The Queen of Lies

by Michael J. Bode

  TYRAGORN: Impossible!

  ALESSANDRIA: Exactly possible, my stallion-lord. You see, I am the Queen of Flies. Our names are so much similar in pronunciation that people often mistake us. [pause for laughter]

  TYRAGORN: I have heard of no such thing

  ALESSANDRIA: Just so. I am from the kingdom of Carcass, you see, and my brother is the duke of Maggots. My country is a dead cow the size of a continent.

  TYRAGORN: I am both disgusted…and inflamed with desire.

  ALESSANDRIA: I am but an innocent virgin queen from a poor nation in need of your assistance…and affection. Lay with me and tell me your secrets.

  TYRAGORN: At once!

  —THE QUEEN OF FLIES, A RIBALD SATIRICAL PLAY BASED ON THE BIOGRAPHIES OF ALESSANDRIA, THE QUEEN OF LIES

  MADDOX SAT MUTELY on the sofa in Satryn’s cell. He was upright, but his gaze appeared empty and distant. Across from Satryn, Abbess Daphne sat cross-legged in her shapeless white robes, her gloved hands folded primly on her knee. She’d heard that the Orthodoxy employed spies and secret police even as they preached the endless mercy of their invented deity.

  “Come on now, dear, drink.” Satryn placed a bottle to Maddox’s gaping mouth. “This is very expensive.”

  His throat swallowed reflexively as she poured several hundred crowns’ worth of Volkovian brandy down his gullet. Some dribbled down his chin. She set the bottle aside and wiped his mouth with a silk handkerchief.

  Satryn tsked. “Well, I do need to give you credit, Abbess. He’s completely broken, and you accomplished it in a single day. I don’t suppose you’re looking for employment. In the Dominance we have a relaxed code of dress for our torturers, and many of them enjoy the convenience of working in their homes.”

  Daphne uncrossed her leg, her face a mask of false civility. “I’ll consider it if you embrace the Father of All as the master of your destiny. I’d leave you with some literature, but I didn’t bring any.”

  “I like the ones with graphic depictions of the torture in the five hells,” Satryn confided. “I’m not sure if it’s a Genatrovan thing, but the pornography they provide here tends toward the stale side.”

  “Why am I here?” Daphne said. “I don’t mean my motivations or any philosophical discussion. I know why I’m here. I’m here because you wanted to speak to me, and you’re here. What I want to know is the reasons you are here. Because I can’t think of a single one. You didn’t order the hit. I know Cordovis killed Torin Silverbrook. I have records, testimony, and even an absentee writ of confession from the man himself. But then…you commit another murder of your cellmate…or assault—the courts don’t know what to call it. Care to explain that one to me? Why am I here?”

  Satryn sighed. “Yes, yes. I was quite mad with grief over my brother’s passing, and it’s becoming difficult to control my abilities. I fear it has made me a danger to myself and those around me. It’s why I was so happy to receive your visitation, Abbess.”

  Daphne grinned and nodded. “And why I was so surprised to receive your invitation. Especially considering that you’re a priestess of Kultea, born into a holy office of your faith. You have no reason whatsoever to speak to me or even have any idea who I am. Why am I here?”

  Satryn smiled. “Our faiths have many similar commandments. The religion of your false god was copied, sometimes from whole cloth, from the basic tenets of the true elemental faiths. For instance we see free thought as an intrinsic quality of every person’s potential for godhood. Thus we fiercely prohibit any theurgy that seeks to tamper with the minds of those unwilling. Just as it says in your scriptures.”

  “An interesting example.” Daphne reached for her brandy glass and studied it. “Because if you think you have some kind of leverage—”

  “If I didn’t think you a woman of good faith, for instance, I might assume you enacted the practice of quelling on this vulnerable young man here. Now we’re quite familiar with it in the Dominance, but it requires a certain kind of mage to perform it.” Although Satryn was enjoying herself, the abbess betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

  “Do you like it here?” Daphne motioned to the cell around her.

  Satryn leaned in and confided, “It’s not Thelassus, but believe it or not, I much prefer my present accommodations to my castle at Weatherly.”

  “If you murdered a man in cold blood, in broad daylight, and in front of a hundred witnesses, the penalty would be public censure and a ransom back to the Coral Throne.” Daphne sipped her drink. “It’s inconsistencies like this that make me interested in you. I’m not a person you want interested in your affairs. So why am I here?”

  “You want reasons?” Satryn refilled her glass. “First, it is my legal right to remain silent as to my guilt or innocence. Second, the people of Rivern are beset by a plague of harrowings and ready to turn to any explanation for their misfortune. While I’m neutralized here, I’m not a suspect in these matters. Third, this place is secure. Members of the imperial family are being murdered. It’s common practice to sequester oneself in precarious situations such as this. If Stormlords fear anything, it’s the Invocari. And if you believe my daughter, I’m also quite insane, so what’s to tell my motivation?”

  Daphne set down her drink. “I don’t want reasons. I want the truth.”

  “Your city is in a panic from the epidemic of harrowings,” Satryn said. “The Rivern Assembly rules as a government in exile from the hinter provinces, if you can still call their deadlocked parliament a system of government. Trade is diminished, I’m sure. Nothing can get through Amhaven while Rothburn’s insurrection wages, and no one from the other Free Cities will spend a night within ten miles of the city wall. There’s a flood of hungry refugees, ripe for revolt, and an exodus of leadership. Aside from your Patrean mercenaries, who are bound only by coin, it is the Invocari and Orthodoxy that have the authority to hold any order in this city.”

  Daphne said, “I don’t want facts. I want the truth.”

  Satryn leaned back and rubbed Maddox’s hair. “You’re an impressive woman in a society that doesn’t see women as the full equal of men. You’re of dark skin in a city where the skin of the nobility is pale. You’re ruthless and ambitious, yet you come from a faith that preaches modesty and humility. You’re here because I believe you’ll be worthy.”

  “What?” Daphne exclaimed.

  “I have a proposal,” Satryn drawled. “Rivern will need leadership if it is to rebuild. I think you’re the obvious choice, Daphne Stern of Bamor. I’ve done my research, and you’re underutilized in your current function as Inquisitor. I would name you seneschal of Rivern. Take a moment to laugh incredulously and ask me again why you’re here.”

  “You’re out of your goddamned mind,” Daphne accused. “You’re locked in the most secure cell in all Creation. Your prison lies in the heart of the most well-guarded city in the Protectorate. Your jailers are the Invocari, who have served decisive military defeat to your Stormlord ancestors for five hundred years.”

  “I’m a guardian of Creation and of the Protectorate,” she continued. “Not because I want power or adulation but because justice and equality are principles worth preserving, at any cost. Ohan may be a false god, but Creation needs him. People need mercy and humility.”

  Satryn shrugged. “I normally find sex with women boring, but I must admit, your passion has me aroused. I can give you leeway in how things are run.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Daphne spat. “I see a bored, pampered, paranoid, coward who’s been deposed from the ass end of nowhere, disowned by her family, and left clinging desperately to any last shred of influence she possesses.”

  Satryn cocked her head. “It’s odd you would dismiss me so readily. I mean, since I came to Rivern, almost to the day, there has been that horrendous rash of harrowings. And here I sit, as you say, in the center of an inescapable web, brazenly offering you dominion over my own jailers. Would that not lead you to wonder whether I am the cause?”

  “Are you?�
� Daphne raised an eyebrow.

  “No, but I should be your prime suspect,” Satryn admitted. “Surely you would at least have your mind reader scour my thoughts. Instead you’ve ignored me. I would be offended, but then why would you bother interrogating me when you already know I don’t have such knowledge?”

  “Stormlords can’t learn other theurgies,” Daphne said, “and you’re locked in here.”

  “Who says it’s a Stormlord?” Satryn smiled. “As the well-connected daughter of an enemy monarch, could I not bring my own loyalists into the city? My own sister was within your walls not a fortnight ago.”

  “If you’re here to confess, I’m here to listen,” Daphne said.

  “And be your scapegoat?” Satryn rubbed her chin. “You’re obviously new to politics, so I’ll explain this. I believe it is you, personally, who has unleashed this plague of harrowings on your own city to consolidate power, eliminate rivals, remove perceived threats to your mission, and frighten unruly refugees into moving on to other locales. I admire your work, and I want you on my side.”

  “You’re insane,” Daphne stated simply.

  Satryn leaned forward. “That’s merely an act. You have skill with subterfuge, but I’m better at this than you are.”

  Daphne leaned in as well. “I have a counteroffer. Work for me, and I won’t testify in front of the Veritas Seal that you made a full confession to me claiming full responsibility for the harrowings. The Invocari will disintegrate you.”

  “Darling,” Satryn preened, “I’d love to hear what plans you have for the daughter of the empress, but…we have visitors.”

  Daphne looked back to the airlock door. Jessa, wearing very rugged country attire, and a dark-skinned priest entered the room. They stood perplexed for a moment and exchanged whispers.

  “Heath,” Daphne said.

  “Jessa, darling!” Satryn clapped excitedly. “This is like one of those parlor-room mysteries where all the characters gather in the drawing room as the brave inspector names the murderer! Oh, but who will play Inspector Margulies?”

  Heath cocked his head then said with a twinkle in his eye, “But Countess…you said you only laid out three forks for Lord Uppington since he does not eat shellfish.”

  Satryn clenched her fists in mock outrage. “Damn you, Inspector Margulies!”

  Oh, but this is going to be fun.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Parlor-Room Mystery

  JESSA

  HEATH WHISPERED TO Jessa, “We can’t use the sword here. Daphne will recognize it. We need to get her alone. Just follow my lead, whatever I say.”

  Jessa didn’t like improvising. She listened as Heath and her mother traded quotes from a book she was unfamiliar with while she struggled to come up with a plan. He had a very disarming manner, playing into Satryn’s jokes rather than refuting her nonsense. Mother warmed to him quickly.

  “I must deal with her,” Jessa said.

  “Deal with me?” Satryn clasped her hands together in delight. “How do you propose to deal with me? Are you going to bore me to death?”

  “By turning you over to the authorities,” she said. “I’ll give my testimony under the Veritas Seal that you and Sireen recruited Thrycean loyalists in the Assembly with the intention of doing great harm to this city. They’ll never let you succeed.”

  “You really don’t know how to do a parlor-room mystery. You have to build to the accusation, darling.” Satryn pouted. “If you just say it, then you ruin the suspense.”

  Heath went over to Maddox and waved his hand in front of his vacant green eyes. “What the hells is wrong with him?”

  “He’s been quelled,” Daphne said, “for his and everyone’s protection. He’ll remain here until we can build a prison from which he’ll never escape. That prison will be shot through an Invocari gravity well into the blackest void of the firmament.”

  “He was much more entertaining before. Here, you can have Maddox’s drink—he’s not drinking.” Satryn handed Heath a glass, which he took.

  “You’re very gracious, my lady.”

  “And you’re very handsome,” Satryn replied. “Tell me, what is a genial man like yourself doing with my plain, surly daughter?”

  “Yes, Heath,” Daphne crossed her leg. “I was wondering the same thing.”

  Jessa spoke up. “He came to me when I—”

  Heath cut her off. “I needed to talk to Maddox to complete a contract, and she was the easiest way in. And she was exceptionally trusting. I told her a sob story about my mother, and she brought me directly here.”

  He looked at her and sneered slightly. It was as if his whole demeanor had changed without warning.

  Jessa’s face went hot with fury, but she restrained herself. “You’re disgusting!” she huffed.

  “She has no stomach for intrigue, does she?” Heath smiled to Satryn. “Is she really your daughter?”

  Satryn stiffened slightly. “Careful, priest. She’s still heir to the Coral Throne. I like you a very little, but you will not curry my favor by speaking above your station. That’s a privilege I reserve exclusively.”

  “Apologies,” Heath said. “I merely meant to say that you’re too youthful to have a daughter so mature.”

  Satryn beamed. “Oh! Forgive my presumption. Now…shall we get down to business? I’ll answer any and all questions from this point onward with complete candor and explain every aspect of my secret plan to conquer Rivern for the Dominance.”

  Jessa felt uneasy. Satryn was gloating. Her mother was fond of gloating, but she never did it presumptively. She racked her brain before blurting, “Torin? Did you have anything to do with his murder?”

  “No, because that wedding never would have happened,” Satryn said. “Next question?”

  Daphne piped up, “Then why not exonerate yourself?”

  “So I can learn the location of the Dark Star within the Invocari tower,” Satryn explained. “I need to know where it is so I can destroy the source of power that protects the city. That was the original reason, but I decided my agenda would be better served if I stayed close to it until the appointed time.”

  “Oh, just fucking spit it out,” Jessa demanded. “Your games are tiresome.”

  “You’re looking in all the wrong places, daughter. The wheels of this endeavor have been turning everywhere but Rivern.”

  Perplexed, Jessa looked at the floor. Then her eyes widened with realization. “No.”

  Satryn ran her fingers through her silver hair. “Nash was my father. I was born of the union of two Stormlords. Quirrus was good enough to enlighten me to this fact, though I suspect a part of me always knew. Nasara may be my older sister and next in line by tradition, but my blood is purer. With Maelcolm’s sacrifice, the power of another pureblood flows to me. I’ll be more puissant than Iridissa herself.”

  “Mother…this is madness.”

  She sighed. “No. I’ve played the madwoman and the fool for years, but it was always just that—a calculated diversion. Perhaps it came more naturally to me because of my parents’ blood, and there were times when the role consumed me, demanded more from me than I thought I could bear.”

  Jessa stood abruptly. “Are you saying my entire shitty childhood was theater? If those words carry a grain of truth, you’re worse than mad, Mother. You’re evil, pure and true.”

  “I needed to set you against me,” Satryn explained. “Sireen and Nasara would use you to assassinate me, but I know in your heart you’d never do such a thing. And now we can be friends again.”

  “I wouldn’t be so certain…” Jessa’s eyes were hot with tears, and her voice shook with rage.

  “Well, unless you’re hiding Sireen’s Thunderstone up your ass, I don’t think a single one of you is capable of stopping me.”

  Heath slid behind her and let the blades from his wrist pop into place. He stuck them against Satryn’s throat. “Don’t move an inch. These blades are abraveum, so you can’t shock me. And if you do, any movement of my body w
ill slit your artery. You’ll bleed out in minutes.”

  “Listen to me, Jessa,” Satryn said, remaining perfectly still. “The empress has been sick for years; her mind comes and goes. The barnacle-encrusted sea hag you met on your tenth birthday had no idea what was happening. They drug her daily and sit her on that throne, restrained by manacles made to resemble bracelets of woven gold so she doesn’t take her own life, as her honor would demand. Nasara has run her empire, keeping her alive until the perfect moment.”

  “Fuck,” Jessa whispered.

  “And as of this morning, Nasara granted her final mercy. Stand by my side, not as my resentful daughter, but as an elemental titan born to inherit Creation. Your childhood is nothing more than a footnote in the history you will create. I’m doing this for you, Jessa.”

  “Do it, Heath,” Daphne ordered. “There’s nothing to be gained from keeping her alive.”

  Satryn was quick. She grabbed Heath’s wrist and flicked the mechanism on his springblades to retract the blades back into their hidden bracers. She slid aside and spun as she stood. She punched him in the neck with a clap of electricity, knocking him back.

  Jessa’s reflexes kicked in a second later. Her mother’s motions were brisk, but Jessa reacted while the priest stood stunned. Time seemed to slow. Unfortunately Satryn was immune to her power; Jessa needed an edge.

  Heath was still falling backward as Jessa charged for him. Satryn paused for a fraction of a second to consider her daughter then spun on Daphne. The abbess barely had gotten out of her seat when Satryn kicked her in the face. From his seat on the sofa, Maddox watched without any reaction.

  Jessa kept running. If she could get to the Sword, she’d be able to stop her mother. She had some immunity to her mother’s power, and the masterful skill the blade imparted could defeat her. Satryn was good with a sword, but without the protection of steel, she couldn’t stand up to an onslaught like Jessa had witnessed at the Silverbrook estate.