by Will Wight
At times like this, it was hard not to like Cheska.
Naberius rapped his knuckles on the table, drawing attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, pardon me for interrupting, but we do have business of a somewhat urgent nature to discuss.”
“Not that urgent,” Cheska said. “They have almost a two-day head start.”
He flashed her a smile. “I’m sorry, Guild Head. I was under the impression that a Navigator ship was still fast enough to overtake them.”
“That’s why it isn’t urgent.” She waved a hand in concession. “But let’s get it over with anyway. They got the Heart. What do we do now?”
“We can follow it, given time,” Maxeus said. “I am merely concerned about the fate of the Heart within that time frame. To what use will the Consultants put an artifact of Nakothi?”
“Who knows?” Cheska muttered.
Jarelys leaned forward. “I am acquainted with two of the three currently ruling Architects in the Consultant’s Guild, as well as this assassin herself. They won’t try and use the Heart at all. They’ll try to destroy it.”
“Is negotiation an option?” Maxeus suggested.
Calder, for one, doubted it. If the Consultants were open to negotiation, they wouldn’t have started by sending an assassin for their opposition. Cheska evidently agreed. “With what leverage? We can’t threaten to ban them, because they’re not using our Guilds in the first place. I have no idea how they’re traveling the Aion so quickly without a Navigator, but Kelarac knows they’re not using my ships. And we can’t threaten war, because we can’t actually wage a war against the Consultants and the Alchemists combined. They could buy everyone at this table twice over.”
Bliss was staring straight up at the ceiling, so it was a surprise when she spoke. “Nathanael Bareius will do everything he can to avoid a war. Peace is good for business. But the Consultants prosper in wartime, so it stands to reason that their goals will be…different.”
“There is an opening there,” Maxeus mused, “if only we can use it.”
Naberius gave a forced laugh. “I’m sorry, but this is like fighting a duel assuming you’ll die. We haven’t even discussed the possibility of recovering the Heart before it makes it back to the Gray Island.”
Maxeus’ mask turned to the Chronicler. “As I said before, Witness Naberius, it takes time to trace such a faint residue as the Heart of Nakothi leaves. By that time, the Consultants will already have control of the artifact.”
Calder thought of Urzaia’s promise. “I have tasted her blood.” He could track the blond Consultant, Shera’s partner, wherever they went. It wasn’t Shera herself, nor was it the Heart, but it could be the best lead they had.
So he kept the knowledge to himself. When you had the highest card at the table, it was best to keep it close as long as you could. His father had taught him that.
“I’m sorry, I was under the impression that we had the Head of the Navigator’s Guild present,” Naberius said. “Surely we have enough ships between us to search manually. We know where they’re headed—if we can overtake them before they reach the Gray Island, then it’s our victory.”
Calder’s eyes whipped to Cheska. He didn’t know how she treated people who spoke to her in that tone, because no one did. He wouldn’t be surprised to see her pin Naberius’ hand to the table with her saber.
But she did nothing. She obviously noticed—her mouth tightened to a grim line, and her eyes smoldered—but she kept quiet.
Who was Naberius, that even Cheska showed him respect? Calder had only known the man for a few weeks, but he didn’t seem so terribly impressive.
“The Consultants would retaliate,” Teach put in.
Maxeus nodded to her, recognizing the point. “Even if we were to recover the Heart, it would not immediately result in success. Naberius, how long would it take you to Awaken and bond the Heart?
Wait a second.
Naberius gave a self-satisfied smile. “On that front, I have good news. I began the process on the island, and I believe I can do it very quickly. One hour, maybe two.”
The Magister’s shock was obvious. “So fast? It can take years for a Soulbound to bond a Vessel. Especially a Vessel with which he has had only brief contact. How did you do it?”
“It’s difficult to put into words, but this heart seemed to conform itself to my Intent. It could be due to personal compatibility, or due to my own long proximity to the Emperor.”
Jarelys Teach rolled her eyes, but said nothing.
“It’s almost as though the Heart was made to bond with a human.”
Bliss’ stretch of bench was empty, and her voice came from under the table. “Or perhaps it wants to be bonded.”
The table fell quiet at that, but Calder couldn’t stay silent.
They wanted Naberius to bond the Heart?
He pointed at the Chronicler, unable to contain his disbelief. “You want him?”
Far from being insulted, Naberius looked flattered. As though Calder’s doubt was the exact reaction he had worked for.
Cheska sighed. “He’s the only choice, Calder. None of us can take over. Guild politics. And he’s got the keys to the Imperial Palace treasury.”
“Not to mention a significant personal fortune of my own,” Naberius said, smiling.
“He does have the potential to bond the Heart,” Maxeus said. “And it was surprisingly difficult for us to find anyone remotely qualified to take the position, even if we wanted to give it away. It seems that no one wants the job.”
“Nobody wants to be the Emperor?” Calder spat out.
Bliss’ head popped up from under the table. “I, for one, don’t care who the Emperor is. But we need one. And soon.”
Teach nodded. “Without an Emperor, the Imperial Guard will eventually fall apart. The Regents are doing what they can, but they are no substitute for a true Emperor. And one and all, the four of them have refused the position. If something is not done soon, the entire Empire will tear itself to pieces.”
Cheska jerked a thumb in Naberius’ direction. “That leaves him. He’s got friends in every Guild, he’s a Reader, he knows exactly how the government works from personal experience, and he has lots and lots of money. Easy choice, if you’re asking me.”
Calder tugged at his ill-fitting jacket, trying to process his thoughts. “And what about the other side? The Consultants? Who do they want to be Emperor?”
Teach scowled, not at him, but at the world in general. “They would prefer no Emperor. A world of anarchy must look like a haven for a band of spies and assassins.”
Cheska rapped her knuckles on the table. “Okay, that’s enough. We’ll try it your way, Mister Emperor. All ships in the area spread out and search for the Consultants. In the meantime, Calder will take Naberius and head straight for the Gray Island. Where he will wait for orders, in case we find the Heart elsewhere.”
“Why him?” Teach asked.
This one, Calder could answer for himself. “Over long distances, The Testament is the fastest ship in the Guild. I can continue in a straight line regardless of wind or tide, you see. It’s possible that if I head straight for the Gray Island, I could overtake them myself.”
Cheska turned to Naberius. “You okay staying with him, Your Imperial Highness?”
Naberius smiled his wide, spotless smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Awakening is a poorly understood process, though it is the method by which we create all our Soulbound and many of our most powerful weapons. Even the brightest minds in the Empire know very little about the nature of Awakened objects.
So please, I beg you, do not attempt to Awaken anything without the direct supervision of myself or your mother.
-Artur Belfry, Imperial Witness
Taken from a letter to his pupil, Calder Marten (fourteen years of age)
Eleven years ago
The reception room of Candle Bay Imperial Prison was just as Calder remembered
it: small, cramped, and decorated almost entirely in white. The receptionist’s desk took up most of the wall, and there were no chairs for guests—only stools. Small, three-legged, wobbly stools. It was as though the whole room had been designed to make visitors as uncomfortable as possible.
Alsa had offered to accompany him today, and Jerri had positively begged, but Calder has asked them both to stay at home. The support would have been welcome, but he hadn’t seen his father in the better part of two years. The last time they’d seen each other was during a burglary.
Calder wanted to speak freely.
The receptionist, a young woman with a dazzling smile, noticed him as soon as he walked in the door. “Calder Marten, is it?”
“I’ve been here twice a month for the past year and a half,” Calder said flatly. He’d stopped being polite to this woman almost a year ago.
She didn’t lose her smile. “Your name is Calder Marten, correct?”
He ground his teeth. “That’s correct.”
“The prisoner will be available to see you at three in the afternoon,” the receptionist said sweetly. “Until that time, why don’t you relax?”
Calder glanced at the clock. Two minutes until three.
“Why don’t we pass the time getting to know each other?” he asked, suddenly as friendly as she was. He hadn’t cracked her facade in all of his previous visits, but who knew? Maybe this was the time. “What is your name?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re not permitted to divulge personal information during our hours of business.”
She grinned as though pleased to have answered his question so thoroughly.
He wasn’t wearing his Watchman’s coat today, but he found that he missed the weight of the seven nails hanging over his chest. If he had them to hand, he’d be tempted to see if this receptionist had a brain, heart, and spine in addition to her four limbs.
“Tell me, what do you do outside your hours of business?”
She cocked her head, as if confused at the question. “During business hours, I am here at the facility. When the facility does not require my assistance, I am asleep.”
He broadened his grin to match hers. “Why, that sounds thrilling. Do you suppose the weather will continue, or do you think the sun will blacken and shrivel up?”
The receptionist’s smile suggested he’d just told a joke. “I have no opinion on the subject.”
That was her favorite line: I have no opinion on the subject. If he had a mark for every time he’d heard that from her during his previous visits, he’d be changing them to goldmarks soon. “No opinion? I see. If I were to strip and dance naked on your desk, would you have an opinion?”
Her smile didn’t shrink by a single tooth. “I would be forced to call security in that instance, sir.”
Calder stopped. It was useless. He stood and let the remaining seconds until three o’clock drip by.
She smiled the whole time.
At precisely three in the afternoon, she rose from her chair and beckoned him back, through a simple white door. “This way, sir.”
As he passed through the door, Calder couldn’t help but wonder: Is this the sensor? Do they know I’m a Reader? They know my name; they might know anyway.
But nothing obvious happened. No crimson quicklamp came flaring to life; no guards rang a bell to sound the alarm. The floor didn’t dissolve beneath him.
The receptionist led him down several disappointingly boring hallways. At first he tried to focus on memorizing her route, but he quickly realized that it wasn’t necessary. The floor was polished stone, the walls wooden, and after a few turns he came to realize that the whole facility was a square grid. She might as well have handed him a map.
The whole time, he watched every doorframe and stretch of ceiling, looking for something that might indicate a Reader-detecting trap. He saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing.
When they finally reached his father’s cell, the receptionist handed him a beaten copper bell. “I will come to collect you at four o’clock. If you wish to depart before that time, or if you notice any unusual behavior in the prisoner, please ring that bell. A member of the facility staff will come to assist you as quickly as possible.”
With one more beaming smile, the receptionist bowed out of the room.
The heavy cell door clanged shut behind him, but Calder hardly noticed.
He was with his father again.
Rojric Marten looked much healthier than Calder had imagined. His red beard was neatly trimmed, his hair combed. Even his bright red one-piece prison uniform seemed tailored to fit.
Come to think of it, is this really a cell?
The room wasn’t pristine, but it looked like a home. The bed had a quilt on it, and a writing-desk sat in the corner, piled with books. There was even a small quicklamp bolted to the wall, with a pull-cord to activate and deactivate it.
“I think you’re living better than I am,” Calder said, and laughed weakly. His palms were wet, his heart racing.
Rojric smiled broadly, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, I suspect I am. Better than I ever did on the street, I’m sure.”
This time, they laughed together.
“How are they treating you here?” Calder asked, waving his hand to encompass the facility behind him. “Is everything...okay.”
Rojric chuckled. “Oh, better than okay. Regular meals, plenty to read, excellent medical care. I feel better than I have in my entire life.”
Calder relaxed. Suddenly, the whole plan to break him out of prison seemed silly, like the games of children. When the receptionist had turned him away so many times, he had invented dark and ominous reasons, creating a fiction that his mind was more than willing to accept.
The whole time, his father had been up here reading and exercising.
Calder sat back on the bed, facing his father. “I’ve been living with Mother, you know.”
Rojric didn’t seem surprised; Calder supposed someone in the prison must have told him. “I’m glad to hear it, son. She’s a wonderful woman. Everything is going well for you, then?”
Prison must have done a miracle on his father, to have him calling Alsa ‘wonderful.’ At most, he would have grudgingly called her ‘professional.’
“As well as can be expected,” Calder said. “I, ah...I found a new job. I’m a Watchman now. With the Blackwatch. You know, the Guild.”
This was the news he had most dreaded breaking to his father. Rojric hated the Guilds, didn’t trust them, and the Blackwatch was the most suspicious of all. But this new Rojric, softened by prison, might actually be pleased.
And pleased he was; he positively beamed at his son. “Such good news! You’ve got such a promising career at such a young age. And you’ll be able to serve the Emperor, the light and life of our Empire.”
Calder examined his father carefully, searching for any sign of irony. “You approve, then?”
“Of course! Why would I not? A good, steady income and a chance to serve the Emperor is all I could want for my son!”
Something was wrong here. Were they being watched? Was that why his father was playing the Good Imperial Citizen all of a sudden?
He lowered his voice, just in case. “Father. You once told me that the Empire would be better off eating itself alive than dying slowly under this Elderspawned excuse for a ruler.”
Rojric chuckled again. “No, that doesn’t sound like me.”
Calder’s suspicions bloomed to full-blown alarm. Reaching out to the reading-desk, he placed his hand on the stack of books.
Rojric is in pain, he’s sweating, the walls are closing in, and he has to escape. Maybe if he uses the book, he can break the window and leap into the bay. Break, window! BREAK!
Calder jerked his hand away, already gasping for breath at the brief contact.
Rojric peered at him, brow furrowed in worry. “Are you feeling all right, son? We could call a doctor. They have an excellent medical staff here, you know.”
H
e grabbed the quilt.
Rojric twists the quilt in his fists, braiding it into a rope. If he kills himself quickly, they won’t be able to hurt him anymore. “No more shots,” he silently begs. “Kill me quickly.”
His father’s pain and fear blazed in Calder, burning away his doubts and worries for himself.
“Two days ago,” he began, suddenly resolute. “I was working out in the harbor. I saw at least five prisoners open a window and plunge to their deaths on the rocks below. Why would they do that, Father?”
Rojric’s smile suddenly looked as though it had been painted on, as fake as the receptionist’s. “How should I know, son?”
Calder pointed at the window overlooking Candle Bay. “If I opened that window, right now, would you jump out?”
His father froze. “You can’t open that window, Calder. It doesn’t open. It never opens.”
Calder walked over and placed his hands on the window as though to open it. “I’m a Reader, remember? I can open it. But only if you want me to. Only if you want to jump out. Do you? Do you want to jump out?”
Rojric choked out a single word past a frozen, paralyzed smile. “Yes.”
Calder gathered his father into an embrace, fighting back tears. At that moment, if he could have planted an alchemical charge and blown the whole prison to rubble, he would have lit the fuse with a smile on his face.
Hesitantly, weakly, Rojric wrapped his arms around his son.
~~~
The cell door was locked, but Calder opened it anyway.
Two security guards hurried down the hall as he walked away, but he just ignored them and they ran past, inspecting the door to see what had gone wrong with the lock. Rojric didn’t make a fuss or try to escape. In fact, Calder heard him chatting pleasantly with the guards from back in his cell.
When he reached the receptionist, he placed the copper bell back on her desk. “I found my own way back.”
“That was against facility procedure,” she said, smiling.
Calder placed both hands on the desk and leaned forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with her. He expected her to back up. She didn’t. “I have a hypothetical situation for you. What if, when I came back, I burned this place to the ground?”
