A Shard of Sea and Bone (Death of the Multiverse Book 1)

by L. J. Engelmeier

  MOUNT DRAKIS, LUTANA, CAPITAL CITY-STATE OF THE ONE COUNTRY

  Svahta had never been inside the castle of the Infinite Royal Family before. In fact, she’d never even been inside their Realm until now, and now was a strange time to visit, she thought, the entire world asleep, the castle quiet with the earliest hours of day, she and Nori-Rin on the run from strange pillars of light that could take over people’s bodies and the cult of murderers that worshipped them. She grimaced. How life had brought her here, she didn’t know.

  Overhead, through the glass ceiling of the throne hall, Svahta could just make out mute constellations and a dull full moon. Its light filtered down through the dark throne hall, delineating pools of shadow. Not a single sconce was lit along the walls, but the blue moonlight was thick enough for Svahta to see the room in all its grand detail.

  There was an ornate carpet running the length of the hall. It bore the progressive images of a wolf in stride, the phases all touching snout to tail. The rug ended at the base of a dais, atop which two thrones sat. The thrones looked to be made of blasted white marble striped through by haphazard patches of deep grey, like open wounds gaping and welling with blood. The thrones were striated by intricate soldered whorls of silver that overlaid the marble’s surface and gleamed in the washed-out moonlight. On the thrones’ backs were mounted two sets of massive drake wings that arced out in a display of authority.

  The thrones themselves were empty.

  Near the walls of the throne hall were fluted columns as wide around as three-hundred-year-old oaks, between which hunkered crepe myrtle trees in stone pots. Their flowers were apple-red. At intervals, dark banners hung from the walls, embroidered with rearing wolves wreathed by wild flame. Behind the banners were mirrors that stretched from floor to ceiling. They must have been ten storeys tall, without break or seam, and they reflected each other back and forth and back and forth, unfolding into oblivion.

  In the throne hall, Svahta felt very small, like a fly in a chapel.

  She kept herself unthreatening, despite holding her flail like a cane. She was exceedingly aware that the guards scuffling about behind her were irritated by her demands to see the Saeinfinae at three in the morning. She didn’t want to give them reason to toss her and Nori-Rin out into the streets. The two of them wouldn’t survive it. They couldn’t afford to be seen or caught. Those society members were out there, knowing full well that someone had spied on their meeting. They might even be hiding those pillars of light behind their flesh, and Svahta had seen what could happen if that light got inside her or Nori-Rin. Boarding at an inn wasn’t safe for either of them right now, and they couldn’t return home. There was no one they could truly trust, especially not here, not in the capital of the multiverse, the focus of everything. They needed to speak with the Saeinfinae, immediately, and then run.

  Unfortunately, he was sleeping. Svahta could only hope he deemed her presence worthy enough to wake up for. She’d told the herald it regarded a matter of high treason, but only time would tell if her words had any weight.

  Standing in the throne hall, Svahta wondered what it would be like to grow up in a place like this, surrounded by dyed banners and gilded mirrors, by polished marble floors and sedate servants. It was much different from the ramshackle farmhouse she’d been born into alongside two younger sisters who had died in infancy, a house where she’d stayed even after her marriage to Tavin in order to raise their little family. It had been centuries since she’d lived there, though. Now, she slept in her office at the quaint town hall in midtown Bóttannaugh, which doubled as her shrine since the church had long fallen down. To be raised in this opulence was unfathomable to her. She could only imagine what an upbringing like Artysaedra’s had to have been like, to have both gold and food overflowing for her, to only need stick out her hand and ask for either without shred of fear. To never have to wait in the woods, bow in her hand, knowing that returning home empty-handed meant also going the day empty-stomached. To never have to sew up the only torn tunic in her possession with her own needle and thread because she couldn’t afford a tailor, or to debate selling her mother’s heirloom dining set—the last thing she had of her parents—to pay her land debts for the month.

  “Huh,” Nori-Rin said from Svahta’s side, surveying the hall, tilting her head back. She toed barefoot at the rug. “I thought this place would be bigger. Think the Sae’d be offended if I said that? Well, maybe if I said it about his cock. Not a great conversation starter, though.”

  “Ain’t the time or place for jokes.”

  “There’s never a bad time for a joke, tiki. The world always needs more jokes,” Nori-Rin said with a dazzling smile, though it wasn’t as bright as it normally was.

  Svahta imagined Nori-Rin was still exhausted from opening a portal into this dimension. The Realm of the Infinite was a warded Realm, and short of finding a registered reconjuring agency and filling out miles of paperwork while also providing sheaves of identification and withstanding dozens of invasive inspections just to be ferried through the dimension’s magic barrier by a certified official, the only way into a warded Realm was with a portal. They’d decided to spare themselves the waste of time, but their decision seemed to be taking its toll on Nori-Rin. Her eyes looked heavy, and her heart was beating like a dove’s wings at take-off in Svahta’s ears. It would be a good hour before she was back to prime shape, Svahta imagined. Portals were taxing.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the clip of dress shoes on marble. When she turned, the pig-faced herald she’d sent away earlier was now making his way across the polished floor. His mouth was pinched, and his eyes were bleary. He stopped just a handful of feet from Svahta and Nori-Rin, folded his hands behind the back of his velvet frock coat, and gave a tense smile.

  “The Saeinfinae has agreed to an audience with you,” he said. “If you’ll follow me.”

  They were led through a series of corridors, out into the snowstorm, and then into a massive greenhouse, which was a castle unto itself. The glass panes vaulted and arced over Svahta’s head, snow sagging and gathering in the their bellies. Foot-long icicles spiked down beneath them. Rivulets of warmed snow were cutting slow paths down the glass, refreezing as rapidly as they melted.

  Inside the greenhouse, there were catwalks and hanging gardens, upper levels that overflowed with leafy greens, and rows upon rows of fruiting and flowering plants that swallowed the ground level. Svahta couldn’t identify any of the flora. Some of it glowed, some of it moved like sentient beings, and some of it gave off rich smells like dark chocolate, honey, and cinnamon spice; it reminded Svahta of turn-of-the-year holiday seasons.

  The air was humid and made the silk of Svahta’s battle asa stick to her armpits. Snow dripped from her armour, and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her nose and settled in the hollow above her lip. She licked it away. Behind her and Nori-Rin, an entourage of armed castle guards marched them forward without a word. Wide fern leaves brushed against Svahta’s arms as she walked, and her boots thudded across the stone walkway, her flail clacking. At her side, Nori-Rin gave a low, appreciative whistle. In the muted moonlight, her dark eyes were bright.

  Ahead of them, Svahta could see a man sitting on an iron bench. The wall of glass behind him was tall and half-obscured by the snowstorm gently raging outside. Even from this distance, she knew it was the Saeinfinae. A single guardswoman stood behind him with membranous wings unfurled.

  Svahta had never met Raener Veiyel, First of His Name, in person before, but she’d seen photographs, oil portraits, likenesses carved into embassy doors and formed by stained glass in chapels across the multiverse, printed on flags and paper money. She knew his sharp cheekbones and his soldier’s eyes, the aristocratic hook to his nose. She’d heard stories over campfires growing up, those whispers caught in the wind like embers. Some of them called him He of the Lightning Sword, others naming him Raener the Great White Wolf. There were tales of his charisma as a gentleman in the Realm of Roses, of his form
idability in the Battle of Crimson Gorge, and of his unfailing command over Lutana and the multiverse. He wasn’t real to her. He was more of a ghost—a figurehead god—a string of words in awed tones. In person, he was none of these things.

  A silk robe flowed around his crossed legs, and despite the obscured moonlight filtering in through the greenhouse’s snowy panes, Svahta could see the Saeinfinae’s nightrobe was as white as his rumpled hair and beard. Its long shape and precise panelling made him look inhumanly svelte. Even sitting down, Svahta could tell that he had to be a solid two feet taller than she was, and when he did stand, proving Svahta right, she fought the urge to bend the knee to him. It was a powerful desire in her to be lower than even his feet.

  In every way—from the Saeinfinae’s stark appearance to the way he held himself to the air he exuded—he was ancient and powerful and overwhelmingly real. Before her was a man over two million years old, who had nursed the multiverse into what it now was. He had been here in Lutana, ruling, before the Guardian Realm of Swamps had even been thought into existence by Ahsha of Clan Brünnen, a woman who had migrated the Seven Clans from their old world to the new dimension.

  Saeinfinae Raener Veiyel was a myth in flesh and her king by law—but she was no vassal of his, not truly. She was a liege of the Council, a queen of her people, and she had come here with a purpose. She tilted her head back and looked the Saeinfinae dead in the eye, waiting for him to speak.

  “Guardians Muiraighaille and Baakutunde, I’ve been informed,” he said with a polite smile and a heavy brogue. “Forgive my surprise, but I cannot say that it is often the children of the Council concern themselves with my authority. What business have you brought?”

  “We came because the Council is out a’ our reach, an’ we don’t know what to do,” Svahta admitted without hesitation. “We came to ask for your help to stop somethin’, an’ to report an incident that concerns ya specifically, Your Excellency.”

  The Saeinfinae lifted an eyebrow. “Which is?”

  “Some people might try to assassinate ya.”

  Behind her, she heard the guards shift. Tension snapped taut in the humid air. The glass walls of the greenhouse seemed to close in, and she watched the Saeinfinae, who was staring at her with such wide-eyed, open confusion that years melted off his face. He looked like a young man, untouched by the world, blanching in its almighty shadow.

  “You know this for a fact?” he asked.

  “And more,” Nori-Rin added. She and the Saeinfinae were the same height, and she locked gazes with him easily. Her gaze was harder than his, just like the set of her mouth. “We should start from the beginning.”

  It took a while for them to explain the entire story, but once they were done, the Saeinfinae knew the whole of it, all the way from the threat facing the Infinity to the strange light-beings in the field. They told him about al-Loriaris’ claims of being a spy and how he’d offered to feed them information, about how there were High and Low Monarchs involved in this secret society, but the Saeinfinae had sat down a while ago and had buried his face in one of his hands. Now, he was rubbing the bridge of his nose, the greenhouse silent but for the small pat of snowflakes against its glass, the beating of hearts, the tense breathing of the castle guards. When the Saeinfinae finally looked up at Svahta and Nori-Rin, his eyes were tired and pained. “Nelo said there were more of my monarchs in this”—he waved a hand—“society of theirs?”

  Svahta nodded, and the Saeinfinae blew out a low sigh.

  “If I might be so bold as to command those who belong to the Council,” he began slowly, “I would ask you to pry what more information you can from Nelo, at once. If the Infinity has been threatened…” He trailed off. “No. Rather, if my monarchs are behind this, I must know. I will handle it. In fact, even if the Council returns, do not involve them in anything you’ve just told me.”

  Nori-Rin asked, “Why not?”

  The Saeinfinae’s eyes were like steel. “I will be candid with you, as you have been with me. I don’t trust them, not to deal in my affairs. Things have come to light, and I can confirm now, with your testimony certainly, that my father and his own have kept from me many things which ought concern my reign. The murders of your Guardians was something deliberately withheld from my daughter and from myself until just this yesterday. It was due only to Guardian Staatvelter’s diligence that we came to know of the dangers the Order now faces, a danger you have now corroborated.”

  “Naliah was here?” Nori-Rin asked at the same time Svahta piped up with a surprised, “You and Artysaedra didn’t know?” They looked at each other, but Svahta was the one who continued, “I figured the Council would’ve told y’all everythin’ about the murders. I mean, you’re—well, pardon me for statin’ plain—but you’re the Saeinfinae. Ain’t you gotta know all the goings-on in the Infinity?”

  “The crown and the Council rarely concern themselves with the affairs of the other,” the Saeinfinae said. He stood up from his bench and crossed his arms, pacing a few steps away before turning back. He looked worn-down standing there. The line of his body was as crooked as a branch of lightning. “Guardian Staatvelter did visit us, Guardian Baakutunde, yes. Days ago. He came to visit my daughter, who was remanded to our Realm for her safety by order of the Council. I was complicit in her confinement, but I am no longer. She’s gone now,” the Saeinfinae said with finality. “You have confirmed for me that you witnessed the deaths of three of your own just hours ago. As such, I will subsequently extend to you the favour of confirming that misfortune has already befallen at least one Realm of the Infinity thus far. My son Draven reported it devastated beyond description from what he viewed in the dying crystal. Based on the casual dismissal of the event by the Council in their return missive to me, I do not anticipate my children will find many survivors, if any.”

  No survivors?

  That sounded exactly like—

  Svahta’s eyes widened. Her mind cast itself back to the tale High King al-Loriaris had spun for them in that torch-lit aquarium, about Guardian Penthoseren and her homeland, an island paradise reduced to corpses and sand, everyone dead. It made her head spin. How did it keep coming down to the same three things? Vanished Guardians. Missing souls. Catastrophic destruction.

  The Saeinfinae continued on. “If this society’s threat to cripple the Infinity has held, I would wager their threats of assassinating me are not weak words, either. I will deal with that. I need you to deal with Nelo, as Guardian Staatvelter and my daughter are investigating the fallen dimension with my sons, who saw fit to follow. I’m eager to have them return home, now more than before. There is a much greater danger out there than I suspected, and we have more enemies than allies, if Nelo is to be believed. Therefore, it is of the utmost importance that we stop this society before it flourishes. If we cannot cut the head off the snake, at the very least, we can carve inches from its tail. I need you to ascertain the identities of all the society members.”

  “If we find them,” Nori-Rin asked, point-blank, “do you want us to kill them?”

  “I would have you restrict yourselves to gathering information. This is a delicate situation I don’t yet know how to handle.”

  Svahta didn’t know how Nori-Rin seemed so calm. Everything Svahta knew was being turned upside-down. The Infinity was in apparent peril. The crown and Council were at odds. Beings of light were killing her comrades, and a society had sprung up to murder the entire world. Now, the Saeinfinae was making himself their sole commander, telling them not to go to their own Council—and what was Svahta supposed to think about that? She wasn’t supposed to have faith in the eleven beings who had brought the Infinity to life, who had imbued her with every ounce of power and authority she possessed? She was supposed to blindly search for the cloaked society members in the field and for all those who might be hiding in the shadows behind them? She was supposed to investigate kings and queens who had been born to more command, wealth, and connections in the multiverse than she could fath
om—all to find which among them was corrupt?

  And what was she supposed to think about Naliah? He was out there with his partner, unreachable, just as mixed up in all of this life-threatening pandemonium as she and Nori-Rin were. What was going to happen to them? All of them? What was going to happen to the Infinity?

  Svahta jumped when Nori-Rin patted her shoulder. Then she ironed out her face and addressed the Saeinfinae: “You’re certain ya wouldn’t wanna involve the Council?”

  “On that point, I am immovable,” the Saeinfinae said, but Svahta was already shaking her head at what she was hearing. “They cannot be trusted right now, not with this.”

  “But we’re their soldiers. We serve ’em.”

  “If that holds true,” the Saeinfinae asked her, “then why, if you’ll pardon my forwardness, did they abandon you to your own commands when you needed them most? You said they were unreachable to you, despite all that threatens you. What officers desert their subordinates?”

  “They left, yeah,” Svahta admitted, scrambling a bit, “an’ we got orders not to look into this. But we did. An’ I ain’t sorry we did. An’ I ain’t gonna back down now a’ all times. But I gotta know: why—if you’ll pardon my forwardness—why are ya so hell-bent on havin’ us turn against the Council? Do ya wanna fight a war on two fronts?”

  The Saeinfinae didn’t appear to mull it over; his face remained impassive, and he said without a beat of hesitation, “They don’t have the interests of my people in their hearts.”

  “But ya both serve the Infinity.”

  “I’m afraid we don’t,” the Saeinfinae said, taking Svahta aback. “I am a child of this multiverse. They are its parents. Our methods, our goals, our endgames: they are different.”

  Svahta didn’t know what to say to that. Honestly, she didn’t know what to say to any of it. In the past two days, she’d been forced to reevaluate everything she’d ever thought she’d known, and her entire world was tilting on its axis. Sometimes, in her heart, she still felt like the little village girl she’d been growing up, like the woman who had delivered babies in bedrooms, who had ridden horses as a volunteer in the borderwatch, who had wound bandages in pop-up clinics. She was a nobody, a nothing, as insignificant and fleeting as a breath in the great sea of seas of the Infinity, and somehow, the Council had mistaken her for more. Somehow, she had become a part of the narrative, a cogwheel that drove the machine of the entire multiverse forward.