Shadow & Flame

by Mindee Arnett

  She swallowed the first bite, then the second and third. The fourth bite, she felt something wriggling in her mouth. With a yelp, she spit the food back into her bowl.

  Dal froze, spoon midway to his mouth. “What is it?”

  “Poison?” Tira said, straining to look at Kate through the bars.

  Kate didn’t answer, her gaze transfixed on the writhing object in her bowl. It resembled a worm, long and slender and the color of vomit. For a second, Kate thought she might vomit, but then the worm started to unfold.

  Blinking, she realized it was a piece of parchment and plucked it out of the bowl just as words began to appear on its surface.

  We’re working on getting you out. Leave some of your hair in the bowl. Everyone else should do the same just in case. Eat this once you’ve read it.

  “Kate?” Dal said, annoyed now. “What’s going on over there?”

  “It’s a note, from Harue.” She read it aloud.

  Laurent made a face, indignant. “Why in the three hells does she need some hair?”

  “For a spell, of course.” Tira grinned. “I knew she’d come through.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Dal warned. “Harue’s wild ideas don’t always go off as planned. Remember the time she wanted to make giant attack spiders?”

  Kate winced at the memory. Harue had wanted Kate to be present to control the spider with her sway once it was big enough to eat a person. But the poor creature had collapsed under its own weight the moment the spell was completed, spraying Kate and Harue both with the gore of its innards, which exploded like a popped soap bubble.

  Shaking the memory off, Kate dangled the sodden note before her. “Do I really have to eat this thing?” She couldn’t forget the way it had a resembled a live worm just moments ago. And felt like one too inside her mouth. She shuddered.

  “Yes, you must. We can’t let anyone find it,” Tira said.

  “You do it then.” Kate held the note toward her through the bars.

  Tira looked affronted. “It was already in your mouth! Besides, Harue sent it to you. There must be a reason.”

  “Coward,” Kate groused, only she had to include herself in that statement. She began to tear the parchment into small strips and drop them back in the bowl, where thankfully they blended in with the porridge. Once done, she forced herself to take huge bites, swallowing it all down quickly. She felt that wriggling again several times more, but decided it was just her imagination. Still, it took her a long time to eat it all.

  When the servants came back that evening with their broth and to take the morning’s bowls, Kate examined their faces, wondering if maybe one of them was Harue in disguise, as both were too tall to be Wen. It was impossible to tell. Each of the maids wore earrings and were unremarkable in appearance. In the end, Kate could only hope that the hairs they’d each placed inside their bowls would be enough for Harue to work her magic—and hopefully not get them all killed in the process.

  Perhaps we will be free by morning, Kate thought as she curled up on the floor, legs tucked and her head resting on her arms. She didn’t think she would be able to sleep, but before long she drifted off—only to be awakened a short time later by the loud creak of the door in the outer room opening, far too early for breakfast. Kate sat up at once, heart hammering against her chest. Her days had fallen into such a steady rhythm that this disturbance felt like the entire world tipping sideways.

  Four guards entered the room, carrying a prisoner between them. The man was slumped over, unconscious. His head lolled from side to side as the guards dragged him toward the cells.

  Kate’s pounding heart slowed and seemed to stop altogether as she recognized the man’s face beneath the heavy swelling and myriad of bruises. She would know that birthmark anywhere, like spilled wine across his nose and cheeks.

  Raith.

  Kate’s heart sank into her stomach, and tears welled up in her eyes. It seemed Edwin had been telling the truth all along—Farhold had indeed fallen. The Rising was defeated. All they’d fought for was gone.

  14

  Corwin

  CORWIN LAY AWAKE CONTEMPLATING his death.

  Bonner and Nadira had left hours before with a promise to return in a few days, as soon as they were able to slip away. They didn’t tell Corwin any details of how they were able to move about the palace unseen, and he supposed that was wise. Gavril might see it in Corwin’s mind and learn the truth. Even now, he would have to try to hide the memory of their visit if Gavril entered his mind again.

  All you have to do is die, Bonner had said. It would be easy, he had explained. With her magic, Nadira would stop Corwin’s heart. Once he was well and truly dead, she would reach in and start it up again.

  “How many times have you done this?” Corwin asked, casting her a wary glance.

  “Enough,” she answered cryptically.

  “And how many times have you been unable to revive the person?”

  “Enough,” Bonner replied for her. “But the risk is worth it. It’s the only way to be free of him.” Bonner had then gone on to explain how they had discovered the solution.

  “I died during a training session. I was sparring with another earthist, and she hit me square in the chest with a rock the size of my fist.” Bonner thumped his left breast with his palm. “It stopped my heart on impact. For four minutes it didn’t beat. Not until Nadira restarted it. Afterward I realized that even though Gavril still spoke into my mind, he could no longer compel me. And for those of us who have risen, all the nenath does is enhance our power. It’s no longer addictive.”

  Hearing this, Corwin knew Bonner was right—it was a risk worth taking. Corwin would’ve done it right then if they’d been able. But like that of all wilders, Nadira’s magic didn’t work at night. Corwin could barely hide his disappointment. At least not then.

  But now, as he stared up at the shadow-strewn ceiling, his neck aching from the harsh angle of the divan, he realized that Bonner’s solution wouldn’t work. He raised his right palm and traced the uror brand with his left index finger, feeling each swell and divot, the memory of how much it had hurt still fresh. He couldn’t risk it, not with the uror unresolved. It wasn’t that he was afraid of dying. Instead he feared that if he did die, no matter for how short a time, the uror trial might end and Edwin would have a rightful claim to the throne. The magic was released at death—that much he knew.

  And he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t give up his birthright and abandon his people to Edwin permanently, not when so many of those people were wilders—targets of Edwin’s hate and prejudice. He would have to endure. For Kate. For Bonner. For all of them, and the future that might still be possible once the threat of Seva was ended.

  The night wore on, and sleep eventually overtook him, but he woke up early, pale light seeping through the door into the bedroom. He dressed quickly and slipped out while Eravis still slept, heading back to the library. He spent the entire day there, attempting to read The Death of Sevan. Zan brought him his meals and his nenath dose. The drink was bitterer than ever before now that Corwin knew what Gavril could do, would do, sometime soon. He wanted to resist, but it was pointless. Only death will free me.

  Mine . . . or perhaps his?

  He wondered why Bonner hadn’t just killed Gavril already, for surely his death would free them all in one blow, like slicing through an impossible knot with one quick swing of the knife. Then again, he supposed Bonner surely had considered the idea, remembering his palpable hatred of the man. The fact that Gavril remained alive must mean killing him would be no easy feat, free will or not. It made sense. Gavril was well insulated, surrounded by hundreds of wilders still bound to his will, ready to die for him at a moment’s thought. Bonner needed to break Gavril’s hold over the wilders—only then would they have any hope of killing him.

  It wasn’t a great plan, but it was better than nothing. The chance that it might work brought Corwin some small amount of comfort throughout the rest of the da
y, allowing him to focus on his readings. His good mood waned only as he returned to his chambers that night, well past dark.

  The soft sounds of music lured him out onto the balcony, where he found Eravis seated near the ledge, a harp set on her lap while her slender fingers caressed the strings. She had her eyes closed in concentration, a blissful expression on her face, unlike any he’d ever seen there before. For a moment he worried this was another attempt to seduce him, for indeed the music was beautiful and soothing, but then she struck a bad note, and her eyes flashed open in a glare.

  “Dammit,” she said, the curse completely without guile. “That was terrible.”

  Corwin cleared his throat. “Oh, I don’t know. It was quite pretty up until that last bit.”

  “Oh.” Eravis stood abruptly, fingers grazing the strings to produce more unpleasant sounds. “I didn’t know you were here.” She paused, her nervous manner making Corwin wonder just how much she remembered about their conversation last night. “I mean, it was so late, I guessed you were sleeping somewhere else tonight.”

  Where else could I go? Corwin’s emotions churned inside him as he stared at her. He didn’t know what to do. There seemed no right answer in this predicament, no option he could live with. Yet after hearing what she feared about Gavril, he could no longer view her simply as his enemy.

  “The time got away from me,” Corwin replied.

  With a stilted nod, she turned toward a nearby table and set the harp back in its case.

  “Please, you don’t have to stop playing on my account,” Corwin said. “It truly was pretty.”

  Eravis looked up, her expression courteous but distant. “Thank you, but no. I play only for myself.”

  “Very well.” He considered leaving it at that, but her vulnerable expression now, combined with the memory of what she’d confessed the night before, refused to let him. “Would you care for another game of Peril then? If I recall, you almost won last time. Your luck might be better tonight.”

  Doubt crossed like a shadow over her face, then faded. “Perhaps it will.” She offered him a small smile, a sign she was willing to accept this truce he was offering.

  They played on the balcony, beneath the glistening, star-kissed sky. The pleasant breeze restlessly toyed with Eravis’s long hair, forcing her to spend half her time brushing it off her cheeks. She barely seemed to notice.

  Corwin won the first hand but Eravis beat him on the next two, her glee in the victory almost childlike in its sheer delight. For the first time since his emergence from the Sevan prison, Corwin found he was enjoying himself, feeling almost comfortable for once. It helped that he no longer felt the urge to glean useful information from Eravis. Instead he asked her normal things, about her life and interests. She was standoffish at first but slowly began to relax, revealing her love of both music and art, as well as climbing trees, of all things.

  “You see this scar?” She pointed to the tip of her elbow, marred by a jagged white line. “I was climbing a tree in the west garden not realizing it had been infested by beetles and was starting to rot. I almost made it to the top when the bough broke. I managed to grab onto the trunk and slide down, but not before gouging myself on a limb.”

  Corwin winced. “That must’ve hurt.”

  Eravis grinned. “You’d think, but what was worse was all the splinters in my legs. My nurse had to sit on me to get them out.”

  Picturing a young Eravis fighting her nurse with the same ferocity she’d used to fight him the day they first met made Corwin laugh. Then he started to tell her one of his own childhood tales of woe but stopped himself as he realized he couldn’t relay the story without talking about Kate. She’d been a part of all his favorite childhood adventures. And he couldn’t talk about Kate to Eravis, no matter how congenial the atmosphere between them this night. Thinking about her was hard enough, let alone speaking her name aloud.

  Eravis seemed to sense the sudden tension in him, for she quickly gathered the cards, then rose from her chair. “Thank you for a pleasant evening, but it’s late.” With that, she turned toward the bedroom.

  Corwin watched her retreat, but called her name as she reached the door. “You look lovely tonight,” he said, meaning it. He might not be able to give her what she wanted from him, but he could at least offer her some reassurance about her part in it. “And I think under better circumstance we might’ve been friends.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She turned, then stopped halfway, glancing back at him with a solemn expression. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what my father has done to you and your people.”

  And to us, he thought, as if hearing her silent words.

  “Good night, Eravis,” Corwin replied, his tumultuous emotions putting a rasp into his voice. “May you rest easy.”

  The next few days passed in the same manner—Corwin leaving early to spend his time in the library and then returning late to find Eravis waiting for him with some sort of game at hand, sometimes cards and sometimes on a playing board. The time passed easily between them, the tense, awkward moments occurring less frequently as they established the boundaries of their new relationship, determining through trial and error which subjects were safe and which were not. That was until they went to say good night. There was no helping the awkwardness then as Eravis disappeared into the bedroom and Corwin lay down on the divan. Even still, Corwin’s evenings quickly become the best part of his days, a few hours of peace where he could be himself for a little while.

  Then one night, a week later, Bonner and Nadira came again.

  They didn’t drug Eravis this time. Corwin had suggested there was no need so long as they waited until it was late and met him in the main room. When Corwin told Bonner why he couldn’t go through with breaking Gavril’s hold on him, he watched the man’s expression darken.

  “Who’s to say there will even be a Rime left to save if we don’t free you, Corwin?” he said.

  “There might not be,” Corwin admitted. “But if we give up Rime to Edwin’s wilder-hating regime, everyone here will still be without a home. I can’t take that risk, not when there’s another option. We should focus on killing Gavril.”

  Nadira scowled in a way that made him think of a wildcat hissing. “You think we haven’t tried? He’s impossible to get to. It’s not just the other wilders and the soldiers. He’s protected by charms and spells as well. Even with my magic, I can’t get near him.”

  “She’s right.” A muscle ticked in Bonner’s jaw. “Gavril is nearly as powerful as Rendborne.”

  “We have to try,” Corwin insisted, refusing to give up hope. He had to be free of Gavril. Getting to know Eravis these last few days had only made it more imperative. “I was thinking he might be vulnerable on the journey across the sea. Or when we get to Rime.” Their departure was just a few days away now, but they had decided earlier that they couldn’t send someone to give warning. If even one wilder was discovered to be free of Gavril’s control, the whole plan would collapse. To make matters worse, Corwin had no hope of escaping Eravis on the journey either. Magnar had already decided that she would sail with them, her presence an undeniable symbol of the union between Rime and Seva. But her presence was also a complication he didn’t need. He’d come to care for her. Enough that he didn’t want her thrust into the danger that surely awaited them, especially if Bonner succeeded.

  “If we don’t either stop Gavril or free you from his control before we reach Rime,” Bonner said, sounding grimmer than ever, “the kingdom will fall.”

  Corwin looked at his uror brand then, weighing his decision, but in the end he held to it. He would rather have Rime fall than allow it to rot from within.

  The next day, Corwin once again went to the library. He was nearly through reading the translation of The Death of Sevan, and it was as Lutho had said—lacking. Not only were there clearly sections missing, the author was inconsistent about the translation, sometimes leaving in words in Aeos. Whenever he did this, the footn
ote was always the same: There is no appropriate corresponding word in our language, and any substitute might risk distorting the meaning.

  Corwin couldn’t decide if the man was lazy or excessively paranoid about inaccuracies. He did at least occasionally add clarifying notes, although they were sometimes less than helpful. Such as the one concerning how Fanen was finally able to kill the god Sevan. It was no easy thing to kill a god—impossible, most would say. Indeed, even this book chronicled how “no iron could pierce the god, no fire burn, no magical poison affect.” But Fanen had found the answer in something called “daleth.” It was a weaponized substance of some sort, but Corwin couldn’t discern anything about it beyond that. The footnote simply added that it was a “godslayer.”

  “That’s useful,” Corwin muttered under his breath. If he had some of this daleth, he could use it on Gavril. A mere wilder would be no match for such a power, no matter how insulated he might be. But it didn’t matter. Daleth was as unknowable as the rest of the story—while some elements were likely real, the idea of the Fanes’ ancestor having killed a god was nothing more than vanity, and he didn’t know what parts of the tale to believe.

  Then Corwin remembered where he was—a place filled with people devoted to knowledge and learning. Surely, if daleth did exist, one of the librarians could offer insight on it.

  Leaving the book opened on the table, he got up in search of Lutho, but he wasn’t in his office. There were other librarians about, but Corwin didn’t want to ask them in the event Lutho might take offense. He’d gotten to know the man well enough to sense his pride when it came to his position. He wasn’t just a librarian, but a senior librarian. Making a mental note to ask him about it later, Corwin returned to the desk where he’d been working only to find someone sitting in his chair, leaned over the book.