Of the Mortal Realm

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  Naples took the invitation implied by Cupric’s silence and slunk forward again. “Of course,” he whispered, leaning close, “I do prefer to be face-to-face.” The statement was matched by a wriggle that would have been sexy in a woman, but in this case pressed against Cupric parts he normally tried to ignore. Naples made a purring sound when he flinched. “You are awfully afraid of dick, for a man who keeps having sex with men. You’ll let a fourteen-year-old boy go down on you but you’re too Numen-cursed straight-and-narrow to so much as touch anything you don’t want to.”

  “How in the three worlds do you know any of this?” Cupric asked. He tried to step back, but even though he knew they were in the middle of the room and there was open air behind him, it felt like he was pressing against stone.

  “Abyssi watch what their mancers do, and they share the fun parts of the stories,” Naples explained. Then he grinned. “I think I just figured out what I want to do to you,” he said. “It seems nicely . . . poetic. The Numini might even be proud of my sense of fair play.”

  Chapter 31

  Cadmia

  Abyssumancers and Numenmancers, when they wanted to enter the mancers’ temple, could do so one of two ways: they could go through days of elaborate and exhausting ritual to open a rift, or they could find one of the rifts that dotted Kavet. Those entrances to a place that wasn’t really a place at all, a place that existed part in the mortal realm and part in the Other realms, moved around, sometimes lingering in the same spot for years and sometimes appearing and disappearing in days.

  Cadmia didn’t need to create or find a rift because she had an Abyssi with her. A flick of Alizarin’s tail was all it took to open a portal to the temple.

  It took far more than that for her to gather the courage to step through it.

  She was not a mancer. She was not an Abyssi. She was not even spawn, herself; she only carried one in her womb. She was a scholar and proud of that fact, but she was acutely aware that she was an outsider and an intruder as she crossed the threshold into a space that pulsed and writhed with living power.

  Alizarin didn’t accompany her. She hoped to talk to a Numini, and the Numini were less likely to talk to Cadmia if she spoke to them with an Abyssi at her back. If she summoned him, he would come quickly, but her safety here depended mostly on Terre Verte’s orders to his followers—and his control over those followers.

  That was not a comforting thought, and since thoughts created reality in this place, the vague sense of walls around her constricted and shuddered.

  “Child of Napthol,” a voice greeted her. The creature that spoke moved in a wreath of sooty power that sparkled with orange and yellow barbs, and even though Cadmia could not see the Abyssi’s face here, she recognized her from their brief encounter in the Abyss. If anyone else was nearby—Abyssi, Numini or mancer—Cadmia could not sense them.

  “Vanadium, of the second level court?”

  The Abyssi replied in syllable tones that seemed affirmative despite the lack of words.

  “I find it interesting you greet me as belonging to Napthol,” Cadmia said, “and not to Alizarin.” She would have expected an Abyssi to credit her status as Alizarin’s lover as more important.

  “The Numini are more interesting lately than the blue prince,” Vanadium replied.

  “Then Napthol really is a Numini?”

  Again, that hissing yes.

  “Do you know anything about the Napthol’s other chosen?” Cadmia asked. “Their mancers?”

  Again, a non-verbal response. This time, Cadmia had the impression of flicking spines, a dismissive gesture.

  “Your mancer is allied with Terre Verte, isn’t she? Does she know anything about Dioxazine?”

  “If you wish to know about the Numini’s toys,” Vanadium purred, “why don’t you ask the Numini?”

  “Do you think Napthol would speak to me?”

  Vanadium retreated, her form becoming less distinct. “You have spoken that Numini’s name three times now. In this place, words are power. The Numini hear. If they deign to, they will speak to you.”

  “Why are you helping me?” Cadmia thought to ask, belatedly. The last time she had seen this Abyssi, Vanadium had been trying to earn tribute gifts from Alizarin.

  “My mancer, Keppel, is uneasy,” Vanadium answered, before disappearing entirely.

  The Abyssi had said Napthol had heard Cadmia’s words so far, but idle questions didn’t seem as respectful as speaking her request out loud, so Cadmia said into the void, “Napthol of the Numini, if you hear me and will grant me your time, please speak to me.”

  She waited, trying to control the space around her through sheer will. She finally managed to slow the dark pulsing of the walls, and had just started to expand the claustrophobic space when a new presence entered it, streaking the world silver and white. A Numini.

  It immediately backed away, until her impression of it was distant and shadowed.

  “Careful, child,” it said. Its voice was faint and distorted, as if heard through water. “This place protects you somewhat, but it is not safe for mortals to behold the divine too clearly.”

  The same was true of Abyssi, Cadmia knew, but it didn’t seem wise to say as much just then.

  “Thank you for answering me,” Cadmia said. “And for saving my life . . . that was you who saved my life in the Abyss, wasn’t it?”

  “It was I,” the Numini said. “You are not one of our chosen . . . I do not give mortals marks of my favor, these days . . . but your sect kept my name and so I watch you still.” His sigh was an icy breeze, rippling with disappointment, before he added, “It is not your fault that you have been pulled into situations you cannot control. I cannot rid you of the child you carry, but after it has been born if you need my aid you may call to me to free your body of its lingering Abyssal taint.”

  Cadmia had no physical body in this place, which was the only way she kept bile from rising up her throat. Only her long years of training in the Order helped her quash her revulsion so it didn’t turn the temple around her to a disgusted green vortex that would attempt to wring itself free of this arrogant Numini.

  Instead, she choked out, “What about now? We are looking for information about Dioxazine, or a man named Clay who we think was also a Numenmancer. Can you help me?”

  The Numini’s form quivered more. “I . . . I cannot aid you in this matter, not without defying the decrees of our highest Arbitrator, but I know one who can. He has been trying to reach your necromancer, but she lacks the tools she needs to speak to him. Give her this, and—”

  As Cadmia felt something pressed into her hand, the Temple twisted, all that was smooth and silver and white turning puce-gray and jagged. A new form appeared, one that radiated pain and hunger.

  “Flee,” the Numini whispered. “He is too hungry to respect anyone’s decrees. You have what you need, and all I can give you. Tell your necromancer to tell him that Napthol is loyal still.”

  Cadmia felt ice push her at the same time that Alizarin, perhaps sensing the same disturbance, pulled her back. Abruptly she found herself on the floor of Umber’s living room, sweat-soaked and dizzy, her hand clamped tightly around—sand?

  She opened her fingers, which felt stiff, as if she had held them clenched for hours. The substance trapped within was a dull ivory, with tiny grains like fine-ground salt. It didn’t look like much, but she held it carefully, trusting that it was precious.

  “Do we have something I can put this in?” she asked. “A Numini gave it to me, and said to give it to Lydie to help with her spell.” Recalling the kinds of tools Numenmancers used, she added, “Crystal or silver would be best, I think.”

  They walked together to the kitchen, where they eventually found an ornate silver teacup that hid alone in a top cabinet. Had it been part of a set once? What had happened to its companions?

  She carefully poured the dusky off-white grains into the cup, and stared at them. “It doesn’t look like much,” she said.


  “You are blind to divine power on this plane,” Alizarin said. His voice was tight, and when Cadmia looked at him, she saw that his eyes had watered while he looked at the simple-looking grains. “Veronese told me all three planes have seas. The Abyss’s great ocean is dry, and our smaller seas are hot and oily and poison. The mortal plane’s ocean is dark and cold and salty like tears. In the Numen, there’s a great ocean that is cool and fresh and perfectly clear like crystal. Souls are born there, and flow into the mortal plane to be born, and every time they do, that’s when it rains here. And sometimes souls pass from the Abyss, through the mortal plane and to the Numen, and that’s when the lightning comes. Or so Veronese told me.”

  “That’s lovely,” Cadmia said, sighing along with Alizarin as his gaze went distant.

  “These are grains of sand from the shore of the Numen sea,” Alizarin added. He reached out a hand, then drew it back as if afraid his touch would contaminate them. Knowing what she did of the Numini, Cadmia suspected he was right, though it hurt her heart to see the longing in his eyes.

  She set the sand down, then wrapped her arms around her lover and pressed her cheek to his chest.

  Chapter 32

  Hansa

  After spending the morning going over logs and reports, Hansa had come to the conclusion that he needed a distraction.

  Of the six sighted guards who should have been in the 126, four were missing, and one had had a close call the night before.

  Confining the two remaining sighted guards to the compound was not an option, not when Hansa was stuck there all day. He also wasn’t willing to send them out into the city to be hunted and slaughtered by Verte’s allies. Meanwhile, he needed to squelch rumors of a mancer gathering at Amaranth Farms.

  He needed a distraction—something big and splashy that would justify his sending the two remaining sighted guards and at least one of the remaining captains away from the city to investigate. And they needed to find a situation messy enough that they felt they had interrupted something.

  Setting that up seemed like a good job for Umber and Alizarin. He would have them do it that night.

  In the meantime, he groaned as he tried to refocus on the personnel files while waiting for someone to come in and tell him he had been nominated for President.

  “Sir? Are you all right?”

  Oh. Right. Rinnman had been Hansa’s right-hand all day. He had been up much of the night gathering the information Hansa had requested, and then had apologized for coming in late.

  He’s the one who should be promoted to general and elected President, Hansa thought sourly.

  “We have only one application from someone with the sight,” Hansa observed, lifting his head, “and the captain who interviewed him described him as ‘unstable, irrational, paranoid, and unkempt.’” Hansa didn’t want to add more sighted soldiers to the guard, but ignoring the obvious need would look suspicious.

  The other soldier gave a half smile before apparently deciding the expression was uncalled-for, and hiding it. “Let me know if I’m out of line, sir, but there are other applicants with the sight in the pile labeled, ‘Prerequisites not met.’”

  Hansa quirked a brow. “I assumed they were in that pile for a reason.”

  “Some of them are too young or have a history with the Order of A’hknet, but most of those were disqualified because they’re women.” Rinnman kept his tone even as he spoke, careful not to allow any hint of approval or disapproval enter his voice.

  “Hmm.” Hansa reached for the pile, which he had set aside on the floor hours ago, before remembering he didn’t want anyone else with the sight. On the other hand . . . “If they were disqualified based on sex, I assume they never reached the interview stage?”

  The other man shook his head. “I don’t know how much it will help you. I worked with a few women in my earliest years in the One-Twenty-Six, and they were fine soldiers, but His Eminence doesn’t approve of them in the guard these days.”

  Ever since Umber’s mother.

  No. Bonnie Holland had been an excuse, not a cause.

  “His Eminence is a wise man,” Hansa said. “I am sure he will see that in times like these, all possibilities must be considered.” Such bullshit.

  “It will make some of the men uncomfortable as well,” Rinnman said. He didn’t sound like he personally disagreed. Hansa suspected Rinnman was trying to prepare him for future arguments.

  “Having men disappear makes me uncomfortable,” Hansa replied. “Since you seem to have some familiarity with it already, I’m putting you in charge of looking through these and pulling out anyone who looks like a likely applicant, regardless of sex. You can conduct the first round of interviews.”

  Rinnman nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Good. That would look productive, take time, and keep Hansa from having to directly deal with any applicants with the sight.

  As the older soldier pushed himself up, leaning on his crutch, he said, “Sir, permission to speak freely?”

  Hansa resisted the impulse to say, First you can stop calling me sir when you’re almost twice my age, and instead said, “Permission granted.”

  Despite having been granted permission, Rinnman didn’t immediately seem anxious to speak. Eventually, he managed to say, “I don’t know if you recall me, but I was one of the men brought onto the panel when there were some . . . concerns . . . as to your behavior.”

  How could Hansa recall anyone from that day? He had been arrested, and would have been tried and sentenced without ever seeing those who would judge him.

  It took him a moment more to realize Rinnman was referring to the other time.

  “Yes?” he said. Years ago, he and Jenkins had been found—and had in fact been—innocent of sexual deviance. It was awkward having someone bring it up now that he was actually guilty of it, but he kept his face impassive.

  Rinnman drew a breath, and then said, “Never mind, sir. I’ll get on those interviews for you.”

  Well, that was curious and unsettling.

  Rinnman left, and Hansa turned back to his papers, wondering what the other man had intended to say. It could have been anything, from, “I thought you were guilty” to “I still think you’re guilty” to “I have a nephew who is attracted to men and would really like someone to talk to about it.”

  Or, “I have a nephew who was propositioned last night by a member of your dinner party.”

  Why the fuck did I have sex with Naples?

  The thought, which had been reoccurring to him intermittently all morning, caught him off guard. Despite his calm words to Umber that morning, he couldn’t quite believe he had done it, and he was glad Naples had left before he had needed to face that fact. He didn’t have to deal with it again until—well, until the next time Naples knocked on that door. Which he would.

  Work, Hansa!

  It was a little before lunch when the first reports came, again filtered through a now-furious-seeming Rinnman: The rumors had started that President Indathrone was missing, along with several members of the 126. He promised to track down the leak. Hansa made his face appropriately grave and nodded.

  Then, shortly after lunch, another knock on his door:

  “Sir?” It was Soldier Gray now, dancing on his feet as he attempted to report calmly. “A group of citizens just delivered a petition for an emergency assembly. I delivered it to the city council’s secretary, but thought you should be informed as well. They want to elect an interim President until President Indathrone returns.”

  Hansa didn’t have the energy to appear shocked. He managed to say neutrally, “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “Cadmia Paynes has been nominated,” Gray blurted out. “Isn’t she the one who—um—”

  Hansa was too busy blinking past his surprise to immediately understand the question. Cadmia. Why hadn’t they considered that? The first President of Kavet was a woman, after all, and Cadmia was well-known and liked without needing Umber to clear her for maleficence and mass mur
der.

  That thought helped him fill in the rest of Gray’s stammered question. “The one who reported against me?” he suggested. Gray nodded miserably. “It was a misunderstanding. She did her job based on the information she had. I hold no grudge against her for that.”

  Rinnman came to the door. “The council chambers have a line stretching halfway across the plaza,” he reported. “Requests for information, more nominations, and registrations for the assembly I’m sure. They just dispatched a courier to alert to the outlying towns. We . . .”

  Hansa missed the rest of Rinnman’s report as all his attention turned toward a rush of power that brought him mentally back to the fifth level of the Abyss, where creatures of madness and shadow reigned. His breath hissed in.

  “Sir?” Rinnman asked. “Is there a problem?”

  Hansa looked past Rinnman and Gray, and spotted Naples being escorted across the room by another guard. Panic choked him for an instant, thankfully cutting off his first response, before he realized that Naples hadn’t been drugged or chained, but was being walked in like any other visitor.

  Like a slightly drunk visitor, Hansa thought, seeing that Naples appeared just a bit unsteady on his feet.

  “I need to take this meeting,” Hansa said, frantically trying to remember where the two remaining sighted guards were at that moment. “It should be news I’ve been waiting on.”

  As quickly as possible, he had a closed door between himself and Naples.

  “What in the three realms have you been doing?” Hansa asked, reeling from the heady swirls of power rising from the Abyssumancer. “And why are you doing it here?”

  Naples crossed the room, put himself in Hansa’s arms, and kissed him. The wash of power that flowed from him, seeping skin to skin, took all the strength from Hansa’s knees. They both toppled back into a chair, with Naples barely catching them on the desk to keep the chair and both of them from falling over.

  Hansa might not have noticed, not with the Abyssumancer seeping power and straddling him.