Realm of Ashes

by J. D. L. Rosell

  “Yes, Master.” This at least she could agree with. She would never leave him. Not after all he had done for her. And she for him.

  He sighed heavily. “I hope you do not blame me for taking you away from him and having him killed. He made it simple. A daemon in a man’s skin, he was, and few were sad to see him go.”

  Seda kept very still. If only she could unhear words. But she could not. “You never told me that before, Master,” she said quietly. “That you were behind his sentencing and execution.”

  Master looked up at her, surprised. “Didn’t I? Oh, Seda. I don’t wish you pain. I… my mind wanders. I’m not as I was…”

  Stupid, stupid girl. She had caused him anguish. Why must she always speak the wrong things? “You should drink more broth, Master,” she said, reaching for the spoon with her other hand. Her shame-hand, against the teachings of her faith, but he still gripped her right arm too tightly to use. She was glad he had the strength to hold her so firmly.

  “Seda, Seda. When will you let him go?”

  She froze as the spoon dipped into the broth. She didn’t dare look into Master’s eyes. She knew by the harshness of the voice that it wasn’t his mind she would see behind them.

  “Other,” she breathed.

  “Other,” the one who had stolen Master’s tongue sneered. “Why must you call me that name, Other? I am no other but the servant to our true master.”

  “No one can be Master but he who has mastered himself.” She repeated it in her mind, the mantra Master had taught her in preparation for this day. When daemons would steal his tongue and tempt her from his service.

  “But there is, Seda. If you would but open yourself to me, I could show you I have. But you know it all the same. You know your master serves not himself, but a greater master, the same as I serve. The same as you serve.”

  “No. Master does not serve the Snake. The Snake serves him. The Snake is bound to him.”

  “The Snake is wound around his neck,” the Other mocked. “Or is it not his tongue I speak with?”

  “Silence!” she hissed through clenched teeth. He held her so tightly she could feel the bruises starting to form. But she would not struggle. She would not leave. Master had barely eaten. He needed sustenance to recover his strength.

  As if hearing her thoughts, the Other said, “He’ll not rise again, Seda. Look at the wound in his side! See the foul corruption pouring from it, the tainted flesh that pulls back cracked and purple! See the shaft shot deep! That it missed his vitals was a disservice. It has prolonged his suffering, only made it longer before my master claims him.”

  “He can heal,” she murmured. “His wounds have always healed before.”

  She saw from the corner of her eye Master’s face draw back in a rictus grin. “Ah, Seda. But he won’t heal this time. Our true master won’t let him.”

  The truth she’d long suspected hit her with a blow harder than her father had ever managed. She crumpled in on herself, breath coming fast and shallow. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl. She should have done something before. She should have stopped the Other and the Snake before it came to this. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t think of what she should have done. All she knew was that she hadn’t done enough.

  “Seda?”

  Relief flooded her. “Master!” She wanted to throw herself on him and burst into tears, but she couldn’t burden him with her own sorrow. She had to be strong for him.

  “I… lost myself for a moment. I think it would be best if you left me to rest again.”

  She looked down at the nearly untouched tray. She should have done something to help before he became so weak, it was true. But it wasn’t too late to try and do all she could.

  Seda drew in a deep breath. “No, Master. You told me you took me in because I would never stop serving you. Let me show you it is true. I will not leave until you eat all this tray’s contents.”

  Master wore his own smile now. “Seda. What would I do without you?”

  You will never have to find out, she resolved as she brought the lukewarm liquid to his lips. She would never leave him. No matter how much he hurt her.

  12

  A Finch Found

  Agmon Brandheart and his most loyal First Wardens left the battlefield in search of Harvest. They combed all the realms for the goddess. Yet nowhere could she be found.

  ‘She has retreated beyond our pleas!’ one despaired. ‘She will not harken to our call!’

  ‘We will find her,’ Agmon boldly claimed, though his own courage faltered. ‘If we have to search to the corners of Telae and the heights and depths of the Pyrthae, we will find her!’

  - The Seeds of Famine, a translation from the Lighted-tongue; by Oracle Kalene of deme Hull; 881 SLP

  I woke to a knock on the door. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up. My back was stiff and sore, the night spent sleeping in a chair doing little to improve on what the melee in Komo’s quarters had started. As little as I’d contributed, I felt battered and bruised, and my burned skin pulled painfully as I shifted.

  The knock came again. “Airene? Xaron?” Nomusa called through.

  “Coming.”

  Enough daylight peeked between the curtains that I had little trouble finding my way to the door and unlatching it. As the door opened, Nomusa slipped in, her face lined with worry.

  “How is he?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I only just woke up.”

  Locking the door, we walked together to his bedside. Nomusa had found us after the Seeker attack last night, so it wasn’t the first time she saw the cuts and burns that ran patchwork over Xaron’s skin. I winced as I noticed a spot over his right ear where radiance had burned his hair off. It could have been much worse, yet if I knew Xaron, he would fixate on how that hair that would never grow back. Despite our scrutiny and hushed conversation, he didn’t stir. I wondered if we should be worried by that.

  “Kallias the Sculptor is coming to see him today after he visits the… Yorandu delegation. Jaxas sent for him last night, but the Acadian healer keeps his own schedule, even for princes.” She wore a hint of a vindictive smile as she said it. Nomusa’s attitude toward Komo seemed to have improved since he’d fought by Xaron and my side, but every transformation had its limits.

  “I doubt he’ll need it. Komo told me his wounds would heal. Perhaps he has a similar gift as our Sculptor does.”

  She’d flinched at his name, then shook her head in disgust. “Magic abounds now,” she muttered. “Our enemies, our friends… Even people I’ve known half my life.” She gave me a sidelong look.

  I held up my left hand silently, putting on display the two fingers that had glowed with radiance the night before. “They’ve appeared,” I said quietly. “My shifts. I channeled last night and controlled it, then they appeared afterward.”

  Her brow creasing, Nomusa took my hand and examined the fingertips closely. She inhaled sharply. “I see them shifting.” She met my eyes. “You’re really a warden.”

  “Yes, I am.” I drew my hand away.

  “Did it happen during the fight?”

  “No. After.”

  Only then did it occur to me how fortunate that was. While Xaron was permitted to channel, and Komo possessed some measure of diplomatic immunity, I wouldn’t be so fortunate if I were exposed as a warden. Even channeling in defense of Oedija’s interests, I’d still be liable to the Tribunal’s justice at the hands of Shepherds. And where channeling was done for harm, the only sentence I to expect was death.

  “Airene?”

  I realized Nomusa had said my name more than once. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

  She suddenly pulled me into a hug, firm but mindful of my burn. “Your injuries are less visible, but I know they’re there. I’m sorry you had to endure all of that. Again.”

  I sighed and relaxed into her embrace. But almost as soon as I released the worries of the night before, the new day’s concerns pressed in. “We have work to do.” A moment later, I re
alized how callous that sounded and amended weakly, “That came out wrong.”

  “Don’t apologize. A few rough words won’t offend me.” She released me and smiled. But I saw her own concerns weighing behind her eyes. “I wanted to delay telling you this, but the Council has called you to their session this morning. They demand an account of what passed in Komo’s chambers.”

  “Why? So they can squawk over it and do nothing?”

  “I don’t like it either, but you’d do better to find a softer side of your tongue. You’ll make no friends among the Low Consuls chastising them, and we badly need friends right now.”

  “Fine. But I have some demands of my own. Coffee and food, to start.”

  Nomusa raised an eyebrow. “Setting your sights a little high, aren’t you?”

  “That’s as high as I can shoot right now,” a sleepy voice spoke from next to us.

  Nomusa and I whirled on Xaron.

  “How are you feeling?” Nomusa asked.

  “Feeling?” Xaron groaned as he tried sitting up, then promptly abandoned the attempt. “All too much right now.”

  “If his humor has gotten this bad, I think he’s close to joining the ancestors.” I gave him a thin smile.

  “How I’m feeling right now makes me wish it. ‘Thae above, where did those Seekers learn to channel like that?”

  “Vusu,” Nomusa and I said at once.

  Xaron grinned weakly. “Right.”

  Mindful of the approaching Council meeting, Nomusa went to fetch food and coffee to bring back to the room. We broke our fast together, the meal almost strange with how easy and familiar it felt. How long had it been since we shared a simple meal? How long would it be until our next?

  Too soon, Nomusa and I said goodbye to a morose Xaron, then made our way out of the palace and across the bridge. We were quiet much of the way, anticipation of the meeting silencing idle talk. That there would be a reckoning for the attack, I had no doubt. I only hoped something good would come out of it for once.

  I snorted lightly. Things were getting desperate if I were hoping for something good from the Demos Council.

  Nomusa cocked an eyebrow. “Something amusing?”

  “Oh, just the usual irony. How little there is to hope for, and how I can’t help but keep hoping.”

  She shrugged. “A failing of which we’re all guilty. But it helps us face things, doesn’t it?”

  I flashed her a bitter smile. We’d need a good deal more than that to face this down.

  Too soon, we were admitted into the inner chamber of the Conclave and stood before the Council. Of the Low Consuls, Feiyan was missing, as was Berker. But we had additional guests lining the wall: the five white-haired, red-caped Stratechons, leaders of Oedija’s paltry defenses. I eyed them, wondering what their presence meant for the Order.

  Jaxas gave us a look that seemed a warning as we entered. Orhan spoke first. “First Verifiers. I hope you had a pleasant evening.”

  “I’ve not changed since then, so you can tell for yourself how pleasant mine was.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  “Yes,” Orhan replied lightly. “You do seem to have taken some injuries. But it is no more than one deserves for shirking their duties, is it?”

  His disdain twisted my guts with fury, but I struggled to keep my tone even. “Perhaps you could clarify.”

  “Oh? But I thought it would be perfectly clear, when our esteemed guest was brutally attacked immediately after you arrived at his quarters.”

  Cold ran through me with the shock of a sea spray. The gazes on me suddenly struck me as accusatory. It was all I could do to refrain from licking my dry lips. “Are you implying I had something to do with the attack?”

  A sneer curled on Orhan’s lips, but before the Preservist leader could answer, Jaxas cut in. “I am sure Low Consul Orhan wouldn’t imply that of our trusted Finches. After all, Airene and Nomusa orchestrated the trap that thwarted Vusumuzi’s ambitions against the realm. Surely such an action would insulate them from suspicion of collaboration.”

  Orhan didn’t lose his smile, nor did he look aside from me. His gaze was like a wolf staring at a lamb. “Of course. Such an implication would be… ungenerous of me.”

  “Good. As Archon, it is my duty to facilitate, so I will do so now. The subject before us is now abundantly clear, I trust.”

  “Quite,” Daelya said drily.

  “The defense of our guests is paramount, particularly when they are a potential suitor to our Despoina in a time of great need.” Jaxas turned to the Stratechons. “Have you agreed upon your plans yet?”

  The white-haired generals looked between themselves wearing a range of emotions — disgust, impatience, even boredom. “No, Archon,” the middle one answered, a man with a mane of white hair impressive for a man of his age. “We are still determining the best course.”

  “Perhaps I’d better decide for you,” Jaxas snapped.

  I stared at him. Rarely had I seen him lose his temper, and now I’d witnessed it twice in a day’s turn.

  As the others in the chamber shared significant looks, and the Stratechons huffed in affronted silence, Jaxas exhaled softly and continued reluctantly, “Orhan, I believe you wished to ask our First Verifiers a few questions.”

  The patrician smiled, not bothering to hide his smugness. “Yes, indeed. The lack of information we’ve received from your Order is, if I may be frank, abysmal. Perhaps you were not involved in the Shaka-Heir’s attack.” He let the pause linger, leaving no doubt as to what he implied. “Yet it is apparent you received intelligence about it. Why did you not act sooner? And from whence did this intelligence come?”

  I didn’t wait for Nomusa to answer, though I knew it would be wiser. “As soon as I heard the Seekers were coming for Heir Komo, I ran to him. I only had time to find—” Too late I realized my mistake, but I cut off all the same.

  But the wily leader of the Preservists smiled like he’d led me right where he’d wanted. “You only had time to find your friend Hilarion. So he could help kill those Seekers by using Tyurn’s Gift?”

  Someone gasped, but I didn’t see who. My eyes were leveled at Orhan. He met my gaze, knowing that I couldn’t touch him. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

  Nomusa cut in. “If he channeled in defense of our guest, is that not something to be celebrated? When should magic be used, if not for the good of Oedija?”

  Orhan leaned back. “But that is the wrong question, First Verifier. It’s not what magic should be used for. It’s if it should be used at all. And the answer to that, I think, is clear to all of us.”

  “No.” Again, my tongue leaped before me, and I couldn’t reign it in. “No, I don’t think it’s clear. You’re comfortable allowing magic to proliferate north of the wall. You’re fine with the Valemish training Tefra and keeping Silks within the depths of their temples. But when Xaron uses his power to save a person you very much need to save, you say it’s a crime.” I ignored Nomusa’s pleading look and spoke over her as she tried to interrupt. “If you wanted to do something about the Manifest and prevent this from happening, Orhan, you would have invaded their compound long ago. You would have put an end to these Seekers long before they ever started.”

  Orhan’s eyes didn’t shift, though the smile had finally faded. “First Verifier Airene, I believe you forget that I do not hold charge of Oedija’s forces. The Stratechons do.”

  I glanced at the old soldiers. It didn’t stretch the imagination to guess why they’d done nothing. The Preservists commanded much of the wealth of Oedija, and I suspected that a fair amount of that gold lined the Stratechons’ purses.

  I gave a curt bow. “Excuse me, Low Consuls, Stratechons. But you can understand we are very busy at the moment. If you have no further questions, we’ll make our departure.” Not waiting for a response, I turned and left the chamber.

  Nomusa didn’t catch me until I’d almost reached to the Aviary. She must have nearly run, for I hadn’t
slowed my pace even for my injuries. Whirling me around outside the door, she stared at me with a desperation I hadn’t yet seen.

  “Please, Airene. Don’t do this.”

  My anger hadn’t abated, and I found myself speaking sharply. “Do what?”

  “Don’t lose what we’ve worked so long to gain. I know you may not feel so now, but we need this position. Without it, we’d be as insignificant as we were before. You wouldn’t be admitted to the Acadium. You couldn’t read those ancient tomes, or see Eltris again.”

  I tried to deny her words, but knew I couldn’t. So I said nothing.

  “I know you must follow the hunt that calls you. Your looking into the Despot’s murder proved that. And I’ll do my best not to let them stop you. Just… don’t sabotage us in front of the Council. Please.”

  I’d never heard Nomusa so conciliatory. I could only nod.

  Her furrowed brow smoothed. “Good. We both have things to do. But I want to make sure you’re alright.”

  “I’m fine.” I knew it was what she needed to hear.

  I hoped it was true.

  After I changed into clothes that weren’t burned and bloodied, I made my way out into the city and headed for the library at the Acadium. As each day yielded less, it began to dawn on me how unlikely my quest was to bear fruit. Why would I find something in those dusty books in a span when others had been reading them for decades?

  But I’d visited the Pyrthae. I’d seen Famine with my own eyes. And Eltris, stubborn as she was, might fill in the other gaps in my knowledge. Perhaps there were secrets contained in those books that no other could recognize but I.

  So I spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon with Platon down in Tomes, breathing in the slow decay of vellum, parchment, and paper. I’d left off in the middle of the depictions of the Hunger War, and wasn’t eager to resume them.

  Yet only half a turn into my reading, the text made an abrupt shift. From details of supply lines and regiment numbers, it honed in on Agmon Brandheart and a significant visit by Clepsammia.