In a single night, everything that had been true had changed. The scope of the calamity was too vast to comprehend, let alone mourn.
They continued on, no one saying a word.
***
People here were in high spirits at the Salon of Forgotten Gods. A Baash merchant rolled in a cask from his winery, which was now conveniently across the alley, to the applause of the gathered drunks. People from both halves of the city partook, exchanging horror stories and vigorously arguing.
As it turned out, miraculously few fatalities had occurred. A couple thousand were dead; many more were injured or shaken. The Mirrored City had arguably survived worse in recent memory at the hands of the Turisian Horde. Baash had an army of trained healers, and the Patreans were extremely effective at restoring order. They had won. They were calling it the “Short Night.”
Titus stood proudly behind the bar, serving drinks. The Fodders considered him a Warmaster, but with the danger gone, he recused himself of command. No one paid for drinks, and bottles passed freely through the crowd. Some mourners were nursing their injuries, but the focus was on the celebration. Never before had a Harrower been dispatched so quickly. The demons of an entire people had been revealed to be vulnerable.
Maddox tossed back an entire bottle in the course of an hour. Next to him sat Sword, still wearing Daphne’s body. It looked uncomfortable for the both of them.
Heath and Soren were bonding over drinks. The boy’s face was flush with alcohol, and he seemed happy. He hadn’t known Shannon long, and as it turned out, he had other children on the way. A dark-haired mage named Rebekah was pregnant and resting at the Magesterium.
Lyta sipped from a cup of cold mint tea as she glanced around at the revelers. Her contribution to the final battle had been small, but people continued to offer to buy her drinks. For once, she wished she could indulge and enjoy her transition into legend.
She glanced at Heath. He and Soren were laughing, Heath’s arm around the boy’s shoulder. He was useful, possibly more so than she. It was just like being handmaiden in House Ibazz. She needed to prove her value and offer something Soren couldn’t.
Lyta put on a smile and approached the others.
Heath was pouring drinks sloppily into glasses. “…I think you two would be perfect for each other.”
Soren was blitzed. “I don’t know. Rebekah’s pregnant with my kid and Shannon—”
“Is dead,” Lyta said, sitting between Soren and Daphne. “Killed by her own mother. But you two seem to be doing all right.”
Soren’s brows furrowed. “I-I’m so sorry…”
Heath leaned forward, drunker than she would have thought he ever got. “Her death was tragic. I know she meant a lot to both of you. In her own way, she meant a lot to me, too. We will mourn the dead tomorrow and every day after that. But by Kondole’s tail, I feel good for the first time in a year and we fucking took down a Harrower.”
Heath raised his glass, and the bar erupted into a round of cheers.
“I’ll drink to that.” A drunk blonde woman in strange clothes plopped down beside Heath. She carried a long-stemmed glass filled with bubbly.
Heath glanced over. “Libertine. Good to see you.”
She smirked and extended her hand to Lyta. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I am called the Libertine, but I prefer to go by Libby.”
Maddox piped up, “You owe us a favor, Libby.”
“Nice try.” She smiled. “I owe Soren a favor. He was the one who burned the Seedmother.”
“A favor? You mean like sex?” Soren was totally lost.
She flashed her eyes across his physique. “I wouldn’t complain. But you tell me. What do you want?”
Lyta grabbed Soren’s arm and squeezed. The muscle absorbed her strength and hardened in response. “Ask her for Shannon to be returned to us.”
Soren looked at the Libertine. “Can you do that?”
She paused thoughtfully. “Maybe. But I never said you could pick the favor.”
“Then why did you ask?” Lyta glared at Libby.
“Because she’s fucking crazy. Get the fuck out of here, Libby,” Sword said.
“Why all the hostility?” She threw her hands up, spilling her wine on someone behind her. “You did us a solid, but you couldn’t have even scratched that thing if we hadn’t softened it up first. To be perfectly honest, we did most of the work. I swear if it hadn’t been for the Causality Wars, there would have been enough of us to end the Long Night ourselves, but no one listens to me.”
“You don’t listen to anyone,” Sword said.
“Fair enough,” she said. “But I have presents from the Travelers. Da-da-da!” She waved her hand, and a small vial appeared in front of Heath.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Bottled youth. About a hundred years’ worth, so don’t drink it all at once. It would have reversed your cancer, but the Harrower took care of that. That’s the good news. The bad news is that cancer demons are now a real thing.”
Heath looked at the vial of clear liquid. “This is surprisingly helpful.”
“I’m just getting started.” Libby pulled a ring out of her pocket and set it down in front of Soren. “It’s a very, very old piece of jewelry that’s haunted me since forever. I want you to have it. Give it to someone special.”
Soren picked up the ring. It was a small gold band with a modest diamond. He squinted at it. “Does it do anything?”
“It’s old as dirt, and I’ve been trying to get rid of it since the dawn of history. I’m sure it’s picked up a thing or two over the eons. At the very least, it’s probably worth a fortune by now,” Libby said, reaching back into her pockets. “But speaking of jewelry that does something…” She drew out a silver and sapphire butterfly hairpin.
Lyta’s eyes widened, and she gasped, “That’s Shannon’s.”
Libby slid it down the bar. “Now it’s yours. I won’t restore a Patrean dyad, but if you put it in your hair before you go to bed, you’ll dream of her.”
Lyta picked up the pin and cradled it in her palm.
Soren held the ring in his hand. “I get something else, right?”
“He’s so adorably dense,” the Libertine cackled. “Now for the good stuff. Who wants to go first? Maddox or Sword?”
Sword said, “I refuse your gift.”
Libby turned to Maddox. “How about you?”
Maddox drained his glass and turned it upside down. “Can you make this thing perpetually full?”
“I like the way you think,” she admitted. “But that’s a waste of my talents. How about a look at my tattoo?” She slung her leg up on the bar, nearly falling off her stool, and revealed a circular marking on her inner thigh.
Lyta hated herself for finding the flighty woman attractive. But that’s what I like, isn’t it?
“The fuck is that?” Maddox asked.
“The Seal of Fertility,” Libby said. “I got it when I was drunk with this other guy. We wanted to have matching seals. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but there’s not many of these out there anymore.”
“A forgotten seal.” Maddox leaned closer.
“Easy, boy.” Libby pulled her leg off the bar. “No need to stare. I’ve given it a nice spot in your memory where you won’t forget it. And I have one last gift.”
Soren set the ring on the bar and slurred, “How much do you think it’s worth?”
Libby turned to Sword. “For you I have a very special gift.”
Sword’s mouth curled. “I don’t want it.”
Libby shrugged. “No, you probably don’t. It’s the gift of knowledge, which is the equivalent of getting an ugly knitted hat from your grandmother on All Saints’ Day. It’s disappointing and you can’t return it—but it is useful.”
Sword smiled. “But a Traveler can’t give a gift if we refuse it, can you? I’ve said no twice.”
“Ask three times,” Libby said, citing the old legend. “But it’s seriously importa
nt for you to understand why you exist. You see, I had a lot of time to poke around in the undercity while you all were having your male bonding moment. I decided to rummage through the Artifex’s lab just to see if there was anything worthwhile. Lo and behold I found a notebook, just sitting there. Do you know what was in it?”
Heath interjected, “You know why Sword was created?”
“Not why exactly… but how…” Libby waved her fingers. “I know it all. The Artifex was the greatest among us, even more powerful than the Storyteller, and that bitch can rewrite destiny. His creations have always been a mystery, even to us. Until today, when I became the only being in Creation to understand. Oh, come on, you’re dying to know if you can see it.” She shook her legs impatiently, like the secrets were literally going to split her open.
“I don’t understand,” Lyta said. “Why wouldn’t you want to know?”
“Knowledge comes with a price,” Sword said. “No one walks away from a Traveler unchanged.”
“She made it so I couldn’t feel sorrow for Keltis, right here in this very bar,” Maddox said. “That came in pretty handy later. It’s almost like you already knew something was going to happen.”
“Total coincidence. Honestly, no one saw this coming, not even the Harbinger.” Libby drained her glass and tossed it onto the floor. Another full one had already appeared in her other hand.
“Can they lie?” Lyta asked.
Heath and Sword responded with an emphatic, “Yes.”
Libby frowned. “I feel like you’re all ganging up on me.”
“It might be because we feel like you’re withholding valuable intelligence,” Heath said.
“If you place any value on a good night’s sleep, you don’t want to know half the shit I know.”
“Whatever,” Sword said. “Just fucking tell me and be done with it.”
Libby beamed. “The Artifex had a talent. It just wasn’t forging enchanted weapons out of exotic alloys. I’ve been alive long enough to master every craft your primitive society can offer. I even learned quilting, that’s how much free time I’ve had. But the one thing about the arsenal wasn’t the magic. Magic is simple. It was the compression.”
“Compression of?” Maddox asked.
“Memory,” the Libertine said. “The human brain has enough room to store about five lifetimes of vague memories. It can access about a year of that information readily, if not reliably. Not really built for the long haul. But the Arsenal can hold the entire lifetimes of memories of unlimited hosts. I mean, I have to store my memories in a library. But Sword here is a walking repository.”
“What can I say?” Sword said.
“You were made for bigger things.” Libby took something out of her belt. She flicked open a lacquered case, revealing a metal fan shaped like a wing. The folds were red and looked like razor-edged feathers. Black gems were set into it. It was stunning, if impractical.
“Alerion?” Sword asked in disbelief, her fingers trembling as they reached toward the bladed fan.
Libby smiled. “It was, anyway. Turns out the psyche imbued in the signature weapon of House Actrasterias made it an ideal vessel for the Harrower of vanity. When you dispatched Keltis, the essence collected here. With the right placement, we could draw a Harrower into the heartstones of the vessel directly. No need for a messy raid on a Cyst or any embarrassing nightmares.”
“I can’t feel its essence,” Sword said.
“A Harrower takes up a lot of space.” Libby snapped the fan closed and tossed it to Soren, who fumbled briefly and then recoiled from it. It clattered to the bar. Libby didn’t look at him. “It’s inert now. The Harrowers are only pseudo-sentient, so they’re extremely calm when bound to inanimate matter. You’re not going to get that thing out of there. Ever.”
“Fuck me,” Sword said.
“If you had slain your opposite during the Long Night, you would have absorbed it like the fan here. You’re a reliquary for humanity’s demons. Isn’t that neat?”
“It’s dead.” Sword cradled the folding fan in her palms.
“It fulfilled its purpose. There is one less Harrower in the world. One less person dying in their sleep every night. We finally have a way to beat them. Let’s party. Drinks are on me this round. Do you think they take diamonds? I have a bunch left over from this secret society sex party in a Barstean nunnery. Oh my Guides, you have to go to one of those if you haven’t.”
She paused, realizing everyone was staring at her. “It’s time for me to leave, isn’t it? You’re all giving me that look like ‘what is this bitch still doing here?’ I get it, you don’t want to party with the old folks. I have another thing to get to anyway. Some of the Travelers are having this little get-together in honor of me and how I pretty much single-handedly saved the day. And even though it was some really awesome work on my part, I couldn’t have done it without your help. Seriously.”
And with a little pixie wave, she simply vanished.
Lyta studied the sapphire pin in her hand. “Do you have interactions like that often?”
Heath said, “More than any of us like.”
Maddox said, “It’s good to know. Now we know that we have to keep the Sword away from whatever its opposite is.”
Sword spoke, “House Actrasterias was known for its poetry and appreciation of beauty. ‘The glowing praise’ was their motto. Alerion was a house champion like me. Fun at parties, never said a bad word about anybody—to their face anyway. Fucking stupid as a weapon, but that was Actrasterias for you. Form over function.”
Maddox put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry…”
Sword said, “Do you have any deadly poison on you? I need to get out of this fucking body. Now.”
Lyta was curious how much of Daphne’s personality was still inside Sword. An Inquisitor would have strong feelings about ending a Harrower.
“I thought you’d never ask. Do you want quick and painful or slow and peaceful?” Maddox said.
“Give me both.”
Maddox slapped two vials on the bar and slid them over. “Knock yourself out.”
This was all getting a bit too bizarre. There was a lot of history here that she wasn’t a part of. Lyta excused herself. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll join you tomorrow?”
The others nodded and mumbled goodbyes as she slipped out. The rowdy patrons of the bar slapped her on the back and shook her hand eagerly. She tolerated the attention as she made her way to the door.
The crowd of revelers spilled into the alley, but the torches hadn’t been lit. She could fade into obscurity. With her veil raised, she was just another Turisian girl.
She had nowhere to go, but curiosity got the better of her, and she found her steps carry her to House Ibazz. It was strange seeing the gleaming white building nestled amid Dessim’s black. A few lights shone through the windows. No guards were in sight. The door had been bashed in and propped over the entryway. She could have walked inside.
She didn’t.
She made it to the front steps and stopped. Most of the devout had been the early victims of the Harrower’s madness, at least that was the rumor. Vyzad and Safina weren’t particularly holy people behind closed doors, so it was possible they had survived.
Lyta took the blue sapphire pin and weighed it in her hand. It was all she had left of Shannon—a memory. Lyta set it on the steps and walked away.
That was her old life. The new chapter awaited.
FORTY-FOUR
The Coral Throne
JESSA
Kondole was all but forgotten. The children of the Wavelords turned their back on their father. He was nothing more than a whisper, but he lingered and he remembered his children. For the Father Whale was patient and tricky.
Kultea grew fat on conquest and blood as her children turned mad with power. The Tempest Satryn drew Kultea to the place of three rivers. The Mother Kraken, greedy for the riches of the west, was all too eager to abandon her abyssal domain and responded.
So it was Jessa, daughter of Satryn, who looked out upon the suffering and wept. Her tears became rivers, which flowed toward the sky. The Thunder Whale awakened from his dream and banished Kultea to eternal darkness.
And things were good again.
—LEGEND OF THE KONDOLE, ORAL HISTORY
JESSA SAT ATOP the spire of coral jutting from the central pool of her throne room like a narrow island. The throne itself was organic and vibrant in color. Gold and gems wove their way through the multicolored fronds and fans. It was a massive thing that made her feel small rather than regal. Above her, suspended by heavy iron chains, loomed a massive obsidian kraken clutching a black pearl globe nearly three feet in diameter in its tentacles. It was certainly imposing, but it did not suit her.
She was almost too afraid to pass gas on the vaunted seat of her ancestors. Then she remembered Iridissa had been incontinent by the time she was removed from power. Jessa shifted uncomfortably on the smoothly carved seat. It was tradition to be nude when granting audience, but she had adorned herself with strategically placed chains of gold and ruby to maintain modesty.
The doors to the chamber opened as a booming, ominous fanfare played. It was one more thing Jessa would need to change, but between ending slavery and dealing with three open rebellions, it was low on the list.
Pisclatet waddled into the room, holding a scroll in front of him and reading, “Empress Jessa, may I present the Champions of Rivern and the Heroes of the Short Night—”
She smiled. “We do not need introductions.”
Heath stepped forward, smiling broadly, his long blue cape sweeping behind him. “We also didn’t need to be received in your audience chamber, but the gesture is much appreciated. Your Imperial Majesty.” He took position in front of her and bowed on one knee.
Maddox and another young woman Jessa didn’t recognize exchanged awkward glances as they stood on either side of Heath.
“Citizens of the Free Cities are not required to bow,” Jessa reassured them, motioning for Heath to stand.
Pisclatet’s gills flared. “By imperial decree, such offense is punishable by disembowelment—their bodies to be hurled to the hungry sharks that swim beneath the very throne itself.”
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