It made sense. If Ruven even noticed us with the Kindling going on, he’d have to choose between stopping us, or abandoning his war movement and destroying his own credit with his fellow Witch Lords. Either way, we won.
Assuming Kathe was telling the truth. Trusting him was a gamble; but by coming here under his protection, I’d already cast those dice.
“That seems like good advice,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You’ll have to send them alone, or with Zaira.” Kathe tapped my breastbone, lightly, just under the hollow of my throat. “You need to be at the Conclave for the Kindling, yourself.”
“I do?” That complicated matters.
“Of course. It’s when everyone gives their final arguments for and against the question proposed—in this case, going to war with the Empire. You could skip the opening ceremonies, and possibly even the initial lighting of the candles—there will be two pedestals, one for those who will join in the war, and one for those who are opposed to it. Each Witch Lord with a stance in the matter will light a candle and place it on one of the pedestals. Some will leave their candles unlit, staying out of the matter.”
It hit me, then, like a falling mountain, that this was real. Tomorrow, the Witch Lords would make their choices, and something so small as a tiny lick of golden fire at the tip of a candle could spell the fate of the Serene Empire. And if Zaira was off on her own perilous mission, leading the Falcons to safety through the night-dark forests of Vaskandar, only I would stand for the Empire in that room of ancient blood-bound power, with no weapon but my words to protect my people.
I fiddled with Marcello’s button in my pocket, to give my restless fingers something to do. I would give a lot, right now, for the unwavering faith he seemed to have in me. “Is that when guests can speak?”
“That’s during the arguments, which come next after the candle lighting. This is the part you can’t risk missing.” Kathe clasped my arm, his face serious. “Any Witch Lord or invited guest with a stake in the matter may speak, and anyone may move, snuff, or light their own candle after each speech. Sometimes Witch Lords will place their candles in one spot at the beginning, then move it after a particular speech to show support for the speaker, or to win favors from them.”
“So it’s a last chance to persuade people.”
“The last and most critical chance, yes.”
I squeezed Marcello’s button so hard it dug painfully into my skin. The idea of getting up in front of seventeen Witch Lords and making a speech was so terrifying I’d almost rather fight them. At least a fight would be over quickly.
But this was what everyone was counting on me to do. My mother and the doge, who had entrusted me with the position of Serene Imperial Envoy; my grandmother and the people of Callamorne, whom I’d told that I stood with them. Domenic and Venasha in Ardence, which lay in the path of a potential eruption of Mount Whitecrown. All the Serene Empire, which had held peace and order in Eruvia for three hundred years and was not ready to fall.
This was why I had been born a Cornaro. To win the day with words, that it need not be won with swords and fire.
I drew myself up and nodded decisively. “Then I’d better give a good speech.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
We’ll have to split up,” I told Zaira, back in our room that night.
She stared at me as if I’d gone mad. “Have you noticed we’re in an enemy castle with an all-powerful mage who wants to kill you?”
“It had not escaped my attention.” I flopped onto the edge of my bed and started pulling off the gold-accented riding boots I’d been wearing all day. “But all the Witch Lords will be busy, and I’ll be in the castle under Kathe’s eye and within the Truce Stones.” And trying to move the ancient, icy hearts of seventeen Witch Lords to mercy, but that was another matter. “If Marcello can get into position in advance to meet you on the road and take them the rest of the way, you may only be gone for a few hours.”
“And she can murder you in a few minutes.”
“She’s not going to kill me in the middle of the Kindling, when they’re performing solemn ceremonies and making serious arguments. I’ll be fine.” If I didn’t die from the sheer terror of making my speech. This would be my last chance, my very last chance to prove myself worthy of the Council’s trust and save the Empire. “I’m more worried about you, coming back to the castle alone at night through Ruven’s forest when he wants you dead.”
Zaira shrugged. “So long as the Witch Lords are busy, there’s nothing else in this cursed place that can stop me. I can burn a path all the way to the border if I need to.”
It was true enough, though that might leave the Falcons she was trying to rescue in more danger than if they stayed in Ruven’s clutches. But her control was getting better, and while I wasn’t much inclined to gamble where balefire was concerned, I’d lay a wager she’d be twice as good at taming her flames when Terika was nearby.
“Shall I contact Marcello and tell him our plan, then?” I asked.
“It’s a terrible plan.” Zaira kicked off her own shoes; they flew across the room, one after the other, and thunked into the wall. “But all right. Go ahead.”
I went to my trunk and rummaged in the folds and layers of my petticoats. My finger snagged in a silken loop: the drawstring of Lord Caulin’s innocuous little velvet bag.
I ignored the dropping feeling in my stomach and pushed it aside. To the Nine Hells with Caulin’s order. I was no assassin. Their jesses were off; unless they chose to come home to the Mews, they weren’t Falcons anymore.
At the bottom of my trunk, I found the pieces of the device Istrella had made for us out of her limited supplies at Highpass: a haphazard jumble of coiled wire, a serving platter engraved with a runic circle, a musket ramrod wrapped in wire and crystals, and a single chunk of quartz she’d sent soldiers scouring the mountainside to find. I rewound some of the wire, set the quartz at the center of the platter on a table by the window, attached the assembly to the ramrod with more wire, and pointed the ramrod out the window at the mountains. It took some work with a compass to get the angle exactly right.
“I thought courier lamps couldn’t work without the relay network,” Zaira said, coming over to peer at what I was doing. “If this will work, why do we have those cursed poles all over the Empire with mirrors on them?”
“Without the relay mirrors, courier lamps can only work if they’re in direct line of sight,” I replied. “You could never send a message farther than you could see a signal fire, so there’s not much point. But we worked out a place for Marcello to make his encampment where, in theory, there’s a direct sightline from the shoulder of Mount Whitecrown to this castle.”
“In theory.”
“Well, I suppose we’re about to find out.”
I tapped the quartz crystal with two fingers. Within it, a spark flared to life.
“Is it working?” Zaira asked.
“It’s trying to send, anyway. We’ll see in a moment whether Marcello is receiving.”
I tapped again and again, sending a simple signal. The spark within the lamp flickered on and off with each tap. If anyone was out in the garden at night, they couldn’t help but see it.
For a long time, I waited, staring at the darkened crystal. Then, at last, the light flared within it again, pulsing a single word back: received.
Triumph flooded through me. By the gift of the Graces, it had worked. Istrella was amazing. Marcello? I tapped out.
Here. Is all well?
Of course he was worried. Dear Marcello. A tender smile curved my lips. All is well. This is Amalia.
I tapped out the details of our plan, painstakingly slow. I’d seen my mother’s fingers flash on the courier lamps at home, setting the lights to flickering so fast I could hardly read them, but I didn’t possess her practiced skill. I had to think about each letter or common combination, remembering the precise pattern of flashes to convey it.
Marcello was even slower; imperial off
icers had to know the lamp code, since even without courier lamps it could be used to pass signals with mirrors or lanterns, but he probably hadn’t used it often in practice. I had to note each pulse of the lamp to make certain I didn’t lose the thread of his halting sentences as he reported that they’d successfully altered all the volcanic artifice circles that they could safely access.
His stumbles and hesitations warmed my heart; they made the flashes of the lamp human. As if somehow, across the miles between us, our fingers touched through this bridge of light.
Be careful, he signaled at the end. I’m thinking of you.
I miss you, I sent, my fingertips lingering on the crystal.
When it went dark, I stared out the window into the night for a long time.
It was full night, the castle swathed in wintry darkness, and the Kindling was due to start soon. I’d been running key lines and phrases from my planned speech through my head all day, whispering them under my breath, repeating them in my mind with every step. Time had continued its relentless advance with each muttered syllable, sweeping me closer to the moment when I had to try to save Raverra with my fragile net of words.
I wasn’t certain I’d ever dreaded anything more in my life. If I failed to sway my audience, it could mean the end of the Empire.
Finally, the time to make our move arrived, as a hushed and expectant excitement for the Kindling built in the sleepless castle. As all eyes turned to the throne hall, we crept up the winding stairs to the Falcons’ tower room.
When we opened the door, we found Terika standing tensely waiting, with no one holding her back. The others stood poised and ready to pounce on either side of her, but no one blocked her line to Zaira.
“So, does this mean you can get close to me without trying to murder me?” Zaira asked.
“I think so?” Terika spread her hands. “I’m not armed, so if I’m wrong, the worst that happens is we have an embarrassing scuffle before these nice people pry me off you.”
Zaira approached her cautiously. Terika stood there, beaming. Soon, only a couple of feet separated them.
“About damn time,” Zaira said gruffly, and threw her arms around Terika, burying her face in her curly hair.
“Oof!” But Terika squeezed Zaira back just as hard, eyes shining. And then Zaira kissed her, with joyful enthusiasm, while Terika laughed through the kiss.
Namira chuckled. “Very nice, lovebirds, but I’m given to understand we’re on a tight schedule.”
Zaira made a rude gesture, but Terika grabbed her hand and kissed it, then turned her attention toward the others. She kept Zaira close to her side, though.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, well, the opening ceremonies of the Kindling have begun, and we need to get you all out of the castle as quickly as possible.” I scanned the room; everyone was here, from an eager-faced Parona to a determined Lamonte and a frightened-looking Selas. Some of them had small bundles of possessions ready to go at their feet. “We can take you to an imperial military escort that will see you back safely to the Empire, and thence to the Mews. On the way you will be passing by a certain gentleman who can provide safe passage to the domain of Let, under the protection of the Crow Lord, who I incidentally happen to know has promised to host any random traveling mages who show up in his domain and not hold them against their will.” I tried to speak casually, but my mouth was dry. This part was treason, plain and simple. “We’ll be moving too quickly to spend any time looking for any Falcons who stray from the group at that point, I fear.”
Parona gave me a narrow look. “With all respect, Lady Amalia, do you have the permission of the doge or the Council to mention these fascinating details to us?”
“Ah, no.” I laughed nervously. “I’m fairly certain they’d disapprove, in fact. But I’m not going to drag any of you back to the Mews against your will.”
Parona crossed her arms. “Then nobody mention she made this offer. It never happened. Do you hear?”
The others nodded. Zaira and Terika stood with their arms around each other, grinning.
“There are some things you should know if you’re considering not returning to the Mews,” I said seriously. Like the fact that I have a vial of deadly poison meant for you. But that was one thing I still didn’t dare mention. “First of all, if you stay in one domain for long, you’ll become a part of it, bound magically to the Witch Lord who rules it. Second, if you’re already a Falcon, well, it’s against the law.” I swallowed. “There are powerful people in Raverra who will be frightened or angry at the idea of a Falcon in Vaskandran hands, and while it shames me to say this, they may take steps to recapture or harm you. I recommend lying low, pretending to be dead. And if you ever choose to come back to the Empire, you may want to have a convincing story ready about how you tried to get back to the Mews but were recaptured or lost.”
The Falcons met my gaze with somber faces. One or two nodded their understanding. I still couldn’t believe those words had left my mouth. I tucked my hands behind my back to hide their trembling.
“Do any of you plan to go to Let?” I asked. “I don’t want to leave anyone behind who doesn’t want to be left.”
Harrald raised a hand. “If it’s all right, my lady, I might like to see what life is like in Let. I’ve never had a choice before, and I want to explore it, not throw it away.”
Grace of Majesty damn me for a traitor. I’d hoped, on some level, they’d all choose the Mews. I swallowed a knot in my throat and nodded. “Very well. Anyone else?”
Selas looked up at Namira. She squeezed his shoulder, encouragingly. He hesitated, then nodded. “I might want to go to the Mews, in the end,” he said. “Especially if I can’t see my sister in Let. But I don’t want to decide yet, and I like the idea of being a noble here. And since I was never a Falcon, I’m not breaking any laws if I stay in Vaskandar for a while, am I?”
I shook my head. “No. You’re not. Just remember that if you stay in Let for more than a year or so, you’ll become part of the Crow Lord’s domain. Hopefully the Graces will smile on me and my law will pass the Assembly, and then you can come back to the Empire and take as long as you need to make your choice.”
Lamonte made a skeptical noise, but he nodded. “I’m betting on it. Don’t make me regret my gamble, Lady Amalia.”
“I’ll do everything I can to make it pay off.”
“And let us ensure that the Lady Amalia continues to be in a position to put forward this law,” Parona said sharply. “So far as any of us are concerned, Harrald became lost from the group as we escaped. None of us know where he went. Are we all clear on this?”
The rest of the Falcons nodded.
“Thank you,” I said.
Parona waved a dismissive hand. “We’d wind up in trouble ourselves for letting him go, too. It’s common sense to keep this quiet.”
“Now, if we’re ready,” I said, “we should go. We don’t have much time.”
The dark stairs swallowed us like a chimera’s gullet as we groped our way down. I winced at the amount of noise eight people made on the twisting steps. When we stepped out into the dark-ribbed, narrow hallways of the main castle, I blinked in the guttering lamplight.
I could feel the power gathered below us, in the throne hall, all seventeen Witch Lords unfolding their full presence as the ceremonies of the Kindling began. It was like walking across a thin crust of earth over the boiling heart of a volcano. Please, Grace of Luck, Grace of Mercy, don’t let us draw their attention.
We took a servants’ staircase down to the first floor. I could hear muffled voices rising in the throne hall, and the subdued ones of servants from the kitchens. We headed through a whitewashed hallway that led past the kitchens, silently as we could manage, toward the unobtrusive garden door I’d seen the servant drag that poor man’s body through the previous day.
A small figure stepped out of the kitchens, a loaf of bread in hand, and froze in front of us. He moved with too much confidence for one of the common fol
k of the household, and the flickering light of the candle in the nearest wall sconce picked out a bold splash of red in his hair.
Emmand. Hells. He was bound to sound the alarm.
He sucked in a gasp. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
Selas stepped forward, gripping Namira’s hand. “We’re leaving. And you’re not going to stop us. Have some decency, Emmand.”
“I can’t let you make this mistake,” Emmand said, drawing himself up. “I’m going to tell Lord Ruven.” He sucked in a breath.
“Wait!” Selas made a grabbing motion toward him, desperate. “Listen to us, first! We used to be friends, Emmand.” A pleading note entered his voice.
Emmand paused, eyeing Selas warily. “What is there to say? You’re being stupid, turning your back on everything Lord Ruven wants to give you.”
I ran my thumb across one of Istrella’s rings: right middle finger, to incapacitate someone without killing them. But I had no idea if it would be enough to knock Emmand out, or what would happen if I missed. Namira shifted as if she might jump at him, then stopped. The last thing we needed was for him to start screaming and bring all the guards in the castle down on us.
If we could handle this quietly, it would buy us time. And we needed that more than anything, to get the Falcons to the border before Ruven could stop them.
“I understand you’re happy here, Emmand,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle, “but they’re not. Do you truly want to imprison them against their will?”
He hesitated, clutching the bread so tightly that crumbs showered to the floor. “Lord Ruven wouldn’t want me to let you go. He treats me like a prince. Like a son.”
“How nice for you,” Zaira snapped. “Too bad for those other brats who didn’t bow down to him, eh?”
I stared at her in shock. Normally Zaira was surprisingly good with children, gentle for all her gruffness. But her face was taut with anger—outrage on behalf of the ones who had died.
The Defiant Heir Page 41
