it’s enough for the Terre to get in his face about it.” The Terre. Three days—“Has there been any news?”

  “News?” Henna asked.

  “About Terre Verte,” he clarified. Henna’s gaze went distant; his mother winced. “I saw him when I was at the palace. Terre Jaune was working on healing him.”

  “Honey . . .” His mother sighed.

  Naples managed to struggle to his feet this time, though only by leaning against the wall. “He’ll be fine,” Naples insisted. “He’ll . . .” He swayed, almost falling before his mother and Henna caught him.

  “Naples, lie back down,” Henna said. “You’ve burned your power down to the quick, so your magic is eating into your stamina. I’ll bring you something to eat.”