Uniting the Heavens

by Emily English

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She looked at him with big, violet eyes. “Selina.”

  Aren looked at Lake, trying to gauge her expression. If she thought he was being ridiculous, she didn’t say it; in fact, she seemed to hang on his every word. He took a drink of coffee before continuing.

  “I spent the entire evening with Selina, then went to the Harbor the next day when the rains died down. When I asked if any foreign ships had docked recently, the harbormasters shook their heads. I even returned to the tavern and asked the barmaid if she’d seen the beautiful woman in the blue cloak. She was annoyed and said she didn’t pay much attention to the women I was flirting with.”

  Lake laughed at this, then at his perplexed expression. “Charming,” she said. “Rieka says you work magic, but I’m beginning to think you have no idea when you’re doing it.”

  “No magic. Three years is a long time, and I’ve grown up since then. I hope I have, anyway.”

  “You were so naïve,” she said. “Precious and naïve.”

  “Well, I haven’t forgotten that you said you’d share whatever conversation you had with Rieka.”

  “In a minute. We have all night, and your story has piqued my curiosity.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Kaila knew this was the story behind the images in Selina’s head. There was more to it, though, and she was beginning to put together the pieces to a much larger puzzle. It seemed she was not the first from Mytanth to have dealings with Aren, and she wanted to know why that was.

  “Did you ever find Selina’s family? Were you able to figure out anything about her background?” she asked.

  “No on both accounts, and she still has no recollection of her life before that storm.”

  “And the woman? You never learned her name? Never heard from her?”

  Aren began twirling the pen on the desk again. “Nothing. For a while I couldn’t get her out of my head.” He shrugged. “But I became more involved with helping Selina get settled and taking care of her, and the memories of the woman stopped haunting me.”

  Kaila stilled his hand and he looked up at her. “Does it bother you still? I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  He laughed a little, turning his hand so that he held hers. His thumb stroked the skin of her wrist, and she sensed a curiosity in him, as if he were simply wondering what she felt like. He had long fingers and strong hands, rough in places from years of manual labor and, she imagined, swordplay. She felt like a kitten in his palm.

  “It doesn’t bother me,” Aren said, letting go of her. “As I said, it was a long time ago.”

  Sensing that he was done talking about the woman, Kaila redirected the conversation. “This storm took place three years ago?”

  “At the height of the summer solstice turn.”

  She flipped through one of the books she had pulled to do her research, scanning the different entries. Aren leaned in next to her and pointed at the section that referenced the storm they were discussing.

  “Unpredictable…without warning…” she read out loud.

  “I didn’t know this.” He read, “A strange darkness was recorded in the southern Tiede region, primarily in the southeast over Tiede Wood. At one point, the Wood looked as though it would be swallowed whole by the blackness, and strange, beastly noises emanated from it.”

  Kaila closed the book and tapped the cover with her fingers, the memories of that evening coming back to her in full force. It had been the last time she had fought alongside her siblings—when they had brought down the heavens.

  “Do storms play into your study of celestial activity?” Aren asked.

  “The big ones do. I’d say a strange darkness in the sky descending over a particular spot classifies as celestial phenomena.” Kaila stretched her arms out in front of her. “I’m in your debt, Aren. Not only was I able to get research done, but I also had a lovely evening.”

  “The feeling is mutual.” He smiled at her. “Now, the conversation with Rieka?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It was just the sort of thing women talk to each other about. She asked if I was married, and she talked about her beau, your brother—”

  “Are you married?” he interrupted her. “There’s no ring or sign that I noticed.”

  “There’s a man,” she said, her eyes downcast, “who claims to be in love with me, but I’m conflicted.” Kaila looked up to face him, her feelings numbed and confused. Why was she opening up to this mortal? “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

  “Does he suit you?”

  “He’s intelligent and handsome, as you are,” she said, causing him to cast his eyes downward this time. “And I find you to be quite suitable.”

  “Now who’s doing the charming?” He chuckled. “He would be wise to do whatever it takes to win you over completely.”

  “Perhaps he will. Right now it’s irrelevant. We have books and stories and pleasant company. It does please you, does it not?”

  “It does. Do you have to leave in the morning? Stay one more day; let me show you around Tiede.”

  “Let’s not try to change what’s already fated to be. Tell me more about Selina and your brother and the rest of your family,” Kaila said, placing a hand over his. “I’d love to hear about them and you, and our time together is fleeting.”

  For a moment Aren seemed to study her, and she found herself mesmerized by the glittering green of his eyes. Then he nodded, accepting that she wouldn’t be staying, and began another story—one about a little boy who was found by the edge of the Wood.

  NINETEEN

  Catar sat on a bench in Crescent Park, a book open on his lap, the hood of his apprentice robes drawn over his head. It was too late in the evening to be out, which might arouse suspicion, but he needed to connect to someone. He needed to know that the plan was working, that his brethren were in place, and that they believed everything was going well. He felt his will faltering because his brother was dead. He had received confirmation via a scribbled note from their colleague in the House, and that news caused his resolve to weaken.

  I’ve seen the staff. It’s in the Library.

  His brother was dead. Catar needed strength right now, so he took a chance at finding one of his own. He only needed a few minutes. He knew that fellow mages would be on this mission, but he didn’t know who they were or how many they numbered. He followed the gossip about mages and monsters as it flitted through the streets. That was when he found one of his brethren.

  The mage was unreadable, but Catar had followed him after their monster’s attack on the town center last night. People were running and screaming, but this man continued to walk as if nothing was amiss. Catar followed him to the tall, obsidian monuments that were known as markers for the dead, where those who had passed could still be heard—another lie the Priestesses fed to the foolish god-worshippers.

  There, away from the biolight and shrouded by the confusion that the monster was causing, Catar watched the mage slice open the throat of a young woman who had been drugged, bound, gagged, and left there as part of their ritual. There was a gasp, then a gurgle, then nothing but the sound of blood spilling, feeding the currents of magic in the earth. The mage removed the strips of cloth that tied and silenced the woman before concealing his knife and moving on to the next sacrifice.

  The man was called Mercer. He also donned the gear of the alchemist apprentice, but he did less to hide his features. Mercer wasn’t surprised when Catar had approached him, and they traded information about where and when they could meet, and who else might be with them.

  They sat on a bench now, close enough to talk but far enough so that no one would think they were together. “How can my brother be dead? The message was delivered,” Catar said. “If it hadn’t been, we wouldn’t have been able to raise the beast.”

  “You know the Harbor was closed. The sacrificial killings backfired on us. The only way into Tiede was through the southern gates. Somehow, they managed to convince someo
ne else to get the message into Tiede Vir’s hands,” Mercer explained. “Focus on the mission. You brought the beast to life. If you can sustain it for a few more days, it’ll be powerful enough to kill Vir without any issues. The man has too much protection around him, but once he’s dead the chaos will be so complete that when our armies come from the east, Tiede will fall easily.”

  “Life requires life,” Catar said. “We need to let it out to feed again, and I admit I’m worried about how much power he needs in order to get past all the skilled fighters in the House.”

  “Don’t worry, they’re all mortal. Products have changed hands?” When Catar nodded, Mercer continued. “Then, just be patient. Vir will die one way or another. I’ll let you know when we can let the monster out again; it had a minor setback in that last attack. I don’t know if you noticed.”

  “Setback?”

  “It smelled something it thought was magic, but according to the information the girl gave me, the man’s no mage,” Mercer said.

  The news made Catar uneasy. “It isn’t supposed to get confused. If the victim survived, and he’s not a mage, then what is he?”

  “I don’t know yet, but if we get rid of him, we won’t have to worry about it.” Mercer stood up to leave. “We just need more time; the creature is still growing, still learning. Don’t worry; everyone will get a chance to die, even the Apprentice. Rumor is he’s the one who killed your brother.”

  Secrets

  ONE

  Aren went through his morning routine in a daze, and as he sat in the hot salt baths, he smiled. He and Lake had spent the entire night laughing, exchanging stories, and playing copper and dice. They talked about smithing, stargazing, and fishing. He taught her how to play a simple whistle flute, and she taught him how to fold tiny paper stars.

  When the coffee was gone and his desk was littered with stars, she wished him a good night—what was left of it. He took her hand in both of his and pressed it to his lips, asking her to stay another day. She declined. Perhaps their paths would cross again, she had told him. He stared after her, and at the Library doors she turned to look at him. Her eyes were shiny and she bowed her head and placed two fingers over her heart before leaving.

  Aren sighed. There was no point in dwelling on her departure. He finished his bath and returned to his room to get dressed to spar with Lord Vir. A note regarding the training session had been slipped under the door to his room earlier that morning. The sound of the paper sliding against the floor had awakened him, and he cursed his inability to fall into a deep sleep.

  He cut through the courtyard and was stopped by two servants, men younger than himself whom Aren had seen a handful of times. The taller one was the servant he had seen in the garden pouring water for Lady Saris.

  “Master!” the shorter man said. “I need your help! We’re low on House oil, and we put in an order at Wethern’s, but his apprentice told us that they were behind because of the deliveries stuck at the Harbor. Lord Vir’s been working late into the night, and we can barely keep up.”

  “Just Apprentice,” Aren corrected him. “Not Master. There was a delivery yesterday, and I set it all aside for Lord Vir. Take whatever you need. I’ll ration what I have left for the Library until Wethern’s catches up.”

  The young man bent low from the waist. “Thank you, Master! Thought for sure we’d get thrown into the dungeon for this!” The taller fellow, garden-lemon-water-boy, remained quiet, his eyes downcast as if afraid to look at Aren.

  “Are you both new here?” Aren asked.

  “Dekney, I am. And this is Horin,” said the short one. “Oh, and cook said if we found you we should bring you this.” He handed Aren a small cloth sack and bowed again before they hurried off towards the storage room. Aren peeked into the bag. There were a few slices of warm bread, a little brick of cheese, and pre-harvest pipe apples. He had time to get to the kasan and have a leisurely breakfast before warming up. He might even have some time to read. So far, he was having a brilliant day.

  Aren entered the kasan, prepared to kick off his shoes, when an arm struck his midsection. He felt the air leave his lungs as a fist came into view to greet him. He twisted to dodge but felt the knuckles glance off his chin. He dropped low, hoping that his attacker would continue to aim high. His opponent was ready for him, and he felt the point of a knife under his chin.

  “I failed to mention.” Aren grinned. “I guess you got the message.”

  The knife disappeared, and an open palm whacked Aren against the back of his head. “A little warning would’ve been nice,” Gryf said, grabbing Aren by the upper arm to haul him up. “Imagine my surprise when a Guild Master told me Lord Vir requested I come in to conduct some training thanks to the Historian’s Apprentice. And you need to stop being so predictable; I could’ve killed you.”

  “Is that food?” a muffled voice called out from within the kasan. “Bring.”

  Aren looked over to the figure lying face down on a wooden side bench. He raised an eyebrow at Gryf, “You brought Dane?”

  “If I’m training, I need another dummy who knows what he’s doing for you to demonstrate technique with. You hand my head to Lord Vir on a silver platter, and I take both of you with me as side dishes.”

  Dane ambled over and grabbed the sack from Aren’s hands. He peered inside, reached in, pulled out some bread, and began to eat. “Rieka told me about the woman,” he said between bites.

  “Purely platonic,” Aren said, taking off his shoes and pushing them against the wall. “Her name’s Lake and she’s already involved with someone.” He rolled up his sleeves. “But even if she weren’t, she had to leave this morning anyway.”

  “And if she didn’t have to leave?” Dane asked.

  “I’d rather not speculate.”

  “You can’t do it. Chasing after the wrong woman is like a drug to you,” Dane said.

  “Speaking of women,” Aren started as Dane rolled his eyes, “Trista came by the House last night. One of the servants—you know, the one always calling me Lord—came up to me in front of Lord Vir to tell me that Trista demanded to see me to talk about our betrothal.”

  “What was she thinking?” Dane asked, incredulous.

  “She’s lost her mind,” Aren said as Gryf shook his head.

  “I don’t know why she’s so fixated on you. It’s not like you bedded her.” Dane paused, then looked at Aren. “You didn’t, did you?”

  Aren whacked his brother’s head hard. “No, you idiot. Even if I didn’t have this so-called curse on me, I wouldn’t have.”

  Dane rubbed his head, laughing, “Maybe you should’ve tried to. Your curse would’ve killed her, and you wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore.” Aren lunged at him and they began to wrestle and punch each other.

  “I’m going to have Lord Vir beat the stars out of the both of you,” Gryf said.

  Vir arrived not long after the food was devoured, and the three brothers took a knee, fists over their hearts. Vir took off his shoes and shirt, then entered the kasan’s arena. He was alone. No assistant or Guard or Hunter escorted him. In any other House this would have been odd. He regarded them, then addressed Gryf, who had the Fighter Guild’s fire crest inked into his upper left arm. “The Apprentice said you were one of the rare few who could execute the technique Uniting the Heavens, and your Guild Masters agreed.”

  “Yes, my Lord. I’ve asked our brother Dane to join us. He’s skilled with the sword and can help demonstrate.”

  Vir nodded. “I trust your judgment. You’re not a full Master yet?”

  “I’ve been sworn in as Blade Master and Fist Master among other disciplines, but I’m still working on full Master for all the combat arts.”

  “Blade Master, then. The Apprentice also led me to believe that the dual blades, when used by one with experience, is not merely for show.”

  “It’s a fighting technique and that’s how I’ll be teaching it. Unless you were hoping otherwise.”

  “The blade is not i
ntended for show,” Vir said. “Let’s begin.”

  When they had finished, water and fresh towels were brought in. Aren had managed to get a long cut on his forearm, which he wrapped to staunch the bleeding. They wiped their brows and necks in silence as Gryf sat by the sword rack, taking a soft cloth to each blade they had used. The blades had been very well kept, and Dane had silently pointed out the Gerrit mark on each one, though his brothers had already noticed.

  Aren thought it surreal to cross blades with the House Lord. At first Vir was reserved and kept a grave expression on his stone-like face. After a few blows, though, Aren could see glimpses of the flesh-and-blood man who had worked all of his life to create the mask of power that all of Cordelacht expected to see attached to the name of Tiede.

  “What next, Master?” Vir asked.

  “Watching you spar with my brothers has revealed your skill level,” Gryf said. “If you have time, I can start teaching the technique later today. Otherwise, late tomorrow.”

  “Why not now?”

  “In the hands of a virgin, the dual blades can’t meet until the sun crosses her zenith,” Gryf said, folding the cloth he had been using, a broadsword across his lap.

  “It’s an old superstition among Fighters,” Aren explained when he saw the confused expression on Vir’s face. “Anyone who engages in a dual blade technique for the first time is called a virgin of the twin blades. The very first time a Master under a Night House instructs you in this technique, the sun must be past the high point in the skies during daylight hours in the summer season. The blades represent the god and goddess, and if you want them united, one can’t be wholly dominant over the other. You can’t learn how it feels to have balanced kal between two blades until you experience it.”