Seraphina's Lament (The Bloodlands Book 1)

by Sarah Chorn

  He rubbed at his forehead in an attempt to dispel his frustration. For years the only talent that had been found was weak, and appeared to be getting weaker. Its slow loss had been a mystery to him—to everyone, really. They relied on their talents to help direct the weather; to help crops grow; to find water; to dig wells; to move the soil; to gather storms; run mills and so much more. Less talent-users meant less control, which impacted crops and lifestyle, security and, ultimately, the future.

  He let the commissar drone on for a while, and then flicked his fingers in dismissal. For a few minutes, he was blissfully alone. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a shuddering sigh. He felt sick, and weak.

  The door opened, and Samson entered with a cup of reviving tea. It was time for his dose, and he needed it. He was getting exhausted easier now. In his fatigue, Eyad was having a hard time keeping reality separate from the minds around him, struggling to answer voices spoken, rather than thoughts thought. He was drifting. His days were growing shorter and shorter, as weariness pulled him to sleep earlier.

  Samson set the tea on his desk. The cloying smell of steeping herbs stung his nose. His stomach churned. And that was when it hit him, that knowing.

  If his mind talent wasn’t suddenly so abnormally strong, he would have missed it; but the city was splayed out for him, his to pick at, and he knew the instant they entered his web. He’d know those three minds anywhere, knew them as well as he knew his own. They were here. Finally. After ten years of waiting his husband was back, in his city. He’d done exactly what he’d thought he’d do; he’d come back, and brought Seraphina and Neryan with him.

  He skimmed through Seraphina’s mind, tasting her desire for freedom, the edge of madness in her, as well as the fear. Neryan was next, his thoughts circling his refusal to leave his sister’s side. Then there was Vadden, his magnificent husband, coming to confront him.

  His blood began to pump harder in his veins. His heart sped up until sweat beaded his brow, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or throw up. It was the waiting that would kill him. Waiting for this inevitable crescendo, the long upward climb of the music before the glorious climax, the heightening of tension before the song dances to the end.

  Ten years he’d been waiting for this. Now they were here, all the pieces he’d set in motion, all just waiting for his move. Their minds were catastrophes of thought and angst, confusions of souls. He’d make a move tonight, later, but the wait between then and now would feel like an eternity.

  In his shock, he’d let out a shaking gasp.

  “Premier, are you—”

  He cut Samson off with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine.”

  He sipped his tea. It tasted like dying flowers and too much honey, but it didn’t matter. He was beyond taste right now. Vadden was close. He was right there. He could reach out and pluck his mind, enter his sacred space and become one with him.

  But he wouldn’t. He would wait until he could see his husband and look into his eyes. He would gather Vadden into his arms and give their hearts matching scars. He would stitch their souls together so they could never be apart, and hold him tight to his chest until breath, bone, and blood mixed and became one.

  I love you as the stars love the night, he’d whisper into the waiting quiet. Through the darkness.

  He would die happily then.

  It wasn’t just about love, though. Of course he wanted his husband back, beside him, where he should have always been. Vadden was meant to be co-counsel. That’s how they’d set this up. Together, they could have steered the Sunset Lands onto a new course. Instead, Vadden had run away like a coward, and had spent his time working furiously to undo everything Eyad was endeavoring to accomplish, and doing a remarkably good job of it. They were on the cusp of a new phase, and he couldn’t have Vadden out there, steering people away from his vision.

  This had to end, this tug-of-war, this dance of theirs. Vadden either had to come to heel and submit to Eyad’s authority, or he had to be dealt with. He’d spent the past ten years chasing after his husband. Now his husband would come to him, and it would all be over. It would hurt terribly to kill his husband, but he could do it. They could die together, the two of them, if it came to that. Someone else, Samson maybe, could assume leadership and take over where Eyad left off. He’d be successful, without Vadden working so hard against him. Samson had the fortitude to rule, and the vision to bring the Sunset Lands into a more modern future.

  “Tell me about the prisoner,” he said to Samson, setting the teacup down on the desk. It rattled and shook, porcelain clacking against porcelain with little chimes of betrayal. He was so tired, so very, very tired, and this excitement was only exhausting him further. Damn that servant boy and his little poison pill.

  “He’s in the dungeon. Fed on gruel. Alive. Kind of.”

  The innkeeper’s husband had died in Slotskaya. The death records, of course, said he’d died of natural causes, and he’d supposed it had been natural enough. Death was the natural result of being eviscerated. Kabir had been wrong. He was faithful to the wrong religion, part of the wrong ethnic group, with too much pale slave in him, and none of the training. There had been no mercy.

  “Take the innkeeper to the square tonight, at seven,” Eyad said. Vadden was here. It was time to move events. He was tired of waiting.

  “Sir,” Samson said.

  “He will meet his end tonight, publicly. It will be a message to everyone who thinks to subvert my rule.” In reality, this was his love-letter to his husband. This would be the event that pushed them together, and entwined their lives like yarn. There would be no turning away after this. Vadden had nowhere left to go. The borders were closed. All of his supporters were dead. Push or pull. They’d either come together like the lovers they had been, or they would destroy each other. Regardless, it would end tonight. The Sunset Lands could not survive with both of them at cross purposes.

  No change was bloodless.

  “It will be done,” Samson said. “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” Eyad said. This drew silence from Samson, a thick, coiled quiet that was full of worry and anticipation. “Cancel the rest of my meetings. This takes precedence. I will go to my room and rest. I want word as soon as it is done.”

  “Of course,” Samson replied. He’d never argue, not verbally at least, and the thoughts in his mind were full of loyalty and concern so he let them be. The rest of the minds swirling around him would be easy enough to deal with, easy enough to nudge their thoughts the direction they needed to go.

  His headaches had abated, and he’d gained such insight, such power. Too bad he wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy it.

  That fucking kid.

  Samson moved to his side, standing just so, body stiff and tense, letting Eyad use him as support. His hands shook with palsy, his grip not as strong as it used to be, and his joints felt like they were eating themselves. Each day it got worse. He was losing weight. His skin hung from him in yellowy sheets. He felt like he had one foot in the grave and in reality, he did.

  He thought he’d have more time.

  At least he’d leave a legacy. Collectivism had been his vision, his child. He’d nurtured the Sunset Lands from monarchism to something far different, and of course things weren’t perfect, but they were on the way there. Everything would be fine as soon as it rained again. The crops would grow. People would stop dying. Subversives would stop subverting. He’d set the stage for a utopia, planting seeds that he wouldn’t live long enough to see bear fruit.

  One more life cut short before its time.

  Samson looped an arm under Eyad’s shoulder and tapped on the panel that lead to the warren of tunnels between the walls. No one saw him walk anymore. No one saw him do anything but sit, propped up carefully, powdered and perfectly arrayed. He nudged their thoughts enough to keep them from wondering too much; but he was sick, and he was dying, and he was angry about that. He tried to keep his anger in. Sometimes, when he got too w
eak, his emotions would leak out and effect those around him, and that was a mess he didn’t currently have the energy to clean up.

  They walked slowly, Eyad dragging his shaking legs like they were useless weights, Samson doing most of the work. He thought of Seraphina, and a stab of regret pierced him. To be trapped in a useless body after knowing such vitality was the worst kind of curse. By the time he got to his room, he felt like maybe he’d already died. Samson lay him gently on his bed and set about taking off his shoes and socks. He’d opened the room up. Since his headaches had gone, he didn’t need so much darkness. It was nice to feel the air on his face, the birds calling in the sky. That big, blue, hot sky. It should be snowing. It should have started snowing months ago. What was happening to their land?

  “I don’t know,” Samson said. He wasn’t aware that he’d spoken aloud. “But the people are worried.” He paused, a thought flitting through his mind, but veiled, hidden. Secret. The fact that someone could still keep secrets from him was amazing.

  “What is it?” he snapped at Samson’s hesitation.

  “Premier, I wasn’t sure how to tell you but…” Another hesitation. He could feel Samson ordering his thoughts, the gears of his mind sliding into place, the problem becoming orderly and organized, righting itself so it could be discussed. Finally, he sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, shucking off his formality until they were just two men talking in a room, nothing more, nothing less.

  He’d missed this, he realized. Not being feared, or admired, or treated with difference. He’d missed just being a man. He’d always been a man to Vadden, nothing more, nothing less.

  Vadden. Instinctively his mind reached out, rubbed up against his husband’s, not quite breeching that divide between them, but just close enough to feel his presence. His breath hitched. His heart shuttered and thudded hard in his chest. He felt his lips curl in a smile. He was there. Just outside the palace grounds, looking at the walls, peering through the gates. So very, very close. He pulled himself back with force. It was enough, for now, just to feel him.

  “Eyad, forgive me, but there is a matter in the east that needs attention. I’m afraid… I don’t like bringing issues to your awareness unless I can offer solutions to them, but no matter how I look at this one, I have nothing. The problem is almost beyond belief.”

  “What is it?” His attention was back on Samson now, focused and intense, hawk-like. This was unlike his head of secret police, the unruffled man who had seemed to dwell in morally gray areas and stated facts like they didn’t matter.

  “There is an army approaching,” he said, licking his lips. “It took me some time to find it, and even longer to believe it. The scouts I send out never report back. It’s been through terrified refugees that I’ve learned what I have. This army is unstoppable. Coming from somewhere in the east, carrying a plague with them. Their numbers swell larger and larger. They say the earth under their feet dies.”

  “What a story,” Eyad barked out a laugh. “Peasants will elaborate any tale, won’t they, Samson?”

  If he’d expected a laugh, he wasn’t getting one. Samson actually looked… afraid, if such a thing was possible.

  “Sir, there have been sightings as close as a two-days ride. They are coming here, and they are not…” he licked his lips again. “Eyad, they are not mortal.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” He struggled to sit up and Samson helped him position himself on his pillows. He felt the softness more in his bones than in his skin. Wasting away, withering to a husk, not so grand anymore. Samson surveyed him, shook his head, and looked away.

  “I don’t rightly know. The stories diverge so much. Some say it’s an army of skeletons. Some say it’s the sick. It could be anything, but the one thing they all agree on is that whatever is coming here, they aren’t… they aren’t human.”

  “If they’ve covered so much land, why hasn’t anyone mentioned it before now?”

  “I’d wager it’s because the officials never leave the city, and so they are largely unaware of what is happening on the lands they oversee, possibly because no one seems to survive contact with them. Commissars have been raising alerts, but even those have stopped coming in. Eyad the point is, a threat is coming and soon it will be at our door. What should we do?”

  Threats. War. Siege.

  Gods above and below, he was so tired. Couldn’t it wait until after he’d died?

  “What’s happening in the west?” he asked, his mind moving over the map of his territory.

  “The Red Desert has been closed off. The serfs who have fled are now in labor camps. We’ve had to start four more camps, mostly up in the Ox Mountains. The ground isn’t growing food, so we have them mining, hacking wealth out of the earth’s belly. There is a lot of ore up there. The camps are turning over a good trade, for now, and we should start to feel that fortune here soon.”

  “We can’t eat money, or rocks,” Eyad muttered.

  Another pause. More news was coming, he could feel it. “Villages in the west, a day or so outside of the Reach, have emptied out.”

  “Then find the traitors who mean to leave, and send them to the camps!”

  “That’s just it,” Samson said. “They didn’t leave. It’s like they just disappeared. I rode out there yesterday just to see it for myself. Entire villages full of people just gone. All of their things are still there. All of their possessions. Everything. It’s like they just vanished into thin air.”

  “People don’t disappear,” Eyad said. This was crazy. An inhuman army to the east, people disappearing to the west. The winter had vanished, and not a cloud in the sky for over a year now. And these changes in him, in his talent. It was all adding up to something, but he couldn’t figure out what, and that bothered him. If he’d been at his full health, not so exhausted, not so sick, he’d have been able to arrange all the pieces in this puzzle and figure out the story all this was telling him, but he couldn’t. He was too tired. His mind was too full of other people’s thoughts.

  “Samson,” Eyad said, his eyes sliding shut, sleep already claiming him. “Bring me the twins, Seraphina and Neryan. They’re in Freedman’s Quarter, hiding in…” He paused, found their minds, felt their anxiety, their twisted souls filled with regret, anger, worry, and so much more, and then figured out where they were. He rattled off an address.

  “Premier, it will be done.”

  And then he left, the click of the door closing softly echoing through the room.

  It sounded like thunder.

  Vadden

  Night came along with a gasp, and he wondered if it was possible to drown in the sky.

  He had to move. If he stayed with the twins, staring at the blood coating the streets, with all those flies buzzing around growing fat on old life, he’d explode. He had to leave, gain distance, clear his head; if only for a little while.

  He needed to do what they’d come to do, and the sooner the better. Lord’s Reach would drive him insane, with his past lurking around every corner like this, all this death and carnage haunting him. There were only so many ghosts and so much blood he could handle before he burst, and in Lord’s Reach there was no avoiding the part he’d played in any of it. It was all too much. So, he’d found Neryan and Seraphina somewhere to hide in that tainted part of the city no one seemed to want to go into, and had taken off as though a demon straight from Hell was chasing after him.

  He’d never felt like this before, never felt this coiled, wound tight, like he was nothing more than a temper barely held in check. He was blazing a path through Lord’s Reach heading straight toward the palace. He almost didn’t notice the guards wandering the streets, rounding people up, herding them toward the center of the city. Almost didn’t notice the tension, worry, the thick anxiety that seemed to permeate everything.

  Lord’s Reach had once been full of life, polished, and beautiful. It had been the center for the arts and culture, with large theaters, galleries celebrating the nation’s best artists,
and the best schools. It had always been so clean and polished, with wide streets, and markets on every corner. Now it was dry and dusty, dirt and decay were evident wherever he looked. Ten years had turned it from a beautiful metropolis to a crumbling, ruined echo of itself. It was a withered husk. Instead of markets on the corners, there were groups of the waiting dead, outstretched hands as desperate as their eyes. Guards made their way through the streets, gathering up the lost and the hopeless, pushing them toward the center of the city in anxious groups.

  This was not the city he’d left, and he knew that if he’d let himself see how things would change in the heart of the empire on that fateful night ten years ago, he never would have let himself leave. The city was another guilt resting heavily on his heart. It was destroyed now, ruined, nothing but memories and dying people everywhere. The Sunset Lands was dead, the Premier just didn’t seem to know that yet.

  It hurt, to see it like this, to see the world he’d envisioned so damaged, so ruined. If he’d stayed… if he hadn’t walked out that door, maybe he could have avoided all of this, tempered his husband’s excesses.

  His heart beat pain. His blood was anguish.

  He was there before he saw the guards. His feet had taken him to the one place he wasn’t ready to go yet.

  He stopped right at the walls that surrounded the palace grounds, his feet sticking to the dirt like they’d been planted there. He looked through the gates to the palace beyond. The grounds were dying, drying up like everything else. In the dusty sprawl of Lord’s Reach, even this grand building was turning as ruined as the city itself. The palace was shaped almost like a square with two wings moving off to the left and right. In the center was a small courtyard used for dignitaries arriving for events. When he and Eyad had been royal guards, they’d often worked in that courtyard for important functions.

  He wondered if Eyad was in there right now, looking out. Would their eyes meet through one of those windows? Would an entire war be fought through a pane of unbroken glass?