“I don’t like leaving you here all alone.” My father’s jaw set stubbornly. “I’ve got no head for politics like you and your mother do, but I know enough to understand that our neighbor Witch Lords are always watching for signs of weakness. They’ll notice that there’s no mage-marked atheling in Gloamingard, and they’ll assume—”
“They’ll assume that Grandmother is still in command,” I cut him off. No mage-marked atheling. My own father didn’t consider me one of them. “They’ve seen her raise the land in response to Karrigan’s death. So long as we act like nothing’s wrong, they have no reason to believe she won’t defend her domain. If the family comes rushing here like there’s a void to fill, they’ll pounce on us like cats on a fluttering bird.”
“If you say so.” He pushed a hand wearily through the tangles of his hair. It hurt my heart to see him looking so tired. “I’m glad you’re the one handling this, Ryx. Your grandmother chose you as Warden of Gloamingard for a reason.”
I couldn’t help a self-deprecating huff. “To keep me out of trouble.”
“If she’d wanted to do that, she would have made you Warden of some lonely tower out in the wilderness, with no people around.” He squeezed my hand in his big, calloused one. “She gave you the most important castle in Morgrain, and our most important duty. Because she knew you could do it.”
A bitter voice told me he was saying that for the same reason Karrigan had, out of gratitude that he didn’t have to deal with this mess himself. I didn’t speak it aloud, though. Just like I didn’t tell him that I doubted I could save us from war, or that the Door struck a deep terror in me like nothing else I’d ever known, or about the sickening guilt of killing Lamiel.
Those were things a child might do, who could count on comfort from her father. Mine had only been around to offer comfort for several visits a year, and I’d learned long ago to get on with life without it.
Instead, I sighed. “All right. You find Grandmother, and I’ll keep things from falling apart at Gloamingard until you bring her back.”
He nodded. “I know you will.”
My father didn’t even set foot in Gloamingard. He must have known it would draw him in and refuse to let him go, keeping him from his mission. It was Odan who walked back to the castle with me.
I’d been surprised and touched to find him waiting by the road, solid and dependable, gaze solemn beneath his bushy gray brows. We started up the dusty road in silence, under a heartbreakingly blue late-summer sky, the first chill of autumn slipping up our sleeves and down our collars.
“What do we do now, Odan?” I asked him, letting my weariness show at last. Odan understood the dangers besetting Gloamingard as well as I did, and it seemed ridiculous to try to put on a front of strength for a man who’d caught me drawing on the walls as a child and seen me cry over a dragonfly that made an ill-advised perch on my shoulder.
“What we always have, Exalted Warden,” he said, calm and sure as the rock that poked like weathered bones through the lush grass sheathing the hill.
I thought about that. “Guard the tower, ward the stone.”
“Of course, Warden. Nothing has changed.”
I took a long, deep breath of the fresh, autumn-tinged air. For all the restlessness upon the land, it still smelled like Morgrain: ancient stone and sun-warmed grass, pine and damp leaves and a distant whiff of sheep.
Home. I’d do whatever it took to keep it safe.
“I suppose you’re right.”
Much as it might have seemed like the world stopped when I found Aunt Karrigan murdered, it unfortunately did me no such courtesy. The air around Gloamingard’s towers grew thick with birds delivering messages. Whispers ran through the halls, and at breakfast the Old Great Hall practically trembled with tension.
I had Odan call my noble guests into the Round Room, and asked Foxglove to join us as well. I arrived last; conversation fell silent as I approached the table. Everyone was trying to look at me and not look at me at the same time. Well, I was used to that; it was almost comforting that this time it was because I was the Warden of a castle beset by murder, threatened by war, and housing a gate to the Nine Hells rather than due to any personal or magical failings.
Almost.
Lady Celia sipped her cup of coffee with careful precision; I could practically see her holding back a thousand things she wanted to ask or say, judging a mere hour after my aunt’s funeral to be too soon for business. Severin’s sideways glances were harder to read, shuttered and thoughtful. Aurelio just looked miserable, smart enough to see everything tumbling toward war around him but powerless to stop it.
I refused to believe that we were powerless.
I leaned on the table with both palms. All eyes swiveled to lock onto me.
“I promised you answers yesterday,” I said. “Thank you for your patience as my family reels from this terrible tragedy, but this is too serious a matter to postpone. I’m going to tell you what I can.”
Ardith leaned their elbows on the table. “We’re listening.”
“First of all, yes, it’s a gate to the Nine Hells.” Wide-eyed glances flicked around the room, but no one breathed as I continued. “However, the Rookery assures me that the wards containing it are holding, as they have for four thousand years, so there is no immediate danger to us in the castle or to Eruvia. Is that correct, Foxglove?”
He rose, bowing with smooth grace to the dignitaries at the table. “Indeed. The wards are all structurally sound. For the moment, the situation is stable.”
Vikal nodded sagely, as if he’d been personally responsible for the wards. “My family’s work has endured far worse,” he said. I was sure he had no idea what he was talking about; he was just making things up.
“As the imperial adviser on magic to this delegation, I’d love to see the gate myself,” Aurelio said, with a quick glance at Lady Celia.
“I can’t allow that,” I replied flatly. Aurelio flushed. I felt bad for him, but I had to cut that line of thought off now. “Much as I would love to bring you all in on the Rookery’s research, we have to be very careful. I can’t guarantee the safety of anyone who enters the tower, and the wards themselves are dangerous. And it’s not only that.” I scanned their faces, letting some of the hard, cold weight I’d been carrying since yesterday come out in my voice. “Someone here is a spy. They learned the nature of the gate and sent that message to Vikal. And someone here is a murderer, who killed my aunt.”
“And Exalted Lamiel,” Voreth added.
I couldn’t bring myself to agree, but I gave a tiny jerk of a nod before I thought through the implications of even that degree of assent. “I can’t trust any of you,” I said bluntly. “I’m sorry. I wish I could. But it would be utter foolishness for me to open up the Black Tower to such treachery.”
Severin rose, with the graceful menace of a big cat stretching. “Ah, yes, we certainly couldn’t let someone who would condone murder have access to the gate. So you understand why Alevar can’t trust Morgrain with the Black Tower, either.”
A murmur ran around the table. Curse him, this wasn’t what I needed right now.
“Alevar doesn’t have a choice.” I met his stare, mage mark to mage mark. Challenge flowed between us like a racing current, tingling along my nerves. “Whether we like it or not—and I assure you, I’m not thrilled with the situation myself—this gate is in Gloamingard, under Morgrain’s protection.”
“Artifacts can be moved.” Severin gave a languid shrug. “Castles can change hands.”
“I’m already aware that the Shrike Lord is looking for an excuse to invade us,” I snapped.
“Oh, he doesn’t require an excuse.”
I glared at Severin in frustration. I genuinely couldn’t tell if he meant it as a threat or a warning.
Ardith leaned back in their chair, hands laced behind their head. “I have to say, defending yourself or settling a grievance is one thing. Invading to seize the gate by force is more likely to set off a gen
eral scramble that we’ll all regret.” They paused. “Not that I usually mind having regrets. It means I’m alive.”
“The Serene Empire might feel compelled to get involved should such a scramble ensue,” Lady Celia said ominously.
Lovely. Three thinly veiled threats of war in about one minute. That had to be some kind of record.
“We came here to avoid a global conflict. Let’s not set one off instead.” I gestured to Foxglove. “If you can’t bring yourself to trust us, trust the Rookery. They serve not one country or one lord, but all of Eruvia. I believe they can come up with a solution to the gate problem that will satisfy everyone.”
Foxglove’s eyebrow twitched; I had to silently admit that might be an exaggeration, but they had a better chance at doing so than most.
“None of us want the Dark Days to come again,” he said, his voice deep and grave. “Our priority is to ensure that they never will.”
The mention of the Dark Days cast a sobering quiet across the room. I leaped into it. “We can’t take risks with this. We have to put aside threats and bravado and solve this problem together, regardless of our differences, to ensure that what lies in the Black Tower will never threaten the future of Eruvia.” Their faces remained stiff, closed; I had no idea whether I was getting through to them.
Vikal, seasons bless him, banged a fist on the table, scattering butterflies. “You know I’m with you, Ryxander,” he declared. My heart warmed despite myself.
Lady Celia’s expression, however, remained grim as a sea cliff. “The Empire will not wait much longer,” she said. “If the Rookery cannot remove the threat the gate presents soon, Raverra will take its own steps to resolve the matter.” Her tone left no doubt what those steps might be.
“My brother isn’t known for his patience.” Severin spoke with an odd care, holding my gaze. “He’s already put his own preparations in motion.”
There was some warning or extra meaning in his choice of words; I was sure of it. Did he mean the Shrike Lord was already moving troops or courting allies? Or—holy Hells. He could be talking about Karrigan’s murder.
“I imagine the Conclave will act, too,” Ardith put in, their mouth quirking up on one side. “There’s just something about a gate to the Nine Hells that gets the blood moving.”
All of them were poised to fall on Morgrain like starving dogs on a bone. Seasons spare us. We had imperial warships bearing down on us, and I’d bet my jess the Shrike Lord had troops and battle chimeras lined up on the border. Once regional violence broke out, the Eldest themselves might feel compelled to take a hand.
My grandmother might be powerful, but she couldn’t stand against the rest of Eruvia united. Most likely all that was holding our neighbors back from invading us right now was the time it took to get forces in place.
“We can have a full report on the gate with options for possible solutions ready tomorrow afternoon,” Foxglove promised. I struggled not to shoot him an incredulous glance at the time frame. He could read the room as well as I could, and he was saying what he needed to say.
Ardith cocked one eyebrow at Lady Celia, then the other at Severin. “Well? Can Alevar and the Empire wait a day or two before hauling off and lobbing chimeras and cannon fire around over some musty old artifact that’s been sitting there harmlessly for four thousand years?”
Lady Celia nodded, all graciousness. “Of course.”
Severin hesitated. Voreth leaned down and whispered in his ear; Severin brushed him away with an annoyed expression, as if he were a fly.
“I’m not rash enough to make such promises for my brother,” he said. “However, I suspect he’s unlikely to invade before tomorrow.”
Like as not the Shrike Lord simply was smart enough to know that a fight over Morgrain was coming, and that if he waited for someone else to start it, he greatly increased his chances of coming out the winner. Anger simmered in my belly that they could sit here at my table, my aunt’s murderer likely among them, and quarrel over Morgrain’s bones.
I had to stay calm. If I didn’t, I might tip the balance into violence myself.
Ardith dusted their hands briskly together. “Well, no global war this morning, then! Good job, everyone!”
“We’ll meet again tomorrow,” I said. “Today the Rookery and I will focus on the gate and on investigating the murder.”
“Murders,” Voreth muttered.
I ignored him. “When we meet, remember why you came here. Peace is too important to cast aside. We should first conclude an agreement over the Windhome Island incident, to get that accomplished and move on. Once that’s safely signed, we can discuss the gate.”
Everyone seemed to at least accept this plan, whether or not they liked it. The tension in the room eased; the table broke up into smaller conversations, with Ardith talking to Severin and Celia questioning Foxglove.
I sank back into my seat. Blood of the Eldest, we’d just given my aunt to the forest that morning; it would have been nice to make it through the afternoon without needing to convince half of Eruvia not to annihilate my home.
Aurelio slid into the chair beside me, head bowed. “I’m sorry about your aunt.”
A wave of bittersweet gratitude coursed through me. Aurelio was the only one of my guests thus far outside of Ardith and the Rookery to offer me the simple kindness of condolences. “Thank you,” I said.
He lifted a puzzled frown to meet me. “For what?”
“For acknowledging that I’m a human, with human feelings.” Never mind that right now, I’d rather not deal with the mess of them churning in their bottle.
Aurelio hesitated. “I… I gather that you and your aunt didn’t, uh, always get along.”
That’s right, I’d griped to him about my family before. And there had been the all-too-public jess incident at the reception, too. “Aunt Karrigan wasn’t interested in getting along.”
“This may not be much consolation, but…” Aurelio grimaced, clearly struggling to find a good way to put this. “Well, my father says sometimes only the Grace of Wisdom can see the reason bad things happen, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I’m well aware that her rash statements about using the power of the Hells may be the reason she was murdered, if that’s what you mean. That only makes it sadder and more pointless. She couldn’t have used the power if she wanted to.”
Aurelio went still. “Oh? But you activated it. I saw you.”
This was a lucky chance to slip information to the Serene Empire that would help them see Morgrain as less of a threat—and they’d be more likely to believe it if I made it look like a thoughtless admission to a friend, too. I didn’t like to use Aurelio this way, but Morgrain’s security was more important.
“There are no instructions on that artifact,” I said. “She had no idea how to use it. I’m the only one who’s been able to get any kind of a reaction from that thing, and only because of a fluke of my broken magic.” Of course, the demons whispering to her through the gate might have been happy to tell her how to use their power, but there was no need to mention that.
“Well.” Aurelio’s brows flew up, then descended back into a frown. “That’s not what we thought was going on at all. That’s… a relief, I suppose.”
He looked as if he might have more questions, but Lady Celia called him over to where she sat talking with Foxglove. I could only hope I’d helped soothe some of the Empire’s fears.
Now I needed a way to soothe mine. I took a sip of black tea, but it had steeped too long in my cup and gone bitter.
Ardith dropped into the chair Aurelio vacated. Their usual cheeky grin was absent; somber lines drew their face into a new shape, as if the murder had transformed them into someone else—or stripped their mask away and revealed who they’d been all along.
“Listen,” they said, their voice low and more serious than usual, “I’m going to be blunt with you, Ryx, because you seem like someone who would prefer honesty.”
&
nbsp; “I do, generally, yes,” I said, bracing myself.
“This whole situation is a disaster. We’re all peeing down our legs over the gate. After that meeting, it seems sure as death a fight is going to break out over it—which my father is going to be less than thrilled about, let me tell you—and I think we can all agree that there’s one charming individual we particularly don’t want to win.”
“The Shrike Lord,” I guessed. My fingers dug into the arms of my chair at the thought of him strolling into the Black Tower, victorious.
“Damned right. He’s dangerous.” For once, Ardith wasn’t smiling. They kept their voice so close to a whisper that I could barely hear it, and their back turned to where Severin and Voreth sat on the far side of the room. “He’s one of the few Witch Lords with a standing army, and he’s got legions of war chimeras with custom venoms meant to take out mages, which is hardly neighborly. There are even rumors that he murdered his dear father in order to ascend to his position as Witch Lord.”
“I’m glad you agree he’s a problem.” I flicked a glance toward Severin, but he remained deep in conversation with Lady Celia.
“My father was already watching him as a threat to the peace. We can’t let him get his hands on the gate.” Ardith shook their head.
“Then back Morgrain,” I urged them. “Convince your father and his allies to declare that they’ll defend us.”
Ardith let out a long sigh. “Sorry, Ryx. That’s too uncertain. If there’s a fight, anyone could wind up with the gate in the end. We can’t roll the dice on this one.” They grimaced. “I’m afraid you’re not going to like this, but we have to solve the problem at the source.”
Before I could ask what in the Nine Hells that meant, Severin approached, breaking into the conversation with an unapologetic smirk.
“Conspiring against me, Ardith?”
The Obsidian Tower Page 23
