Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1)

by Frances Smith

  Miranda's mouth had suddenly become very dry, and her stomach had started to feel very empty. Helen was wrong in her apportionment of blame, but about very little else. Miranda, after all, had put just the same pieces together herself and concluded that Quirian had arranged the attacks by Lysimachus in order to promote the abilities of golems, the stone soldiers she was daily creating for him with the power she had inherited from her Aurelian ancestors. The only difference between Miranda and Helen was that Miranda knew she had no part in the attacks.

  "I had no part in what Lysimachus did. You cannot prove otherwise," Miranda murmured.

  Helen laughed. "You come into my house preaching morality, but now you quibble over proof like a lawyer."

  "I had no part in your father's death or in Lysimachus' attacks," Miranda repeated firmly.

  "That's right, she didn't," Octavia said. "Miranda didn't know anything about it."

  "Then who?" Helen demanded. "Who benefits as much as you do?"

  "You seem to be assuming that I am an independent actor in all of this," Miranda murmured.

  Helen laughed harshly. "Do not think you can fool me, Filia, I know you are not some meek servant to Lord Quirian or Prince Antiochus."

  "Then what am I, in your mind?"

  "An ambitious woman," Lady Manzikes said. "You were born with nothing but magic, and you have parlayed that magic into a place at court and the ear of a prince."

  "It is the Empress I speak to, not the prince," Miranda said. "I fear that Prince Antiochus does not like me as much as he thought he would."

  "I imagine that if puppets could think they would not much like those pulling their strings," Lady Manzikes replied.

  Miranda's eyes widened and she laughed. "You think I am manipulating Prince Antiochus?"

  "You are an ambitious woman, but you were born with nothing," Helen repeated. "And magic can only get a person so far in Eternal Pantheia. You cannot rule the Empire, you have no blood claim and you have nothing that would make you eligible for marriage, not to mention your inclinations do not tend towards Prince Antiochus. I think you mean to rule the Empire through him, whispering in his ear and making him dance to your tune while your golems cast their shadows over him."

  "And what of Lord Quirian?"

  "He is no lord," Helen said dismissively. "I think he is some sort of actor playing a part, creating the impression of someone between you and the prince, a connection that does not really exist."

  "This is ridiculous," Miranda said. "I had thought you more intelligent than this."

  "Imagine yourself upon the purple throne, Filia," Helen said. "Does the thought not fill you with joy?"

  "No," Miranda said flatly. "I have rather more sense than that, I hope."

  "Ever since Aegea died and Lord Ilioneus tried to seize the throne, there are always those who seek to rise higher than should be possible," Helen said. "You think you are the first commoner to seek to rise to power they cannot dream of? The fall will break you, as it breaks all those who seek to climb too high."

  "Then why do you fear me so?" Miranda said.

  Helen smiled. "I fear the damage that you could do before you fall. I fear who or what you might drag down with you. There is a cancer in this realm, Filia, all know it but none speak of it. There are cracks appearing throughout the Empire, and only its sheer size has prevented the cracks from turning into fractures. A powerful blow - such as you might deliver with your magic - could shatter this country, even if you perished in the shattering."

  "You sound like Princess Romana," Miranda said.

  "Her Highness is a fool," Helen said scornfully. "She thinks that foreign wars will unite the Empire, that a common enemy will end the squabbling of the nobles and the money-grubbing of the equestrians. The truth is that all of that was present even in the earliest days of the Empire and Princess Romana is an idiot if she believes otherwise. Do you think Isaiah Commenae supported Prince Aeneas because of the love he had born Aegea? No, he did it so he could be the young prince's right hand, Emperor in all but name, master of the legions and first man in the Empire. No amount of prating on destiny or invocation of a dead woman will change human nature."

  "If all of human nature is constrained within your bleak analysis then our race is doomed," Miranda murmured.

  Helen sighed. "Why are you here, Filia? Why did you want to come and inflict yourself upon me?"

  "To convince you of my innocence in your father's death," Miranda said. "To persuade you to end your vendetta against me."

  "You've done a splendid job."

  "If there is a cancer in the Empire, my lady, and Princess Romana does not possess the cure, then who does? What is your remedy?" Miranda asked.

  "I don't believe there is one," Helen said frankly. "The Empire will collapse, to foreign invasion or civil war, and Pelarius will be rent into dozens of feuding realms and principalities, as it was of old before the Empire rose. Tell me, Filia, as an honest and intelligent woman do you truly believe that the sun will never set upon the Divine Empire?"

  Miranda hesitated for a moment before she shook her head. "No."

  "Neither do I," Helen said. "But I do not believe in hastening the process along. Let things continue as they are, let inertia do its work, let the peace last as long as it can. Is your life so awful that you cannot bear to not make it worse?"

  "I cannot abide to do nothing," Miranda said.

  "And I cannot abide to watch my father's murderer go free, unharmed, untouched," Helen said. "I will have all those responsible pay the price for it. I will have their heads mounted on my wall next to our family sword and then and only then shall I cast off my mourning black. I will have my vengeance, Filia, you may depend upon it."

  "And you may depend upon the fact that I will not allow any innocents to come to harm as a result of your delusions," Miranda growled. "Portia nearly died in your latest attack on me. If that happens again, if there is even the chance that someone I care about could be hurt in your next attempt at vengeance then I swear to God I will tear down the Manzikes' family and turn your family sword so slag, and all your trophies. You say that only the majesty of the throne can withstand the light," Miranda leaned forwards, holding up the palm of her hand as a fire danced in it. "My magic works as well in sunlight as in darkness."

  Helen stared at the flames for a moment, their reflection dancing in her eyes, before her gaze flickered back to Miranda. "I see. You think that I was behind that ruckus at the palace?"

  "Do you expect me to believe that it wasn't you?" Miranda asked.

  Helen smirked. "In the first place, I would never try and kill you in broad daylight where anyone could see it done. In the second place I would never try and kill you in the palace, of all places, in the presence of the Empress and the princess. As I understand it is only due to Her Majesty foolishness in sending all guards away that enabled your attackers to get anywhere near you. My plans do not rely so much on chance. And for a third thing for you to consider: my sources tell me that one of these men stood over you. Surely, if you were the target, you would be dead already. And yet here you are, wearying my ears."

  Miranda frowned. Helen certainly had a point with her last comment. The assassin who had dumped stardust upon her could have slit her throat while she was helpless, but he had not. He had seemed more focussed upon Portia, or possibly on Princess Romana.

  Princess Romana must have been the target. Portia could not have offended anyone enough to make them send men to kill her.

  She does not need to offend people. Her mere existence makes enemies, or that is what Princess Romana said. And if she died, without having given Demodocus a son, then...

  Then Prince Antiochus would not be displaced as his brother's heir.

  Could Prince Antiochus have ordered this attack.

  "Truth to tell," Helen said. "I rather thought that you had ordered the attempt on the Empress' life in order to clear the way for your puppet, Prince Antiochus. But I suppose you would hardly have had a mo
tive to come here and accuse me of the crime if that were the case."

  "Portia is my friend, I would never hurt her," Miranda snapped. "I will keep her safe from all who mean her harm."

  "Really?" Helen said. "If you mean that then I must salute you, it is so rare to see a real friendship in this city. Still, I think you will need to be wiser than you are now if you mean to keep that vow."

  "Perhaps I am wiser than you think," Miranda said. "How do I know that you are not trying to kill Portia the same way you are trying to kill me?"

  Helen's expression was insufferably smug. "The Empress is meeting with her dressmaker today. Apparently her waistlines are getting a little tight. Yesterday she enjoyed a private dinner with the Emperor, and wore pearl earrings. Today she is wearing a lavender dress, and she and her husband will dine with the Lord Admiral and his wife, where she will wear diamonds. Tomorrow she is supposed to be continuing her lessons in the Empire's history, but she means to sneak away and take a carriage ride up the Stilic to pick wildflowers. Dinner tomorrow night will be a family affair: Emperor, Empress, Prince Antiochus and Princess Romana. Prince Antiochus may bring Messalina Verra, daughter of one of his equestrian supporters, whom he has been courting, but that has not been finalised yet. At this dinner the Empress will most likely wear blue, which the Emperor likes her to wear because it brings out her eyes, and augment her beauty with some sapphires."

  Miranda's eyes were wide. "How could you possibly know all this?"

  "Some people like to gamble even though they never win," Helen said. "Some people have sick mothers. Some people just need a little extra money to help them through. If I wanted the Empress dead then she would be, and not from a stab wound."

  "Really?" Miranda said. "Perhaps I should kill you now and remove a threat to her."

  Helen chuckled. "Now, now, Filia, we both know that is not how the game is played."

  "Indeed it isn't," Miranda said as she stood up. "But come after me again or threaten those I love, and you will find that we are playing a very different sort of game, ma'am." She hesitated. "I am sorry that I could not convince you to call off this feud of yours. Yet I feel that my coming here was not entirely pointless."

  "No, it was not," Helen said. "Allow me, before you go, to give you a piece of advice, Filia Miranda: we of the old famillies of the Empire have a great deal of our history, and much of our present power, bound up in the Imperial army. We will not allow you to destroy that power, no matter how noble your motives for doing so. Continue you on this road you are on and it will not be only me and my vendetta that you have to worry about."

  Miranda smiled. "I suppose, when that day comes, that we will find out just how good a player I really am, won't we?"

  She left Helen sitting alone in her disshevelled parlour, dressed in her mourning garb, with only the ancient monuments to her family's glory to comfort her.

  As Miranda and Octavia made their way out of the house, Octavia said, "So it it wasn't you, who were those men at the palace after?"

  "Either Portia or Romana," Miranda said. "I don't know which yet. I will find out, though, as I will find out who sent them."

  And if, as I fear, Prince Antiochus tried to kill Portia, then he will find out to just how small an extent I belong to him.

  XXII

  Family

  So swiftly was it done. No sooner had Amy hefted Magnus Alba over her head with an angry curse than she was borne to the ground beneath a weight of bodies, hands wrenching the helm from her head, fists rising and falling. Wyrrin was struck by a sorcerous spell and held fast by ropes of liquid light. Jason was forced to his knees with two swords at his throat. Gideon drew his sword with the speed of a snake, but swift as the wind Quirian was upon him, the blade of Cupas in his hands. The divine sword was pure white, the purest white, the essence of light itself, and in Quirian's hands it was the sun. Michael had clung to the hope that, even though Quirian had withstood Michael, Tullia and Fiannuala with contemptuous ease, Gideon might withstand him. But as he watched he saw the folly of his last hope: Gideon was no more a match for Quirian than a cripple could triumph in the arena. Quirian bested him with a studied lack of difficulty, sweeping the sword from his hands and picking him up by the neck, holding him in the air while he put the sword of Cupas to Gideon's throat.

  "Hold!" Quirian said loudly. "Hold fast all of you, kill no one until I command it." He leaned forward, until he was practically resting his cheek on Gideon's face. "I could kill you now, my old friend. I could impale you upon this blade and it would absorb all the power of that noble, tortured soul of yours. You would spend eternity trapped within this sword, a slave to me. I could do this, and there is nothing you could do to stop me. So believe me Gideon, my old friend, my dear friend, my ally; believe me when I tell you that I wish us to resolve our dispute without bloodshed."

  Gideon squirmed in Quirian's grasp. "If you wish this fight to end then renounce your enmity for the Empire and throw yourself upon the justice of the Empress."

  Quirian laughed. "I am glad to see that age and disappointment have not dulled your wit and humour. But you know full well why I cannot do that."

  "You are too bitter," Gideon spat.

  "I am too in the right!" Quirian shouted. "Upon my soul Gideon, I do not hate you. I consider you a friend, but never, ever presume to know my grief. You may have seen into my soul but you cannot comprehend what pain you found there. Perhaps when I destroy Eternal Pantheia, lay waste your home, kill everyone you have ever known then, perhaps, perhaps you will understand what I have suffered."

  "You came into my home to kill everyone I knew," Michael growled. "Or sent the Crimson Rose to do it, which amounts to the same."

  Quirian affixed him with a gaze from his steely blue eyes, his lips quirking into a smile. "Ah, Michael Callistus, still alive though your brave comrades have perished. I, unfortunately, know how that feels also. To have ones comrades give their lives for you while you watch helpless, unable to protect them. Tell me Michael Callistus, how did you feel after my Crimson friends laid waste to Lover's Rock?"

  Michael laughed bitterly. "I see. Because you deserve death, that proves that so do all those who wounded you. Well, I might agree with that, save that those who did you wrong are dead and gone."

  "Yet their sons still profit from the blood of my people," Quirian said. "If I am wasting my breath on you then equally you are wasting yours on me. I have not suffered the loss of all my people, the deaths of all my beloved friends, plotted and schemed for five hundred years only to turn back now. But Gideon, it is not too late. My hand is still outstretched to you in friendship if you will but take it."

  Gideon snorted. "You never understood that I was Aegea's long before I was yours."

  Quirian sighed. "Pity. You understand that I cannot let you live? I will brook no interference, no opposition. Not even from you."

  Gideon stared into Quirian's eyes. His expression was defiant, his voice without fear. "Kill me then. But, if there ever was any friendship between us, do not use that blade. Cut off my head and let me join the Empress in her camp."

  Quirian smiled. "That would be merciful, wouldn't it. Unfortunately, the memories of my long lost home have quite used up my store of mercy."

  Quirian drew back Cupas' sword for a killing blow. Michael dashed forward with a bestial snarl just as Quirian's man, the masked man who had barely escaped death at Michael's hands in Aureliana, stepped between him and Quirian.

  Quirian laughed. "Oh my, you have no idea, Michael Callistus, what pain you spared yourself when you failed to kill my captain in the city. Believe me, you do not want to match your swords with him again."

  "I want to do more than that, I want to kill him," Michael snarled. "And then I will match swords with you again."

  "And put in a pathetic showing once again, no doubt," Quirian said, sounding bored with him. "Trust me, young man, I am doing you a great kindness."

  "Kindness?" Michael roared, his whole body quivering with rage
. "You killed Tullia. You killed Fiannuala. And now you talk of kindness? I swear to God, though you be strong as Beltor I'll break your bones and burn your flesh to ashes."

  "And slay your own brother in the doing?" Quirian asked, his voice soft and sibilant. He threw Gideon aside, like a toy that no longer amused him - Gideon landed on the ground with a heavy crunch and a wince of pain - and turned to face Michael, joy dancing in his eyes. "I know you, Michael Callistus, Last Firstborn of Old Corona. Gladiator, warrior, brute, bully, murderer, outcast, beast in human skin. Brother. Stand witness then, brother so devoted, for I have power to hurt you more than any blow from sword or spear ever could."

  "My lord father," the man in the mask - outside of battle his voice sounded more boyish and callow than it had within the city - said haltingly. "It is so strange, but I feel I know this man, and the girl too. I feel... as I did in the presence of your guest, Filia Miranda."

  "And quite right that you should, my faithful son," Quirian said. "I had hoped to spare you from the pain of the truth, but I see that this reunion has become unavoidable. Take off your mask, let them see you as you really are."

  The young man planted his sword in the ground, threw back his hood and removed the silver mask from his face. Michael froze, his brown eyes widening. He heard Amy gasp with shock, but he himself was unable to make any sound, to tear his gaze away, to do anything but stare. Stare at that artfully untidy black hair, at those wide brown eyes, that small nose, those angular features, that youthful face.

  He looked exactly like Michael had imagined he would. He had become the handsome boy that mother had predicted he would become.

  It was a miracle, and the most glorious thing that Michael had ever seen; and once he recovered from the initial shock he wanted to leap into the air and howl in joy.

  Felix Callistus had come home.

  "Amy?" Michael asked. "Is this real? Can you see this too?"