When I slipped into the throne hall to stand among the crowd of guests and onlookers at its edge, I found it completely transformed. All my anxiety vanished, drowned in pure wonder.
Delicate vines grew up the inside walls and covered the ceiling; pale, luminous flowers bloomed among them, casting an eerie light. Fireflies danced in the air, and moths fluttered about, wings glowing with pale luminescence. Each Witch Lord must have added some living light to the room as part of the opening ceremonies; mushroom rings sprouted from the marble floor, shedding a faint green glow from under their caps, and lichens spread lovely patterns of light across the ceiling. The Lady of Spiders had kindly contributed a swarm of arachnids to crawl along the walls, each with a gleaming spot on its back in the shape of a skull. The air I drew into my lungs tasted fresh and damp, and the place felt like an enchanted forest.
The only warm light came from the flickering pillar candles at two of three pedestals arranged in a triangle around the Truce Stone basin at the center of the throne room. The third pedestal held unlit candles, and as I watched the Serpent Lord reached out to kindle one.
A hand seized my arm. A crawling sensation radiated from the painful grip, as if worms invaded my skin.
“What have you done?” Ruven hissed, bending his face near mine.
On either side of me, the Lady of Thorns’ daughter and one of the Lady of Bears’ sons drew aside, giving Ruven space. The Kindling ceremony carried on.
I tried to shake free of Ruven but found I couldn’t move my arm. “You know what I’ve done. You left us a present in hopes we’d try it.”
“But not now!” Pain shot through my arm, to punctuate his words. I drew a sharp breath through my teeth. “My lady, normally I admire your audacity, but this is too much. Where have you taken them? Why can’t I reach them?”
A surge of triumph stretched a smile across my face. “Because they’re not yours anymore. They never were.”
Ruven’s mouth twisted toward a snarl, but he visibly mastered himself, smoothing it back into his usual expression of amusement. “So you’ve stolen them back. Well played, my lady, well played.” He leaned even closer, until his lips nearly brushed my ear. I couldn’t pull away, with his magic wound through me. “But you made one mistake. You came back here alone.”
“You won’t do anything to me during the Kindling.” I tried to keep my voice calm, though my heart raced and stumbled like a three-legged racehorse. “You would never dare disrupt such an important ceremony, especially since it’s your first time hosting the Conclave.”
His smile spread wide. “Ah, but you forget that I can kill you while you stand here, silent as a fall of snow, and leave you standing in place until the Conclave is over.” He laid a hand along my cheek. “So discreet, even a Raverran would approve.”
I tried to reply, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. He’d stopped my lungs. Graces help me.
I stared desperately across the shimmering ghostly lights of the throne hall toward Kathe, but he watched the Serpent Lord place his candle on one of the pedestals, seemingly enthralled by the ceremony. My pulse pounded like thunder in my ears, and my chest burned with the need for air.
“But wait.” Ruven let out a sigh, and I could breathe again. “I forgot the little matter of your connection to the Lady of Eagles.”
I sucked in a deep gasp and yanked my arm away from him. “You vile wretch,” I rasped.
“It might not even be an issue,” he murmured contemplatively, “but best not to risk it, yes? I lose nothing by waiting.” He swept into a courtly bow. “Enjoy the Kindling, my lady. We will finish our business once the Conclave is over.”
He turned and sauntered off, leaving me clutching at my flare locket, my fingers entangled in the claws at my throat.
Kathe caught my eye across the hall and ambled over, grinning, careful not to disturb any of the people watching the Kindling. I couldn’t repress a flare of anger at the cheery unconcern on his face.
“You seemed to handle that well,” he greeted me.
“He nearly killed me! Where were you?”
“Shh.” He lifted a finger to his lips, his voice barely above a whisper. “We must respect the ceremony. And I judged you had it under control.”
“Then you’re a terrible judge,” I said.
“Look.” He directed his gaze toward the center of the throne hall, where the Lady of Bears placed her candle on one of the pedestals. “That one is for those who support the invasion. The other is for those who stand against it.”
I counted the slim golden flames with despair. The Lady of Bears had lit the fifth candle for war. Only one candle burned alone for peace. But the remaining eleven still stood unlit on the third pedestal, so there was hope yet. “You said it’s customary for some candles to move during the course of the Kindling, right?”
“Yes. You’ll see. And I do plan to speak out against the war, for what it’s worth.” His eyes glittered with interest as he watched the Lady of Gulls light her candle. She might have been an image of one of the Graces, with a slim, rippling white gown and a white-winged crown. Hers was an island domain, off the northern coast, and on Kathe’s tip I’d spoken to her at some length of the benefits of trade with the Serene Empire. She caught my eye and nodded before placing her candle with Kathe’s.
I sighed with relief. “Well, that’s a bit better. I’m glad my efforts here haven’t been entirely in vain.”
But then the Elk Lord lit his candle and moved with solemn stateliness to set it on the pedestal for war. I gripped Kathe’s arm for support, stricken, as two more Witch Lords immediately followed suit, casting glances at the Elk Lord.
“The Lady of Otters is his daughter,” Kathe murmured, “and the Willow Lord his neighbor. They will always follow his lead. It’s a shame you couldn’t convince him.”
Eight candles lifted their flames for war. Only two against it. Grace of Wisdom help me—if three Witch Lords had been enough to plunge the Empire into three years of hard-fought war, eight could destroy it utterly.
Seven candles remained unkindled. The Lady of Otters and the Willow Lord took their places in the loose ring of spectators, and silence fell over the throne hall.
The Yew Lord stood forward, the oldest of the Witch Lords and the officiant of the ceremony. His sunken eyes stared out above a beard like a trail of moss, and his deep brown hands rested on a staff formed of delicately braided wood in different colors. His ancient presence drank the silence in, until it became a deep, still pool that held us all.
“Are there any others who would light a candle before we begin?” he asked. His voice sliced the air with a keen profundity, a blade of sound and air.
No one stirred.
“Then let any speak who would seek to sway the Conclave.” The Yew Lord stepped back, releasing the room’s attention.
My heart thundered like an unleashed storm. This was my final chance to tip the balance. The words of my prepared speech jumbled together in my head, merging to become the meaningless roar of the ocean.
Ruven strode forward into the void the Yew Lord had left, spreading his hands in welcome.
“My friends! Thank you for answering my late father’s call and coming to this Conclave. My house is honored by your presence.” He bowed to the assembly. “It is a great tragedy that I must take over my father’s place in this Conclave as the Witch Lord of Kazerath. But it is all the more reason we must show strength against the Serene Empire. We cannot allow them to think us weak, that one of theirs slew a Witch Lord! No, we must put the common rabble in their place.” He smiled, as if the idea delighted him. “I am grateful to those of you who give me your support at this vital moment. I will repay you as you deserve—and as the first Skinwitch to become a Witch Lord, I remind you that I can repay my favors in truly unique ways.” He caught the Lady of Spiders’ gaze; to my horror, she smiled at him. “Thank you, my fellows. That is all.”
With a swirl of his black leather coat, he marched back to his place. He had hardly taken it when the Lady of Spiders glided forth, moving to the cluster of unlit candles at the third point around the center.
“To an interesting future,” she said, and lit her candle. She lifted it to Ruven like a toast, and placed it with his. On her way back to her place, she gave me an amused look that said clearly, You should have taken my bargain.
The Lady of Laurels sighed then, kindled her own unlit candle, and moved it to stand beside that of the Lady of Spiders. She cast a resigned look in her direction that I took to mean she was discharging a favor.
Ten candles for war, and only two for peace. “Graces preserve us,” I whispered.
“I’m hardly one of your Graces,” Kathe said, “but I’ll see what I can do.”
He strutted out to the center of the room, nodding to a few particular faces. Then he addressed them, turning slowly to take in the entire room.
“Crows are creatures of opportunity,” he said, “and the opportunities in alliance with the Serene Empire are limitless. War locks us in the cycle of the past; but some of us are bold enough to fly forward into the future.” He caught and held the gaze of a few Witch Lords in turn; I couldn’t tell which ones from where I was standing. “Some old legends say crows have the gift of prophecy and can foretell death.” He shrugged, grinning. “When all debts are paid, and all battles lost and won, I think I know who will still be standing. I’ve spoken to some of you about this. Time will tell soon enough if I’m right.”
It was an odd speech. I scanned the faces of the other Witch Lords; they reflected a variety of reactions, from thoughtful consideration to puzzlement. The Lady of Thorns smiled, seeming deeply satisfied.
Her face struck a deep chill in my chest. Why would she react like that to Kathe’s words? Didn’t she know how he hated her? Unless his hate was a sham, and he was playing me for a fool.
It was an unbearable thought. Not after all the trust I’d placed in him, and how I’d grown to like him. Not after I’d kissed him, and hurt Marcello to keep courting him. He couldn’t have been lying all this time.
Kathe returned to his position by my side, in a rustle of feathers. “I’m afraid I’m not all that influential yet,” he sighed, as the Holly Lord stepped forward and lit his candle for peace. I held my breath, hoping for more, but none followed.
Three to ten. This didn’t look good. I was going to have to give a speech to charm the demons back to the Nine Hells. I wiped clammy hands on my breeches.
The Lady of Bears stomped to the center of the hall and issued a call to battle, urging her fellows to avenge Vaskandar’s defeat in the Three Years’ War, and then delivering an unsubtle threat to her neighbors if they didn’t comply, with a glare at the Fox Lord. When she finished, the Fox Lord grimaced and, with apparent reluctance, lit his candle and moved it to stand beside that of the Lady of Bears.
Eleven straight golden flames leaped up, proud and martial, on the war pedestal. Eleven candles to count out the Empire’s doom.
Hell of Despair. The speeches had only moved one or two candles each. Even if I laid out all Ruven’s crimes, what of it? The Witch Lords already knew he was a monster, and they were willing to back him anyway. I was some upstart foreigner, without so much as a trace of magic. They had no reason to defect en masse at my words, and that was what it would take to protect the Serene Empire from a devastating invasion beyond our power to resist.
Kathe nudged my ribs. “My lady. If you wish to speak, now is the time.”
Now is the time. My moment had come. I held history in my hands; if I dropped it and broke it, no one would come clean it up.
But this was something only I could do. The Serene Empire had put its trust in me. I had to try.
“Right.” I took a deep breath. “Here I go.”
Fireflies swirled around me as I walked forward. My boots called echoes from the stone. I could feel the weight of seventeen domains on me, through the Witch Lords’ combined gazes—all those miles of forest and mountain. All those thousands and millions of lives, animal and human alike, staring out with mad intensity from seventeen pairs of mage-marked eyes.
If any of them remembered what I said here, my words could last a thousand years. To speak in this place, surrounded by the flickering candles of their solemn ceremonies, under the soft glow of lichen constellations that hadn’t been there this morning, was pure audacity. Who was I to dare?
I knew the answer. I’d given it to Ruven, back in Ardence.
I wasn’t here as myself, mere Amalia: scholar, heir, and Falconer. I was here as a Serene Imperial Envoy. I was the voice of the Empire.
We were no different, I realized, as I scanned their outlandish figures, shaping antlers and wings. It was their domains that made them powerful. But my domain was far greater than any one of theirs. The only difference was that they took from the lives in their domain to achieve their own power and immortality, while the Empire, at its best, used its power to protect and sustain the lives within its bounds.
I faced them all and bowed.
“Thank you for hearing me.” My voice rang out, strong and confident under the eerie lights that swirled like giddy falling stars above us. “I stand here as the guest of Lord Kathe of Let, to speak for the Serene Empire.”
I reached out toward the Witch Lords, as their eyes gleamed at me in the dim hall. “We have a history of conflict. But history is a book in which we write new pages every day. The Empire holds out its hands to any who would take them. Instead of turning our might against each other, to the diminishment of both, let us work together to see what our combined power can do.”
Kathe tipped me a mocking salute, grinning. I suppressed a return smile. He was more than eager to see what we could accomplish together already.
“As for those who insist on standing against us …” I gestured to the eleven candles that still burned for war, trying not to think about what that number meant. “I suggest you take a close look at who stands with you. Yours is the power of life, the greatest and most sacred force on this earth. But Lord Ruven has twisted that power to enslave the mage-marked and murder children. And perhaps even worse, he has turned it against the land itself.” This was my strongest card: that by backing war, they backed Ruven. “He seeks to rend Mount Whitecrown asunder with its own fire, turning his power of life into one of destruction.”
I yearned to go into detail, explaining how he’d done it and the many levels on which it was a terrible idea. But everyone else’s speeches had been quite short. I had best come to a conclusion if I didn’t want the Yew Lord to cut me off. “Ask yourselves,” I said, dropping my voice to the greatest depth and power I could muster, “whether this is what you want for the future of Vaskandar. Ask yourselves if you wish to feed this monster and let it grow unchecked on your borders.”
Silence followed my words. My bootheels clipped holes in it as I walked back to my place, staring straight ahead, hands trembling. I could feel all their eyes still on me.
For a moment, everything was still. The silence hung dread in my heart—would not one single Witch Lord move their candle?
Then Ruven’s laugh rang through the hall. “My dear lady, come now. That was a pretty speech, but I am hardly a monster.”
From the back of the hall, like a miracle of the Graces, a young voice rang out: “Yes, you are!”
Everyone turned and stared. Emmand stood there, his thin chest heaving as if he’d run all the way there. Dirt streaked his face, and he held his fists clenched at his sides.
Terrible knowledge haunted his eyes, and his face seemed green in the unearthly light. He must have listened to Zaira and found the bones. Hope lifted its tired head in my heart.
“Ah, young Emmand,” Ruven said, flashing brilliant teeth. “You are lost, perhaps. You have no place in the Conclave.”
The Yew Lord struck his staff against the stones, and silence fell over the hall with the weight of ten years of snow.
“The boy bears the mage mark,” he said into that silence. “He may speak, if any Witch Lord will vouch that they wish to hear what he has to say.”
The Lady of Eagles lifted two fingers, like the lazy stirring of a wing to catch the breeze. “I am curious. Speak, boy.”
Emmand bowed, trembling so violently I could see him shaking from across the room. He wouldn’t meet Ruven’s eyes. “My lords and ladies. I beg you, forgive me, but I must tell you what my Lord Ruven has done.”
I would never have thought I could admire this boy, who had made a potion used to rob my friends of their free will. But it took an uncommon courage to stand before the people you respected most and admit you’d been wrong. I held my breath, silently urging him on.
“Emmand,” Ruven said, the picture of blithe unconcern save for the daggers in his eyes, “what nonsense is this, foolish boy?”
“It is forbidden to interrupt,” the Yew Lord said, his voice rolling through the room with the force of thunder. Ruven bowed and said no more, but there was murderous intent in every line of him.
Emmand fell to his knees, as if he couldn’t bear to stand in the presence of all seventeen Witch Lords anymore. With his head bowed, in a faltering voice, he began, “Lord Ruven has been capturing mage-marked and using a mix of alchemy and his own Skinwitch powers to force them under his dominion. He collects and uses them like toys, and if they resist, he—”
Emmand made a choking sound. His hands went to his throat.
“Yes?” the Elk Lord prompted. “Go on.”
But Emmand clawed at his throat, his eyes bulging, and shook his head. He pointed an urgent, trembling finger at Ruven.
Hells. He couldn’t breathe. Ruven was killing him.
I whirled to face Ruven. “Release him!” I demanded.
Ruven’s eyes narrowed with lazy malice. “My dear lady, he’s mine. Part of my domain. Why should I?”
“Because,” the Elk Lord said sternly, “he is no common serf. He is mage-marked.”
“And he’s just a boy,” the Lady of Otters added, shaking her chestnut hair indignantly. “If this is how you treat a mage-marked child who is your own ward, Kazerath, I shudder to think how you would treat an ally.”
Ruven shrugged. “If you insist.” He sliced his hand through the air. Emmand gasped in a ragged breath and collapsed on the floor, chest heaving. His fingers clawed the stones as he pulled breath after breath into his starving lungs.
It was the only sound. Aside from Emmand’s labored breathing, no whisper broke the silence. I held my own breath, barely daring to hope for the outrage that surely even Witch Lords must feel at this. Only firefly lights marked the time, flickering in the air.
Then the Elk Lord swept into the center of the room. His eyes flashed, and the antlers in his crown spread menacing shadows against the walls. Glowing moths and fireflies danced around him, turning him into something from a prophetic dream.
“You have transgressed against the laws of nature,” he told Ruven, seeming to swell until he loomed above the rest of us, his presence filling the hall. “To claim noble mage-marked as slaves through a corruption of alchemy is a base trick that undermines our most sacred and ancient traditions. You must blood and mark a domain to claim the life within it. And you must respect the power that the mage-marked bear, for it is what places you above your own people.”
Ruven’s lip curled in a furious sneer. But with a glance at the Yew Lord, standing ancient and watchful with his hands about his staff, he refrained from saying anything.
“I had planned to back this war, as a necessary outlet for the pressures that drive our cycle of expansion,” the Elk Lord said. “But the Lady Amalia is correct. I cannot condone any war that stands to advance this Skinwitch’s power. War I may deem necessary, but this I cannot support.” He gestured toward Emmand where the boy lay curled on the floor, softly weeping.
The Elk Lord strode to his candle and picked it up with careful reverence. Maintaining an aura of grace and ceremony, he placed it on the opposing pedestal, joining its light to the three slender flames already there.
As he returned to his place, I held my breath. The Lady of Otters came forward at once, moving her candle to stand beside her father’s, with a glare at Ruven. The Willow Lord followed suit, with less enthusiasm and without the glare.
And then the Fox Lord stepped to the center of the room. “I am disgusted,” he said simply, with a scornful glance at Ruven. Turning his back on the Lady of Bears, he, too, moved his candle to stand for peace.
When he left the center of the room, instead of returning to his former place, he came to stand by my side. “So,” he whispered, out of the corner of his mouth, “what you said earlier, about the Empire helping its friends.”
I gave him my most brilliant smile. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Seven candles now shone for peace. It was far better than three—but still not enough. The hope that had swelled in my chest began to fade.
Ruven stood straight and still, staring at the candles. A menace gathered around him, pooling like poison, an animosity fit to wither the light from the air.
He laughed, but it held a bitter edge. “Do you truly place so much stock in the words of an excitable child and a foreign woman with no magic? And why should any of you care what I do in my own domain?”
“Perhaps we should not.” The Lady of Eagles’ voice filled the room with the relentless and unanswerable force of rising floodwaters. “But I care what you do in my domain, Lord of Kazerath.”
Ruven went still. The Lady of Eagles crossed the hall and stood before him, her mantle billowing behind her in the breeze of her passage. Her golden eyes bored into his, until he looked away.
“I have one last grievance to claim,” she said.