by Morgan Rice
More soldiers tried to grab her, and again her powers lashed out, leaving statues where there had been men before. That worried Ceres, because it had been that legacy of her bloodline that had drained so much from her before.
Yet for now, at least, Ceres felt as alive, and as strong, as she’d ever felt. She caught a sword between her two crossed blades, drew them back across the throat of another enemy, then thrust to either side to bring more down. It seemed that everywhere she turned, there was flesh to cut, the threat of blades to deflect, or the presence of Lucious’s soldiers to avoid.
At the thought of Lucious, Ceres looked up to the royal balcony. She could still see him there, looking down on the fight as he watched the bloodshed, except now, his glee at the violence seemed to have given way to worry, even fear.
“Good,” Ceres said to herself as she continued to fight. Lucious deserved to be scared. If Ceres could get close to him, she would make sure it was the last thing he ever felt.
She continued to whirl, striking and defending faster than she could have managed before her powers came to her, cutting a clear space among the soldiers who surrounded her. She dodged between the stone forms of the soldiers who had tried to grab her, using them as a kind of ring of stone fortifications to defend. Bodies piled up around her, and still Ceres fought.
She saw the other combatlords continuing to fight around her, each standing at the center of his own pile of bodies, yet none of them seemed to be dancing through his foes the way Ceres was, and several seemed to be slowing. Even as Ceres watched, she saw a large man who fought with spiked gloves fall beneath the blades of a dozen men.
Another combatlord stumbled over the body of a soldier, going down. Another soldier stood over him, lifting a sword. Ceres threw out a hand automatically, and her powers jerked his blade away. The combatlord rolled, coming up to his feet in time to stab the soldier through the stomach.
“Combatlords, to me!” Ceres yelled, knowing that she had to take control of this. The combatlords were incredible fighters, but they didn’t know how to work together. Ceres stood within the circle of stone figures she’d created, cutting down any soldiers who came near while the combatlords looked her way.
They seemed to understand what she intended, because they fought their way into the circle of stone figures she’d created, defending it the way they might have defended a fortress. Protected by stone like that, the soldiers couldn’t surround them or come at them more than one at a time. They could fight, and they could win.
More than that, Ceres saw fights starting to break out in the stands as the spectators started to grab for the guards there to control them. She saw one group pull down a guard, dragging his weapons from him while they lashed out with their fists. She saw another guard cut down a woman, only for three more to take her place, knocking him from the stands.
Ceres could feel the energy of the revolt growing in that moment, and she knew that in a matter of minutes it would burst from the Stade. All the attempts to declare the rebellion done would count for nothing in the face of this fresh outpouring of popular anger. The crowds would go from the Stade and pour out into the streets to take the city.
It was a thought to make satisfaction sit deep in Ceres. It was the kind of uprising Anka might have been proud of. It was the kind of thing Sartes and their father would have wanted. Maybe they were already fighting up there, helping where they could.
Ceres couldn’t know that for certain, though. She couldn’t do anything but parry the next blade, deal with the next soldier, and try to hold her section of the makeshift fortress her powers had built on the floor of the Stade.
No matter how well they fought, the soldiers were still between them and the exit. There was no way out, and the armored warriors of the Empire just kept coming.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Stephania barely held her disgust in check as she made her way through the poorest areas of Delos, through the twisting streets of the Tangled quarter, yet there was an upside to it. It was a reminder of just how much she had, just how much there was for her to fight for.
It was the same thing she felt every time she had to go out into the city to meet an informant herself or stock up on the kinds of things she couldn’t leave to her handmaidens. The world outside the palace was brutal and dirty, and that was all the more reason for Stephania to ensure that she kept her place.
There were some things worth taking risks for, though. Not love—she’d learned that the hard way. Hate, though, revenge, would always be worth the effort.
“Keep watching for trouble,” Stephania told her handmaiden as they made their way along winding streets that stank of too much humanity in too small a space.
“Yes, my lady,” the girl replied.
Stephania sighed. What was the point of wrapping up in cloaks to disguise themselves if the stupid girl insisted on advertising who they were every time she spoke? Perhaps she should have brought Elethe with her after all. At least her new senior handmaiden knew what she was supposed to do in circumstances more demanding than seducing a minor noble or listening at doorways. Worse, the girl seemed to have no sense of direction. They’d been looking for the witch they sought for an hour now.
Stephania didn’t like the feel of the city today. She’d been sure, in the wake of the peace declaration, that the city would be quiet, and it was, but there were different kinds of quiet in the world. She knew the difference between someone pretending to sleep and someone in the depth of dreams. She knew the difference between an empty room and one where someone was merely hiding. This felt like all of that, but it felt like more.
It felt like the quiet that came when a hawk was flying over a forest, looking for prey.
“Be ready,” Stephania whispered.
“Yes, my—”
They stepped out of an alley: two rough-looking men and a young woman who wasn’t much better. All wore rags. The two men held knives. How could anyone let themselves get like that?
“Look at them,” the young woman said. “Trying to hide under cloaks so rich either one could buy food for a month.”
“Don’t you know that there’s a rebellion going on?” one of the men asked. “Bad things happen to nobles out on the streets.”
“Bad things,” the other agreed.
Stephania pushed back her hood. “Do you happen to know a witch who lives around here?” she asked, as easily as if they’d been chatting over spiced wine.
“Listen to her, asking about Old Hara as if they’re friends,” the young woman said in a mocking tone.
Stephania reached into her cloak. She brought out a coin pouch with the faintest of nods to her handmaiden. It was time to see if the girl had any worth at all.
“I can pay you for the information,” Stephania said.
“Oh, we’ll take that,” one of the men replied, stepping forward. He struck Stephania then, and she tasted blood. “That, and everything else you have.”
Stephania’s hand darted into her cloak, and the man gasped as a knife took him in the chest. She stepped back to let him fall, and saw her handmaiden struggling with the other. She cut his throat from behind, not caring that the blood went over her servant. It was a lot easier than it had been the first time she stabbed someone. That was interesting to note.
“Now,” Stephania said, turning to the young woman who’d accompanied the men, “you were going to tell us where to find this ‘Old Hara.’”
Stephania could see the fear there. Good, she could trust fear.
“T-turn left where you see the sign of three coins,” the woman said. “She lives in the house with the stone snake above the door.”
“Thank you,” Stephania said. She turned to her handmaiden. “Do you think you can kill this one yourself, or must I do it too?”
Stephania didn’t bother watching while her handmaiden did what was required. The girl caught her up quickly enough, wiping away some of the blood while Stephania was just approaching the witch’s home.
&n
bsp; Why did those with knowledge or power live in places like this? The house looked hunched in, set between two larger tenements that appeared ready to fall on it at any moment. The door jamb did indeed have a stone snake carved into it, staring down as though it might bite any unwanted visitors.
Stephania pushed at the door, then ducked on instinct as a pair of red-eyed crows flew out, their claws shining in the sunlight.
“Don’t let them scratch you, Lady Stephania,” a voice called from inside. “They’ve been stepping about in some of my rarer poisons.”
Stephania didn’t ask how the woman knew who she was. True witches had ways of knowing these things, although they rarely had much to do with magic. Probably the woman had seen her coming.
“Do come in,” the witch called. “If you’ve come this far to see me, I imagine we have a lot to discuss.”
Stephania went into the woman’s home, and the interior wasn’t much better than the outside. Clutter filled shelves on every wall. Skulls sat next to jars filled with preserved insects. Books sat open on benches. The scent of the place mixed dung with the acrid smells of alchemy, rare blooms with burning.
A large iron pot hung over a hearth at one end of the main room. The woman who stood in front of it wasn’t as old as Stephania had guessed she would be. Probably no more than forty or so. She had a few streaks of gray in her hair, the barest hints of wrinkles around her eyes. Those eyes had a look in them that said they’d seen more than most though, and there was something cruel about her smile.
“It’s rare that I have royalty come to visit me,” Old Hara said. She gestured to the iron pot. “And you’ve brought the help. How nice. Can I tempt you to a little something to eat, my dears?”
Stephania looked at the pot and didn’t want to think about all the things that might have been cooked up in it. Even now, the scent coming off it was nauseating.
“It wasn’t tales of your culinary skills that brought me here,” Stephania said.
“No?” That nasty smile was back. “Then what, my darlings? I have powders, potions, and poisons for any occasion. A little late for a maiden’s helper or a love potion, I suspect, and I’m sure the physicians at the castle can deal with most of the other problems a noble lady might run into. Something to deal with a rival, perhaps? A nice tincture of arsenic, or a dose of feralwort to slip into someone’s tea?”
“Feralwort is a joke that playwrights put in because they don’t know any better,” Stephania shot back. “You can smell it at a dozen yards, taste it in anything other than the strongest spices, and in the time it takes to work, I could craft an antidote twice over. If you’re offering me that, I doubt I’ve come to the right place.”
“You’d be amazed at how many gullible nobles buy it from me,” Old Hara said. “I make a good deal of coin from them. I’m not sure if half of them even use it. They just keep it around so they can seem dangerous. I guess there’s more than seeming to you though, lady.”
Stephania’s smile was a lot tighter than the older woman’s. “One look at my companion could tell you that. So far, you’ve given me offers of hedge-witch stuff, most of which I could brew myself. Including better poisons than feralwort.”
Stephania meant that as a warning. She didn’t like having her time wasted, and often, the kind of people who sold poisons couldn’t be trusted.
“Then what can I provide you with, my lady?” Old Hara asked. “If you can craft your own poisons so easily, why come to visit a poor old woman with a talent for forgotten things?”
“For information,” Stephania said. She pulled out the gold she’d been going to offer to their would-be attackers. “Expensive information.”
“Hmm… I’d have thought it would be me telling you that. If you’re opening with it, it must be very expensive information. So what exactly is it that’s so important to you?”
Stephania had been thinking about the best way to put it since she left the palace. Ultimately, though, there were times when it was necessary to be direct.
“I want to know the best way to kill one of the Ancient Ones.”
She saw Old Hara’s smile fade, her expression hardening. There was something about the change that told her she’d come to the right place, there among the oddments and the potions. This woman knew something, and Stephania would find it out, whatever it took.
“This is about the girl who bested Prince Lucious’s combatlord?” Old Hara said. “A girl who could turn a man to stone, and who could bring an army with the talk of her bloodline.”
Stephania wasn’t going to be impressed just because the other woman had listened to a few rumors.
“Ceres,” Stephania said. “Her name is Ceres. She has taken too much from me. Now it’s time for her to pay.”
“I had heard that she was captured,” the witch said.
“She escaped. There are soldiers turned to stone in the cell where she was held.” Stephania couldn’t help thinking of the obvious then. What if it had been her? What if she’d been touching the peasant when her powers had lashed out like that? Her powers? It was no more than an accident of blood, but somehow it meant that they were all meant to bow down to her. Well, Stephania wouldn’t allow that.
She could see the witch considering, as if she had a choice about talking to Stephania. If necessary, Stephania would have what she want tortured from her. It was dangerous to tangle with her kind though. Better to do this a more civilized way.
“If you know anything, I need your help,” Stephania said, trying to put as much pleading into her voice as possible.
Still, the old witch looked thoughtful, working her hands against one another as if washing them. “It’s a dangerous path you’re contemplating walking,” she said. “I have information that might lead you to what you want to know, but I’ve a piece of advice first. Turn around. Go back to your palace. You’ll be happier. There are some roads where, once you start on them, it’s hard to turn back.”
Perhaps there were, but Stephania suspected that they were worth the effort anyway.
“I came here for answers,” she said.
“Answers are expensive,” Old Hara replied. “More expensive than coin, because giving them buys me trouble with people it’s better not to cross.”
Stephania put her coin pouch back beneath her cloak. “What then?”
She saw the witch shrug. “There are rituals, potions… research that needs special ingredients. The smugglers bring me a lot, but even so, time is catching up with me.”
“What do you want?” Stephania repeated.
“There are rituals that call for the blood of a healthy younger woman, her skin, her bones.” Stephania saw her nod toward the handmaiden. “If you really want to know, then I’ll take her.”
Stephania’s impulse was to tell the woman no. To torture the information from her as she’d planned. She had loyalty from her handmaidens because she protected them in return. This wasn’t the kind of thing she did.
“My lady?” the girl said, in that annoying voice of hers that had got them into so much trouble in the street.
The truth was that the girl had been less than useless so far. Now the only question was how badly Stephania wanted to know how to defeat Ceres. How much did she want her revenge?
There was only one answer to that.
“Take her,” Stephania said. “She let me be struck.”
The girl raised her hands as if to ward off a threat, but she didn’t seem to have words to go with it at first. When they came, it was little more than a babble.
“My lady… please, I can do better… you can’t do this…”
Stephania saw Old Hara approach the handmaiden, lifting a hand and then blowing across it almost as if blowing a kiss. Stephania saw the golden spray of powder that caught the girl in the face as she gasped.
She collapsed a moment later, while the witch dusted off her hands.
“Goldbreath,” Stephania said with a certain amount of awe. The poison was a rarity, distilled from the g
round stems of flowers brought in from the Southlands.
“I had it ready in case you were foolish enough to attack me,” she said to Stephania. “I’m impressed that you recognized it.”
“I have done my part,” Stephania said. “What you have to tell me had better be worth it. How do I stop an Ancient One?”
“You don’t.”
Anger rose in Stephania then, and she reached into her cloak.
“But there is one who can,” the witch went on quickly. “A sorcerer who has spent his life studying their works. I have seen him kill one with his own hands.”
“Where do I find this sorcerer?” Stephania demanded.
“In the lands of Felldust,” the witch replied. “where the falling sun meets the skulls of the stone dead.”
“And what does that mean?” Stephania asked.
She saw the witch spread her hands. “It is what I was told in case I ever needed to find him. It should be simple enough, for one with your resources, and if you say I sent you, he might even keep from taking your mind from you and reducing you to his servant. I’ll say again though, this is a dangerous business. Is your anger worth the risk?”
Anger alone wouldn’t be. Stephania was used to being cold with her anger, pushing it down. Revenge, though, was always worth it.
“That is not your business,” Stephania said. “Tell me, if I’d killed you after learning what I wanted, what signal would you not have given me for the sorcerer?”
She saw Old Hara smile again. “A raven sent to him with my mark. You have the cunning to learn the craft, my lady.”
It was probably supposed to be a compliment, but Stephania had far better things to learn. She walked away, leaving her handmaiden to her fate.
It was time for vengeance.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Lucious was anything but happy to be walking away from the Stade and back toward the castle. He had been so eager to watch the final demise of the slaves.
It seemed he didn’t have a choice, however.
