Harbinger (A BOOK OF THE ORDER)

by Philippa Ballantine

  Derodak took his time, putting on a pair of fine leather Gauntlets. “The Patternmaker is a turncoat.” He tilted his head, reconsidering. “Or rather he is the ultimate survivor. When he was in my possession, he created some new runes for me . . . and now I think I will show them to you.”

  He bent and clamped his Gauntlet on her arm. As she spiraled into agony, she knew that as an immortal, Derodak had learned a great deal about the application of pain.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Sibling Reunion

  “There he is,” Deacon Petav said, pointing out to port. “Your brother is indeed waiting for you as agreed.”

  Zofiya hoped the clenching knot in the pit of her stomach was not reflected on her face.

  Captain Revele appeared out of the bridge of the Summer Hawk. She snapped to attention in front of the Grand Duchess and offered up her spyglass in one hand without comment. Zofiya saluted and took the brass instrument from her.

  She trained it toward where the sun was progressing toward the horizon, and saw the Winter Kite ahead of them just in front of the mountain known as the Sky Tower. It was not alone either; twenty or so airships floated nearby. They gleamed and fluttered in the light breeze.

  The Grand Duchess wouldn’t have minded that so much—since she had brought her own fleet—but they were not tied up together in the usual way for airships suing for peace. They circled behind their flagship the Kite, but looked like at any moment’s notice they might go into a more combative formation. Yet, from the prow hung the white banner of truce, and all of the cannons were rolled back from their positions.

  Captain Revele took the spyglass when it was handed back to her. “Are you certain this is the correct course, Imperial Highness? We could communicate with weirstones instead from the safety of the Summer Hawk . . .”

  “No,” the Grand Duchess shot back and then immediately realized her rudeness. “I am sorry, Captain. It is just that I must see my brother, face-to-face. Weirstone communication is very limited, and I must make my point very, very clearly to him. A great deal rests on that.”

  The captain nodded, but offered up another suggestion. “At least take a platoon of marines with you. I would feel . . .”

  She shook her head again. “One platoon would not be enough if things go badly, and it would only give the impression of a threat. I do not know how broken the Emperor is, so I can take no risks upsetting him.”

  Zofiya understood that none of those around her were comfortable with what she was doing. They would have preferred she retreat to Vermillion and begin approaching the rebel Princes to join her side. They had said as much in the days after she’d returned to the palace. The pretender who claimed to be the sister of Raed Rossin was losing battles, and many now suspected her for what she actually was.

  However, that would do no good; the fighting would rage just as long, and then Zofiya would be waging war on her own brother.

  So seeing that her commander’s mind was made up, Captain Revele did as she was bid and instructed the pilot to draw the Summer Hawk up to dock with the Winter Kite. She did not look happy about it though.

  As they came within twenty feet of the other ship, Zofiya decided now was the time that she would drop the bomb on her other companions too. “Deacon Petav, I must insist you stay here on the Hawk while I converse with my brother.”

  Part of her was amused by the look of shock on his face. He certainly hadn’t seen that one coming—and it must have been quite the sensation for a Sensitive Deacon.

  When his mouth opened to let out some pointed argument, she held up her hand. “My brother is trembling on the very edge of sanity, but Derodak has infected him with an utter hatred of any kind of Deacon. If you set foot on his flagship, then there is a very strong likelihood that he will kill us all.”

  The hooded heads of the Deacons turned slightly to each other, but after a moment Petav spread his hands. “Very well, Imperial Highness. We will make sure to keep ourselves out of sight, but we will be watching.” He leaned in close to her, his hood almost touching her face. “Just remember, at some point you may have to come to terms with the fact that your brother is a lost cause.”

  The audacity of his words caught Zofiya by surprise, yet she could not offer a rebuttal in the open. Instead, she glared at him. He had only spoken her deepest fears, but she wouldn’t acknowledge them.

  “I could expect no less,” she replied for all to hear. The Deacons quickly glided below, and then all she had to think about was the approaching meeting.

  The Winter Kite was the very first airship that the Imperial Air Fleet had started with. She was impressive, with her scarlet envelope and long lines of cannons running from prow to stern.

  Zofiya frowned, suddenly wishing she had not already dismissed the Deacons, because there was an odd square, squat machine sitting right next the gunwales of the Kite. It looked ugly and out of place on the deck, and what’s more, she had no idea what it was.

  As head of the Imperial Guard she had been in charge of armaments. She racked her brain to try and shake out any memory of the experimental weapons they had worked on, but still there was nothing to be had. She had not seen her brother for many, many weeks—he could have been up to anything.

  The two airships gracefully slid together, and a boarding ramp was lowered between the two. The Winter Kite’s deck was full of people, mostly Imperial Guards in scarlet uniforms and a scattering of councilors, but there were a few others out of uniform that she did not recognize. One of the Guards whistled her announcement on a tin pipe, and Zofiya stepped forward until she was poised suspended between the two ships. “Permission to come aboard, Imperial Majesty,” she called out.

  That was when her brother emerged from among his soldiers for the first time. Kal looked better than when she had seen him last, fleeing from the Rossin with the Mother Abbey falling down about their ears. He wore a golden helm and breastplate as if he were off to war, though neither looked much more than decorative. He could have been the brother that she had thrown to the ground to protect from a sniper only a season before—except for the look in his eyes. No warmth gleamed in them, and he did not hold out his arms to her.

  “Permission granted,” he said, his voice ringing between the two airships.

  It seemed as though everyone was holding their breath, as Zofiya took her fateful step forward onto the Winter Kite. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a couple of the Imperial Guards shifting fractionally. Among their ranks were faces she recognized, and each one she filed away into memory.

  While part of her noted such things, another sectioned-away part wailed that she had to do such a thing. However, she had built walls around that vulnerable portion and would not let it out—especially not here.

  Kal was watching her approach, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Previously, she had always been able to read her brother’s moods. He had been a kind child and a ridiculously kind Emperor. Zofiya’s jaw clenched as she thought of a hundred painful things to do to the one who had brought this all to pass, Derodak.

  Finally, she stood six feet away from him, and after a breath to steady herself, sunk into a low curtsey. Perhaps much of the spectacle of doing it was marred by wearing a uniform and not a Court dress, but that was not its purpose.

  A low bow meant her head was exposed to whatever the Emperor wanted to deal out. She stayed down for a long time—or at least it felt like a long time—and the back of her neck itched. At any moment she expected to feel the kiss of steel, or maybe a pistol barrel placed against her head.

  “Welcome . . . Sister.” Kal’s voice broke the tension of the moment, and she straightened back up to her full height. This meant that they were looking eye to eye. The Grand Duchess’ gaze flickered to the right. She spotted Ezefia among those standing behind her brother, and had to stop herself from making comment. Her brother’s wife had a large swollen belly and eyes hollow with horror and misery.

  Zofiya had never had cause to s
pend time with the Empress, because they really shared only Kal in common. Ezefia liked to dance and gossip and make merry. Her sister-in-law liked more serious pursuits. Now however, Zofiya wished that they had spent more hours together, because it looked like both of them could use some support in this moment.

  “You have not offered your congratulations.” Kal’s tone was light, and yet strung through with a hint of menace. “Look,” he said, grabbing Ezefia by the arm and yanking her forward. The woman—or rather the Empress—stumbled and nearly fell. Zofiya instinctively stepped forward to catch her, but Kal pulled her upright and away from his sister. “Can you not see we are blessed? What do you think it will be . . . a boy or a girl?”

  It was worse than she had imagined. The crack in her brother’s voice went all the way into his soul. She knew that within just a few moments—she’d been with him every day of his life.

  Yet, she couldn’t afford to put a foot wrong. She’d heard nothing about the Empress’ pregnancy and felt ill prepared when confronted with it. So much for all the Sensitivity of Deacons! “I . . . I am just—”

  He waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter anyway—whatever it is, it shall be a bastard!”

  Silent tears were now rolling down Ezefia’s face from her peerless green eyes. Her sister-in-law knew how she felt. She’d been in a situation where she had been afraid to make noise, to draw attention. Every part of the Grand Duchess wanted to grab her and hustle her off this cursed airship and onto the Summer Hawk. Yet, she could not. More was at stake than the Empress’ fears. So she remained still and tried to merely distract her brother from Ezefia as best she could.

  “Then take another to wife, dear Brother,” she said as calmly as she could. “Denounce her before the Court and choose again. There are plenty of Princesses still aching to be your Empress.” It remained unspoken that the field had undoubtedly narrowed since last time they had searched, but there would be some Princes that would willingly fling their daughters at Kal even at this juncture.

  Her brother gave his wife a sharp shake and then threw her down. She landed on the deck with a thump and kept her eyes riveted to the deck of the airship.

  Just who exactly had bedded the Empress—or even if it was a crazy delusion of the Emperor—Zofiya could not tell. She did not want to ask and risk inflaming the situation.

  Kaleva began pacing back and forth between his wife and the lines of Imperial Guard at his back. He was like some mad puppet darting around, with the rest of the people present merely the backdrop to his performance. Zofiya had her answer confirmed. Her brother was indeed mad, and not just angry.

  Derodak had broken him, and if he could be fixed remained a mystery. The fate of an Empire with a mad Emperor was well documented, and though Zofiya might not like it, she would have to do what others in history had done: take the throne for the benefit of its people. She decided in her head in that moment she would indeed be regent.

  The fact settled in her mind like a stone. Yes, she would be regent, and she would have the best lay Brothers of Sorcha’s Order examine her brother. Perhaps they knew a way to heal him of his grave mental injury. After all, they had been dealing with hurt Deacons for centuries and—

  Her thoughts were jerked back to the here and now when she abruptly realized that Kal had stopped right in front of her and was examining her with the intensity of an eagle looking at an injured lamb.

  “It was Derodak,” he hissed to her, “in case you were wondering. Derodak and my Empress conspired together. She fell into his bed and spread her legs for him like the whore she is.”

  Never in her whole life had Zofiya heard her brother use such words; he had always been a gentle and soft-spoken man. It made her want to weep to see him like this.

  She cleared her throat and picked out every word carefully. “If that is true, then she must indeed be put away . . .”

  Behind him, Ezefia raised her head finally, looked directly at the Grand Duchess and shook her head vehemently. She only mouthed her denial. He forced me to.

  Zofiya’s heart sank. She knew intimately that the Arch Abbot of the Circle of Stars could indeed make people do and say things. In fact, Derodak had done that to Kal, so why couldn’t he see that? His cruel indifference now only showed how deep he had fallen into insanity.

  “And the Princes?” her brother asked her, tilting his head, and raking her with an appraising gaze. “What shall we do with the traitorous Princes?”

  She was aware that in front of her, some of the Imperial Guards were making direct eye contact with her. Flickers of tension and fear ran across numerous faces. Zofiya felt their silent urgings for her to do something . . . anything. It was time to be daring, because now she knew any way she jumped would be the wrong way with Kal in his current state.

  Zofiya took his elbow and tried to guide him away from the press of people, toward the gunwales. To the port, there was a clear break of sky; endless white clouds drifted across that beautiful blue expanse. Zofiya couldn’t be sure about Kal, but it certainly made her feel a little calmer. Perhaps, being out of the direct gaze of so many would soothe him a little.

  She hoped so, as she began. “Remember our father, Kal?” He nodded, but the thunderclouds were still gathering in his eyes. It was now or never, so Zofiya proceeded. “Do you remember how he used to beat the dogs?”

  A long breath seemed to go out of him. “Yes,” he ventured in a small voice.

  A flicker of hope kindled in Zofiya, but she dared not examine it to closely. “You and I used to hate it when he did that, but he said it was to teach them a lesson when they had done something wrong.”

  Kal nodded again, his eyes fixed on her.

  “And do you remember what he said, when the dogs came back after being beaten?”

  The Emperor leaned back against the gunwales for a second. “He said, ‘Give them some meat, so that they learn to like the taste of the whip.’”

  It was a cruel and totally wrong message, but Zofiya hoped that it might reach her brother. Their father had certainly beaten the Princes mercilessly, so now maybe Kal would understand. She wasn’t sure about giving them some reward, but she just wanted him to come back with her to Vermillion as calmly as possible.

  After a moment’s pause, she dared put a hand lightly on her brother’s forearm; she could feel his muscles tensing. “You’ve used the whip enough, Kal . . . Let’s go back home. Please . . .”

  She hardly dared to breathe. It was hard for Zofiya to be gentle and supple. He did not move, and for a moment there was hope. At least for a heartbeat or two.

  Then with a twist, he flung her hand off him. “You are with them,” he snarled, as his fists clenched at his sides. “I know what you’ve been doing, conspiring with the Deacons to take my Empire. I know,” he went on with a wicked smile, “that you have sat on my throne in Vermillion, hiding behind the word ‘regent’—like I am some child.”

  Zofiya’s heart began racing. “No, Kal. No! That’s not it at all. Vermillion was a mess, the Empire is a mess, and I only wanted to assure them that I was there to protect them. That is what a regent does when the Emperor is not well—” She lurched to a halt, suddenly realizing what she had said was completely the wrong thing. Diplomacy had never been her strong suit.

  Kaleva’s eyebrows drew together in a dark bow, and his mouth pressed into a hard thin line. “That’s what they said when they took the last Emperor off the throne!” he snarled. “They tried to install a regent at first. I think, Sister, you will find it not so easy to take my throne from me.”

  Zofiya was caught between wanting to smack him in the face or to sob and plead for the return of the brother she loved. That indecision nearly cost her life.

  “Imperial Highness!” One of the Guards behind them with a very familiar face broke ranks and held out his hand to her. “Run! They—” His warning was cut off by one of her brother’s soldiers effectively running him through with his saber.

  However, the warning had triggered the G
rand Duchess’ instincts. She sprang backward just as a long string of blue white lightning struck the space where she had been standing. She caught a glimpse of a man—not in any kind of uniform—standing by that curious machine. He was grinning, even though he had almost hit the Emperor as well as her.

  Madmen! They were all madmen! Rifles were raised and pointed in her direction, but in the mass of Imperial Guards, chaos broke out. Brothers in arms, all clad in the red uniforms, began to wrestle and fight with one another.

  For a moment, Zofiya contemplated tackling her brother and taking them both over the edge, but that would solve nothing for the Empire. Besides, the cracked-looking man at the machine was turning the narrow barrel of it in her direction again.

  She ran, pushing off from the deck while hearing rifle fire begin to start up between the marines on both the Winter Kite and the Summer Hawk. The path to the gangway was blocked, so she grabbed hold of the rigging, cut a piece of it loose with her saber and then pushed off madly toward her airship. She had the impression of clouds wafting by, while bullets flew in her direction. For a second she was elated, and then Zofiya crashed into the deck of the Summer Hawk.

  As soon as she was back on her feet, Zofiya realized it was not just her brother that had gone mad—so too had the situation.

  The Deacons emerged from the depths of the airship, just as the crackle of her brother’s machinery was firing again. With capes fluttering in the growing breeze, the Deacons held up the flaming red shield, providing protection for those on the Summer Hawk from the mad machine. It became hard to see as red and blue energies sparked and flew everywhere. Bullets were, unfortunately, not stopped by the shield. Soldiers on both sides were falling.

  Zofiya snatched up a rifle from a nearby marine and dropped into cover behind the wheelhouse. She found Captain Revele there, who despite bleeding from a wound in the leg was firing back enthusiastically.

  She shot a glance at the Grand Duchess. “So it didn’t go quite as you thought then?”