Chapter 41
Cadmia
At the third level of the Abyss, there was a sea with water like black oil. The fumes that hung above it were poisonous to most creatures, as well as being volatile; one spark could send indigo fire licking across the surface, reaching out to devour any foolish soul who made the mistake of swimming in the viscous liquid and somehow had not yet drowned or been devoured by the red-beasts that swam beneath.
The shores of the great sea of the Abyss were the same black rock and sand that made up so much of the realm. It shone with colors unnamed by mortal words.
The first level of the Abyss was lit, during its “days,” by distant fire. The second level was lit by free-floating drifts of foxfire, some of which crept along the ground and some which hung higher up. The third level was dark except for the wisps and other predatory lights. The shades who resided there knew to fear the light, because it would hunt them, for sport or pleasure even if they provided no sustenance.
Cadmia wasn’t . . . quite . . . one of those shades. She was looking for something, and didn’t want to return until she found it, and in order to walk this realm she had needed to become like the once-human ghosts who drifted there. She could still feel her tie to the mortal realm in her heart, a bit higher than the bond to the Abyss growing inside her.
She intended to convince him to come back.
When Alizarin had first returned to the court, the other Abyssi had challenged him. He had fought for hours to regain his place in the lion-like hierarchy, but had easily won those battles despite his recent sojourn. Then he hunted, then rested, and then joined the other Abyssi at play. It was all so beautiful—in its own feral way.
Then those blue eyes had lit on Cadmia as she accidentally stepped for a moment into his line of sight, and what she saw in them was not tenderness. At first it had been curiosity; he had tilted his head in a way she recognized so well. Then the expression on his face had turned to anger, and she had known he was about to pounce.
She had fled, though she had known that she would never have been able to outrun him if he wanted to give chase. Thankfully, he had been glutted with his recent kills, and hadn’t cared enough to scramble after a simple shade.
Cadmia sat on the black sand, by the glutinous waters, and discovered that a shade cannot weep.
She looked up with a choked, silent scream as a shadow fell across her. She couldn’t run, could only stare in horror at the creature who seemed made of shadow, blood, and claw. The other Abyssi drew away from him, even Alizarin, sinking their bodies low, and by that she recognized him.
“Modigliani.”
“Cadmia,” he greeted her, as if greeting a friend.
“I know your Abyssumancer,” she said.
“I know,” he replied. “You’re the one Alizarin turned on him for. You and . . .” He ran a claw across her abdomen, lightly enough it didn’t draw a single bead of blood. “You know it is still alive back in the mortal realm?”
She hadn’t known. She had thought, since she was here, it must be, too.
“And you are being summoned,” the lord of the Abyss said to her.
Cadmia.
Cadmia.
There was a voice calling her, pulling at her. She had been ignoring it as she struggled to reach Alizarin.
“I could break the necromancer’s link to you and keep you here,” Modigliani said. “I could give you to Alizarin if you wish it.”
“Will he recover?” she asked. She didn’t intend to accept Modigliani’s offer and give up her life to stay here, but she hoped the king of the Abyss knew something she did not.
“He has recovered. The Numen taint was an unnatural infection that has weakened him for decades. It’s gone now.” He tilted his head, an expression that was heart-breakingly similar to some of Alizarin’s, and said, “Alizarin was born of crystals seeded by the previous lord of the Abyss. He would never have stayed a mere prince of the third level all this time if not for that Numen curse.”
“If it was such a curse,” Cadmia spat, “why didn’t you kill Veronese when you had the chance? Were you too weak, even in your own realm?”
She lashed out unwisely, in fury and hurt, but Modigliani only laughed. “I just told you. Unhindered, our blue prince will make his way down to the fifth level someday. In a century, two at most, he will be a genuine threat to my throne.”
“That is a long time in advance for an Abyssi to plan,” Cadmia said, her gaze drawn back to the other Abyssi, who had returned to their lounging play with only occasional glances to the lord of the Abyss and the shade to whom he spoke.
“Perhaps I, too, was touched by the divine many years ago,” Modigliani replied sardonically. “It was the price I paid when I claimed the Numini’s discarded toy for the Abyss. And speaking of Terre Verte, I have a task for you to perform back in the mortal realm.”
He whispered to her, and then he left her alone by the shore. The other Abyssi had noticed her, but knew he had claimed her and so they stayed far away. She could not see Alizarin anymore.
According to Modigliani, the baby was still alive. More importantly, Cadmia was still alive. That meant it was time to go back.
Cadmia. Cadmia. Cadmia.
The words were a chant. All she needed to do was turn her attention to them, and they pulled her closer: through the mists and marshes of the second level of the Abyss; through the bone-dry sea of the first level; through the veil of fire that separated the Abyss from the mortal plane.
Cadmia. Cadmia.
She woke weeping, not for the pain in her body but for the emptiness. Modigliani was right; the creature she had seen in the Abyss was not the man she had loved. That Alizarin, the one born when a prince of the third level tasted a Numini’s tears, was gone.
She tried to put her feet on the floor and cried out at the pain, which woke Lydie, who had fallen asleep still holding onto that cord between this realm and Cadmia’s spirit.
“Cadmia,” the necromancer whispered, her voice small and tight. She reached out, and wiped a tear gently from Cadmia’s face before saying, “I’m so sorry.”
“We need to banish Quinacridone,” Cadmia declared. Lydie’s eyes widened as if in surprise, but how could she possibly be surprised at what was the only conclusion? Even if Modigliani hadn’t explained her options, the question was not what needed to be done about Quinacridone, but only how.
“If we drive him from this plane, all we do is send him back to the Numen so he can try again,” Lydie said.
Cadmia shook her head, then winced; moving those muscles hurt all the way down her back. “There is a prison in the Abyss,” she said. “It held Terre Verte for nearly a century. It can hold a Numini.”
“Just how are we supposed to get one of the most powerful Numini in existence to a prison at the lowest level of the Abyss?” Lydie asked.
Cadmia felt like she was in a trance as she spoke, and only when Lydie touched her hand did she snap out of it, gasping as if surfacing from deep water. A bottomless sea, hot as blood and thick as tar—and lit by blue eyes that looked at her without a flicker of tenderness. “As Modigliani reminded me, we are not without powerful allies. If Naples can bring Modigliani across, then when Scheveningen banishes Quinacridone, Modigliani can force him down to the lowest level of the Abyss and lock him there.”
“Can Modigliani keep Quinacridone and Cupric from killing us all, so we can get Pearl and summon Scheveningen in the first place?” Lydie asked.
Cadmia shook her head. “I don’t know. I just . . .” The memory of the voice of the lord of the Abyss still echoed in her mind, and made her shudder to recall it. “We should speak with the others. Naples will know what Modigliani is capable of, and whether he’s as much or more of a threat than Quinacridone. And I have a feeling we should do this all fast, before someone else makes the next move for us.” Quinacridone. Cupric. Terre Verte. There were too many players on the board.
Meeting, or doing anything fast, turned out to be a problem
. Hansa, Naples, and Umber were all in the same room, with the door locked, and while normally Cadmia would have considered protecting themselves and the world more important than sex, to those three, sex was power. They needed all the power they could get.
“You’re up.”
Cadmia turned slowly, leaning on Lydie’s arm, as she heard a surprised male voice. The man she faced was somewhat older and leaned on a crutch; he was familiar, in that she had seen him around the Quin Compound, but she did not personally know him.
“I’m up,” she agreed, glancing at Lydie.
“Cadmia, this is Rinnman,” the necromancer introduced them, obligingly. “He saved most of our lives. He’s—”
“Very grateful to see you feeling better,” Rinnman interrupted. “I was on my way to see Hansa, though.”
“It’s probably not the best time,” Cadmia said, with a wince.
Rinnman nodded. “There’s someone asking to see him.”
“He’s leading the One-Twenty-Six, has been nominated for President, and just survived a lightning strike,” Lydie said. “I imagine a lot of people want to talk to him.”
Rinnman frowned, looking puzzled. “That’s right.”
The confused expression, combined with her recent experience with the false “Arylide,” was enough to make Cadmia ask tensely, “Was there something special about this visitor?”
“He’s . . . I don’t know.” Rinnman continued to frown, thinking hard for another moment, before he said, “Well. That’s . . . somewhat unsettling. He said something about asking for an audience as a ‘show of good will.’ I didn’t think to question it. I’ll go back and ask.”
Cadmia was not surprised to hear a familiar voice say at that moment, “No need. I took the liberty of letting myself in.”
Cadmia turned toward Verte as Rinnman moved between her and him. “Gray?” Rinnman called.
Terre Verte shook his head. “I told the two gentlemen here to take some time off,” he said. “I’m sure a man such as yourself could understand why my conversation with Hansa requires privacy. In fact, why don’t you leave us as well?”
Rinnman tensed, and a fine shiver seemed to pass through him, from his toes through his torso and out his fingertips, before he shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll do that.”
“What do you want with Hansa?” Cadmia asked. She would have liked to throw Verte out of the building, but he seemed to have dispatched most of the Quin guards already, and Cadmia couldn’t think of any other way to get rid of him.
Verte glanced to Rinnman briefly. “Is the animamancer in your confidence now as well?” He crossed his arms, and seemed to turn all his attention to observing the guard. “Enough in your confidence, even, that you would care to disclose the details of your conversation with Modigliani?”
Cadmia was about to say no when Rinnman shook his head. “I think I’d rather not be in that kind of confidence. I’m going to stand at the end of the hall. Try not to die on me.”
He walked off, graceful despite the crutches and the tension lifting his shoulders.
Verte gave a half shrug, then continued with what he was saying. “I know Modigliani spoke to you. He spoke to me as well when I went to the temple trying to discover what happened to Dioxazine.”
“You mean, to the woman you imprisoned?”
“I mean, the Numenmancer whose power I attempted to dampen in order to weaken her Numini,” Verte said sharply. “Now she is free, and Quinacridone is free, and that isn’t good for any of us, is it? It certainly doesn’t seem to be good for you, if I may be so bold as to judge by the lightning-burns that I can smell from where I’m standing.” He drew a breath, calming himself, and was once again his placid, aristocratic self as he said, “We have compatible goals, and with Quinacridone in this world, we both need any allies we can get.”
“Compatible . . . what are your goals?” Cadmia asked.
Verte gave an exasperated sign. “They are exactly what they have always been. I serve Kavet. Though I’ll admit, Cupric’s folly and Quinacridone’s brazenness have forced me to change my immediate goals.” He frowned. “I just hope Azo can keep the mancers at Amaranth Farms under control until I can get back. Modern magic users in Kavet have been so indoctrinated with self-hatred, I swear they must be minded like children to keep them from eating each other.”
Fishing for a clearer understanding, Cadmia asked, “So if Hansa wins the election—”
“Let’s let Hansa live through the election first, shall we?” Terre Verte snapped. “After Scheveningen is raised, and Quinacridone is banished, then Hansa and I may discuss our relatively minor potential disagreement over the sovereignty of Kavet.”
“Relatively minor?”
“Compared to Quinacridone wanting to enslave all three worlds, I would say that who rules this one island is a minor affair,” Terre Verte said. “And it’s a moot point. You need an heir to the Terre line in order to wake Scheveningen. That being so, you would be foolish to turn down the alliance I offer.”
His logic would have been more persuasive if Cadmia hadn’t seen him kill a man with his bare hands, and didn’t know he had locked Dioxazine away without warning.
“I have never been your enemy, much as you seem to think I am,” Terre Verte added. “You could try to do this without me, I suppose. Modigliani tells me that there is another heir, my father’s bastard’s granddaughter, but she is a child and half-addicted to the Numini. She will be unreliable, and even if she cooperates, you will be putting her through what I understand to be a painful ritual. Are you willing to hold that child down? Even more importantly, are you willing to risk Quinacridone killing her for fear that you may be able to use her?”
“And you can keep her safe.” Cadmia said the words flatly, not sure if she believed them. Half-addicted to the Numini, Verte had said. According to Veronese and Modigliani, that description could apply to Verte as well.
Terre Verte nodded. “I have a plan. If you, Hansa and the others will hear me out, we can move by dawn. Slaying the Abyssi took much of Quinacridone’s energy, but she will recover swiftly.”
Chapter 42
Umber
Umber hadn’t expected the lightning. He hadn’t expected the animamancer. Most of all, he had not expected to be woken and almost physically dragged out of bed by a cranky ex-prince. But here they were, perhaps two hours before dawn, gathered in a conference room in the Quin Compound as they had once gathered in Azo’s parlor in the Abyss.
Of course, Azo’s parlor had been far less sterile, and Umber had felt safer near the high court of the Abyss than he did here, despite—or in some cases because of—his allies.
Particularly Verte, who refused to sit, but paced until everyone else had settled as comfortably as their injuries allowed. Umber had pulled his chair close to Hansa’s so they could lean against each other. The burns on both their skins were fading as Abyssal power fought to expel the Numen taint and heal the damaged flesh, but the hard chair still felt sharp and painful against Umber’s back. Naples had dispensed with chairs entirely and decided to sit on the floor so he could lean back against Hansa’s legs and drape his left arm across Umber’s.
Cadmia looked like she wanted to choose the floor, too, but had then realized the same thing that kept Umber in the chair: Verte intended to stand, which meant he would tower over anyone on the floor. Naples either didn’t mind having his once-prince above him, or else there was enough Abyssi in him that the seemingly-subservient posture was meaningless to him.
Lydie had also given up formality in favor of sitting cross-legged on the floor. She didn’t appear quite as uncomfortable as the rest of them, but Umber wasn’t sure if that was because Rinnman had healed her more, or because she was a better liar. Her face was smooth and introspective, thoughtful but not frightened, an expression Umber didn’t believe at all. Every now and then Umber caught her examining Dioxazine like some kind of fascinating bug.
Xaz pretended not to notice as she leaned against th
e wall next to the doorway, as if trying either to guard it or preparing to run. She seemed to have decided the best thing to do was to watch the floor and not meet anyone’s gaze.
Perhaps that was for the best, since whenever Naples looked at her, he glared, and Terre Verte was doing his best to ignore her.
“Lydie has spoken to Veronese,” Verte said as he paced, “and Cadmia has spoken to Modigliani. Meanwhile, I have spent most of my time speaking to the older shades that I could find in this area, and attempting to analyze the magic that protects the Cobalt Hall.”
“And imprisoning your lovers,” Xaz broke in frostily. “Let’s not forget that.”
Verte cast her an exasperated look, though Umber thought the comment well deserved.
“I believe we all agree that the Numini Quinacridone should not be allowed to control Kavet and the rest of the mortal realm,” Verte continued, as if he had not been interrupted.
“That much, I believe we agree on,” Umber conceded. “And according to Veronese, Xaz is one of the few people who might be able to control Quinacridone.”
Perhaps seeing that they were not willing to let the point go, Verte sighed, and finally looked and spoke directly to the Numenmancer. “Dioxazine, you are a beautiful and fascinating woman, but like all mancers in Kavet, you have almost no formal training in sorcery. Quinacridone has deliberately kept you ignorant. Even if he had not, a mortal cannot destroy a Numini. Only another Other can. You could stand against him only so long before his power overwhelmed and broke you. So, when I realized that Quinacridone was drawing power from you—from the rituals I was trying to teach you, and therefore from all our allies at Amaranth—I needed to act swiftly. I could not sever his tie to you, so I shielded you so he could not draw power from you.”
“And this ‘shielding’ was helpful?” Dioxazine asked ironically. “It had the effect you desired?”
Verte frowned. “No. Clearly. I did not anticipate that Quinacridone would be willing to tie himself to an Abyssumancer to cross into this realm.”