The Core (The Demon Cycle, Book 5)

by Peter V. Brett

‘Deceiving how?’ Elissa replied. ‘I am a Merchant Mother with no place on His Grace’s court. If you did not see fit to properly screen a petitioner before admitting him to court, I don’t see how it is my responsibility.’

  ‘Perfect.’ Tresha’s grip eased with the whisper.

  ‘But your husband is a member of His Grace’s court, is he not?’ Jone asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Elissa could see where this was going.

  ‘And was Guildmaster Ragen present when Arlen Bales revealed himself to you?’ Jone asked.

  ‘No,’ Elissa said.

  Jone frowned. ‘But he was aware …’

  Tresha’s hand tightened again. ‘Point of order. No man or woman is compelled to testify against their spouse in council.’

  ‘Raising that point only makes you seem guilty,’ Jone noted, to murmurs in the chamber.

  ‘Contesting the rules makes you seem to have no real evidence,’ Tresha countered, and the buzz of quiet conversations increased.

  ‘Enough.’ Mother Cera banged her gavel for quiet. ‘Mother Elissa is not here to testify for or against her husband.’

  ‘Then we are done for today,’ Tresha said, her fingers pinching Elissa’s arm tight.

  Cera pointed the gavel at her. ‘You are not Speaker today.’

  Tresha seemed unafraid. ‘No, but my daughter has answered every question the Mothers have posed for over four hours. Unless Mother Jone has more than fishing attempts to add, I move we adjourn for the day and let Mother Elissa, who has only just returned to the city at great personal risk, return to the family and household she has not seen in months.’

  ‘Seconded,’ Baroness Cate said instantly.

  There was broad consensus that they had done enough for the day. Elissa could see in the eyes of many of the Mothers that this was not close to over, but at least now there was some time.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to her mother on the walk back to the carriage.

  ‘Thank me by coming back to Sunrise Hall for lunch,’ Tresha said.

  Elissa tensed at the mention of the ancestral seat of Morning County.

  She had been so close to escape.

  ‘That son of the Core,’ Derek growled when Euchor called recess and they were released from court. ‘To call me a rapist, because the baron’s daughter fell in love with a Servant.’

  ‘It will be all right.’ Ragen put an arm on Derek’s shoulder. ‘Brayan has no reason to harm Stasy and Jef. We can sort this before long.’

  ‘Easy words,’ Derek said. ‘I can’t even see them now without putting myself back in Brayan’s power. Next time even Countess Tresha may not be able to spring me.’

  ‘We weren’t bluffing,’ Malcum said. ‘Brayan won’t be getting his mail or deliveries until the Mothers’ Council makes a ruling.’

  ‘Ay, but who’s to say what that will be?’ Derek said. ‘None of those old women care about my family, only how to twist this to political advantage. Mother Cera commands a lot of votes. Together with Jone, they can overrule even Tresha.’

  ‘Whatever the politics, they can’t hold a Mother against her will,’ Ragen said. ‘As soon as Stasy testifies, they’ll have no choice but to free her.’

  ‘So they won’t let her testify,’ Derek said. ‘I know Brayan. First she’ll fall mysteriously ill and not be able to see anyone. Then he’ll bribe someone “impartial” to visit her, and press her to sign a statement. If we demand a trial he’ll insist it be in his county, where the magistrates are all in his pocket. He might not be able to win a fair trial, but he can delay for months, even years, and turn every official against me. In the end, he’s a Royal and I’m not, and there’s no fix for that.’

  ‘If it goes that far,’ Ragen lowered his voice, ‘we’ll magic the lot of them to sleep and kick in the door.’ It was an ugly suggestion, but Derek straightened at the words.

  ‘Magic them?’ Malcum asked.

  ‘We’ve more than just wards to arm your Messengers with now,’ Ragen said.

  ‘Oh?’ Malcum raised a brow.

  Ragen slipped the silver stylus from his jacket pocket and handed it to Malcum for inspection. ‘It has a demon bone core that will burst into flames if exposed to sunlight, but plated in gold or certain other metals, it retains its power. Worked into armour, the wearer can shrug away the flamework of a mountain spear or catch a rock demon punch to the chest and live to tell the tale. Embedded in a crank bow bolt, it can shoot through a stone wall.’

  Malcum eyed the stylus, then Ragen. ‘If you were anyone else, I would think you full of demonshit.’

  ‘If it hadn’t saved all our lives on the road, I wouldn’t believe it, myself,’ Ragen said. ‘We have Cutters at my manse as well. Expert demon fighters like Yon here, to train your Messengers in the use of warded weapons and arms.’

  ‘Ay,’ Yon said. ‘Ent no one can chop demons like my Cutters. Happy to teach ya what the Deliverer taught us.’

  ‘So it’s true,’ Malcum said. ‘You Hollowers believe Arlen Bales is the Deliverer?’

  ‘Mr Bales always denied it, but what else could he be?’

  ‘A good man,’ Ragen said. ‘Trying to do right by the world and rid us of demonkind.’

  Malcum looked back and forth between them, doubtful.

  ‘It’s irrelevant.’ Ragen took back his stylus. ‘What matters is that we can arm and train your Messengers. The road is more dangerous than ever. If you believe nothing, believe that.’

  Malcum nodded. ‘I’ll put the word out. You may have a crowd tonight.’

  21

  Neocounty

  334 AR

  Elissa and her mother sat straight upright, chins high, staring at nothing through the carriage windows. There was peace between them, but it was a fragile thing.

  Sunrise Hall loomed before them, and Elissa felt like a child again passing through its great gate. The hall was a remnant of the old world, partially destroyed in the Return and rebuilt some hundred years later by the first Count of Morning.

  The servants all turned out for Elissa’s arrival. First in line was Mother Soren, who had been Elissa’s governess some thirty years past. Elissa remembered her from a child’s perspective as a looming, powerful woman, but in her sunset years she looked small and frail.

  ‘Mother Elissa, my darling, welcome home.’ Soren spread her arms, and Elissa fell into them, embracing her tightly. She had been stern, but more a parent than Tresha. There were other eager faces in the crowd, some of them childhood friends, and others beloved house workers. These people were more her family than her mother and elder sisters, married off to local barons while she was still a child.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ Elissa said as Tresha was helped down from the carriage by the driver. Mother Soren and the other Servants stiffened, eyes quickly out front. From there Elissa and her mother walked in silence down a solemn line of stone faces.

  Moments later they were alone in the parlour. The room was just as Elissa remembered it – clean to the point of sterility, and stifling with lectric heat. Mother Tresha was always cold.

  The room was empty, but Elissa could see Servants had just been there. Steam was coming from the kettle, sitting in precise formation with two freshly filled porcelain cups. Thin sandwiches and other bite-sized food had been laid out in a pattern, each its own island on the sterile marble tabletop.

  Two crystal glasses stood in triangle point with a crystal ice bucket. Vapour still curled from the neck of the open bottle of Rizonan summer wine within. The glasses were already poured. A silver bell, polished to a sheen, waited in case they need anything more.

  Elissa smiled, recognizing the Head Servant’s work. ‘Mother Kath is older than Soren but still artful and invisible.’

  ‘Servants should be invisible, unless you need something.’ Tresha went directly to her favoured chair and sat down. A porcelain plate already sat on the table next to her with the countess’ preferred sandwiches and a cup of milked and doubtlessly oversweetened tea. ‘I don’t want them
hovering around me all day and night.’

  What a sad, lonely way to live, Elissa was wise enough not to say. She reached for the wine.

  ‘They’re not as excited to see me as they are you, of course.’ Tresha reached for a tiny sandwich, sitting in a bed of delicate folded paper to keep her fingers pristine. She ate it like a bird in neat, snapping bites. The paper alone cost more than most Servants earned.

  ‘Perhaps if you bothered to learn their names.’ Elissa had somehow already drained her glass and reached for the other one. Her mother raised an eyebrow at her, but Elissa ignored it.

  ‘I know their names.’ Tresha crumpled the paper. ‘Who do you think has paid their wages all these years? But what do I know? You left your own children with your Servants for nearly a year.’

  ‘Is that what you’re mad about now?’ Elissa asked. ‘What difference would it have made? You let the Servants raise me.’

  Tresha whipped a hand at her. ‘And look how that turned out.’

  ‘You’ve never seen Marya and Arlen outside of a Solstice dinner.’ Elissa managed to keep her voice calm, though her mother was testing her limits. ‘Suddenly you want them hovering around you, day and night?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Tresha snapped. ‘But I know board members of all the great academies. I could have …’

  ‘Taken them in only long enough to pack them off to school,’ Elissa said. ‘You’ve never really wanted to know them. Or me.’

  Tresha took her tea and blew on it. Elissa blinked. ‘You’re letting that go? The last time I spoke like that, you broke a plate over my head.’

  Tresha sighed and sipped her tea. ‘It took you long enough, but you’re a Mother now. I can’t treat you like a Daughter any more. Come and sit with me.’

  Elissa did, and for a time it was much like the carriage ride, sipping her wine and staring at nothing as her mother ate finger sandwiches in silence. Elissa finished her second glass and rose to pour a third.

  ‘I can ring,’ Tresha said.

  ‘I can pour wine without help, Mother. I learned all sorts of things while the Servants raised me.’ The barb came without her even intending it. She was more like her mother than she wanted to admit.

  The clink of cup on saucer showed her mother’s irritation. ‘You should be glad your father’s not alive to hear you speak that way to me.’

  ‘When Father was alive, I didn’t have to,’ Elissa said.

  ‘Of course, your father was Creator-sent.’ Tresha laughed. ‘Just like your adopted son. Just like the Messenger you fell for. Do you think every man you care for is the Deliverer, dear?’

  Elissa snorted, but then her eyes widened as she recognized the pattern on her glass. ‘The good crystal? I thought this was only for when Royals came visiting.’

  ‘You are Royal,’ Tresha said.

  ‘That’s not what you told me when I married Ragen.’ Elissa raised her voice to a screech. ‘Marry that dirty road rat, and I’ll disown you! See how you enjoy life as a Merchant!’

  ‘I never did it,’ Tresha said.

  ‘Eh?’ Elissa stopped mid-sip.

  ‘Disowned you,’ the countess clarified. ‘No papers were signed, no documents filed. Can you imagine the scandal?’

  Elissa could hardly believe her ears. She glanced at the cup in her hand. Had she already finished that third cup of wine? ‘So you’re telling me that all these years …’

  ‘You’ve lived a Merchant’s life by choice,’ Tresha clarified. ‘All you ever needed to do to come home was apologize.’

  Elissa ground her teeth. ‘Apologize for what? Ragen is a good man! He’s worth both the idiot barons you married my sisters to ten times over!’

  Tresha set her cup and saucer on the table and stood, all rigid posture, even if she was shorter than Elissa now. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Ay, what?’ Elissa asked.

  ‘I apologize,’ Tresha said. ‘Ragen has proven to be a far better husband than I imagined.’

  Elissa stood in stunned silence for a moment, then looked around the room. ‘No wonder you didn’t want anyone hovering to hear.’

  ‘I can admit when I am wrong.’ Tresha flicked a speck of dust from her dress. ‘Enjoy it while you can, dear. I dare say you may not live long enough to see it happen twice.’

  Elissa shook her head. ‘I should have known you’d never disown your own daughter.’

  Tresha laughed. ‘Disown? No. Disinherit? Certainly.’

  ‘I never wanted to be countess,’ Elissa said.

  ‘And your sisters wanted it too much,’ Tresha replied. ‘Only they haven’t a brain between them. I’d rather let the title revert to the crown to be doled out to any fool Euchor owes a favour than let one of them have it. You’re the only one of my blood to make something of herself.’

  ‘Creator, Mother!’ Elissa snapped. ‘Can you not just say you missed me? That you want to know your grandchildren? Is your pride as high as the city wall?’

  ‘If mine is a wall, then yours is a mountain,’ Tresha said. ‘We’ve lost years over this little spat. Years we won’t get back. Magic may be shrinking your crow’s-feet, but the years continue to weigh on me. I’m a dying old woman, and set in my ways.’

  Elissa felt something shock through her, turning and taking her mother’s arm. ‘What do you mean? You’re not that …’

  Tresha cackled. ‘Finish that thought, I beg! Tell me your heart’s honest word, and I will tell you mine.’

  They stared at each other a while, then mutually dropped their eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ Elissa asked. ‘Have you seen a Gatherer?’

  ‘Cancer,’ Tresha said. ‘And ay, I’ve had the best minds in Miln marching through my gates and combing through the Library for months.’

  She went back to her favoured chair and sat down.

  ‘There are none in the world more learned than Milnese Gatherers,’ Elissa said. ‘But what they can do pales in comparison with the healers in Krasia and the Hollow.’

  Tresha shook her head. ‘I want nothing to do with your demon magic.’

  ‘It’s not demon magic,’ Elissa said. ‘It’s just magic. It comes from the Core. The demons have simply evolved to absorb it.’

  Tresha raised her brow. ‘Do you have proof?’

  Elissa took a deep breath. ‘There is evidence, but not proof. We are still learning …’

  ‘I won’t be some gambled experiment, with my holy spirit as the wager,’ Tresha said. ‘Test your theories on wounded fighters, if you must. Test them on Beggars and Servants. But not me. I’ve lived my share, and I’m tired, Lissa.’

  She reached out, bony fingers cold on Elissa’s hand. ‘Your names are on the lips of everyone in Miln. Rich is as good as Royal, and there are few men richer than Ragen. With a fistful of coins and a few strokes of the pen, I can announce you both as my heirs, and not even Euchor himself could stop it.’

  Elissa laid a hand over her mother’s, trying to lend her some warmth. ‘My sisters would hate me.’

  ‘Hah!’ Tresha said. ‘They hate you already! And me. Those two and their greedy husbands live on hate like it was bread. They hate everyone beneath them for being low, and everyone above for being high. They hate the sun and clouds in equal measure. Let them have their hate. I won’t trust Sunrise Hall or the people of Morning County to them.’

  Elissa felt her legs weaken, and sat down. ‘I … I’ll have to talk to Ragen.’

  ‘Of course,’ Tresha waved it away like a fly. ‘But we both know he would have to be on tampweed to turn this down.’

  She sipped her tea. ‘Trust me. It’s easier to get things done when you’ve an entire county behind you. Take your birthright. If you truly care about this city and the people in it, you can do more for them in the duke’s court than at your Warding Exchange.’

  Elissa looked down instinctively, stroking the silver stylus that hung from her belt. Could she, or was there another path in store for her?

  Tresha noted the movement. ‘If not f
or that, then do it so I can spend my last months with my ripping grandchildren!’

  Elissa smiled, and suddenly it all seemed clear. ‘As the countess wishes.’

  The organ was beginning to thrum as Ragen made it to the top of the hill to the Great Library and Cathedral of Miln. Soon it would begin the song of dusk, calling the last hour before curfew.

  It would play again at sunset, at dawn, and at midday. The mountains that formed the Cathedral’s backdrop provided a sort of Jongleur’s shell, echoing the music back so loudly the entire city could hear it.

  The Library was one of the few remaining structures of the old world. The one library in all Thesa that had survived the Return intact, protecting the knowledge within while the demons burned the old world around them.

  There were ruins of the old world everywhere, if you knew where to look, but there were only a few structures still in use in the Free Cities. That the Great Library of Miln was the grandest of them was a fact any schoolchild could recite, but most of the students and Tenders moving across the great steps were used to the sight, never having seen its comparison.

  Ragen had. The Great Cathedral of Angiers. The Monastery of Dawn. The Temple of the Horizon. Only Sharik Hora outstripped it in size, but even that could not match the Library’s sheer aesthetic beauty, soaring up into the twin mountains at its back, a reminder to all who should approach that while knowledge was power, it was a gift from an even greater Power above.

  It was said that Sharik Hora’s true power was within its walls, the place adorned with the bones of fallen warriors. Ragen, a chin, was never allowed to see it from the inside. But how could any bones compare to the priceless knowledge protected within? Knowledge that had kept Miln the greatest power in Thesa for so many years.

  A sprawling campus surrounded it, housing both the Mothers’ and Gatherers’ schools, as well as other institutions of science and learning. The Acolytes’ School was housed in the Cathedral’s cellars, which burrowed deep into the hill.

  The hilltop had no walls, ringed with thirty-foot stone statues of the Guardians, dukes of Miln since the king of Thesa was slain in the Return. The shields and armour of the Guardians, as well as the great marble bases, were inscribed with powerful church wards.