Yes, I said in my head, though I’d never done this before. I didn’t expect anyone to hear. To my surprise and Ibolya’s, she spoke the word aloud at the exact moment I thought it.
That’s not deeply unsettling or anything, I thought to myself, feeling Ibolya’s chagrined agreement—and so I quickly withdrew from her head.
Taking a deep breath and steadying myself, I prayed to Ejarat that this would work. Drawing on Calanthe’s stabilizing, granite-deep and life-giving magic, I channeled it through the orchid ring and concentrated as Ambrose and Merle had shown me. Loosening my grip on my physical form was disorienting, but I held to the connection with Calanthe, drawing from Her with intact roots. I formed a clear image of Sondra in my mind, then reached for her physical location. For a moment it seemed as if I viewed all the world, swooping over it like a bird, then narrowing to Yekpehr, the citadel looming large and smoky—and to Sondra. Fortunately, I seemed to stop before actually entering her head. I didn’t want to invade her mind, and I greatly doubted she would want me there.
Sondra had apparently extracted all the captives from their tower rooms and they’d made it down several levels—no doubt why Ambrose had thought their situation well enough in hand to go aid Agatha—but they’d encountered a brace of guards ascending, a captain of the guard at their forefront. Back luck, that. Sondra, trying to look like a humble slave and not succeeding very well, lurked near the back of the group. She stood with a tall woman, whose dark hair was braided severely back from a face lined with fear and sorrow. Thick stripes of snow-white streaked from her temples to the coronet of braids, winding through the black coils like silver frosting. Tawny brown eyes dominated her face, the color—very nearly gold—so very familiar to me. Aged beyond her years, yes, but otherwise unmistakably Con’s sister. Rhéiane of Oriel.
Now that I’d arrived, I wasn’t sure how I was to assist them—only that I knew I must. I couldn’t face Con having again failed to save his sister. Calanthe’s magic welled through my blood but remained with my body. I could see and hear but not affect anything physically. I might as well be a ghost.
“An evacuation?” the captain of the guard repeated incredulously to one of the tower guards. “His Imperial Majesty ordered no such thing. I would know.”
The guard looked confused and anxious, casting a glance over the group, looking for backup. No help was forthcoming. “Captain Jan, syr, we received orders,” he protested, though weakly.
“Orders.” Captain Jan made the word into a curse. “I give the orders, or His Imperial Majesty does. I know I wasn’t here until a moment ago. Are you claiming the emperor stopped by to chat?”
“No, syr,” the guard answered, flushing.
Jan, anger rising, shoved the hapless spokesman aside. “You, I will deal with later.” He confronted a regal woman at the front of the group, who lifted her chin and stared the captain down. “Consort Ibb, what is the meaning of this?”
Lady Ibb gave him a cool look and a disgusted wave of her hand, encompassing all of her contempt for the clearly slipshod bureaucracy. “Your guards commanded us to evacuate. We complied. Isn’t that our primary responsibility, to obey without question?”
Captain Jan set his teeth. “His Imperial Majesty expected You to attend him in formal court this morning, Consort. They have already convened and You are late. His Imperial Majesty sent me to retrieve You.” His gaze roamed suspiciously over the group, settling on Sondra, frowning when he didn’t recognize her—and looking from her to Rhéiane with dawning suspicion. Frustration burning through me, I tried channeling magic and managed only to stir some dust motes. Hmm. Ambrose had explained this, but actually doing it was more difficult.
“I sent a message that I would not attend this morning,” Lady Ibb sniffed in disdain. “I am unwell.”
“How distressing, Consort,” Captain Jan replied, sounding anything but distressed. “You don’t appear to be ill. Tell me Your symptoms and I’ll relay them to the healers, so they may attend You.”
“A woman’s complaint of some delicacy,” she returned with a steely smile. “I simply require rest.”
“You should return to Your bed.”
“I will, since this drill appears to have been for naught.” She turned, her ladies following behind, Rhéiane going with them.
“Not so fast, Consort. Lady Rhéiane,” Captain Jan called. “I was also sent to fetch you to court.”
Rhéiane halted, paling so dramatically I worried she might pass out. Sondra took her arm to support her, and Jan’s jaw firmed as he noted it. Shit. Anure would only be summoning Rhéiane out of the blue if he knew Con’s real identity—and planned to use Rhéiane against him.
“Is there a problem, Lady Rhéiane?” he asked silkily, prowling toward her, the group parting like birds scattering at a hawk’s shadow.
“Ah … no, Captain Jan,” she stammered, averting her gaze. “But surely there must be a mistake—I am never summoned to formal court.”
“Apparently today is your lucky day,” he replied, grabbing her arm and ignoring the difference of rank between them, along with her flinch of pain at the hard grip. Sondra stiffened, her knuckles whitening on the walking stick, as Jan yanked Rhéiane close.
“Quite the coincidence, isn’t it,” Jan continued, raising his voice to the group. “Consort Ibb attempts to skip formal court on the flimsy excuse of an undefined ailment on the exact morning that Lady Rhéiane is summoned to court and that my guards also receive a clearly false command to evacuate all of you? Something is going on—and I think you know what it is.” He gave Rhéiane another shake and Sondra very nearly lunged at him, barely restraining herself.
Rhéiane didn’t attempt to wrest her arm from his grip. She didn’t seem to have the physical strength for it. She didn’t lack for spine, however, and I recognized Con’s ferocity in her fiery glare. “The confusion, lack of discipline, and sheer idiocy in your chain of command is hardly within my control, Captain.”
Casually, he slapped her, still retaining his grip. “Watch your attitude, slut,” he replied pleasantly, then looked to the guard he’d first interrogated. “Where were you to take them?”
“Captain, syr, to a ship in the harbor, syr. The Emperor’s Pet.”
Jan’s eyes widened in patent disbelief. “Well, Lady Rhéiane. You are correct at least in that I am surrounded by idiots. Nir!” He pointed to one of the guards he’d brought with him. “Sound the alert. We have an escape attempt under way and—”
I’d been poised to stop the messenger on the stairs—in any way I could—but Sondra couldn’t know that. Swinging her heavy walking stick and ululating in an ear-piercing shriek, she charged the captain. With unfortunate presence of mind, he yanked Rhéiane in front of him, drawing his sword. The downward blow of the stick hit the edged metal with a thud that had Sondra bouncing off. She used the momentum to spin and come around, narrowly missing Rhéiane’s skull as Jan held the slight woman between them as a shield.
“Guards!” Jan yelled. “First squad to me.” He blocked another blow of Sondra’s and lunged—fortunately hampered by his struggling shield, and missing Sondra’s heart as she danced back. “Second squad, circle the prisoners. Take them back. Lock them in.”
Sondra changed tactics, lancing the stick straight for Jan’s eye, glancing off his forehead as he jerked his head to the side at the last moment. “Nir, why are you still here?” he bellowed.
The guard appointed to give warning raced down the steps, and Jan released Rhéiane just long enough to wrap his forearm around her throat with brutal force. She choked as he crushed her larynx. He pointed his sword at Sondra. “I don’t know who you are, slave, but you’re killing her.”
The guards began rounding up the captives, shouting and shoving. Sondra narrowed her eyes, assessing the scene. Yes, we needed to eliminate Jan and then take advantage of the guards’ confusion and lack of leadership. As if she’d heard me, Sondra nodded minutely, then held up her hands in a gesture of surrender, the stick high over her head.
“Drop the stick,” Jan ordered.
Sondra smiled. “Sure.” She dropped it—and the concussion flattened everyone in the room, including Sondra. Wonderful.
Taking advantage of the temporary détente, I flew my attention down the stairwell, catching up to the hapless Nir. He raced at top speed down the steps. If I could stir dust motes, I could affect stone. Density shouldn’t matter.
I flew down a turn of the stairs before him, pressed my mind against the stone, suggesting to it that it wanted to be like dust motes. Nir thundered down—and his foot passed through the step as if it weren’t there. He fell hard, breaking his leg with a snap! His skull thudded with an ominous crack against the stones as he went deathly still.
Well then.
I flew back to Sondra—and to a room full of unconscious people. All right. At least the guards were out of the equation. I simply needed to resurrect the rest. Hmm. I went to Sondra, touching intangible fingertips to her temples, feeling very much like some story of a fairy flitting about while the heroes lay fallen.
Whatever the stick had done, it had sent her life energy deep inside. At least I knew something about manipulating that. Carefully, I reversed her energy, changing it so it flowed out to her limbs and brain again. She woke with a start, bright-blue eyes staring blindly through me.
“Lia?” she whispered.
Well, go figure. Yes, I said, and her eyes widened. Hurry, I thought at her and she pushed up to a sitting position, crawling to the unconscious Rhéiane. I woke Rhéiane next, then moved on, going from person to person—starting with Lady Ibb and avoiding the guards—waking them one by one. It grew easier with practice, and I felt even more like some creature from an old tale. I supposed the stories had come from somewhere.
Sondra got Rhéiane on her feet and followed behind me, marshaling the querulously waking captives into a line, managing them with a combination of reassurance and crisp orders. “If You can hear me, Lia,” she muttered under her breath, “we’re facing a problem walking them out of here without guards. The ruse won’t work without that cover.”
I agreed, but I didn’t know what else we could do. We had to get them out of Anure’s reach, especially if Anure was onto Con. If he was able to get Rhéiane to the throne room, we’d be facing disaster. Knowing Con, he’d probably cut his own throat at the toad’s request if it meant saving Rhéiane at last.
I’d really expected—and now viciously hoped—that Ambrose or Merle would’ve arrived by now to assist. The fact that neither had was a bad sign, too. They’d be dividing their presence between their required stations in the throne room and moving the prisoners out. Something had gotten complicated in one place or the other. Or both.
I was terribly afraid it had to do with Con.
So desperate to know something, I took a precious moment to click to Vesno’s vision—which snapped me back to my body in the tower. Clouds had gathered ominously, black as a sheet of obsidian, and white lightning forked out of the sky. A bolt stabbed for the tower, and Calla raised her hands, pushing back. Reversing, the lightning recoiled into the cloud and lit it up from within, a boom resounding and rolling over the island. Nahua, the next station over, seemed to be funneling energy in a continuous stream to hold off something else. Good for them.
I had no time to help them—or say anything—so I looked through Vesno’s eyes long enough to confirm that Con still lived, as did Percy, and they were mid-audience with Anure. Then, though my heart cried for me to stay with him, I forced myself to go back to Sondra. We nearly had Rhéiane out—along with the others. After that, we could pull out all the stops to extract Con and Percy.
By the time I returned to Sondra, she was leading the captives down the servants’ stairs—the best choice for moving without the cover of guards. Still no sign of Ambrose or Merle, Ejarat take them. I went back to Ibolya—and breathed a sigh of relief to find her with Kara and Brenda, aboard the Emperor’s Pet, which looked to be a well-favored sailing ship. They were all anxiously watching the gate for the third set of captives, discussing what steps they should take. Agatha and Brenda seemed to be on the verge of going after them.
Though I hated to do it, I couldn’t afford to have any of them back in the citadel, so I spoke in Ibolya’s mind, hoping she’d hear me. Far better than using her mouth to speak.
“I apologize, Ibolya. This is Lia. Tell Brenda and Agatha to stay put. Sondra and the others are on their way.” Hopefully she wouldn’t detect the prevarication in what I’d told her.
Ibolya sighed with relief. “Her Highness is here,” she said, and passed along my message.
Brenda and Kara exchanged frowns, regarding my former lady-in-waiting with consternation and disbelief. “Ibolya,” Brenda said gently, “wishful thinking can—”
“She’s not crazy,” Agatha interrupted. “Ambrose and Merle said in the citadel that Her Highness is here and helping us. Message received,” she added. “We will wait as long as possible.”
“Once that group is aboard, go,” I told her. “Do not wait for the rest of us. We’ll find another way.”
Ibolya dutifully passed that along, and they assented, though unhappily.
“Hopefully it won’t come to a battle,” Kara commented dourly, and Brenda rounded on him with a protest.
I left them to their arguing and returned to Sondra. They’d made it to the bottom of the tower, all of them bunched up and huddled in the narrow stairwell. Sondra peeked through a crack in the door, observing the busy daytime bustle of the main hall outside. They were trapped there, unless we found help.
Wait, I told her. And some tension left her shoulders.
“We’re sure not going anywhere,” she muttered softly. “Tick tock, Lia.”
Yes—every moment they waited meant increasing chances of discovery—not just of this group, but of the entire enterprise.
With no other option, I reached for Ambrose and Merle, delicately seeking their auras while skulking around the looming presences of the red and black wizards. Merle responded with a quiet purple crackle of a question. I showed him an image of Sondra and the captives in the stair.
Resignation—and worry—flowed from him, and with a sigh of acknowledgment, he flew off. I didn’t want to go with Merle—I wanted to stay with Con, try to help—but I apparently had no choice. He pulled me with him, and I was snatched away.
They were bringing Rhéiane to the throne room. At any moment, the guards would drag my sister into the room and I’d lay eyes on her for the first time since that horrible day so long ago.
And they would hurt her.
They’d hurt Rhéiane to hurt me. And it would work.
The red wizard, though, had said that he’d already sent for Rhéiane—and I knew right when he’d done it, too. He’d taken one long look at me and sent the page on an errand, but they hadn’t brought Rhéiane yet. Maybe she was already away. On the ship, or even sailing to Calanthe without us.
Bright Ejarat and Sawehl, I hoped so.
I shrugged, as nonchalantly as I could. “Sure, let’s bargain. That’s why we’re here. Though I don’t know who this Renee is.”
Anure nearly rolled his eyes at me. “You’re no idiot, Slave King of Oriel. You remember your sister. Unless working in My mines poisoned your brain into stupidity. I hear that happens, along with other, terrible physical tolls. Tell Me—how’s your father? Oh, wait, I do believe he died on Vurgmun.” He grinned at me with cruel delight.
I clamped down on every vile and raging part of myself, refusing to let the howling, wounded wolf in me rise to the bait. He’s poking at you, figuring out what you really care about. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been there myself in a long time.” I bared my teeth. “I pardoned myself, just like I’ve been helping myself to anything I wanted, including the Flower of Calanthe.”
That worked to distract him—some fruitful testing of my own—and Anure jerked with rage. “You will give Me what is Mine,” he shouted. “And it is all Mine!”
“Not this,” I replied easily, showing him the case still chained to my manacles. “If you want this—with or without Queen Euthalia—you’d better offer me something more than idle threats.”
Anure made a sound of disgust. “You weary Me. Take the ring.”
The black wizard came close enough to reach for the case, but I held it well out of his reach. I topped the old guy by at least a head, and I’d have felt a bit like a bully playing keep-away if the stakes hadn’t been so high. I also knew, though, that the fragile-looking elder swallowed in his cowled black robe wasn’t anyone to be taken lightly. If I’d learned nothing else from Ambrose—and Merle—it was not to make assumptions based on appearances.
“It is definitely Her Highness’s hand and finger,” the black wizard called back to his brethren, eyes glittering as they fixed on me, like a snake measuring its striking distance.
“And the ring?” the red wizard inquired.
“It is the magic of the Abiding Ring, but … I need to inspect it more closely.” The black wizard smiled at Percy. “Lord Percy, you may undo the chains. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to be relieved of this responsibility, as you were of so many others in your frivolous youth.”
Percy pulled a key from the pocket of his full skirts and turned to me.
“No!” I snarled. “I won’t give it to them.”
The black wizard only shook his head. “You will. Lower your arms, please. I’m sure they’re terribly tired.”
My arms were tired. The strength fell out of them like water falling to the earth, draining them. They dropped of their own deadweight. I wasn’t surprised—I’d been warned—but it was deeply unnerving. Lia could reverse intention, but this …
Percy unlocked the chain that attached the case to my manacles—simultaneously slipping the pin that held the manacles together—and removed the chain leash. As he did, he flicked the sparker embedded in the bottom of the case, starting the fuse on Brenda’s smaller, more potent bomb. The countdown had begun. We had ten minutes—or less—before Agatha’s new, slower-burning fuse, nicely housed in a ventilated case—set off the bomb. Percy and I would both be counting, and I hoped to blessed Ejarat between the two of us we’d get it right and be gone before it went off.
If they did bring Rhéiane into the room before that … It didn’t bear thinking of.
“Hand me that case, please,” the black wizard instructed. I made a show of resisting but gave it over. “So obliging.” He carried the case to the red wizard, both of them bending their heads over it.
“An orchid ring,” the red wizard announced, “and one touched by Her Highness’s elemental magic. Along with something else quite intriguing.” He looked back at the blue wizard, who stood unmoving. “Her Highness’s living essence has recently come in contact with this, which confirms that She lives. A clever facsimile, but this is not the Abiding Ring.”
The black wizard curled his lip, released his grip on the case, and let it fall to the marble floor where it shattered, sending fragments skittering as far as my feet. The heavier base containing the packed vurgsten thudded intact, and it was all I could do not to flinch in anticipation of it going off.
But it didn’t—Brenda had crafted it well, and the metal compartment stayed intact—so I moved on to the next worry: that the fuse had either gone out or never sparked. If it had sparked: nine minutes left.
Lia’s severed finger had bounced a distance from the hand, the orchid’s petals crushed. The hand itself fell palm down, a withered and dead thing, and the wizard in black gave it a little kick, sending it farther from him. I had to viciously rein my temper at the sight of them treating her with such disregard.
“Of course that’s not the Abiding Ring,” I sneered. “That ring is still on Her Highness’s finger, where it will stay until she passes it to her heir. You lose, False Emperor.”
“You’ll suffer for this,” Anure ground out. “Where is Lady Rhéiane? You will watch us torture her, Slave King, and then you will die.”
Percy yawned elaborately, fanning fingers over his mouth in an elegantly polite gesture, holding up three, then five of them. Yeah, that was my count, too. Eight minutes until that bomb blew.
A guard came running into the room, out of breath. Then snapped to attention, bowed deeply, straightened—and hesitated. He brought bad news he clearly didn’t want to speak, but in our favor or not?
“Captain Jan?” Anure inquired silkily. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Your Imperial Majesty. Honored syrs.” Jan bowed to Anure and the wizards. “There’s been an escape attempt. Lady Rhéiane is gone.”
This time Anure didn’t blow. He went white and still, his hard gaze fastening on me. “Where are they?”
I shrugged, nearly giddy with relief. “How should I know? I’ve been here with you.”
“You will die for this,” Anure snarled. “Executioner!”
Finally. My brief hope that we’d be sent out of the throne room for execution died as a large figure in scarlet leather from head to toe—including a full face mask with slits for eyes and a few holes around the nose for air—stepped out from behind the throne, carrying a large double-bladed axe. Handy to have an executioner so nearby. Not so handy for us, when we’d been counting on being removed from the throne room, for imprisonment, torture, or execution, it didn’t matter what, so long as we weren’t near that bomb. Seven minutes to get out of here.
The figure strode toward us, and I eyed his axe, liking the look of its heft and balance. Maybe I could get it away from him. Risky, though.
“If you kill us,” I said in a loud, carrying voice, “you’ll never get to Euthalia. Your wizards know they can’t penetrate the enchantments of Calanthe. Lord Percy and I are prepared to offer you a deal—but the first stipulation is that our heads remain attached to our necks.”
Anure studied us, looking from one to the other, then to the false orchid ring lying among the glass fragments. Enraged, impetuous, greedy, self-involved—but not stupid, I reminded myself. We’d pretty much played this out. Lia was right as usual: We’d never have spun this audience to an hour.
Ten minutes sure went fast, though.
“If you can offer Me that…” Anure said slowly. Much too slowly. I reined in my anxious impatience. “Then why try to trick Me with this fake flower?”
I shrugged nonchalantly, baring my teeth in an insulting grin. “I thought you might be stupid enough to fall for that. Better for me, if I could get away with it.”
“A miscalculation, Slave King and worthless cousin of Mine.”
“I wasn’t so worthless to Your Imperial Majesty once,” Percy crooned, bowing with an elaborate twirl of his hands. “I care not how you handle this beastly rebel, but I could be of service to You, as I once was. I beseech You to end my exile. The bargain we have still to offer Your Imperial Majesty is enticing indeed.” From the depths of his obeisance, Percy slid me a wide-eyed look, placing five fingers against his cheekbone. Yeah, right. We needed to go or be blazed with the rest of them.
Anure shifted restlessly on his throne, ignoring Percy, glaring at me. Pursing his lips as he thought, trying to see through the trick he sensed.
Time ticked away and I looked down at Vesno, waiting quietly at my heel. Could I risk sending the wolfhound out of the room? If he’d even go. Likely not, with his steadfast loyalty. I sent a silent apology to Lia. She wouldn’t forgive me for getting myself killed, but I wanted to offer it anyway. I also greatly regretted that I’d never see Rhéiane again. Never see Oriel. Never know if this gambit succeeded.
At least Lia would be safe, and she’d have our child. I would’ve given her something for all she’d done to show me what it was to live, and love.
“What could either of you worthless curs possibly offer Me?” Anure finally asked, his greed getting the better of him.
“Queen Euthalia, herself, with the Abiding Ring on her finger, obedient to your command and willing,” I said, though the words felt like glass in my mouth. “I can deliver her to you—for a price.”
Anure considered, tapping his fingers on the throne. Percy slid me a glance from the corner of his eye, gave a slight, rueful shrug. Yeah, we could only buy time for the bomb to go off now. No way were we getting out of here in time to escape the blast.
Vesno yipped, rising from his haunches slightly and giving an excited wag of his tail. I set a hand on his head, quieting him. It took everything in me not to look at the square holding the vurgsten bomb.
The wizard in blue leaned to say something to Anure. The emperor considered, then chopped a hand impatiently. “I weary of talking. And of the stink of you both. Execute them. Starting with my cousin.” Anure smiled thinly. “I should have done this long ago, you presumptuous, arrogant ass.”
The guards seized Percy, and he grimaced at me in resignation. Would he lose his head before the bomb went off? Either way, we were both dead. I opened my mouth to at least taunt Anure—
Then came a blinding flash.