by Jon Skovron
Leston was rubbing his temples now. “So your friendship with Nea is also a ruse?”
Merivale sighed and gave him a patient smile. “Your Highness, hopefully it has not escaped your attention by now that I am chief spy in service to Her Imperial Majesty—a position not without some prestige, I might add. I don’t have the luxury for things like friends or lovers, which are so frequently used as leverage against people. The woman you have known as Lady Merivale Hempist is no more than a facade. A performance, if you like, which allows me to work unfettered within the palace.”
“So you’re not actually Lady Hempist?”
“Oh, I am,” she said. “But the real Lady Hempist is not some doe-eyed, marriage-hungry schemer. This is the real me.”
“And you should be thankful for it,” said Pysetcha. “Lady Hempist has saved your life and mine several times over already in her brief tenure as chief imperial spy.”
By then, Leston was starting to look like a lost little boy. “You, my mother, my best friend. None of you are who I thought you were.”
“I’d wager that Nea has not been entirely truthful either.”
Merivale liked to play rough. Now and then she forgot how fragile some people were. But this was not one of those times. When she suggested that Nea might be deceiving the prince, it was a calculated move that would tell a lot about the prince’s state of mind. Disbelief would indicate he did not trust her. Anger would indicate that he believed her but was so smitten that he was unwilling to accept what she said. She knew that immediate acceptance, the most desirable outcome, was unlikely. But she was pleased that the second most desirable outcome came to pass: pitiful acquiescence.
Prince Leston began to cry.
“I fear I may have broken him, Your Majesty,” she said, not without some small tone of contriteness. “It seems you were right. He’s not mature enough to handle the hard truths.”
That brought him up short. He glared first at Merivale, then at Pysetcha, biting his lip until the tears stopped.
“Well, my son?” asked the empress. “Will you wallow in self-pity? Or will you do whatever you can to help your friend?”
“Help him?” asked Leston. “How?”
“We question him,” said Merivale. “If, through his responses, I am able to determine that he truly is a victim of the biomancers, then we will try to break their hold over him.”
“What if we can’t break their hold?”
“Then obviously we’ll have to kill him,” Merivale said flatly.
It had the desired effect. The prince blanched. “It won’t come to that. We will free him.”
“Then I suggest we get started, Your Highness,” she said crisply. “Hume should have him chained up, so when he comes to, if he’s still our Rixidenteron, he will be quite confused and upset.”
“Yes, of course.” Leston turned to go, then stopped and turned back. He bowed to the empress. “Your Majesty.”
“Good luck, my son,” said Pysetcha. “I do hope your friend can be saved. And I promise we will talk more soon.”
Once Leston had left, the empress turned to Merivale. “You never disappoint me, Lady Hempist.”
Merivale curtsied. “It is satisfying to serve someone who appreciates my talents.”
“I feel that was about all he could handle right now,” said the empress.
“Yes, I suspect it will be a little while before we can tell him the rest,” agreed Merivale.
The painful rays of sunlight wormed their way past Red’s eyelids and jolted him awake. He winced and tried to move out of the light. That’s when he realized he was chained up to something.
“Piss’ell!”
The wind on his face suggested he was outside. He felt wooden planks beneath him. The smell of the sea suggested he was near the water. Had he been captured in his sleep and taken somewhere? That seemed unlikely. Light sleeping was a survival trait in Paradise Circle. A year of palace life couldn’t have made him that soft. Could it?
He forced himself to open his eyes against the glare. It was painful, but he was able to make out five shapes looming over him.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
“Look, Rixidenteron.” It was Leston’s voice. He sounded deeply concerned about something. “I know this is a little—”
Then Merivale’s voice cut in, sharp as a blade. “You’re working with the biomancers.”
He should have known she’d work it out. In a way, it was almost a relief. “I didn’t have a choice. Honestly. They promised they wouldn’t go after Hope if I let them train me to be some weapon for them. So I’ve been putting up with it. Biding my time until I can figure out a way to turn the tables on them.”
“I can’t believe it…” Leston sounded horrified.
“Look, I know it’s a piss situation, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. But it’s not like I’ve actually hurt anyone.”
“You nearly killed Nea!” the prince burst out.
Red felt an icy twist up his spine. “What are you talking about? I would never hurt Nea.”
“Last night, you snuck into my room,” said Nea. Red couldn’t quite make out her expression in the glare of the sun, but her voice sounded strained. Like she was afraid of him. “You were holding these… blades in your hands and there was no humanity in your eyes. If Lady Hempist had not been there…”
Red shook his head. “No, that can’t be how it is.” But there was no strength in his voice. Flickers of memory began to surface, like dimly recalled nightmares.
“I’m sorry, Rixidenteron.” This time, Merivale’s voice was a little more gentle. But not much. “You are the Shadow Demon.”
“What?” He felt sick.
“You are the one who murdered all those innocent people.”
“No. Oh, God…”
Red liked to think he didn’t believe in God. But deep down, he did. Sometimes the only way his life made sense was if there was some cruel, capricious power lording over it. He thought back to what Ammon Set had said to him when he first arrived at the palace. That by the time they were finished with him, he wouldn’t even be a man anymore.
“How is that… even possible?”
“I’ll need to gather more information before I know for certain,” said Merivale. “But I suspect that they can give you a target while you’re conscious. Perhaps there is a key phrase they use as a trigger. Then, when you go to sleep that night, the Shadow Demon takes over.”
Red had been so sure of himself. So confident he would find a way to slip out of the biomancers’ grasp just like he’d slipped out of trouble his whole life. Even when he’d found out about the whistle thing, it had seemed like just another obstacle. A puzzle to figure out for his escape. Now he understood that they had been laughing at him this whole time. There was no escape, because they had already made him a twisted, unnatural thing. They had made him one of them.
“You should just… kill me,” he said.
“Come now, Lord Pastinas.” Merivale’s voice had just a hint of its old playfulness. “I’m quite clever, you know. With your cooperation, I may be able to find a slightly more agreeable solution.”
Everyone was quiet that day, since they’d been awake half the night—except Etcher, who had apparently slept through the entire ordeal and decided to go look for local wildlife around Sunset Point. Merivale was tempted to go with him. There was still a lot of information to gather regarding Nea and the intentions of Aukbontar. Etcher seemed like an easy mark. But she had gotten no sleep the night before and did not intend to sleep the coming night either. So she let the opportunity pass this time, and instead took a much-needed nap.
As darkness fell and people began to prepare for an early sleep, Merivale placed guards at both entrances to Nea’s room. She put Etcher in her bed next to the ambassador. Propriety would have to languish tonight, because she wanted an audience with the Shadow Demon.
Rixidenteron had been subdued all day, hardly speaking at all. No doubt the shock of lea
rning you were a puppet of the Council of Biomancery was not something you got over easily. He glanced uneasily over at Merivale when he thought she wasn’t looking. She was always looking, of course. She had honed her peripheral vision to the physical limit, so unless the person was directly behind her, she could not only see their general shape, but get at least some idea of facial expression. It was a skill that had saved her life on more than one occasion.
Finally, it was time for bed, and a strange dread hung in the room between them. Merivale sat on top of her bed, smoothed her skirts, and waited.
He eyed her as he slid under his covers. “You’re going to watch me all night?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m curious to see if the Shadow Demon emerges again, since he was unable to fulfill his mission last night.”
They were silent for a moment.
“You knew the whole time, didn’t you?” he asked.
“I suspected.”
“So your whole idea about flushing out the assassin and forcing them to testify against the biomancers was just a con?”
She gave him a reproachful look. “Did you honestly think that’s all it would take to dislodge the biomancers from power after decades of wrapping their tentacles around the throne? Charging them with murdering some common folk and a foreigner?”
He sighed. “I guess it was a bit bludgeon to think so. So why the con, then?”
“To see how you reacted. Because while I was fairly certain that you were the Shadow Demon, I needed to verify whether you knew it or not. Were you an enemy or a victim?”
“And now?”
“At this point, I strongly suspect you to be a victim of biomancery. But I am not yet certain. Meeting with the Shadow Demon will likely convince me one way or the other.”
“What’ll you do if he comes back?”
She held up the silver whistle.
He gave her a wry smile. “You cut my pocket and palmed that in the carriage yesterday. When you were pretending to get leaky.”
“Leaky means sexually attracted, doesn’t it?”
“You learned that from Thoriston’s book, I reckon.”
“I did. And I assure you, my feelings of attraction were no pretext. Especially compared to my usual targets.”
“Meaning you mostly manipulate nasty old wrinks?” he asked.
She nodded. “If it’s any consolation, not only was it pleasant to flirt with you, I also had to actually utilize my intellect in order to manipulate you. Normally all it takes is a few clever quips and a flash of cleavage.”
“I’m not surprised. Both the quips and cleavage are sunny.”
“Under different circumstances, perhaps I would have invited you to explore the sunniness of my cleavage further,” she said. “But I’m afraid you and I have other business tonight.”
“You are a remarkable woman, Lady Hempist.” A hint of the old flirty rogue crept in, but it was so labored that it was more pitiful than charming.
“I’m pleased you recognize that fact, Lord Pastinas. Now, if you would be so kind as to fall asleep, we can begin.”
Rixidenteron nodded, extinguished the small lamp beside his bed, and laid his head down on the pillow.
There were a few minutes of silence. Then he sat up again. “It’s a bit hard to relax with you watching me like this.”
“Would you like me to sing you to sleep?” she asked.
“Really?” She couldn’t see his expression in this dim lighting, but he sounded surprised.
“Really,” she said.
“Sure, it might help.”
“Very well. Lie back down and close your eyes.”
Once he had done so, she began in a gentle, lilting voice:
There was a girl of Lesser Basheta,
Whose beauty shone just like the sun.
She loved a boy from Greater Basheta
Who vowed to be her only one.
But then one day the storm came rolling in,
And her sweet boy was called to war.
She made a vow to wait for him,
And kept her vigil by the shore.
The darkness spread to all the lands,
And death grew mighty on the sea.
The blood soaked in the very sands
That girl did stand on patiently.
At last her love came home to her,
Now a man, and not a boy.
He kissed her hand and married her.
She thought the dark had turned to joy.
But war had made him hard and cruel.
Her life had no more happy days.
So heed this well, you pretty fool:
The darkness never goes away.
It was a song Merivale’s chambermaid sang to her as a girl, and she had always been mindful of its lesson. Even now, as she sat and watched the sleeping form of a man who might be the closest thing to an equal she would ever find, she felt the warmth of desire kindled within herself. Rather than succumb to it or tamp it down, she examined it carefully, as one might a specimen of poisonous insect, noting the beautiful coloring and elegant designs, while being careful not to let it sting.
The melody continued to play in her head as she watched over Rixidenteron. Then, a little after midnight, he began to stir. She pinched herself hard to chase off the drowsiness that had begun to creep in, and watched him carefully.
He sat up abruptly. His eyes snapped to her, and even in the dim lighting, she could see he recognized her from the night before.
“You…,” hissed the Shadow Demon.
She blew the whistle and his eyes rolled back into his head. But this time she stopped before he passed out. While he was still stunned, she grabbed the chains she’d hidden beneath her bed and secured him to his bed frame. Then she moved back to her own bed and waited.
Once he regained his senses, he strained against the chain, grunting wordlessly. After a few minutes, he gave up. She watched him, fascinated. Everything about the man was different. His movements. The harsh scrape of his grunts. He even looked different, as if his facial muscles were contorted into a different shape.
“So,” she said at last. “You came back.”
“Of course,” he said in a voice like sandpaper. “I have been given permission to kill a person. I will continue to return until I have done so.”
“Who gave you this permission?”
“The ones who made me. Their names are unimportant.”
“What is important?”
“Death is the only thing of true importance. It is the only thing that lasts.”
“Are you permitted to kill anyone other than the ambassador?”
“Anyone who directly interferes with this goal.”
“Such as me.”
He looked at her then, and there was no hunger, or anger, or malice in his eyes. In fact, there was nothing at all. It was like staring into a red-rimmed void.
“Yes,” he said. “I will kill you.”
She blew the whistle until his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out. She watched as his face shifted back into the familiar countenance of Lord Pastinas.
She regarded the whistle thoughtfully. If only all men came with one, she might have considered marriage ages ago.
PART THREE
I never intended to do harm. Even in my darkest hour, I thought that what I was doing was for the greater good. But that is the problem with darkness. It makes things so difficult to see.
—from the secret writings of the Dark Mage
23
The best thing Brice Vaderton could call the Kraken Hunter was “controlled chaos.” But if anything, he was surprised it wasn’t worse. Fifty grateful refugees from the Empty Cliffs, none of them well behaved, all packed into a two-masted brig meant for a crew of twenty.
“I suppose this makes it a proper pirate vessel,” he said to Captain Bane as they surveyed the milling, unwashed crowd on her decks.
She nodded. “My first encounter with true pirates was a tiny, one-masted sloop, suitable
for a crew of perhaps eight, and there were at least thirty men on it. Their tactic was to get in close as quickly as possible and overwhelm the prize with sheer numbers.”
“Not a bad strategy,” he said. “But such an overburdened ship leaves idle hands. And those tend to make mischief.”
“Our crew won’t be idle, Mr. Vaderton,” said Bane.
“Oh? I thought you said we might be anchored here a little while longer. Don’t you have people in Paradise Circle gathering ships and crew?”
“Yes,” said Bane. “That should give you ample time to get the landlubbers among this crew seaworthy.”
“Me?” asked Vaderton.
“Until such time as a commission worthy of your talents presents itself, I name you bosun of the Kraken Hunter.”
Vaderton gave her a long look, just to be certain she knew what she was asking of him. He thought he detected a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and decided she did.
“Aye, Captain,” he said finally.
Her grin came all the way out. “Idle hands are to be avoided, Mr. Vaderton. Including yours.”
He smiled ruefully. “I did just say as much, didn’t I?”
Captain Bane generally carried herself with a quiet confidence and a calm presence, but a roguish sense of humor would occasionally bubble up at surprising moments. The old Vaderton would have found that in poor taste for a captain. But now he found he was inordinately pleased with himself that he was able to elicit such a response from her. It was, he realized, comforting to see that the person in charge was only a person after all.
So Vaderton began his first commission under Captain Dire Bane with the intent of keeping his own humanity to the fore. Old habits died harder than he expected, however, and many of the people from the Empty Cliffs were woefully inexperienced with both sailing and the sea. Most couldn’t even tie a square knot, and the very idea of going aloft terrified them. By the end of the first day, he was barking scathing orders as bad as any naval bosun and wondering if perhaps he might find a lash stored somewhere on board.
