by James Stone
‘We’ll see.’
‘I too have loved,’ she said. ‘Perhaps not the same as you and perhaps not as fiercely, but Fabius, I need you to just listen to me as you listened to her. You were the one who dressed me like this…!’
‘Why should I not cast you aside?’ He shook his head. ‘I have shown you mercy for the last time.’
‘And I’m grateful,’ Magmaya nodded. ‘Sometimes my tongue gets the better of me—’
‘Enough!’ Fabius cut in. ‘Just tell me what you want and tell me quickly. I’ve little patience left for your kind.’
The gentle humming of a bee broke the silence, and Magmaya’s shoulders fell. Holy beams of light cut across the peach skies, unbroken and unfettered until, at last, they died with the passing of the day.
‘Let me join you.’ Magmaya bit her tongue as a new sun rose within her. ‘Make me an angel.’
Seventeen
We make our own gods, Fabius had said—then why couldn’t she be one? Instead, he’d laughed and expelled her from the gardens without another word, the flavour of vile wine still clinging to her lips.
The night showered over Magmaya as she slumped against the windows, the hum of crashing waves from the seas outside keeping her awake. Shattered moonbeams struck the room like spears as portraits of pearly armour stared down at her, phantoms in the dusk. She had never been so unsettled, so far from home, and so unsatisfied with who she had forced herself to become.
She considered calling Anclyn; a dull ring of the bedside bell would do the trick, but she found herself deciding against it; it was no use disturbing her sleep for petty matters. Magmaya had chosen this life for herself, and if she was to end up cold and alone, then that was her doing.
The wind that whipped against her bare back was nothing compared to the icy nights she had spent in Ranvirus, though—nothing compared to the nights she and Rache had spent huddled beneath a mountain of wolf fur and the blazing of a dozen candles. He’d told her the stories he’d read from his books, and she’d told him the stories she’d lived; how Kharon Vorr had stalked the halls in a search for understanding before she’d disappeared to the lake in the forest where there had been roses and corpses and—oh.
Magmaya set herself up, sweating. Perhaps it had been in another life, or perhaps it had been just yesterday—it didn’t matter anymore. She was at the Prism Manse now, and nothing could stop that—no estranged morning a thousand years ago.
As she made herself comfortable, she felt her shoulder brush against something cold beneath her bundle of lilac pillows. She straightened herself and yanked at it, finding a newly crumpled scrap of paper in her palm. She’d been a fool to have not noticed it earlier, but it didn’t matter; her heart was rising in her chest, hands were shaking the way they had all those moons ago. It was his handwriting, there was no doubt, but it spoke to her the way a stranger did.
My chancellor,
The balcony.
Xx
Her heart sunk a little, and the last light of the day broke across the room. But she forced herself up across to the window anyway, scrubbed away the scars of her breath, and peered through to the seas beyond. There was not a soul in sight, it appeared, save for the haunting of the waves crashing against the rocks. The buzz of a distant city roared on the horizon as smoke coiled up into the clouds, trees swaying as the winds kissed them. She was about to turn away—but that was before a glitter from somewhere below struck the corner of her eye, a thousand different colours at once.
She needn’t have looked any closer—it was a Divinicus to be sure—an unflinching pearly mask staring back at her. And so, without another thought, Magmaya threw open the double doors and stalked out onto the balcony and into the moonlight where the figure stared up at her, faceless against the wind.
‘Have you been waiting all night?’ She laughed, a spring breeze toying with her hair. ‘You weren’t to know when I was going to open that letter.’
Kurulian shrugged, his armour crinkling beneath his bulk, and turned back to the shore. He plucked a stone from the many beneath his feet and tossed it out to the waves, losing it to the midnight gale.
‘You’re still armoured?’
As if in response, he moved his fingers to his headdress, and with a swift turn, lowered it to his elbow. His half-blemished, half-beautiful face stared back at her, and Magmaya found it was the same face beneath palm trees as it had been beneath pine. She watched as he threw another stone and made his way towards her—as close to the balcony as he was able to get while she could still make out those distant eyes of his.
‘Voices down,’ he commanded.
Magmaya sighed. ‘What did you call me for?’ she asked at last, and all the thrill was gone. ‘I can’t imagine it would be for a stroll along the sand.’
‘Do you know where Fabius is sending the Divinicus next?’ he asked, and she shook her head. ‘There’s a small island off the coast here called Belliousa. All the residents there are acolytes—fanatics of the First.’ He scoffed as he spoke.
‘The First?’
‘A religion.’
‘Ah, yes. Your kind are so above that,’ Magmaya remarked.
‘There was a coup about a decade ago,’ he said, ignoring her. ‘It was then the Cult of the First broke their treaties with Inamorata; their new High Priestess had a great disdain for our Lord Commander, it seemed. Anyway, in a few moons time, a small company of Legatus Akanah’s men will sail there, and the isle will be ours once more.’ His voice was but a whisper, though it carried through the night as if he were an inch away. ‘Perhaps you’ve already heard of this in our talks?’
‘I haven’t been invited to your talks,’ she remarked.
‘You don’t need to be invited to hear them.’ He smiled. ‘They aren’t quite as secure as you might assume. One small favour for a servitor here, another one there, and a man can find out anything. That’s what the chain of whispers is all about.’
‘What if I don’t want to hear about your Divinicus’ dealings?’ She was still angry with him, in truth, for leaving her for dead with Fabius. No glassy midnight encounter would remedy that.
‘Well, I heard you don’t want to distance yourself from us as much as you say.’ He paused. ‘Do you remember what I told you when your council in Ranvirus was adjourned?’
‘We discussed many things.’ She swallowed.
‘I didn’t ask to be an angel,’ Kurulian snapped. ‘I burned for them. Perhaps I’ve done things I regret, but all I’ve done has been in the eyes of the Lord Commander, and in the eyes of what is just. To become an angel, you do not ask the seraphim—you kill for the seraphim,’ he said, and Magmaya felt chicken skin crawl across her neck.
‘Fabius told me you’re perhaps the greatest swordsman in the world.’ She grit her teeth.
‘Perhaps?’
‘Well I can swing a blade, I chance,’ she said. ‘Fabius had no reason to dismiss me so.’
‘No.’ He shook his head in disapproval. ‘A sword will not win you a war. At best, a sword will kill the right man and save you the war. But fire wins wars, girl.’
‘Fire?’
‘All you’ve ever known is the snow, I suppose,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Look, my chancellor, at this very moment, there’s a resurgence of mercenaries at Fleetfront, a prince travels north to take my head, and there’s the issue of the damned blockade as Fabius has resorted to calling the Reaches,’ he scoffed. ‘Those first two have driven the Lord Commander into a crazed spin, but the Reaches? They’ve driven him mad. For eight months now, four thousand Inamoratan troops have been trying to lift a siege against our spice imports in the east, but they’ve been met with nigh-endless opposition. Perhaps you could ponder on that.’ He took a breath.
‘I don’t know anything about your politics,’ she said. ‘I barely knew my own. I don’t know where the Reaches are either. I only travelled here by following angels…’ I’m not one of you.
Kuruli
an sighed and hummed, ‘You may have travelled here by following angels, but you’re heaven sent to me.’
She stood back, unsure of what to say, so she plucked up the courage to ask, ‘What about Belliousa then? Why are you telling me any of this?’
There was no response.
‘Gods, I gave everything to come here,’ she spoke again, louder, as she gestured to the seas. ‘Everything! And you’ve spent half my time ignoring me.’
‘Are you still breathing?’ he asked.
‘What—?’ She paused, confused. ‘Yes…’
‘Then you haven’t given everything, girl.’
She looked to the heavens, annoyed. ‘Tell me what happened to the Silver City, at least,’ she demanded. ‘You helped me escape the north, now help me escape this fresh hell of… awful, awful wine.’
Kurulian’s wrinkled lip contorted into something of a grin. ‘Cyrel is the coldest place in winter,’ he answered. ‘That’s all.’ He turned and began to walk away.
Magmaya pondered for a moment about speaking, but then did so anyway. ‘Wait!’ she called through the dark. ‘You know why Fabius can’t lift that blockade, don’t you?’
His eyes narrowed, and he reached to his waist. White glass gleamed in the moonlight, then the air, and then she caught it, cool in her palms.
‘Goodbye Magmaya.’
She didn’t protest this time but looked to her hands instead. She found a small, clear vial, clasped with cork and lined with mercury. Inside, there were all manners of powders and strange leaves—no larger than her smallest fingernail; they were green and silver, brown and gold, and they shone even when the moon escaped behind the clouds. She raised an eyebrow and fastened it around her wrist, her heart warm and trembling.
And when she looked up again, the Lord Legatus was nowhere to be seen.
Later, she found herself falling. Or was she flying? Magmaya tried to tell herself it didn’t matter which, but truly it did. In one version of events, she would plummet forever until she forgot what it was like not to. In the other, perhaps she would find some strength within herself to rise and scream and soar.
‘I’m afraid of falling,’ she tried to shout, but only a murmur came out.
‘No need,’ a watery voice answered from the shadows. ‘You could fall forever, so long as you don’t land.’
Streams of light burned from above before darkness reigned again. The stars swirled around her limp body like wet oil on a canvas, and after what felt an eternity, she fell into a well of mist, standing quiet and afraid. It formed a vast hall of mirrors, surrounding her from every possible angle—and then the voice spoke again, ‘The man who loves you or the woman you love. Choose.’
‘I can’t!’ Magmaya cried, and for the first time she realised, ‘There’s no one here I love.’
One of her reflections turned with a smile, and her visage swelled like the breaking of still water. Following a deep impulse, Magmaya felt herself step forward inside it.
Sand. It was in seeping down her back and burning in her eyes. She’d never seen a desert before, not in all those cold nights in Ranvirus, but a voice in her head told her it had to be one—the rolling dunes, the suffocating heat, the loneliness.
She turned to the horizon, and there she found three small girls walking, or rather leaping, towards her faster than any girl could. Under the beating of the harsh sunlight, she could make out bruised mouths stretching from ear to ear, stitched into a perpetual smile with eyes dead long before their time.
But a moment later, they were gone, and the dunes had turned to mountains, and the scorched orange sands had become snow. But it was still hot, hotter than before, even. She only realised why when she turned and found the ground had caught alight. From the heavens, fire was given birth, and from the icy grounds, oil erupted, until all of it was lost in the inferno. All except her.
‘You can’t kill us.’ The voice was warm.
‘You can’t kill us.’ Magmaya nodded, but all she could do was choke on the flames, choke and choke until she choked herself awake.
She rolled over onto her stomach to face the ceiling and found Anclyn watching over her. There was no sunlight streaming through the windows. The room was sheathed in shadow and night. How long had she been gone for?
‘What man loves me…?’ she stuttered, wiping spit from her lip.
‘My lady?’ Anclyn asked. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you, but you were out for so long, I—’
‘Out? Oh. I had a terrible dream, I…’ She looked to her wrist, finding the vial.
She hadn’t told her about Kurulian—surely there was no need? Their meeting meant nothing, but she couldn’t afford to spill those secrets—they were the only ones she had left in the world.
‘Cyrel.’ She rolled her shoulders back, remembering: finding a map, scouring every inch of it, and taking her leave for just a moment. Every minute felt as if it was only a dream.
‘Yes, my lady,’ Anclyn said timidly. ‘But are you sure you’re alright…? You were sleeping awfully heavily.’
‘Of course,’ Magmaya said. ‘I’m fine.’
She sat up in the pale moonlight and looked to the handmaiden as she stood about her chambers. None of it made any sense anymore, though—not since she’d taken a sample from the small vial (just out of interest). It had been more than enough to knock her out for a while, and far more numbing than any Dew of the Honey. But Anclyn needn’t know that either.
She followed the handmaiden drearily back to the map, finding the tattered paper sprawled about the floor. She traced the lines from the Ash Wastes to the Crownlands, and the Spires to Rallocier as they crept drearily down the continent’s neck; it was all so much larger than anything she’d dreamt of. Above it all, there was the seemingly endless Lumiar Badlands, and above that, there was her home, so cold and far, far away.
‘I do fear Cyrel isn’t on here,’ the handmaiden replied. ‘Not on any of the small notes or anything.’
‘It has to be.’ She yawned, feeling sleep kiss her again. ‘Are there any other maps?’
‘Perhaps there are, but finding another at this hour will be a stroke of luck,’ Anclyn admitted. ‘I doubt there are any more stashed away behind drawers.’
‘Fabius told me Cyrel was in the north,’ she lied. If it was the coldest place in winter, she reasoned it would be somewhere close to her home. ‘Well, not north, but north enough. So where is it?’ She pressed her fists into the ragged thing. ‘How old is this, anyway?’ she asked. ‘Must be at least thirty years.’
‘Something like that.’ Anclyn nodded. ‘Perhaps it was discarded for a reason.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I’ve heard the Lord Commander speak about Cyrel—oh.’
‘What is it?’
‘Cyrel is a name, my lady.’
‘I’m well aware.’
‘No, forgive me,’ she continued. ‘Cyrel is the name of a man.’
The coldest place in winter. Magmaya mused. These are cold men indeed.
‘No, surely, it must be a place,’ she rasped.
‘I don’t quite understand,’ the handmaiden said. ‘If perhaps you could explain what this is all—’
‘I can’t,’ she cut her off. ‘Anclyn, if Cyrel is a man, then who?’
‘The Lord Commander speaks of him sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘Emperor beyond the Reaches, Son of…’ she trailed off and moved her fingers to an armada of crudely drawn mountains and a thin, snow-swept shore. ‘Son of Faurgun, the Malignant King and Master of Slavers.’
Magmaya followed Anclyn’s hands to the peaks and then to the inks scribbled beneath her pink nails—Faurgun, it said in the common tongue; Faurgun beyond the Reaches. Faurgun the city. Faurgun, the man.
‘Each ruler must’ve renamed it after themselves,’ Magmaya concluded. Only in an empire of angels would a man be so arrogant.
But then, she thought to Orianne and knew that wasn’t true, a city and a community named after the heroics of Ori
anna Rel, the Liberator. Perhaps her home and this strange wilderness weren’t so different after all.
‘I’ve only a couple hours before sunrise,’ Magmaya started. ‘Is there any chance at all I can meet with the Lord Commander before tonight?’
‘I can arrange whispers among the handmaidens,’ Anclyn suggested.
‘Whispers?’ She thought back to what Kurulian had said.
‘We share information,’ she explained. ‘And we can use that to look out for ourselves… and our mistresses. Anyway, your request will reach Fabius before sunrise. He seldom sleeps.’
She couldn’t remember what she’d said next, but the Lord Legatus was dancing in her mind until the night had grown old. She thought and cried and cried and thought again until she couldn’t feel her toes, nor the pounding in her head. But soon enough, daylight had broken and what was due had to be done.
By then she’d convinced herself to back down and to know her place; she wasn’t royal here, she wasn’t beautiful, nor a chancellor or a person at that; perhaps if she had been a whore she would’ve been given a little more respect—she wished she could’ve laughed at that.
Her eyes still bled with the rising of the sun when the whispers returned; the angels had agreed to meet her again, but further murmurings had quickly followed; it appeared she would find Fabius in his gardens, but not alone. His entire council would be there, as well as Akanah’s and Rael’s own, and a hundred more scribes and advisors, no doubt. Magmaya could only pray Kurulian would attend too, but there had seldom been news of him. Besides, from the way he had spoken to her the evening before, it seemed as if it would be a while before they would talk again.
The gardens had a sense of foreboding this time. The flowers no longer blossomed like gold and honey in the light, but instead frowned at her every step. She wasn’t special any longer; no more would she be the apple of Fabius’ eye. Perhaps once she had thought a pretty dress and a reminder of his past was enough to control a vengeful god, but now, she walked to his council as a sinner did to his priest.
