Hide. Bribe. Stab.
~ Partly obscured graffiti on an alley wall in Sevarre
THE LADY LED US not to the library—oh so thoughtful for not-a-lord no’Maru to give us the ancient king’s creepy study where we might contemplate our impending doom—but toward the Sevaare chambers.
I very much wanted to again suggest running away.
Imbril tagged along behind us, muttering. Someone in guard livery stood at our door, and at first I thought the king or no’Maru had sent another prison warden to our door, but then Lisel pivoted to face us.
Her expression flickered between relief and uncertainty. “So there’s to be no Devouring? And King Mikhalthe believes we found another strategy in Velderrey?”
When no one else answered her, I shrugged. “It doesn’t seem any more likely when you say it, sorry.”
She pushed open the door for us and we all trooped inside.
The lady kept walking straight to the smaller second chamber and yanked the screens closed behind her.
When Zik glanced at me helplessly, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, I shrugged again. “Knock,” I told him. “She might let you in.”
He did, and she did, but the screens slammed behind them again.
I sighed and glanced at the remaining two. “Long days, longer nights. Might we take this up again tomorrow morning in that awful library?”
Imbril stared at me, his fists as tight as his soft hands could go. “You have more opinions and orders than seems appropriate for someone like you.”
I tilted my head. “Oh, you mean someone charged with saving the world by His so very brightly Illuminating, King of the Living Lands, Mikhalthe the Numinous and whatnot, third-facet master of the diamonde light and discourteous interruptions—”
The lor stiffened. “You dare to mock?”
“Apparently it’s only failing that we dare not,” I reminded him. “But if you want to complain about who shall have a voice in our impossible task, I’ll summon the Dragon Prince to take my place since I hear he rarely speaks.”
“Summon,” the lor sputtered.
I bared my teeth in a rude smile. “I’m sure a drop of my impure blood will bring him running.”
Lisel rubbed her temple. “Please don’t.”
But now that I’d said it, it made sense. “He’s the one who destroyed the demons—well, the dragon did the deed, but at his command. If Lady Dyania is meant to be the key, then Prince Aric is…” I wrinkled my nose.
“The door?” Lisel supplied helpfully.
“Padlock, perhaps,” the lor snapped. “Rusted and chained, on a portal never meant to be opened.”
Huffing out an annoyed breath, I returned to our door and held it open. “Goodnight,” I told them. “The lady must rest after an enlivening evening of not being killed. Yet. We’ll see you in the morning at which point we have, apparently, one day to whip together a plan to present to an impatient king to save the Living Lands. So again, goodnight.”
Lisel blinked and Imbril scowled, but they made their way out the door. “Goodnight, Fei,” Lisel murmured, and I nodded.
Watching them go, I fished the dull blade out of my boot and rejiggered the lock—the door lock, not the Prince Aric lock, what had I meant by that anyway?—so I could barricade us within. We were far enough from the grand gallery that no noise drifted to me down the hall, but a whisper of an echo of a murmur made me freeze. Not music, not voices, but the sound lifted the hair at my nape.
Bracing myself in the doorway, I leaned out, looking both ways.
Nothing. Not even a flicker in the wall sconces.
Locking up with an extra decisive click, I returned to the dressing room since Zik was still ensconced with the lady in her room. As I stripped out of the fancy tunic and retrieved my good knife from under the cot, the obsidian shard fell out of my trouser pocket. I kicked it into the corner and fell into bed.
Zik woke me the next morning before even the grayest morning light had paled the window.
I’d tossed and turned all night and it seemed like I’d only just fallen asleep before he was tugging on my blanket. I groaned as he kept shaking my shoulder.
“Lisel stopped by and said the morning meal will be served in the library,” he informed me.
“Breaking our fast under the gimlet glares of the demons that ate part of a king and would gleefully consume us. Oh yes, let’s do that.” I cracked one eye to peer at him and noted with some asperity, “You seem much refreshed from last night.”
“The lady explained to me,” he said. “She said how it takes threads of many hues to weave a tapestry, as it takes many auras to unify the Living Lands. Then she said a blessing over me, ya. And now I am not so scared.”
If only my own nerves could be assuaged by such simple platitudes. With a muttered curse, I kicked back the blankets and slouched after Zik. By the time I’d emptied my bladder and the lingering taint of yombark from my mouth, he and the lady were waiting for me. I slumped behind them to the library.
It didn’t look any friendlier now than it had before, with its depictions of these monstrosities we were now responsible for ending. But the aromas of fresh herb bread and spicy sausages lured me in just as the lady’s pure aura had spelled the demons’ misfortune. Lor Imbril and Lisel were already there, steaming cups of something fragrant in their hands, although they hadn’t yet helped themselves to the small banquet set on the sideboard. I gazed a little mournfully at the hard liquor arranged behind, but drunkenness would just make things worse; I’d learned that more than once.
“Shall I speak a blessing over the repast, my lady?” Imbril gestured at the platters.
She inclined her head. “Please, Lor Imbril.”
He gazed at her wistfully. “Perhaps I may beseech you to call me simply Imbril? Since these are strange, urgent times, some familiarity is to be forgiven.”
“Indeed.” She smiled at him. “And so you shall call me Dyania.”
He stammered. “Oh no, I didn’t mean to seek such intimacy in return.”
She looked at all of us. “The same goes for us all. What meaning in such distinctions when our victory or defeat will be found together?”
I thought the lor did not lean quite so egalitarian, judging by his frown, but the rest of us nodded dutifully without actually saying anything.
Whether we called him lor or not, Imbril was pleasingly quick with his blessing, and we assembled our plates with equal efficiency. Lisel distributed three more large mugs of the fragrant, dark beverage.
Dyania took a drink and exclaimed, “Kavé! We get it but rarely in Sevaare, and my brother almost never shared.”
I took a more careful sip, as did Zik, and we looked at each other. “No worse than yombark,” he announced.
“Here, try it with some cream.” The lady poured with her own hand into Zik’s cup and mine.
“Kavé has enough aura-lifting properties to bring the morning into sharper focus,” Imbril said, taking another slug of his own.
“As if the demons’ fangs and the king’s sword aren’t sharp enough,” I muttered. But I found the lady was right; the cream softened the bitterness enough that I took another drink, and the warmth was welcome in my belly since the sun showed no particular inclination to brighten our endeavor.
Imbril led us to a large table in the corner, strewn with books and lit with several lamps. “I took the liberty of selecting some chronicles from Ormonde’s time. If you have any other suggestions, my lady…” He blushed. “Dyania.”
“We didn’t have many original texts in Sevaare,” she said. “But we had copies, as well as secondary accounts from some others, which is where I read about bloodfire runes.”
Burning blood runes… The words alone probably should’ve put me off my sausage, but the few mouthfuls I’d grabbed last night hadn’t been enough. As lor and lady settled onto matching chairs at the corner of the table, Lisel, Zik, and I kept eating.
Not everyone was cut of scholarly cloth. As Zik had said, it took many hues to color the world. I might not know my own tint in the warp and weft, but maybe another cup of kavé would bring it clear as the lor promised.
Eventually, even waif and warrior bellies got full, so we three moved away from the diligently studying would-be sages. Zik crept toward the nearest demon statue, peering at it cautiously, as if it might attack.
He turned away with a shudder, looking at Lisel. “Have you fought many demons?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been called out to three attacks. All three times took days of travel so by the time we arrived, there was nothing but aftermath. Velderrey was my first engagement.” She didn’t actually shudder, but she glanced away. “My brother fought, many times. I always wanted to follow in his footsteps, but he told our father I didn’t have what it took to ride with his troops.” Her jaw flexed. “That’s why I joined the hartiers instead. The cavalcade to gather the Chosen Ones for the Devouring was the first time my brother and I traveled together.” Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I suppose in the end he was right about my worthiness to serve with him.”
Zik took a step closer. “Maybe, since he knew it was dangerous, he wanted you to be someplace safer.”
Lisel gazed down at him. “Maybe.” Although she clearly didn’t believe it, even less did she want to dismiss his optimistic interpretation. “And yet now it seems we are in more danger than he ever knew.”
I swallowed the bitterness of the kavé, wondering which would get us first: hungry demons or a disappointed king.
Lisel led us around the library, quietly telling us about the obsessively macabre works Ormonde had left behind. Apparently it was a rite of passage among High Keep youth to sneak into the library in the darkest hours to frighten themselves with the demonic depictions.
Each work had a story associated with it, and although I wasn’t clear whether these stories were backed up by historical proof, they made for compelling listening—at least in the wan light of day. Some of the demons had been destroyed by blessings, some by grim butcherings, most falling under the fangs and claws and annihilating breath of the conquered dragon.
And yet for all the successful slaughter, it seemed there were always more of the malevolent monsters creeping out of whatever uncanny portals delved into the depths of their hellish domain. If the mighty Ormonde with all his finger bones to call the demon dragon to his command couldn’t save us, what chance did the five of us have to unearth some hitherto unknown path to victory in these old papers?
As I helped myself to another mug of kavé, the lady summoned us, calling out each of our names like a mundane incantation. The stacks of books around her and the lor had only expanded as Lisel enlightened us. Dyania spun one of the gilt-edged tomes toward us, her slender fingertip tapping at the parchment. “We need your help finding this.”
Zik peered closer. “I don’t read, my lady, I’m sorry.”
“Call me Dyania,” she reminded him. “And you don’t need to read anything except this.”
Since I only had a few words of literacy myself—mostly the symbols on such crates and burlap sacks as might be of interest to my immediate needs—I peered closer. The insignia she indicated was nothing I knew, although it seemed that it was now of importance to our survival.
“This is a more powerful version of the rune for the blessing I meant to invoke with my blood in the candle flame,” she explained.
My eye got lost following the squiggles of the symbol on the page. “I thought you said runes don’t work.” Although the demons had come eagerly enough to her misguided attempt.
“I said they can’t be empowered for long,” she corrected, “and must be refreshed with auric energy. My blood in the candle wouldn’t have lasted, but the dragon came in time.”
Imbril nodded. “I’ve heard of bloodfire runes before, of course, but just in passing. In our studies, our tutoring lors told us runes such as this were more like a talisman than a worthwhile weapon.”
The lady pursed her lips. “To be honest, I had no idea if it would work. And I don’t know why it worked as it did, as a lure rather than protection. Maybe there’s something in these old papers about it that your tutors didn’t know, or maybe something better.” She shook her head, her braids shifting around her shoulders like shadows and one stray ray of light. “It’s not that I want to die for the dragon’s restraint, but… At least I knew what that meant, at least it was something I was sure I could do.” When she bit at her lip, the flesh was red as blood. “Now this. I just don’t see how we can make a difference.”
Lisel and the lor gazed at her with identical earnest, yearning expressions, obviously wanting to reassure her but paralyzed by their own doubts.
Doubts had never stopped me. I couldn’t let them.
I cleared my throat. “I already told you, Ani,” I drawled. “Every moment is another opportunity if you squint right.”
Imbril and Lisel both gave me disapproving looks at my familiarity, but at least their shared annoyance with me broke the spell of tragedy. Zik nodded. “Maybe I can’t read, but my da said I was the best patterner in Osiroon. Or our village anyway. If I find the symbol or anything like it, I’ll call it out.” He dragged a stack of books almost as tall as he was to the other end of the table, perched himself up on a chair to grab the top one, and started flipping through the pages.
I lifted one eyebrow. “We are saved.”
Dyania gave me a chiding look. “Saved or no, you all give me hope.”
That wasn’t all they wanted to give the lovely lady, I could tell, and it was only partly because she was fighting to save their lives and all the Living Lands. But what did our reasons matter if we all wanted the same thing?
Maybe the demon dragon prowling somewhere in the midnight void of the obsidian tower would have a different view on the matter if it could see into our hearts, but we’d know about it only if the Dragon Prince bothered to tell us.
We all divvied up the books and scrolls and random parchment sheaves and settled around the library to our task.
After the first few times I said I found it and was totally wrong—neh, no one had ever claimed I was even a poor patterner—Zik ended up sketching me the symbol so I wouldn’t be mistaken again. Still, my eyes swam with squiggles and swirls, and I sneezed from the dust. Scholars and historians and generals and lors had expended so many barrels of ink, seemed like they should’ve come to some sort of agreements about how to save our skins. But no.
At some point, another meal was delivered. I would’ve tried to sneak out with the servers, but I was trapped in this maze of paper and words I couldn’t read.
Also, I couldn’t run, not anymore.
Later, someone ignited more lamps. The lady had curled in a chair by the hearth with another mug of kavé balanced on her lap as her finger ran across the pages. Imbril had at least four tomes spread near him and another in front of him on which he’d been scribbling for hours. Lisel, who could read some, was looking for references to the rune that didn’t include helpful pictures. Zik was asleep under the table.
I would’ve cried from exhaustion and hopelessness and crushing boredom, but my eyes were too dry.
Imbril broke first, shoving aside all the books with an oath that seemed very inappropriate for a holy man. “The other lors should be here. All together, they have centuries of knowledge.”
Dyania looked up from her book. “No’Maru seemed clear that this endeavor wouldn’t be approved by the haloria.”
“Then what am I doing here?” His voice wavered toward querulous old uncle, grating on my kavé-sharpened nerves.
“What are any of us doing here?” I shot back. I had taken charge of the scrolls since some of them were so faded the words couldn’t be read anyway. I let the one under my hand roll up into a brittle cylinder and contemplated bashing the lor over the head with it, although that would just make more dust. “Of us all, you have the least at stake. Other than your yaxen eyes for Lady Dyania.” I gestured at her. “Sorry. I should’ve said Ani, since we are all going to die together.”
She sniffed. “Actually, I was the only one of us Chosen to die, so…”
“True,” Lisel muttered. “The rest of us were risking our lives just for the coin.”
“Heyo, coin?” I perked up. “No one’s paid me yet.”
Imbril coughed. “You say that, but we should probably check your pockets before you go.”
“Why is everyone yelling, ya?” Zik peeked up above the edge of the table. “Anyway, Fei keeps her valuables in her boots and under the bed, not in her pockets where anyone might look.”
I scowled at him. “What are you doing in my boots?”
“I don’t want anyone in my bed.”
We all paused to stare at Lady Dyania.
Who turned red in all her pale places. “I just…” She sank deeper into her chair. “Please, no yaxen eyes. I’m not…that’s not what I want, not who I am.”
“My lady…Ani, I’m sorry,” Imbril stammered. “I wouldn’t presume to be considered—”
“Not just you,” Dyania said. “Anyone. One of the reasons I was Chosen is because I told my brother I would not be available for his matchmaking elsewhere.”
While I could understand not wanting to be forced into a made match, yaxen eyes could be charming enough. But if getting to choose one’s match was only fair, then choosing to not match seemed just as fair.
“Never mind yaxen eyes,” Lisel said a little gruffly. “I would like to close my eyes. I think I can hear my eyelids scraping every time I blink.”
“It’s past midnight,” Imbril said. “Presumably the king had other business.”
“Other matches, other beds,” I muttered. I gazed around blearily at the chaos of books. “Did we find anything? Anything at all?”
We all looked at each other for a moment before Imbril shook his head, shoulders sagging. “How could we find anything that centuries of others have not?”
“Maybe there isn’t anything to find,” Zik said in a small voice.
So much for my optimistic little waif.
My stomach clenched from too much kavé, which probably felt nowhere near as bad as would the executioner’s sword in my guts when we failed the king.
But after a dejected moment of silence, Dyania tilted her head. “That’s true,” she mused slowly. “But just because there’s nothing to find in the past doesn’t mean we can’t make something for the future.”
“Except we don’t have much of a future,” I reminded her. Not if the king and his impatience were any indication, not to mention the auguries of upcoming catastrophe that had called for a Devouring that now couldn’t happen.
“It’s more of a future than some of us had.” Dyania gave me a meaningful look.
Zik nodded too. “I might’ve starved this winter,” he pointed out with no fuss in his voice. “Assuming my village wasn’t overrun by demons like some others.”
Neh, weren’t we all such a hopeful bunch.
Lisel nodded too. “There’s more than one way to fight, swords or blessings, pikes or…whatever we come up with next.” She flashed a crooked smile at Dyania. “Even if we don’t always get to choose what happens to us, we can make the best of how we go.”
Obviously the excessive kavé had made these people delusional, along with the late hour and impossible task, but who was I to take away their hope? Even I was not so much a thief as that.