“He found them all good homes,” Emmand said stubbornly. “Are you all really so tame you’ll go quietly back to the Mews with this Falconer? Lord Ruven knows that the mage-marked are meant to rule, not to serve.”
The Graces can’t save a fool from believing what he wants to believe, my mother had said once. I shook my head.
Terika and Namira exchanged glances. “I have sleep potion,” Terika whispered. “But if I use it on him, I might get some of us, as well.”
“No need,” Zaira growled. She stepped right up to Emmand, until she stood nearly on his toes; he backed away before her, eyes fearful, but she jabbed a finger into his chest and matched him step for step. “You go into the woods, on the path that leads from the back of the garden. Bring a light, and follow the smell. You’ll find the rotting bones of all those other brats who saw Ruven for what he really is. The only homes he found for them were in a wolf’s belly.”
“That’s not true!” Emmand’s face paled, and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper as he squeezed his loaf of bread to his chest. “Lord Ruven would never do that. Not to someone with the mage mark. Our lives are precious to him!”
“You keep believing that, if you can.” Zaira’s voice held contempt enough to wither all the purple flowers choking the castle gardens. “Or you can go get one glimpse of the charnel pit in the woods, and know that maggot for the murderous wretch he is. I don’t care which. Now get out of our way, brat, or I’ll burn you to cinders.”
Emmand backed a few steps, staring at Zaira. Then he dropped his bread and fled into the kitchens without another word.
“Come on,” Zaira said. “He’s bound to call the guards on us.”
A deep crease persisted between her brows. As we moved through the corridor, I murmured. “Are you all right?”
“That brat couldn’t have started out as such a waste,” she muttered. “Ruven did that to him. I’ve never wanted to smack a kid before, but by the Hells, I was tempted.”
We made it to the door and threw it open. The wide night waited beyond, stars shining sharp as glass shards in the black sky above. The air smelled clean and cold, and despite the icy chill of it, for a moment all I wanted was to burst out into the freedom of it with them.
“I should get back to the Conclave,” I said, my insides twisting at the thought of what I had to do. “Will you be all right?”
Zaira nodded. “I’ll take care of them.”
“And I’ll take care of her,” Terika said, throwing an arm over Zaira’s shoulders. Zaira snorted, but Terika added seriously, “If she has trouble keeping control. As I said, I have sleep potion.”
I gave her a nod of deep respect.
A hissing wail rose from the forest—an angry, inhuman sound. Pine branches rustled in the wind. Ruven must have noticed his prisoners were gone.
“Keep to the road,” I urged Zaira.
“I’m not an idiot.” She shooed me off. “Go save the Empire. I’ll get these Falcons handed safely off, then come right back to keep you out of trouble, as usual.”
They slipped out into the night. Terika squeezed my hand, briefly, in passing. Namira gave me a grave nod. And then they were a cluster of black silhouettes hurrying across the moon-silvered lawn.
Grace of Luck bless them, and let them make it to safety.
I had my own battle to fight. Just me and my carefully curated words, as well as I could utter them with dread seizing my lungs, between the Empire and ruin.
But that had always been my role. I was a Cornaro. Others protected the serenity of the Empire with magic and muskets; we used our minds.
I stepped back into the castle, chin lifted, and went to wage my war.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
When I slipped into the throne hall to stand among the crowd of guests and onlookers at its edge, I found it completely transformed. All my anxiety vanished, drowned in pure wonder.
Delicate vines grew up the inside walls and covered the ceiling; pale, luminous flowers bloomed among them, casting an eerie light. Fireflies danced in the air, and moths fluttered about, wings glowing with pale luminescence. Each Witch Lord must have added some living light to the room as part of the opening ceremonies; mushroom rings sprouted from the marble floor, shedding a faint green glow from under their caps, and lichens spread lovely patterns of light across the ceiling. The Lady of Spiders had kindly contributed a swarm of arachnids to crawl along the walls, each with a gleaming spot on its back in the shape of a skull. The air I drew into my lungs tasted fresh and damp, and the place felt like an enchanted forest.
The only warm light came from the flickering pillar candles at two of three pedestals arranged in a triangle around the Truce Stone basin at the center of the throne room. The third pedestal held unlit candles, and as I watched the Serpent Lord reached out to kindle one.
A hand seized my arm. A crawling sensation radiated from the painful grip, as if worms invaded my skin.
“What have you done?” Ruven hissed, bending his face near mine.
On either side of me, the Lady of Thorns’ daughter and one of the Lady of Bears’ sons drew aside, giving Ruven space. The Kindling ceremony carried on.
I tried to shake free of Ruven but found I couldn’t move my arm. “You know what I’ve done. You left us a present in hopes we’d try it.”
“But not now!” Pain shot through my arm, to punctuate his words. I drew a sharp breath through my teeth. “My lady, normally I admire your audacity, but this is too much. Where have you taken them? Why can’t I reach them?”
A surge of triumph stretched a smile across my face. “Because they’re not yours anymore. They never were.”
Ruven’s mouth twisted toward a snarl, but he visibly mastered himself, smoothing it back into his usual expression of amusement. “So you’ve stolen them back. Well played, my lady, well played.” He leaned even closer, until his lips nearly brushed my ear. I couldn’t pull away, with his magic wound through me. “But you made one mistake. You came back here alone.”
“You won’t do anything to me during the Kindling.” I tried to keep my voice calm, though my heart raced and stumbled like a three-legged racehorse. “You would never dare disrupt such an important ceremony, especially since it’s your first time hosting the Conclave.”
His smile spread wide. “Ah, but you forget that I can kill you while you stand here, silent as a fall of snow, and leave you standing in place until the Conclave is over.” He laid a hand along my cheek. “So discreet, even a Raverran would approve.”
I tried to reply, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. He’d stopped my lungs. Graces help me.
I stared desperately across the shimmering ghostly lights of the throne hall toward Kathe, but he watched the Serpent Lord place his candle on one of the pedestals, seemingly enthralled by the ceremony. My pulse pounded like thunder in my ears, and my chest burned with the need for air.
“But wait.” Ruven let out a sigh, and I could breathe again. “I forgot the little matter of your connection to the Lady of Eagles.”
I sucked in a deep gasp and yanked my arm away from him. “You vile wretch,” I rasped.
“It might not even be an issue,” he murmured contemplatively, “but best not to risk it, yes? I lose nothing by waiting.” He swept into a courtly bow. “Enjoy the Kindling, my lady. We will finish our business once the Conclave is over.”
He turned and sauntered off, leaving me clutching at my flare locket, my fingers entangled in the claws at my throat.
Kathe caught my eye across the hall and ambled over, grinning, careful not to disturb any of the people watching the Kindling. I couldn’t repress a flare of anger at the cheery unconcern on his face.
“You seemed to handle that well,” he greeted me.
“He nearly killed me! Where were you?”
“Shh.” He lifted a finger to his lips, his voice barely above a whisper. “We must respect the ceremony. And I judged you had it under control.”
“Then you’re
a terrible judge,” I said.
“Look.” He directed his gaze toward the center of the throne hall, where the Lady of Bears placed her candle on one of the pedestals. “That one is for those who support the invasion. The other is for those who stand against it.”
I counted the slim golden flames with despair. The Lady of Bears had lit the fifth candle for war. Only one candle burned alone for peace. But the remaining eleven still stood unlit on the third pedestal, so there was hope yet. “You said it’s customary for some candles to move during the course of the Kindling, right?”
“Yes. You’ll see. And I do plan to speak out against the war, for what it’s worth.” His eyes glittered with interest as he watched the Lady of Gulls light her candle. She might have been an image of one of the Graces, with a slim, rippling white gown and a white-winged crown. Hers was an island domain, off the northern coast, and on Kathe’s tip I’d spoken to her at some length of the benefits of trade with the Serene Empire. She caught my eye and nodded before placing her candle with Kathe’s.
I sighed with relief. “Well, that’s a bit better. I’m glad my efforts here haven’t been entirely in vain.”
But then the Elk Lord lit his candle and moved with solemn stateliness to set it on the pedestal for war. I gripped Kathe’s arm for support, stricken, as two more Witch Lords immediately followed suit, casting glances at the Elk Lord.
“The Lady of Otters is his daughter,” Kathe murmured, “and the Willow Lord his neighbor. They will always follow his lead. It’s a shame you couldn’t convince him.”
Eight candles lifted their flames for war. Only two against it. Grace of Wisdom help me—if three Witch Lords had been enough to plunge the Empire into three years of hard-fought war, eight could destroy it utterly.
Seven candles remained unkindled. The Lady of Otters and the Willow Lord took their places in the loose ring of spectators, and silence fell over the throne hall.
The Yew Lord stood forward, the oldest of the Witch Lords and the officiant of the ceremony. His sunken eyes stared out above a beard like a trail of moss, and his deep brown hands rested on a staff formed of delicately braided wood in different colors. His ancient presence drank the silence in, until it became a deep, still pool that held us all.
“Are there any others who would light a candle before we begin?” he asked. His voice sliced the air with a keen profundity, a blade of sound and air.
No one stirred.
“Then let any speak who would seek to sway the Conclave.” The Yew Lord stepped back, releasing the room’s attention.
My heart thundered like an unleashed storm. This was my final chance to tip the balance. The words of my prepared speech jumbled together in my head, merging to become the meaningless roar of the ocean.
Ruven strode forward into the void the Yew Lord had left, spreading his hands in welcome.
“My friends! Thank you for answering my late father’s call and coming to this Conclave. My house is honored by your presence.” He bowed to the assembly. “It is a great tragedy that I must take over my father’s place in this Conclave as the Witch Lord of Kazerath. But it is all the more reason we must show strength against the Serene Empire. We cannot allow them to think us weak, that one of theirs slew a Witch Lord! No, we must put the common rabble in their place.” He smiled, as if the idea delighted him. “I am grateful to those of you who give me your support at this vital moment. I will repay you as you deserve—and as the first Skinwitch to become a Witch Lord, I remind you that I can repay my favors in truly unique ways.” He caught the Lady of Spiders’ gaze; to my horror, she smiled at him. “Thank you, my fellows. That is all.”
With a swirl of his black leather coat, he marched back to his place. He had hardly taken it when the Lady of Spiders glided forth, moving to the cluster of unlit candles at the third point around the center.
“To an interesting future,” she said, and lit her candle. She lifted it to Ruven like a toast, and placed it with his. On her way back to her place, she gave me an amused look that said clearly, You should have taken my bargain.
The Lady of Laurels sighed then, kindled her own unlit candle, and moved it to stand beside that of the Lady of Spiders. She cast a resigned look in her direction that I took to mean she was discharging a favor.
Ten candles for war, and only two for peace. “Graces preserve us,” I whispered.
“I’m hardly one of your Graces,” Kathe said, “but I’ll see what I can do.”
He strutted out to the center of the room, nodding to a few particular faces. Then he addressed them, turning slowly to take in the entire room.
“Crows are creatures of opportunity,” he said, “and the opportunities in alliance with the Serene Empire are limitless. War locks us in the cycle of the past; but some of us are bold enough to fly forward into the future.” He caught and held the gaze of a few Witch Lords in turn; I couldn’t tell which ones from where I was standing. “Some old legends say crows have the gift of prophecy and can foretell death.” He shrugged, grinning. “When all debts are paid, and all battles lost and won, I think I know who will still be standing. I’ve spoken to some of you about this. Time will tell soon enough if I’m right.”
It was an odd speech. I scanned the faces of the other Witch Lords; they reflected a variety of reactions, from thoughtful consideration to puzzlement. The Lady of Thorns smiled, seeming deeply satisfied.
Her face struck a deep chill in my chest. Why would she react like that to Kathe’s words? Didn’t she know how he hated her? Unless his hate was a sham, and he was playing me for a fool.
It was an unbearable thought. Not after all the trust I’d placed in him, and how I’d grown to like him. Not after I’d kissed him, and hurt Marcello to keep courting him. He couldn’t have been lying all this time.
Kathe returned to his position by my side, in a rustle of feathers. “I’m afraid I’m not all that influential yet,” he sighed, as the Holly Lord stepped forward and lit his candle for peace. I held my breath, hoping for more, but none followed.
Three to ten. This didn’t look good. I was going to have to give a speech to charm the demons back to the Nine Hells. I wiped clammy hands on my breeches.
The Lady of Bears stomped to the center of the hall and issued a call to battle, urging her fellows to avenge Vaskandar’s defeat in the Three Years’ War, and then delivering an unsubtle threat to her neighbors if they didn’t comply, with a glare at the Fox Lord. When she finished, the Fox Lord grimaced and, with apparent reluctance, lit his candle and moved it to stand beside that of the Lady of Bears.
Eleven straight golden flames leaped up, proud and martial, on the war pedestal. Eleven candles to count out the Empire’s doom.
Hell of Despair. The speeches had only moved one or two candles each. Even if I laid out all Ruven’s crimes, what of it? The Witch Lords already knew he was a monster, and they were willing to back him anyway. I was some upstart foreigner, without so much as a trace of magic. They had no reason to defect en masse at my words, and that was what it would take to protect the Serene Empire from a devastating invasion beyond our power to resist.
Kathe nudged my ribs. “My lady. If you wish to speak, now is the time.”
Now is the time. My moment had come. I held history in my hands; if I dropped it and broke it, no one would come clean it up.
But this was something only I could do. The Serene Empire had put its trust in me. I had to try.
“Right.” I took a deep breath. “Here I go.”
Fireflies swirled around me as I walked forward. My boots called echoes from the stone. I could feel the weight of seventeen domains on me, through the Witch Lords’ combined gazes—all those miles of forest and mountain. All those thousands and millions of lives, animal and human alike, staring out with mad intensity from seventeen pairs of mage-marked eyes.
If any of them remembered what I said here, my words could last a thousand years. To speak in this place, surrounded by the flickering candles of their solemn
ceremonies, under the soft glow of lichen constellations that hadn’t been there this morning, was pure audacity. Who was I to dare?
I knew the answer. I’d given it to Ruven, back in Ardence.
I wasn’t here as myself, mere Amalia: scholar, heir, and Falconer. I was here as a Serene Imperial Envoy. I was the voice of the Empire.
We were no different, I realized, as I scanned their outlandish figures, shaping antlers and wings. It was their domains that made them powerful. But my domain was far greater than any one of theirs. The only difference was that they took from the lives in their domain to achieve their own power and immortality, while the Empire, at its best, used its power to protect and sustain the lives within its bounds.
I faced them all and bowed.
“Thank you for hearing me.” My voice rang out, strong and confident under the eerie lights that swirled like giddy falling stars above us. “I stand here as the guest of Lord Kathe of Let, to speak for the Serene Empire.”
I reached out toward the Witch Lords, as their eyes gleamed at me in the dim hall. “We have a history of conflict. But history is a book in which we write new pages every day. The Empire holds out its hands to any who would take them. Instead of turning our might against each other, to the diminishment of both, let us work together to see what our combined power can do.”
Kathe tipped me a mocking salute, grinning. I suppressed a return smile. He was more than eager to see what we could accomplish together already.
“As for those who insist on standing against us …” I gestured to the eleven candles that still burned for war, trying not to think about what that number meant. “I suggest you take a close look at who stands with you. Yours is the power of life, the greatest and most sacred force on this earth. But Lord Ruven has twisted that power to enslave the mage-marked and murder children. And perhaps even worse, he has turned it against the land itself.” This was my strongest card: that by backing war, they backed Ruven. “He seeks to rend Mount Whitecrown asunder with its own fire, turning his power of life into one of destruction.”
The Defiant Heir Page 42
