by Chris Howard
"We will kill the old kings!"
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Chapter Eighteen
House Rexenor
The food of the Seaborn is simple, fish and arthropods making up the main dishes with various plants of the sea—grown in the light of Helios’ Twin—used for flavoring. I have heard that there are confectioners in the Nine-cities that create wonderful gelatin cakes, but over all, Seaborn fare appears very limited. It can be assumed that some Seaborn traveling to the surface have found the cuisine above the waves so superior that living out of the ocean is preferable.
—Michael Henderson, notes
* * * *
The Rexenor fortress blended into the volcanic stone of a serrated branch of the mid-Atlantic mountain range, thousands of meters below the surface of the ocean, high walls with concave faces and needle-like spires shooting into pure black hydrospace. A dance of light hit the Lasthenes Massif, a central tower of lumpy rock rising above the walls and capped with a smaller fortress. A cold blue orb floated a few hundred meters above the walls, spraying light in all directions, mimicking the sun Jill and Nicole had left behind. It shimmered in velvety bands off a protective shield that domed the entire fortress and half the mountain.
Lady Kallixene's party dove through the night, gliding on a barge as big as a school bus on currents that knew no sun, through a fluid as black as ink, a darkness that played with the human senses in ways that Jill and Nicole had never experienced. Light blinded and hurt the senses. Darkness thrilled them until they spent every moment striving to perceive. The senses delighted in its purity.
Jill suddenly understood why Kassandra referred to anything that went up, rose, or lifted as wrong or bad in some sense. Thin was evil and depth was good for people who lived at the bottom of the ocean.
Nicole pointed at a small array of lights like fireflies fanning out in the blackness a mile way.
"Those are mine,” said Lady Kallixene. “The perimeter guard has detected our presence and they're preparing for our arrival, two lines of guards to guide us to the front gates."
"What if it was a trap? What if we kidnapped you, took all of your guards hostage, dressed up as Rexenors and came calling as the Lady of the fortress?” Nicole said it in a half-joking tone.
Kallixene stared at her with a serious expression. She let it fade into a smile. “Who is this ‘we’ that will do these things?"
Nicole shrugged. “I don't know. Me and Kass."
Kallixene nodded. “We have ways of verifying our numbers and condition long before we approach home.” She pointed into the nightwater, and Nicole, leaning forward, caught faint outlines of soldiers, glints off spears, the flat mammalian caudal fins of dolphins and killer whales enlisted in the service of Rexenor. “They have trailed us for miles. Not all the flashes of bioluminescence you see are anglerfishes and comb jellies. Some of them are my own scouts, and ... you and Kass do not know the codes with which we signal in response."
Nicole shook her head at what appeared to be bitter sarcasm in her grandmother's voice. “It just occurred to me, Lady Kallixene. I didn't mean to upset you."
"Nothing ever just occurs when Lady Kassandra—or any Wreath-wearer—has a finger in it. Do not forget that.” She didn't want to say it, but the words spilled out like a tipped box of needles. “You can bet that she has already planned her own funeral."
As if on cue, a blaze of pale blue light streaked across the night like a comet.
"Speak of the devil."
Kassandra had not ridden the barge on its descent, instead bolting off to the east without a goodbye-wave right after the ritual. She tired of Kallixene's snippy tone and her father's concerned questioning glare—which made her soul curl into a hot lump of torment every time he caught her attention. Fear weighed down every word from his lips, but it was something in his eyes that pleaded with her to let him help her, that some madness had crept into his daughter, and if she would just come to her senses for a moment, he would explain the method for expelling it.
Of all those present at the ritual, Kassandra felt her father might be the only one who had a hint of what she was planning. He had been the one with the bleed in the family, and he was as accomplished a sorcerer as she knew—outside of her own head. She couldn't risk his questions. At least not in front of others.
She had kicked into the night—passing between the water as Eupheron put it, not through the water—sobbing without tears, circling the coastline of the Bay of Biscay twice before returning to meet the party as it arrived at the rebuilt fortress of House Rexenor.
The pale green glow of the Wreath faded and went dark halfway through a spiraling path under Lady Kallixene's party, and her personal guard snapped alert, drawing swords at a signal from Phaidra.
Kallixene had one of her guards signal the scouts to expect Lady Kassandra and let her through their defenses, but frowned when they reported their inability to find her.
Just as Kallixene passed an angry reply to her signaler, a huge killer whale swept in from the left hand side, gliding up to the edge of the barge with a saluting Rexenor soldier in the saddle and Kassandra standing in a crouched position right behind the orca's dorsal fin, her arms tucked in hydrodynamically.
As they approached and slowed, Kassandra danced out of the archer's stirrups, slipped around the front of the armored orcaman and pushed up the cheek-guards on his helmet, leaning in to kiss him. She closed her eyes and kissed him again, harder. Then she danced away, slapping the soldier on the shoulder before landing on Lady Kallixene's barge.
"Did you see that?” she said to Nicole and Jill. “King Eupheron has taught me to suppress the damn Christmas-tree glow of the Wreath so you can't see me coming."
"Great. Just what we need.” Kallixene gave her signaler's arm a squeeze to tell him to cancel her message to the scouts. She glared at the departing killer whale and its rider. “Who was that?” She snapped each word off like a prisoner's fingers in the hands of a torturer. “How did you manage to—” She struggled to find a word other than infiltrate. “—get a ride from one of my own house lords without approval?"
Kassandra waved in her escort's direction with a puzzled look, blinking as if hurt by her grandmother's suspicion. “That's Nereus, Menophon's handsome youngest son, the escort you chose for me.” Then her confused expression and tone slid into open contempt. “I thought we were supposed to be friendly. I arranged to meet my assigned escort before he departed, and he happily agreed—more than happily. I believe his words were, ‘I would do anything for you, Lady Kassandra.’ I thought it was part of your purpose in bringing three noblemen to my father's house, pairing them up with your granddaughters. Please, I beg you to correct me if that was not your intention."
Nicole shook her head, wondering how Kassandra had the audacity to schedule an assignation with the young man, apparently for the sole purpose of using him to mock her grandmother's fortress defenses.
Lady Kallixene closed her mouth, collected the line of attack she had organized, and threw it away. She displayed a sharp smile and bowed her head. “I am pleased you understood my intention so thoroughly, Lady Kassandra."
"What are you girls going to do first?” Gregor slipped back to sit next to Kassandra, his purpose to break up the tension his biological daughter had smuggled aboard. Jill and Nicole sat cross-legged on the barge's floor, staring into the black space above, occasionally pointing out flashes of light.
Nicole glanced at Kassandra, held her eyes a moment, and then turned to Gregor and said, “What did you do first when you came out of the sea, Dad?"
He laughed bitterly. “I was one of the king's porthmeus slaves."
Kassandra flinched and grabbed his arm, shaking him as if to jog something loose. “The very first time above the waves?"
He shook his head as if that set of memories belonged to another life and he had to plug it in and give it a minute to come online. He blinked. “Oh, yes. Mother took me shopping in Boston when I was eight. We w
alked right out of the Charles River, into downtown traffic, and a taxicab almost hit me.” He laughed. “She dragged me up and down streets with nothing but clothing shops—and all the surfacers stared at us."
Kallixene's face brightened. “And the only place you wanted to see was the store with the big metal bear out front."
Phaidra laughed. “The toy store. I remember that!"
"F.A.O. Schwartz,” said Kallixene. “I bought him a submarine made of little yellow plastic blocks. It had little surfacers that went inside and they wore masks if they wanted to explore our world.” Anticipating the next question, she added, “It survived the Olethren and the destruction of the old fortress, buried in the sand."
Gregor stared off into empty water with a reminiscing smile. “I remember how difficult it was to put together because there were so many little pieces and the box and directions disintegrated before we reached home."
He said the word “home” and squeezed his eyes closed to hold off tears.
"I am deeply sorry.” Gregor blinked and looked at his daughters. “There is a reason I do not visit the fortress often. The painted plaster walls of our house in New Hampshire do not invade my dreams."
Kassandra tilted her head back, suddenly understanding. “The stone. Walls of stone."
His eyes slid over to her. “I have nightmares.” He nodded to Jill's puzzled look. “The lithotombs. I spent twelve years in them."
"But they're filled with air, I thought,” said Nicole.
Kallixene fell silent, folding her arms as if she were cold, staring down at them.
"I cannot imagine the pain of the lithotombs,” said Phaidra.
Kassandra looked at Kallixene, but she spoke to her aunt. “How long do you think you could endure it, Lady Phaidra?"
"Not an hour!"
"No,” said Kassandra seriously. “I mean really. How long?"
Phaidra looked at Gregor who stared at the barge's floor. Kallixene came out of her daydream scowling at her granddaughter.
Kassandra asked her question again. “How long would you be able to survive the lithotombs, Aunt Phaidra?"
"Why do you press me, Lady Kassandra? I do not plan to find myself inside one. Any answer is irrelevant."
"I would expect that very few of those in the king's prisons anticipated finding themselves there, and yet, there they are, inside a block of stone without the water on their skin, screaming in panic, clawing their fingernails raw on the walls of a sealed stone box swinging from chains in the floor of the abyss. Punishment worse than death.” She leaned toward Phaidra. “Guess if you must. You know how curious I am. How long would you last, Phaidra?"
"Kassandra!” Kallixene's voice trembled with the shout, as if the question burned her. “Please."
Kassandra leaned back. “It's funny, Grandmother.” There was nothing funny in her voice. “Have you even been to the lithotombs? I can still hear the pain in my father's voice, shouting at me, calling me a liar—through the stone wall, because he thought I was another of King Tharsaleos’ tortures, the voice of a girl with his daughter's name taunting him, trying to trick him. I relive the nightmare of running to find him in the prison. Of running away from Nebraska into an ocean I didn't know with a demon I met the day before to find my father in the abyss, and no matter how fast I swim, no matter how loud I plead with Poseidon, I never make it in time. I always arrive minutes after the king has taken him away. All I can hear is the ring of the chains that once held the tomb to the floor as Ochleros moves them with his claws.” She held her mouth shut, holding her teeth so tight they hurt, locking eyes with Kallixene. I didn't see any goddamn Rexenors down there looking for him!
* * * *
"I don't have time, Lady Kassandra.” Kallixene kicked away, grabbing a thick waxy tablet out of an assistant's hands, marking it with a stylus, and handing it back.
"When?” Kassandra trailed her.
"You have done nothing but torment me since we came above the waves. Please give me some peace."
"Not until I get what I came for."
"And then you will give me peace? What is it? More about your father?” She beckoned her to one side of the main assembly hall, a vast room with raised benches and her throne, and then into an empty dining hall.
Kassandra followed, shoulder to shoulder, glaring at her. “Torment you? You saw my father on the barge. You did that to him, Grandmother."
Kallixene held a hand up while she sealed the door behind them.
Kassandra continued in an enraged whisper. “You fed my father to the Wreath-wearer.” Everything that had been building since Kallixene had cut short their argument in the backyard stacked up in the front of her mind.
Kallixene whirled with an accusing finger pointed at her. “He loved Ampharete, and he willing—"
"He had no will!” She shouted at Kallixene. “Once my mother wanted him, he had no will. Shut up, Mother!” Her gaze flew back to her grandmother. “You might as well have cut him up and fed him to sharks. They would have treated him with more kindness."
"How dare you!"
Kassandra threw her arms above her head in exasperation. “Why does everyone use that phrase with me? As if you or anyone can do anything to limit what I dare."
Kallixene glared at her, grinding her teeth.
"Go on, Grandmother.” Kassandra's tone softened. She's bluffing. Call her on it, steer the talk toward bleeding. “I can see plainly how you maneuver. You think you still have enough to take me on?"
"The Megalesios line does not bleed quickly."
"Quicker than you think."
"And you have your father's bleed."
"Nearly all of it."
Kallixene accepted defeat, dropping her shoulders. “With two bleeds you are—"
"I have four of them.” The shock of rising emotion frightened her. She tried not to sob. “I am a monster, Kallixene. My head is so full it feels as if it will explode.” She loosened her fists and took in a deep pull of the ocean.
Kallixene's shock tightened all the muscles in her face. “Four? Is that even possible?"
"Without losing my sanity? I'm not sure ... I'm not sure I'd know it when—or if—the answer ever comes to me.” Use the word ‘trust’ in a statement. She will follow, defeated. Chase with an apology. “Or if I'd even trust you enough to tell you."
The fury died in Kallixene's eyes. “Your anger frightens me. You are nothing like the girl who followed Ephoros into the sea."
"No, I'm not ... anymore. Ephoros is dead, and I have grown up. I'm sorry. It's not as if I'm angry enough to kill you—I wouldn't have given you this much time to argue about it if that were true. I wouldn't even be speaking to you if I did not think—"
"If you did not think you would get something from me?"
Kassandra hit her with a hard focus, nodding. “You do have insight into what the Wreath-wearers are like, Grandmother. It will make this easier."
"Easier to what?"
"As you said, hurt you.” Kassandra whispered the words. “I love you, Grandmother. If I had a choice, I would not ask anything of you. You have already given one life to the Alkimides line."
"I have given many."
"I am speaking of your own blood. Of your own flesh, my lady."
Her grandmother lowered her eyes. “In private, call me Kallixene. You did a moment ago."
Kassandra leaned forward, about to say something, and stopped herself, studying her grandmother. That was very smooth. It's some kind of reliance-building tactic she's throwing back at me. Does she keep up the title and formality in order to have this kind of disarming leverage when she needs it? I was close to accepting it without thinking. She offers a high value gift that creates an obligation, and obligations can be called in. Damn, you are good at this, Kallixene.
Kassandra gave her a quick bow of her head. “I cannot get a straight answer out of the others inside, but I think I have finally figured what the Wreath really is—part of its purpose at least. It's a strategy engine. An
instant general—just add seawater. It was Lord Poseidon's attempt to better the ruling power of the Seaborn, something like a benign monarch development process. I want to do the right thing ... only there are days I think that...” She shook her head, hesitating over the rest of her statement.
"What?"
"Benignity is overrated. I have a thousand plots going, Kallixene, all in pots on the stove, and half of them are on high—everything else is simmering. I have a scheduling system in here—” She tapped the side of her head. “—that giganto-corporate project managers would kill for. I have the generalship of Andromache plugged so far into my brain, she can become a part of me any time I wish. I have immortals at my beck and call. The ocean has submitted to me. I can open my eyes a certain way and see walkways right through the air ... because there is moisture in it. And I cannot stop until Tharsaleos is off the throne. I have four bleeds of power coming into me at once. Compared to my mother, compared to any of the Telkhines, compared to any other Wreath-wearer, I am a monster."
Kallixene looked at her in terror. “Or a goddess."
"And the difference is?"
Kallixene scowled, confused, and her eyes started filling with tears. It was like some devil's bargain, coming back to haunt her, returning again and again, taking more. “What do you want from me, Kassandra?” She sobbed the words.
"You bargained with her. I want the same thing the last Wreath-wearer wanted."
Kallixene's eyes filled with a gush of fresh tears, but she didn't understand, shaking her head. “Your father?"
"One of your children, Kallixene. I'm talking about Phaidra.” Kassandra brought out the third bracelet with the Alkimides name on it and handed it to Kallixene. “This is for Aunt Phaidra. I need her to be my eyes inside the City, and she won't be able to get in with her head on her shoulders as a Rexenor.” Kassandra turned at the door. “I love you, Grandmother. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to see that as little harm as possible comes to her. If I succeed, Rexenor will return from exile in greater standing than any other house in the Nine-cities. I will see to it personally."
