The Court of Broken Knives

by Anna Smith Spark

  Clutched the coins in his hands.

  Hurting. Enough for more.

  The thing’s he’d done. Please. Please. Make it all go away.

  Pretend the world’s a good place.

  ‘So you’re awake, then?’ Tobias’s voice. Marith sat up dizzily. He seemed to be on the floor. The room was bright and a warm breeze drifted in through the open window. Tobias was standing in the doorway, carrying a tray with a jug and two cups. Marith stared in hopeful fascination at the jug.

  ‘I’ve brought you some water. Thought you might be wanting some.’

  Water. He almost wanted to weep. ‘Water … yes … thank you …’ It felt strange to speak, his voice hoarse, his throat dry and burning. Crashing in his head.

  Tobias set the tray down on the table. Closed the door. Sat down at the table and looked at him with disgust. Not surprising: his lips would be stained blue-black, his hair and clothes were crusted with vomit and sweat. Carin had once told him he looked like something that had been buried for several days. ‘Looking like that, I’d be driven to drink,’ Carin had said, and they’d both laughed until he was sick.

  ‘I’ve told the lads you were delirious,’ Tobias said shortly. ‘You were delirious, so it’s hardly a lie. But I want a straight answer out of you. What you told me: it’s true, isn’t it? Who you are?’

  Oh gods and demons. Marith tried to laugh. ‘I’d been drinking firewine for most of a day. I don’t know what I told you I was. A god. A barrow-wraith. A stone.’

  Tobias poured him a cup of water. ‘No, boy. You know very well what you told me, and you know very well it’s true. So who exactly are you, and what in all hells are you doing traipsing around penniless with the likes of us?’

  Marith looked at him for a long time. The bright flickering lines of fire no longer flashed across his eyes, but Tobias’s head had a lingering nimbus around it, like the crown of a god. Some people drank firewine to see visions. They were fools. He realized he was clutching a handful of coins and dropped them heavily onto the table. A metallic clink like sword blades. He closed his eyes in pain.

  The truth, then. A relief, perhaps, to get it out. Stop lying and pretending, knowing they all stared at him unconvinced. Plain as day you’re high-born … They might stop laughing at him if they knew. Or laugh at him all the more.

  ‘My name is Marith Altrersyr,’ he said at last. ‘I am the eldest son of King Illyn Altrersyr of the White Isles, of the line of Amrath the Word Conqueror and of Serelethe who loosed Him on the world. My mother was Marissa of Ith, in whose veins flowed the blood of the Godkings of Immier and Caltath.’ He looked down at his hands and licked his lips again. A last fleeting taste of firewine. There was vomit on the sleeve of his jacket; he felt a maddening desire to lick it off. Like the alcohol-stinking blood he’d wiped off his hands a few days before, it seemed a terrible waste not to. He sighed and looked back up at Tobias. ‘Until a short time ago, I was heir to the White Isles, and fourth in line to the throne of Ith.’

  A long, strained silence. Finally Tobias said very faintly, ‘I see.’ Looked weary. ‘Marith Altrersyr. That makes you, what, one of the highest-ranking people in the whole of Irlast? So high pretty much everyone apart from the Yellow Emperor himself ought to be bowing and scraping to you. It also makes you dead, or so I heard.’

  ‘I am dead. Or hadn’t you noticed?’ Waves of pain shuddered across Marith’s eyes. Picked up the cup to take a sip of water and his hands shook so much it splashed down his front, fell with a clatter and rolled across the floor.

  ‘Who says I’m dead, then? My father?’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘The oldest and greatest lineage this side of the Bitter Sea. Even the Asekemlene Emperor is just a man, of a kind: the Altrersyr are descended from gods and monsters. And I am the first-born heir.’ Even now, it felt so good saying it. Good and terrible. Help me, Carin. Help me. Help me blot it out … ‘Or rather, I was. My father disowned and exiled me. I hadn’t realized he was actually telling people I was dead. But as he’s been wanting me dead for years now, it must have pleased him greatly to say it had finally happened.’

  Tobias’s eyes bulged. ‘Disowned you?’ he echoed dully. ‘Why?’

  A scream welling up inside him. I can’t say it, he thought. I can’t. My mouth will turn to stone, my heart will crack and break. I’ll choke on the words. Knives in his head, twisting and turning. You don’t have a heart, though, Marith. You think you do but you don’t. You’re vile! Vile! A woman’s voice, screaming, filled with hate.

  ‘He had his reasons. Ones I’d have to be considerably drunker than I was last night to tell you.’ He smiled sweetly: ‘You can take that as an offer if you like.’

  Another silence. The tension in the room choking him. Tobias looked stupefied. Bent down, retrieved Marith’s cup, refilled it, handed it back.

  ‘I believe you,’ Tobias said finally. ‘Perhaps I’m a fool, but I believe you. I’ve seen things in you. Dark things. The others just think you’re some stupid little lordling playing at living rough. But you’ve got enough death in you I can believe you’re one of Amrath’s kind. You’re a dragon killer, after all. And if last night’s anything to go by, I can believe your family’s glad to see the back of you and call you dead, too.’

  They looked at one another, and for the first time Marith looked away first.

  ‘So, Marith Altrersyr,’ Tobias said at last. ‘Or do you want me to call you Lord Prince, now? I think now perhaps we need to talk about some other things, too. What happened yesterday, for a start.’ Marith smiled encouragingly at him. Heard it all before, from his father, his stepmother, his brother, his father’s friends. They’d even drafted in his old nursemaid to lecture him. Do you think I care? he’d laughed back at them. Do you think I don’t know?

  ‘Some lads in the troop liberated a keg of firewine a few years back. Didn’t know what it was. Three of them, there were. Big, strong blokes, probably twice your size. One died, one went blind, one pissed blood and screamed he had insects crawling inside his head for two days. Skie had to slit his throat in the end to shut him up. You, on the other hand, seem to have drunk several bottles of the stuff and come out with shaking hands and a slightly green face.’

  Marith toyed with the coins on the table. ‘I can handle it better than most people, I suppose. Something in the blood. Minor benefit of my august and unpleasant ancestry. And a lot of practice.’ He looked down. ‘And I would appear to have ruined my new coat.’

  ‘Stop it.’ Tobias spoke very carefully. Anger radiating off him. He trusted me, Marith realized suddenly. For a little while, he trusted me. ‘Lad, if I’m to believe you, you’re a prince with a lineage so high and mighty I shouldn’t be able to look at you without someone locking me up for disrespect. Your family swims in gold. You’ve got a face so pretty, you’re considerably better looking than most women I’ve met. You’re clever, and you can just about use a sword. You killed a bloody dragon, for gods’ sake. And yet last night I had to drag you unconscious and covered in vomit out of the most depressing hole I’ve ever had the misfortune to set foot in, after near drowning yourself in something that burnt holes in the table-top. You’re serving as a foot soldier in a rough mercenary troop a month’s wages away from being brigands, on what’s probably a suicide mission. You’re about to be whipped for misconduct after stealing Company money. From the smell of you, at some point last night you pissed yourself. As far as I can see, you’ve fucked your life up more thoroughly and absolutely than anyone I’ve ever met. So whatever the hell is going on with you, I want to know. Prince of the line of Amrath you might be, but right now I’m your commanding officer. If you’re inclined to go off on firewine binges, I’d quite like to know about it. Before you die, or get us all killed.’

  ‘I’m perfectly fine. As I said, I can handle it better than most people.’ Marith rubbed his face absently. His eyes were starting to itch again already. He realized Tobias was looking at him and forced himself to stop.

  ‘We probabl
y ought to talk about that, too, don’t you think?’ Tobias said in a cold voice. ‘Now I’ve been looking, I’ve seen a number of people round here with a habit of scratching their faces like they’re bloody flea-ridden. Except it’s not anything as wholesome as fleas, is it?’

  Might as well tell him everything now. Everything except the one thing he couldn’t say. ‘No. Unfortunately, it’s not. Hatha root. Something else I’m inclined to go off on binges on. Lovely stuff, even more fun than firewine. Rips your mind apart for days at a time. Stop taking it, however …’ His mouth was dry with longing: he took a long sip of water and tried to imagine it was something else.

  Tobias looked thoughtful. ‘Skie knows, I assume?’

  ‘That I’m an Altrersyr Prince, or that I’m a maudlin, hatha-addicted drunk? Why else do you think he let a green boy without a sword of his own join your select ranks? He didn’t believe me at first. I’m not really surprised, given the state I was in at the time. Gave me a silver mark, I’m not sure whether out of pity or cruelty. Then told me that if I stayed alive for the next three days, he’d let me join the Company.’ The air shivered, cold as despair. Shadows moved on the walls, blocking out the light. Help me. Help me, Carin. Please. ‘Maybe I only lived to spite him. I crawled through the town on my hands and knees to get to your camp. I have absolutely no idea why joining up seemed quite so necessary, but it was apparently very important at the time that I did. So here I am. Traipsing around penniless with the likes of you. Fortunately, it turns out I quite like killing people.’

  The darkness faded. Beautiful lordly thing who got whatever he wanted without even having to raise his voice. Marith drained his cup. ‘Thank you for this, Tobias. Very thoughtful of you. And as you were also so kind as to remind me, I’m covered in vomit and look like hell. Do you think you could get a bath fetched for me?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Two young men, boys really, lie dozing side by side on a bed hung with red velvet, hands touching, smiling with tired eyes. One is slim and dark-haired, the other stockier and fair-blond. The room is bright with sunshine, light dances in through open windows bringing air that smells of salt and the sea.

  ‘Good night,’ says the fair-haired boy.

  ‘Was it?’ The dark-haired boy rubs his eyes. ‘Where did we go in the end?’

  ‘We didn’t go anywhere. Stayed here in your room.’

  The dark-haired boy rubs his eyes again. He doesn’t look entirely well. ‘Didn’t we?’

  ‘You didn’t want to. Said you were perfectly happy where you were.’

  ‘Oh. Was I?’

  ‘Hard to tell, really, what with you being mostly unconscious. But I think so, yes.’

  ‘Oh.’ The dark-haired boy thinks for a while. ‘Good.’

  The dark-haired boy gets up and goes over to the open window. Looks out over the sea that breaks on dark rocks below the room’s walls. The sun sparkles on the water. Choppy, white-capped waves. Seals’ heads bob about looking up at him. Spray blows up into his face.

  ‘It is beautiful here,’ he says. ‘You’re right. The most beautiful place in the world.’ He goes over to a table, pours himself a drink. ‘My head is killing me.’

  The fair-haired boy laughs. ‘I’m amazed.’

  The dark-haired boy picks up a small clay vial. ‘Some left.’ He contemplates the vial for a moment then drains it, washes it down with the drink.

  The fair-haired boy shakes his head. ‘Gods, now that’s making me nauseous. Kill or cure, is it?’

  ‘I can hope.’ The dark-haired boy sits down on the bed again. Rubs his eyes. Blinks. Sighs. ‘You’re kind to me,’ he says to the fair-haired boy. ‘Kind. It’s so beautiful here. Thank you for showing me. We could go out riding tomorrow. Swimming.’ He takes his friend’s hand. ‘Tomorrow. All those things. Don’t you think?’

  The sun shines in at the window. The water sparkles. The waves dance. Warm gentle afternoon sunlight. The smell of the sea.

  The dark-haired boy sleeps again. A look of peace on his face.

  The fair-haired boy sits and strokes his hair. Kisses him.

  Weeps.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Thalia sat in her bedroom at the top of the Temple, hands clasped around her knees, trying to read. She had a book of old tales: Amarillia Swan Neck; the Golden Girl and the Silver Horses; the Butcher’s Boy and the May Tree. It was an old book, taken from the Temple library, the gold leaf that curled around the great elaborate opening letters of each sentence worn and peeling, a couple of pages torn. The illustrations bright and vivid, lovely maidens and fearless peasant boys, black bulls with the heads of lions, horses with huge feathered wings. In her favourite picture, a beautiful girl with silvery hair sat by a stream of clear water waiting for her lover, whilst around her strange little man things with legs like chickens danced and tumbled, accompanying themselves on reed pipes and drums.

  The door opened: the old priestess Samnel, light steps on the wooden floor, hard unsmiling eyes.

  ‘My Lady.’ The relationship between them had become ever more formal, as Thalia had grown into her full role as High Priestess. When her predecessor had lived, Thalia had been Samnel’s ally; now, she was Samnel’s superior and the chosen vessel of her God. Special. Powerful, with powers and knowledge Samnel would never have and never know.

  Will she befriend my successor when she comes? Thalia wondered of her. Make her an ally against myself? She had begun to suspect that it had not been the last High Priestess herself whom Samnel had hated but the office. The power. The fact that there was power there that she could not have.

  ‘You should not read such books,’ Samnel said with a sniff, looking at the book lying on the floor. ‘Children’s tales. Foreign nonsense. You should not fill your head with these nonsense things.’

  ‘There’s no harm in them,’ said Thalia defensively. ‘Just stories.’

  ‘We need you to come down to the Large Hall. There is … trouble. Your judgement is sought on the matter.’

  Thalia stood up. ‘Wait,’ she said, and she carefully arranged the book on her table. She walked slowly down the stairs with Samnel beside her. ‘What is the trouble?’ she asked.

  The voice was half weary and half gloating. ‘Ausa. She made mistakes in the morning service, placed the things wrong on the Silver Altar. Then later she … she knocked over a candle. It went out.’

  ‘Ah.’ Fear came up inside Thalia. Grief.

  In the large hall, Ausa was sitting on a low chair, her head bent. Two other priestesses stood across from her, watching. She raised her head and looked up at Thalia as she entered. Her skin was very dark, deep black with hair even blacker, but she looked ashen pale, all the blood drawn from her face. Her eyes were red and puffy with tears.

  Tolneurn stood before her. His eyes moved to Thalia also. Bland light-brown eyes. One of the few men in the Temple. One of the few men she or any of the priestesses knew. He had a narrow face and white skin like he was always cold. He bowed, very slightly. Thalia suppressed a shiver and stood straight.

  ‘What is the trouble here?’ she said again, wanting to hear it from Tolneurn, make him speak in obedience to her. Ausa shifted in her seat.

  ‘She has defiled the Altar.’ Old fat Ninia, voice hoarse and dry like dead leaves on dry earth.

  Thalia said, ‘Ah’ again. Trying to stall for time, perhaps, before what must be said was said.

  ‘She must have her eyes cut out and her hands cut off.’ The more horrible, to hear it in Ninia’s rasping quiet voice, her grandmotherly face remorseless as stones.

  ‘She—’ No mercy. No mercy, not before Tolneurn. If he had not been there, she would defy Ninia and Samnel and forgive. Without his presence, it would have been strength. But in front of him, the Imperial Presence, hand of the Emperor, it would seem weakness, a silly girl afraid of pain and hurt.

  ‘Come, then,’ Thalia said. Ausa cowered back, hands clenched against the sides of the chair. Her eyes stared dumbly.

  ‘
Now?’ asked Tolneurn. There was shock in his voice. Thalia thought: he did not think I would do it.

  ‘Now.’ Get it done. Get it over. It must be done, so it must be done immediately. We all chose our lots, she thought. Ausa’s yellow, mine red. What would we rather, that we had drawn the black or the white?

  ‘I was tired,’ Ausa whispered. ‘I was tired, I haven’t slept … I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t feel well. My hand … my hand slipped. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …’

  Thalia said, ‘Be silent.’ Her hands trembled. ‘Come.’

  They walked together across the large hall, down a little cloistered walk giving onto the Temple gardens. ‘Look at the sun,’ Ausa said. ‘Look at the sun, Thalia.’ They walked very slowly. They entered one of the dark corridors that led to the Great Chamber. Ausa stopped in the dark, clutching the wall, shrank and crouched in the dead place. ‘Come,’ Thalia said. Her voice was very loud in the dark. They came out into the Great Chamber, into the brilliant blinding golden light. A choking noise came from Ausa. They crossed the Great Chamber. At the Silver Altar, Helase was kneeling, a hundred candles burning, one dead and cold. She looked up as they passed. They came to the curtain before the entrance to the Small Chamber. Thalia pushed it aside. Ausa followed her, a low moaning noise coming from her mouth like the noise of cattle. She is no longer alive, thought Thalia. She is no longer alive. Two slaves came forward out of the shadows where they crouched. Waiting. They lifted Ausa and placed her on her back on the altar stone, tied the ropes carefully around her to keep her from trying to move. Thalia watched until it was done. She is no longer alive, she thought, over and over. She is no longer alive. It took a very long time. Finally it was done. The slaves sank back into the shadows. Thalia bent down and drew up the knife in its bundle of cloth. Raised the blade. Don’t look at her face, she thought, and immediately she looked and saw the black eyes looking back up at her wide and dry.