The risk was…incalculable.
No matter what she’d said to StarDrifter (and he had known, curse him), Salome had never taken an Icarii to her bed before. Many had made their interest known. One had even used the same gesture of seduction to her that StarDrifter had used.
But Salome had resisted easily.
An Icarii lover had murdered her grandmother.
An Icarii lover had caused her mother to die of grief.
No cursed Icarii lover was going to cause her death.
Yet, last night, she had been unable to resist StarDrifter. Salome had no idea why. She didn’t particularly like him and thought his beauty overstated. She loathed his arrogance and his discernible contempt of her. She had heard all the stories about the SunSoars and the women they destroyed.
She was strong enough to resist him, surely?
Yet she hadn’t. He’d teased her, tempted her, danced before her, and then flung out his hand in that damned imperious gesture.
And Salome had simply capitulated.
No. She had not just “simply capitulated”; that made it sound far too innocent. Salome had cast aside her entire world for him. If she’d been given a choice at that moment between succeeding in placing Ezra on the throne and ruling through him, or having StarDrifter for one night, she would have cast aside every one of her carefully nurtured ambitions for that one night with StarDrifter.
Why? Why? Gods, he threatened her entire world. Even as lost in the throes of lust as she had been, Salome had remembered, throughout their protracted, sweaty, exhausting coupling, not to allow him to view her back. She hadn’t even allowed him to caress it.
She hoped he hadn’t noticed.
Salome lay in her bed for hours, the day warming outside, lost in her thoughts, terrified of the consequences, but knowing that she would allow him back.
Just for one more night, perhaps.
She’d be careful.
He’d never know.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Royal Palace, Ruen, Escator
Maximilian had come back to Ruen because he had no idea what else to do. He couldn’t find Ishbel on his own, and he knew he couldn’t afford the time to scurry helplessly about southern Kyros in the hope of finding a clue. Somewhere. StarWeb and BroadWing and their companions were searching. Malat—after some persuasion—was searching for her via his network of agents and spies and guardsmen.
With that Maximilian had to be content.
He’d been away from Escator for almost seven months, and Maximilian couldn’t ignore the fact he’d left his kingdom alone for all that time. Yes, the Privy Council had authority to do whatever they needed to keep life running smoothly, but Maximilian had his responsibilities to his kingdom even before his wife, and he’d simply had to return.
He felt keenly the embarrassment of returning without Ishbel. Escator had been preparing a grand welcome for the new queen, and instead their king had slunk home in the middle of the night, minus his wife, and with no idea where she was.
Maximilian had hardly been able to hold court, yet he’d had to, and had to bear the curious looks and whispers and muttered sympathies. He’d hated himself for feeling the embarrassment, knowing that Ishbel, wherever she was, was likely suffering far more than “embarrassment.”
But most of all Maximilian hated himself for not being able to save her, or find her.
He prayed to all gods that BroadWing and StarWeb would have better luck.
At least he was home, and Maximilian took some comfort in that.
One of the first things he did, once he’d rested, was to talk with Vorstus.
“Elcho Falling is stirring,” Maximilian said without preamble when Vorstus walked into the chamber.
“Truly?” said Vorstus, sitting down in a chair and folding his hands.
“How long have you known?” Maximilian said.
“A very long time,” Vorstus said softly, holding Maximilian’s gaze.
Maximilian turned on his heel, walked to a window, and leaned his hands on the sill to stare out.
A very long time? Had Vorstus—and perhaps Light and Water—been manipulating his life for all his forty years?
“You are the perfect man for it,” Vorstus said.
Maximilian still said nothing. He was angry, so angry he was afraid that if he let go of the windowsill then he would physically attack the abbot. He didn’t know what to do, about Ishbel or about Elcho Falling, but he did not trust Vorstus, and could not trust a single thing the man said to him.
All Maximilian wanted to do was to take control of his life, but he had no idea how.
“There is something you should know,” he said finally, still staring out the window.
“Yes?” Vorstus said.
“Are you aware of something called the Twisted Tower?”
“Yes. The Persimius kings passed down the knowledge of Elcho Falling via a memory palace, a storage place for everything they needed to know. You would have been taught how to access the Twisted Tower at an early age.”
“I was nine when my father first began to teach me.” Maximilian turned about, looking at Vorstus steadily. “But did you know, Vorstus, that the Twisted Tower is all but empty? That I can do little more than raise Elcho Falling when it is needed, but that I no longer have access to the knowledge to enable me to wield it fully? Did you not ever consider the possibility that the Twisted Tower would have deteriorated over the centuries, and that knowledge would be forgotten?”
Vorstus rose to his feet. His face was tightly controlled, his eyes flinty. “Then what has been lost needs to be regained, my Lord of Elcho Falling. That shall be your responsibility.”
With that Vorstus left the room, leaving Maximilian staring after him in silent, impotent rage.
Five days after Maximilian had arrived home, he was interrupted during a meeting with Egalion by the arrival of one of the Emerald Guard bursting into Maximilian’s private chamber without even knocking.
“My lord, forgive me,” the man said, sinking briefly to one knee, “but there is urgent news.”
Maximilian had stood as soon as the man entered. “Yes?”
“BroadWing EvenBeat is home. Just now arrived. My lord, he—”
The man got no further, for Maximilian was now staring over his shoulder.
BroadWing was slumped in the doorway, barely able to maintain his feet.
“Dear gods,” Maximilian muttered, knowing instinctively that Broad-Wing brought disastrous news.
Egalion and the Emerald Guardsman helped him to a chair.
“Send for Garth Baxtor,” Maximilian said to the guardsman, and he nodded, and left.
“BroadWing,” Maximilian said, sinking to his haunches beside the Icarii birdman’s chair, “you need attention, and food and drink. Perhaps—”
“What I need,” said BroadWing, “is to tell you what has happened. Everything else can wait.”
Maximilian felt sick to the stomach.
“We found Ishbel,” BroadWing went on without preamble. “She was being taken through the FarReach Mountains down to the Tyranny of Isembaard. Escorted by eight men. She was drugged, helpless. I am sorry, Maximilian, she did not look well.”
“Gods…” Maximilian muttered.
“We decided—oh, stars, I decided, to try to rescue her. She looked so ill…so helpless…”
“BroadWing,” said Maximilian, “don’t blame yourself.”
“Shit,” BroadWing muttered. “I thought I had a brilliant plan. But it was shit, Maximilian. Shit. It killed StarWeb and the others.”
Maximilian looked away.
“The men who had her commanded a frightful power. Dark and shadowy. None of us could withstand it. StarWeb and the others…exploded. There was nothing left of them.”
Kanubai, thought Maximilian. It must have been Kanubai’s power. Shit! Kanubai had Ishbel? Had he risen already?
Maximilian felt a moment of complete panic. What should he do?
“But you e
scaped,” Egalion said.
“I would have died, too,” said BroadWing, “save that just as these men turned toward me, a band of armed men arrived. They attacked the eight who had murdered my companions, and drove them away. They saved my life.”
“A mercy,” said Maximilian, “and one I am most profoundly grateful for. BroadWing, do not blame yourself. You did more than I could ever have expected of—”
“There’s more,” said BroadWing. “The leader of the armed men was Axis SunSoar.”
For a moment there was complete silence as Maximilian and Egalion stared at BroadWing.
“No,” said Maximilian, “that cannot be. You must be mistaken.”
“I am not mistaken,” BroadWing whispered. “Your wife, Ishbel—should she still be alive—is now secreted within the Tyranny of Isembaard, and she is in the hands of the StarMan himself, Axis SunSoar, returned from death.”
“Oh, my gods,” Maximilian muttered. “What else can go wrong?”
Garth Baxtor had arrived just after that, and had seen BroadWing taken to a room and given medication and food. Then he hurried back to Maximilian’s chamber, where Maximilian sat with Egalion. A moment later Vorstus joined them, earning himself a dark look from Maximilian, who had avoided all contact with Vorstus since their conversation on Maximilian’s return to Ruen.
They all looked stunned, unable to believe BroadWing’s news. Maximilian looked particularly pale, and Garth thought that he’d taken the news of StarWeb badly.
“How could Axis SunSoar be alive, and in Isembaard, of all places?” Egalion said, and by the manner of his tone, Garth knew that question had been asked many times over the past half hour or so.
Maximilian shrugged. “From the legends of Tencendor that I have heard, Axis has escaped from death on a number of occasions. What is one more time?”
“But Isembaard?” Vorstus said.
“Has he been involved in the murders, do you think?” Garth said.
Maximilian gave a slow shake of his head. “Not if he fought for Broad-Wing’s life against those who had stolen Ishbel, no. But what he is doing down there…who can tell?”
“What will you do?” Vorstus said.
For the first time in weeks, a look of determination and resolve lit Maximilian’s eyes. “I am going to find my wife,” he said.
“No,” said Vorstus. “No!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Royal Palace, Ruen, Escator
It was a massive risk, leaving Escator so soon after he’d arrived home, but Maximilian knew he had to do it. He couldn’t abandon Ishbe or their child. He needed to rescue her for purely personal reasons—he loved her and wanted both her and their child safe—and for darker reasons, as Ishbel had been sent to him for a purpose: she was somehow intimately connected with Elcho Falling and she could not be allowed to fall into the hands of Kanubai.
Kanubai wanted her. More than anything else, that fact reinforced in Maximilian’s mind that she was somehow integral to Elcho Falling.
Well might Kanubai want her, but at least for the moment she was in the hands of Axis…and Maximilian thought Axis was the better bet than Kanubai.
Just slightly.
Maximilian lay awake at night, thinking of Ishbel, ill and alone, dragged through the FarReach Mountains. He lay awake, racked with guilt that the face he’d shown her in their last days together had been one of anger and accusation.
Maximilian grieved for StarWeb and carried a burden of guilt for her death, as well as the other three Icarii who had died trying to rescue Ishbel, but for the most part his thoughts were for Ishbel and her plight. This time he would not send others to do what perhaps he should have done in the first instance. This time he’d find her himself.
No one was happy with Maximilian’s decision, whether the Privy Council of Preferred Nobles, or Egalion representing the Emerald Guard, or Garth Baxtor, or most particularly Vorstus. The abbot of the Order of Persimius spent hours arguing with Maximilian, saying it was pointless to risk his own life when there were many others who could go. Others who were trained for this kind of thing, damn it! Maximilian was risking both his own life and Escator’s well-being unnecessarily—not to mention Elcho Falling.
“Ishbel is intimately connected with Elcho Falling,” Maximilian said to Vorstus as the abbot tried yet again to persuade him against mounting his own rescue effort.
“You are more important than Ishbel,” Vorstus said. “Elcho Falling is more important than Ishbel!”
“Not to me,” Maximilian responded quietly.
Vorstus was not the only one to try to persuade Maximilian against his plan.
“We can’t afford to lose you,” Baron Lixel said to Maximilian on a day that he, Egalion, Vorstus, and Garth met once more with the king to persuade him against this venture. “You are needed here. Only this morning we received word that the Outlands have declared formal war on Pelemere and Berfardi. Sire, I beg you, reconsider. Our world is disintegrating into war. We cannot afford to have you chase off after—”
He stopped, seeing Maximilian’s eyes slide his way.
“Ishbel can be rescued as easily, more easily and with less risk, by someone else,” Lixel finished.
“I’m sorry,” Garth said, “but I don’t like any of this. Is Ishbel worth risking your life, and Escator’s peace, over?”
“I do not like you going after her personally,” said Lixel. “I fear for you, and for Escator. I would prefer you sent Egalion, and the Emerald Guard. And what do any of us know about this land of Isembaard? Nothing! It is huge, and you have no idea where to search, and—”
“I will find her, Lixel,” Maximilian said. “I am sure I know where she is going.”
Lixel made a gesture of helplessness. “If you must, then go, Maximilian. But, please, gods, return to us!”
“I and the Emerald Guard will ensure that he—” Egalion began, before Maximilian raised a hand and stopped him.
“I’m sorry, Egalion, I do this with only a very small party. Two of the best of the Emerald Guard. No more. Three of us all told. We can travel light and fast and undetected. My friends, if I could survive seventeen years in the Veins, I can survive a journey into Isembaard.”
He shot Vorstus a dark look then, daring him to say something, but the abbot remained silent.
“Maxel,” said Egalion. “I insist that you take with you—”
“Two of your very best men,” said Maximilian. “But just two. Choose for me.”
Egalion gave a tight nod, unhappy, but accepting Maximilian’s decision.
“And I?” Garth said softly.
“I think it is better you stay, Garth. I am sorry.”
Garth’s face tightened, then he jerked his eyes away.
Maximilian watched him for a moment, then looked to Baron Lixel. “Baron, I hesitate to burden you with this, but I would that you act on my behalf while I am gone. I am meeting with the Privy Council in the morning, if you will join me.”
Lixel nodded. “And to think I’d thought to enjoy my ‘retirement’ in Escator.”
Maximilian managed a smile. “I have just made you a king, Lixel. Do not look so glum.”
Vorstus remained behind when the others left. “This is madness, Maximilian,” he said. “It is too dangerous. Elcho Falling needs you. You must not dash off on some foolhardy mission into utter danger. Maximilian, if your bloodline ends here, then our world dies.”
“I need her, Vorstus, and I am certain that Elcho Falling needs her as well. I am going. Do not try to persuade me against—”
“Do you not know what awaits you down in Isembaard?”
“Kanubai? Is he risen already? If so, then we may as well lay down and die now, Vorstus, for at the moment I have not the heart, or the ability, to shoulder all the aches and pains of Elcho Falling.”
“Then promise me one thing,” Vorstus said, moving forward with a speed and litheness that belied his years. “Promise you will not go near DarkGlass Mountain. Stay in the nort
h if you possibly can, but do not go near DarkGlass Mountain!”
“I will do what is needed to retrieve Ishbel,” Maximilian said, “and then I will come home to Escator, Vorstus. I promise you that.”
Then he turned on his heel and was gone.
Vorstus stood and looked at the door through which Maximilian had vanished.
“Wrong,” Vorstus whispered, his eyes glittering as if with madness. “You will never come home to Escator at all. Your time here is done, and Escator was doomed from the moment you rose from the Veins.”
Then, closing his eyes and tipping his head back slightly, Vorstus sent an urgent message north to Lister.
Lister, disaster upon disaster. Maximilian now thinks to travel into Isembaard after Ishbel.
Vorstus thought about telling Lister what Maximilian had told him about the Twisted Tower, but decided against it. The Twisted Tower could wait—what everyone needed to do now was to ensure Maximilian’s survival.
“Fool,” Vorstus muttered one more time.
The day after Maximilian had left, accompanied only by two Emerald Guardsmen called Serge and Doyle, Vorstus went to Maximilian’s bedchamber late one night.
He was dressed in traveling clothes, and he carried a leather satchel that hung loose and empty.
Vorstus went directly to that particular section of floor and made the same gesture with his hand that Maximilian had used to open the trapdoor.
Then he descended into the Persimius Chamber.
The column that had once held the queen’s ring was empty save for its cushion.
Good. Maximilian had taken the ring with him.
Vorstus turned his eye to the crown.
It seethed with a darkness so profound that its three entwined bands of gold were all but hidden.
“I wonder if Maximilian came down here to see this before he left?” Vorstus muttered to himself, knowing that Maximilian probably hadn’t—that he’d wanted no reason to abandon his foolish quest for Ishbel.
Vorstus walked over to the crown and, without any hesitation, seized it in both hands.
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