The Unbound Empire

by Melissa Caruso

  “But you’re always yourself again after.” I reached out, plucked the knife from the table, and offered it back to her, handle first. “Yes, when the fire comes upon you, you’re like the Grace of Victory crossed with the Demon of Death. But then it fades, and you’re Zaira again. The demon goes back in the cellar.”

  “So far.” She stared at the knife for a moment, then took it from me and stabbed it right back into the table, with a grin that said, What are you going to do about it?

  I tried again. “Suffice to say that if you ever need, well, a listening ear, or…” I trailed off, because Zaira’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

  “Or what? A hug?” She shook her head. “I’ve got a dog for that. Come on, Cornaro, we both need sleep. We’ve got to get up at a rat’s arse of an hour tomorrow.”

  The stars still shone hard and bright in the black velvet sky when my boat stopped at the Mews to collect Zaira and her baggage. Several of the Mews windows glowed with warm light despite the predawn hour, mostly concentrated in one wing where they’d warded the quarantined people. Lucia had brought me reports that with hundreds of Falcons compelled to seek a way to retake the Mews and their Falconers equally compelled to assist them rather than sealing them, the Mews had to be on constant high alert even with all the mages locked up in training rooms specially shielded to contain magic.

  Zaira waited for me at the docks, rubbing her eyes and grumbling at the hour; Terika stood at her shoulder, wrapped in a warm shawl against the winter night. But the third person waiting for us surprised me, sitting perched on top of a massive trunk with the moonlight reflected in the artifice glasses pushed back into her hair.

  “Istrella?” I asked, as Lucia handed me out of the boat. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m coming with you,” she said, lifting her chin. “I volunteered to help defend Ardence, and the colonel agreed.”

  I stared at her in horror. “But we’re going to war, Istrella. People are going to get killed.”

  “And Ardence needs better wards and weaponry.” She started to cross her arms, the picture of determination, but then winced in pain and dropped the gesture. “It’s not as if I’m going into battle. I’ll stay in the garrison, away from any fighting. They need an artificer badly, and I’m one of the only ones available. And I even have experience with Ardence’s defenses and have some ideas already about how to improve them.”

  I glanced at Zaira and Terika for support; Terika shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I tried arguing with the colonel, but she says that we have to send someone to reinforce Ardence’s defenses, and if Istrella wants to go…”

  “I do.” The stubbornness in Istrella’s voice reminded me painfully of her brother. And that, in turn, made me suspicious.

  “Istrella,” I said slowly, “this decision to come with us wouldn’t have anything to do with Marcello, would it?”

  “No!” She grimaced. “Maybe. All right, yes.” She held up the jess on her wrist, leaning forward so eagerly that I feared she’d fall off the trunk. “I can track him if I get close enough, because we’re linked. And he’s not in Raverra. I improvised a device to give me a longer range, and when I lost him, he was moving north.”

  “Toward Ardence.” I chewed my lip. “I still don’t think you should come with us, but I suppose I can’t stop you.”

  “Hooray!” Istrella slid down off the trunk. “All right, let me get my things loaded.” She waved some of the soldiers standing nearby to help her.

  “Speaking of coming with you,” Terika said, taking Zaira’s hand.

  “Oh, no.” Zaira shook her head, curls flying. “Not a chance. You stay here this time.”

  “You’re going to need me,” Terika said quietly.

  “No. Hells, no. I know what I’m going to have to do there, and I don’t want you to see it.”

  Terika laid a tender hand on Zaira’s cheek. “You know I don’t care about that. I’m not going to stop loving you because you do what you must to protect a city full of innocent civilians.”

  Zaira didn’t flinch away from her touch, as I half expected her to. She took up Terika’s other hand in both of hers, staring intently into her eyes, mage mark to mage mark.

  “I know,” she said. “But you’re the only person in the world who doesn’t give a dry rat turd that I’m a fire warlock. The only damned soul who looks at me and never sees balefire.”

  “I’ll always see you as yourself. Always.”

  “You don’t know that,” Zaira cut in, her voice intense. “You’ve never been around when I’ve let my fire all the way out, Terika. I become someone else, and I don’t want you to ever meet that bitch. Even if you’re deranged enough to still love me anyway.”

  Terika met her gaze for a long time. Then, finally, she laughed. “Nothing says romance quite like calling the woman you’re courting deranged. All right, Zaira. I’ll stay.” She poked a finger at me. “But that means you have to take care of her. Do you hear me?”

  “I’ll do my best,” I promised, not without some trepidation. Zaira snorted her contempt for the idea.

  Terika ignored her. “Good.” She pulled a small glass vial out of her pouch and handed it to me. “This is an experimental new reinvigoration elixir. It’s meant to wake people up from sleep potion, but there’s a chance it might work to temporarily revive a fire warlock who’s collapsed from overexertion, as well. I’ve been thinking about that problem ever since your little jaunt into Vaskandar. If you find yourself in a situation where having to drag Zaira around unconscious could get you killed, it’s worth a try.”

  “Thank you.” My hand closed over the cool glass.

  “Don’t use it unless you have to,” Terika warned. “If she’s collapsed, it’s because she’s got no strength left. If you use this, it’ll take her longer to recover.” She patted Zaira’s curls. “And you’ll probably have a headache fit for the Nine Hells.”

  “Beats dying,” Zaira said.

  “That it does.” I tucked the vial carefully into one of the compartments in my satchel.

  Terika faced Zaira, hands on her hips. “Now, if I can’t come with you,” she said sternly, “you have to give me a decent good-bye.”

  “I think even a lout like me can manage that,” Zaira said, her voice rougher than usual.

  I turned to oversee the loading of the baggage into our boat before I caught more than the very beginning of their enthusiastic kiss, my face warming against the chilly air.

  By the time everything was ready to go, a faint gray glow stained the edge of the eastern sky. Zaira and Terika still held each other close, as if even the light couldn’t part them.

  “Unfortunately, we’ve lost courier lamp communication with Greymarch, the major border fortress best situated to send forces to intercept Ruven’s army,” Lucia reported, referring to her little notebook as our coach shuddered along at a terrifying speed on the road to Ardence. “We’ve got a rider on the way there, but they won’t be able to send help in time.”

  I tried to give her my focus as I clung white-knuckled to the bench, my bones jarring and rattling. I was sure our coachman was part demon. Outside, our horseback escort rode before and alongside us, clearing the way; even the orderly columns of troops and supplies making their slower journey to reinforce Ardence had to clear the way for the coach that carried Zaira’s fire to the city’s rescue.

  “What forces can we get to Ardence before Ruven arrives?” I asked.

  “There’s some Callamornish cavalry that could beat him there, but other than that it looks as if we’ll have little more than the six hundred soldiers and three Falcons already stationed at the Ardentine garrison.”

  “While Ruven’s invading army numbers about four thousand, according to Kathe. And he has a far greater army poised at the border.”

  I touched the crinkly spot in my jacket where Kathe’s most recent note rode, over my heart. The crow bearing it must have left Let before our conversation on the courier lamps. He�
��d sketched a tiny crow at the bottom, and it had lifted my spirits far more than it had any right to.

  “Where’s that stingroach getting all these people?” Zaira asked, frowning. “His domain didn’t exactly look crowded to me. Unless you’re counting angry trees in those numbers.”

  “Only a small fraction of the Empire’s citizens are soldiers,” I said, lurching sideways into Lucia as the carriage wheels slammed through a pothole. “Ruven’s conscripted almost every able-bodied person in his domain into his army, because he doesn’t care about maintaining a functioning society. And he can use his vivomancy to ensure they don’t starve.”

  “Of course, that’s not sustainable long term,” Lucia said, and then flushed. “Er, if my lady wishes my opinion.”

  I straightened in my seat as if I’d heard distant horns. I knew that language. “No, that’s quite all right. Are you a scholar, Lucia?”

  “I studied briefly at the University of Calsida.” Pride shone in her eyes.

  Well, that would make this partnership a bit more interesting. “How did you wind up becoming my aide, if I might ask? I know Ciardha picked you, but what made you interested in the first place, if you started as a scholar?”

  “My mentor encouraged me to go into politics, since I seemed set on changing the world.” Lucia shrugged, grinning apologetically. “I like making things run more smoothly. But I can’t get a seat on the Assembly; my parents are fisherfolk, not patricians. My mentor told me that there are plenty of government positions I could get on merit, but if I truly had the ambition to rise to the top level of imperial government as quickly as possible—well, she said it’s personal aides like Ciardha who really run the Serene Empire.” When she said Ciardha’s name, her eyes went almost misty with worship. I exchanged glances with Zaira and bit back a laugh; after all, Ciardha was as nearly perfect a being as I had ever had the privilege to meet, so I could hardly criticize.

  “Your mentor is wise,” I said instead. “I’m glad to have you on my side, Lucia.”

  She beamed. “Thank you, my lady.”

  Zaira grunted agreement. “Damned right, we’re glad. If we’re outnumbered that badly, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

  That night, I woke in the darkness with the sure knowledge I wasn’t alone.

  Fear jolted through me like Jerith’s lightning. For a moment of utter confusion, I forgot I was at an inn in Palova and not at home, and I couldn’t understand why the moonlight wasn’t hitting the walls in the right places. I groped under my pillow, grabbed my dagger, and lurched out of bed, half tangled in the bedclothes. I blinked the rest of the way awake, the room taking shape and sense around me, half expecting to find I’d startled myself with a coat draped over a chair back.

  But no. Hells have mercy, there was someone there in the darkness, standing in front of my inn room window.

  I drew in a breath to yell for my guards. But then I registered the achingly familiar silhouette framed by my starlit square of open window. The line of those shoulders, the curl of that hair.

  Marcello.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marcello?” I breathed.

  He lifted a finger to his lips. With the light behind him, I couldn’t see his face.

  “Ruven doesn’t know I’m here,” he said.

  I stood motionless except for the painful thunder of my heart, my nightdress swishing around my ankles. He backed up a step, the window curtains stirring in an icy breeze to briefly enfold him.

  “Don’t come any closer, and don’t call for help.” His voice carried a low, raw urgency. “I’m only barely keeping control. It gets worse if I’m startled or agitated.”

  I wanted to grab him and hang on to him, so he couldn’t disappear again. But I didn’t have the skills to subdue him. He was right there, right there, and I was going to lose him again in a minute. If he didn’t kill me or kidnap me first.

  “What did he do to you?” I demanded.

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head vehemently, as if struggling to clear it. “Sometimes, I’m almost myself, like now. But then my thoughts twist up, and I get these horrible impulses, and it’s like I’m someone else.”

  “Ruven?” I asked sharply. Anger and revulsion pulsed through me at the thought that he could be using Marcello like a puppet, as if this man I loved were nothing more than a convenient tool.

  “No.” He pushed his hair back from his forehead with both hands. It was a heartbreakingly familiar gesture; that was pure Marcello, when he was anxious or overwhelmed. “It’s not someone else stepping in and taking over from outside. That’s the worst part. It’s me.”

  I’d heard of alchemical potions that could affect one’s feelings and behavior, inducing rage or calm or trust. But I’d never heard of vivomancy having an effect like this. “We’ll find a way to cure you,” I said desperately. “We need to get you back to the Mews.”

  But Marcello shook his head. “Don’t. That’s why I came here—to warn you. Please don’t try to save me, Amalia.”

  The words sent a chill of foreboding down my spine. “Of course I’m going to save you.”

  “He wants to use me against you.” Marcello shuddered, half turning away. “That’s why he did this to me. To kill the doge, yes, but also to get a hold over you. He wants your blood so badly.”

  My skin crawled as if a thousand invisible ants marched across it. Ruven had said it himself, in Lady Hortensia’s garden: Marcello would be my motivation.

  “That’s why you have to forget me, Amalia.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I’m a trap.”

  “A trap that won’t work.” I took a step toward him, barely stopping myself from reaching out. I had to remember that he was dangerous, no matter how much habit and instinct told me he was the one and only person I could always and completely trust. “Ruven should know I’m not going to give in just because he threatens my friends. I’ve already shown I’ll make sacrifices when I must.” Like Roland.

  Marcello went still. “Yes.” He spoke carefully, exploring his words. “Yes, you have.”

  His voice had gone distant, almost cold, with an alien anger beneath it. A thrill of horror trickled down my back like winter rain off a palace roof. “Marcello…”

  “Like you sacrificed me.”

  The words cut me like a whip. I flinched. But no—this wasn’t him. My Marcello never lashed out at his friends in anger; he wouldn’t say that.

  Even if it was true.

  “Marcello, stay with me,” I urged him, seeking out the lines of his face in the darkness for some sign of the good man I knew. But the window behind him made his face a flat shadow, haloed by silver where the moonlight graced the waves of his hair.

  “Oh, I’m not going anywhere.” He stepped forward, narrowing the distance between us. “Like the loyal dog I’ve always been to you. I’ll follow you wherever you go.”

  I was losing him to whatever Ruven had put inside him, watching him slip away.

  “Don’t you dare let him win like this,” I urged. “Whatever is happening, you have to fight it, Marcello.”

  “I lost that fight already.”

  “No! You can still—”

  “You should remember.” His voice became almost caressing. “It was when you abandoned me when I needed you most.”

  His words blew through me like winter itself. “I…”

  “When you left me alone as I could feel my own soul dying, something dark clawing its way into my mind, and I begged you to stay.” He advanced another step toward me. “But you shut the door in my face. And I fought alone. And I lost, Amalia. Because you weren’t there.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears stung my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Marcello.”

  “Then come with me,” he said softly, and reached out his hand. “If you’re truly sorry, you can prove it by staying with me now. I need you. Will you abandon me again?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Then come.” His hand hovered in the air, the same
warm hand whose calluses I knew by touch.

  Grief ripped through me in a flood tide. I couldn’t make myself fool enough to take it, even when I yearned to. I shook my head, my throat burning too much to speak.

  He grabbed my arm, yanking me toward him. “Come,” he repeated. His fingers dug into my flesh, cold and strong as iron.

  “No!” I shouted.

  Down the hall, a door slammed.

  Marcello hissed, releasing me. “She’s here. I can feel her—Istrella.” His voice broke on her name, becoming human and familiar again, full of anguish. He turned and bolted for the window, quick as a shadow receding before a sudden light. My arm still tingled from his fierce grip.

  The door flew open. Lucia stood there, daggers in both hands, her face cold and blank as death itself.

  “Wait!” I blurted. “Don’t kill him!”

  Marcello leaped up into the window, framed in it for an instant like a crouching cat, and then he jumped down out of sight.

  I ran to the window, my chest squeezing with dread at what I’d see; my room was on the second floor, and it was a long drop. But the street below was empty save for moon-washed cobblestones. He was gone.

  “He’s moving that way.” Istrella pointed through the inn walls, still bleary-eyed in her nightgown. She’d come into my room shortly after Lucia, with Zaira close on her heels. “Very fast. He’s fading—let me get my device.” She ran from my room, bare feet pattering on the floorboards.

  I stared off through the window into the smoky night air of Palova, as if my straining eyes could see through the buildings clustered over the cobbled streets and pick Marcello out of the myriad slinking shadows of the city. “Lucia, send searchers after him.”

  Lucia hesitated. “My lady, I don’t want to leave you. I should have been here when he attacked—”