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When Bran opened his eyes, he saw stars. They were far away, framed by the circle of the well’s opening. He slowly became aware of hot, scaly bodies pressed against him. He knew he should have been afraid but he couldn’t quite muster the emotion.
He couldn’t feel anything beyond the heat against his skin and the sensation of scales. He was vaguely aware of the chilled stone beneath him. A gauzy veil covered everything else. He knew that a terrible agony existed outside of it. If he felt that terribleness, he would start screaming and never stop.
A creature to his right moved. Brilliant feathers came into view as a wing covered him. The creature breathed the sweet scent of almonds over him. Darkness returned. But it wasn’t scary. Bran sank into it with gratitude.
***
Jarrett felt a certain thrill as he rode Heartsblood toward the northern end of the docks. Whatever concerns he had over his profession evaporated under the autumn sun glinting off his armor. Armor chinking and the clip-clop of horse hooves made his gut clench in a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Despite the chilly day, sweat collected between his shoulder blades. After days of talking to people and being deceived, he was finally going to get resolution.
He glanced over at Captain Tarsus. Behind them marched twenty of Tarsus’s best men, carrying cudgels, to help in the raid. Jarrett didn’t want to take from the Seer’s Guard, so Matthias had loaned him ten Royal Guardsmen, who came behind the City Guard. With thirty men altogether, Jarrett couldn’t imagine this going wrong.
Back at the headquarters, before they left, Tarsus explained he’d sent out scouts the night before.
“About a dozen men we assume to be either mercenaries or Black Arrows arrived just before dawn with their ‘wares’,” he said, “along with a few others not in armor. My scout wasn’t able to see the inside, however.”
Jarrett didn’t like not knowing the inside of the place. A small voice in the back of his head worried that Bruin, being somehow behind this, had sent word ahead. If the enemy appeared to be ready for them, then Jarrett wasn’t sure what to do. He’d been through enough in the last couple of months without being betrayed by another friend. Valiance’s earnest face flashed through Jarrett’s mind.
A few blocks away from the warehouse, Tarsus raised his hand and their little company came to a stop.
Only a true idiot would go in only through the front. Half of their group slipped through an alley to take the place from behind. The rest of them marched forward again.
As they approached, a group of men milling around on crates straightened and watched them. When it became obvious that the warehouse was their destination, they drew swords. Only guilty men would make such a move before questioning the City Guards.
“Here we go,” Jarrett muttered. His heart jumped to just under his throat.
Tarsus swung his arm forward, his fingers pointed at the men. “Guardsmen, attack!”
The City and Palace guards swarmed forward, meeting blade with cudgel. One of the Black Arrows staggered out of the melee toward them, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. Jarrett drew his sword and shoved it into the man’s chest, below the collarbone. With a gasping gurgle, he crumpled to the ground.
“Break down that door,” directed Tarsus. Several men with a small battering ram began hammering at the heavy door.
Jarrett dismounted.
“You don’t have to go in there, Captain. Let the men do their jobs.”
“That’s not how I fight, Tarsus. If they’re going in, then so am I.” He raised his voice. “Men, don’t kill unless you have no choice.” He closed the visor on his helm, restricting the world to what he could see through the slotted eye holes.
The door broke in with a squeal of hinges and snapping wood. Their men poured into the warehouse and Jarrett came in behind them. From the back side of the warehouse, in another room, he heard more crashing, followed by the ringing of steel on steel.
The warehouse wasn’t that large. The main room, from front to back, was an easy stone’s throw. Another door led into a back room. Wooden boxes, small and large, clustered against the walls but in the center, in a large cage, men and women huddled.
The sight of the slaves made Jarrett grind his teeth together. His men had already met the other mercenaries, throwing them against the walls or a table laden with food and drink. The door between the main floor of the warehouse and the back room flung open and the rest of their men boiled inside.
One man met Jarrett with a halberd. Jarrett unarmed the man with a deft twist of his sword. Grabbing him by the arm, Jarrett slung him against a wall. The mercenary’s head met the wood in a solid thunk and he slid onto the floor, stunned. Jarrett looked around. The battle was over. Despite his order, the guards had slaughtered nearly all of the enemy, blood staining the stone floor. The place reeked of broken bowel and fear. The people in the cage wept and begged to be released.
Tarsus strolled in. “Find the keys to this cell,” the City Guard Captain said. “But make sure they don’t go anywhere. We still need to question them.”
Jarrett lifted his visor as he walked over to join Tarsus. “We have at least one man alive to question. It appears our men got a little enthusiastic.”
“Can you blame them?”
Jarrett chose to ignore that as he slid his sword into its sheath. “Do you think this is the only warehouse?”
“Probably not.”
“We should search them all.”
The former slaves were put on a cart and taken back to the headquarters to be questioned by lieutenants. What men still lived were restrained. Two guards remained behind to watch them while the rest went from building to building on the north side of the docks.
By evening, they found one other hiding place, but the enemy had cleared out, leaving behind another cage full of slaves. Those, too, were carted off to the City Guard Headquarters. Jarrett followed behind, tired, thirsty, and speckled in blood.
***
All of the branded people said the same: they came from the Low Quarters in Bertrand and were all kidnapped on their way home from taverns. The same three taverns, in fact.
“We’ll pay those a visit,” Tarsus said. “The Black Arrows probably own them or they at least pay the tavern keeps to let them know if they see a good prospect.”
Out of the raid, only two men survived. The one Jarrett threw against a wall hadn’t woken yet, and might not, according to the healer that examined him. That left a thin, rangy fellow who glared at everyone.
They took him to the interrogation room in the City Guard Headquarters. He was chained to the wall, hands over his head, with his feet flat on the floor.
Without saying anything, Jarrett examined the man’s wrists and found the small arrow bisecting a circle below the left thumb.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “You’re going to tell me everything you know and I won’t let Captain Tarsus take over the questioning.”
Tarsus smiled. It was not a nice smile.
The man replied, “I tell you anything, I’m a dead man.” His voice carried the lilting brogue of the north, not unlike Clara’s accent.
“If you don’t tell me anything, you’re going to wish you were dead. I might argue the King into granting a little clemency. A little mercy could mean the difference between hanging and spending the rest of your life on a work farm. Your choice. What’s your name?”
“People call me Bitter.”
“I’m sure it’s because of your charming personality.”
Bitter narrowed his eyes at Jarrett.
“How long have the Black Arrows been working?” Jarrett asked.
“A year, maybe. Maybe more.”
“Have you always sold slaves?”
“Nah. That’s new.”
“How new?”
Bitter waggled his head from side to side, as if calculating. “Maybe three, four months.”
“There were three girls, snatched from a tavern in the Low Quarters. They worked there.”
“There’s been a few from taverns.”
“Well, you’d remember them, because they went on to work in the Palace.”
“Half the city has heard about that.”
“I’m sure.” Jarrett planted his fists on his hips. “Do you know who bought the slaves that went into the Palace?”
“We don’t ask for names.”
“Describe him, then. Was he foreign? High born?”
Bitter smirked. “Wasn’t no ‘he’. Was a woman. I was there for that sale. As protection, you see. I don’t sell or kidnap or anything. I’m just the muscle at the sale.”
“Right. Because that makes a difference. Do you remember anything about this woman?”
“She was the go-between.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“That she was Tieran.”
Jarrett worked hard to keep his face straight and voice dispassionate. “She say what she wanted with them?”
“She wanted one. Came to Grahame, the slave master, at The Siren and said she needed a slave who knew herbs. Special herbs for magic. He found what she wanted but we got the slave’s two friends, too.”
“We? I thought you said you didn’t help with the kidnapping.”
Bitter blanched.
Jarrett raised his brows. “Keep going. Maybe you’ll say something to make me forget that.”
He licked his lips. “Well, we brought the three to her and she was sore mad, because she only wanted the one. But Grahame talked her into it and she paid for them. Took ‘em with her. That was the last we saw of her.”
“Anything else you can remember? Any details?”
“My hands gone numb. Can you let me loose so I can put the life back in ‘em?”
“Answer my question.”
Bitter scowled in thought for a long moment. Finally, he said, “She left in a carriage. I know ‘cuz I was at the window. It had a coat of arms on it, kind of like the King’s but that ain’t right ‘cuz His Majesty wouldn’t buy slaves. So, maybe it’s somebody with arms like his?”
Foreboding curled in Jarrett’s chest. “Two Black Arrows attacked me and two of the former slave girls. Do you know anything about that?”
“Aye. The men who did it were told not to kill anyone. Grab and go. They handed the girls off and that was the end of it.”
“Were they resold?”
“Not sure. Maybe not.”
“Who were they given to?”
“No idea.”
“Thank you, Bitter.” Turning on his heel, he walked out.
Once outside, Tarsus asked, “Doesn’t the King keep a bunch of carriages for the use of people living in the Palace?”
“He does. And they all bear his coat of arms.”
“A person inside the Palace bought the slaves. How many Tierans live there?”
“Not many. Lord Nikolo, the ambassador, has a house in the High Circle.”
Tarsus shook his head. “He wouldn’t need to use a borrowed carriage.”
“Not unless he didn’t want to anyone to recognize him. Tierans use sigils, not coat of arms, and that would be easily remembered. If it wasn’t him, that only leaves Clara—Lady Clara’s mother, her maid, and a handful of servants. I’ve already ruled out Lady Thalia, however.” Even as he said that, a small pinch of doubt objected.
“What if her maid is working independently?”
The beginnings of another headache stirred in the back of Jarrett’s head. “I need to return to the Palace. There’s one more person I’ve forgotten to question.”
“Good luck. What should I do with our friend Bitter?”
“Put him in the dungeon. He’ll be tried for slavery and hanged.”
“You said you’d talk to the King about clemency?”
“I said I might.” He grinned. “I never said I would. Before I go—there’s a boy missing from the Palace. He’s ten, I think, and is the adopted son of General Asher. His name is Bran. Would you mind telling your patrols to keep an eye out? He was last seen wearing grey apprentice robes and carrying a satchel.”
“I’ll do that. Good hunting, Jarrett.”
“Same to you.”
Jarrett’s mind turned over this new evidence. If Photine worked independently, perhaps even at the behest of Nikolo, that would end all good relations with Tier. Emmerich wouldn’t stand for it. He might not immediately call for war but any hope of peace between the two kingdoms would die.
Nikolo, however, remained adamant from the beginning that Lorst and Tier could be friends. Even as he pushed for Emmerich to consider marriage with one of Precene’s daughters, he never threatened to leave the Palace or suggest that Precene was losing patience, even when word reached Aphos of Emmerich’s intent to marry Clara. It didn’t make sense for Nikolo to endanger relations now.
One person he hadn’t spoken to yet was the Head Gardener, Dieter. In the excitement of everything else, Jarrett forgot what Catriona told him, that Mary, the girl who gave him the blackthorn, had been interested in the garden. And the other two girls said that their owner meant Mary for a special purpose. Dieter would know if anyone showed an especial interest in his plants.
***
Jarrett didn’t bother to drop by his rooms for a fresh change of clothes. Instead, he shoved his helmet and gauntlets at the first page he saw, who gawked at the burns on his hand and bloodstains on his uniform. Jarrett strode on to kitchens bustling with preparation for the evening meal.
Servants stopped to openly stare as he passed through. Catriona called out to him from the spit, concern sharp in her voice, but he ignored her. He hadn’t wanted to worry her and wouldn’t have gone this way if it weren’t the quickest way into the gardens.
As he reached the door, his eyes spotted the edge of a book peeking out from behind a box of radishes. Jarrett pushed the box aside to uncover three volumes. The noise of the kitchens slowly returned to its original level as he drew them out.
An apprentice’s journal sat on top, full of notes on alchemy, botany, and history. It also contained pages of detailed drawings of aerials, flowers, Clara, a woman Jarrett didn’t recognize, Asher, and soldiers. The drawings were very good.
The subject matter told him who owned the books but he flipped to the inside flap anyway. In precise letters were the words “Bran Weston”. Bran crossed out the name Weston and underneath, in shakier letters, wrote “Kinnaird”, the name of Asher’s house.
Nobility didn’t use their last names like commoners did. They wouldn’t go writing them into books or using them casually, but reserved them for formal occasions. The fact that Bran didn’t appear to know that caused pity to move Jarrett’s heart.
What were Bran’s books doing here?
If you could go on a quest, what would it be for?
Jarrett groaned at his own stupidity. Of course Bran ran off to find the aerials. Why he felt the need to make a quest of it, Child only knew, but that must have been what happened. Bran came to the kitchens for supplies because he wasn’t stupid. The boy knew he needed food for a journey, however long. And because it was probably a spur of the moment affair, the only bag on him would have been his school satchel, full of books. Books that took up space better served for carrying supplies.
A knot in his chest loosened, knowing that Bran hadn’t been taken by an assassin. However, it did mean Bran now roamed outside the Palace or even outside the city, alone and unprotected, where an assassin or slaver or worse could get him.
“Fuck me,” Jarrett swore, his chest tightening again.
A nearby maid made a startled sound.
Jarrett smiled. “Sorry.” He held out the volumes. “Will you see that Captain Asher gets these? Tell him Captain Jarrett found them in the kitchens and that Bran may have run off to find the aerials.”
The girl seemed both befuddled and intrigued. “Yes, Captain. Right away.”
He walked out before she summoned the courage for questions.
The back of the kitchens faced the herb and vegetable gardens. The Palace tried to be self-sufficient, buying items only when necessary. After Emmerich became king, he improved on the idea and added a dairy that produced milk, cheese, and butter, not to mention manure for the gardens. Jarrett noticed ornamental hedgerows had been sacrificed for more rows of beans. He wondered how many courtiers were affronted at having less space to casually wander through, as if there had been a shortage of it before.
A man in a short tunic, patched trousers, and wide brim hat stood by a small hedge of hawthorn, inspecting the branches with delicate hands.
“Ho there!” Jarrett called, walking around the beds. “You’re Dieter, yes?”
The man took his hat off. “I am, sir.”
“I am Jarrett, Captain of the Seer’s Guard.”
“I know who you are, sir.” His gaze wandered over Jarrett’s surcoat. “Are you all right, sir?”
“I’m fine. Do you have time for a few questions?”
“Certainly.”
“You know about the maids who turned out to be slaves?”
“Everyone knows about that. Sad business. One of them had an interest in the gardening. Had talent, too. She sang to a patch of wild bergamot that wasn’t in bloom. Next day.” He waved his calloused hand. “Full of blooms, it was.”
“A coincidence?”
“I hadn’t been able to get that bed to bloom. Evil in the soil or maybe one of the Palace cats pissed in it again.”
“So, a witch?”
He gestured again, as if to say ‘maybe but who knew?’
“This girl was named Mary?”
“That’s the one, sir.”
“Were there any plants she liked or wanted to learn about?”
“She seemed to dote on the blackthorn.”
“Where does that grow?”
“We got a few bushes, toward the back of the formal gardens. Lots of the courtiers say it’s cursed, so they won’t go near it. Mary, on the other hand? She took to the blackthorn like duck to water. And the hawthorn, as well.” He gestured at the bush beside them. “Made me suspect she had a deal with the small folk.”
“Small folk?”
“The faeries, Captain.”
Well, if golems could destroy towns, Jarrett supposed faeries wasn’t entirely peasant talk. “Did you notice her cut any of the flowers or shrubs?”
“I saw her cut from the blackthorn. I didn’t mind. It needs a trim, anyway. If you ever see Mary, you tell her she has a job waiting for her here. I can always use people with a heart for wild, growing things.”
“I’m afraid she’s left Bertrand.”
Dieter sighed. “Ah, well.”
“Did you see Mary speak with anyone? Did she have any friends?”
“Yes. She made friends with that Tieran maid. Phoebe, I think? She gave the blackthorn to her. Must have been for the Lady Thalia. It’s good for the skin, you see. Captain? Something wrong?”
Jarrett’s lips grew numb as several pieces of the puzzle slid into place.
***
Clara stared at her plate of breakfast. She knew she needed to be hungry. She needed to eat to return to health. However, it smelled unappetizing, like vomit or wet mold. Pushing the plate away, she pulled the curtain back. Morning light poured into the room, astounding in its brightness and leaving her temporarily blinded. Blinking, her eyes slowly adjusted.
Her rooms faced the front lawn of the Palace. She normally didn’t have the urge to people watch. However, a strange daydream-y feeling possessed her. It felt as if she could stare for hours. The sensation of feeling not altogether “there” settled on her in a shroud.
“My lady, you must eat.” Melody’s face came into view. Or Harmony’s? Clara studied it but she couldn’t decide. And it didn’t matter. She returned her attention to the scene outside, to the Palace lawn and the city beyond it. The curtain was pulled out of Clara’s hands as the maid tied it against the wall.
It felt like only a blink later but a hand covered hers.
“My heart?” Thalia gazed at her.
Clara searched her face. “My eyes are like yours.”
Her mother smiled. “Yes, they are.”
She looked back out the window. In a serenity that sent her heart flying, she watched the sun track across an autumn-blue sky as deep as a mountain spring. Swallows lifted and swooped in gauzy scarves of brown and black. Carriages, soldiers in red surcoats, and courtiers in bright garb wandered the brown lawn and stark, white gravel.
The sun approached the horizon, away from her view. Shadows lengthened. She noticed a man in blue, on a bay horse, ride through the gates. He felt familiar to Clara but when a name didn’t surface, she watched the scene below her for a time longer. Time, however, didn’t really matter. A feminine voice called her name.
Stars surrounded her. Clara stood, turning in a circle. It was where she bargained with the Mother and the Child. Joy and lightness filled her, ripping from her the last vestiges of flesh.
***
Clara’s night guards had arrived to replace the day guards.
“No,” Jarrett snapped. “I need three of you to remain here and one with me.”
“But, Captain,” began one of them.
“Finish that sentence, Henson, and I will shove my boot so far up your ass, you’ll be tasting leather for a week.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Barrow, with me.”
Barrow fell into step behind him. Jarrett’s mind raced and he cursed himself that he didn’t see it before that moment. The timing of the woman’s arrival was too damn convenient. He banged on Thalia’s door.
A few moments later, Photine answered. Jarrett shoved the door further open and bullied his way in.
“What are you doing?” Photine asked.
“Where is your mistress?” he asked.
“She’s not here.”
Jarrett strode toward the bedchamber.
“You can’t go in there!”
He found the bed made and the chamber empty. He crossed the sitting room toward the small privy.
“This is an outrage,” Photine spat.
“Barrow, if she says one more word, gag her.”
“Yes, Captain,” Barrow replied. He stared at Photine, who quailed.
No one in the privy as well. He was glad. Jarrett didn’t know what he would do if he came upon Lady Thalia in the middle of an expunge.
“Where is she?” he asked, going back over to the maid.
“I don’t know.”
“Listen to me, girl. The large man standing beside you may be frightening. Hell, I might be a little intimidating. But we’re nothing compared to the wrath of the King when he finds out you poisoned—and continue to poison—Clara. But if you harmed Lady Thalia—”
Photine’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? I haven’t harmed anyone. And I would never hurt Lady Thalia.”
“If that’s true, why did you accept blackthorn from a slave? Why were you seen purchasing slaves at The Siren? Who ordered you to do this? Nikolo?”
She dropped her eyes.
Jarrett grabbed her chin and angled her head so he could catch her eye. He could feel her trembling. “I won’t ask again.”
“It’s not what it appears. Lady Thalia only wants to help Lady Clara. I had to help her. She is my mistress.”
He released her. “Thalia poisoned her own daughter?”
“No. Not poisoned.”
“Where is she?”
“With Lady Clara, of course. Captain, wait!”
Jarrett ran back to Clara’s room. “Open that door!” he shouted at the men as he approached.
They obeyed. He rushed into the room in time to see Lady Thalia bending over Clara, who lay unconscious on the floor.
“Stay away from her,” demanded Jarrett. He grabbed the old woman and pulled her away.
“Release me,” Thalia cried. “My daughter needs me.”
“Don’t lie. I don’t know how you’ve been doing it but I know you’ve been harming Clara. You will not come near her again. Henson, take Thalia to the dungeons.”
“No! You mustn’t! Let me go.”
“STOP.”
The word boomed through the room, bringing with it a hot wind of power. Bruin stood in the doorway, his magic shimmering around him. Jarrett’s hand fell to his sword. Bruin glared at him. After a pause, Jarrett let his hand drop away.
“What are you doing, Bruin?” he asked, keeping his voice low and calm. One mustn’t piss off wizards more than necessary, after all.
The tension in the air faded but the tang of magic still filled the room, the bitter smell that comes after lightning. “Lady Thalia told me to visit Lady Clara this evening. She said it was nearly time. My lady?”
Thalia said, “It has begun.”
Jarrett waved his free hand. “Time for what? What is going on?”
Bruin sighed and the rest of the magic went out of him. Ordinary Bruin stood there again. “Lady Clara has been undergoing a rite of passage. It’s a little more complicated than simply that but it’s important we continue it. If we don’t, her ladyship may never awaken. We also need to send for Healer Paula.”
“Paula knew as well? Did she have something to do with Thalia’s potions and books being approved for use?”
“Yes. The man you sent the items to for inspection had already left the city on his herb gathering excursion. She took them.”
“I should have hand delivered them myself. What has begun, exactly?”
Bruin shrugged. “A rite of passage which calls for three administrators: one with the Sight, one with strong magic, and one with the gift of healing. All Seers in Tier go through this rite, Jarrett. Thalia herself underwent it.”
“This isn’t Tier.”
“No, but if Lady Clara is going there, we needed to make sure she is on the same level as those she must face. You have to—”
“Trust you? How? After I met your friend at The Red Hare and now that I know you’ve been lying to me? You knew about the Black Arrows the whole time and waited to tell me!”
“I was going to take care of the Black Arrows in time, Jarrett. But we needed to wait—”
“For Clara to nearly die?”
Bruin’s jaw clenched. “It’s vital that the one undergoing the rite not know what is happening. The rite is a closely held secret among the Seers in Tier. It was by miracle Thalia found a handbook among Marduk’s old library. If I told you what was happening, you would have felt honor bound to tell her ladyship. We needed to cover our tracks and confuse the issue. Besides, I never lied. Not exactly.”
“Does the King know?”
“No.”
Jarrett let out a string of curse words. “I’m not the one telling him. To the inferno with that.”
“We need to hurry,” Thalia said. Her wide eyes were trained on her daughter’s prone form and Jarrett could feel her trembling. “Please.” She turned her gaze to Jarrett. “Please believe him.”
He honestly didn’t know what was going on anymore. A part of him screamed not to trust because trusting had brought him only grief last time. And he was tired of being lied to. But Clara needed help and Bruin claimed to be able to do that.
To save her.
Bruin stared at him and Jarrett thought of all they had gone through together, how at one time they’d entrusted their lives to each other. Jarrett looked at Clara and knew it would destroy him if she died.
“Henson, change of plans,” Jarrett said. “Fetch Healer Paula and send a page for the King. Tell him it’s urgent and concerns Lady Clara.” He released Thalia. “Can we move her?”
“Yes.”
Jarrett lifted Clara in his arms and carried her back to her bed. He arranged her head on the pillows, brushing strands of hair from her forehead. Thalia sat on the edge of the bed.
“Now what?” he asked.
“We cannot do any more until Paula arrives.”
“Tell me about this rite.”
“All Seers go through it when their novitiate at the House of the Seer ends. It admits them into the full order. Because I have the Sight, I went to live at the House for a year. I underwent the rite but the Seers determined my gift too weak to warrant a place for me. They sent me home.”
“What does it do?”
“It unlocks the totality of the Seer’s gift. First, the novice receives an herb called Seefar. It affects everyone differently. Clara reacted as if she had been poisoned. After that, a series of tonics are administered until the novice falls into a sleep like this one.”
“But why did you need blackthorn? Why did you need slaves?”
“I only wanted the one and I intended to give her a new life. I needed a girl with green magic to harvest special herbs at the right time because I couldn’t be seen doing it. My maid Photine didn’t possess the proper knowledge. I couldn’t trust Nikolo, so I went to the Black Arrows for a slave. They sold me three. Through Photine, I promised them a new life, winning me their loyalty. The blackthorn was part of a protection spell.” She pinched the bridge of her nose briefly, as if gathering her thoughts. “I thought Clara would fall into the sleep much sooner than this.”
“Does that mean anything?”
“It’s usually taken as a bad sign but Clara’s gift is unlike anything since the Seer Persephone.”
That did not make Jarrett feel better. “When will she awake?”
“That depends a lot on her and if we complete the remaining spells correctly.”
“If she dies—”
“Don’t say that, Captain. Please. My daughter will live. I can’t let myself think anything other than that.” She took Clara’s hand. “She will live.”
Thalia’s face carried a mix of anguish and hope. Those emotions did a lot more convincing than any of Bruin’s words.
***
Emmerich raised his eyes to meet Lord Nikolo’s. “You’re not going to win.”
The ambassador smiled. “If you say so, Your Majesty.”
He reached out and moved the spire piece three blocks across the board. “On guard.”
Nikolo, without missing a beat, moved his knight and tipped over the Emperor. “Deposed.”
“How?”
“His Majesty does not see as far ahead as a Tieran, I’m afraid.”
“This is a stupid game.” Emmerich sipped his tea.
“If the King says so but I believe he only needs practice.”
“You don’t have to talk to me in the third person, you know.”
“It’s a Tieran custom, sire.”
Emmerich grunted. He enjoyed a regular game with Lord Nikolo. Sometimes, it felt like what they said about the game held deeper meanings. Or maybe it was the way the man spoke in measured tones.
“Ambassador, there’s a troubling matter I’ve wanted to bring to your attention.”
“I hope I can help.”
“Lord Ambrose tells me he hasn’t seen King Precene in six months. Even Her Majesty, Queen Tajana, has been scarce. Now, a paranoid man would think he’s being slighted. But Ambrose says only the Inner Council have been admitted into the King’s presence. At any functions, the Crown Princess Ismene has stood in for both King and Queen. Is everything all right?”
“The Royal Pair continue to enjoy perfect health. They’ve chosen to spend more time together in their older years. I hope Lord Ambrose doesn’t feel neglected.”
“He’s meeting with members of the Inner Council and believes his messages are getting through.”
“Good. I’m pleased to hear that.”
“But if he could meet with the Royal Pair, that would put my mind at ease.”
“I will see what I can do. Has his—”
Emmerich scowled
Nikolo smiled. “Has Your Majesty perused the portraits I brought?”
“Precene has beautiful daughters. And the descriptions were helpful.”
“Did any of them catch your eye, especially?”
“I prefer to talk to my women. Besides.” He settled back into his chair. “You know I intend to wed Lady Clara.”
“The Council hasn’t approved that and the laws of your realm require such approval.”
“It’s only a matter of time.”
“But you must see the advantage in a match with a Tieran princess. Not only would the tie between our kingdoms be deepened but that would encourage my King to send you more aid. I’m sure money to rebuild the Low Quarters, perhaps even install a new wall, would be appreciated.”
“It would. But money can be got in other ways. I don’t see why we can’t write a stronger treaty or exchange hostages. It’s a common practice among the lords in the north. Think of it like fostering. You have an individual who is important to me, I have one who is important to you, and we’ll both be less inclined to be foolish.”
“That is not our tradition.”
“I notice that Princess Ismene didn’t make it to the list.”
“A different match is being negotiated for her, I’m afraid. You should consider—”
The door of the study slammed open. Emmerich surged to his feet. A page, breathless and sweaty, stumbled in.
“Sire, come quickly,” the boy said. “It’s the Seer.”
“What happened?”
“The guard said to come right away. It’s bad. They say she might be dying.”
For a heartbeat, Emmerich forgot how to breathe. Had the assassin attacked? He hadn’t gotten around to broaching the subject with Nikolo, since he hadn’t wanted to suggest Precene was behind it. Now, he cursed himself for attempting diplomacy.
“See the ambassador out of the Royal Wing,” he instructed the page.
Nikolo stood and bowed. Emmerich hardly saw it as he walked out of the room as fast he could without breaking into a full run. Fear harried him the whole way, like crows harassing a mortally wounded man.
***
He kept telling himself that running would only draw attention, which would raise questions and cause alarm. However, as he approached Clara’s rooms, he moved at a jog, the boots of his guards thudding in rhythm behind him.
Emmerich entered Clara’s sitting room to find Jarrett scratching at dried blood on his neck. A wave of fear washed over him. His knees weakened and he grabbed the back of a chair to keep from falling.
“Child’s balls,” he said, “what happened? How bad is she hurt?”
Jarrett’s brows rose. “What, sire? Oh.” He touched one of the bloodstains. “This isn’t Clara’s.”
Emmerich let out a long breath and nearly sagged. “Whose is it?”
“I helped raid a couple of warehouses for slavers. I haven’t washed yet. I’m sorry I frightened you, sire.”
“Where is Clara?”
“In her bed.”
Emmerich brushed past him. “Go clean yourself.”
Clara lay, still and small, with the coverlet drawn over her. Bruin and Thalia spoke in low tones off to the side. Paula crushed herbs in a bowl. Emmerich bent over Clara and pressed a hand onto her forehead.
“Sweetling?” he called.
“She won’t wake, sire,” Thalia said. “Not yet.”
“What do you mean? Not yet?”
Thalia jerked her head around toward Bruin. Bruin folded his arms, tucking his hands into his hanging sleeves. “Perhaps we should discuss this in the sitting room, Your Majesty.”
“We can discuss this—whatever this is—right here, right now.” He straightened. The anger that seemed to stay with him, but tucked away, arose in a scalding wave. “What do we need to discuss?”
“In Tier, there is a secret rite of passage all Seers must go through. Lady Thalia approached me about putting her daughter through it. While she experienced it herself, she wasn’t familiar enough with the ritual to recreate it. We were able to find a handbook among Marduk’s old library, however. Lady Clara’s present condition, and her illness beforehand, are all a part of this rite.”
“And why the hell wasn’t I informed? Did Clara know?”
“No, sire. One of the elements of the rite is that no one save the ones administering it can know what is happening.”
“Why the hell not?” A stillness settled over Emmerich. It banked the fire of his rage and he recognized it from a hundred other encounters. It was the quiet that descended on him before he killed a man.
“It’s a journey of self-discovery. To allow outsiders or even the person experiencing the rite to know about it would be to contaminate the journey.”
Emmerich came around the bed and slowly moved toward Bruin. “Let me see if I understand. You are trying to tell me no one poisoned Clara?”
“Yes, sire.”
“And that her ‘illness’ was a damnable rite of passage?”
“Yes, sire.” Bruin backed up and bumped into the wall behind him. “Lady Thalia’s tonics were part of it. The idea is to unlock all the powers within the Seer. They all react differently. It took us this long to reach the final phase.”
“And now what?” He stopped within easy pummeling distance of the wizard.
“And now we must conduct spells, burn incense, and wait. If Clara passes the rite, she will wake.”
“What happens if she fails the rite?”
“She won’t wake. She’ll remain thus until she dies.”
“And—how long—” Emmerich’s breath caught in his throat.
“Not long. A day or two at the most.”
The rage grew hotter in his gut. “How dare you? How dare you put Clara’s life in danger?”
“It was necessary.” Bruin met Emmerich’s eyes.
Emmerich clenched his hands into tight fists. “Who else knew?”
“Majesty—”
Emmerich grabbed him by the front of his robes and jerked him close. The knife he kept hidden under his robes appeared in his hand and he pressed the blade against Bruin’s throat. “Who. Else.”
“I knew,” Paula said.
He released Bruin and stared, open-mouthed, at the healer. She paused in her grinding. He remembered the unwanted attraction and the nightmares she tried to save him from. Their conversations and confidences replayed in his mind. It felt as if a mule had kicked him in the gut. Paula returned to her task.
“If she dies,” Emmerich said, his tone low and menacing, “I’ll kill you all myself.” He glared at Thalia. “Even you.”
Turning on his heel, he stormed out. In fact, he kept going, leaving Clara’s chambers to cross the hall and slammed open the door into Jarrett’s room.
The Captain of the Seer’s Guard was still in the process of removing his armor. He had stripped to his greaves, revealing the sweat-stained clothing beneath. He straightened, one of the plates in hand.
“Who told you?” Jarrett asked.
“Bruin.” Emmerich shut the door and tucked his dagger back into its hiding place.
“Ah.” He tossed the greave next to the rest of his armor and began working on the strings of the other.
“If Clara doesn’t survive this—I don’t know what to do. Hell, I don’t know what to do now. I want to throw them all into the deepest hole under the Palace and forget about them. But the rite must be completed.” He spat the last as if it were wormwood.
“I can imagine a few people in the Council who want to see Bruin’s head on top of a pike rather than his shoulders.”
Emmerich snorted. “Bruin wouldn’t wait around to be executed. Killing Thalia could start a war with Tier but I’m not sure I care about that anymore. And Paula—” He shook his head.
“I’m sorry, sire.” Jarrett poured water into a basin and shucked off the dark blue arming doublet.
“Do not tell me you knew the truth.”
“I didn’t learn the truth until shortly before you. All the clues I found led me back to Photine, Thalia’s maid. And when I confronted Photine, she pointed me to her mistress.”
“And the assassin? The one you learned about through Bruin?”
“That’s a separate problem, as far as I can tell.”
“Fantastic.”
“Can I get you a cup of wine?”
“I’m fine.” He wasn’t. He wanted to pace. He wanted to yell, maybe throw a vase. And he wanted to drink until nothing mattered. He straightened his hands and realized he trembled. He shoved them through his hair and took a deep breath.
Jarrett raised a brow but said nothing as he cleansed dried blood from his skin.
“I can’t just sit around and pray,” Emmerich said.
“You can clean my armor.” The captain gave a small half-smile.
He snorted. “I’m not that desperate. You should consider getting a squire.”
“Too much trouble.”
Emmerich grunted. “Well, I’m going back to watch over Clara. I saw four men at her door.”
“Two of them have already stood there all day.”
“Replace them with fresh. And Jarrett?”
“Yes?”
“Is there anything else I need to know?”
Jarrett broke eye contact. “What I know, Lady Clara will need to share with you.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m afraid I’m not able to say.”
Emmerich shook his head and left the room.
***
One step after another. Heel, followed by sole, followed by toes, pressing into nothing. Nothing but blue emptiness and stars. Clara took in the shining lights above and below and before. She saw no one else. No Child or Mother or even a saint. Only her. Taking one step after another.
Wind, carrying spice and magic, brought the sibilance of voices.
She followed the sound, walking into the wind, and one of the stars flared. Harsh white dazzled her eyes. Throwing her hands up, she tried to shield herself but the light pierced her until she became it. For a moment, heart-wrenching and stretched out like a midsummer day, Clara forgot her name.
The light dimmed. Stone chilled the bottoms of her feet. Statues of mermaids posed in the center of a fountain, water spilling from their long tendrils of hair to run over the curves of their bodies. Overhead, an empty night sky hung low. Torches spilled flickering light into the square. From another street nearby, people laughed and talked. The cold night carried the spicy, cinnamon smell of autumn.
A man walked by. He wore a brown tunic over brown trousers. Black boots. A knife hung from his black belt, along with a short sword and a pouch. He swung his arms with each stride. A man with a purpose, with a place to go and a task to complete. The task could be anything: a business meeting, a shopping trip to the night markets, or to go home to his family.
But her gut clenched. A part of her, the part still in that light that overwhelmed, still connected with the ground and the air and flickering torchlight, told her to follow the man.
Clara fell into step beside him. He didn’t react at all to her joining him. Now closer, she could see they were of a similar height and he possessed the slanted, almond eyes of a Tieran.
The man went inside a bakery, full of the sweet-sour aroma of yeast and the bright scent of fresh bread. The small public area contained only a counter. The man went around the counter into the baking room. Bread proved under cloth on racks near the ovens still admitting heat. A maid wiped a table. She stopped as the man entered, unafraid and unsurprised.
He drew three gold coins from his pouch and laid them onto the table. From her apron, the maid produced a key. The man accepted the key and left the way he came. The girl pocketed the coins. The scent of spices rolled over Clara again. The scene dissolved into darkness.
A wooden floor came into focus and Clara realized she knelt on her hands and knees. She trembled because she recognized the pattern of carpet nearby. She didn’t want to be here again. She did not want to witness this again. Couldn’t she have happy visions? Ones about picnics and balls and rides through the park, the small pleasures of Court she only loved when Emmerich took part? Why did she always see darkness and blood and strangers trading coins for keys?
She tried to wrench herself from the vision, to not see this again, but nothing happened. An air of expectation weighed upon her. The only way out was through.
Clara stood. Screaming and crying filled a lavishly appointed room: velvets, brocades, and tapestries in shades of green, cream, and rose. The Queen’s chambers. The ones Emmerich designed for her.
She saw her mirrored self seated on a birthing chair. Naked and legs opened wide, other-Clara screamed as she pushed, hands braced against her knees. The insides of her thighs were slick with blood and fluids. A midwife moved into position between Clara’s legs, speaking encouragement in low tones. The first time she saw this, Clara experienced being in that chair and she pressed her hands against her belly as the memory of those pains ripped through her.
From outside the door, swords clashed in sharp clangs of metal. It would all be over soon.
Other-Clara fell back against Harmony, who supported her. Harmony ran a hand over her future self’s sweaty forehead.
“It’s a boy,” the midwife said, holding the naked child, covered in blood and grey fluid and with a head full of black hair. “The King has a son!” She lowered the babe and set about tying off and cutting the cord. Other-Clara screamed again as she finished passing the afterbirth.
The door broke open. Soldiers rushed past Clara. Soldiers in the grey and black livery of Tier.
“No, please!” other-Clara screamed.
The midwife stepped back, trying to shield the baby with her body, only for a sword to plunge into her throat. Bright red heart’s blood spurted from the wound. The soldier yanked the baby from the woman’s arms. Harmony shoved against another soldier but he threw her to the floor. The soldier kicked her in the face.
Clara closed her eyes and listened to the retreating footsteps of the soldiers. Shattered sobs filled the air. Familiar footfalls rushed into the sitting room. A shocked pause.
“They took the baby,” whimpered her future self. “They took him.”
“We need to get you out of here.” Jarrett’s voice. “The walls fell. They’ve taken the city.”
“Where’s Emmerich?”
“He’s going to join us. Can you stand?”
“I don’t know.”
Clara opened her eyes and watched Jarrett check on Harmony. “She’s alive,” he said. “But we don’t have time for her.”
“We can’t leave her.”
“I’m sorry, Clara.”
He helped her into a loose gown and wrapped her in a blanket. Lifting her into his arms, he strode out of the room.
The scene changed again.
Clara watched Jarrett, cradling her against himself, ride out of the city on Heartsblood. She followed like a phantom on the wind as they dashed through fiery streets, people begging for help, and soldiers fighting each other. Jarrett pelted through a half-ruined gate and into smoke and haze that swirled over her.
Burgeoning firelight slowly cast aside the haze. A hearth took form, the dancing flames casting playful light over the stone. The boxy structure of the fireplace revealed itself and Clara saw, highlighted in red and gold, the straight line of a modest mantel.
Sobbing interlaced with the crackle and pop from the logs. Two forms huddled inside the pool of light. The room appeared darker than it should have been. Only flat blackness existed beyond the firelight and the figures.
One of them lifted their head, the hood of a cloak falling back. Clara stared at herself, at tears rolling along her cheeks, dripping from her chin. Clara touched her own cheeks; this mirrored version of her had a fuller face.
The other person moved and a face became bare to the light. Jarrett. Anger radiated from his clenched jaw even as his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.
“I want him,” the other-Clara whispered. “I need him.”
The phrase went through Clara in a wave of fear and pain. She fell away from the scene, toward the fireplace. But she did not fall into fire. Rather, she fell into night and darkness.
The turquoise tile surrounding the World’s Eye felt cool beneath Clara’s feet. The World’s Eye was a pool located in a cave beneath the House of the Seer in Aphos. The cave air smelled damp and musty. Across from her, on the other side of the pool, an old woman in white leaned forward to Bertrand’s fall in fire and death. From what Thalia told her, the woman Clara glared at was the High Seer, Gaiana.
Bertrand would burn. Tier would take the kingdom. And the baby? What became of her and Emmerich’s son, she didn’t know, and that was the worst part of all.
All because of this woman, who held the ear of King Precene. Why Clara couldn’t marry Emmerich, how that made a difference, eluded her but she couldn’t risk bringing a child into the world. Not for as long as this woman drew breath.
“I am coming for you,” Clara spat.
Gaiana sat back. For a terrifying moment, Clara thought she had been heard. Behind the woman, a large, black shadow shaped like a horned beast reared. Clara shrank back. The shadow faded. Gaiana got to her feet and shuffled out of the cavern.
“Clarie?”
She stood again among the stars. A man in his twentieth decade, around Clara’s age, smiled at her. He wore a red and black tunic over black trousers. His dark brown hair was brushed back from his face and stood a little taller than her. He smiled and recognition lit through Clara in a wave.
“Da?” she whispered.
“My girl.” Egbert held out his arms.
Clara fell into them, burying her face in his chest and holding him tightly. “Da, I miss you.”
He ran a hand over her hair, cupping the back of her neck. “I’m here, sweetling. I’m here.”
“Da, I don’t know what to do. So much could go wrong—”
“Shh. I know you’ll make th’ best choice.” He drew away from her and looked down into her eyes. “Know that I am always wi’ ye, my dear. But ye have t’go back now.” Egbert kissed her on the forehead. “I love ye.”
“I love you, too.”
He released her and Clara fell into the endless night sky.
***
Emmerich paced the sitting room. Nearly midnight, according to the candle guttering in its holder. He knew he needed to sit and rest. To sleep. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even focus on the wine Lady Melody poured out for him. He could only walk, from one side of the room to the next, counting each step as he went. At least now he knew the sitting room was fifteen paces wide.
Niall, who had been in his chambers, had been brought to him. The little aerial, exhausted by Emmerich’s emotions, snored from a pile of pillows in a corner.
“Your Majesty,” Jarrett said from his place on the couch, “you’re going to walk a hole into the floor.”
“Floors can be repaired.’
“I think—”
“Quiet, Jarrett.”
The captain lowered his head. Despite his suggestion, Jarrett had been fidgeting as well. At the moment, he tapped his foot against the leg of a table.
From the bed chamber, Emmerich could hear Bruin chanting in a harsh, low tongue. The spicy and earthy scents of sandalwood and frankincense rolled out of the room in faint wisps of incense. Bruin hadn’t stopped chanting since the ritual began. His voice sounded raspy and painful. Emmerich wondered what they would do if—
“Majesty,” Jarrett said again.
“What?”
“They’ve stopped.”
Emmerich came to a halt so suddenly, his shoulders bowed forward as if his upper half still thought he was going somewhere. He listened hard. No sound came out of the bedchamber. His ears strained for the slightest noise. He took a few steps forward.
Cloth rustled and Healer Paula came out.
“Well?” asked Emmerich.
“Her ladyship awoke for a few moments before she passed into regular sleep.”
The tension flowed out of him. Emmerich collapsed into a nearby chair. “So, she passed the rite?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Jarrett, escort Lady Thalia to her rooms. I want her under arrest until I talk to Clara.”
Jarrett launched himself from the couch and strode through the parted curtains. From inside the chamber, Thalia’s voice rose into a sharp rebuke, followed by the low murmur of Bruin’s voice.
“I need to stay with my daughter,” she responded. There was so much venom and anger in her voice, Emmerich was surprised they didn’t dissolve the curtains.
Bruin replied but Emmerich couldn’t make out the words. After a few moments, both Jarrett and Bruin came out with her.
“Everything will be all right,” Bruin reassured her.
“No,” Emmerich said in a voice as cold as death. “It won’t.”
Thalia, stone-faced, curtsied to Emmerich before being escorted out. Paula disappeared back into the bedchamber. Bruin stood a few feet away from Emmerich, out of stabbing range.
Emmerich stood and put his hands on his hips. “When it came out that Remus had been a part of the Academy, the Council wanted to close the Academy. You argued that it was best to train all those with magical talent under one roof, that it would allow us to know who was trained and who wasn’t. I agreed, despite what happened with the Low Quarters and despite the fact that we failed to identify Remus for months. What you did for Lorst during the rebellion against Marduk carried that much weight. And now I find that you have not only been lying to my face but also hampering an investigation. Jarrett told me you knew about the Black Arrows but did nothing. You put Clara’s life in danger. I can forgive a lot, Bruin. I cannot forgive this.”
Bruin clasped his hands behind his back. “Your Majesty, Lady Thalia came to me afraid for her daughter. We know that, one day, Lady Clara will go into Tier. She will meet with the other Seers there. Tier can be a dangerous place, full of intrigue. Her experiencing the rite will help to protect and prepare her. She can now approach the Tieran Seers with head held high because she has passed the rite. She is now on the same level as the rest of them. As far as the Black Arrows are concerned, I intended to deal with them quietly. But they served a purpose and caused misdirection, allowing us to work in secret. I do not regret doing what was necessary.” He swallowed, his lips pressing together, and Emmerich wondered if Bruin lied about not regretting.
“And you are that certain she will go to Tier?” Emmerich asked. “I sincerely doubt I would allow my wife to put herself in such jeopardy.”
“You are not married yet, sire. And we are certain, yes.”
“Why?”
“It is not for me to say.”
“Who, then?”
Bruin did not answer. His dark brown eyes gazed back steadily.
Emmerich shouted, “Guards.”
The door opened and the four guards entered.
“Bruin, hand me your belt.”
The skin around the wizard’s mouth tightened. The blue and white belt served as a mark of belonging to the kingdom and being of service to the King. All full wizards wore one because they were expected to serve, in one way or another. Bruin unbuckled the belt and took the three steps required to hand it over.
Emmerich took the belt with his left hand. With his right, he punched Bruin in the face. The wizard stumbled back a step. Blood trickled from his split lip.
“Take Bruin into the dungeons,” Emmerich ordered.
There guards hesitated. Bruin needed only to wave his hand and utter a few words and they would all go ablaze like dry wood. He made no such motion.
“Don’t be afraid,” Emmerich said. “I’m sure Bruin will go peacefully.”
Two guards walked around him and grasped the wizard by either arm.
“Are you going to have me arrested?” Paula stood in the doorway, holding the curtains apart in either hand.
“I don’t know.” Emmerich slapped the belt in the palm of his hand. “How much did you know?”
“Everything.”
Rage stole the breath from his lungs. Niall awoke with a cry and threw herself at Emmerich’s legs. That was pure fortune because it distracted him. It kept him from striding across the room. Emmerich did not enjoy hitting women and had only committed violence against two. One he killed. The other—Clara—had to be broken from a trance in Castle Orlind during the civil war last year. The only way he knew how was to slap her. If Emmerich crossed the room to Paula, it wouldn’t be for a mere smack across the cheek.
“Will Clara—” His voice broke. He swallowed. “Will Clara need any special treatment as she recovers?”
“No. Lady Thalia said she would need about a day’s worth of rest and she would be fine. She must eat well and go outside but there’s nothing she needs me for.”
The anger thumped a steady tempo just behind his eyes. If Emmerich ordered Bruin and Paula killed, no one would object. It would be within his rights as King and arbitrator of justice. He could even do it himself, with his knife or a borrowed sword. Niall whined and he felt her love press against the darkness within him screaming for release.
“Guards,” he choked out, “put her in a cell as well.”
Emmerich didn’t move as guards escorted Bruin and Paula from the room. When the door closed, Emmerich turned to Jarrett.
“You may go, Captain,” Emmerich told him.
Jarrett hesitated, opened his mouth, thought better of it, and bowed before leaving.
The two ladies-in-waiting had remained in the sitting room, ignoring Emmerich’s permission to go to bed. Lady Melody stepped forward and curtsied.
“Your Majesty,” she said, “is there anything we can get you?”
“You both can leave,” he said.
“Majesty?”
“I know. It’s immodest, improper, im-what-the-hell-ever for you to leave me alone with her. But, at the moment, I don’t care. Both of you go and do not return until summoned.”
After they left, Emmerich threw the belt into a chair and took several deep breaths. When much of his anger was dispelled and he felt safe to be around fragile items and people, he entered Clara’s bedchamber.
Two lamps cast warm, golden light into the room. Incense still smoldered. Emmerich closed the burners to snuff the coals.
Clara slept peacefully in the bed, the sheets drawn to her chin. Her cheeks showed the first faint suggestion of pink in weeks. Niall hopped onto the bed and stretched out beside her. Emmerich kissed Clara on the forehead. She sighed. Emmerich kissed her closed eyelids, her lips, and the steady pulse in her neck. She moaned softly and he longed for her. But now was not the time.
Emmerich stripped down to his trousers and climbed into bed beside her, jostling Niall. The aerial grumbled and moved to lie at their feet. Emmerich pulled Clara against them and listened to her heartbeat until he drifted to sleep.
