“If I were capable of fear”—her expression darkened—“I’d be huddled up and shaking in a corner. But lucky for me, I don’t have to deal with that.”
“What did you come to tell Madd—er, me?” Sword said.
“I have nothing against lushes with divine power, being one myself,” Libby explained, “but he isn’t the reason for my visit. You are, Valor of Crigenesta.”
She reached behind her back and pulled out the Razor of Setahari by its hilt, took the blade in her other hand, and offered it to Sword. He wondered briefly whether Setahari was playing him, pretending to be a Traveler, but he knew she wasn’t the Razor.
The blade floated in the air in front of him. The three of them stared at it as it twirled in the air, its sinister emerald-colored jewels twinkling in the light. Sword grabbed the blade and tucked it into his belt.
“Thank you, Libby.” Jessa breathed a sigh of relief.
“We do help sometimes.” She bowed slightly. “The Artifex made this and entrusted it to the great houses of Sarn. He was the only one of us to be both a Traveler and an Architect. I have no idea why the fuck he made such an ugly being, but he built it to last beyond his days. The thing is fucking indestructible, and like all his toys, it has a hidden purpose. Find out what that is.”
“Aren’t your people more qualified?” Heath asked.
“Studying isn’t my forte, and we don’t cooperate very well,” she laughed, then added, “Anymore.”
“Anything else you can tell us?” Heath asked.
“I’ll do your fucking research if you fix his cancer,” Sword said. If anyone could do it, a Traveler could.
“I can remove his fear, his sorrow,” she said. “I can even limit it to the cancer growing in his stomach if he wishes to keep his other anguish. But I can’t change what’s meant to happen. He’s going to die—”
“Don’t say that.” Sword grabbed her throat. “You can and you fucking will!”
Libby instantly vanished and appeared beside him. “Not cool, dude. When I say I can’t do something, my words are the absolute truth. I don’t prevent misery—I remove it—and for that to happen, there kind of needs to be misery. Our magic is nearly limitless in pursuit of our wyrd, but we have to follow its dictates to the letter. Now will you let me finish?”
Heath grabbed Sword’s arm and gently lowered it. “Please. Finish.”
“Heath is going to die because he’s mortal. I didn’t say how or when. The Archeans have a cure, and so do the Maenmarth witches. You might try asking them…ass.” She rubbed her throat.
“Fuck you too,” Sword said. “I knew that already. And stop pretending that hurts. You’re barely human.”
“I don’t mean to offend you, but you’re kind of harshing the vibe at my little soiree, so…” She flicked her wrist.
THE WORLD EXPLODED into green and red. The ground seemed to rush up against Sword’s feet, making him stagger. Heath stumbled beside him. Jessa remained upright, registering only mild confusion as she glanced at her surroundings. They were standing on grass inside a large red tent.
Soldiers in red armor drew their weapons and huddled around a group of people seated at a table. Sireen stood and spread her arms. “Jessa! You certainly know how to make an entrance.”
Sword looked at the gathered dignitaries. Dame Woodhouse, Cameron, Turnbull, and Loran sat on one end of the table. The rest were clearly silver-eyed Thrycean nobles and their blood sages and warmasters.
“Satryn is dead,” Jessa said.
Sireen nodded. “And Kondole once again rides the sky. Jessa, we’ve waited generations for you to return our people to the ancestoral traditions of our forefathers.”
Heath asked, “So you’re a heretic?”
Sireen smiled. “No. The heretics are the ones who followed Kultea, who preached oppression and deceit.”
Jessa shrugged. “You didn’t lack for talent, Aunt. The city of Rivern is in ruins.”
“But in chaos is opportunity,” Dame Woodhouse offered. “The old Assembly never would have allowed women a seat, but now we can have our own voice.”
“The Protectorate did nothing to aid Rivern during the harrowings,” Cameron said. “And as empress you can chart a new course for the Dominance.”
Jessa shook her head. “Nasara is empress after Mother.”
Sireen leaned forward. “You’re equals in Heritage. The fight has just begun, and Nasara won’t settle for peaceable negotiation.”
Sword said, “Then we have to kill her.”
“Easier said than done,” Sireen replied.
Heath flashed an ivory smile. “No. Killing her is easy, and I have a perfect plan. But before we do that, I’d need to take care of some unfinished business.”
FORTY-TWO
Unfinished Business
HEATH
DEAR SCHOLAR BAELAND,
You have a tremendous gift.
We haven’t shared the existence of the Master Seals with the world at large, and they’re rare achievements among even our most skilled mages. The Master Seal of Sephariel hasn’t been successfully inscribed since the Calamities, and only five mages have been known to possess one throughout all history. You are the youngest.
It brings me great delight to offer you a place at the Archean Academy. Historically Archea has always offered a place for people of exceptional talent. Over the centuries the bar has grown impossibly high as we isolate ourselves under the auspices of safeguarding our traditions. But even the staunchest among the senate could not deny your gift.
I wish we could share our knowledge for the benefit of Creation. Your accomplishment is an important first step in rolling back those restrictions. I hope you will say yes, for the good of my people as well as yours.
Make yourself ready, and speak the name of the Guide whose seal you bear into this parchment. The spell will do the rest.
Most humbly yours,
High Wizard Petra Quadralunia, Appropriations Committee
—LETTER, RECEIVED AT THE LYCEUM FOUR DAYS AFTER MADDOX’S EXPULSION
THE GROUND BENEATH Heath’s feet was soggy and strewn with bog filth. He despised being so far from the comforts of civilization, but this was something he had to do. He gave an envious glance to Jessa, who stepped across puddles and streams as if they were made of glass. She wore simple trousers and a hunter-green doublet.
“I don’t suppose you can teach me that trick,” he half joked, yanking his foot out of the mud.
“Stop being such a baby,” Jessa chided. “I was born to a life of privilege, and I can assure you that refined sensibilities aren’t categorically opposed to the enjoyment of the majesty of the untamed wilderness.”
“Says the girl who can walk on water,” Heath grumbled as he slapped his neck, “and electrocute mosquitoes. I’m being eaten alive. You know how many diseases they carry?”
“None of us has to worry about that problem. You can heal us all,” Sword said, then turned to Jessa. “He’s so prissy, though. He had a bad experience during his Inquisition survival training.”
“I’ll kill you to silence you,” Heath said.
Jessa laughed. “It’s so freeing to be away from all my courtiers, advisors, and generals. This might be the last time I enjoy such a luxury. Do try to be civil.”
“Apologies, Your Majesty, but some things aren’t appropriate to discuss in such esteemed company,” Heath said. It was starting to sound less awkward, though to him she’d always be Jessa. She had become more comfortable in her imperial position, though not entirely. Her leadership skills were still weak, and she was idealistic to a fault.
“Kultea’s cold tits.” Jessa sighed. “Don’t ever address me as if you were a subject. Please, both of you, swear to me that you’ll always be candid and open with me.”
“Careful what you wish for.” Sword smiled. “But if I learned anything from Heath, it’s that we need to get used to playing the part, at least in public. If people see us treating you like a normal person, they�
��ll see it as a sign of weakness. Heath’s good at this stuff.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Heath said.
“No problem, buddy.”
Heath squealed when he saw the moldering corpse of a bog rat hanging from a tree amid the wispy hanging moss that grew on the branches. “That’s disgusting. Why would someone do that?”
“Luck,” Jessa offered. “In Amhaven some of the woodsmen tie offerings to trees to curry favor with the witches and Spirit folk. We’re close to the border.”
“I’m not going to enjoy my time in Weatherly, am I?” Heath asked.
“It will be brief,” Jessa said. “I need to coronate a king, and then we can be on our way to the many-splendored city of Thelassus, where you’ll live in a standard of luxury that all in Creation will envy. There you can enjoy hot baths, lithe manservants, and of course, a murderous web of intrigue.”
“I’ll take your crazy family over a walk through the woods any day. That’s how much I hate my life right now.”
“You want a drink?” Sword pulled out a flask and offered it.
Heath stopped in his tracks. “Mad—Sword, you promised…no alcohol.”
“Relax. It’s just water.” He tipped the flask back in his mouth and made a brief pained expression. “Really strong water.”
Heath grabbed the flask and sniffed it. The smell nearly knocked him back. He tossed it as hard as he could toward a reed-infested pool of stagnant water. It froze midair and returned to Sword’s hand. Sword grinned.
In some ways Sword represented the worst aspects of Maddox and Sword—he was impulsive, reckless, and defiant. Maddox never lacked confidence in his own abilities or superiority, but Sword’s carefree humor made it almost charming. Almost sexy.
“I think we’re close,” Jessa whispered. “The water around us doesn’t heed me as readily as it should.”
“You can see it through the trees.” Sword pointed past the gnarled roots of a swamp tree to a dead clearing.
Heath took Jessa’s arm. “Your Majesty, whatever you see here…it will leverage your fears, your insecurities. It can appear as anyone in your life who’s died, and it will use that appearance against you.”
“I’m more than prepared,” Jessa said. “My mother is the person who raised me to live in continual doubt of myself. She won’t break my resolve. I’m just curious why you think this will work.”
Sword explained, “The dolmens are old magic, corrupted by the Harrowers who use them them to murder people in this world. They can’t be destroyed, and if they’re contained, they move. Your magic is primal, which means it’s older and stronger. If you can’t blow this thing up, we’re fucked.”
“Summon the Father Whale if you have to,” Heath added. “I’ll pray to him as hard as I can.”
Heath meant it. Since seeing Jessa summon Kondole from the clouds to defeat the avatar of Kultea, he had felt the stirrings of a faith he had long thought dead. There was no Ohan to come to the aid of mortals, only an ideal to encourage charity and cooperation—when it wasn’t used to justify atrocities. But Kondole was real.
Jessa nodded. “I’m ready.”
The trio marched into the clearing where the circular stone stood atop the mossy crumbling monoliths. As before, the clearing seemed unnatural, the wilderness silent, the sun somehow dimmer.
Jessa raised her palm toward the stones.
“Wait!” a familiar voice called from the stones.
A Fodder in sleeveless black leather armor stumbled out with his hands raised. He had a scar across his face and a jewel-encrusted bastard sword strapped to his back. “It’s fucking great to see you again, mate.”
“Scar,” Sword whispered.
“Is he…?” Jessa paused.
Sword nodded. “It’s my old self. Again.”
“I was expecting Satryn,” Heath said, “or your dad or my mom or…”
Sword chimed in, “Torin would have been an excellent choice. But I suppose if you want to get maximum effect, the manifestation should be someone all of us knew.”
Scar clapped his hands slowly. “Bravo. You three have done a bang-up job. You ended Evan Landry. You saved Rivern. You’ve proven yourselves fucking champions. Cheers!”
“Rivern was destroyed,” Jessa said coldly.
“And Riley was killed by his girlfriend,” Heath corrected.
Sword added. “I’d call it a draw at best.”
“But look at you all,” Scar said emphatically. “Maddox got himself a better intelligence. Heath had a transformative epiphany that gave him faith, and Jessa…sweet, sweet Jessa. You finally found the courage to stand up to your evil mum.”
Heath nodded to Jessa. “The Harrowers are scared. You should light this up…now.”
“Full disclosure, mate,” Scar said. “They’re in fact very concerned that you’ll do something rash. You see, these sites play an important role in the ongoing survival of humankind. The Memento Mori are the collected dreams, hopes, and memories of all people, preserved for all time.”
Sword challenged him. “No, they’re memory constructs patched together from the conscious effluvia of the dead, puppeteered by a malevolent alien consciousness with a hunger for human suffering.”
“Still,” Scar countered, “it’s technically an afterlife. And it’s not human suffering they hunger for. It’s understanding. The pacts are a test. And you’ve passed with the highest honors.”
Heath chuckled. “They’re experiments, not tests.”
“And what insight did the months of terror you inflicted on the people of Rivern and the refugees from my own homeland gain the Harrowers?” Jessa demanded.
“It helps them understand you, love,” Scar explained. “They aren’t conscious beings. They don’t need to eat or shit or fuck or any of that. They aren’t limited to seeing time happen in one direction or observing the world from a single perspective. It’s as hard for them to understand the finite as it is for you to grasp the infinite.”
“Why would anyone open the green door?” Sword explained to the others. “It was a question one of the Guides asked me in a vision I had. Behind the green door was infinite suffering.”
“I don’t understand,” Jessa said, a confused look on her face.
Heath said, “How can a being not know they’re opening a door to infinite suffering? That’s the question behind every pact. An omniscient being can’t comprehend what it’s like to know nothing—no more than we could understand what it’s like to see the future but not the past.”
“I still don’t understand,” Jessa said, “and I’m not encouraged by this line of reasoning in the slightest. May I?” She readied her hands to deliver a blow against the dolmen.
Scar hastily said, “All right, all right! They have a deal for you. Five hundred and one years. For that amount of time, there will be no harrowings, no pacts. It’s enough for you and your direct line of descendants to live in absolute peace. Additionally…we’ll heal the priest’s cancer. We’ll also tell you the secret to destroying the Razor of Setahari. We can even reveal how to unbind the Seal of Sephariel, which keeps Maddox trapped in immortality. Hells, they’ll even throw in…Catherine.”
“Must be upsetting they wouldn’t offer your life back, Scar,” Sword said, “but you were a fucking asshole.”
Heath urged, “No matter how good it sounds, it’s always a trick. Nothing comes for free.”
Jessa sighed. “This dolmen could truly represent an afterlife for all the people lost to Kultea’s wrath.”
“It is the home of millions of souls’ memories,” Scar encouraged.
“I wasn’t finished,” Jessa said brusquely. “This afterlife is worse than the five hells. I thank you for your role in saving my life, Scar. You and everyone else deserve better than to be the puppets of these dark forces.”
Scar glowered. “You think you’re so righteous, don’t you? What bold new world will you create for mankind when your empire stretches to every far corner of the world?”
�
�I’m not my mother, and that isn’t my ambition,” Jessa countered.
“Sure you’re not.” Scar grinned. “But I’ll give you one fun little secret before you take out your aggressions for Mommy on a derelict piece of ancient engineering. The three—and a half technically—of you…you’re not the heroes in this tale. You’re the bloody villains.”
“Get somewhere safe,” Jessa whispered to her companions.
Scar laughed. “You can’t run from yourselves!”
Jessa raised her arms to the sky. “Kondole! I invoke you. Hear the prayers of your daughter and purge this world of blight!”
Clouds gathered in the sky above her, spilling out in a roiling vortex of thunderheads. Heath lowered his head in prayer—it felt strange to do, but he felt the presence of the divine.
Sword and Scar gazed up as the overcast darkened the sky. Flashes of lightning burst from within the cloud banks, illuminating them from within.
Sword enjoined with another incantation in an old language Heath didn’t recognize—a summoning ritual perhaps.
Even Scar grudgingly admitted, “This is kind of badass.”
As if the clouds were the surface of a vast ocean, the head of the Father Whale with his gaping maw of lightning surged toward the earth. The avatar was preceded by a shock wave of air pressure that nearly knocked Heath to his feet. He resumed his silent prayer.
Great Kondole, Creation needs you. The world is sick, and it has been far too long since the Gods dwelled among us. Grant us your protection and your mercy.
Kondole let out a high, mournful note that echoed over the sky as he floated toward the earth. His mouth was wider than the clearing and filled with a raging storm of lightning.
Kondole paused and let out a lower note, followed by something that sounded like an angry, guttural purr.
“Heath,” Jessa cautioned, “you might want to step back.”
Heath didn’t move.
The Father Whale breathed a torrent of white light into the dolmen, blinding Heath. The air became electrified, and then the deafening crash of thunder shook the earth, toppling him to the ground.
The Queen of Lies Page 36
