by Edun, Terah
“How do you know?” wondered Caemon.
“Are you feeling well?” speculated Christian.
Only Ciardis and Sebastian were silent as everyone else talked around them. Ciardis saw disbelief in Sebastian’s eyes.
“Mother,” Ciardis said slowly. Everyone quieted.
“How do you know it was the Prince Heir Maradian?” Ciardis said. “The mage himself said only the empress and his brother could identify him.”
“That is because his imperial blood allows him to cloak his features from even the highest of mages. It is a gift from the land usually not employed by the imperial line but available in emergencies or war,” Lillian said shortly. “But I know because Teresa knew. As the emperor’s wife, she could see through his cloak. And in her last moments she looked to me and she signed the letters of his name.”
“Signed?” asked Stephanie carefully.
Lillian gave out a short laugh—a bark, really—as she struggled to hold back her emotions. “Teresa and I had a secret code. We used sign language and would spend hours at court spelling out letters for words like ‘buffoon’ and ‘idiot’ and ‘ugly’ during court functions. It passed the time. This time it came in handy.”
“How did you end up accused of the empress’s murder?” asked Thanar in fascination.
“I was the last person to see Teresa alive after she dismissed her courtiers. Those who lingered saw the guards rush in after she shouted at me. They saw me being escorted out. But they never saw me leave. The outer chamber doors closed before the rest happened, and none saw the future duchess of Carne enter.”
Silence reigned for a tense moment. Silently and emotionally, the twins leaned forward and hugged their mother. For now that was all she needed.
Chapter 19
The next morning Lillian, Sebastian, Stephanie, and Caemon left the manor to secure their new place of living. Ciardis had insisted she wanted to come, but they had all had various excuses for why she should stay at the manor and, if possible, abed. Although they had managed to avoid talking about why, they were careful to extract the promise of bed rest from her and made sure that she had no intentions of leaving home before they returned. She had grumbled but assented. There was nowhere that she wanted to go right now that wouldn’t turn into a situation that ended badly anyway.
When they left, she had stared at the ceiling of her room as her anger built and grew and ice started to form in a crystallized pattern on the wallpaper above her head. When she realized that the crystal formations were her doing, the power of the Cold Ones residing in her right hand, she got up off the bed and paced around the room. It was a power that she often forgot about, and in contrast to her natural gifts as a Weathervane, which she felt she had a good handle on, it was a mess of a gift at best. Luckily, with each use of the Cold Ones power the reserve in her hand seemed to diminish greatly. Soon it would be completely gone. But for now it was not. And she smiled with odd satisfaction as she watched her feet not only wear a path into the floor but also leave charred imprints in her wake. Making a note to herself, she had to admit that this power was quite versatile. So far she had created a geist tor in the mines of Sarvinia, a powerful blast of force when attacked, formed ice crystals in her room, and charred the wood beneath her feet.
But it did nothing to satisfy the anger inside of her. So she left. She felt that after the emotional trauma of yesterday’s revelations, she really needed to beat something up, pound it to the ground, and shake it until it screamed. She didn’t know what. She didn’t know where. But she did know that wherever it was would be better than setting fire to her host’s roof.
As she was hurrying downstairs, Christian had taken one look at her, closed his book, taken her by the elbow, and escorted her to the kitchens. He had explained kindly to the cook that they would take over from the young pot boy currently pounding yams into oblivion. The pot boy certainly hadn’t objected. They had spent a fine morning mashing and smashing with mindlessly abandon. By the time they were done Ciardis was exhausted, her shoulders felt like limp noodles, and her hands ached from the constant grip on the tools.
But she was laughing. Not really at a specific thing, but at her general situation. Laughing and crying at the madness of a former laundress turned companion trainee turned kitchen helper who also happened to be the daughter of an insane and powerful Weathervane who was on trial for murder and general mayhem. And she happened to be in love with the prince heir of the realm.
A fact which she had no intention of ever telling said prince heir.
Christian smiled and reached over to wipe a fleck of burnt orange yam from her cheek with a smile. “You’re beautiful when you smile.”
Ciardis caught her breath, her throat still raw from laughing so hard, as she wiped her hands on the cloth he handed her. “I haven’t had much to smile about lately, have I?”
He grinned. “Not many of us have.”
Their conversation was brought to a halt when a servant skipped into the kitchen and yelped. Turning to look Ciardis saw a wooden ladle raised in the servant’s face as the cook wielding it said, “No running in my kitchen!”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl said while rubbing her hand. Carefully she walked over to Christian and Ciardis. She was still practically bouncing with energy.
She said with a lisp, “New package for you, miss. Head butler said not to bring it into the kitchen. Would get dirty.”
“He told you right,” said Christian with amusement as he took off the apron around his waist. “It’s best that we go to it.”
The young girl nodded solemnly.
To the cook he said with a bow, “Your mashed yams await.”
The woman’s ruddy cheeks blushed a scarlet red as she snapped a towel at him. “Off with you now.”
And so they arrived in the semi-erect parlor with splotches of yam on their clothes and grins on their faces.
As Ciardis took the package from the footman with a pensive look, her grin came to an abrupt halt. As soon as the package touched her hands, it began to vibrate and clang.
Frowning, Ciardis gripped it uneasily. As the sound grew sharper, she had no choice. She untangled the twine and ripped the butcher’s paper from its hold around the contents. In her hands sat a mechanical construction. Tiny metal circles upheld on coiled springs began to pop in and out of place on the top as Thanar followed the sound into the parlor.
“What in the world?” Ciardis said, holding it at a distance.
Thanar had no answer. He stared at it in confusion and vague distaste.
“I think it’s one of those mechanical contraptions. The ones that move on their own and run on fuel,” Ciardis ventured.
“Why is it making that god-awful sound?” Christian complained. He had retired to a wingback chair. Ciardis felt a brief moment of regret for having him expend so much energy in the kitchens with her. He looked exhausted, with tired lines on his face and black circles under his eyes.
“You shouldn’t have come with me to the kitchens,” she said. “Now I’ve exhausted you and you’ve still haven’t gotten over your last healing.”
Christian waved a hand to dismiss her objections. “It’s not something you can really get over. I should be better in a few hours.”
She nodded and turned back to the contraption in her hand as she answered his original query. “I don’t really know why it’s clanging and clapping so. But I do know it could have only been made by one person. The companion who’s infamous for them. She’s already made her own patron a fortune by making and selling them. They always do one specific task, like keeping time or heating water. And they are very expensive to make.”
She thoughtfully turned the small object around and around. It was built on top of a round wooden platform that served as the contraption’s base and composed one-third of its size. Atop the polished wooden base were springs and coils and metal plates placed in no particular order that she could possibly discern. But slowly she realized that the solid rectangles ma
de out of silver were buildings and the copper objects were in fact symbols. Symbols of what, she had no idea.
As the objects took shape in her mind’s eye she realized what locations they represented. One by one she pointed them out internally. She was certain she was right when she could point the Palace of the Sun, the emperor’s main residence in the eastern quadrant. Thanar came up and stared closely at it. “It’s a perfect replica of Sandrin.”
“How is that possible?” Ciardis wondered aloud.
“A lot of time, a lot of effort, and a year’s hard work is what I’d guess,” said the lord chamberlain.
As they watched, the buildings popped up and down in unison as if to grab their attention and then Thanar shifted his stance, his wings folded closer to his body, and the sun hit the mechanical contraption at just the right angle. The light poured through a tiny glass circle atop a tower and the angle of the sun’s ray settled on one particular building.
“What does it mean?” Thanar asked dubiously.
“I think it’s a clue—a clue to a place of importance to the princess heir.”
“Or it could just be a weird ray of sun in a piece glass on a mechanical contraption made out of bronze. A toy.”
This time Ciardis was firm. She shook her head. “The emperor said it was of importance. He wouldn’t have sent this object otherwise.”
Her mind was made up. She was going to the place on the mechanical map. Stepping around Thanar, she exited the manor.
“Hold it, Ciardis,” said Thanar in exasperation. “You’re not going alone.”
Disconcertingly he followed right behind her like a shadow that wouldn’t be dissuaded.
“I thought I was clear. I don’t need your help.”
“And I was clear: I came to the courts to rend them asunder. Right now, I’d love to set fire to those lovely halls and see everyone in them die a fiery death. But as much as I don’t wish to admit it, I’m not in the best shape to take the palace by storm. Which leaves me one other option—to do my best to make the courts fall apart around imperial ears and bringing the princess heir’s diabolical plans to light will certainly go a long way to those goals.”
“I don’t think so,” she said dubiously. “Even for you, that’s a stretch.”
“I’m going—I insist.”
“Your agreement is with my mother. Go help her."
“No.”
She whirled on her heel and said, “Then let me be blunt, Prince. I haven't forgotten what you did in the Sanctuary.”
“Neither have I,” he said sarcastically.
“You killed hundreds of innocent kith for your own ends. You’re an unrepentant murderer,” she continued resolutely. “One that I won’t be associated with it.”
“Unless it suits your own ends,” he said dryly, “such as healing your brother and your bodyguard.”
“Stop mocking me,” she said while stamping her feet impatiently.
He folded his arms with a smirk that said, But you make it so easy. She narrowed her eyes and her lips almost twitched into a smile. She quickly stamped that down - she couldn't let him get under her skin.
He sighed, “Look Golden Eyes, the emperor has given you a short deadline. You have less than a day before your mother goes on trial and he pronounces her execution. Unless you gather and present the evidence before then that will reveal the princess heir’s efforts to undermine this empire. Evidence that has been buried and forgotten for at least a year.”
She didn’t look convinced as much as pained.
Then he added, “And I can fly.”
Her eyes grew big and her mouthed opened and closed. Ciardis was ready to object but knew that he had presented a valid argument. At least for now.
“Let’s go,” she said grumpily.
He grinned and bowed low with arm outstretched. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”
“We need to go to the Weaver’s District,” she said.
“And so we shall.”
Sighing, Ciardis stepped forward into his personal space and he picked her up, spread his wings, and lifted into the sky while cradling her in his arms.
As they flew over the city, Ciardis was surprised to see the sky darkening with ominous clouds. Not the kind that predict heavy rains, but the ones that flashed and flared with clouds of purple and midnight blue full of thunder and lightning. The winds picked up and slammed into them above the city. In Thanar’s arms she felt the buffet of harsh winds tangling her hair, ice scraping her skin, and the feel of Thanar’s muscles bunching as he clutched at her desperately, trying to keep ahold of her and stay flying high.
“What’s going on?” she yelled into his ear. She tried turning to face forward and see what was in front of them but the wind and ice was too strong. They stung her eyes and forced them closed. She couldn’t imagine how Thanar was handling it. Determined not to bury her face in his shoulder and wish away her fears, she faced backwards, looking past his broad black wings to what lay behind them.
She almost wished she hadn’t. Because what she saw almost made her swallow her tongue down her throat in fear.
She screamed in his ear. “Thanar! Trouble!”
“What kind?” he snapped back.
“The fire-breathing dragon kind!”
He turned his head slightly in the air, too laden down by her weight while he fought the fierce winds to turn his full body. What he saw made him start cursing enough to set the air on fire in three languages.
“Hang on,” he snapped at her.
“To what?” she screamed as he suddenly dropped through the air.
Desperately she clung to his neck and prayed to the seven gods to deliver them from this evil. Because the dragon wasn’t just passing by. When Thanar dropped, so did he. The great horned beast, black of scale and fiery of eyes, smiled with rows of razor-sharp teeth as he gained airspeed on them with a leisurely pursuit. The dragon didn’t even look like he was breaking a sweat. If dragons could sweat at all.
Not that Ciardis was such a connoisseur of dragon physique. It could have been female for all she knew. The only thing she could say with definite certainty was that it didn’t look friendly and it certainly wasn’t Raisa.
“This isn’t working,” Ciardis screamed to Thanar. “He’s gaining on us.”
Thanar kept falling in the air. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Does it involve us bashing into a building at top speed? Because it looks like that’s what going to happen more or less,” she said. By this time Ciardis had her nails digging into Thanar’s topless shoulders, and she was fairly certain it would leave a mark if they survived.
With an enormous twist of his body, Thanar jerked around so that they were facing the dragon as they fell. She couldn’t help but turn to face death as well. Cradled in his arms, she turned her face so that her cheek rested on his neck. All she could see was the vertical flutter of his wings in the air beside them and the giant maw of an oncoming dragon above them.
The dragon let a small whiff of flame flare down toward them. He was still hundreds of feet away, so it was more the promise of fire to come than an actual threat.
Still, Thanar snapped, “Take cover.”
She buried her face into his neck with her head under his jaw, and she felt him speak before she heard the words. The velocity of the fall was too much for her turn up her head, so she listened. Ciardis listened as Thanar’s voice became deep and his power became strong; he called on his magic, the darkness of his race, to combat his enemy.
But to her surprise, it wasn’t the words that he spoke from his mouth that reverberated within her, but the essence of the thoughts he spoke. Thanar began to physically vibrate like a living specter. His body shook with one pulse and they no longer flew, but they hovered as they watched the pursuing beast come upon them. And then she felt his arms move. Instead of tightening around her, they loosened. Freeing her from their grip.
She felt weightless and she screamed, because she knew she was about to die. She w
asn’t sure if the Daemoni prince was sacrificing her for his own good or freeing her to give her the chance to fall to freedom as he fought the dragon. But it didn’t matter. Because she’d either be snapped in half in the air by the dragon’s maw or crushed to death in her fall.
She had a second to wonder if she should close her eyes. Instantly she did. But then she wondered why—why shouldn’t she stare death in the face and her killer in the eyes? She opened them and stared in wonder. Thanar was hovering below her with wings outstretched as if he reclined on a bed and she was merely on top of him. Why hadn’t she seen Thanar’s form streaking past her in flight? Inches separated their faces, wind tangled their hair, and their breaths mingled in the frosty air.
“Ready to kill a dragon, Golden Eyes?” Teasing laughter echoed in Thanar’s voice as confidence lit his beautiful dark eyes.
Her lips twitched as she fought to answer him. What could she say? She couldn’t explain how they lay motionless in the clouds as if gravity and the force of the wind were immaterial to their existence. All that she knew in that moment was that she could trust him—trust him with her life, trust him to find this solution.
“Yes,” Ciardis Weathervane answered as the winds snapped around them.
A heart-stopping smile appeared on Thanar’s face. And then he reached forward and grabbed her hands.
“Say it with me,” he said softly as he looked behind her at their oncoming foe.
“Say what with you?” she said, her breath misting in the air.
“Say, ‘It’s time to die.’”
She shook her head and her riotous chestnut curls bounced in the air above her. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see,” was all he said as he tightened his grip on her hands and pulled her down to him in one swift movement. Their lips locked and Ciardis’s world exploded.
Thanar’s power enveloped hers. He didn’t use her Weathervane gifts in the traditional sense. Instead, he became her. Their minds linked, their sense of touch became one, their passions ignited, and she felt as he did when he spoke the words in his mind. Her entire body reverberated as his did with a single sentence, a single thought, a single goal: It’s time to die. Their thoughts became one with a magic that hadn’t been seen in Algardis since the dawn of the great Initiate Wars.
