The Defiant Heir

by Melissa Caruso

  “I look forward to persuading you,” Zaira said, and blew him a kiss.

  “And on that note,” Kathe said, sweeping into a bow, “I fear I must make my apologies, my lady. The Arrival only lasts so long, and tradition dictates each Witch Lord must greet every other personally. I’ve only made it a quarter of the way down my list.”

  “Me too,” the Fox Lord admitted. “But we’ll speak more tomorrow. It was fun to meet you both.”

  Kathe lifted the back of my hand to touch his secretive smile. “Lady Amalia, as always, a pleasure.”

  “Likewise, Lord Kathe.”

  Don’t stare after him, I reminded myself as they walked away across the throne room. I pulled my eyes away to meet Zaira’s amused expression.

  “I had to do it,” I said quickly. “For the Empire.”

  “Mmm,” she said. “Looked like a terrible sacrifice.”

  I tugged at a loose lock of my hair. “I told Marcello it might come to this.”

  “You were never courting Marcello,” Zaira pointed out. “You kissed the man you’re courting. If you feel guilty, the person you need to explain things to is yourself.”

  “You’re right, I suppose.” I reached for my flare locket, out of some protective instinct, and my fingers snarled in Kathe’s claws. “I wasn’t prepared to … to …”

  “To kiss him?”

  “No,” I confessed. “To like it quite so much.”

  Zaira burst out laughing. “Grace of Love’s sweet tits, woman, if you kiss a man and don’t like it, he’s doing it wrong.” She shook her head. “Come on. Let’s get you a drink.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “That sounds lovely.”

  A glass of wine slowed my pounding heart back to its normal pace and erased the lingering taste of Kathe from my lips. My eyes kept pulling to him, across the room, where he stood at graceful ease talking to the Aspen Lord. I leaned against a pillar and hid my face behind my cup, thoughts still racing.

  Of course I’d liked it. I liked Kathe. His clever wit excited me, but even more intriguing were the glimpses he occasionally let slip of his true, hidden self. Here was a man whose society had handed him absolute power and demanded no accountability in return, and yet somehow, against all odds, he seemed to have turned out to be a good person. Mostly.

  And there was no denying he was an advantageous match, even for a Cornaro. What was holding me back?

  My hand slid reluctantly into my pocket, fingertips brushing the familiar lump of Marcello’s button. With Marcello, I never had to dance around the truth, or wonder what he was hiding from me. There were no games or bargains; if I needed something, he gave it freely. I had no fears that he would betray me, or use me to achieve a goal and then cast me aside. Kathe was an exciting and dangerous journey, but Marcello was home.

  If you were going to marry a man, it should be the one you could imagine growing old with, not the one you could imagine lapping up your enemies’ blood.

  Of course, one could argue that only a lack of imagination prevented the two from being one and the same. My parents’ courtship had begun in politics, after all, but it had ended in love.

  I shook myself like a wet dog. Well played, Kathe. Well played.

  “Are you cooled off?” Zaira asked, smirking. “Ready to go back to work?”

  “Oh, hush. Who do we need to talk to next?”

  Zaira shrugged. “You’re the one who knows Vaskandran politics. Point me at someone to flirt with or insult.”

  “It’s good to know one’s strengths, I suppose.” I scanned the room. The Elk Lord was deep in conversation with the Lady of Eagles; I didn’t dare interrupt that discussion. The Lady of Thorns had her head together with the Serpent Lord and kept glaring in my direction, which I didn’t like one bit. I found myself staring at Kathe again, appreciating the lines of him, and jerked my eyes elsewhere.

  Ruven stood near a side doorway, speaking to the redheaded boy we’d seen on our last visit here. That must be the alchemist Selas had spoken of who served him willingly. The boy was telling Ruven something, gesturing enthusiastically and staring up at him with open adoration. Kathe smiled indulgently and patted the boy’s head, as if he were a dog.

  “Just not the lady covered in spiders,” Zaira was saying. “I’m not sure I could—holy Hells, she’s right behind you.”

  I spun, squeezing my wineglass too tight, to find the Lady of Spiders standing far too close for my comfort, a dead-eyed smile stretching her round face. I choked back a yelp. Spiders formed elegant patterns on her bodice, all different sizes, legs scuttling and waving as they crawled past one another to keep the fronds and curlicues of their design curling and shifting as if in a breeze. A large, black spider centered her neckline, long legs spread. Tiny spiders gleaming with bright colors climbed her long silver hair, forming more patterns there.

  It was beautiful. But I had never wanted to scream so much in my life.

  I scrambled away a step before I caught myself and managed a bow, trying to recover my poise. Zaira backed up behind me, her hands clasped and white-knuckled; I suspected she was having trouble holding back her instinct to set the whole horrifying dress on fire.

  “Oh, hello, my lady,” I said breathlessly. “I didn’t see you there.”

  The Lady of Spiders grinned. I suspected she found our reactions more than a little amusing. “You should be more alert,” she said in a smooth, deep voice quite different than the cackle I’d been expecting. It resonated with power. “There is at least one here who has no intention of letting you leave the Conclave alive.”

  I glanced toward the Lady of Thorns. I could almost feel her malevolent intent from here. “I know.”

  “Your position is weak,” she said, running a lock of her own hair through her fingers. “The Witch Lords in the south of Vaskandar want to annex territory from the Empire, either to give their children domains of their own or to keep from being conquered themselves. The Witch Lords in the north don’t care either way, or will support the war due to favors and grievances owed. You will see. If they held the Kindling now, at least ten candles would burn for war. And the rest would be indifferent, rather than opposed.”

  Ten Witch Lords wanting war. My heart sank. The Vaskandran ambassador had said only three joined in the Three Years’ War, and that had been bad enough.

  “What about you?” I asked, keeping my voice as calm as I could. “Will you light your candle for war? I’ve heard that many will follow your lead.”

  Her lids drooped in apparent satisfaction. “What I do will depend on which course most amuses me.”

  “Would seeing the whole border on fire amuse you?” Zaira asked, showing her teeth. “Because that’s what will happen if there’s a war.”

  The Lady of Spiders chuckled, deep in her throat. “It might.”

  I resisted a sudden impulse to brush at my arms to make sure no spiders were crawling up them. “Well, at least some Witch Lords seem set on an invasion, so you’ll probably get your balefire regardless. What else amuses you, if that’s truly your deciding factor?”

  The Lady of Spiders tilted her head. “Secrets. Mysteries. Surprises. Things raw and new, and things buried and forgotten. I have lived a long time, little ones, but there is always more to discover.”

  I perked up. “Are you a scholar?”

  “No.”

  Such a flat dismissal. Ah well.

  Zaira frowned. “What sort of secrets and mysteries?”

  The Lady of Spiders held out a hand, as if in invitation. A spider crawled onto her palm. “The ones humans hold deep in their hearts, and treasure past all reason. The ones you have to break a soul open and suck out the marrow to find.”

  Zaira gave me a What the Hells do I even say to that look. I couldn’t stop a nervous laugh.

  “I could help you,” the Lady of Spiders said then, her voice gone sweet and slow as molasses.

  “I’m certain you could,” I replied warily.

  “Both of you are interesting.” She sav
ored the word on her tongue, in a way that set my stomach to squirming. “I would love to crack you open and find out what dwells inside, in the dark places you keep from the light of day.”

  “I prefer to stay in one piece, thanks,” Zaira said, her voice somewhat higher than usual.

  “If what I found there amused me enough, I might see fit to weave my web in your favor. My candle remains as yet uncounted.”

  I tipped the last drops of my wine into my dry throat. “What, ah, would this cracking process entail? You’re speaking metaphorically, one hopes.”

  “Hope is a fragile thing, Lady Amalia. Spider silk is much stronger.” Her smile widened, a rift of darkness in her face that seemed fit to split her skull in half. “Think on it. If you become desperate enough to accept my offer, come to me.”

  “Is desperation a requirement?” I asked, my voice coming out unevenly.

  “Oh, yes.” The Lady of Spiders tipped her head in a gracious nod. “Do enjoy the evening. I like to see young people with a spark of life and pleasure in their faces. So fleeting, so transient.”

  “You have a good time too.” Zaira waved weakly. “Terrifying people, or whatever it is you do for fun.”

  The Lady of Spiders laughed as she glided away.

  “Well, I know what I’m having nightmares about tonight,” Zaira said conversationally, watching her go.

  I nodded. “Me, too.”

  When we returned to the Falcons’ tower prison late that night with more food and fresh water, we found them gathered tensely around the table, waiting for us. Terika, seated at the far end, started to lunge to her feet when Zaira stepped in the door; Lamonte and Namira, on either side of her, each put a hand firmly on her shoulder and pushed her back down.

  Namira gestured to a couple of empty chairs. “Why don’t you sit,” she said. “We’re finding our tongues a little freer, after a day eating what you’ve brought us, and we have a lot to talk about.”

  We put down our baskets of food and settled into our seats. Zaira blew Terika a kiss. “Still not safe to come near, huh?”

  Terika sighed and shook her head. “Old commands he didn’t repeat are fading, but recent or repeated ones are still in force.”

  “She has no weapons or poisons, though,” said Lamonte, “so if she’s forced to attack you, it should be comically ineffective.”

  “Does he give you verbal orders, then?” I asked, leaning my elbows on the table. “Is that how it works?”

  Parona’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “I mix the cursed stuff, and I’m not sure how it works, myself. It contains some very strange ingredients, like sand and blood.”

  My stomach turned. “Ruven’s blood. And sand is ground stone. Graces preserve us—he’s making you part of his domain. That’s how he can control you.”

  The Falcons grimaced or shook their heads; some drew back in revulsion.

  “You should know he’s made me create far more than he’s using on us,” Parona said urgently. “He must have a huge stockpile by now. I’m concerned about what he may be planning.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” I said. The idea of Ruven with enough potion to control dozens or hundreds of people made my palms clammy. Getting all the Falcons out of his hands had become even more important.

  I thought of the redheaded alchemist boy, and the vial of Black Malice in its little velvet bag, and felt sick.

  “Will the potion have any lingering effects on us?” the boy Selas asked timidly.

  “It seems to be temporary.” Istrella hadn’t shown any aftereffects once the potion wore off. “But we may want to have a vivomancer look at you when you get safely back to the Mews, to be sure.”

  The Falcons exchanged glances around the table. Namira cleared her throat. “About that.”

  Zaira chuckled. “I thought this might be coming.”

  A dizzying gulf opened in my chest. “You don’t want to go back to the Mews.”

  “Some of us do,” Parona said, folding her hands primly on the table. “I have unfinished work to attend to. And I’ve been a Falcon my whole life; at my age, it’s a bit late to start a new career.”

  “And I’ve heard of your plans for a reform law.” Lamonte fixed me with a commanding stare. “I’m a gambling man, and I’m willing to take my chances that you’ll get it passed. I don’t want to be a fugitive; I’m engaged to be married. I want to go home to Loreice and start a family in peace.”

  “All my family and friends are at the Mews,” Namira said. “And I’m not going to leave Raverra to fend for itself when war is threatening. But there are some of us who might prefer to consider other options.”

  “I’ve never been to the Mews,” Selas said, looking worried. “And if I become a Falcon, it’s for life. I don’t know.”

  “You never were a Falcon,” I said carefully. “Since you aren’t in the Serene Empire, there is no law that compels you to go to the Mews if you don’t want to.” I didn’t mention that he was exempt from Lord Caulin’s order, too.

  The boy looked relieved. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “Mostly I want to get out of here, and see my sister again. But I’m glad I have a choice.”

  “And what about me?” asked the only Falcon who hadn’t yet spoken, a portly man in his twenties with an impressive mustache. “No one ever gave me a choice. Forgive me if I’m being forward, my lady, but I’m rather disenchanted with an Empire that tells me what I must do with my life and who I must be.” His voice, timid at first, gained strength. “I never had a chance to pursue my dreams, learn a craft, travel, make a home, find someone to marry … all the little things that make a life. I want those things, my lady.” He lifted his bare wrist. “My jess is off. I don’t want to stay in this miserable castle, but I do want to fly.”

  I swallowed. It seemed I wouldn’t avoid Lord Caulin’s trap so easily. “And what is your name, sir?”

  “Harrald Callo, my lady. I’m an artificer.” He straightened his sleeves, as if making himself presentable. “My parents were farmers, but they thought they might try to send me to a university, before the Falconers came for me.”

  I had my orders from the doge. The velvet bag with its vial of Black Malice sat in my room, full of death, waiting. But all this man wanted was to find out who he truly was. Who he could have been, if the Empire hadn’t laid out another fate for him.

  My duty as a Serene Imperial Envoy was clear. But there was also my duty as a human being.

  “The law is unambiguous, for now,” I said slowly. “I’m working to change it. But right now, it doesn’t give you a choice.”

  Harrald’s shoulders slumped. “I see, my lady.”

  I leaned toward him across the table, holding his eyes. “But it’s going to be very difficult getting everyone back across the border. If you got separated from the group, it seems highly unlikely anyone would find you.”

  His brows lifted. “I see,” he said in an entirely different tone.

  “Atruin is a good domain,” I observed. “The Lady of Eagles protects her people and treats them well. Her border is only a short distance from here. I’ve also heard good things about Let, to the north.”

  “Is that so?” Harrald leaned back in his chair, sounding almost cheerful.

  I nodded. “The mage-marked are given high status in Vaskandar; I’m sure any domain would welcome a mage-marked visitor. And I might be able to arrange introductions or possibly safe passage for travelers. Generally speaking.”

  “Well.” He beamed. “Perhaps we should talk some more about that.”

  “There’s something else we need to talk about,” Namira said, leaning her elbows on the table. “Mount Whitecrown.”

  “Wait.” I lifted a hand, despite the dread growing in my stomach over where this might lead. “Terika hasn’t said whether she’s going back to the Mews yet.”

  Zaira rose slowly to her feet.

  “Neither have I.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I closed my eyes.

  This w
as it; the moment I had been afraid of. I should have been happy for Zaira, that she had a choice, and glad that she trusted me to not try to stop her from making it. But all I could feel was a sick, endless dropping sensation, as if something priceless had slipped from my fingers and tumbled over a cliff.

  “All right, then.” I opened my eyes again, smoothing my expression as much as I could. “Do you want to go back to the Mews?”

  Zaira snorted. “That’s easy. No. That place is deadly boring.”

  I stared at her, stricken.

  “But that’s not the question.” Zaira crossed her arms. “The question is whether I’m going back there anyway.”

  I nodded. Of course. Silly me. If I threw up on her shoes, it would serve her right.

  Zaira turned to Terika. “What do you want?”

  Terika let out a nervous laugh. “Honestly? Right now? To be with my grandmother. Even knowing she’s all right, well, she’s getting old. I want to spend time with her, while …” She swallowed. “I want to see her more.”

  “That can be arranged,” I assured her quickly. “We could get you stationed at Highpass. You could see her every day.”

  Terika’s face lit up. “That would work.”

  “Highpass is even more boring than the Mews,” Zaira groaned.

  “Good Graces, I wouldn’t want to make you live there,” Terika grimaced at the idea. “You could visit often. And I could visit you. I’m sure we could figure out a way to be together. I don’t want to miss out on time with you, either.”

  “Ugh.” Zaira made a face. “Sentimentality.”

  Terika grinned. “I’m like a sticky burr. You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

  Namira laughed. But my insides still twisted with apprehension. For all I wanted Zaira to be free, and wanted her to make her own choice, it was hard not to pray to the Graces with all my might for her to choose the Mews.

  Zaira caught my eyes. “And you? What happens to you if I run off to your grandma’s domain and build my throne of skulls, or whatever mages do for fun here?”

  I drew in a shaky breath. “I’m more concerned about the consequences for the Empire. Without your balefire—”