The Unbound Empire

by Melissa Caruso

  “But you’ve killed Witch Lords before,” Bree said, glancing between me and Zaira.

  “I tried setting Ruven’s face on fire like I did his papa’s,” Zaira growled. “Sadly, it didn’t work so well.”

  Domenic whistled. “His healing can outpace balefire? That’s impressive.”

  “That’s the difficulty,” I confirmed. “Zaira was able to kill the Wolf Lord because the lives he consumed for power also fed the balefire, so its strength kept building until it reduced him to ashes, which is too much for even a Witch Lord to survive. As a Skinwitch, Ruven can rebuild his own body faster than even balefire can destroy it—at least while he has a domain to draw on. And I’m certain Ruven would be willing to consume every single life in Kazerath to sustain himself.”

  Bree eyed Kathe across the table. Neither she nor Domenic had quite dared sit near him, and now she seemed reluctant to meet his eyes, with their vivid yellow mage mark. “I know Witch Lords kill each other from time to time, in fights over domains,” she said. “What, ah…” She waved her hands vaguely. “Are there popular methods, or is it a big secret how you do it, or do you have to find the special way to kill each particular one?”

  “You understand,” Kathe said, lifting an eyebrow, “if I am somewhat reluctant to discuss with a rival power the means by which you might kill me.”

  “That’s fair,” Domenic said. He twirled a quill thoughtfully between his fingers. “Would beheading do the trick, perhaps? If it’s a matter of killing him too quickly to heal?”

  Kathe rocked his chair back on two legs. “Beheading wouldn’t kill Ruven. Don’t underestimate him. And suffice to say, without getting into detail, that’s difficult to make work even with a normal Witch Lord.”

  Zaira snorted. “‘Normal.’”

  “We have a story in Callamorne,” Bree said slowly. “About a king long ago who lured an enemy Witch Lord into a ravine, then caused an avalanche and buried him under half a mountain’s worth of rubble. No idea if it’s true, but maybe something like that could work.”

  Kathe nodded. “Entrapment is a known but dangerous method to attempt to destroy one of us. There’s a tomb on a small island off the coast of Vaskandar where the Worm Lord lies bound in slumber, undying, behind great and terrible seals. Every child in that region is warned never to wake him.”

  Bree and Domenic exchanged horrified glances. Zaira cracked her knuckles. “Buried alive forever. Right. Wouldn’t normally wish that on anyone, but Ruven is special.”

  Kathe rose and stalked to the mantel, examining the clock there as if it were an object of mystery. “The difficulty with live entombment is that it doesn’t stop us from controlling our domains. That’s bad enough when it means a nation full of angry wildlife seeking to free their master or enact vengeance, but Ruven would still control a large human army as well. He’d be no less dangerous.”

  I thought of other Witch Lord deaths I knew of. Kathe’s mother had drowned in a shipwreck; he’d said she could have remained alive, perhaps indefinitely, but had chosen to let herself die rather than drain the life from her domain to sustain her own in the crushing torment of the deep. I had no doubt that Ruven would never make such a choice.

  “I wonder if you could get a jess on him,” Domenic mused.

  “If someone put a jess on him, he’d just cut off his hand and grow a new one,” Zaira said. “If you could even get a jess on that viper without him touching you first and tying you in knots, or bursting your heart.”

  “A jess would stop his healing, but his domain would still serve and sustain him, since he doesn’t need to actively wield magic to use a connection that already exists.” Kathe flicked the clock with a fingernail, and it chimed faintly. “You could try to kill him like you did the Wolf Lord at that point, but I gather that took some time.”

  “I don’t think Zaira could kill him quickly enough that he couldn’t just murder his would-be Falconer, who’d have to be standing right next to him,” I said, thinking it through. “Still, I’ll get one from the garrison in case an opportunity arises.” Though if it did, we’d have to find someone to put it on him; I couldn’t do it myself, since I was already linked to Zaira.

  Bree let out an explosive sigh. “There’s got to be some way to kill the bastard. Drop him in a volcano? Feed him to hungry bears?”

  I hesitated, then began slowly, “I do have an idea for weakening him, which I got from Ruven himself. But it’s more of a long-term or partial solution.”

  “If you got the idea from Ruven, it can’t be good.” Zaira swung her booted feet up on the table. “His head’s full of demon piss and snake venom.”

  “And knowledge of the magical sciences,” I pointed out. “He wanted to use my blood to steal others’ domains from them. I see no reason not to turn his own idea against him.”

  Kathe turned from the mantel to eye me as if I were a dog that could be friendly or dangerous. “Are you talking about trying to claim his domain yourself? You’re not a vivomancer.”

  “No,” I said. “But I think I could claim it for the Lady of Eagles.”

  Kathe started pacing, a restless motion, as if it sat poorly with him to speak of such things within the gilded confines of an imperial dining room rather than in the wild, open forests of Vaskandar. “Yes, that might work. If you blooded his domain, she’s strong and skilled enough to use that to claim it from him. You could probably use Ruven’s own blooding stones and boundary markers.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bree said cheerfully. “But I like the idea of stealing Ruven’s kingdom from him and giving it to our great-grandmother.”

  “So do I,” Kathe said reluctantly, “but you’re right about it being slow—it could take months to have any effect. It would certainly get his attention, though—I imagine he’d drop everything to come try to kill you the moment you started tampering with his claim.”

  I tapped the table, thinking. “That could be useful for luring him into a trap.”

  “Hey.” Zaira turned to Kathe. “What about the murder rocks?”

  He blinked. “Murder rocks.”

  “Yeah, you know.” Zaira swished her hand in a circle. “The rocks that were in a ring around the Conclave, that you murdered the Lady of Thorns with.”

  Kathe lifted a hand to his forehead. “The Truce Stones are an ancient and sacred artifact. They aren’t…” He sighed. “Well, I suppose you could call them murder rocks. But that’s not their purpose. And more to the point, you’d need his blood to activate them, and I doubt you have buckets of it lying conveniently to hand.”

  “Collecting some would be fun, though.” Zaira grinned.

  “Wait.” I nearly sprang from my seat. “We may not have buckets of Ruven’s blood, but we do have vials of it.”

  Domenic’s brows lifted. “You do?”

  “The samples of his potion Terika stole to try to research an antidote. His blood is the key ingredient.” I turned to Kathe. “It would only be a tiny amount, mixed in with the potion. How much would we need?”

  He shrugged. “A few drops suffices.”

  “Then it could work,” I said, excited. “If we activate the stones, lure him into their circle, and trick him into hurting the right person, we could cut him off from his domain and make him vulnerable, just like you did with the Lady of Thorns. And then Zaira could burn him.” Realizing how callous that might seem right now, I hastily added, “If you don’t mind lending your balefire, that is, Zaira.”

  She shrugged. “I’m all right with any plan that lets me set Ruven on fire. I admit I’m not much in the mood to burn things at the moment, but I’ll make an exception for his face.”

  Bree leaned her elbows on the table. “So let me get this straight. The plan is to get your hands on these murder rocks…”

  Kathe put both hands over his face. “Truce Stones,” he murmured through his fingers.

  “It’s your own fault, murder bird,” Zaira cackled.

  “… And then lure
Ruven into the trap by doing something magical to his territory,” Bree continued.

  “Pissing on his trees,” Zaira supplied helpfully.

  “Bleeding on his rocks,” I corrected, my ears warming. “And it’s a bit more complicated than that, but yes, fundamentally.”

  “And the stones will temporarily remove his connection to his domain,” Domenic concluded, “so Zaira’s balefire can overcome his unaugmented healing powers and kill him.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “This plan seems to involve an awful lot of personal risk for one of the Council of Nine. Will they let you do it?”

  I felt an odd pang at the question, and gave him a lopsided smile. “Domenic,” I said, “I’m ‘they’ now.”

  He blinked. “So you are.”

  “As a member of the Council of Nine, I have almost unlimited authority in dealing with threats to the security of the Serene Empire, and the doge herself tasked me with coming up with a way to destroy Ruven.” I faltered over my mother’s new title; the words felt wrong on my tongue. “I’ll want to coordinate with her and the rest of the Council over the courier lamps, of course—but honestly, between Kathe and Zaira, I’ll be safer than I’d be in the Imperial Palace.” I winced, then, remembering the context of recent events. “Unfortunately.”

  “So how do we get ahold of these Truce Stones?” Domenic asked, rubbing his hands together.

  “Normally, I’d say there is absolutely no way their guardian would allow you to use them to entrap and kill a Witch Lord.” Kathe leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “But at this point, with Ruven making human chimeras and attacking his neighbors, most of us agree that he has to die. She might be willing to loan them to you, for a price.”

  “That sounds promising,” I said. “Who’s the guardian?”

  Kathe grinned. “The Lady of Spiders.”

  “Grace of Mercy’s tits.” Zaira’s boots clunked from the table to the floor.

  I lingered in the room after the others left, hoping for a private moment with Zaira. But mere moments after Kathe left to go talk with his crows—through the door, with a wink as if he did it to humor me, but with the windows heavily warded I had my suspicions his reasons might be more practical—Istrella burst into the room, an overflowing box of artifice scraps under her uninjured arm.

  “I’m late, aren’t I?” she asked, thumping her box on the table with a sigh. “I knew I took too long gathering up something to work on in case the meeting was boring.”

  “That’s smart, though,” Zaira said. “I should do that next time.”

  It hit me as I took in the hollows under Istrella’s eyes and the unbrushed tangle of her hair that this was the first time I’d seen her since my encounter with Marcello in the foggy streets of Ardence. I tugged my lace cuffs down over my bandages, apprehension rising up in my chest.

  I had to tell her. He was her brother.

  Zaira caught my eye and shook her head, glaring murder at me. As Istrella plopped down in a chair, Zaira mouthed over her head, Don’t you dare.

  “I need to come up with some new designs for those cannons,” Istrella said, her cheerfulness sounding a little more forced than usual. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled a pouch of beads and a spool of wire out of her box. “Yesterday I was watching the battle, and I thought, all right, that was very effective, but what about ways to win battles without slaughtering thousands of people?”

  Zaira winced and slumped back into her own chair. Istrella pressed on, oblivious. “It’s a design challenge. Killing people is easy, but keeping them out of battle for prolonged periods without killing them? Tricky! But I think it can be done.” A certain strain showed through the cracks in her enthusiasm.

  “That sounds excellent, Istrella,” I said, through a tightening throat. “Listen, about Marcello—”

  “Yes!” Istrella interrupted, before Zaira could lunge across the table at me. “I’ve been thinking about him. I have a solution.”

  I blinked in shock. “You do?”

  She nodded vigorously. “You need a way to capture him without hurting him, right? So we can bring him back to the Mews and figure out how Ruven’s controlling him, since it’s clearly not the potion.”

  She hadn’t heard that he was a chimera after all. My heart twisted. “Istrella…”

  “I thought for sure he’d seal my power after he saw the cannons firing, but he didn’t—which means whatever Ruven did to him, he’s still fighting the control on some level. So that’s encouraging.” She rummaged in her box of parts. “If he’s fighting, we can fix him. Right?”

  I swallowed. “I hope so.”

  Istrella drew a tiny canvas bag out of her box. “Here it is. I made you another paralysis ring, like the one you used at the Mews. And then once you’ve got him paralyzed, slide the second ring on his finger—the one that’s pure obsidian. It’ll keep him unconscious for as long as he’s wearing it. Don’t put that one on yourself!” She frowned. “Though come to think of it, I have no idea whether being unconscious for a long time is bad for people, so maybe also don’t leave it on him for days and days.”

  I accepted the bag. “Thank you, Istrella.” I took a breath to say more, but Zaira kicked me under the table, hard enough to bruise my shin.

  “I’m giving them to you because he’s bound to come after you again,” Istrella said, meeting my eyes with her imploring round ones. They were the same exact shade as Marcello’s. My breath caught painfully in my lungs. “I’ve been tracking him, and he’s still in the area, some distance north of here, probably with Ruven. I know you’re the best person to catch him, Amalia. Because he’ll try to talk to you, and he wouldn’t hurt you.”

  I clasped my hands behind my back to hide my bandaged forearms, ignoring the twinge of pain as my healing wounds pressed against each other. “About that,” I began, my voice thick with unshed tears.

  Zaira sprang to her feet. “Hey, Istrella. There’s something I wanted to ask you.” She shoved her dangling jess under Istrella’s nose. “My jess got a bit melted yesterday. Will it still work all right?”

  Istrella took Zaira’s thin wrist in her hand and peered at the jess, pushing her artifice glasses down over her eyes. “Looks like the magical flows are all intact,” she said. “It should be fine. The wire is a bit weakened, though. I’d watch it for further damage whenever you unleash for more than a few minutes. The enchantments on a jess make them virtually indestructible—but, well, balefire is awfully good at destruction.”

  From the looks Zaira was giving me, if I made any further attempts to tell Istrella about Marcello, I should expect a knife in my throat. The guilty knot in my gut only tightened with an accumulating pressure of dread.

  A knock came at the half-open door. “Lady Cornaro?” one of the Serene Envoy’s servants called, before poking her head hesitantly around the door. She flinched when she saw Zaira; by the set of her jaw, Zaira noticed.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  The servant entered the room, glancing with open terror at Zaira before bowing deeply to me. “There are people here to see you and the Lady Zaira. A Falcon and Falconer.” She hesitated. “I believe they said their names were Jerith and Balos.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Completely clear of that wretched poison, as you can see.” Jerith swept into a florid bow, gracefully plucking a drink from the tray a servant offered on his way back up. “Now only Balos can tell me what to do.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” Balos murmured, declining a drink himself as he eased into one of the more comfortable chairs in the rose-draped drawing room.

  “Is everyone in the Mews free, then?” I asked, as the rest of us settled as well.

  “Yes,” Jerith said. “And we’re all ready to do our part to make sure Ruven gets fed to the sharks one small piece at a time.”

  “That’s a plan I can agree with,” Zaira approved.

  Jerith’s demeanor changed, then, the usual mocking gleam leaving his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to thank
you. I try not to dwell on the various ways things could have gone worse that night in the Mews, but some possibilities do tend to leap to mind.”

  Balos nodded. “Thank you for not killing my husband,” he said. “All I could think while he was up there—besides trying to say Revincio and failing—was that it would be so easy to shoot him.”

  “There was no way in the Nine Hells I was going to let that happen,” Zaira said firmly.

  I hid my face behind a wineglass, taking a long sip.

  “Yes, well, I’m glad you didn’t shoot me, but I’m also glad I didn’t get to find out exactly how long it would take me to wipe the Serene City off the lagoon like a piece of flotsam.” Jerith grimaced. “That would have been hard to live with.”

  Zaira grunted. “I wasn’t going to let that happen, either.”

  “Which brings me to part of the reason we’re here.” Jerith leaned his elbows on his knees, staring intently at Zaira. “Tell me about it.”

  She snorted. “Please tell me they didn’t send you all the way from Raverra to pat me on the head and tell me not to feel bad about burning all those people.”

  “No, they sent us to help protect Ardence and be in position to move against Ruven,” Jerith said. “I frankly don’t care how you feel. But as your teacher, it’s my job to help you improve your control, and I want to know how long you kept it.”

  I rather doubted Jerith cared as little as he pretended to about Zaira’s emotional well-being, but it was the right thing to say. Some of the tension in Zaira’s shoulders eased. “A while,” she said. “It got away from me when some chimeras jumped us.”

  “It was quite impressive,” I put in. “She maintained a vast wall of balefire with precise control for some time. I’ve never heard of a fire warlock doing anything of the sort.”