Never mind what would come after her flight, or how a human soul might be altered by such an exercise. If Colivar was willing to surrender to his own personal demons to make this campaign succeed, she owed him equal courage.
When the last gleaming scale was in place and the last bit of jeweled-glass membrane was stretched taut across insect-veined wings, she took to the air. Sunlight blazed along her wing membranes as the ground dropped away from her, and she could feel it feeding strength to her body, warming her blood and increasing the strength of her heart.
Below her the conjured dome still glowed, albeit dimly; apparently the Souleaters were able to detect metaphysical energies.
Then the shadow of something winged rose up from the nearby mountains, and she knew that one of the Souleaters had seen her. It was time.
Drawing a breath into lungs so vast they seemed endless, she cried out across the desert as she had heard the queen cry out in Colivar’s memory. A single long, keening note that rose and fell with the wind. She could see the humans on the ground looking up at her, and she was sure that all the people in Jezalya were watching as well. Including Siderea.
She had no idea how her new body was supposed to spread its mating scent, so she simply created the smell herself, with sorcery, and let the wind carry it eastward. Soon it would be blowing into every crack and crevice in the rocky range, all the places where men and Souleaters might hide. Then she wrapped herself in the ikati queen’s power—far easier to do in this form than as a human—and waited for the Souleaters to rise.
One by one, they did so. Rising from the crevices and caves where they had been hiding, spreading their glorious wings in the morning sunlight like a flock of freshly decanted butterflies. Whenever two of them came too close together, one of them snapped at the other, and several encounters drew blood before the combatants parted. Once or twice she heard the same sharp cry that Rhys had used to call the Souleater outside Danton’s castle, which she knew was the challenge of a male in full combat mode, inviting others to test his strength. Unable to see the queen that had called them, they were turning their energy on each other. If Kamala left them to their own devices, they might even kill each other off eventually. But that would not serve her purpose, which was to get them away from Jezalya as quickly as possible.
There were not quite two dozen of them in all; more must have expired in the north than Colivar had allowed for. A few of them seemed to notice the human armies on the ground, but the intensity of their mating rituals apparently allowed for no distraction. If their human consorts were aware of what was going on, they were clearly not in control; there was no sense of anything driving these creatures other than blind bestial instinct. For perhaps the first time since arriving at Jezalya, Kamala found herself truly afraid. Up until now this whole enterprise had seemed unreal—even her transformation and flight had possessed a dreamlike quality—but the cries of the males were waking her up from that dream into a chilling reality. She was fully committed to the game now, and if she did not play it well many people might die.
She might die.
Concentrate, she told herself. The first task at hand was to get the Souleaters away from here, so they could not interfere with Salvator’s people. One thing at a time.
Dropping her sorcerous shield, she allowed the Souleaters to see her.
The response was immediate. Awareness shot through the air like lightning, and even those Souleaters who had not been facing her wheeled about in midair, suddenly sensing her presence.
As soon as she saw them heading in her direction, she turned west and began to fly, with as much strength and speed as she could manage. The advantage was hers in that arena. Her body was lighter than that of her pursuers, in part because it lacked the specialized combat appendages that the males required. The wind flowed smoothly over her sleek body, with no spikes or armor ridges to interrupt it. No male could catch up with her unless she allowed him to.
Over an empty expanse of desert she flew, as fast as her broad wings could carry her. They followed. Several times she heard screeches of rage from behind her, and once it seemed she caught sight of a dark, crumpled shape falling toward the earth. But though a real queen could probably have managed to look behind her while flying, swinging her long serpentine neck around without missing a wingstroke, Kamala was not so confident in her skills. She kept her gaze resolutely fixed on the skies ahead of her, using sorcery to bolster her hearing, so that if any males drew too close to her, she would not fail to detect it. Everything was now riding on her success in evading them, at least until Salvator’s people had a chance to bring the true queen down.
But she remembered what Colivar had told her about the queen’s flight, and when she finally reached a place where there was nothing but empty sky and sun-baked sand visible on all sides of her, she began to alter her course, adopting a sweeping curve toward the south. The Souleaters who were directly behind her continued to follow blindly, wholly fixed upon the prize just out of reach, but those who were farther back and had a better view of the overall picture set their course at an angle, meaning to head her off. Heart pounding in her chest, she turned back even more sharply, encouraging them in their strategy . . . and headed directly toward what promised to be a violent collision between the two groups. The Souleaters following behind her howled out their challenge, seeing her head toward their rivals, and they whipped the air so violently in their frenzied attempt to catch up with her that she felt as if a storm were battering at her rear wings.
And then, just as the two groups of Souleaters seemed certain to crush her between them, she disappeared. Summoning the ikati gift that would hide her from their sight, she pulled in her wings tightly against her sides and turned her carefully controlled flight into a heart-rending plummet. If any Souleaters had been able to see through her obfuscation, they would still be unprepared for the suddenness of her move.
And the two groups of Souleaters crashed into one another, drops of blood flying through the bright morning sky as they began to vent their fury and frustration on each other. A few individuals broke free of the chaos and circled the area, searching the sky for their lost quarry, but they all searched the skies at the normal elevation for ikati flight; none of them thought to look down to where she was coasting, mere yards above the sand.
A strange satisfaction filled her as she craned her head upward to watch the chaos, one that was not wholly human in its tenor. Yes, she had fulfilled her primary goal in drawing the Souleaters away from Salvator’s forces and keeping them distracted, and yes, she was managing to get them to turn on each other, which might get rid of some and would weaken more than a few. But there was more to it than that. The patterns playing out overhead struck some nerve deep in her psyche, fostering a sense of satisfaction more intense than anything she had known before. This was right. This was as it should be.
The ikati were starting to sort themselves out now, and though a few were still focused on tearing their rivals to pieces, most were now searching the skies for her. As she considered what course of flight would cause maximum bloodshed the next time, she noted that the ikati who had come out of the collision unscathed were not the ones she would have expected to. This contest was not about size or strength, she realized, least of all raw aggression. The more intelligent ikati had been better prepared to analyze her flight pattern and gain advantage from it; the ones with the most self-control had managed to escape the maelstrom of violence and remained undamaged. A simple flight might favor brute strength over intelligence, she realized, but a complex one rewarded other qualities.
No wonder the species had become so strong.
Fixing her next flight pattern firmly in her mind, she banished the power that protected her from their sight and began to climb into the air once more. Drops of blood pattered down on all sides of her as she did so, raising tiny dust clouds as they landed. Crimson rain in the desert.
Come on, boys. Let’s see just how smart you are.
T
his moment is perfect, Siderea thought.
Nyuku lay crumpled against the rack of weapons, effectively humbled but not yet dead. It was a suitable penance for his failure in Tefilat, she mused. The Magister she hated most had been forced to his knees by the power of ikati instinct and was at her mercy. And Nasaan now understood just how powerful she was: He had seen two of the world’s most powerful men vie for her favor like dogs in a fight ring. The only thing that could have possibly made this moment better was to have a man inside her right now, to drive her raging blood to climax and release . . . but that would come in time.
She stared down at Colivar in quiet satisfaction for a few moments, reveling in her triumph. Then she turned to Nasaan, who had not yet spoken. “Prince Nasaan.” She bowed her head to him graciously. “Permit me to present Colivar to you. Once Magister Royal of Anshasa, now . . . .” She shrugged. “Unaligned. Apparently he came to visit Jezalya without being properly announced. I called him to the palace so that he might explain himself.”
“So I see,” Nasaan said quietly. His expression was unreadable. She guessed that he was not pleased by the situation—what prince would be?—but he said nothing more. She had known him long enough now to know that only a fool would mistake such silence for passivity.
Her own eyes narrowed as she turned back to Colivar. “You’ve killed one of my servants,” she accused. “Not to mention made a mess of my hall. Did you expect all this to please me?”
She expected him to respond with at least a spark of defiance, but all the spirit seemed to have been leached out of him. It was clearly more than mere physical exhaustion. His expression was haunted, his eyes gateways to a terrible spiritual emptiness. Whatever had passed between him and the Souleaters in the past, it had clearly left deep scars upon his soul. And now she was rubbing salt into those wounds.
Thank you for giving me that weapon, Nyuku. It seems you were of some use, after all.
“Your servant challenged me,” Colivar said dully. “If you know the ways of the ikati, then you know I had to answer him.” A fleeting spark of defiance played weakly in his eyes. “Did you expect me to just let him win?”
She was about to answer when she felt the queen stir within her. She let the queen see the current scene, and she felt the creature picking through her mind for enough details to understand what was happening. Finally an unvoiced question took shape within her mind: This is the one you hate most?
Yes.
Why?
The other Magisters merely failed to help me. This one came to gloat over my death, under the guise of sympathy.
She could feel the ikati gazing down at Colivar through her eyes. He seemed to sense her presence as well, for his eyes widened in surprise. His nostrils flared, and Siderea realized that he was testing the air, seeking the scent of the ikati queen that clung to her skin. When he detected it, she could see a flicker of fear in his eyes . . . and desire.
He is yours now, the ikati thought.
Yes.
“That does not excuse you, Colivar.” She folded her arms sternly across her chest. “I believe I am due compensation.”
A flicker of concern suddenly sparked in her brain, not from within her but from outside. She sensed some kind of confusion in her queen’s mind, and a shadow of apprehension. She held up a hand for Colivar to be silent and was beginning to turn her senses inward when a terrible cry filled the heavens and exploded inside her head simultaneously. Part of her knew what it was—what it must be—but the greater part of her could not accept the truth. Her queen had not made that sound. Where had it come from?
She could sense the fear rising in her consort, and she knew if she did not find a way to ameliorate it she would quickly be overwhelmed.
Be steady, she thought. I will come to you.
She glanced at Colivar—who had not moved—and then Nasaan. “See to them,” she ordered the prince. There was no saying what he would make of that order, but she had no time to stay and explain things to him. She summoned her power and created a portal, so that she might join her queen in the mountains and comfort her—
And nothing happened.
Stunned, she tried again.
Nothing happened!
Ikati panic was pouring into her brain now, making it impossible to think clearly. There cannot be another queen here! No other queen exists! Siderea ran to the window and jerked open the heavy shutters, letting outside air pour into the room. Maybe the spells she had placed in the chamber had backfired and were inhibiting her power as well. But the air carried with it a scent that made every hair on her body prick upright. Once more she tried to summon a portal . . . and once more she failed.
She whirled back to confront Colivar. He had risen to his feet and looked considerably more composed than the last time she had looked at him. “What have you done?” she demanded, and when he did not answer she repeated, with increasing fury, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!!”
“I invited some friends,” he said quietly. A corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “I hope you don’t mind.”
She struck out at him blindly, channeling her ikati’s rage as well as her own into one blazing, unstoppable wall of power. It slammed into him with so much force that she could hear his bones snap, and it threw him across the length of the room, directly into a stone wall. Then, drawing in a deep breath to steady her spirit, she reached out into the desert with her supernatural senses, to see what was happening.
She saw witches.
Armies.
An unknown Magister.
Salvator!
She tried to strike out at them, but they seemed to be protected from her direct assault, so she reached out past them, into the tribal encampments that were loyal to Nasaan. Their own scouts must have spotted the foreigners already, for their warriors were armored and getting ready to move out. She relayed to their witches the information they would need to locate the invaders and one simple order: Kill them all. Then she returned her attention to the invading forces and addressed herself to finding a way around their protective magics, so that she could crush them all like insects.
“Not bad for a slave.”
The words broke her concentration. She returned her awareness to the room, where she saw Colivar standing once more. Whatever damage she had done to his body had been repaired.
“Given your origins,” he continued, “I would never have expected you to get this far. Quite impressive, really.”
For a moment she was too stunned to speak. She took a few steps toward him without thinking, then stopped herself. “What do you know of my origins?” she whispered.
“Not much,” he admitted. “It was hard to research. You covered your tracks well. But I did find records that spoke of an Elanti slave who had been working her way north, owner by owner, just about the time you showed up in Sankara.” He glanced at Nasaan. “The Elanti were a line of slaves especially bred and trained for sexual service. Very popular in some regions. This one was supposedly quite skilled.”
“This is of no interest to him!” she exclaimed, shaking with a new sort of rage now. “The curious thing about this slave,” Colivar continued, “was that her owners all died mysteriously. Reasons were always offered, of course—one had an unfortunate accident, another died of a lung ailment, a third was killed by bandits while traveling—and the slave was invariably purchased by someone more affluent after that. So I suppose it was just good luck.”
“This is of no concern to anyone now,” she hissed. Fingers flexing as though they had claws at their tips.
“Eventually one of them became enamored enough to free her, and he brought her to the Free States on his arm as a free woman, intending to make her his wife . . . what a pity, though. He died also. Touch of summer fever, I hear.” He shook his head. “That slave seems to have disappeared about the same time you arrived in Sankara. There wouldn’t happen to be a connection, would there?”
For a moment the rage was so hot inside her she could not speak. Her ikati did
not comprehend what was wrong, but she could not spare the time to explain it to her. Focusing inward, she drew forth her power again—
—and heard the whisper of steel through the air one instant before the sword hit her neck—
—and darkness.
The two men stood there for a moment in silence, staring down at Siderea’s headless body. Then Nasaan reached down and wiped off his sword on her gown. Returning it smoothly to its sheath, he looked at Colivar. “If I’d known she was just human I would have done that a while ago.” After a moment he added, “Thank you.”
Outside the window the cries of Souleaters could be heard, fading into the distance as Kamala led them away. Colivar had not heard the ruckus when it first began. The game he had been playing with Siderea had been a delicate one and had consumed all his attention. But his final gambit had paid off. Her sudden realization that her past history was known, in all its murderous glory, was enough to break her concentration on whatever she’d been trying to do. Long enough for Salvator’s people to do what they came here to do. And long enough—unexpectedly—for Nasaan to kill her. Foolish woman. I uncovered your secrets years ago. Mysteries are a Magister’s greatest passion; did you forget that?
Colivar looked about the room, now splattered with blood from one side to the other, and caught sight of Nyuku lying in a heap by the weapons rack. Not dead yet, despite Siderea’s assumption. Fresh hatred welled up inside him, and with it the atavistic desire to rip out the man’s throat with his teeth. But he still had unfinished business with Nyuku.