by Jon Sprunk
“Do you feel that?” Byleth asked her zoanii.
Lady Anshara shook her head, her face solemn. “No, Your Majesty. I feel nothing…except the stink of this place makes my skin crawl. I fear I'll need a bath to get it off.”
Xantu looked ahead down the tunnel from which the sensation seemed to emanate. “A trickle of zoana, but it feels…odd. Like biting into a rotten fruit.”
Byleth headed toward the mysterious tunnel. It dipped down slightly, almost causing her to stumble in the gloom as the luminance of the central chamber receded. Byleth formed a small globe of white light and sent it floating ahead. The tunnel extended farther than she first imagined, dipping a second time before sweeping to the right in a long curve. As she traversed the arc, the sound of a voice came from ahead.
The tunnel opened into a cave. It was mammoth, extending at least a hundred yards to the other side and more than half that distance across. The walls were roughhewn but somewhat smooth with striations of brown and red and gold running through the gray basalt. Their surface reflected the light from dozens of black candles set around the chamber.
Lord Astaptah stood in the center. Before him knelt a young man in a simple gray robe, head bowed as the vizier chanted above him in an alien tongue. Byleth looked to the ceiling, and her insides turned to ice as she spied the seven statues of black stone lurking above. They were huge, like giants watching over the chamber. Astaptah had constructed a new shrine to his dark gods. Holy Lady, how did he manage it? Right here beneath my feet. What else is he hiding down here?
Byleth wanted to barge in, but she waited at the entrance of this subterranean temple and watched. Six of Astaptah's odd servants stood in a ring around the kneeling man. They swayed back and forth, the hoods of their shroud-like robes pulled down over their faces. There was zoana present in the chamber. She couldn't see its flow, which was strange in and of itself, but she felt its passage.
Lord Astaptah ceased his droning chant, and the young man rose to his feet, almost stumbling before he caught himself. A short exchange passed between them, and then the youth left by a passageway on the other side of the chamber, his head down in genuflection with both hands clasped before him. The unseen thread of zoana vanished.
As if that were a signal, Byleth crossed the threshold. Lord Astaptah looked over as she approached, dismissing his gray-mantled servants with a few words. The whispering irritated her further. “Lord Astaptah!”
He bowed smoothly. Byleth decided to show her displeasure the same way she had displayed it to Horace. Some men, it seemed, only responded to one tactic. She drew deep on her zoana and channeled it into a massive vise of solid air. She tried to remain impassive as she closed it around the vizier, although she had to admit to herself that it was a pleasure to exert her powers. So much of being a queen was about remaining in control. It felt thrilling to unleash herself.
The thrill dissolved as the power failed to contact Lord Astaptah. Something interfered, like an unseen bulwark. Her first guess would have been a shielding of Imuvar, but she saw nothing with her eyes, nor her Sight either. It threw her off-kilter for a moment. She felt Xantu and Anshara fill with power behind her. Though part of her wished to test Astaptah's defenses, she threw out both arms toward her bodyguards, stopping them before they moved to protect her. Something flared in Astaptah's eyes. A look of readiness, just for a brief moment but so supremely confident it convinced her to stay her hand. As quick as it came, the look left his gaze, and he bowed again, this time a little lower. “Majesty,” he intoned. “I welcome you to my new sanctuary.”
Byleth glanced at the tall black statues around them. Yes, that was the secret behind his newfound power. This place was sanctified in some way that protected him. She rebuked herself in silence. Astaptah was resourceful in the extreme. She should have known better than to confront him here in the seat of his power. Forcing her herself to appear calm, she walked around him in a slow circle. “It is quite impressive, my lord. I wasn't aware you were making alterations to these old catacombs.”
She stopped on the other side of him, glancing toward the narrow passage his charges had used to leave. “Was that the son of Lord Arkhandun?”
“Yes. He is now committed to our cause. To your continued rule, that is.”
Why do I doubt you recruited young Uriom for my benefit, Lord Astaptah?
“A new sanctuary. New followers. What else have you been doing down here? Specifically, what have you been doing to carry out my commands? I hope you haven't forgotten the army on its way here to slaughter us all! Why is the storm engine covered up?”
Astaptah turned to remain facing her. His overall appearance had reverted to nonchalance, with his hands pulled up inside his long sleeves. “I did not wish the heir of House Arkhandun to see it and begin asking the wrong questions. Not until he is fully indoctrinated. As for the larger problem, I have been studying it.”
“Studying?” She bit her tongue to keep her voice from rising into a shout. “I did not ask you to study it, Astaptah. I gave you a direct command to destroy the army before it reaches our gates. Yet you have not done so. What is the delay?”
“I cannot risk using the engine for such a task without a suitable source of energy, Majesty.”
“I told you I would see to getting you more subjects, but I cannot conjure them out of the air. You will strike now using what resources you have at hand.”
“That could prove unwise—”
“At once!” She allowed the zoana to fill her once again, imparting its power to her voice.
Lord Astaptah stared at her for several heartbeats. He didn't blink once, his amber-gold eyes unwavering as if he were trying to penetrate her will. Just as she prepared herself to take the clash of wills to the next level, he nodded. “As you command. Will you stay to witness it?”
The question surprised her. “Yes. I would like to see—” She almost said “you” but switched in mid-speech to, “your invention in action.”
With Astaptah's floating onyx light leading the way, they left the sanctuary and headed back to the central cavern. The heat returned as they entered, washing over Byleth like the breath of the furnace. Several of the vizier's minions appeared and crossed the narrow bridge to the island at the center of the magma pool.
At Lord Astaptah's direction, his men took down the cloth covering the storm engine. As the inverted pyramid of silver and black struts emerged from under the cover, Byleth went over the bridge as well, waving her bodyguards to stay back.
“What has gotten into you?” she hissed at Astaptah on the other side, low enough that no one else could hear. “You know our plans hang in the balance. If the Nisusi reach the city…”
He bent over a metal box of lights and switches, adjusting some of them. “I understand my responsibilities in our relationship. Yet I am beginning to wonder if you understand yours.”
Stunned by his words, it took her a moment to recover. “What are you talking about? I've given you everything you have. Even this—” She waved her hand at the machine. “—this monstrosity was created with funds and materials supplied by me. Don't dare to speak to me of responsibilities. You have no idea the pressures I face, while you tinker down here in the dark.”
“Of course. I apologize.”
Astaptah pulled a lever on the side of the metal box, and a deep vibration traveled through the rock island. Byleth felt it in her chest, too. Above them, the engine began to hum with an occasional crackle. Tiny sparkles appeared in the heart of the metal lattice, like strands of diamonds hung in midair. A swirling purple haze formed around the sparkles, muting their brilliance. Then an arc of green electricity ran through the miniature cloud with a sharp sound like a cracking whip.
Her heart beat faster as the little storm brewed inside the machine. It was stimulating, knowing that this incredible power was at her disposal. I will destroy the Nisusi and their allies in one stroke, and then every city will fear me. I will drive the Sun fanatics—
A
loud pop erupted from the metal control box, followed by a stream of black smoke rising from its rear.
Astaptah jumped to the panel and started flipping switches, his hands flying across the board. Inside the silver lattice, the purple cloud pulsated. Tiny green bolts of lightning flickered within so fast Byleth could barely follow their movements. “What's happening?”
Astaptah went around to the back of the box. Wrapping the cuffs of his sleeves around his hands, he reached down. More smoke and the acrid stench of burning skin poured from the engine as he tugged. The crackles and pops grew louder. Byleth took a step back. Just as she was about to repeat her question, something exploded within the lattice.
A long branch of silver metal flew past her head. Heavy droplets of magma splashed into the air as it plunged into the molten pool.
Xantu was suddenly at her side.
Byleth watched the interplay of electricity within the machine. Showers of orange and yellow sparks rained down from the ends of the broken strut near the top of the engine. Lord Astaptah was almost completely occluded by the cloud of smoke issuing from the controls. Byleth considered helping him, but self-preservation overrode her sense of altruism, and she allowed Xantu to pull her away, back over the stone bridge where her soldiers were already rushing up the ramp to the catwalks above.
The pyrotechnics continued as she was hustled up and around the chamber. She paused for a moment at the tunnel mouth leading back to the surface. The bottom half of the chamber was shrouded in smoke. Then movement on the catwalk caught her eye. A tall figure in black stumbled up the ramp.
Lord Astaptah caught up to them as they climbed the long tunnel to the outer door. A burning haze followed them, making every breath more difficult than the last. Finally, they reached the black door, and Astaptah shoved it open with a strike from his palm. Half-carried out by Xantu and Anshara, Byleth gulped the fresh air of the corridor beyond. Once everyone was out, Astaptah started to close the door.
“What…?” Byleth asked between coughing. “What about…your people?”
Lord Astaptah shook his head as he pushed the door shut with his shoulder. He didn't cough, but his face was slightly green. His eyes were sunken even deeper into their sockets. The ends of his sleeves were blackened and burnt. She couldn't see his hands, which he kept pulled up inside the garment, but she suspected they must be badly burned as well.
Once Byleth had recovered enough to stand on her own, she asked, “What happened down there?”
“The engine was pushed past its capacity,” Astaptah answered. He had drawn himself up to his full height, the color returning to his features.
“How long before it will be fixed?”
“I do not know.”
Gritting her teeth, Byleth sent her guards down the corridor. Then she turned back to her vizier. “By every god and spirit, Astaptah, I swear if you—”
“The storm engine is destroyed.”
“Destroyed? You mean it's broken, but you can repair it. Correct?”
He sighed. It was the first disappointing sound she'd ever heard from his lips. “I will need to begin again. New materials…new conductors…new everything. It will take a significant amount of time. Several months, at the least.”
Byleth sagged against the cool stone wall of the corridor. Of all the things he could have said, that was the one she'd been the least prepared to hear. All of her plans…ruined. Gone up in smoke before her very eyes.
She hit the wall with her fist. “No! I don't accept that. You will repair it. Use whatever you need, on my orders. Commandeer any person and anything you need, but fix it. The army could be at our doorstep within days. Without that machine, we're finished. Both of us.”
He did not answer, his back to the door, eyes downcast toward the floor.
A cool breeze wafted down the street, scattering stray leaves and blowing someone's old straw hat into the gutter. A squad of soldiers marched in formation, spears on their shoulders, down the avenue and around the corner at the end of the block. Alyra held still in the shadow between two vacant fruit stalls until she could no longer hear the stomp of their boots. Then, after a quick glance around, she stole across the street and pressed herself against the base of the high wall. She willed her heart to quiet its incessant thumping. This was just another mission. Keep telling yourself that.
With another look in both directions and a scan of the buildings across the way, she turned and climbed. The outer face of the wall was brick. Her fingers and toes found purchase in the mortar joints, and within twenty rapid heartbeats she reached the top. The crown of the wall was canted outward and capped with barbed spikes. Alyra grasped two of those spikes and, springing from her heels, bounded over the barrier. She folded her legs as she landed on the other side and rolled to a halt flat on the ground. The grass of the courtyard's broad sward tickled her ears as she held her breath, listening for signs she had been detected. All was silent. All right. That was the easy part. Get up before someone spots you.
Operating by faint starlight, Alyra approached the royal palace from the south. She'd spent all day going over the instructions left for her by the network, trying to find the flaws in their plan, but had finally been forced to admit it was solid. She would enter through the servants’ wing where, at this time of night, there should be little traffic. Assets inside would ensure she didn't meet anyone on her ascent to the royal apartment. The queen's last official duty had been evening vespers, meaning she would likely be in her residence when Alyra arrived.
The weight of the new dagger on her belt reminded her of what was to come. She had dealt with soldiers and miscreants, people with more than a little blood on their hands, but this time she would be the one dealing the killing blow. Don't think about that. Just focus on what's in front of you. One step at a time.
She stayed low as she ran. These inner grounds were patrolled by soldiers, but none were in sight. She got to the door set in a deep alcove in the palace's bottom tier. Sheeted in dark iron, it was an imposing barrier. She held her breath as she pushed on the cool surface. The door swung inward on silent hinges. Alyra ducked inside.
She entered a small antechamber where deliveries of food and sundries were received. Stealing across the tiled floor, Alyra peered through the doorway on the other side, into an empty hallway. The kitchens were off to her right, but they would be empty until the morning bakers arrived a couple hours before dawn. Alyra bypassed the first set of stairs she encountered, which led up to the various reception rooms and dining halls on the second floor. Instead she headed for the private stairs at the inner edge of the servants’ wing, the stairs reserved for the royal handmaidens. A brief fit of anxiety fluttered in her stomach. There was always a member of the Queen's Guard stationed here, day and night. Yet the corridor was empty. Things were going according to plan. And that made her even more nervous.
As she started up the steps, she strained to hear any sound coming from above. The stairs were narrow with no place to hide should someone come upon her suddenly. Her hand kept straying to the dagger under her cloak as if it were a talisman. I'm going to do this. And then I'll get Horace out of the region, far from the tentacles of the Sun Cult. But what would he say if he knew I was doing this? Would he hate me?
Apprehension clamped around her throat as she reached the top tier of the palace. The stairs stopped at the handmaidens’ quarters, in the common room they shared when not attending the queen. Alyra eased the door open, wincing as it squeaked faintly. However the space beyond was empty. Starlight through the lone window provided just enough light for her to navigate past the plush floor pillows and a twenty-squares board, its round tokens scattered on the thick carpet. Four other doors exited the common room. Two led to sleeping chambers for the handmaidens, one to a pantry and wine room, and the last to the queen's quarters. Alyra was halfway across when the wine room door opened. Her dagger was out in an instant. She lowered it as Sefkahet appeared, a candle in her hand.
Alyra returned the d
agger to its sheath, not liking the way it fit so well in her hand. “You scared me,” she mouthed with a soft whisper.
“The other girls are already gone. I'm the last one here, and I'll be going once the deed is done.”
Good thinking. Whether I succeed or fail, there will be interrogations after tonight. “No, leave as soon as I go inside.”
“If something goes wrong—”
There was something in Sefkahet's eyes, a bitter anguish that reached out and squeezed Alyra's heart. She did her best to shunt it aside. “You won't be able to help me. Is the queen abed?”
“In a manner of speaking. She is joined by the new captain of her guard. With luck, they will finish soon. Don't worry. She never lets them stay the night.”
“How many guards?”
“Six in the hallway. Alyra, I'm sorry this deed was given to you. I tried to tell them I was in a better position to—”
“Don't be silly. It's my honor to serve the cause. After tonight, everything will be different.”
Sefkahet nodded, though she didn't look happy about it. “You'll have to leave Erugash, won't you?”
“I suppose so. What will you do?”
“Cipher hasn't told us what's next.”
Alyra put a hand on the woman's arm, feeling the softness and warmth. Many nights she had lain in those arms back when she was a handmaiden, taking what little comfort she could in a place where life was often cruel. “Be safe, Sef. Whatever happens…I'll always care for you.”
Sefkahet smiled, her eyes suddenly wet in the candlelight. They embraced. Alyra tried to be comforting, but she was so tense she could only manage a halfhearted squeeze before she pulled away. “All right. I'm ready.”
Sefkahet went to the door to the queen's chambers. “May the gods smile on you.”
Then she blew out the candle.
As the door opened, Alyra started forward. Her legs were heavy, as if she were walking through mud. She paused beside Sefkahet. “Lock it behind me. And don't open it again no matter what you hear. If I fail…”
