Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  Other than Gorman—whose solemn exterior Cinzia had always supposed was a front—her uncle Ronn was the only one who did not seem taken into the levity, although even he could not resist licking icing from his fingers.

  “Can we share some of these with the followers outside?” Ader asked.

  His question had been directed at Pascia, but everyone in the room heard it. An awkward silence followed.

  Pascia smiled down at her son. “I’m not sure we would have enough for everyone,” she said. “It wouldn’t do to share with only a few and then run out.”

  “Couldn’t we just make more?” Ader asked.

  Pascia glanced at Gorman. “Well… I’m not sure we have the ingredients to make that many, son.”

  Gorman sniffed but said nothing. Cinzia did not know if that meant they didn’t have the resources, or if Gorman was just reluctant to share.

  Jane stood and tousled Ader’s hair. “Mother is right. It would be difficult to make sticky rolls for that many people.” Jane looked up at their parents. “But this is something we need to discuss. Do we know anything about their welfare? Is there anything we can give them?”

  Ehram and Pascia exchanged a glance, then Pascia spoke. “Eward and I have walked among them a few times, just to make sure no one was starving. A few have come asking for supplies, but other than that we don’t know much.”

  Uncle Ronn cleared his throat. “We must remember that we don’t have unlimited resources. We are already allowing them access to the pond and fish from the ocean. I don’t see what else we could reasonably do for them.”

  Cinzia nodded. Her uncle’s words were gently spoken, but she could tell he did not relish the idea of sharing his wealth with the pilgrims outside. Cinzia couldn’t blame him. They knew nothing about these people.

  “Of course, Uncle,” Jane said. “But I do think it might be a good idea to carry out a census of some kind, just so we can be aware of what needs there really are.” She glanced at Cinzia. “This is all the more reason to get organized as quickly as possible.”

  A chill echoed down Cinzia’s spine. They had not discussed their plans to reform Canta’s religion with their family. Perhaps now was as good a time as any.

  “Get organized for what, Jane?” Ehram asked.

  Before Jane could respond, the door to the dining hall burst open and Knot appeared, breathing heavily. He stopped immediately when he saw he had interrupted. “Er. Sorry, didn’t realize—”

  “It’s not a problem, Knot,” Jane said with a smile. “Join us. Help yourself to a sticky roll.”

  Knot shook his head. “Need to talk to you both,” he said, looking at Cinzia and then at Jane. “Something’s come up. You both need to hear about it.”

  Goddess, what is it now? First Knot’s episode, and then the conflict between the tiellan couple and the human man about a horse. That morning Astrid had come to them ranting about how some woman—what was it she had called herself? The Beldam?—was preaching human superiority over tiellans. That had seemed bad enough. What could possibly be worse?

  “Of course,” Jane said. She looked around at her family. “Please excuse us.”

  * * *

  “Everyone is safe?” Jane asked.

  Cinzia paced back and forth in the hallway, while Knot and Jane stood facing one another. “We’re safe, yes,” he said. “Can’t say as much for the men who attacked us.”

  “Oh, Goddess,” Cinzia whispered, pacing more quickly.

  “You mean you injured them?” Jane asked. “Or you… did you kill any of them, Knot?”

  Knot cleared his throat. “No, but… I hurt a few of them. Badly enough they won’t forget it.”

  “Canta’s bloody bones,” Cinzia muttered, rubbing her temples. Things were spiraling out of control. She felt Jane’s shocked eyes on her, but did not care.

  “One of them was a Kamite,” Knot said.

  Cinzia looked up. “One of them… how do you know?”

  “A tattoo on his arm. Likely the others were too, but I can’t be sure.”

  Cinzia and Jane looked at one another. “What would the Kamite order want with us?” Jane asked.

  “You’re accepting tiellans into your… into whatever it is that’s going on here,” Knot said. “That’s enough to draw their attention.”

  Jane took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize things would progress this quickly.”

  “Then let’s slow it down,” Cinzia said. “We can tell the followers to go home. Get our bearings. Figure out exactly what Canta wants from us first.”

  “They are here, it must be Canta’s will. We must do what we can with what we have.”

  “We are risking too much, Jane. Our family can’t possibly avoid the trouble these people will cause. The humans and the tiellans don’t get along. That insane Beldam woman isn’t helping. Who knows what discord she sows. And she’s teaching about the Nine Daemons—”

  “Wait,” Knot said, “what’s a Beldam?”

  “—and now,” Cinzia continued, ignoring him, “the Kamite order? Jane, see reason. These people are only bringing us trouble. We can’t help them.”

  “You’re right, sister.”

  Cinzia breathed a sigh of relief. Thank you.

  “But Canta can,” Jane continued. “We must do as we have been asked. We must reform her religion. Canta will take care of the loose ends.”

  Cinzia’s eyes felt like they were about to pop out of her head. Then Jane placed her hand on Cinzia’s, and immediately a wave of calm swept over her.

  “Things will be all right, Cinzi,” Jane said. “They were in Navone when I turned myself in to the Crucible. They will be now, too.”

  They were not all right in Izet, Cinzia wanted to say. They were not when Kovac died. When I killed him.

  But Cinzia knew that was different. They had ventured into Roden because Cinzia had insisted upon it—because of a “vision” that had turned out to be from someone very different than Canta. They had been deceived.

  As much as Cinzia hated to admit it, following her sister might be the best course of action. At least Jane had a respectable record. Jane had not yet gotten anyone killed. And if Cinzia wanted to trust, was this not as good a place to start as any?

  “I understand your concerns,” Jane said. “But I believe the best thing to do is move forward.”

  Cinzia threw up her hands. “Do what you want,” she said, completely helpless. It seemed she had no choice but to trust.

  Jane was silent for a moment, staring off into space. “I must meditate on this,” she said finally. She walked away, up the spiral staircase to the upper floors of the house.

  “What is she talking about?” Knot asked.

  Cinzia blinked, still surprised at Jane’s sudden exit. “What do you mean?”

  “Reforming Canta’s religion. What’s she talking about?”

  Cinzia sat down on a wooden bench and placed her head in her hands. “She thinks the solution to all of this is to reform Canta’s religion, the same one the Goddess created when She walked the Sfaera.”

  “The Denomination’s around,” Knot said. “Haven’t they already done that?”

  Cinzia shook her head. “This is different. Jane thinks the Denomination has been led astray. She thinks the religion has changed too much since Canta’s time. She says Canta wants her to restore it to its original form.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think the idea sounds ridiculous,” Cinzia said, laughing. But the question did make her think. She looked up at Knot. “I can’t say she is wrong about the Denomination. I don’t know about being led astray, but… but they don’t seem to embody Canta’s doctrine. Not in the way I once thought they did. And I don’t think the way they treat the tiellans is right. Things shouldn’t be so segregated. There are some good people in the Denomination. And yet, after all I learned as a priestess, I’m far less certain about the institution itself. If rumors are to be believed—and given everything I have seen in the last y
ear, I might as well believe them—then there are some not-so-good people in the Denomination, as well.” Cinzia laughed. “I’m sure the last thing you want is to hear me rant. I apologize.”

  “Sounds like you might agree with your sister, after all.”

  “But the followers—”

  “Not about the followers. About the religion.”

  Knot might actually have a point there. “Yes, perhaps we agree on the religion, or at least on the fact that it needs reforming. I don’t know if we agree on how.”

  “Then why wait?” Knot asked. “Your congregation’s already here. The legwork’s been done for you.”

  “You think this is a good idea?” Cinzia asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to just send them away?”

  Knot shrugged. “Doubt they’d leave, even if you told ’em to.”

  You remind me of Kovac, sometimes, Cinzia wanted to say. But it wouldn’t be appropriate.

  “Who’s the Beldam?” Knot asked.

  “Has Astrid not told you? She saw her this morning. An old woman who calls herself the Beldam was speaking to a small group of followers. She seemed to know a great deal about the Nine Daemons, and…” Cinzia hesitated. Knot, especially, wouldn’t like what the Beldam preached. But she couldn’t lie to him. “…Astrid seemed to think she was preaching that humans are superior to tiellans.”

  “Bloody Oblivion. That must’ve been who Cavil was talkin’ about.”

  Cinzia blinked. “You’ve heard of her?”

  “Whatever she’s bloody preaching seems to have already taken hold on some. I had to help some tiellans move their tents this morning because a group of humans didn’t want to camp next to them.”

  “Canta rising,” Cinzia muttered. “We need to do something about that woman. I will talk to her myself. I will not let her cause such a schism among these people.”

  Be careful what you promise, Cinzia told herself. But she wanted to reassure Knot that things wouldn’t get worse.

  It was difficult to believe that Cinzia had once been suspicious of this man. She trusted him now more than she trusted most other people in her life, she realized.

  Cinzia took a deep breath.“These people are more of a liability than anything. But organizing them might be the only way to deal with them, at the rate they’re growing.” Cinzia attempted a smile. “We have spent this whole conversation talking about me,” she said. “Have you settled in to the Harmoth estate well?”

  Knot frowned. “Well enough,” he said. “I…” he paused for a moment. “When I found out who I was, what I was, in Roden, I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about harming the people around me any longer. But twice someone who isn’t me has taken over my body.”

  “It has not been that bad,” Cinzia said, trying to comfort him. “We have resolved it both times.”

  “What happens if Jane ain’t around, next time?” Knot asked. “What happens if it’s one of the other, less peaceful sifts?”

  “I don’t know,” Cinzia said. “But we will deal with it. And I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”

  Cinzia lowered her head, her hair falling around her eyes. She stared at the cracks in the mortar once more, and laughed softly to herself. “Some ragtag group we make, right?”

  When Knot did not respond, Cinzia looked up, only to find him gone.

  “Goddess,” Cinzia whispered. “How does he do that?”

  14

  Keep Mandiat, Izet

  THE FIRST PERSON COVA Amok saw as she entered the anteroom of the Castle Mandiat ballroom was her father. This couldn’t be helped, as her father would be the one to escort her onto the floor for her own engagement ball, but Cova cringed inwardly when she saw his scowl.

  It lasted only for a fraction of a second, and his face had nearly returned to normal when he reached his daughter. In the past few weeks her father had become talented at hiding his emotions. This slight change had happened around the same time her father changed in other ways—ways that Cova struggled to define.

  “Daughter,” Daval said, smiling now, his anger only a hint around his eyes. “Welcome to the ball. I thought we agreed you would wear your cerulean gown?”

  “We might’ve,” Cova said, “but I changed my mind. This dress seemed far more appropriate, given who I’m going to meet this evening.” Her cerulean gown, the one she and her father had indeed agreed that she would wear, was like those modeled by the other women in the ballroom: bright-colored, long-sleeved, tight-waisted, with the fabric billowing out in a wide arc.

  Daval’s eyes almost bugged out of his face at Cova’s comment, but he again regained his composure. Cova frowned inwardly. The father she knew, the man she knew a few months ago, would never have been this calm. A few months ago, she would have given anything for her father to take his emotions down a notch, especially in public. Now Cova actually wanted him to fly off the handle.

  “You think this is suitable?” Daval asked. His voice was strained, but he managed to mask the growl laced beneath.

  Cova shrugged, looking at the gown she’d made. “I thought it was as appropriate as anything else,” she said.

  “Appropriate?” Daval repeated, through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, Father,” Cova said, smiling. “Appropriate.” She spun in her gown, just to allow it to take full visual effect. It clung tightly around her breasts and waist, and rather than billowing out at the waist it hugged her hips, only fanning out at the top of her thighs. It was a style Cova had never seen before; she was quite proud of herself for thinking of it. Although it didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  The point from which the fabric flowed was not the only difference between her dress and the other ballgowns in the room. The fabric was a dark emerald color rather than a bright pastel, and while the other gowns had long sleeves that hugged the arm tightly to the wrist, Cova’s dress had no sleeves at all. She wore long gloves that nearly reached her shoulder, but her shoulders themselves were bare.

  And, as she slowed her spin, looking once again at her father, Cova noticed the servants in the anteroom staring at her, wide-eyed.

  Cova’s smile grew wider. It was the exact response for which she had hoped.

  “I know this is a surprise to you, Father,” Cova said, “and I’m sorry.” She genuinely meant it; she had no desire to make her father’s life more difficult. “But if you meant what you said in our last conversation, then I need to be my own woman. I must stand out, and I must begin now.”

  Her father’s face softened ever so slightly, and he held out his arm for Cova to take. “I suppose you’re already here,” he grumbled. “There is no going back now.”

  Cova took Daval’s arm, and together they walked forward. The anteroom was a small chamber with a curtained threshold that led to the grand entrance stage of the Mandiat ballroom. Daval nodded at one of the servants in the room, who in turn slipped out a side passage to inform the herald of Cova’s arrival.

  “No, there isn’t,” Cova said. “Plus, this will be fun. Don’t you think?”

  “Not at all. But I realized long ago that you and I are very different, daughter.”

  The herald’s voice boomed through the ballroom beyond the curtain.

  “Lords and ladies of Izet, it is my pleasure to announce our guest of honor, Miss Cova Amok, daughter of High Lord Daval Amok!”

  A pair of servants opened the curtain, and Cova and her father stepped into the ballroom amidst thunderous applause. Cova smirked. Her announcement had been woefully short; she had no other titles, was not the firstborn, had no accomplishments worth attaching to her name—certainly not like the great empresses of Rodenese history. But she had time to forge her own list of titles.

  Cova waved at the cheering crowd. She wonderd where Girgan was. He had spent the last seven years at the Citadel, and she had not known him before that. He would have been announced earlier, of course, given that his family was hosting the ball. At the end of the evening, the herald would make the official
announcement of their engagement.

  Daval pulled Cova into an embrace. “I’m proud of you, daughter.”

  Cova laughed. The cheers of the noble throng in the ballroom had died down, and a group of musicians had begun to play. “I don’t know why. There’s nothing to be proud of.”

  “There will be.” Then her father released her and walked out into the crowd.

  Cova stood for a moment, taking in Castle Mandiat’s ballroom. Half a dozen chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each with lit candles and hanging crystals. Gilded columns lined the edges of the chamber, although whether their detailing was real gold Cova doubted. Mandiat was rich, but she did not think he was that rich. She preferred the paintings, tapestries, and sculptures that decorated the Amok ballroom. While the Mandiat ballroom was expensive, it had little soul.

  Cova moved elegantly through the other nobles, smiling and greeting everyone. Wherever she moved in the room, stares followed, as she’d planned. There were whispers too, which was even better. Her father had put the idea in her head that she might be empress one day. She’d damn well better play the part.

  “Ah, Miss Amok,” someone said, and Cova turned with a broad smile. Her smile almost faltered when she saw who it was.

  “Lord Luce,” she said, curtsying. “Miss Luce.” Hirman Luce stood before her, his daughter Andia at his side. House Luce had sought Girgan Mandiat’s hand in marriage, too. They had lost their bid, and wouldn’t be happy about it. Cova was not surprised to see them here—not showing up to congratulate the new couple would have been bad manners, and manifested a problematic ill-will during a tumultuous time.

  “What a beautiful ball,” Andia Luce said with a smile that seemed genuine enough.

  “It is,” Cova said. So unfortunate. Cova had always liked Andia, but this would likely ruin any chances the two of them had at being genuine friends.

  “Mandiat could have done better,” Hirman Luce muttered, his waxed mustache, as red as the hair that remained at the top of his head, quivering. He attempted a smile, but was obviously a far poorer actor than his daughter. The double meaning of the man’s statement was not lost on Cova, but she let it go.