The Iron Altar Series Box Set One: Books 1 to 3

by Casey Lea

  Amber snapped her fingers and the compression strip flashed briefly as it synced with her day’s schedule, before releasing appropriate clothes. A teal bodice and aquamarine leggings were paired with a black overskirt and grey boots. She sighed, but couldn’t fault the machine’s choice. The clothes were subdued enough for an execution, while not being so dull they’d compete with the sober robes of the Arck.

  A screen on the main wall purred into three-dimensional life to offer a hologram of Amber’s head with different combinations of make-up and her blue-black hair piled up in various styles. She glanced at them, but scarcely registered which one she flicked in acceptance. The screen slid back so she could step into the grooming alcove behind it and stand, tapping a foot, until the alcove’s fields stopped tugging at her and the machine whistled in completion. She left the wardrobe without looking in the mirrors.

  Her bedroom continued the theme of luxury, with a string of window-bays along two walls offering a panoramic view of the city below and the sea beyond. Amber swished past her continent of a bed and stopped in mid-stride. She caught her balance and turned to look at the jungle growing where her bed usually stood.

  Everything except the top of the headboard was buried under flowers. Amber frowned and tucked her arms around herself. It looked like a garden had sprouted where she slept, except it was too manicured to be the result of natural growth. No, this was dozens of flower arrangements bundled together. She looked more closely. Correct that - hundreds of flower arrangements. The clashing colors were only interrupted by a small white square of paper. Amber hesitated, certain-sure she was going to regret reading the note, but leaned forward to snatch it up anyway.

  Apologies, my darling Brosia. I still dream of you and I fear my spider friends have become importunate in response. I assure you they will be constrained.

  Love Always,

  Pierce.

  Amber dropped the letter as if it had bitten her.

  Her bed stirred in response. The flowers draped over it sat up. They rose and started to wave as if in a storm, until their petals were torn away. The stalks and leaves beneath wriggled and writhed while chunks of them vanished to be replaced by bite marks. Amber took a step back, just as the display exploded.

  Vegetation showered everywhere, but there was no smell of sap and it felt like ash pattering onto her hunched form. Her head was tucked under her arms, but curiosity got the better of her. Amber risked a look. A pink petal was plastered to the back of her hand, but it was already pulling apart. The flower disintegrated into much smaller parts that scurried down her fingers and dropped to the floor. They didn’t just fall though, they sailed down on webs.

  “Yuck.”

  Amber jumped to her feet. Spiders crawled all over her. Tiny translucent spiders that made her skin itch. She brushed frantically at the scurrying hoards, while silvery strands trailed out in a vortex around her spinning form. Gods, why did it have to be spiders? Didn’t Pierce remember how she felt about his creepy-crawlies?

  A pulse of anger stopped Amber’s frantic scrubbing. Her ex knew exactly how much his arachnid collection frightened her and here he was, throwing it in her face. This wasn’t an apology at all. He was trying to get her off balance and panicked, which meant he was worried. Perhaps even scared. Of her?

  You’d better be, Amber thought and stood perfectly still. She closed her eyes and tried very hard to ignore the spiders scuttling over her lids. She took a deep breath – through her nose, this was no time to open her mouth – and swore not to be fooled by the Devourer again.

  The tickling on Amber’s skin grew less and after a minute it stopped. Light slipped past her lashes, a multicolored gleam that looked familiar, though it wasn’t something she’d seen on a planet before, much less inside a room. It was the pulsing glow of an open wormhole. She waited for a long, careful moment before risking a peek. The spiders were gone, not just from her body, but the whole room. She turned slowly on her heel, but there was no sign of the intrusion.

  The light was ordinary again, so it seemed the prism-colored stain had meant what Amber suspected, but could hardly believe. The spiders were able to open mini-passages and create their own wormholes. They could travel anywhere in space they wanted. Anywhere in the palace. She pressed the heels of her hands hard against her eyes. This was going to take some thought.

  The chime of her entry door jerked her round in a panicky half-circle. She took a deep breath and pulled herself back to the present. It was just Falkyn. She’d promised to escort him to the execution. Her high-heeled boots tapped across the marble floor of the main living space and she straightened her waistband so her split-skirt streamed out behind her on either side. It was time to get public.

  Amber waved a hand to open the door and it faded away, while she attempted a dignified, sympathetic, but welcoming smile. The door disappeared to show Raptor, who grimaced back.

  Her one-time bodyguard stood stolidly in the doorway and made no effort to enter. Amber managed to slow her pulse, but was still tempted to slam down the energy screen guarding her room. Right in his face. Her fingers twitched and Raptor dropped to his knees. Curse him. He bent over to plant his forehead on the floor at her feet. Double curse him.

  “Please, Doctor Grace,” his muffled voice said. “I need to apologize again.”

  Her fingers gripped the edge of the door field until they hummed along with it, but she hesitated. Raptor felt remorse. She’d never sensed genuine guilt from the spymaster before and it sat strangely on him, like a garment cut too tight. It was intriguing, but also far too public.

  “And I need you to rise,” Amber hissed, leaning through the door to look up and down the pillared paths that ran across the garden courtyard beyond her rooms. “Get in here.”

  The invitation was scarcely out before Raptor rose and bounded through the door. Amber let him come, but backed up to keep plenty of distance between them. The energy screen solidified back into place and they had the privacy Amber wanted.

  “Apologize,” she suggested and Raptor dropped back to his knees again, hitting the marble with a thud.

  He didn’t wince and Amber didn’t let her consternation show. Instead she waved for him to continue.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The silence grew and Amber gestured again.

  “Of course, Lady Amber. I’m more than sorry, but I want to find the right words.”

  “The words that stop me telling the Arck of your attack?”

  Raptor’s bristle-short hair rustled in embarrassment, but he didn’t flinch. “I hope so, yes. I will understand if you tell him though. I deserve to be punished. I failed you completely.”

  He looked down at the tiles and Amber caught a hint of grief from his fronds. “I’m truly sorry. I’ve no anger for you. All you said was true. I’m a fraud and I’m incompetent. Arck Sharpeye died in my care. I’ve no idea why Arck Falkyn let me hold my rank, but he was wrong. I’ll resign. Tomorrow, once Goldown is dealt with.”

  “No,” Amber said and felt Raptor’s surprise, which matched her own. Why did she want to help this bustwing? He’d nearly killed her.

  She thought about it, but the truth was Raptor felt completely sincere and he wasn’t holding back. Whatever had caused his change of heart was genuine. “I did provoke you. After the crash, and I don’t want anyone else to suffer. Not because of me. If Falkyn discovered what you tried to do, he’d certain-sure make you suffer. He doesn’t need to face such decisions at the moment.”

  Raptor frowned and tilted his head to one side. “You think others suffer because of you? You help people all the time, Lady, and I shouldn’t be excused for assaulting you. It was my fault and my failure. Again. I can’t risk serving the Arck. He could be hurt by my lapses. I’d rather protect you. At least I could redeem myself then.”

  Amber jerked in shock, but Raptor didn’t notice. He ducked his head and the short fronds framing his even shorter neck bushed open in absolute honesty. Amber felt his shame and guilt. His se
nse of failure ran so deep he believed he’d murdered the last Arck himself.

  “No,” Amber breathed, but she understood. Better than she should. “Blaming yourself does no good. You need to help Falkyn and do all you can to keep him safe. You can’t just quit.”

  Raptor struggled with that, but Amber could feel how important his work was to him. It defined him. “Perhaps I don’t have to resign. I could still be of some worth. At the very least I could throw myself between my Arck and any attack.”

  “You do that.” Amber dared to take Raptor by the arm and tugged him to his feet. “Out. I’m expecting Falkyn.”

  The Arck’s name got him moving and he jogged to the door with Amber following. He paused by the shut field and turned back to face her. “Thank you. I’ll never hurt you again and all-times do my best to keep you safe.”

  Amber felt his conviction and it was unexpectedly heart-warming. “Appreciated.”

  She waved a hand and the door faded. To reveal Falkyn about to activate its whistle.

  “Sire.” Raptor snapped to attention and Amber winced. This was getting farcical.

  “Use that med strip twice a day,” she told Raptor, “and come see me again if the rash doesn’t clear up.”

  Raptor bowed his head, with the short jerky motion that seemed to best accommodate his solid shoulders. “My thanks, Lady. I’ll wait to escort you, Sire.”

  “Thank you, but no.” Falkyn reached up to catch his headgear, a bird’s nest of gold barbed-wire, before it slipped off his head, but his expression was determined.

  Raptor hesitated and looked like he was about to squirm. “Magnificence, please. Your com shield is off.”

  “As part of today’s ritual,” Falkyn pointed out. “It’s the tradition, but I’m well protected within the palace. You can add some more guards if you wish.”

  Raptor’s face was immobile, but his shallow bow conveyed his irritation. “Yes, Sire.”

  He backed away, pushing past the green fronds of a giant fern, and Falkyn relaxed, dropping his shoulders with a sigh. His crown slipped sideways again, so he pushed it back into place with a growl. Amber hid a smile. Falkyn was dressed in the official regalia of Punishment and looked incredibly uncomfortable in its ragged robes. He was draped in black, purple and dark grey, with strips of cloth torn out to reveal more tattered layers beneath. His feet were bare, while his hands were partially hidden by worn grey gloves.

  The somber garb was topped by a crown that looked like a mass of thorns, encasing Falkyn’s head in a flurry of spiky wire. It didn’t look well balanced, but he still seemed more comfortable with it than the solid crown he usually wore to formal occasions.

  Amber stepped back and Falkyn followed her into the room.

  “We still have a few minutes,” he said. “The Princess is receiving spiritual guidance.”

  “Oh. Would you like a drink?”

  “Absolutely, but it might not sit well with the three I’ve already had.”

  Falkyn dropped onto the nearest window seat and stared at the city below. Amber joined him to gaze down at empty streets. The usual crowd around the Arck’s palace was respectfully absent. She wondered where they were and if they were gathered together somewhere to watch a com feed of the execution.

  Amber sighed and rose, turning away from a city grown hazy with grey and white holograms of mourning. Today was also the day to remember everyone killed by Goldown. She wondered whether the feckless princess felt any guilt. Perhaps she didn’t need to. Amber carried enough for both of them. If anyone faced a death sentence today, it should be her.

  The Arck’s silence left Amber alone with her thoughts and they were little comfort. Perhaps she shouldn’t be here on Kresynt at all. She could have stayed with Darsey when Nikareon dropped them off at Blossom, but Amber still had half-a-year until the Devourer’s return and the girl had seemed strangely distant. Maybe she’d known at some deep level that Amber was debating killing her.

  Shame and disgust made Amber wince. If Darsey died the Devourer would have no chance to drain her on his altar. Amber was so desperate to save as many lives as possible that she’d truly considered taking just one. The math seemed to work, but then there was nothing moral about mathematics.

  The chances were great that if she harmed Darsey everyone would lose. The Devourer wasn’t at the point of death yet and if he outlived Amber while creating a new template for his feeding, then universal death was certain-sure. No, murder was an unlikely salvation. Self-sacrifice, however, she could live with. A giggle escaped her. Or not. Anyall, Falkyn needed her and she wasn’t about to desert him. Not when she still had a huge favor to ask in return.

  “Are you well?” Falkyn said from behind Amber and she jerked, then spun to face him. She needed to get past this daydreaming, because she was sick of being startled by people.

  “I’m well enough,” Amber said. “What of you?”

  Falkyn frowned within the gold frame of the Thorny Crown. “Sick of pomp and circumstance and doubly sick of the Royal Regalia of Punishment. I wish this day was done.”

  “Me too.” Amber rested her hand on his arm and he found a smile for her.

  “I wish I didn’t have to execute my mother,” he confided. His smile collapsed and he pushed irritably at the spiky metal threads spiraling round his head. The crown snagged one of his ragged Gloves-of-Tears and the grey silk ripped further, to show more of its white lining. “Drak.”

  “The royal seamstress will grieve today, even if others don’t,” Amber said and took his hand. “Let me see.”

  Falkyn let her seal the unintentional rip in his costume, but impatience hummed from his fronds. “Why does this have to be such a production? I just want to enter the punishment in my com and be done. Plus, the royal rags make me feel ridiculous.”

  “They’re supposed to make you feel sympathy. The claws in the crown catch your skin to remind you of the pain you have the power to inflict. The ragged clothing was designed to place you in the shoes of your poorest subjects and make you aware of the pressures in their lives. Poverty can push people to desperate acts.”

  “Such was not the case with Princess Goldown,” Falkyn said.

  Amber stepped away and he lifted the tattered glove for closer inspection. “I can’t see any difference.”

  “You’re welcome,” Amber snapped, but then managed a smile, despite the horror of the day. “You’re a great Arck, Falkyn. Do what you feel is right.”

  “That seems too easy.” Falkyn turned away to stare down at the empty streets. He came to his feet abruptly and offered Amber his arm. "They just buzzed me. We have to go."

  She nodded and rested her hand on his, but she had to take the first step toward the door. Falkyn followed her lead and they entered the garden beyond her rooms. A few courtiers flitted by, each stopping to bow deeply until the couple had passed, but for once Falkyn didn’t seem to notice. He offered none of his usual greetings and wore a frown, not a smile.

  “The thing I hate,” he said, waving his free hand vaguely, “is that this execution doesn’t hurt me at all. I scarcely know Goldown. I certain-sure don’t love her and she killed hundreds of people. Their families contact me every day. She tried to murder my mother too, so I want the Princess to die. It seems vengeance trumps biology. I’m disappointed though. In myself. How can a civilization exist if it isn’t civilized?”

  “Revenge is a powerful urge, but it’s not driving this execution. Society agrees with you, Fal. She’s meeting the consequences of what she did.”

  “But you wouldn’t kill her?”

  Drakkit. How did he know? His fronds hadn’t stirred and she couldn’t sense his mental touch, but he was right. “I’ve done enough killing. Freezing millions dwarfs most murders.”

  Falkyn frowned and one of his fronds swayed forward to send caution/silence/danger.

  They stepped into an arched corridor and another courtier was there, a senior administrator who bobbed his head. Falkyn offered a cool smile back and Am
ber flinched internally. Lord Warble was a leading palace gossip. What had he heard?

  Falkyn continued forward at the same steady pace, but flicked a damping field into place around them to foil any further listeners.

  “You need to keep quiet, Amber. I know you feel guilty and want to be punished, but I’m your protector. I encouraged you to experiment with the ice plague, so any confession involves me. The Empire can’t handle such scandal. I don’t look fully kres anymore and I was raised on the Rim. My position as Arck is already open to challenge. Please don’t make me choose between my people and you.”

  “I do not have some masochistic drive to confess.”

  “Yes, you do. I’ve watched it crystallize with every patient you treat and every newsfeed you see. I can’t afford an advisor who always has my biggest secret on the edge of her tongue, while she fights a growing death wish.”

  Amber stopped and dragged Falkyn to a halt too. She searched for words, but there weren’t any. She wanted to deny everything, but couldn’t lie to Falkyn. He deserved more honesty than she offered herself and she needed to follow his advice. Death was coming for her certain-sure, but it would be meaningless unless it happened on the altar and saved everyone else.

  She licked her lips and managed a whisper. “I’ll take more care. I promise.”

  Falkyn steered her deeper into the palace. “Good. No more moping and groaning about how you killed everyone. Agreed?”

  “I promise.”

  Amber’s resolution came just in time. She stepped into the Hall of Judgement with Falkyn and realized where most of the courtiers were. The round chamber was packed, with standing room only. The audience was so big that people were pressed up against the Supplicants’ Dais, the raised platform where relatives of the victims sat. It had been expanded to allow for the thousands attending, but still some of those who had lost loved ones were forced to stand.

  The High Executioner approached them and curtsied deeply. She rose to regard Falkyn solemnly from the shade of her dark hat, while he looked calmly back, but his arm tensed under Amber’s hand. It seemed this was more difficult than he’d admitted. That was a relief. Murder, even state-sanctioned murder, should never be easy. She released her grip and stepped away with a respectful bob.