by R. K. Thorne
“You should drink less.” She didn’t look up from the pages, flipped to the next one. A drawing of an exceptionally handsome demon stared back at her from the paper. Her eyebrow twitched. “You are too far into your cups, Father.”
“Not at all! I am not far enough.” Edyef slammed down his tankard with a grumble. He was full of the roast boar from his dinner, and full of beer too. And nonsense.
She took a much more graceful sip, hoping to keep him from noticing the way her attention had honed in on the page. Her own wine was sweet and tart on her tongue, like a ripe peach. Cold, chilled by ice she’d ordered dragged down from the mountain. Her children—nearly adults now, but always her children—lounged on the plush white bear rug by the fire with their own wine. They ignored their grandfather’s grumbling and their mother’s reading equally. Typical late evening activities.
“I thought you said I should have been Pavan’s wife,” she said as she set down her glass. “Make up your mind, Father. We can only be bitter in so many ways.”
“Bah. Pavan should never have been chosen. It should have been Elix.”
“And I know, I know, we should never have agreed to ally with the other clans in the first place.” Every time he was drunk, it was the same. She ran a finger down the page, across the black coat of the man-demon inked in loving detail. He was more man than most of them were. At least in his outward appearance.
“Obsidians have always been superior.”
“Father, respectfully… I did not marry Elix, nor Pavan. Bringing up this matter over and over is pointless. I married Giran.” She had thought it a fine lot in life too, especially at first, but her father had had years to breed disappointment.
“Indeed.” He took another drink, red wine dribbling into his beard. “At least he had the decency to die.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Did he now.” She didn’t believe for a second that her husband had simply died. Her father had had something to do with it, obviously; but she had no interest in finding out. No truth would bring Giran back, and they had meant little to each other. He’d inflicted two pregnancies on her and many other discomforts, but the wealth and children he’d left her with seemed a fair trade for all that. She hadn’t wished him dead. But she didn’t wish him back alive either.
Her eyes flicked to her children lounging by the fire. Neither showed a reaction. They’d heard his ramblings before. Idak’s face sometimes held a flicker of annoyance that she prayed did not mean he held some inklings of avenging his father’s premature death. But he loved his grandfather as much as he’d loved his father, perhaps more; she shouldn’t worry. Jylan’s face sometimes danced with a hint of amusement, a pulling at the corner of her mouth. That worried Unira even more, and she couldn’t come up with any reasoning why it shouldn’t.
“Yes,” she murmured to appease her father. “Our only blessing.” That and Giran’s vast silk fortune—and a dozen farms to keep on growing their coffers. She shook her head, doubting he’d hear the sarcasm.
“You’ve had such freedom in his absence.” He chose a chocolate from a gilded plate on the table at his elbow and popped it in his mouth.
Again she watched Idak out of the corner of her eye. In truth, he was old enough to bear the mantle of the household, and he had been for several years. Only by his permission had she kept it. Permission her father had advised him to give, and Idak couldn’t deny the old many anything, he idolized Edyef so. And her father was right about the freedom it’d given her, compared to many women of her station in the Obsidian Clan.
The old man leaned forward conspiratorially—at least the few inches he was able. “How do our plans progress?”
Your plans, she wanted to say. Your plans. Not mine. “Not now, Father.”
“Yes, now.”
“No.” She focused her attention on the book. The demon’s eyes shone silver on the page. Some special ink, silver inlay, or something less mundane? It didn’t matter. He was more than handsome, she decided. He was fine as an aged brandy, aristocratic and smoky too. This was it. This was the one. She ran a finger below his name but didn’t speak it yet, even in her mind.
Her father’s voice cut in. “Humor an old man. I can’t but shift around in this stupid lounge and long for the restoration of my family’s honor.”
Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. What did he know of honor? Little, for all he talked about it. Outwardly, she sighed and shut the book. Her demon would have to wait. “Well, Father. Our plans progress very well.”
“Is Idak in line for the blade yet?”
“No, but the sword smiths have been thoroughly bought and paid for. They won’t be making Elix’s son a blade anytime soon.”
“But he remains in line to rule?”
“Yes. It is only a matter of time, though. As the seasons pass, the council will begin to question his ascension. And we will be there and ready.”
“We must do more to harm that soppy-hearted, sentimental fool. But fine for now. What about the other? Linali’s son?”
She schooled her face, as she always did, swallowing the distaste that welled up at any mention of the woman. Her old rival. Her hate was a weakness, and her father had an inkling that it existed, but not its depth. She worked hard to keep it tucked away so he didn’t know how deep it ran.
If he knew, he might make her kill Linali. End the obsession. And then what would Unira do for a pet? Get a hobby?
Or perhaps getting her own pet demon would satisfy instead.
“Elix has done our bidding. He won’t allow teaching of the boy. He was furious, but he had no choice. Vanae and her treachery finally came in handy for something.”
He waved off mention of Elix’s wife. “Excellent. They mustn’t have Linali’s son to fall back on. Idak must be there—ready and waiting.”
She nodded as if this were sage advice, as if she hadn’t heard this ten times before. Or ten thousand. But he was not one to be hurried, fortunately or unfortunately. Bound to his couch, all he could do was repeat himself.
Of course, the plan was not bad, even if it was not hers.
If it did its job. If it tore apart the empire. Then she would be satisfied. His plan or hers. Idak on the imperial throne, leading the Obsidians against the other clans as they should have done long ago. Sure, putting the clans back at war with each other might destroy them all, rot them from the inside out.
She didn’t particularly care. In fact, she liked that outcome better but wasn’t sure she could quite affect total destruction all alone. That was where the demon came in. Either way, the empire would fall. And burn.
And she would dance in the ashes. She wouldn’t rest until that magical tree of gems was a smoking skeleton stretching up out of the ruins like a claw toward the sky. And Pavan would regret the day he’d made an enemy of her.
She bowed her head again to her father in the silence.
“You’ve done well, child.”
Although she was well into her fourth decade, his praise still gave her a little flush of stupid pride. “Thank you, Father.”
“But we mustn’t rest on our laurels.”
“Of course. The other clans progress. Glass was easily destabilized. They’ve played right into our hands. And we have a willing puppet in the Bone Clan. I have leverage on him, but I doubt I’ll need it. We are close to getting him the blade and the seat of power. Soon it will all be set, all roadblocks eliminated. It’s but a formality now, a matter of approvals and ceremonies.”
“Excellent. Which clan is next?”
“Lapis. Work has already begun.”
He smiled, nodded. “You see? You are so capable. They really should have married you. And your magic might even surpass theirs. Astonishing—for a woman. You’ve always been so unique, so special, darling.”
“Perhaps. But they didn’t marry me, Father.” And her abilities did surpass them, and only an idiot would be surprised by that. She knew many idiots, however.
He grinned. “Well, perhaps it will wor
k out even better in the end, when Idak will reign over them all.”
She bowed her head and let a smile creep onto her face. Or when the empire was brought to its knees, the clans turned against each other, and it all crashed into utter chaos. Either would suit her, really.
But chaos sounded like such a refreshing change.
She was grinning now, although he couldn’t see it. “Yes, Father. So let it be.”
Chapter 2
Den of Bones
It was hard to act normal afterward, but Lara did her best. The rest of that night had been easier. She’d lain in bed and wondered what in all Dala’s dreams she had done. She’d retired early and slept in late, but the new morning was well underway. And she’d promised herself that her days of mourning were over.
Well, truth be told, she’d likely never stop missing her brother. But she needed to get up, get out, and pretend that life continued on. Because unfortunately, it did. Still, acting “normal” after her theft was made more difficult by the fact that nothing had been normal since Myandrin’s passing.
Normal should have been going to lessons. But she’d only been there sporadically in the last few months anyway. In part, grief had kept her away, a willing prisoner in her room and her bed. Missing him, alternately raging at fate and praying it was all a terrible dream. If it was, she’d never woken up.
Then again, what was the point?
She leaned against the low wall of the balcony and gazed out at the horizon. Even in the midday sun, the wind whipping by her was cold. From here in their highest tower, she had a good view of the waterfalls to the west and the cliffs they crashed down on, but not the vast plain of dry basin between here and there. She’d often come here and gaze into the distance, so this at least was normal. All her life she had longed to go there—out to that waterfall, to the mountains and the horizon beyond. To explore the wilds beyond the mapped edges of Bone Clan lands. She’d worked hard as a swordmage because she’d have needed magic for the dangerous journey.
Now, though. She wasn’t going anywhere.
She shook off the anger. She was trying to do something about her problems. The clanblade lay under her bed and not Andius’s. It was a start.
Picking up her satchel in her room on the way, she wandered downstairs and out into the gardens in front of the mansion. Drawing here had once been a favorite pastime. It’d be good for her to try it again.
She hauled a sketchpad from her bag. Sitting cross-legged on a bench, she half-heartedly sketched a nearby flame tree. But the red blooms defied her attempts to capture them. She was so out of practice. And why hadn’t she brought anything but black wax to draw with?
Or perhaps it was just her nerves. How could she concentrate on drawing when she was supposed to be pretending she hadn’t done something horrible?
She chucked the sketchpad back into the bag. Time to try something else.
The cool breeze gave her a slight chill, so perhaps a walk was in order. The sun shone down on the dusted paths between evergreens and high, majestic trees. Fountains burbled away as she strolled past them, magic powering their idle flow and birds fluttering in their basins.
The walk wasn’t cutting it. Maybe if she left her room more often, she’d realize she needed to wear a cloak. She gazed up at a favorite boji tree as she strolled past—would a climb do the trick?
She dropped her satchel at the base of the tree and soon was pulling herself high into its limbs. The bark was rough and refreshing against her fingers, and her blood heated with the exercise.
Reaching the top, she surveyed the land around her. The dusty plains of the basin, the distant waterfalls, the jagged canyons and rugged mountains—all were more beautiful up here. And the Bone manor seemed perfectly peaceful. No alarms sounded, that much was certain.
Someone could discover the clanblade was missing in five minutes… or in five weeks. Who would go looking for it, until Andius was confirmed in the Feasts of Contest? And that was weeks away. She couldn’t spend every waking moment on edge or she’d go insane. Deep breaths. Even if they discovered it missing, they wouldn’t likely suspect her above others. She needed to relax.
She eyed a lower limb that had made a fine bench in the past. No sooner thought of than done. She was soon lounging along one thick limb. The day was peaceful, quiet, and it was easy to forget all her troubles and just be. The wind whispered across her skin and flapped her crossover.
Soft footsteps padded toward her on the dirt path.
She frowned, opened her eyes. Students shouldn’t be coming and going—class had started and was far from over. The guards didn’t do patrols through here. Probably a servant or something. She shut her eyes again and willed herself to relax.
The steps grew louder.
She sat up, then rose to stand on the branch and squinted. A form was just coming into view around a large, long-needled evergreen.
A form dressed in black.
By Dala’s light! She squeezed the limb harder and leaned forward. It was him—her young man from the graveyard. He was going to walk right under her. What kind of strange coincidence was this?
His hands were in his pockets, and those cunning eyes of his were turned down, staring at the ground. Occasionally his lips moved. Rehearsing something? His skin was darker than hers, a tawny olive not from the sun, and his hair flopped to one side and seemed just about to poke him in the eye at any second, not that he paid it any mind. The black crossover was simple and unadorned, ending midthigh as many of them did these days, with pants beneath. Likely what he’d been wearing yesterday, but now she had time to examine him freely.
But—what the hell was he doing here?
He was about to pass under her branch, which swayed only slightly in the wind. She dug her free hand into her pocket. A leather thong for her hair, the black wax crayon, the handkerchief that she’d taken without really examining why, as it still needed to be laundered.
She pulled it out. She had always planned to return it anyway. Hadn’t she? She certainly wasn’t doting on it. In fact—just to be sure—she’d return it right now.
As he strode about a foot past her branch, she lobbed the handkerchief at him. For a soft piece of fabric, it flew surprisingly well.
It hit him square in the back of the neck.
She held closer to the trunk and tried not to snicker as he flinched and grabbed at the thing, spinning. He looked around, saw the handkerchief, bent to pick it up, and frowned. Some slight sway of the branch must have tipped him off, or maybe a snicker did escape, for finally he looked up and saw her. “Hey!”
She schooled her features to be stern. “Why are you following me?”
“Excuse me?”
“Two times in two days. Seems a little suspicious, don’t you think?”
“Weird coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
He glanced from her, to the handkerchief, back to her. Baffled. “Does this still have snot on it?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Maybe.”
Back to the handkerchief, back to her. Those clever eyes narrowed. “Why are you in a tree?”
“Why aren’t you in a tree?” she shot back. Okay, not her brightest comeback ever.
His mouth hung open for a second. Then he shook his head and walked away.
“Hey!” she called after him. “I answered your question. Answer mine!”
He kept walking.
On impulse, she hopped into the air and landed in a crouch near his feet. She lashed out a sweeping kick, hoping to knock him off balance. It was only fair, the way he kept knocking her off balance in her head. Instead, he jumped.
She rounded on him, flowing straight into a high punch.
He’d already spun and caught it.
Okay. Maybe that was a little impressive. His reflexes were good. More than good—honed. Well, they ought to be. He was an Obsidian, and he could afford the best tutors. His skin was warmer than hers, and his eyes glittered, more amused than ala
rmed.
“No, you didn’t answer my question. And yes, I most certainly did answer yours,” he said.
“Wait, what?” She’d forgotten what either of them had said at this point.
He gently released his hold on her fist. She straightened and gave him the slight bow a martial superior deserved. She always tried to grant respect where it was due, even if as a noble she didn’t strictly have to. He returned the gesture.
“I’m not following you. So no, I don’t think it’s suspicious,” he said, tone mild. “You, however, haven’t explained your presence in the treetops. Do you always attack ordinary people who come to visit your clan leader, calmly and respectfully? I didn’t think Bone Clan guards wore such fine livery.”
Did he really not know who she was? It wasn’t like she didn’t appear in public at Da’s side. She straightened a little and smoothed one hand over her hair. She was only of average height, and he was perhaps an inch taller. “I only attack Obsidians who follow me around. Most don’t wander into our den of bones accidentally.”
Laughter in his eyes, he shook his head and turned away.
“Hey! Wait. Tell me what you’re doing here!” She followed on his heels.
“I’m here to see your clan leader.”
She scoffed. “You can’t just walk in to see him. It doesn’t work like that.”
He spared her a glance, then said flatly, “I was going to knock.”
Stopping, she propped her hands on her hips and scowled.
“Politely knock?” He didn’t stop.
She was shaking her head. “No, no, no, you can’t just—stop walking!”
He turned away from her on the path—but it was the right direction. Toward the atrium where Da received visitors, where he’d be right now. How did this Obsidian know where to go?
She hustled after him, not saying anything. It would be nice to see the guards turn him away.
