CHAPTER FOUR

The Scorpion entered a world adrift

Bonds forged in unity now rent by war

This misery would one day be eclipsed

By conflict on a scale not seen before

A seer blinded by the days ahead

Consented to a deal he’d come to dread

—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING

Red-orange light filtered in through the translucent glass wall in Kyara’s room. The red days were nearly complete. Over the next couple of months, the glass castle of Sayya would slowly shift its tint to a yellow-orange color, marking the time of harvest in the farming camps.

The light was enough to read by—she’d already used up her ration of lamp oil, and electricity was reserved for those far more important than she—though the red glow made the pages of the little book she’d taken from the payroller’s home appear angry. She had not gotten very far in her reading when the quiet was interrupted by a soft rattling. With a groan, she closed the book, slipping in a dagger she’d been meaning to sharpen to serve as a bookmark.

She rolled off the thin mattress of her bed to retrieve the jiggling object from the washbasin tray. The tiny red stone was warm to the touch and didn’t stop shaking until she’d pricked her finger with the much sharper blade kept in a loop attached to her boot, and touched a drop of blood to the stone.

“Kyara-denili!” A shrill voice rose from the little stone. “Come here immediately.” The stone grew cold, ending the communication.

“Mercy forbid she send a pageboy with a message,” Kyara grumbled. But Ydaris preferred the magical to the mundane, and another scar added to Kyara’s collection would mean nothing to her.

As she walked swiftly down a side corridor toward one of the main halls, a tense hush lay over the castle. The ringing of a bell made her stop short, just shy of the intersection of the two walkways.

The True Father’s retinue padded along the wide passage from the grand entry. Three dozen people moved silently, the loudest sound coming from the swishing fabric of their clothing. Guards, advisers, high-ranking servants, and several harem women all wore garments dripping with jewels of every color. In the center of the group, the immortal king stood tall. His gemstone-encrusted mask was multicolored today and covered his face and hair. White, diamond-studded gloves graced his hands. His tunic was similarly arrayed with precious stones. She held her breath, shrinking against the wall as he passed.

As a child, growing up in one of the harem’s cabals, Kyara had heard whispers from the women that the type of jewels in the mask from day to day hinted at the king’s mood since no one had ever seen his face. However, she had seen him wearing rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and various combinations of gemstones, and had never discerned any difference in his disposition.

The quiet he surrounded himself with was unnatural. Only the bell ringer walking far ahead announcing the king’s path could be heard. Kyara stood stock-still, her gaze on the ground until the sound of the bell faded. The True Father’s very presence was a force that sobered everyone in the vicinity. In the wake of the royal company, the thick tension slowly eased from the air and she was on her way again.

She steeled herself before pushing open the heavy, ornately decorated door and entering the library of the Royal Cantor. The massive space was two stories tall and set high within the castle. Books lined the shelves from the floor to the ceiling. Rolling ladders hung from each wall, and everything was made of dark, polished wood from no tree native to their barren land.

The Cantor herself sat fiddling with the knob of the radiophonic in the corner, trying to get a clear signal. Snatches of orchestral music filtered in through the static. A deep baritone crooned a sultry tune in some language Kyara couldn’t place.

The sole sanctioned channel broadcast only official news reports—which droned on and on—and endless recorded speeches by the True Father. Never music. But on days like today, in the calm hours after a desert windstorm, the airwaves sometimes carried a weak pirated signal originating from somewhere in the city. A rebellious act that would result in the death of whoever was responsible, if he or she was ever found out.

Ydaris swayed in her seat to the rhythm and hummed along with the melody. Moments ago she had sounded irate, but music always soothed her mistress’s mercurial temper. Kyara hated to interrupt the calm by calling any attention to her presence, but the woman made no move to acknowledge her.

Kyara cleared her throat. “You called, Ydaris-mideni?”

Ydaris shot an annoyed gaze over her shoulder, then stood and crossed the room, her embroidered gold skirts swishing as she walked. A head taller than Kyara, Ydaris was statuesque and imposing. The fabric wrap twisted elegantly around her hair made her appear even taller.

“Why must you constantly make me wait? I have entirely too much to do as it is. The True Father hoards his magic like a miser does coins, leaving all the heavy lifting to me.” She shook her head and began to mumble. “Faster, he says, as if I wasn’t already taxed beyond belief.”

Speaking like this, especially out loud, was grounds for death. But Ydaris appeared unconcerned about the treason she was committing. “Your mission was successful, I trust.”

“Of course,” Kyara gritted out.

Ydaris’s smile was tight. Her unusual jade green eyes seared Kyara with their intensity. “Of course,” she repeated. “The Poison Flame never misses her mark, does she?”

Shame flooded Kyara. She endeavored to push it away—now was not the time for weakness, or regret, or feelings of any kind.

Ydaris’s eyes narrowed as though she could see the struggle taking place within Kyara. “I do believe I heard an old griot crooning in the marketplace an ode to our dear, deadly Poison Flame. Though the tales of your exploits have become quite overblown, have they not?”

Kyara’s lips sealed in a grim line.

“He claimed the king’s assassin has killed a thousand men.” Ydaris gave a dry chuckle. “‘From Laketown to Checkpoint Eight to One and back again’ was the verse, if I’m not mistaken.”

She pinched Kyara’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up. Those eerily colored eyes peered down at her. “You’ve certainly captured the public’s imagination.”

A note of jealousy laced her tone. “And when you’ve completed your next task, they will be talking once more. I cannot wait to hear the songs they’ll sing then.”

Ydaris released Kyara and moved to sit at her desk in the center of the room. It was the one pristine space amidst the wooden tables covered with overflowing stacks of books and ledgers and scattered parts of mechanical contraptions. Everything in the Cantor’s library was oversized, as if made for giants; the tables and desk stood nearly waist high, and the chairs were high off the ground. Everywhere else in Lagrimar, cushions and low stools made up the bulk of the seating, but Ydaris did everything a bit differently.

Kyara’s gaze landed on the stone table at the edge of the room, then skirted away, also passing over the bench directly next to it that featured a wide array of knives and other sharp instruments.

She approached slowly, as Ydaris shuffled through sheafs of paper. “The True Father has handed down your next assignment. Apparently, he believes he has cultivated an informant within the Keepers of the Promise.”

Kyara’s eyes widened; the Cantor waved her hand. “No doubt a trick. The Keepers are notoriously loyal. But he feels the information is worth following up on. The informant claims to know the next assignment of the Shadowfox.”

Speaking of a figure who’d captured the public’s imagination. Many a song had been written of the exploits of the Shadowfox. Altering the weather, transforming desiccated soil into lush farmland—to hear some tell it he could practically raise the dead. And the True Father had been after him for decades.

At first the king had sought to capture the rebel and drain him of a Song said to be more powerful than any other Singer alive. But then, when the legendary Keeper continued to elude his pursuers, the goal became to kill.

“Mideni, no assassin has ever gotten close to the Shadowfox.”

“No other has had information about his whereabouts beforehand. Up until now, we’ve only known where he’s been.”

Kyara blinked rapidly. “But even knowing where he will be, won’t he sense my intention using Earthsong long before I get close enough to … remove him?” A sickening apprehension filled her. Kyara did not need to be close to kill, though she could reduce collateral damage that way. She sank into a chair as fear welled. Her range could encompass an entire town, and Ydaris knew it. How many souls could she be ordered to sacrifice just to kill one man?

“The king does not want the Shadowfox dead any longer. You’re to bring him back here for questioning.”

Kyara closed her eyes as relief filled her lungs. But then the realization of the order took shape.

“Bring him back? Surely others would be better suited. I have never…” She hesitated to say that she had never been instructed to leave one of her targets alive. “Besides, if I cannot get near the Shadowfox, I cannot capture him. He will still read my intent.”

“That isn’t precisely true.” Ydaris tapped a finger to her lips, giving Kyara a sidelong glance. “Do you know why I prefer blood magic to Earthsong?”

“Because blood magic can be done by anyone. It doesn’t require an inborn Song.”

“True enough. It is a way of balancing the scales, shall we say. The universe demands balance. Nature is balance. And do you remember what I told you all those years ago, when you first came into my library?”

Kyara shivered, not willing to think on that meeting. She had languished in the dungeon for days waiting to be executed before the guards had dragged her here. Once again the wretched stone table on the other side of the library commanded her attention. She refused to look. Instead of the punishment she’d expected that day, she’d received one far worse.

“Nature always wins?” Kyara whispered.

Ydaris chuckled. “Nature always wins. And yet…” She paused, stroking the delicate gold chain encircling her throat. “You, my dear assassin, are decidedly unnatural. But perhaps you will prove an exception to the rule. Perhaps you will win against all odds.”

Kyara’s chest tightened as she struggled to follow the conversation. “I don’t understand.”

“Earthsong is life energy. We gamble when we use it for battle. Hurling fireballs or icicles, opening sinkholes and creating earthquakes. We make educated guesses using probabilities about what will cause damage, but we cannot target our kills. Life energy prevents it.” Ydaris shrugged. “But Nethersong was made to kill and so were you.”

The old shame could not be ignored forever. Kyara crumpled inside at the reminder.

“Your Song is a blessed symphony of death.” The music from the radiophonic underscored her words. “And Earthsong cannot touch you.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Ydaris gave an exasperated sigh. “You are immune to Earthsong. Unlike blood magic, Earthsong glides off you like oil.”

The song ended and dull static buzzed from the speaker before the next one began. The hissing silence matched her disbelief. “Immune? Why?”

Ydaris spread her arms. “The universe still nurtures its mysteries.”

“But why did you not tell me before?”

“Why should we have? It was irrelevant until now. What difference could it possibly have made?” Ydaris’s bafflement seemed genuine. Kyara’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“So you see, you are quite the perfect candidate for this mission, should this ‘informant’ be real. You are to head to Checkpoint Five immediately. The Blackheart squadron of the Golden Flames will assist you.”

The last part cut through Kyara’s haze of astonishment. “Aren-deni’s squad? The Golden Flames will draw too much attention. They may make the rebels scatter.”

“They’ve been instructed to be discreet. They won’t do anything to endanger the mission.”

The bars of Kyara’s prison closed in around her. She was prohibited from harming anyone in the castle, nor could she injure any of the elite military force known as the Golden Flames. Not for any reason, even self-defense.

Ice gripped her heart at the thought of working with Aren. She opened her mouth to plead for flexibility in her instructions, to at least be allowed to protect her own safety, but Ydaris was already speaking. Turning the lock on her chains and swallowing the key.

“Kyara ul-Lagrimar, your mission is to ascertain the identity of the Keeper known as the Shadowfox and bring him back to Sayya, alive, for questioning.”

Under the bandages that she’d reapplied regularly for nearly ten years, the unhealing wound on her chest delivered a pulse of excruciating pain. Only the fact that she’d borne the weight of the blood spell for so long made her able to merely grit her teeth and not scream in agony as the directive was sealed. The commands were locked in, her obedience assured.

A knock sounded at the library door. Upon the Cantor’s command to enter, two guards dragged an emaciated, chained man inside.

“Strap him to the table,” Ydaris called out, standing and stretching her back. The guards headed for the stone table.

Kyara got to her feet, nearly toppling her chair in her haste to leave. She did not want to see any more, but could not avoid hearing Ydaris’s words to the prisoner.

“I’m sorry, but we must skip the pleasantries. I simply haven’t got the time.”

Kyara burst into the hallway and raced around the corner. Just before she’d run out of earshot, the screaming began.