The Queen of Lies

by Michael J. Bode

  “There’s no harm in meeting him,” Jessa blurted. “This marriage is about more than wealth and title. It’s about bringing peace between two empires and settling our disputes at home in Amhaven.”

  Satryn shot Jessa a withering look that seemed to say, I hope he’s fucking hideous. She turned to Countess Muriel. “The empress empowered me to broker this marriage on her behalf. An impoverished student from a fallen house is an insult to the Dominance. You simply must find another candidate.”

  “It was worth a try.” Muriel shrugged and rose from her chair. “But if Jessa is too good for Torin, there’s little I can do. The ongoing war is unfortunate, but the Assembly feels confident that the Dominance has once again overreached itself and is willing to let this conflict play itself out. I won’t keep you any longer. I’m certain you’ll want to get back to Weatherly and deal with your situation with Duke Rothburn. Give him my regards.”

  “No!” Jessa stood abruptly.

  The Invocari at the back of the library raised their hands with palms outstretched. Satryn flinched and readied her own hands in response, pointing to each of them. Muriel’s eyes widened like pale green saucers, but the old woman remained outwardly calm.

  Jessa smiled. “My mother speaks for the empress, but I speak for the people of Amhaven. Our nation has suffered from generations of exploitation by the Dominance and neglect from the Protectorate. Only when a Stormlord is poised to take the crown does the Assembly bother to funnel money, and they do so to start an insurgency. I can’t let these talks fail.”

  “Entertaining this proposal is a humiliation, Jessa.” Satryn rested her hands on her lap. “The countess only presses us because she thinks she can. Let this war rage and see how the Assembly feels when Thrycea commits the full fury of the Red Army to its bordering nation.”

  “You forget that my blood is Silverbrook as well as Stormlord,” Jessa said. “These people are my father’s kin, and it is you who offers insult.”

  Satryn threw her hands in the air and swallowed her words. “ My daughter didn’t inherit the fiery temperament of a Stormlord, which in this situation may prove beneficial. If this Torin is of noble birth, I’m sure the empress can be swayed to offer her blessing. Provided of course that there are reasonable concessions.”

  Muriel returned her gaze with flinty eyes. “The offer is marriage and consideration of a treaty. I hardly think you’re in a position to ask for more.”

  Satryn smiled. “Perhaps Rivern and the Protectorate are well funded enough to afford the services of the Patreans. But the mercenaries, supplies, and warmaster aren’t a trivial expense for any nation. If some of that coin went to reestablishing Torin’s rightful position, which was lost through no fault of his own, then he’d be the equal of any of the other suitable prospects, would he not?”

  Muriel sat back down. “A dowry…for a husband? That’s highly unusual.”

  “An investment.”

  “I’ll need to discuss it with the usury board.” Muriel said. “They might be convinced, if the numbers align.”

  “Jessa’s happiness and security are my only concerns. For her sake I’ll work with you on this.”

  Muriel sighed. “Then we’re in agreement. Tomorrow I’ll arrange a formal introduction between Torin and Jessa. If he finds her as agreeable as I do, we should be on our way to forging a new alliance.”

  “Have we not already agreed to the match?” Jessa asked plaintively.

  “Arranged marriages may be the rule of law in the border nations, but we haven’t officially had one for centuries,” Muriel explained. “I’ve done my best to persuade Torin, but there’s nothing to be done if he doesn’t agree to it. He’s ambivalent about the prospect, but…in fairness, the portrait you sent does not do you justice, cousin.”

  “Mother painted it,” Jessa stated.

  “I’m sure Jessa will do everything in her power to bring him around,” Satryn said. Her ruby necklace was pulsing hot from the electricity on her skin.

  “Let’s hope so,” Muriel agreed. “A lot rides on the potential affections of our young lovers to be.”

  SEVEN

  The Long Way Down

  MADDOX

  THE HIGH WIZARDS can lift a whole city into the air to protest an ancient import tax; you’d think they could come up with a better way to transport ingots than having a bunch of guys load them into retrofitted flying sailboats. But that’s Archean efficiency for you: “We could do everything with magic if we wanted to, but then we’d be depriving people of their livelihoods…and just feeding everybody is beneath us.”

  The hours are shit, and the work is backbreaking, but going to the ground is worth every second of bullshit. Groundfolk practically roll out carpets and throw flowers when you step off that ship. You can trade a single prism for a hundred metal coins. Tell someone how an Archean privy reconstitutes food, and they’ll be asking you questions about it all night.

  Moving streets, fabrication centers, and projection theaters are all they seem to care about. Some even beg you to smuggle them in. I guess the sky is always bluer on the other side. They have no appreciation for how cheap food is or how mages and common men are equals under law.

  A lot of us get tempted to jump ship when we go to the ground. Save enough prisms and a guy can get himself started; and someone always needs crates moved after he’s blown his scratch on fresh fruit and fish.

  But it’s true what they say—the ground is cursed. People still die in their sleep every night from Harrowers trying to come through. It’s only a matter of time before one of them does.

  —AN ACCOUNT FROM AN INTERVIEW WITH AN ARCHEAN LABORER

  “HOW DID YOU find me?” Maddox sighed as he looked out over the parapets of the Lyceum’s observation tower. It was shorter than the twin towers that rose on either side of the falls, but it afforded a dazzling view of the city at night. The sky was clear, and amid the stars, he made out the twinkling light of Archea, just under the kraken’s eye.

  “One of the Invocari told me you were up here,” Tertius said, walking over to Maddox. The medallions representing his seals seemed to jingle louder. “You look like you’ve been taking a swim in the Backwash. Care to tell me what’s happening with you?”

  Maddox’s eyes started to sting. “I disappointed you. I made a fool of myself, and I know the other magi see that as a reflection on you…You were the only person who ever gave a shit about me, and I failed you. And now I’m going to be expelled. I wish I’d died right then and there so I wouldn’t have to know what it’s like to be a fucking failure.”

  A bottle of golden liquid floated over to the stone railing where Maddox leaned, along with a glass. It poured itself as Tertius spoke softly. “It’s century-aged Archean brandy. It doesn’t have the same kick as the stuff they sell in the Backwash, but I think you’ll appreciate the subtleties. Everyone should try it once in their life.”

  Maddox wanted to chug the glass, but bottles like this were passed down through generations like heirlooms, so he sipped. The taste was smooth and indescribably complex. It evoked memories more than it did flavor—swimming in the river on a hot summer day, being kissed in the middle of winter as snow fell all around him on an empty street…and an odd hint of elder nettle.

  Tertius laughed to himself. “From the moment your aunt dropped you on our doorstep, I knew you were special. It isn’t our practice to take students on the word of their parents, but you were sharper than some of my best pupils. And you weren’t modest about it either.”

  Maddox forced a smile. “I’m still smarter than those assholes. I just made one fucking mistake…” He finished his glass and poured another.

  “That’s one more than any Master of the Seal can afford to make.” Tertius sighed as he looked out onto the horizon. “When you decided to study glyphology, I was so…proud, but I was also blind. You have more than the necessary skill, and you’re a perfectionist, but you always lacked the right temperament. The seals are the art of cautious men, Maddo
x. You could have excelled in a discipline where risk taking is rewarded.”

  “You mean like fucking alchemy?” Maddox took another swig from the bottle and let the liquor warm his throat. He’d learned how to mix potions before he could read, when his father’s hands were too shaky from drinking to measure properly. They weren’t pleasant memories.

  “It’s a noble discipline in need of more brilliant minds to bring it into the modern era. You were a prodigy with elixirs.” Tertius’s voice sounded ragged. “It was my own selfish desire for a legacy that nudged you into glyphomancy. As surely as if I inscribed that seal with my own hand, I destroyed you, Maddox.”

  “I wish you had. Destroyed me.” Maddox shook his head, and the motion made him suddenly dizzy. His body felt numb from the brandy. It was hitting him a lot harder than it should have. Maybe I should take it easy on the Archean stuff.

  Tertius placed a hand on his shoulder. “If any student from the Lyceum were going to receive an invitation from the Academy, it would have been you. It…it should have been you. The archwizard was very impressed, although it’s unlikely a woman would have the authority to make a decision either way.”

  “I think I need to sit,” Maddox said as he plopped himself to the floor.

  “How it tempts us, that jewel in the sky. While we struggle to patch together scraps of forgotten lore, the High Wizards tempt us with table scraps of their arcane principia,” Tertius continued, as he looked onto the horizon toward the twinkling glimmer of Archea.

  “Maybe my seal isn’t bad. Maybe it’s something new. And when they see what it can do, they’ll want to have me in their school,” Maddox said, feeling warm and peaceful. “Maybe it’s still okay, and I can send you correspondence and even have you visit me up there.”

  Tertius shook his head. “If it is something new and not a permutation, then it’s something dangerous. To experiment with things beyond our knowledge would open the door to dark avenues best forgotten. We can’t afford to compound one error with one potentially more grievous.”

  “Did they put actual tincture of elder nettle in this brandy?” Maddox shut his eyes and slurred, “You know, if it’s mixed with alcohol in the incorrect proportions, it can become a potent narcotic. You want to reduce it to half volume before introducing it to another solution. That’s basic fucking alchemy…”

  Not that Maddox minded the sensation. He felt as if his body were floating weightlessly, without sensation or a care in the world. His fingertips were numb, and his brain was steeped in a heavy fog. He licked his lips, but every movement seemed to happen hundreds of miles away in slow motion. He estimated he was about as close to a fatal dose as one safely could get.

  “Turnbull is calling for an investigation.” Tertius’s voice sounded muffled and distant. “The Council of Deans will meet to discuss your fate. They’ll demand answers I can’t give them. And I can’t protect you. As you said, it would be better for both of us and this institution if you did pass away gently. It’s easier doing this, knowing that you see that as well.”

  Wait. What? Maddox struggled to open his eyes as the floating sensation seemed to lift him off the ground into a spinning vortex of numbness.

  That last part sounded important, so Maddox forced his eyes open. He was floating, literally. Below him he saw the courtyard of the Lyceum and its great tree. He was being suspended over the edge, cradled in Tertius’s magic. “What the fuck?”

  Tertius stood on the edge of the tower, his hand extended. “Let the mixture work, Maddox. It’s better this way. It’ll be quick, and you’ll feel no pain. The accounts will remember that you chose to end your life, as Sephariel’s Seal intended.”

  Maddox plummeted.

  He reached out with his mind to grab on to something, anything, as the wind whistled past him. But it was hopeless. The Seal of the Hand was anchored to his position but not connected. He couldn’t use it to grab on to a passing branch or windowsill any more than he could lift himself off the ground by pulling his own hair.

  He turned to look at the ground as it rose to meet him. His last vision was the cobblestones of the courtyard where he’d spent so many early years sweeping, playing, and studying.

  He managed to say, “Oh, sh—”

  He struck the ground, and the pain lasted an instant, like smashing through a wall, and then it was over. He was cold and it was dark, but only because his eyes were shut. Tentatively he opened them and glanced at an intricate lattice of copper tubing that had been affixed to the ceiling.

  MADDOX FOUND HIMSELF on a metal slab, feeling slightly groggy but otherwise fine. He was naked, faceup, on an operating table in Quirrus’s lab. Vats of blood with copper tubes lined the walls, along with books and anatomical diagrams. One wall was entirely glass, holding countless gallons of blood behind it. The table was covered in a thin coat of blood, and he saw organs in jars and dishes on another table beside him. A slimy dead heart sat on a scale.

  “Gross,” Maddox said, sliding off the operating table. Surprisingly he felt fine, not even bruised. It must have been the tincture in his system—maybe it had relaxed his muscles enough that he survived the fall. If the magus of the blood mages had found him, he probably had removed the toxin and accelerated the healing process somehow.

  He paused at a jar that contained a scrap of skin. It was a square with the Seal of Vitae etched into it. His seal to be exact. He shuddered uncomfortably. Blood mages sometimes grew new skin out of humors to replace flesh. Disgusting shit is what it was.

  Maddox didn’t know a great deal about blood magic—besides the fact that Quirrus was renowned for grafting parts to make strange new animals at the menagerie. He always equated it with necromancy in terms of its purview and general creepiness. Still he had a newfound respect for the art as he looked around the lab for his clothing.

  His cock was fully hard from a morning erection, which made it all the more imperative that he find something to cover himself. The grisly implements of the blood mages lab did nothing to soften him. His clothes were missing, but he found a cabinet stocked with white linen aprons. He slipped one on and tied it behind his back.

  His ass was still showing, but it was a short walk to his dormitory, and if he took the back hallways, he could make it without being seen.

  He felt sick to his stomach with fear as he marched through the hallway. The place was empty. Usually when he was wandering halls that were this empty, it was a precursor to a very bad recurring dream. The lecture halls were abandoned, but light was pouring in from the windows.

  Someone I considered a father tried to fucking kill me. Again. His world went from crumbling around him to completely disintegrating. His goals and dreams were gone. His routine life was effectively over. His mentor had abandoned any hope of helping him. He had nowhere to turn to.

  Maybe Tertius was right. This is no way to live. I should just mix up an elixir and finish the job. First things first. I need to get my clothes. I need a fucking drink. I need time to figure this out.

  “By the Guides…Maddox?”

  He didn’t need to turn around to recognize the voice. Next to Tertius, he was one of the last people he wanted to deal with right now. He turned, not too quickly, to face him. “Magus Turnbull.”

  He was standing in the hallway, his books forgotten in a pile in front of him. Usually he had a controlled, sneering sense, but now he simply looked terrified. He raised one hand and called on a sphere of crackling fire. “Stay back, abomination!”

  Maddox raised his own hand defensively.

  Turnbull didn’t waste a moment unleashing a massive plume of red-hot flames that stretched toward Maddox, who flicked his wrist in response, creating a defensive barrier out of the priceless lore books Turnbull spilled on the floor. The accumulation of centuries of knowledge, though dry and extremely flammable, averted the worst of the blast.

  The air wavered, and the hallway was hotter than an oven. Turnbull meant to kill him.

  “What the fuck? It’s me, Maddox!
”

  Turnbull waved his arm, and the scorched remains of the floating volumes scattered into ash. His expression soured. “You’re telling the truth…or at least you think you are.”

  The Veritas Seal was one almost all the faculty had attained and one of the more lucrative services provided by the Lyceum. A licensed Veritas notary could make very decent money, although the seal came with a hefty drawback. It was constantly active.

  “First Tertius, and now you’re trying to kill me too. When have you two ever agreed on anything?” Maddox demanded. He was still ready for a fight. Magus Turnbull had five seals to Maddox’s one, but the Seal of Movement was versatile enough on its own in a fight. It didn’t really help to detect lies or have an eidetic memory when shit was getting thrown at you.

  Turnbull lowered his hands cautiously. “I have good reason. You were, as of this morning, dead from an apparent suicide that shattered your head open like an overripe melon. I don’t need to explain to you the profoundly disturbing implications of seeing you parade your pasty buttocks around the hallowed halls of our institution. For all I knew, you were a revenant or a prank from one of the necromancers.”

  “I was dead?” Maddox echoed.

  “Quite.” Turnbull sniffed. “I saw your broken body and your lifeless eyes, and had it been anyone else, I might have been moved to tears. But murder is a line too far—even in your case—and Tertius’s actions will need to be answered for in front of the full faculty. Get some clothes on and meet us in the drawing room in twenty minutes.”

  “I came back from the dead.”

  “Yes,” Turnbull said with a heavy sigh. “Twenty minutes.”

  Maddox shook his head. “Wait—you’re calling a faculty meeting in twenty minutes?”

  Turnbull rolled his eyes. “Twenty minutes is how long it’ll take you to run to your room, get dressed, and hurry back to the drawing room. Everyone else is already there. Magus Tertius died in his sleep last night, and we need to elect a new dean.”