“There are whispers already,” Cameron avowed, “that you’ve threatened Muriel’s family and bewitched me to secure our allegiance. The countess has fallen from favor, and some even accuse her of treason, for no other purpose than to eliminate her assemblymen as rivals. Ask her why she has to make a case to keep you in Rivern when the Assembly was ready to let her negotiate a peace treaty with the Dominance. Her star is fading.”
“Tell me, Cameron, exactly how many members of the imperial family have you fucked?” Jessa spat.
“They’ll take our child,” Cameron said, angrily looming over her, his arms resting on the back of the couch to either side of her shoulders. “It’s true they want a line of Stormlords in the Protectorate, but they only need the baby, not the mother. Think about it. Why would they keep you around if there was even a sliver of a chance you held even the slightest loyalty to Thrycea?”
“Then I’ll get rid of it,” Jessa said. “I’ll drink the black potion until I’m as barren as the Zarabi waste. For I couldn’t wish a worse fate for a child than to be born into this madness.”
“Tell me,” Sireen said. “What have Cam or I told you that rings untrue? You may not trust your instincts, but I believe in your heart you know.”
Jessa sighed. “You two obviously need me for something, and I’m poor at playing intrigue. Just explain to me what you want.”
Exposing the conspiracy might backfire on me, she thought, but I should at least learn what it is.
Sireen looked disappointed. “Not all of us follow Alessandria’s teachings. I want to help you, Jessarayne, but I need to know what you desire.”
“I want guarantees,” Jessa stated calmly. “The Silverbrook family will not come to undue harm. Muriel and her family have left the estate in light of the recent harrowing. I would see it restored to them when they return to the city. They have offered me hospitality and suffered for it. I would see them remunerated for their troubles, and the enemies who conspired against them in the Assembly will be given the full measure of Thrycean justice.”
“Done,” Sireen said. “Surely there’s more your aunt can do for you.”
She’s better at manipulation than Mother. I need to tread carefully.
“Amhaven.” Jessa folded her hands. “Rothburn’s supporters will be stripped of their resources to replenish the treasury. The refugees will be repatriated and compensated for their travails in coin first, then in blood should coin not suffice.”
“A very noble gesture,” Sireen replied, “and there will be abundant plunder to restore Amhaven. Even now Nasara brings her armies against the usurper.”
Jessa stiffened. “Nasara’s actions without my express consent constitute an invasion!”
“It’s essential to the plan. We need the army close to Rivern but without arousing suspicion. In this regard Rothburn has been useful to us,” Sireen explained.
“The insurrection was a ploy. Rothburn works for you.” Jessa recoiled in disgust.
“Let’s just say…the financiers of the uprising aren’t solely confined to the Assembly.”
Jessa fumed, “People have lost their homes…dear aunt.”
“All too true.” Sireen pouted. “Nasara is the architect of this plan, and I was privy to it far too late to protest. Which makes it all the more imperative we end this charade as quickly as possible and focus on our true objective.”
Jessa chuckled. “Unbelievable.”
“Amhaven will be yours again—truly yours, without the need for a husband to legitimize your claim. Stormlords have always known that women make better leaders. You’ll be the undisputed queen of Amhaven, but surely there’s something you want for yourself.”
You mean “What matters enough to me that I can use it as leverage?” I have to be very careful about this. “Cameron,” Jessa said at last.
He gulped in surprise but nervously eyed Sireen.
Sireen brushed it off. “A fine choice for a consort. He’s yours, with my warmest regards. If he’d been forthcoming about your little liaison, I never would have laid a finger on him. I’m certain his secrecy was motivated by a desire to protect you.”
“I can’t be given away like a Patrean bodyguard, Sireen,” Cameron protested, “but if Jessa will still have me, I would be honored to be her consort exclusively.”
Jessa shuddered at the creepiness the conversation was veering toward, but she needed to stay the course. “My honor has been offended, dear aunt, and I’m sorry he’s made you an unwitting party to it. I took Cameron into my confidence, offered my body, and considered carrying his child. There’s one thing I can’t abide, and it’s dishonesty. This betrayal can’t go unanswered.”
“Jessa!” Cameron glowered. “Listen to yourself. You sound like—”
“Silence,” Sireen said, lowering her voice. “My niece hasn’t finished speaking.”
“In Thrycea I would be justified in killing him, would I not?”
“Sireen…” he said through clenched teeth.
Sireen smiled and gently placed a hand on Jessa’s shoulder. “By the blood law, you have the right. And in your situation, I might have the same temptation, but what truly defines a Stormlord isn’t her temper but her mastery of anger. Cameron has been nothing but loyal to the cause and, recent transgressions aside, has worked tirelessly on your behalf while your mother has been imprisoned. Please consider that while making your decision.”
So do you need him alive for your plans, or is he dear to you?
Jessa’s stern expression broke into laughter. “Then it’s good I have no intention of claiming blood vengeance. Honestly the look on his face was priceless.”
Sireen sighed. “That’s more the kind of cruelty I expect from your mother, Jessa.” She glanced at Cameron, who was breathing a huge sigh of relief.
Jessa said more seriously, “I want nothing from you, dear aunt, save clemency for those who would fight against your uprising and fairness for the people of Rivern.”
“You can’t imagine my relief to see that even after all those long years of living with Satryn, you’re nothing like her.” Sireen let out a long sigh. “That does bring us to the reason we asked you here.”
Finally.
“One more thing…I want Satryn gone from my life,” Jessa demanded. “She’s never to speak to me or meet any of my children. She’s to be banished from Amhaven, Rivern, and any other place I may call home. That’s my final condition before I agree to anything.”
Sireen leaned back on the couch, letting her arm drape over the armrest as her fingers absently traced at some tatty embroidery. “Satryn’s task will be the most dangerous of any of ours. There’s a very good chance she won’t survive the weeks to come.”
“She created this situation,” Jessa said. “I don’t care if she is my mother. I won’t put myself in any danger to protect her from the consequences of her own designs.”
“It pains me to hear you speak so hatefully toward my sister. She wasn’t always the woman she is today. She used to light up Thelassus with her smile and carefree wit, but after Maelcolm left, she grew darker. I never put any credence into the scurrilous rumors that the two of them were romantically involved, but he gave her stability and helped her think outside herself.”
Sireen leaned her head against the sofa and picked at a loose thread. “She isn’t well, and she hasn’t treated you well. You’re a kind person, Jessa, even though you pretend for my sake to be made of ice. I know you can’t let her suffer, even though she has abused you.”
Jessa scowled. “In this matter I’m colder than ice.”
Sireen looked at her, a sparkle of tears in her silver eyes. “If your mother perishes in her endeavor, you may one day, years from now, find yourself regretting that decision. However, you must remember your anger in this moment vividly and know that justice was satisfied.”
Huh? “I thought you said Satryn needed my help.”
“Desperately. She grows in power, and she’s unstable.” Sireen plucked the thread out of the couc
h and examined it. “She’ll become something far more dangerous than she is today. If she survives, she’ll be a threat to you, Amhaven, Rivern, and your own family. She won’t let you go from her life, and I may not be able to stop her.”
Sireen motioned to Cameron, and he retrieved a bundle of cloth from inside the flue of his fireplace.
“This isn’t revenge,” Sireen continued. “It’s mercy for a suffering woman who’ll never know any love in her heart.” She took the bundle from Cameron and unwrapped it. The thing inside appeared crude and jagged—a fang carved from dull-gray rock and porous to the touch. Flashes of electricity danced across its surface.
Jessa gasped. “The Thunderstone.”
“One of five actually,” Sireen corrected her. “The Thrycean translation for this one’s name is something like ‘Hungry Mother’s Tooth Eating Her Eggs.’ It sounds much more terrifying in the coelacanth pronunciation, but it’s difficult to make the sounds outside of water. I assume you know what this does?”
Jessa nodded. “It can kill an emperor.”
“Or any other Stormlord,” Sireen said. “When our ancestors made their blood bargain with the coelacanth for mastery of the upper oceans, they provided us these tools to effect the transfer of power from individuals too dangerous or unworthy to wield their gifts. It nullifies their power, and one scratch can do it, so be careful around it.” Sireen handed it to her. “You should be the one to do it.”
“Kill my mother?”
Sireen closed her eyes and looked away. “My sister is already lost. When the time is right—and you’ll know it—you must offer her mercy.”
Jessa fondled the stone and laughed. Her laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her, nervous and uncontrollable. She couldn’t look at Sireen or Cameron without cackling uncontrollably. Their carefully orchestrated expressions of worry and false sympathy inspired hilarity. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes.
“My whole life I’ve tried to be the dutiful daughter, the noble princess…whatever,” Jessa chuckled to herself. “Satryn was right. Everyone will disappoint you, and in the end, you have only yourself to look out for.”
“Jessarayne,” Sireen said gently. “It’s not that simple.”
“Don’t try to play to my sympathies,” Jessa said. “If killing Satryn is the price, then I’m more than willing to pay.”
TWENTY-SIX
Landry Manor
HEATH AND SWORD
LANDRY MANOR OCCUPIED a large plot of land behind a tall stone wall. Cypress trees provided privacy from the neighboring estates and the street. The once-manicured lawn had started to grow wild. Heath pulled himself over the wall and slid down behind some bushes. Sword made his way over as well and retrieved the grappling hook.
In its heyday the manor grounds were patrolled by a regimen of private Patrean security guards and a few Invocari who served as personal protection for assemblymen. But the grounds were empty and neglected. Whomever the home belonged to now hadn’t bothered to claim it. A pair of bored-looking Fodders from the city detail stood in front of the iron gate, chatting casually.
Heath absently imagined how he’d use the terrain and positioning of the topiary to make his way to the house, evading patrols, dogs, and vantage points. It would have been fun. Instead he walked to the front door and waited for Sword to break the protection ward.
The foyer had a distinctive zigzag pattern of black-and-white tiles—a play on the traditional checkerboard that made his eyes bounce. Twin marble staircases curved from an upper balcony, one for the lord and one for the lady to make their grand entrances. Portraits of old dead Landry lords graced the walls, idealized depictions of men in armor or jackets draped with chains and ribbons of their various offices.
“You know,” Sword commented, “if you wanted to do some good old-fashioned thieving, this is a perfect time to do it, with all these lords off at their country estates.”
“See something you like?” Heath joked. The grand foyer was bare of anything that looked especially valuable. Or at least anything valuable and portable. The chandelier featured four golden eagles rendered in flight, their wings dripping with strands of crystal. It was easily worth a million ducats, but buyers for that kind of art would be rarer than the piece itself.
“You could buy this place for a song, I reckon.” Sword tapped his blade against the banister of one of the twin staircases. “With a bit of fixing up, it could be quite homey—I prefer parquet to marble.”
“That would raise the inevitable questions of how I acquired my money,” Heath said with a smile.
“I’d wager this lot stole their fortune too, just it’s been so long no one remembers.” Sword scratched his head. “So what are we looking for…aside from any journals titled, The Evil Plots of Lord Evan Landry?”
“A portrait…” Heath’s eyes scanned the names on the pictures in the foyer. No Evanses. “Barring that a family tree or an entry in the registry.”
Sword indicated one of two doors that led out of the foyer. “Office then. In most of these places, the office is on the first floor, close to the entrance, so as to limit the traffic of the occasional lowborn riffraff who might happen into the family’s business.”
Heath and Sword stepped through the double doors into a library. Books were spilled and scattered over the floor. A display case had been broken open and tipped on its side, the outlines of its contents—a dagger and some coins—still visible on the green-felted mounting. One of the paintings had been slashed, and the upholstery on the sitting couches had been torn open.
“Careful, mate.” Sword grabbed Heath’s shoulder and indicated a spot on the floor. “That’s a pile of shit right there.”
Heath glanced down and saw Sword meant that literally. Could have been dog crap or human. “Looks like it’s been here a couple days. This place has been tossed pretty good. Think it was vandals?”
Sword started working through the wreckage, turning over books with the tip of his blade. He tapped a bottle. “Maybe. Whoever did it was getting drunk on the job. That’s Archean brandy—probably worth more than Lord Landry’s coin collection.”
“It’s personal,” Heath said, examining the slashed portrait. Lord Willifer Landry, had been shredded, his eye sockets colored black. “Someone didn’t like the reigning lord of the house.”
“Disowned, most likely,” Sword said. “I know that hurt from personal experience. Remember when I used to be Lord Dalrymple?”
Heath chuckled. “That was…an interesting period. It never ceases to amaze me how many different ways you can find to be an annoying pain in the ass. It’s been the one thread of consistency through all your personas.”
“Pshhh,” Sword scoffed. “I know your secret, mate. You could’ve given us up at that dolmen, but you didn’t because you looooove us.”
“I couldn’t kill you if I wanted to.” Heath made his way over a pile of torn-up books. “You’re a deadly fighter in a body that’s twice as strong and fast as mine, and you know all my moves.”
“Aw,” Sword said. “That’s sweet of you to say, but I know you have a contingency up your sleeve. You’ve probably thought long and hard about what it would take if it came down to it.”
Heath didn’t respond. He had several contingencies in fact. One needed to plan for any eventuality, and he had learned long ago not to place his trust in others.
He stepped toward a pair of sliding doors at the end of the library. The lock had been broken open, presumably with a chipped marble bust that lay facedown on the floor. He pushed the door open and stepped into the dark study.
Ransacked, like the library. The mahogany desk was broken into splinters, and everything in sight was demolished. Bookshelves had been emptied and smashed, their tomes scattered on the floor. A stern portrait of one of the Landry founders dominated the wall behind the bookcase, the regal gray-haired figure surrounded by crude drawings of penises ejaculating onto his face.
“More shit in here. Looks like dog crap,�
�� Heath called out. There were papers everywhere. It would take days to look through all of them. “Fuck.”
Sword came through and went directly to the painting. He felt under the heavy gilded frame until he found something, and the portrait swung free from the wall, revealing an unopened safe. “Obviously whoever ransacked this place didn’t grow up in a wealthy family. I mean, the hidden safe is practically a cliché. You want to crack this? These fingers are a little fat for delicate work.”
“Wards?” Heath asked.
“Oh, right.” Sword tapped the end of his blade to the safe. The air rippled slightly as the binding magic dissipated.
Heath examined the locking mechanism and whistled. “The dial is decorative…the actual lock is an automaton. Fully capable of identifying authorized family members, probably rigged with some kind of deterrent. We need tools, possibly acid.”
“Do I have to do everything?” Sword held up his blade, aiming the heartstone jewel in his pommel at the dial. The red gem pulsed with inner light a few times, and the safe clicked open.
Heath glanced at Sword. “Mind explaining how you did that?”
“Heartstone resonates at short range,” Sword said casually. “The piece in the automaton is just a sliver looking for a password. I emptied every word in my lexicon of three thousand languages and dialects until I found the right one. Might have just overloaded it.”
Heath opened the vault, and soft bluish-purple light poured through the cracks. He smiled as he pulled the door open and gazed upon three radiant Archean shards. “Jackpot,” he said, reaching in the vault and removing a leather folio of parchments. “Grab the other stuff while I go through this.”
“Shit.” Sword hefted one of the glowing shards of Archean prismite. “We’re fucking rich, mate. Could buy us a castle with this.”
“Here,” Heath said, flipping through a folio. “Last will and testament of Willifer. It names successors, beneficiaries…Wait. Here it is—a trust for an E. R. Landry to cover the expenses of education at the Lyceum. And a stipulation that he never would inherit the title or land.”
The Queen of Lies Page 22
