by Hannah West
“Devorian?” How had he arrived so fast? How had word reached him so quickly? Perhaps Mercer had seen another vision and sent him here to chase after me. Perhaps, too late, he had foreseen the fate that would befall Perennia.
The hope brought on by Devorian’s nearness dissipated as swiftly as it came. What if he believed Ambrosine’s lies about Perennia, about what I had done?
“Why didn’t you tell him what had happened?” I demanded. “He could have helped us.”
“I didn’t know if I could trust him,” the huntsman replied, his expression carved of stone. “We need to move quickly. The town criers will have spread word to even the outlying villages by now, and every poor soul the queen has overtaxed will hope to earn a bounty by handing you over.”
“Where are we going?” Navara asked, rubbing her arms for warmth. I envied her the sturdy leather boots she’d borrowed from me; her flimsy slippers were soaked through.
“To gather my family and hide,” he said, casting a determined look over his shoulder. “We have no choice.”
NINETEEN
KADRI
THE next morning was so pleasant that when I first blinked awake, I wondered how I had reached this unfamiliar paradise. The shutters stood open, admitting jaunty bird chirps and the scent of spring rain. Yogurt with pomegranate arils and a pan of joyful egg yolks in sauce sat on my nightstand.
But when I rocked up onto my side, I yelped at the tenderness of my bruises and the scabs circling my wrists. The memory of yesterday reeled back with its pressing questions:
Why hadn’t the all-powerful Valory stopped Ambrosine?
Was Rynna alive?
What exactly did Lord Orturio and Mathis want me to do? Convince the others to relinquish their elicrin stones or abdicate their thrones?
Join the Uprising, Orturio had said. Help us end the chaotic reign of elicromancers forever.
We’d left the ravaged edifice behind, and sleep had claimed my exhausted body on the journey back through the hills and the towering cypress trees. Everything between then and now was a haze.
They hadn’t demanded an answer from me yet, but the weight of their request made me drop back onto the mattress.
Their examination of how much political power elicromancers deserved—or whether they deserved any—did not disturb me. It was a question for the ages, one that I had hoped the Realm Alliance would address in due time.
What did disturb me were the echoes of a past tragedy, the specter of violence shadowing Lord Orturio’s convictions.
I could recall the precise moment I had learned about the assassination of Clovis and Mauriette Lorenthi during their visit to Perispos. I’d been reading poetry on the terrace at the Erdemese embassy in Yorth, the sun shining so bright that it made my hair hot to the touch. That night, we were supposed to host the family of the Perispi ambassador. I looked forward to seeing his pretty daughter, Talva, the one who would eventually become an altar attendant.
Father summoned me inside to tell me the news: mere mortals had managed to kill two elicromancers abroad. The incident rocked diplomatic relations, and the Perispi ambassador cancelled dinner that night. Father even speculated that the ambassador and family might have to leave Nissera.
But then King Myron proclaimed that he had put the “anti-elicromancer rebels” to death. He said that they had acted alone. The political storm dissipated. Selfishly, I was relieved that Talva would stay.
Could those rebels be connected to Orturio’s uprising? Could they have operated in secret for years without King Myron discovering them?
The prospect frightened me immensely, though it struck me as unlikely. Orturio seemed willing to manipulate and deceive, but he had not implied a penchant for bloodshed. Besides, Mathis Lorenthi was a scoundrel, but he wouldn’t align himself with his own brother’s murderers.
Mathis’s presence was perplexing. Toppling the Realm Alliance would make it easier to reclaim his crown. On the other hand, why take political power away from his own kind?
We want to return to a simpler time, he had said, a time when mortal kings ruled. During his trial, he had lamented that his second-born niece had returned from war believing her valiance gave her a right to rule. He stressed that only Devorian could exercise a claim to the throne. He said that we were undermining his authority, that we were lawless juveniles, that Glisette had no right to change the laws that prohibited her reign.
His nostalgia, I realized, had nothing to do with wanting the world to be fairer to mortals—of course it didn’t. He wanted to return to a political age when a young woman would have no power to oust him, when women like Glisette could be kept in check and made docile by society. In that world, he believed, she would plan parties, attract suitors, and eventually marry off. She would have no interest in power. The benefits of wealth, beauty, and prestige would be satisfying enough, and resistance against oppressive conventions would be futile.
Mathis would need to sacrifice his elicrin stone and immortality to live in that world. In his eyes, it was worth it to bring Glisette down, to bring all of us down.
But did that make him wrong about the Realm Alliance?
What if the kings and queens of Nissera were mortal again? Would they better understand the plights of those who endured illness and poverty? If magic played no role in politics, would grave ruling errors—like sparing Ambrosine the punishment she deserved—have such horrible repercussions?
What if I returned to Nissera and convinced my friends to confiscate or surrender every elicrin stone? What would Valory do, with nothing to surrender? Agree to never use her power unless the kingdoms of mortals collectively agreed it was necessary? That didn’t seem so terrible.
But the thought of giving up my elicrin stone so soon after obtaining it made me feel as territorial as a feasting wolf fending off circling crows. Valory had done a kind thing, offering it to me. She knew that I felt different, helpless, less useful, when every other member of the Realm Alliance, even my husband, possessed eternal youth and immense power. And she knew that Rynna aged as slowly as the ancient trees of Wenryn.
I believed I had good reasons for accepting the elicrin stone, and that Valory had good reasons for giving it to me—not that she needed any. The Water had dried up, transferred its power to her. The source of elicrin magic had changed. Why wasn’t the world allowed to change with it? Why couldn’t people merit magic with deeds and integrity rather than heredity and birthright?
Overwhelmed by my whirling thoughts, I tossed off the bedclothes and shuffled to the open window. Workers wearing airy clothing scattered across the endless rows of grapevines while gray clouds drifted across the sky. The wagons of the Jav Darhu had departed. Falima had gone with the mercenaries—to what fate, I didn’t know.
Grimacing against the aches in my body, I staggered to the wardrobe. I needed to reclaim my elicrin stone and find Glisette as soon as possible. Maybe she and I could confront Ambrosine together, confiscate her stone, and take her back to Nissera to face the Realm Alliance once more. Or maybe Valory would reach the palace before me and handle Ambrosine. Then I could help the others stop the spread of the forest’s deadly rot.
Someone knocked softly on my door. The Nisseran maid with short, curly hair came in. “Lord Orturio would like you to join him in the dining room at your leisure,” she said with a friendly bow.
“I’ll be down shortly,” I assured her, and she gave me a lingering look before she bowed again and closed the door.
I scarfed down my cold breakfast, exchanged my nightgown for a mauve linen dress, and descended to the dining room.
Without the mercenaries, the expansive room was strangely quiet. Mathis, Orturio, and the Perispi men from last night huddled around the table, including the older man who resembled Orturio, except that his broad build had drooped into a more pendulous shape. Everyone sported varyingly troubled expressions, save for a young man with a wave of pomade-slicked hair who leaned back in his chair, picking his teeth with a knife.
Cordial glasses accompanied the spattering of teacups.
Even Mathis looked morose. The complacency I’d considered a permanent facial feature had slipped away.
Orturio poured a cup of stout tea from the tray, which he passed along to me as he gestured for me to sit.
I opened my mouth to refuse, to thank him for his courtesy, to tell him I had to be going but that I would take their concerns into consideration. They had said I was free to leave.
But before I could speak, he said, “One of my informants has sent word that your friend Glisette Lorenthi has killed her own sister, and that she and Princess Navara Vasila are missing.”
I blinked at him. “She killed Ambrosine?”
Though it must have been a heartbreaking choice for Glisette, I had to admit the unexpected news brought me relief.
But three words demolished that relief: “Not Ambrosine. Perennia.”
It was Mathis who had uttered them.
“Perennia?” I sank into the seat Orturio had offered me. How could this have happened? Glisette would rip the world apart to keep Perennia safe. Even Ambrosine would never hurt her youngest sibling. She was so lovely, a gentle soul adored by many, like her mother. If these tidings were true, this was a tragedy of the worst kind. “That’s not possible.”
“Ambrosine is claiming that Glisette went mad, murdered Perennia, and kidnapped Navara,” Mathis explained. “It’s obviously a lie, but she’s holding a funeral today. She must have a body.”
“We are trying to find out the truth,” Orturio said. “But the queen has turned our palace informant, an altar girl named Damiatta who previously worked for the high priest.”
“How do you know she’s turned her?” I asked.
“We tested her loyalties by lying about the location of the religious artifact the queen sought. The queen sent soldiers to burn it down the next day. Damiatta thinks we believe someone else in our ranks betrayed us, but we told only her.”
“And despite her betrayal, you remain in contact with her so you can continue misinforming Ambrosine,” I guessed.
Orturio jabbed a finger at me, staring at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “Clever young woman. That’s why we need you.” He tossed back a clear spirit and slammed it on the table so hard I wondered how the dainty glass didn’t shatter. “Princess Navara is our first priority. We’ve dispatched word to our contacts; nearly every priest and altar attendant around Halithenica will be watching for her. But if it’s true that Glisette Lorenthi has indeed gone mad and poses a danger to Navara, we may need your help securing her.”
“It’s not true,” I insisted. But with Perennia gone, I didn’t know what Glisette would do or how desperate she had become.
Only last night, I thought I had needed Glisette to rescue me. I longed to return to Nissera without even glancing back over my shoulder, but I couldn’t leave her to suffer alone.
If it was true that they had a whole network of agents looking for Glisette, there was no sense in wandering off on my own to search for her. I didn’t even know where to begin.
“I will help you secure the princess—” I started.
“Holies bless you,” the older relative interrupted. “Without her, our cause would be dead. We must do everything we can to protect her from the witch behind the palace walls.”
“We will, Uncle,” Orturio assured him.
“But,” I continued, “I want to send a letter home to Yorth, and I want my elicrin stone.”
“The first request I can grant,” Orturio said, splashing more liquid into his cordial glass, sending a caustic whiff of it my way. “But the Jav Darhu refused to turn over your elicrin stone before they departed. They say I failed to specify that demand in our negotiations. I tried to make them reconsider, but arguing with them is never wise.”
Another wave of loss washed over me. But Valory could give me a new stone, or take mine back from those vicious murderers and exterminate them like vermin in the process. “How long do you think it will take to locate the princess and Glisette?” I asked. I wanted to weep with grief for Perennia, with worry for Rynna and Glisette, with anger at my helplessness.
“Possibly tomorrow morning, depending on Lucrez,” Orturio answered. “There’s a young man—the king’s huntsman—who has earned the queen’s trust. Lucrez has been warming him up as an unwitting informant. She’ll go to him tonight. If he doesn’t freely offer her the truth, we’ll send Viteus and the boys.”
I figured I knew what he meant by “warming up,” but I didn’t know what “sending Viteus and the boys” meant—until the young man picking his teeth slammed the legs of his chair back down and dragged his thumb along the hooked tip of his knife. “Just tell me when and where,” he said.
It seemed the Uprising did resort to violence. Perhaps I was right to suspect a connection to the radical rebels who killed Glisette’s parents. But if the young man they planned to hurt held Ambrosine’s trust, maybe such measures were warranted.
“What did you mean when you said that your cause is dead without Navara?” I asked.
“We want to depose elicromancer rulers and make sure worthy mortals take their place. Navara has been divinely appointed to lead Perispos. Ambrosine Lorenthi’s crown belongs to her.”
“Navara’s mother was my cousin, a daughter of the noble Casiani family before she wed the king,” Orturio’s uncle explained proudly. “She was far too good for Myron the Appeaser, but Navara is family. And more than that, if she dies—Holies forbid—the queen will hold the only legally legitimate claim to the throne.”
“Which will complicate efforts to rally the people behind a worthy replacement,” Orturio added.
“And then the great religion of Agrimas will dwindle to memory in a kingdom oppressed by elicromancers,” the uncle continued, dropping his voice an octave, his dark eyes narrowing to slits. “It will be as our ancient prophets forewarned.…” He gestured grandiosely at the heavens. “‘The rulers of the earth will bend the knee to the Fallen gods, and the pure-hearted will be slaughtered in droves. The four scourges of the Fallen will descend on mankind.’”
Mathis took a deep swig of tea to fortify himself.
“What are the four scourges?” I asked out of curiosity. Mathis cut me a glare of annoyance.
“Robivoros will afflict us with a taste for human flesh and murderous impulses,” the uncle said, trembling with conviction. “Nexantius will drive people to madness by showing them that which they long to see in their reflections until they become blind to everything else. Silimos will bring a scourge of mold and rot that spreads until it infests all life it touches. And Themera will cause her victims to sweat and weep blood.”
“A scourge of mold and rot?” I repeated, remembering Rynna’s description of the spreading infestation in the forest back home. “The Agrimas holy text says that?”
“Indeed.” Orturio pushed back from the table and approached a shelf of tomes bookended by wine jugs, choosing a dense volume with bronzed fore-edges. “It’s in the last chapter of the Book of Belief.”
I accepted the book, flipping through until something odd caught my attention. “Why are there so many blank pages with only the symbol of a”—I peered at the faded ink of the stamp—“four-horned ram?”
“It’s represents the sealed scroll,” Orturio explained. “The law stipulates that only the high priest and the king can know its contents. Anyone else who reads it will be struck dead.”
I thought I caught Mathis spitting tea back into his cup across from me, trying not to laugh.
“So the whole section was left out of the text?” I asked, brushing the symbol.
Orturio nodded. His eyes looked like a lamp wick catching fire in the dark.
“Does the ram symbolize the four Fallen?”
“Yes. Goats are stubborn, impulsive, malcontent, and devious. Everything the Holies are not.”
I shivered, realizing a draft had crept into the room. Our breaths became visible, and everyone looked at one another in c
onfusion.
A sudden gust of freezing wind rattled the open shutters on their hinges and jiggled the teacups on the lips of their saucers. A few of the cordial glasses toppled and rolled off the table, chiming softly as they broke on the floor.
Viteus jumped up to look out the windows, blocking my view. “It’s snowing.”
“Snowing?” Orturio laughed. “It’s nearly summer.”
Viteus stepped aside so we could see.
The poor grapevines quavered in the mighty wind. Iron-gray clouds swung low and heavy laden. A churning winter storm blew in from fields already cloaked in white snow.
“Impossible.” The table rocked as Orturio stormed to the window. “We didn’t prepare for this. It will ruin the harvest!”
I watched as workers rushed to cover the grapevines. A few recognized that as a fool’s errand and herded bewildered livestock toward the stables.
It made no sense. The weather here was moderate. Snow fell occasionally in the middle of winter, but not at the end of spring. Moreover, it had been pleasant only moments ago, patches of rainclouds the only omen of ill weather to come.
This storm was not at all natural.
It was Glisette. And Glisette would not do this on purpose.
Something had indeed gone terribly wrong.
Stunned, I scampered to my chamber to clear the way for servants frantically lashing down the shutters and hauling firewood stores inside. The icy wind howled through every crack and crevice as I ascended the stairs.
I didn’t notice I was still holding the Book of Belief until I had to drop it on the bed and dash to wrestle my shutters closed.
By the time I succeeded, I was soaked and covered in gooseflesh. Trembling in the cold, dim room, I listened to the distant shouts and orders, the sounds of a household swallowed by pandemonium.
The redheaded Nisseran maid admitted herself, carrying a torch to light the fire across the room.
