Colivar let out a breath he had not realized he’d been holding. “I thank you, Highness.”
“Should I ever discover you are using this situation to manipulate me against my father . . .” He let the sentence trail off into a suggestive silence
If I did you would never know it, Colivar thought darkly. I would wrap such spells about your heart that you would beg to serve me, and would cut your own mother’s throat if I told you that I wanted her blood for my dinner table.
“The Law forbids me to act against Danton,” he said quietly. It wasn’t really true—the only action the Law prohibited was killing a Magister’s patron—but the boy didn’t have to know that. The less morati understood of the secretive code of the Magisters, the better.
“We leave now, I take it?”
Colivar nodded. “As soon as you are ready.”
Andovan glanced towards the door of the coach and hesitated. Colivar could guess from his expression what was on his mind.
“There is someone here. A witch. She saved my life. I would ask—”
“She may come with us,” Colivar said quickly. “I will transport her as well. Assuming she agrees.”
Andovan blinked. “I expected you to argue with me.”
“I have my own reasons.”
She will not abandon you willingly, Colivar thought. Whatever perverse desire drove her to seduce her food, she will not want to let you go just yet. He did not need sorcery to know that; the truth of it had been in her eyes. They were strange eyes, green and cold, with depths that glittered like diamonds. He remembered the Souleaters having eyes like that. Or maybe not. It was hard to be sure, with so many years veiling his memories. How many centuries had it been since he had last seen one up close?
You will see them soon enough if they are returning, he told himself. And they will know your scent for what it is as soon as they catch wind of you.
He had no doubt that Andovan’s sorceress would accept the invitation. Whatever had driven her to track down and seduce her victim, she would not wish to give up control of him so soon. And Andovan was clearly smitten with her, in that impulsive and sometimes senseless way to which young men were prone. As for Colivar, he could see possible uses for such a creature in Danton’s realm, most likely as a prime distraction. If Kostas realized there was a female sorcerer in his realm, he might not pay as close attention to other things. That could be useful.
Those were the reasons he gave himself, and they were good enough that he did not have to ask himself any more precise questions about his own motives, or wonder how many risks he would be willing to take for an opportunity to study her more closely.
Chapter 38
THE MINUTE they arrived in the High Kingdom Kamala could see that something was wrong.
She’d had second thoughts about entrusting herself to a strange Magister’s sorcery, but there was no real alternative. She was not about to surrender Talesin a mere hour after discovering what he was, least of all to another sorcerer, and that meant she had to come with him. Either that or do battle with the Magister who had come to fetch him, and stake her territorial claim in terms he could not deny. She was almost angry enough to do that, too. What right did another man have to claim the source of her power?
But confronting him upon the issue meant revealing far more about herself and her consort than she wanted a stranger to know. And as it turned out, Talesin was more than just a noble-born wanderer. He was actually in the direct line of inheritance for the throne of the High Kingdom—arguably the greatest throne in the human lands—and the politics surrounding his lineage apparently now required that he return home.
He explained that to her as well as he could, then asked her to come with him. The black-haired Magister was not within sight at the time—he had walked off a bit to give them a modicum of privacy—but she could sense him in the distance: anxious, impatient. Was he using his sorcerous senses to listen in on their conversation? Kamala would have done so if their positions were reversed.
Colivar. That was the name Talesin had given him. She’d felt a chill go down her spine when he said it, remembering that name from one of Ethanus’ lessons. What had her Master said about him? Colivar is older than most of our kind, and has knowledge of many truths the morati world has forgotten. He is more human than most Magisters in his demeanor, but less human than most in substance, and for that reason he is often underestimated, especially by younger sorcerers.
I will not make that mistake, she promised her teacher silently.
Under normal circumstances she would have disdained Colivar’s aid and simply traveled on her own—if for no other reason than to enjoy the Magister’s surprise when she did it—but such a large expenditure of athra would cost her consort dearly. And she was no more ready to magic him to death a mere hour after discovering his true identity than to let some legendary Magister run off with him.
And so, when Colivar wove his spells, she stood silently by and did not weave her own. She allowed him to establish a portal between here and there, anchoring it to some distant sorcerous mark, and when Talesin offered her his hand, that they might step through together, she took it and went. Ethanus had trained her well enough that she understood the importance of not showing hesitation in front of another Magister, and so she stepped into the spell as casually as if Talesin had invited her for a walk along the beach instead. Never mind that he had told her Colivar was a servant of his father’s greatest enemy, so she found the whole relationship suspect. Never mind that she did not have the same confidence he did that this sorcerous portal was exactly what Colivar claimed it to be, or was going to the place he said. Magisters did not display fear of other Magisters.
The sensation of stepping through another Magister’s portal was markedly vertiginous, and for a moment she had to shut her eyes and concentrate on steadying her senses just to keep to her feet. Then, slowly, sensing solid ground beneath her once more, she opened her eyes. What she saw was not what she had expected, and for a moment she just stood there, stunned. Beside her she could feel Talesin stiffen as he did the same, and for one terrible moment she thought that Colivar had indeed betrayed them, and had brought his enemy’s son to some unknown place. Surely this could not be the ancestral home that Talesin had described to her as they had gathered their belongings, speaking of it with such longing that she knew his very soul ached to return. . . .
But no, there was Danton’s palace ahead of them; Talesin pointed to it with a trembling hand, that ancient keep which Danton had adopted as the centerpiece of his sovereignty. (Call him Andovan, she reminded herself, tasting his true name secretly as she whispered it to herself.) Surrounding the palace, however, there should have been trees and gardens, walkways roofed in marble and roads paved with glittering stones and a vast marketplace set some distance from the palace gates, shimmering with all the vibrant colors and raucous sounds of life. Or so Andovan had told her.
It was gone. All of it.
Only a wasteland remained.
Andovan’s face was white with shock as he took it all in, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. Even Colivar looked surprised when he first saw it, though, being a Magister, he was quick to mask the emotion. Briefly Kamala wondered if he was aware of her standing there as he did so, if he saw her as a potential rival who might take advantage of his weakness. The thought thrilled her, even as she tried to make sense out of the scene that was laid out before them.
You will know you are truly a Magister when the others of your kind fear you, Ethanus had told her.
Against a backdrop of rugged mountains, Danton’s palace loomed gray and forbidding. The banners she had been told would be hanging from its outer wall were missing, save for a pair of red flags with a double-headed hawk flanking the main gate. Bereft of other decorations, the cold stone keep looked more like a fortress preparing for siege than a place where foreign envoys were feted. Even the few windows were tiny, narrow things, barely wide enough for an archer to take sight of an ene
my through. The building’s ancient purpose had become its current purpose once more, as its owner prepared for war.
But if the starkness of the palace itself was remarkable, it paled in comparison to what lay surrounding it. To the west, where Andovan said a great forest had once stood, was only an open plain. The trees nearest the palace walls had been felled and the gardens burned, so that a black ring of devastation surrounded the keep. A fence that had once marked the outer boundary of the royal grounds seemed strangely isolated, trapped between emptiness and more emptiness, bereft of even the illusion of purpose.
Colivar had said they would arrive near a marketplace, close enough that if trouble came their way they might lose themselves in the crowd. But if ever a marketplace had existed in this place there was no sign of it now. All signs of human commerce had been uprooted, leaving only the dry, packed earth as testament to the thousands that must once have scurried back and forth across it. If Kamala had been willing to use her sorcery she might have heard the echoes of vendors long gone, servants chattering as they purchased goods for their master’s house, gossip whispered in the shadows. But she cast no spell, and so the earth was silent.
It wasn’t that she cared whether Andovan lived or died, she told herself. It was simply that this would be an inconvenient time to be caught in Transition.
“Why?” Andovan whispered hoarsely.
“Like a beast, Danton marks his territory.” Colivar’s dark eyes glittered. “What better way than this?”
Andovan turned on him; the fury in his eyes made it clear that the Magister had just gone one step too far. “Are you saying my father is a beast?”
“Perhaps not him. Perhaps someone else.” He waved a hand out toward the ravaged landscape. “What else explains this, Your Highness? What motive could a man possibly have that would cause him to lay waste to his own lands like this?”
Kamala looked up at him sharply. He knew something he was not saying, that much she could sense in him.
Andovan drew in a deep breath as he gazed out at the devastated landscape. “Defense,” he said quietly. His voice was a hollow thing. “My father often spoke of the folly of having wooded lands so close to the palace, saying that enemies could use them for cover, but my mother begged him to keep them . . . she said war would not come this far into the High Kingdom, and she hungered for the comfort of living things. . . .” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That is what he has done. All things that might give shelter to enemies have been removed. Even the crowds that unwelcome visitors might lose themselves in.” He looked pointedly at Colivar.
“She was right,” the Magister told him. “No army could get this far, not without months of bloody campaigning first. More than enough time for a Magister to level a forest, if the need arose.” He shook his head; his expression was grim. “There was no need for this. Not in any human sense.”
The wind shifted, coming to them from across the battered landscape. The ash was fresh enough that the smell of burning still lingered on the wind . . . and something else.
“What is that?” Kamala said.
It was a musky scent, strangely sweet, like nothing she had ever smelled before. Not an unpleasant odor, but strangely disturbing. She could see Colivar start as the breeze brought it to him, and something flickered in the back of his eyes that might be fear. It was a strangely naked expression, as if for a moment all the strength of the Magister’s power had been stripped from him, and with it all his confidence. A second later the expression was gone, but the image of it had been seared into her brain.
“They are here,” Colivar whispered.
Andovan seemed about to speak, but instead a fit of coughing suddenly overcame him. More and more violent it became, until at last he was driven to his knees, shaking from the force of it. Kamala knelt by his side, feeling utterly helpless in her inability to help him. Any power she used to heal him would only make things worse.
Colivar simply watched, curious but unmoved.
Doubling over, Andovan vomited upon the packed earth, not once but again and again, until the fluid that he spewed up no longer had any substance to it, save a strange and vile smell. “What is that?” he gasped, as the fit of coughing subsided at last and he was able to breath.
“Your ancestral enemy,” Colivar answered. “Legend says that hatred of them is writ deep in the blood of the Protectors. Apparently not even Danton’s seed could dilute it enough to matter.”
“Then my mother—” He could not complete the thought.
He nodded. “Go to her. Give her strength. Tell her Danton’s alliance with these creatures must be severed, or the whole of the High Kingdom will soon look like . . . this.” A sweeping gesture encompassed the wasteland before them. “And worse. Much worse. Remember the Dark Ages. They could come again.”
Andovan nodded. With effort—and Kamala’s assistance—he got to his feet. He wiped a sleeve across his mouth, and spat a few last drops of bile onto the ground. “I know my duty, Colivar.” He held out a hand to Kamala. “Come. I will need your protection.”
She took his hand.
“She cannot shield you once you are inside,” Colivar warned. “Kostas will be alert to the faintest whisper of sorcery within his domain.”
“Then she can protect me on the way,” Andovan said.
He did not correct Colivar’s assumption, Kamala noted. Did not point out to him that his companion was a witch, not a sorcerer. No doubt he was distracted enough not to take note of the fine distinction, or believe that it mattered. But she knew that it did, and she wondered if by not responding to it she was revealing more about herself to Colivar than she should.
Too much to think about now. Deal first with the task ahead, later with this Magister.
“Lianna.”
It took Kamala a minute to remember that was her name. When she did she turned back to Colivar.
“I believe this is yours.” He held out a folded square of fabric. Golden silk. The dark eyes were fixed on her as she took it, as if seeking to take the very measure of her soul.
Startled, she realized it was one of the scarves that Ravi had given her, back in Gansang. One of many precious gifts that she had never worn.
Her heart skipped a beat in her chest. She did her best not to let her surprise show, but knew from the expression in those piercing dark eyes that she had failed, and that for one brief moment he had read her like a book.
“Your mistake,” she said stiffly. “It is not mine.”
“Indeed,” he said quietly. “My apologies, then.” He tucked the scarf into his doublet without looking at it, his dark eyes never leaving her own. “I shall have to seek its true owner some other time.”
Cold, those eyes were so cold. Human beings did not have eyes like that.
Shivering inwardly, she turned to follow Andovan across the devastated landscape, toward whatever secret entrance he believed would give them access to the palace.
Chapter 39
GWYNOFAR AWAKENED slowly, not quite sure where she was. She had dreamed so many things in the last few hours, all of them with such frightening intensity, that for a moment it was hard to tell if this was yet another dream, or if sleep was fading at last and she was returning to . . . where?
Trembling, she remembered seeing a sky filled with black-winged Souleaters, a land burned black by sorcery, and strange lizardlike creatures that slithered in the shadows of the palace, leaving trails of slime upon the ancient tapestries. Would that they were only nightmares! But at least one of those images was more than a dream, so who could say how much of the rest might turn out to be likewise? These days she could not rule anything out.
It was a week now since Kostas’ sorcery had ignited the royal forest, sending clouds of black smoke high into the heavens for days on end. On the last day the wind had turned toward the palace, as if to admonish those who had sanctioned the destruction, and hot ash had rained down upon the turrets and parapets. It had gathered in gray drifts against the outer wal
ls and gusted in through the narrow windows, and no matter how many servants Gwynofar sent to sweep it away there was always more of it somewhere, waiting to blow in. Kostas could have turned the wind away, but why should he? He clearly took delight in her despair, and no doubt watched from the shadows with pleasure as she stood upon the roof that last day, when the smoke finally cleared, weeping at the sight of the devastation. The forest had been Andovan’s favorite refuge, and therefore she had loved it for his sake . . . and like all the things she loved, it must therefore be uprooted or befouled by that creature, for that was his chosen sport.
Only her courtyard was safe from him. Even the ash had not fallen thickly there. Merian had said that was because the bulk of the palace blocked the wind, but Gwynofar preferred to believe that the gods wished to keep this one place sacrosanct. So that there remained one place where she could still find peace, unfouled by Kostas’ sorcery.
Now, raising her head up from the needle-strewn earth, she realized she was in that very place. Exhaustion must have overtaken her during her devotions, she thought. Either that, or perhaps she had chosen to rest her head upon the ground for a few moments and shut her eyes, trusting this was the one place in the palace where Kostas would not—perhaps could not—intrude. And then sleep had claimed her, the border between waking nightmare and dreaming nightmare so subtle that she never sensed the moment she passed from one to the other.
How far she had fallen, since the days when she had reigned as High Queen beside Danton’s throne! These days the rancid odor in the palace was so overwhelming that she could barely stand to remain indoors. Instead she must flee to this place several times a day just to be able to breathe clean air, or Kostas’ foulness would surely suffocate her. She could not explain all that to Danton, of course. He would have labeled the whole thing lunacy—or even worse, witchery—and it would have driven yet one more wedge between them. As if they needed anything more.