Flamecaster

  Ash couldn’t help wishing the poison he’d used was faster acting.

  If wishes were horses, even beggars would ride.

  Montaigne was mumbling to himself. “I should have known. But I didn’t, not at first.” He refocused on Ash. “You see, I thought your kind had red hair.”

  Ash blinked at him, confused. He was the only one in his family with truly red hair. “What do you mean, ‘your kind’?”

  “Demons.”

  “Demons?” Ash stared at Montaigne. “Hang on—you think I’m an actual demon?”

  “It’s my fault, for agreeing to use mages in the war, and so violating the Maker’s laws,” Montaigne said. “I had become convinced that one has to use witchery against witchery in order to win. But now I know that all I did was open the door to sin and depravity. That’s the thing about demons—you have to invite them in. I should have listened to Father Fosnaught and burned you that first night. From tonight forward, everything changes. I will send the Hand into every corner of the empire and cleanse it of every tainted person. It begins with you.”

  Raising the jar, he dumped it over Ash’s head, managing to splatter it all over himself as well. He tossed the jar over, then stalked to the inside wall and yanked a torch from its bracket.

  He returned to the edge, his face monstrous in the light from the flames. “By the great saint!” he said, raising the torch with both hands. “Die, demon!”

  But the torch never came down. Instead, someone grabbed the king’s torch arm and jammed it down so the burning head ignited his clothing. Montaigne screamed and stumbled forward, his arms and legs pinwheeling wildly as he toppled over the edge. Ash flattened himself against the tower wall to avoid being struck as the king screamed past him like a falling star. The screaming ended abruptly when he hit bottom.

  “Die, demon,” Ash murmured. Cautiously, he raised his head and peered up to see someone looking down at him.

  “Are you all right?”

  Ash was momentarily speechless. It was Queen Marina, dressed in a nightgown, her hair caught into a long braid. She looked very young.

  “Are you all right?” she repeated, a little impatiently. “We may not have much time.”

  “Y-yes,” Ash croaked.

  She dropped a rope over the side. “Grab hold of this carefully, please, and wrap it around your waist. The last thing I want is to lose you when you’ve held on for so long.”

  He grabbed hold, despite his oil-slicked hands, and walked up the side of the building until he could slide over the edge on his belly. He lay there, gasping, for a moment, then rolled over and sat up.

  Queen Marina dangled his amulet in front of him. “I believe this is yours?”

  Ash practically snatched it out of her hand and dropped the chain over his head, grateful to feel the weight of it again. Oil dripped from his hair and down his neck.

  He crawled to the edge and looked down at the crumpled body of the king. He’d landed in an inner courtyard, and no one seemed to have noticed yet. He would have thought his enemy’s death would be more satisfying, but all he felt was mingled grief and relief. Grief for those who had died too soon. And relief that perhaps this chapter was over.

  Marina came up beside him, looked down, and shuddered. “Thank the Maker he’s dead,” she said, her voice trembling. “I was beginning to think he was immortal.”

  “But . . . how did you—” Ash couldn’t seem to complete a coherent sentence.

  “I’ve been his favorite target for years,” Marina said, fussing absently with the ties at the ends of her sleeves. “I kept thinking that someone would kill the loathsome bastard for me. If it happened soon enough, I might be named regent over Prince Jarat. I’m used to biding my time. But lately . . . lately the king had started in on Madeleine. I knew the time would come that I would no longer be able to protect her.

  “So. A year ago, I decided to kill the king myself. It had to be in a way that would not be traced back to me.” She smiled crookedly at Ash. “I’m a Tomlin. You’d think I’d be good at this sort of thing, but it turned out to be harder than I’d thought. The snake seemed perfect, but—” She shrugged. “I’m truly sorry about Estelle. I didn’t mean for her to be the one to pay for it.”

  Ash remembered what he’d said when he and Lila had discussed it, when she’d tried to blame it on him. Either this would-be killer is an amateur, or someone wants to put the king on his guard.

  “What about the wassail? Was that yours, too?”

  She nodded, shrugging.

  “But—why did you drink it, if you knew that it was poisoned?”

  “That was a low point,” she said, wincing. “I was beginning to think I’d never be rid of him. When I saw that the king wasn’t going to drink it, I decided to drink it myself. If I survived, it would direct suspicion away from me. If I died, I wouldn’t have to live with that bastard pretender any longer. You are too skilled a healer, I’m afraid.”

  Ash recalled what Montaigne had said just before the Feast of Saint Malthus. You stupid slut of Tamron.

  “What happens now? Do you think they’ll suspect you?”

  She shook her head. “It’s unlikely. Everyone in Arden thinks of me as the king’s doormat. Plus, the king has been growing more and more erratic these past weeks. After the attack, he seemed clearly unhinged—I’ve never seen him like that. No one will be surprised that he took his own life.”

  “That may have been the effect of the living silver,” Ash said.

  Marina frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “That was supposedly a gift from the empress,” Ash said. “I slipped it in with the diamonds she sent to the king. It’s a mercury compound that comes from some of our hot springs up north. When heated, it releases a deadly vapor. I told him it was white magic, that it could be used to keep away demons if he burned it all night. If it didn’t kill him, I hoped that it would make him sick enough that he would come seeking treatment from me.”

  Marina laughed. “How many assassins does it take to kill a king?”

  “And so, your son will come to the throne?”

  She bit her lip. “He will. I only hope that he’ll accept some guidance from me.” She gestured toward the stairwell. “I think you’d better be on your way. They’ll be up here before long to find out what happened. Give my greetings to your mother the queen. Tell her I’ll never forget the way she looked at her name day party—so beautiful and strong and confident. She has always been something of a role model for me.”

  Ash had been making for the stairwell, but now he turned back toward her. “You know who I am.” He was all but numb to surprises by now.

  Marina smiled. “I’ve known since Solstice. Despite opinions to the contrary, I am not stupid.”

  43

  PARTING OF THE WAYS

  In the days following the attack on the palace, Ash barely slept. He scoured the city for any sign of Jenna, alive or dead. He questioned people who had collected souvenirs in the streets—chunks of stone and roof tiles, along with other bits of debris. Some had been wakened from their beds when the dragon smashed into the upper floors of the palace—twice.

  Not long after, some saw it careening away from the castle close, flying east, toward the sea. Rumors flew—that the dragon had incinerated entire villages along the way; that an army of dragons was assembling in the mountains north of Delphi; that the witch queen had been seen driving a carriage pulled by dragons through the sky; that dragons had attacked ships at the wharf and destroyed one of them.

  The official story—that the damage had been caused by a bomb planted by Fellsian operatives—gained little traction.

  Destin Karn was put in charge of an investigation into the king’s death, which wrapped up quickly. He found no evidence of foul play. The official verdict: a tragic accident while the king was assessing damage to the palace. The unofficial cause of death: suicide. Ash tried to meet with Karn several times, but Karn seemed to be avoiding him.

  He knows someth
ing, Ash thought, but it was too risky to push, considering his own role in the scheme of things.

  The queen made a lovely and gracious widow. In the days immediately following the death of the king, she issued a number of quiet pardons and executive orders. Among those, that Adam Freeman had been uncollared in recognition of his service to the crown.

  Ash and Lila watched Jarat’s coronation from the gallery. It was spare and rather rushed, as coronations went. No doubt Jarat didn’t want to give the restive thanes time to organize an alternative. The heir looked every inch a king as he presided at the feast afterward—tall, dark-haired, handsome. Father Fosnaught sat on one side of him, Lord Botetort on the other, Botetort’s daughter next to him. The queen and the princess were seated halfway down the table. General Karn was still in the field, jockeying with Lord Matelon. And Destin Karn was out of the city.

  Security was extremely tight. Tasters tried every course before the new king dug in. Some things hadn’t changed.

  Ash and Lila had already packed up their things and moved into an inn outside the castle close. Lila’s excuse was that she was heading back to the Fells to collect more goods for smuggling. Ash had made up a story about a position with a healer in Bruinswallow. No one was happier to see Ash go than Master Merrill.

  “That’s a smart move, boy, to gain some more experience before you practice in a challenging setting like this. Hard work is the path to improvement. Out in the countryside, the need is great and the standards not so high.”

  Ash nodded, as if filing away wisdom. “Perhaps, when I have more experience, I could come back to Ardenscourt and—”

  “No!” Merrill blurted. He collected himself. “Training takes time, and I’ve spent all the time on you that I can spare.”

  Harold and Boyd, at least, were sorry to see Ash go. Boyd gave Ash a knife with a carved handle, and Harold gave him a book he’d stolen from the healers’ library. Ash ignored their hints that they’d like to come along.

  “You both really have come a long way,” Ash said. “If you’d like to learn more, you might consider the healers’ academy at Oden’s Ford.”

  “Oden’s Ford!” Harold said, wide-eyed. “That’s for bluebloods.”

  “Oden’s Ford is for everyone who wants to learn,” Ash said, shouldering his healer’s kit. “Good luck.”

  Their last night in Ardenscourt, Ash and Lila shared supper at the inn, making plans for departure.

  “You’re really coming back with me?” Lila said, blotting her lips. “You’re not going to drug my wine and abandon me at a campsite, are you?”

  Ash shook his head. “It’s time I went home.” He slid his hand inside his shirt, where Jenna’s pendant hung next to his serpent amulet. Both represented losses.

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Spending time in Arden has awakened my patriotism, I suppose.”

  That was part of it, but the truth was more complicated. Four years ago, he’d run away and left his mother and sister on their own to deal with his father’s death. For four years, he’d done as he liked, rationalizing that he was doing his bit for the queendom, never considering what they might want or need from him. He’d been selfish, and a coward, and losing Jenna seemed like a penance for that.

  Maybe he’d deserved it. But not Jenna. He’d intended to take her home before her death. Now going home seemed like the right thing to do. He had a lot to make up for, if that was even possible.

  Sometimes home is where you need to go for healing.

  Time would tell whether Arden under King Jarat would change its warlike ways. Meanwhile, there was work to be done at home.

  “Are you sorry you didn’t get to kill Montaigne all on your own?” Lila asked.

  Ash thought about it, then shook his head. “I wanted him dead, I’ll admit. I think the world is a better place without him. But I’m beginning to realize that revenge is never as satisfying as you think it will be. Sometimes there’s a high price.”

  The irony didn’t escape him. If he hadn’t come to Ardenscourt to kill Montaigne, he’d never have met Jenna. He’d never have fallen in love with her, and maybe she would still be alive.

  “We did manage to quash any chance of a deal between Arden and Carthis. That’s something.”

  “That’s something,” Ash said, turning his mug between his hands. It might be something, but it felt like nothing.

  “There are a lot of loose ends, though. The dragon, for instance.”

  Ash shrugged. “I’m thinking it might be dead. It was heavily armored, but, still—to crash through the stone wall of a castle like that. It must have been badly injured. Maybe it hid away somewhere to die.” He paused. “Strange.”

  “What’s strange?”

  “Animals usually have more sense than that. It’s only humans that tend to bang their heads against a stone wall.”

  “I wonder if we’ll ever find out why the empress was so eager to get hold of Jenna.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if the empress wasn’t just made up, a story Strangward told in order to get what he wanted.”

  “Which was?” Lila raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t know,” Ash said.

  “Any news about—”

  “No.”

  “Is it possible the Carthians kidnapped her? I mean, two of them were found dead in her room. And Strangward’s gone missing, too.”

  “Anything’s possible, but even if I knew for sure that’s what happened, I wouldn’t know where to start looking.”

  “I’m sorry about Jenna,” Lila said, her eyes dark with sympathy. “If you want to stay on longer, and keep looking, I’m good with that.”

  Ash shook his head. “Something would have turned up by now,” he said. “Even though it was the middle of the night, somebody should have seen something.”

  “Remember what I said, back at Oden’s Ford? About hope?”

  Ash frowned, trying to remember. “While I try and treasure up every word that comes out of your mouth, I can’t—”

  “Hope is the thing that can’t be reined in by rules or pinned down by bitter experience. It’s a blessing and curse.” Lila raised her glass. “To hope.”

  “To hope,” Ash said. They clanked.

  “Now,” Ash said, “let’s go home.”

  EPILOGUE

  In another tavern, far away in the port city of Spiritgate, Evan Strangward killed time, nursing an ale and playing nicks and bones with himself. He’d glamored his appearance, so that to any but his stormsworn guard, he wore the brown skin and straight black hair of a traveler from We’enhaven.

  He shivered and turned up the collar of his coat. He sat close to the door so that every time it opened, the raw wind from the Indio howled in. He’d chosen this seat on purpose, so he wouldn’t miss anyone coming and going.

  He’d been too long in these wetlands. He would be glad to go back to the sunbaked land he called home. For multiple reasons.

  He heard familiar footsteps, and turned. It was Teza. Just Teza. It was what he’d expected, it was what he’d demanded, in fact, but he was still disappointed.

  “My lord,” Teza said, shoulders slumping in relief. “Thank the Maker.”

  Evan smiled. “Ah, Teza, I can’t imagine that the Maker is looking after the likes of me. I’ve not seen any sign of it so far.” He stood, opened his arms, and they embraced.

  “Destin didn’t insist on coming with you?” Evan asked, reclaiming his seat.

  Teza shook his head. “He said he could be of more use to you in Ardenscourt.”

  “Not if he’s dead.”

  “He says he has no plans to be dead, my lord.” Teza settled into the empty chair.

  I don’t want him to be of use to me, Evan thought. I want him to forget about me. I want him to kill that monster of a father, leave Arden, and find a house by the sea.

  I want him to be happy.

  “The plans we make are not the problem,” Evan said. “It is the machinations of others. Did you give hi
m the money?”

  Teza shook his head, handing over a small pouch. “I tried. He refused it.”

  Again, Evan wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed. He signaled for the server.

  “You’ve lost weight,” Teza said. He looked travel-worn and hollow-cheeked himself.

  Evan rolled his eyes. “It never takes you very long to start in nagging. It’s this rich wetland food. We’ll be fine once we get back to salt pork, way bread, and rations of rum.”

  “When you were late,” Teza said, “I—I didn’t know what might have happened.”

  “I usually travel much faster by sea than you would by land, but I ran into trouble in Middlesea, and I had to sail farther north to make a landing.”

  “The empress?”

  Evan nodded. “The entire port was infested with Cele’s spies. I think she’s planning to come find the girl herself. Everything points that way. I’d hoped to sail from there, but it was too risky.”

  “We need to be gone before she arrives.”

  “I suspect she’ll land at Baston Bay. She’s one to go straight for the heart.”

  The server arrived tableside. “Two ales and two lamb pies,” Evan said.

  “My favorites,” Teza said, smiling, as the server hustled away.

  “Were you able to arrange for a ship?”

  Teza nodded. “She’s a two-masted schooner. No match for Sun Spirit, but she’ll do, I think.”

  “How many of the stormsworn did we lose?” Evan asked. “Can we crew a schooner?”

  “We lost Ephraim and Trey on the ship,” Teza said. “Plus the two in the tower.”

  “I don’t like to hire casual crew. They ask too many questions, and talk too much after. I’ll just have to make do with what we have.” He paused. “Could Des tell you anything more about what happened down at the harbor?”

  Teza scowled. “It’s like someone spilled a box of puzzle pieces and none of them fit together. Ephraim and Trey were in the pilothouse. They had stab wounds and slashes all over their bodies, and, apparently, bled to death before the explosion. In and around the hold, there were seven dead priests.”