Cast in Secrets and Shadow

by Andrea Robertson

  Messages from Zenar came with more frequency these days than at any other point in their shared lifetimes. That fact brought Liran no joy, though he sometimes experienced twinges of regret that his brother was an adversary rather than an ally. He walked at a fast clip from the military offices that occupied the former palace to the Temple of Vokk. It was a relatively brief trip; the two buildings were separated by a courtyard dominated by a garden and glasshouse, where the wizards cultivated the ingredients for their myriad elixirs and potions.

  He crossed the threshold into the side entrance of the temple. The place always smelled wrong to him. He could tolerate the glossy, ever-moving viscous black walls and the garish splashes of gold, but it was the temple’s odor that most unsettled him. It was a noisome mixture of char and something metallic laced with a cloying floral scent that made his stomach churn.

  Liran waited while a servant opened the door to announce his arrival and then hurried out of the commander’s way. Zenar stood next to the wall nearest his desk, holding a silver chalice in one hand. He made an odd gesture with his free hand, and a stream of black liquid slithered off the wall and settled into the chalice.

  “Brother.” Zenar returned to his desk and took a seat. He motioned for Liran to do the same before taking a sip from the chalice. When he set the cup down, black slime clung to his lips, which he licked away with relish.

  What is that? Liran had asked the first time he’d seen his brother quaff the stuff.

  Power had been Zenar’s answer.

  “I have troubling news,” Zenar said.

  The tenor of his voice caught Liran off guard. His brother did sound troubled, and that was surprising. Zenar was very rarely unnerved.

  “What’s the problem?” Liran asked.

  Zenar ran a hand over his hair—another surprising quirk, Liran thought; his brother believed himself above physical tells—then folded his arms across his chest.

  “Saetlund’s gods are taking an active role in the Loresmith’s quest.”

  Liran pressed his lips together. He wanted to laugh, but knew that would be a bad idea.

  “You’ll have to say that again.”

  Obviously annoyed, Zenar spoke slowly, as if his brother were a child. “The gods of this kingdom are helping the Loresmith.”

  Liran cleared his throat. “How do you know that?”

  “The boy,” Zenar replied with a disgusted twist of his mouth. “Prince Eamon. He returned to us with vital information regarding the Loresmith.”

  “What do you mean he returned to you?” Liran asked, a steel fist closing around his heart.

  “I mean he’s here.”

  Liran reeled as if he’d caught a punch to the gut. He hadn’t bothered to report Zenar’s claims about his influence over the lost heirs of Dentroth. Long gaps between his correspondence with the rebels wasn’t unusual. They kept their exchanges few and spare—it was far too risky to do otherwise. Liran kept them informed of Vokkan military strategy and movements as well as the status of ongoing rebellions in other parts of the empire. Both Liran and the rebels were waiting for a critical juncture of numbers and unrest that would allow them to move against the empire. But the rebels had never offered news of nor inquired about the missing royal twins or the mythical Loresmith. If such things were afoot, surely they would have alerted him to these facts. Had they, Liran might have paid more heed to Zenar’s ramblings about folktales and legends.

  He couldn’t deny that knowledge of Eamon’s choices would frighten and infuriate the rebels, but until now he’d doubted his brother’s claims of influence over the young man and even more so that one of Dentroth’s heirs would actively collude with Vokkan wizards. Zenar was prone to self-flattery and exaggeration. Liran had assumed that Zenar’s minions had managed to track down Dentroth’s heirs and keep tabs on their movements, but nothing more. He’d even wondered if the pair of youths who’d landed on Saetlund’s shores were the prince and princess at all. Plenty of imposters would be happy to ingratiate themselves with a son of Emperor Fauld.

  For that reason, Liran hadn’t alerted the resistance leaders to Eamon’s potential treachery without proof beyond his brother’s words. This turn of events shook him to the core. Yet even now, with Zenar claiming Eamon was in his custody, Liran didn’t completely believe it. But if it was true, he’d severely underestimated his brother and feared what that might cost his secret allies.

  Despite Liran’s aversion to all business involving the wizards, the presence of the young Prince Eamon in Five Rivers demanded his immediate and close attention. A part of him was relieved that no word from the Resistance had come regarding this turn of events, for he believed it would include only one order: assassinate.

  He believed in the rebels’ cause because the Vokkan conquest not only meant control of the kingdom, but would also ultimately lead to the destruction of the land as it had in each territory the empire claimed. Liran had borne witness to it many times over. The world was being devoured by Vokk’s insatiable hunger. Its fields were barren, its people starving. Saetlund was the final conquest, and Liran had come to realize that the end of Saetlund would become the end of the world. So he had allied himself with the Resistance, but he was a soldier, not a murderer. That wouldn’t change.

  “Under what circumstances did you obtain this information?” Liran knew better than to directly question the verity of Eamon’s identity, but there were other ways to fully grasp the situation.

  Zenar scoffed. “I didn’t torture him, since it’s obvious that’s what you’re asking. I gave him a potion that loosened his tongue. Nothing more.”

  “Why would you trust what the boy says?” Shaking his head, Liran went on, “He abandoned the task you gave him to come here. What if the pressure became too much for him and he simply ran away? You’ve told me how fragile he is.”

  He was glad to learn the young prince hadn’t been harmed. As much as his father and brother favored it, Liran had never believed torture provided truth.

  “His body is fragile, plagued by chronic illness,” Zenar shot back. “But he has an incredible mind. That’s why he’s been useful.”

  He steepled his fingers and stared into the space behind Liran. “As to why he came here . . . I’m still not sure. He claims it’s because he encountered Saetlund’s gods and believed we needed to know immediately.”

  “There are no gods but Vokk,” Liran replied out of habit. He’d seen no evidence of the existence of other deities, but Vokk had demonstrated many times how very real he was. His gut twisted at the memory of horrors he’d witnessed, things he tried to lock away in the recesses of his mind.

  “Don’t behave like a dullard, Liran.” Zenar scoffed. “You may be more comfortable dealing with problems of a material nature, but it’s time to put aside these pedestrian notions you cling to. Saetlund’s gods are very real, but until recently all signs pointed to their having abandoned the kingdom well before we conquered it. Unfortunately it seems they’ve taken an interest in recent events. An active interest.”

  “What proof do you have beyond this boy’s words?” Liran had long been immune to Zenar’s insults.

  Zenar tsk’d as he stood up. “Come around the desk.”

  Liran had paid no notice to what occupied Zenar’s desk, but his brother now unrolled a length of vellum until it covered the entire surface and placed weights to hold the scroll open.

  “What is it?” Liran asked as he joined Zenar behind the desk.

  “A scroll from one of their gods,” Zenar replied in a reverent tone. “Specifically, Ofrit, known as the Alchemist. He is the god of wit and wisdom, worshipped by scholars, inventors, healers, and assassins.”

  “Healers and assassins?” Liran frowned.

  With an impatient sigh, Zenar said, “Some of the same plants that have healing properties can also be used to kill.” He snickered. “Ofrit is also the god of
contrariness.”

  “How did the boy come by this scroll?” Liran glanced at the parchment. Two-thirds of it was covered with writing, the other third featured a map of Saetlund.

  “It was placed in his hands by the god himself,” Zenar replied. “A guide for the Loresmith on her quest.”

  Liran looked at his brother sharply. “The Loresmith is a woman?”

  “A girl.” Zenar didn’t bother to hide his disgust. “The daughter of Dentroth’s blacksmith. He died in the conquest, if you recall, but being of his line, she has the inherent ability to become the next Loresmith.”

  “Wait, become the Loresmith?” Liran folded his arms across his chest. “Is she or is she not the Loresmith?”

  “I’m not going to confuse you by explaining how she is both,” Zenar snapped. “All you need to know is that we now have the means to intercept her. As troubling as the appearance of Saetlund’s gods is, Prince Eamon has given us a great gift.”

  Grinding his teeth, Liran said, “You’re going to kidnap this girl? Why not just kill her if she’s such a threat?”

  Liran didn’t want the girl to die, but he needed to know what Zenar was planning.

  “There is a vital conversation I must have with the Loresmith.” Zenar pinched the bridge of his nose. “And it must take place before she completes her quest.”

  He stabbed a finger at the map. “According to Prince Eamon, there is no other map like this in existence.”

  Liran bent over the map. It resembled other maps of Saetlund save large markers naming locations he’d never heard of: the Tangle, Senn’s Lair, and Nava’s Ire, among others.

  Indicating the unusual markers, Zenar said, “These are hidden sites sacred to Saetlund’s gods. The Loresmith must visit each of them to complete her quest.”

  His finger moved to the Tangle. “Given where Eamon parted ways from the group, it follows that this will be the first site they visit. I’m sending agents to the village nearest the Tangle in order to confirm my theory, but I believe the Loresmith may have already moved on.” His finger traced a line north. “To here.”

  “The Great Market isn’t a hidden site,” Liran remarked. “It’s arguably the busiest place in Saetlund.”

  “Indeed,” Zenar said. “Where the Loresmith needs to go is Nava’s Ire in Kelden, but without this map she doesn’t know where it is. She’ll be forced to seek clues as to its location at the Great Market—also known as Nava’s Bounty, a sacred site of their fertility goddess. We’ve been meaning to root out a pocket of heathens still worshipping Nava there. This errand solves two problems at once.”

  His eyes narrowed. “It is an errand you shall run.”

  Liran stepped away from the desk. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  “Please, brother.” Zenar lifted his hands as if to pacify Liran. “This is not an order. It is a favor.”

  “So I’m doing you favors now.” The hairs on the back of Liran’s neck stood on end. Zenar wasn’t like this. He closely guarded any operations his wizards undertook and regarded the military, including his brother, with contempt.

  “You are . . . I hope.” Zenar spoke carefully. “Because I have something for you in return. A way out.”

  A light flared in Zenar’s gaze that made Liran’s skin crawl. “I don’t understand.”

  “I can save you. Save us both.” Zenar’s mouth stretched into a skeletal grin. “The time has come for the reign of Fauld the Ever-Living to end.”

  Before Liran could respond, there came a rapid knocking at the door.

  “Come!” Zenar shouted.

  A messenger ran into the room, practically falling on Zenar’s desk. Zenar plucked an envelope out of the messenger’s hand.

  “You may go.”

  Though it hardly seemed possible, the messenger rushed out of the room faster than he’d entered.

  After reading the message, Zenar turned to Liran with a placid expression, as if he hadn’t just announced his plans to commit treason.

  “This should be helpful for your errand,” Zenar said, handing the message to him. “Apparently, they have a giant with them.”

  13

  The god had vanished, but the snake was still there.

  That wasn’t what Ara had expected, and it was a problem.

  Her hands balled into fists at the injustice of it.

  I solved the puzzle! I freed Ofrit! So why am I still trapped in this cave with a giant python?

  The snake should have disappeared with the god.

  But it hadn’t. And that had to mean her trial wasn’t finished. There was another puzzle to solve here.

  She groaned inwardly as her eyes swept the cavern once more.

  Empty, but for herself and the deadly serpent.

  The python lying between Ara and the only way out of this place. Unmoving, the creature had gone back to looking like a pile of rocks. The camouflage only made the snake seem more dangerous.

  Ara crouched, shifting her weight from the balls of her feet to her heels as she turned ideas over in her mind.

  Perhaps she could use Ironbranch to vault over the snake and into the passage.

  No. The ceiling was too low for that.

  Run past it and hope she was fast enough?

  That seemed a poor option, too. There was space—five feet, give or take, between the snake and the side of the cavern—but rushing toward the snake, even if not straight at it, was likely to provoke an attack. She didn’t like the odds of successfully defending herself against what had to be a master hunter.

  A bittersweet smile crossed her lips as she imagined Joar encountering such a monstrous beast. In Ara’s place he’d likely be ecstatic.

  Then his voice was in her mind. I kill only when attacked.

  Joar would admire the python and not want to harm it. How would he deal with this predator?

  Ara knew not to provoke it, but she didn’t know if that would be enough. If the snake was hungry or inherently aggressive, she stood little chance of getting by without a fight. She shuddered at the thought of being crushed in those massive coils of pure muscle. The idea of being eaten was too terrible to comprehend.

  Would you really eat me? she asked the snake silently. Lahvja warned that you’re a man-eater.

  But that wasn’t exactly what Lahvja had said, was it?

  The summoner had told Ara the only snakes rumored to eat humans were amethyst pythons. Rumors were not always truth. When Old Imgar had taken Ara into the woods and taught her survival skills, he’d spoken of the forest’s predators.

  There are many fearsome tales about ravenous wolves and raging bears, he’d said. But truth be told, it’s rare for wolves to hunt a person or bears to attack. Most animals do what they can to avoid people, because more often than not people cause trouble where we go—troubles for nature’s creature and for nature itself.

  The python was large enough to eat a person, but would that be its primary instinct? How likely was it that this snake had even encountered a human before? Ara and her friends had spent days tramping through the wilds, and they’d encountered no one. From the reaction of the villagers at the inn, it seemed like Vijerians kept away from this part of the jungle.

  If I’m the first person this snake has seen—Ara didn’t know whether Ofrit, being a god, counted—there’s a chance it won’t regard me as prey.

  But it could think I’m dangerous. It could judge me a threat.

  Judgment.

  Her mind flashed to the Bone Forest and the trees laden with butcher crows. Their massive black wings and bright, shining eyes. The deafening caws that drove her to her knees.

  Ara gazed at the snake with a new awareness. This is not another puzzle. This is where I will be judged.

  With a shiver, she wondered if she would be found worthy this time.

  Ara recalled Lahvja’s p
layful exchange with the green snake in the village, and that the snakes at the springs had let her and Teth depart without incident.

  I could never eat a snake. Snakes are friends, Lahvja had said.

  I need to convince this python that I’m a friend. Or at least harmless.

  Staying low, Ara crept to the side wall she would need to follow to reach the passage out. The snake lifted its head; its tongue flicked as she moved. Once against the wall, she went still.

  If only Ofrit hadn’t thrown those rocks. That certainly hadn’t put her in the snake’s good graces.

  Ara tensed when the python began to move, but it wasn’t coming toward her and seemed to be repositioning itself against the other wall.

  Ofrit had called it Mother. Why?

  Peering through the shadows, Ara noticed for the first time that the snake, while still giant, was made to appear even larger because it was coiled around something.

  A nest. It has to be. Ara’s heart stuttered.

  If the python was protecting a clutch of eggs, that made her all the more dangerous. The most aggressive animals in the north were moose and bears guarding their young.

  Ara let out a slow, shaky breath.

  Mother.

  She would have to show that she was threat to neither the snake nor her unborn. She must honor the guardian of this sacred place. Closing her eyes, Ara called on who she believed could offer protection in this moment.

  Merciful Nava, bountiful mother, guide my steps in this place. Let there be peace between me and your blessed.

  Opening her eyes, careful not to make any sudden movements, Ara forced herself to return Ironbranch to its sheath. She pressed herself against the wall, trying to make herself as small as she could.