“Remember what I said about Victoria being a frightful enemy,” Ashel said.
“Oh, yes, I remember. Don’t worry.” Ashel forced himself to take even breaths while the Commissar snipped. There was too much at stake to unleash either his ego or his fear.
“Now the lather.” Parnden stirred up a foam and brushed it onto Ashel’s cheeks and neck. Exchanging brush for blade, he scraped a cheek. “As I was saying, there’s a quandary. I doubt Lornk cares enough about either of you to trade his freedom for yours. And after expending the effort to reveal the lovely face under all this hair, I’d rather Citizen Korng decorate my parlor than my gibbet. And you, my lord—I’d much rather you remain on the Seat of Relm than stew in my dungeon. Lift your chin, Citizen.”
Ashel’s larynx bobbed on its own, his heart racing. The Kragnashian holding him crooned something, and he cleared his throat and forced his breath back into an even rhythm.
Parnden’s blade scraped the cleft between the sinews in Ashel’s neck. “So, the question I ask myself is, what guarantees from the Lord of Relm and Traine’s newest Citizen would set my mind at ease?”
“I’ve given you shares in the copper,” Earnk said.
Fiery pain lanced Ashel’s chin, and a hot line trickled toward his collar. “Oh! I do apologize, Citizen.” Parnden daubed the nick with a towel, then scraped the other side of Ashel’s throat. His heart rampaging within his chest, he fought to keep still. “Shares that won’t pay out until after this so-called Concordance has passed and your father’s next coup attempt is over, one way or the other.” He mopped the remaining lather from Ashel’s face and stepped back. “That’s what you’ve all been waiting for, isn’t it?”
“What is a concordance?” Earnk asked.
Parnden smirked. “Did your father tell you to play the simpleton when you were my clerk, or was that your own invention? I’ve always wondered, especially when you refused the promotion I offered you. You were developing into such a fine lad, my lord. Now, Citizen. I haven’t forgotten why you left your homeland and became involved in this charade. I’ve made inquiries about your wife and sister.”
“And what did you find out?” he asked, bafflement, hope, and terror knotted together in his freshly shaven throat.
The Kragnashian’s mandibles slid along his neck, bringing its head closer. It was humming so faintly he doubted anyone else could hear it. The tune off-key, it took several measures before Ashel recognized the song as “A Wizard’s Last Embrace.”
Parnden’s grin shifted into a mummer’s frown. “Alas, they were taken deep into Kragnashian territory, perhaps even to the southern continent, to be sacrificed in a ritual of grave importance to the Kragnashians. I fear there is no hope of their return.” Lips curling maliciously, he made the Oreseeker condolence sign and pressed his palm to Ashel’s chest. “I am so, so deeply sorry for your loss.”
The words battered Ashel, stoking the doubt and fear that had plagued him nearly half a year. Parnden is lying, Geram said. You know that—the Center confirmed they’re in the past.
Behind him, the Kragnashian’s mouthparts gnashed softly as it whispered something to him. Its mandibles loosened, and antennae grazed his forehead. A strange sensation of hope bloomed, and his fear faded as if washed away by bliss.
“What assurances do you want?” Earnk asked, his voice shaking.
Chittering, the Kragnashians released them and twisted round, knocking more books off the shelves. With a chorus of burrs and clicks, the pair disappeared down the passageway.
Parnden smoothed a scowl into a sneer. “What assurances? A good question, my lord. I’m sure together you and your brother can conceive a satisfactory proposal. Major, henceforth the Lord of Relm and Citizen Korng shall be held here under house arrest.” He stepped toward the hall, turned back. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Citizen, I believe you said you’d never seen The Abolitionist. I came across a copy and thought you might find it illuminating. I know Alek Storund is a friend to the Korngs, but don’t fret. He’ll be given the same choice I give all Citizens: he can escape the gibbet if he supplies someone to take his place.” Handing the paper to Ashel, he left, followed by Demsch and her guards.
Breathing hard, Earnk hurried out. In Latha, Geram conferred with Senators and fieldmarshals as clerks rushed round, packing up the government’s papers. Surprised and baffled by his own calm, Ashel peered down the passageway leading to the Device. A murmur drifted up, as if the Kragnashians were casually chatting. Sifting through the books scattered on the floor, he found the Kragnashian dictionary and slipped it in his pocket, then snagged the volume depicting the clan patterns and tucked Alek’s pamphlet under the cover.
In the hallway, retching filtered from the privy chamber. Fetching a decanter and two glasses from the parlor, Ashel knocked on the privy door. Water ran, and the door slid into the wall. Earnk’s face was white under damp hair.
“I think you need this.” Ashel set the books down and poured him a drink.
“Thank you.” The Relmlord drained the glass. Trembling, he sank to the floor and swiped at tears. “Father would not be pleased to find me here, blubbering.”
Ashel refilled Earnk’s glass and peered through cut crystal at his own amber liquor. “I’ve done my share of blubbering, here and other places.”
Earnk rolled the glass between his palms and scowled. The hall clock ticked. “The last time I watched Parnden wield a barber’s blade, a good friend of mine died.”
Ashel touched his heart and Earnk’s chest. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“This morning, in Relm, his guards murdered mine in front of the staff. Then he left Kragnashians at the Device there, as here. Elesendar knows what the Council will do.”
“Parnden brought Kragnashians to Narath as well. The Lathan government is removing to Erin. My mother abdicated, and Geram is now regent.”
Earnk stared at him. “How—I thought I Heard Geram speaking to you. You can Hear him, even at this distance?”
Ashel guffawed softly. “Nearly all the time. He’s aware of us right now.”
Earnk sipped his drink and loosed a long, low whistle. “That must be hard.”
“In Latha, they said they were assuming control of all the Devices in the world on the basis of a treaty with ‘the First.’ What did the Kragnashians say in Relm? If the Caleisbahnin have switched sides, Parnden’s won.”
Earnk sighed ruefully. “I never learned Kragnashian. But if Parnden and the First are allies now, he wouldn’t still be looking for Father. He’s on a frigate in the bay.” He chortled grimly. “He gets terribly seasick, and he’s likely been miserable for the last two months.”
Ashel tapped the books. “I don’t understand Kragnashian well either, but in the library just now, one tried to tell me something. We need to know which clan has taken over the Device.” He grasped Earnk’s shoulder. “Cousin or brother, we’re in this together now.”
Earnk returned the grip. “Blood or not, it’s brother.”
The Joining
Swollen belly encased in a shield of air, Vic floated through the clang of weapons and bellowed insults. She hovered among the drilling soldiers on the training ground, eyes closed, legs crossed, mind focused on staying clear of their blades.
“Feel them,” Saelbeneth said, her mindvoice faint but clear. “The eddies of life that move around them. Shut out the sound. Shut out the smells and sights and feel only the eddies. Bring the Woern inside, pull the energy inside you, and you will feel yourself shift out of time, no longer able to hear and see that which surrounds you. Feel the eddies then.”
“Madam!” a soldier screamed. Vic’s eyes popped open; a spear hurtled toward her. She dodged, and someone crashed into her. Her hip and shoulder smacked into the mud. A soldier tripped, his boots flailing past her chin. Another charged, mouth contorted in a wild scream, a wicked axe blade hacking toward her head. Vic rolled clear and shot above the fray as the axe-wielder yanked the weapon loose
and swung it wide. Another trooper hit him on the crown with her pike haft. With a gulp, the berserker staggered forward, shook his head clear, and stood at attention as a training sergeant screamed in his face.
Panting, Vic willed her heart to slow. The baby thrashed, and Saelbeneth whispered, “Did you feel the energy stretch between you and that soldier?”
“The one that just tried to kill me?”
Saelbeneth chuckled. “It’s natural to repel an invasion, madam.”
Vic took a breath and held it, released it slowly. “An invasion. I suppose that’s what it is.”
“Concentrate only on your breathing,” Saelbeneth said.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. In, out. Below, troopers hollered. Weapons clashed. Breathing, Vic reinforced her shield and lowered herself into the sparring ground. She knew these sounds well, and were she fighting, she could easily tune them out and focus on herself and her opponent.
“Treat the eddies as your opponent then,” Saelbeneth advised.
Startled the wizard had Heard her, Vic refocused her attention on her breath. In, out. Cries and metal clashed in a familiar rhythm. Strike, parry, counterstrike. She latched onto the beats, let them drive the timing of her breath and heart. Strike, parry, counterstrike. In, out, in. Eyes closed, she felt the weapons move through space and smack flesh, the motion of air in and out of the soldiers’ lungs, their blood surge and ebb through arteries and veins. It was excruciating and exhilarating, and she had the sensation of her mind opening, of possibility opening. Time and place opened to her. She could accomplish anything—all she had to do was choose. The baby stretched and settled as black joy blossomed, racing up her spine to her eyes—
A strange energy moved out of her. The troopers swooned and staggered, their weapons clattered on the ground.
“Victoria!” Saelbeneth’s voice cracked, and a cramp twisted her womb. Gasping, knees buckling, she clutched at her belly as pain wracked her abdomen. Saelbeneth swooped down and held Vic’s shoulders while the pain subsided and her breathing steadied.
Shaking off their stupor, the troopers backed away, and Saelbeneth pulled Vic to her feet. “Thank you,” she said aloud to the soldiers, “for assisting us in this experiment. We have learned much today about how Meylnara might seek to harm us and how we may defend ourselves.” An arm around Vic, she flew upward. “We must go.”
“What did I do wrong?” Vic asked. “I felt the transcendence you described.”
“I think you did everything right, Victoria, which is why I stopped you. Come with me.”
They shot south to a granite outcrop that broke through the canopy. Settling there, Saelbeneth closed her eyes, breathed for three heartbeats, then looked at Vic. “If anyone else on the Council had witnessed that, they would have called immediately for your death.”
A gasp twisted into a rueful laugh. “So I did it? We’ve been trying for a month, and I’m still not sure how . . .”
“I’m not certain either, but I believe this time you may well have succeeded in exchanging the energy inside those men with the energy within you.”
“You attacked my child.”
“It diverted your attention and permitted me to sever the connection before it was too late to reverse it. I couldn’t let you gain control over those men.”
“I’m glad to be free of them, but I can’t let you hurt the baby again, Saelbeneth.”
The Council leader inclined her head, and they sat in silence. Around them, blossoms dotted the foliage, reminding her of sunlit butterflies skimming the Kiareinoll’s topmost leaves.
“I still haven’t a clue how Meylnara could have merged with an entire forest or how to separate her from it.”
Saelbeneth smiled sadly. “You must find a way, or we must destroy the trees. We cannot allow a haven for lawbreakers here. If Meylnara managed to steal your child or find some other way to make companions for herself, she could start a dynasty of wizards who would oppose us. Not now, perhaps, but in a generation or two or three. If we do not eliminate her, the numbers of rogue wizards will grow, and a Purge may be necessary in your own time. I would rather us kill one woman now, than force our descendants to commit a holocaust later.”
“This forest brims with life—killing it is a holocaust too.”
“It must be done, or more innocents without power will die, as they did so often before the Purge. The same is true for your time and your people, Victoria, especially because you’re powerful and can blaze in and crush everything about you. It is easy to destroy. Making things is harder, but it’s both more satisfying and more useful.” She laid a hand on Vic’s belly. “When you return to your time, you must find a way to bind yourself and your child and all your descendants to an oath against harm to others, or there will be a need for another Purge some time in your future.”
* * *
Ducking out of the hospital, Bethniel mopped her brow, anxious for a bath. Nelchior emerged from the Council pavilion and hailed her, striding quickly across the yard. Biting her tongue, she pasted on a gracious smile and curtsied, keeping her hands clasped behind her back.
“Lady Bethniel, how fares your mistress?”
“She is well, sir.”
“There was an incident in the training yard this morning.”
Soldiers had flooded the hospital, all complaining of headaches. “The troops said Saelbeneth and Victoria were conducting an experiment.”
“What type of experiment, do you suppose?”
“I wouldn’t know; Victoria has put herself in Saelbeneth’s hands for training.”
An eyebrow cocked, Nelchior stepped closer. “You look tired, my lady. I shall let you retire.” His fingers brushed her arm as he withdrew, and a sharp tingling flashed through her veins. One corner of his mouth curled upward; she kept her face still, never more thankful for her mother’s teaching—her eyes did not widen, her cheeks remained cold. Courtier’s smile still in place, she dipped her knees and hurried toward home.
As soon as she passed the first tents in Thabean’s compound, her eyes and mouth tightened. She was damn close to crying, which was silly, as she had no reason, no immediate reason. Yet her blood seethed with revulsion at Nelchior’s appraising leer. She had been the object of attention since her earliest memories, and it had never bothered her except from this man, who frightened as well as repulsed her. Tears built behind her eyes, an ache pulsed in her temples, and bile churned in her belly. I’m not afraid, she muttered silently. I’m furious! He will not have my Woern!
“My lady,” Thabean called as she passed his pavilion.
She stopped, her heart in her throat. Thabean and Samovael had been gone more than a month. “Sir, you’re back. Are the supply lines secure?”
Leaving Fainend and his other aides gathered round a table inside his tent, he took her arm. “They are secure, and Saelbeneth’s books should be en route. May we speak?”
She dipped her head, and he led her to an alley between tents. “Close your eyes and cover your mouth, so you do not cry out.”
“What do you—”
“Will you come with me?”
Gut clenched, she swallowed as his eyes rose to hers. An absurd wish that he was taller crossed her mind, and she immediately scolded herself. It doesn’t matter how short he is! “Where are we going?”
A rare grin broke out and he wrapped an arm round her waist. “Swimming. Don’t make a sound.”
He pulled her close and rocketed up, leaving behind a squeal that escaped her lips. Wind tore at her hair, whipped her clothes as they flashed over the forest, then dove through the canopy, coming to rest in a fern-laced glade.
“Swimming?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you for a month, and the first thing you do is ask me to go swimming?”
“Why are you angry?”
She blinked. “I’m not.” She wasn’t—perhaps a little, but she didn’t blame him. She still felt awkward about the caldera and shivered, thi
nking of his arms around her. “I am . . . surprised. And I don’t understand why you brought me here.”
“There’s a pool a short way off, filled with spring water, clear and still. Dealn would bring his . . .” He flushed. “I fear that sounds unseemly. I am sorry—I meant only to provide some relief from our troubles.”
Charmed by his awkward formality, she teased, “Did you bring bathing costumes, sir? I can hardly swim in my hospital smock.”
His eyes widened, and he laughed. “I didn’t notice your garb.” His humor melted into a smolder. “All I saw was you.”
Heat gushed to her eyes, and breath froze in her lungs. Her fingers reached for his. Skin met skin, and he rose to her height, brushed his lips against hers. Her mouth parted, and his tongue courted hers with sweet flavors of fruit and ale. Her arms flew around his neck, fingers threading through hair luxurious and soft. He squeezed closer, and she met the pressure of his body with her own. He was hard and wiry, his arms solid and strong, and she wanted to stay in his embrace forever.
Pausing, he palmed her cheeks. “My dear, I violate the laws I hold sacred, but if I am to die, I should die with no regrets. Failing to love you would be a regret.”
Joy churned with angst. “I . . . I want nothing more but to be with you, except to see you live. To love me is your death.”
“My death is certain in any case. Let us love while we can.” His eyes shimmered like still pools under a bright sky, and she tumbled into those depths, drowning happily.
Hand in hand, they stole down a narrow path. Bethniel froze as a giggle splashed through the trees. With a wicked smile, Thabean scooped her into the air and settled them on a tree branch high above a pool where a pair of teenage scullions frolicked in the water, their clothes laid out on nearby rocks. Signing for quiet, he pulled limbs and leaves together, weaving a bower, and they lay on their stomachs and watched the pair cavort. A splash and a squeal spun into laughter, then silence as the couple’s lips met. Ripples expanded slowly around them.
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