CHAPTER NINETEEN

Exclamations of disbelief, wonder, and excitement erupted in the ballroom. The bishop continued to smile benevolently – triumphantly. A Veil meant arable land, safe access to valuable mineral and gemstone mines. It meant new opportunity in the blighted Wastes.

“And who gets this Veil charter?” demanded a highborn lord from the crowd, Prince Lucian. Though he carried only garnet, he was a man of wealth and influence. His family claimed three Veils, though the Capomajus Victorious took a sizable chunk in tribute and the Brotherhood collected its substantial tithe, as well. Nevertheless, the income from those three Veils had kept his family powerful for centuries. “Or are you keeping it for yourselves?”

Arturious shook his head. “The Brotherhood claims ownership only of the Southern Veils, the Veils which produce our most sacred stones.” He gave them all an oily smile. “The stones used in the creation of your holy blades, my most blessed children. For this new Veil, we will provide the land, of course, and we will raise it, but it will belong to whoever wins the charter. It is our sacred duty to raise Veils, not to gain wealth.”

Dante glanced around the grand hall with an ironic lift to one eyebrow. Apparently, wealth was just a happy by-product of their “sacred duty”. Not a few of the other highborn had the same look on their faces. The Brotherhood church was exempt from Imperial taxes, as long as they only collected income through tithing. And they dominated the trade of their “sacred” gemstones. His gaze returned to Raiden. Had he really given Arturious a royal charter? What good would another Brotherhood Veil do the Empire? The church would keep iron control over any gems it produced.

“Then it should go to the families that have governed Malavita’s Veils since they were first raised,” added Prince Diamante. Of course, he would say that; his family owned the Veil which held Sicaria and some of the most fertile land in Malavita. He claimed, often and loudly, he could trace his family back to the First Veil. “One of the First should have the charter!”

“You already own all the Veils in the land,” cried a well-dressed merchant outfitted in a rainbow of gemstones and platinum jewelry. “Give the rest of us a chance to claim our piece of Malavita! My family has been here as long as yours. They just didn’t murder their way into power!”

Prince Diamante, and several others, shouted in angry denial, inciting the merchant folk to scream insults in return until the whole grand hall erupted into cacophony. Dante watched Arturious’s eyes narrow and a slight smile touch his lips before he put on an expression of dismay and called for silence. His voice boomed over the chaos, cracking like thunder. A collective gasp took all the air from the room, and quiet followed.

“You all have a right to this charter,” Arturious said. “Whoever proves most worthy will be granted the cornerstones needed for the Quattro Canto. The Brotherhood will work the magic as we have since the First Veil was raised. Tomorrow, we will hear claims for the charter from appropriate candidates.” Smiling, Arturious took his seat and gestured to the musicians to resume playing. “Now, please, enjoy the ball!”

This last was lost in the renewed arguments and hurled insults. The highborn and the merchant class were too busy eyeing one another to pay attention to the music. Dante watched the scheming begin among the crowd, watched the guests take sides, and understood at last why Arturious had done this. The Church would dangle the charter like a prize and feed the competition for it. Lords and merchants would beggar themselves for the chance at a new Veil, and the Brotherhood would reap only reward.

And by the dark look set on Raiden’s face, he’d figured it out, as well. Arturious was using him. Dante moved closer to the dais, slipping from archway to archway. He had to get near Raiden; he was running out of time. Cyril and Korin would launch their plan soon and light the incendiaries Cyril had been collecting and concealing in the bishop’s own stables. The method of attack had given Dante grim satisfaction, but he’d made sure the two would clear the place of horses first. A fire would distract the Noble Guard and the palace staff, but the Ruby Pontifex lurking in the shadows wouldn’t be so easily distracted.

Suddenly, Raiden rose to his feet. Arturious, looking startled, grasped Raiden by the arm and hissed something at him. With a shake of his wrist, Raiden broke his grip and hoisted himself onto the table, knocking over goblets and sending them crashing to the floor, his face a mask of fury.

It took a moment for the guests to notice him standing there, but when they did all eyes fixed on him. Conversations and arguments faded to curious whispers. Dante paused behind a column. His heart thudded against his breastbone. What was he doing?

“I am Captain Raiden Mad of the Bhaskar Empire, seventh son of Emperor Suijin, may He live forever, former Commander of the Imperial Guard, and Imperial Emissary to Prince Dante Safire! My word is my life, and I cannot condone these lies your bishop spews!” He paused, his fierce gaze sweeping the room. “There is no royal charter to be sold to the highest bidder. There will be no new Veil!”

His ringing statement was greeted with an angry chorus of demands and curses. Behind Raiden, Arturious had risen to his feet and was gesturing to the Noble Guard as he retreated from the table. Dante hissed a curse. If they took Raiden into custody, how would they ever get him out?

“We never forbade the Brotherhood from raising new Veils!” Raiden shouted above the angry mob, his hand outstretched to quell their anger. “That was a lie! Everything the Brotherhood has told you for a century has been a lie. Their magic has failed them. The Brotherhood can no more raise a Veil than I can! You will fight over an imaginary piece of paper, and the Church will bleed you dry in reward!”

The cries from the crowd became dismayed, confused. Doubt rippled among them, and eyes began to turn toward Arturious. Their voices rose and their mood changed. A threat of violence rippled through the ballroom.

“The church’s sacred mission is to cleanse the land of the Unseen’s blight!” Arturious cried from where he hid behind his guards, his magic-enhanced voice thundering over the cries of the crowd. “We alone have kept you safe from the Blackstorms and the Wastes. But we have been chained by foreign dogs for a century. The Bhaskar Empire is benevolent. They have chosen to reward us, but I fear their emissary has fallen under dark influences.”

Raiden spun toward him, the table shaking under his feet, one hand on his sword hilt. “I will not let you deceive these people! They will hear the truth.”

Raiden’s words were faint; Dante could barely hear him from the gallery. He doubted many of the grumbling crowd heard him either. And at the mention of “dark influences” they began to eye Raiden with suspicion. He wouldn’t be the first Imperial who’d come to Malavita only to be warped by the blight.

Ignoring Raiden – though he kept himself behind his wall of Noble Guard – the bishop rose above the ground on magic, his arms spread beseechingly to his audience. “I should have suspected it from the beginning. He has spent time in the company of the Black Witch! She has twisted his heart with her foul influence.”

At the mention of the Black Witch a collective gasp of horror took the air from the ballroom. Dante gritted his teeth and stepped from the gallery. There was no sneaking away quietly now. They’d have to fight their way out.

On the dais, Bishop Arturious glared down at his guards. “Take him into custody! Now!” He fixed Raiden with a snarl, his voice no longer enhanced. “Perhaps you’ll like an oubliette more than your suite, Imperial dog!”

Despite Arturious’s orders, the guards held back, well out of reach of Raiden’s sword. They were armed with jewel blades but had to be aware of Raiden’s resistance to bloodmagic and his skill with a sword by now. None had drawn. Instead, they shuffled forward in half-steps, their ceremonial glaives before them like the bristles of a hedgehog. Snarling, Arturious made small gestures with both hands.

Dante felt magic unleashed from more than one spot in the vast ballroom. Power arrowed toward Raiden, a fierce wind. Knives rode its currents. Snatching his blades from his boots, Dante shouted a warning. “Behind you, captain!”

The wind struck Raiden first, but barely ruffled his hair. He was already turning, though, alerted by Dante’s shout, his sword flashing. With preternatural speed, he swept several blades aside using steel and the flat of his hand. Only one managed to touch him, slicing a streak of blood along his cheek. Seeing him occupied, the Noble Guard found their courage and surged forward, their long weapons thrust low to tangle in his legs.

Dante shredded the sleeves of his uniform, his blue blades flashing as he ran toward the high table. He drew on the fire of the gilded lamps behind the Noble Guard, attacking their rear with roaring flames. They shrieked and scattered away from the heat, and it broke their charge on Raiden. The Imperial dashed down the table, knocking over goblets and dishes and sending the bishop’s guests fleeing in panic. Those Noble Guard not scorched pursued him.

Drawing more blood, Dante called earth and lifted the stones beneath the floorboards. Wood splintered and shattered beneath their feet, sending the Noble Guard toppling. The thunder of pounding feet tore his attention from the dais. Backpedaling as more guardsmen charged down the gallery toward him, Dante slashed at his chest. Air slammed into the first ranks of the men, the rest bunching behind them as if they’d hit a wall. He would have laughed if he’d been able to spare a breath. Magical attacks burst from their ranks and Dante spent the next few draws countering them.

By now, the ballroom had erupted into chaos. Raiden had reached the end of the table and vaulted off it, twisting in midair like an acrobat before taking down two guardsmen with precision kicks. Another felt the kiss of his sword before his feet touched the ground. Their shrieks of pain were swallowed by the screams of several highborn ladies who subsequently fainted in dramatic fashion. The male highborn were slower to react; a few had drawn blades but seemed reluctant to get involved.

With Dante and Petra’s interference, Raiden had a clear shot to the windows along the gallery. He disappeared into the promenade. Blades flashing, Dante covered his escape, yelling at Petra to follow him out. A screen of smoke and heat roared in a crescent between them and the rest of the room, forcing more guests to shrink back, screaming and shouting. Coughing and shielding his face, Dante fell back from the billowing hot cloud. The screen held back the Noble Guard, but a few figures in flowing black moved through it effortlessly.

Ruby Pontifex.

Wishing his friends luck, Dante ran.

* * *

The gardens were a tranquil pool compared to the chaos in the grand ballroom. Raiden blinked smoke from his eyes, wondering which way to run.

“Raiden! Here! To me.”

It was Manoli. He was at the verge of a carefully tended hedge maze, gesturing frantically. His black uniform made him hard to see among the dark foliage, making Raiden all too aware of his own bright clothing. The crimson and gold made for poor camouflage in the moon-washed garden. He ducked into the maze after his friend.

After unerring twists and turns, Manoli led him out into a less-manicured part of the garden. There, Petra waited beneath the dark, waxy leaves of a fig tree, grinning.

“How did you beat us?” Manoli demanded, but Petra only shrugged. His eyes bright, he looked at Raiden. “That was bold!” he exclaimed. “The bishop will never forgive you for humiliating him.”

“I hope he doesn’t,” Raiden said, breathless with excitement. “He won’t get his war now, I suspect.”

“Come on,” Manoli said. “We have to leave the grounds before the Ruby Pontifex find us.”

“What about Lord Safire? Should we wait for him?”

Petra shook his head. “Dante’s drawing off pursuit, but don’t worry about him. He has his own escape plan. You need to follow us.”

Behind them, explosions rocked the palace and the sounds of screaming drifted to them on the breeze. Raiden grimaced as he chased after the cousins, feeling guilty for causing such chaos.

I stopped a greater war, at least–

From the shadows to his left, Raiden caught a glimpse of red. A flash, then gone. He hissed a warning to his friends. Alerted, Petra and Manoli slowed, their quartz blades drawn.

Another stirring. To his right this time. Not just movement. Blood had been drawn. Raiden moved, sidling sideways away from the buildup of heat. His natural immunity would protect him to an extent, but evasion was the best defense. Flames burst across his path, close enough to singe the hair on his knuckles. Raiden scrambled backwards, falling against the gnarled trunk of an olive tree. It knocked the wind from him, and he rolled to the side, gasping.

Light blazed all around them, torches and balls of fire illuminating the orchard. Manoli ran to Raiden and helped him up while Petra shielded them in a crouch. Men in hooded robes surrounded them, bearing torches or holding fire in their hands. Ruby Pontifex. They closed in on them, moving with purpose. Raiden readied his sword as Manoli stood back-to-back with Petra. They would have to fight their way out.

“Hold!”

The disembodied voice thundered from the darkness. The robed men startled, and their hidden faces swiveled, searching.

A man emerged into the light, a man with flame-red hair. Brother Jacobis.

“The bishop has no further use for the captain, and no desire to draw the ire of the Bhaskar Emperor. Stand down.”

Slowly, they backed off, none speaking. Raiden licked his lips, not daring to hope Brother Jacobis was helping him. The red-headed priest had his own motives. Manoli and Petra pressed closer together, and Manoli hissed a low warning. An unnecessary warning.

“Do you control the Ruby Pontifex?” Raiden asked once the hooded priests had left. They took the light with them, but for a torch Jacobis held. “Why do they answer to you, brother?” He layered the address with disdain.

Jacobis approached him. “They answer to the man who trained them,” he said.

So, another hidden layer – priest, fanatic, assassin. What did he want if not to drag him back to his master? But, Raiden knew.

“Now is your chance,” Jacobis said softly, as if he’d read his mind, his eyes slipping to the Golondrina then back to Raiden. “And I’m willing to let you go to see it done. I trust you, Captain Mad, to do what is right.”

“You’ll just let us go, then? No one follows. No one stabs us in the back, from the dark?”

“No one follows. No one attacks you. You have my word.”

In front of him, Manoli snorted softly. Jacobis glared at him, his lip curling in disdain. “Send the heathens away so we may speak as civilized men.”

“Careful, brother. These heathens are my friends.” Raiden stepped toward Jacobis slowly and lowered his weapon at the same time. “Now. We are going to walk out of here, and no one is going to stop us. Correct?”

Brother Jacobis nodded. “As I promised. But…before you leave, I want a private word with you.” His narrowed gaze found the cousins. “Without them.”

His hackles rose at the request, but Raiden feared it might be the only way to avoid a fight. He exchanged a look with Manoli and gave him a nod. The Golondrina didn’t look pleased, but he took Petra by the arm and edged past Jacobis.

“There,” Raiden said. “We’re alone. What do you need to say to me?”

“You remember what I warned you about the wi– the woman?”

Raiden nodded. How could he have forgotten? The Veil she planned to raise might lead to disaster.

“I wanted to make sure you understood the danger she represents. Through her ignorance, not any true malice!” He lifted his hands when Raiden scowled. “Please! Don’t take this the wrong way. I fear for my land, that is all. I’m only asking you to talk to her, to convince her to desist in her efforts to raise a Veil. Nothing more.”

His suspicion faded in the face of the priest’s seemingly sincere concern. He appeared truly frightened. But Jacobis didn’t know Shade at all if he thought she could be convinced not to raise her Veil. He temporized. “If I can, I will warn her about your concerns. I can promise nothing else.”

Jacobis nodded, giving him a tentative smile. “I am so glad to hear you say it,” he said. “I wish to give you something, my son, to protect you from the dark forces in my land. Malavita is a dangerous place, as you’ve learned the hard way.”

Raiden narrowed his eyes, his suspicion rising again. Slowly, Jacobis reached into his robe with one hand, keeping eye contact the whole time. Raiden tensed, his sword ready. But the red-headed priest pulled out an amulet, not a blade. A simple garnet set in a gold sunburst. A garnet the size of a baby’s fist…

Reverently, Jacobis held out the amulet to Raiden: a gold chain dangled from it. “It is a talisman meant to shield its wearer from the Unseen’s blight. A small token, I admit, but it might be enough to keep you safe in the Wastes without a wizard’s help.”

Reluctantly, Raiden reached for the amulet dangling from Jacobis’ hand. The gems of this land had power; it might prove useful. He loathed trusting a priest, especially this priest, but Jacobis had called off the Ruby Pontifex. Perhaps–

A shock raced up his arm at first contact, and his fingers closed over the amulet convulsively. A burst of light blinded him, and when he could see again he was alone in the dark orchard, a simple amulet in his fist. Without thought, he tossed the chain over his head and settled the amulet against his chest, tucking it inside his jacket. It felt right; it was warm against his skin, almost…comforting. His suspicion and doubt faded. For the first time in days, he felt clear-headed. Peace settled over him. It was a feeling he hadn’t had for years; there were no questions, no confusion. The world became crystal.

With the amulet warm against his skin, he turned to find his friends and leave the bishop’s palace behind. It was time to find Shade.