The Obsidian Tower

by Melissa Caruso

  Instead he stared at me in silence, his eyes growing wider and wider. Ashe had lifted her head, too, no longer pretending to sleep.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” a silky voice said.

  I stifled a yelp as Whisper jumped up onto my bed. “Hells take you, knock or something.”

  Vikal leaped to his feet, his mage mark glowing a feverish violet. “Do you know, creature? Do you know what happened to my grandmother?”

  Whisper glanced up at him through slitted yellow eyes, and the whole room seemed to jolt and shudder, as if invisible lightning had struck it. Vikal reeled back, pale with the shock of that single look.

  An inch of bright steel flashed across the room. Ashe eased Answer back into its sheath, her gaze riveted on Whisper.

  “Politely, human.” Whisper’s voice was pure cold menace. Vikal jerked his head in a nod, eyes wide.

  “You know something.” All the fear and grief I’d stuffed down inside threatened to boil up and burst out of me; I knotted my hands in my sheets as if I could grab and squeeze it all back in. “Whisper, she’s my grandmother. Tell me. Please.”

  His ears swiveled toward me. “There are certain things I can’t talk about with you.”

  “Because of your promise?”

  He didn’t answer, which I took as confirmation. I drew a shaky breath. “If there’s any chance that my grandmother, the Witch Lord of Morgrain, is possessed by a demon, I think whoever you made that promise to would understand if you bent it a little.” I tried to keep my voice even and failed utterly. “And if she is possessed, you realize I’m going to find out soon anyway, one way or another.”

  Whisper considered this, his tail lashing behind him.

  “I don’t know what promise you’re talking about.” Ashe looked back and forth between us, her hand still on her sword hilt. “But I think I can safely say holy Hells on a stick.”

  “Don’t trust it, Ryx,” Vikal blurted. “My father warned me never to trust it. No one even knows who made it, or why it slinks around Gloamingard. It’s dangerous. I don’t know why Grandmother didn’t get rid of it ages ago.”

  I kept my eyes locked on Whisper’s, which narrowed in annoyance. “I’ve always trusted Whisper,” I said. It was true, though I knew it was foolish of me; nothing Vikal had said was wrong. “We’re friends.”

  Whisper ignored Ashe and Vikal both, keeping his attention fixed on me as if we were the only two in the room. He didn’t blink; I barely breathed.

  “Consider,” he said at last, his voice soft and lazy as always, “that there are three things that can happen when a demon attempts to possess a host.”

  I went very still, afraid any motion or sound I made might stop him from speaking. His voice seemed to draw the shadows deeper in my room, turning the sunlight coming through the windows pale and wan.

  “If the host possesses unremarkable magical strength, the demon can take them by force,” Whisper continued. “This is most common. In such cases, the demon destroys the host’s consciousness, effectively killing them.”

  “My grandmother isn’t weak,” Vikal protested. Whisper flicked an ear in his direction, and he flinched. “Sir.”

  “Indeed,” Whisper agreed. “I have little doubt she could repel such an invasion. The contest might take some time, however, especially if she were distracted by other pressing events.”

  “She could be fighting off a demon even now,” I breathed, horrified at the idea. Events were certainly pressing. Blood of the Eldest, that would explain why she’d disappeared.

  “But if she is, she’ll win,” Vikal insisted.

  “It seems likely.”

  “What’s the second possible outcome?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  “If a human is foolish enough to invite the demon in willingly, there is no contest, of course. In these cases, the demon and the host share the body, taking turns. Either can seize control at will.”

  “Grandmother would never do that,” I said, with confidence. No matter how badly she wanted whatever the demon could offer, she wouldn’t risk the safety of her domain.

  “What’s the third option?” Vikal asked, his voice husky.

  Whisper remained silent, staring at me through unreadable yellow eyes, and for a moment I thought he wouldn’t answer. At last, his ear flicked as if brushing away an insect, and he spoke.

  “Sometimes, rarely, a demon and its host possess complementary natures.” His voice fell on my ears softly as snow at twilight. “When that happens, they meld together. Neither demon nor host can tell anymore which mind is which; they are inextricably intertwined.” He shook himself, as if he’d gotten wet. “This is no more desirable for the demon than it is for the host.”

  Vikal and I exchanged a look of bottomless horror.

  “But this is rare, you said,” Vikal pressed.

  “Rare enough that demons still consider it worth the risk to possess people, but not uncommon enough that they switch hosts frequently or lightly.” He licked a paw. “I suppose it would be similar to the risk that a horse a human rides might throw them, or that a well-crewed ship might sink.”

  Vikal’s fists clenched by his sides. “So if a demon is involved at all, which it may not be, she’s probably just caught up in battling it and distracted by the complete disaster going on here in Gloamingard.”

  Guilt plucked at me with cold hands. My plea for help might have made it harder for her to fight off demonic possession. No wonder she’d pulled the arrow out and left in a hurry.

  “That would make an awful amount of sense,” I said. “It would explain why she’s disappeared and doesn’t seem to want to be found.” And it would explain that strange look in her eyes, too.

  Vikal’s butterflies flocked in a great chiming cloud to his shoulders, as if he gathered them like a great breath. “We have to do everything we can to take care of this gate business by ourselves, so she can focus on her fight. We can’t count on her to come back and fix everything.”

  “We can handle this on our own,” I agreed. “The gate, the diplomatic mess, Alevar and the Empire.”

  Vikal nodded, his jaw set. “I’ll help.”

  I didn’t contradict him, but uneasiness settled over me like a cloak. Sincerity shone from his eyes; but for all his power, Vikal was useless as a diplomat, and he was in danger here. I needed to figure out how to protect him—but without him realizing he was being protected.

  “You won’t be doing it all alone,” Ashe put in. “The Rookery has your back.” She shook her head. “Which is a damned good thing, because I’ll tell you frankly that I’ve been in some messes that’d turn your hair white—but never one quite like this.”

  “Nor have I,” Whisper said. “And that should make you afraid.”

  I eased my weight onto my injured leg, holding on to my bedpost; pain stabbed through my thigh, and I let out a soft curse.

  “You’re right,” I grumbled to Kessa. “I’m going to need a cane.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” She handed me the cane she’d brought me from their theatrical props. A vivomancer had shaped it, perhaps Kessa herself, topping it with a rook’s head formed by magic from the wood. “You were nearly killed last night. No one will think you’re lazy if you postpone the Windhome negotiations another day.”

  “We can’t,” I said. “At this point, we’re racing against the spread of rumors about the gate—not to mention the warships bearing down on our coast or the Alevaran troops gathering at our border. We have to gather any scraps of peace we can before all of Eruvia descends into panic and chaos.”

  “Still, don’t be one of those would-be-hero idiots and push yourself until you collapse. We vivomancers heal fast, yes, but Ashe could tell you that we’re not as tough as we think we are.” She grimaced. “She’d probably back it up with some unnecessarily graphic anecdotes, too.”

  It was just as well Kessa had shooed Ashe off to get some food, promising to keep me safe for the necessary half an hour, or no doubt
we’d be hearing those even now. I took a few practice steps with the cane; it was hard to get the rhythm of it right, and it hurt to put any weight on my leg at all, even through the potions.

  “Ashe is about the toughest person alive,” I said, “so her perspective may be skewed.”

  “Ashe?” Kessa snorted. “Hardly. She’s a big baby. She may be prickly, but she’s sweet as honey cake if you can get past her guard.” Her expression went soft, even though her voice stayed businesslike and exasperated.

  I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’d trust your assessment of anyone else, but not where Ashe is concerned. She hardly treats you like she treats other people.”

  To my astonishment, Kessa’s cheeks went ruddy. “What do you mean?”

  Well, this is awkward. “She, ah… I’m sorry, I just assumed—was I wrong about you two?”

  Kessa gave me a confused stare. Just as I started to wonder if she were playing a joke on me, she dropped all at once into a chair as if I’d stunned her. “Oh! You thought—oh. Did you think we were a couple?” She laughed, but her cheeks stayed bright red.

  “Well, I thought you at least fancied each other.” I tried an apologetic grin.

  “I, ah, wouldn’t know about that.” Kessa reached for the pitcher by my bed, poured herself a cup of water, and took a long drink as if it were strong wine. “You think she fancies me?”

  I struggled to keep from laughing. “Do you mean you hadn’t noticed? I thought you were a spy!”

  “You’ve been reading too many stories of seductive masters of espionage.” Kessa smiled, pulling her reactions mostly under control again. “I assure you, being able to make all the lords swoon with one smoldering wink isn’t actually a requirement for the job. As it happens, I’m rarely attracted to anyone, and even then not physically, so I’m terrible at spotting when people are attracted to me.”

  “I can’t tell, either, but for lack of practice,” I said. That sounded nicer than because most people are terrified of me. “The one girl who was ever interested practically had to smack me in the face with it.” I ached at the bittersweet memory of the revelation that Rillim—lovely, witty Rillim—felt the same spark kindling between us that I did.

  “The funny part is that I can spot it when people are attracted to others, mind you!” Kessa wagged a finger in my direction. “Like you and that Severin. What are you thinking? He’s trouble.”

  Hells. Now I was blushing. “He’s pretty trouble.”

  “So’s a viper.”

  “I can appreciate how pretty he is without being foolish enough to get involved with him.” I didn’t want to think about him right now—not the lush dark river of his hair, or the sardonic gleam in his eyes, or the fact that he’d apparently saved my life. “Is Ashe one of those rare exceptions you’re attracted to? I can’t help but notice that if there’s a room full of people, your eyes keep going back to her.”

  “She’s pretty,” Kessa muttered into her cup. “And graceful, and competent, and funny. I do really like her.”

  I spread a hand. “Well, she certainly likes you.”

  “You think so?” Kessa’s eyes went bright and speculative. “Well. Well. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “She’s not subtle about it.” I laughed. “But then, I suppose Ashe rarely is.”

  I was joking with a friend about another friend. I wasn’t sure I’d ever done this before in my life. It felt amazing. Everything might be going to the Nine Hells, but in this room in this one moment, I’d never been happier.

  “That I’ll grant you.” Kessa grinned. “Though I maintain that she’s not as tough as you think.”

  “She’s a creature of pure destruction,” I protested.

  Kessa flipped a dismissive hand. “She just knows that sometimes you have to destroy in order to protect.”

  The words struck me with unexpected impact; pieces fell together in my mind, like a broken vase reassembling itself. Destroy in order to protect.

  That one phrase opened up a clear path through all the dangers besieging me: the forces converging against Morgrain, the killer hunting my family, the terrible threat of the gate. I only had to resolve to take it.

  “Yes,” I murmured. “Sometimes you do.”

  Kessa tilted her head. “What?”

  “Come on,” I said, resolution filling me as I gripped the head of my cane. “Let’s go meet the envoys.”

  I ignored the throbbing of my leg and leaned closer to watch Lady Celia press her heavy golden seal to the bottom of the document Severin had just signed. She lifted it, and the Raverran winged horse shimmered in iridescent alchemical wax next to Alevar’s shrike. I settled my elbows on the table and let out a long, soft sigh of relief.

  It had been hard to drag myself here on a leg that wouldn’t support me and stabbed with pain whenever I moved it. It had been harder still to force the envoys to talk about Windhome Island and only about Windhome Island, without straying into the more dramatic territory of gates to the Nine Hells or deadly grievances or murder. Hardest of all had been sitting here in a room with my noble guests knowing that one of them had probably tried to kill me last night and was hiding disappointment to see me up and alive today.

  That knowledge put a bar of iron-hard tension across my shoulders and a lump of apprehension beneath my breastbone. It kept me scanning faces during the meeting as the envoys hashed out details, looking for the slightest sign of malice cast in my direction. Even with my new resolution fueling me, it was utterly exhausting.

  “The doge and Council will need to sign the final version, of course,” Lady Celia said, handing her copy of the agreement to an aide for safekeeping, “but I don’t anticipate any difficulties. Frankly, we have larger issues on our plates than Windhome Island now.”

  That was the bitter aftertaste to the victory I’d worked so hard to achieve. Mediating peace between Alevar and the Serene Empire didn’t do Morgrain much good if the reason they were able to set aside their differences was because they both wanted to be free to turn their military might against Gloamingard.

  I had to take other steps to protect my home.

  “Very well,” I said, bracing myself. “Let’s talk about the gate.”

  “Oh, yes,” Ardith agreed, perking up and putting away the book they’d been reading less than subtly in the corner. They hadn’t been invited to this negotiation session but had showed up anyway. “We can’t forget about the gate.”

  Foxglove, who had waited patiently through the negotiations, folded his hands across a leather portfolio of notes on the table before him. I’d barely had time to consult with him on the way here, but he’d cautiously approved my plan.

  I took a deep breath. “Now, I know we all have a stake in this—”

  “My personal stake is not wanting to have to bow down before my new demon overlords,” Ardith said.

  I ignored them. “But no one has a greater one than Morgrain.” Vikal lifted his head at that, as if he heard horns. He’d asked to be there for the gate discussion, and since he was acting as his father’s voice, I hadn’t found a way to say no. “We have guarded the Black Tower for millennia. We are watching as you line up chimeras on our border and ships in our waters. And to be blunt, we will ultimately decide what to do about the gate.”

  Severin lifted an eyebrow. There was something different in the gaze he leveled at me today—some shadow that hadn’t been there before last night. But when he spoke, his voice held nothing but soft, unmistakable menace.

  “I think, Exalted Ryxander, that you’ll find that’s not the case.”

  “For once, I agree with Lord Severin.” Lady Celia rose with a rustle of silk, her expression hard as steel. “You may have guarded this relic, but that doesn’t give you the right to decide unilaterally what to do with a portal to the Hells that sits nearly on our border. The doge and the Council of Nine have instructed me to inform you that if the Serene Empire determines this gate to be a threat, Raverra will deploy all of its warlocks to raze this cast
le to the ground.”

  My spine tingled as if some ancient instinct tried to raise hackles there. She was a guest in my house, and she dared threaten to destroy it. I forced down my anger and waited; they were all setting up my next point beautifully.

  Ardith’s eyes narrowed, like a cat only pretending to be lazy. “You might find that some Witch Lords would object to that. Unprovoked attack on Vaskandran soil and all. Not to mention that if the smoke cleared and the gate was still standing, your greedy paws would be on it, and we can’t allow that.”

  “You see?” I gestured around the table. “Now that you know this gate exists, you prepare to unleash rivers of blood fighting over it. If Morgrain falls, you’ll attack whoever holds the Black Tower next. Chaos and death will engulf Eruvia, as sure as if we flung wide the gate and ushered in the Dark Days ourselves. There’s only one way to prevent it.” I paused; I knew what I had to say next, but it felt like blasphemy. Who was I to make a choice like this? I’d only known the Black Tower’s secret for a few days.

  I was the Warden of Gloamingard, that was who. No one else could make this decision.

  The words fell heavy as lead from my lips. “We have to destroy the gate.”

  “Destroy it!” Aurelio cried, nearly leaping from his seat. “We barely know what it is yet. You can’t destroy the most important magical discovery of the millennia without at least studying it first!”

  Lady Celia sank back into her seat, her eyes glittering thoughtfully. “No, Aurelio,” she said. “Lady Ryxander is right. This piece has to get taken off the board, or the game is over.”

  “It’s our family legacy,” Vikal objected, his expression deeply troubled. “To destroy it would be to throw away millennia of purpose and tradition.” The butterflies on his shoulders fanned their wings only slowly, nearly quiescent—he was thinking about this and listening. That was significant, given that he’d be reporting back to his father.

  “No,” I said, only to him, meeting his violet-ringed eyes. “You know our purpose. Only this, and nothing more: nothing must unseal the Door. If we find a way to close it forever, our traditions and purpose are utterly fulfilled.”