Book 5: Chapter Twenty-Nine

Corec gave the knights time to collect their dead while Conley and the other priests healed the worst of the injured. Forty-seven knights—half of them from the siege crews—had been killed during the fighting, the largest loss the Order had faced since the North Border War. Many didn’t realize until after their surrender that they’d been spared the worst of it.

No one had counted the mercenaries yet, but by Corec’s estimate, over eight hundred had died, with the remainder fleeing. Leena had said they were still going, splintering into smaller groups and heading in different directions. If any were to remain in the free lands, they might become a problem, but that would be a worry for another day.

On Corec’s side, the stone walls and Ellerie’s arrow shield had served their purpose, and they’d lost only two men. One of the horn signalers had died to a crossbow bolt—the lookout platform was above Ellerie’s arrow shield spell, and the silversteel tower shields they’d propped around it hadn’t provided sufficient protection. Another man had died when a boulder from a catapult had taken out a support beam on one of the ballista platforms, causing the whole structure to collapse. The second crew member on the platform had been injured in the fall, but Bobo thought he would remain stable until Treya or Conley recovered enough to look at him.

With the bulk of the knights’ forces dispatched to start breaking down their camp, Corec gathered the senior members of the Order in the meeting chamber, adding Cason and Osbert for good measure. Barat was locked away in Corec’s office. The plain wooden door wouldn’t stop an elder witch, but it was more for his own protection than anything. He’d given his word that he wouldn’t try to escape.

At Corec’s end of the table, he’d brought only Kevik, Trentin, Georg, and Conley. The rest of his friends were either recuperating or watching the enemy camp for trouble.

“Let’s be clear,” Corec said to the knights. “You left your own borders to start a war with no evidence presented of any crime. Why was that? Were you so eager to burn mages at the stake? That’s against the law even in Larso these days. You were misled, but that doesn’t mean you’re without fault.”

“We couldn’t disobey our orders,” Sir Loris said. With the fortress commander having remained at Hightower, he was the highest-ranking of the assembled knights.

“Perhaps not at the start, but what about now? Rusol is a mage and a false king, and he tried to use you to cover up his secrets. You have testimony of that from your own people. I suggest reconsidering your loyalties, and I charge you to inform the rest of the Order about his crimes. As I recall from our lessons at Hightower, the king serves at the behest of the Church. I’m sure the Larse family has some cousins who aren’t mages.”

That suggestion didn’t generate much surprise. Likely the knights had been considering it already.

“Is that the only term you require of us?” Loris said.

Many of the details of the surrender were inherent in its nature, but not everything, and Corec hadn’t been sure of what he was going to say until he’d started talking. The knights—and by extension, the Church—offered the best opportunity to end the war, and he would have to walk a fine line between treating them as defeated enemies or as honored allies. Most of his anger fell on Rusol, but at some point, the Order would have to learn to take responsibility for their own actions.

“Yes, provided you don’t overstep your bounds,” he said. “The Knights of Pallisur are permitted in these lands as long as they obey our laws. Not the Church’s; not Larso’s. You won’t patrol here the way you do in the hills or the free lands unless it’s at my request. If you want to visit, you’ll be welcome, but if you come to make war, you’ll suffer the same fate as the mercenaries. I protected you this time. Next time I won’t.”

“And Sir Barat?” Loris asked. “He’ll have to answer for his crimes.”

“Barat will answer to me,” Corec said. “He was under a compulsion spell, the same as the others from Fort Northtower. He had no choice in what he did.”

“He’s a mage!” a priest said. Corec didn’t remember the man’s name, but he was one of Tibon’s toadies, and had sat on Corec’s tribunal when he’d been expelled from the Order. Tibon himself hadn’t made the journey. “I saw it with my own eyes!”

Priest Calwell started to nod in agreement, then met Corec’s gaze and looked away, flustered.

“We already know what the tribunal will say about that,” Corec replied. “I’ve heard it myself, so I’ll make the ruling for you. Barat is no longer a Knight of Pallisur. He’s no longer welcome in Hightower or any of the Order’s strongholds. As for any other punishment, that’s between him and me.”

Sir Loris nodded. “We agree to your terms.”

“Loris, Barat’s—” started Sir Levit.

“I said we agree!” Loris snapped.

Levit looked to the priests for support, but no one seemed interested in prolonging the debate.

“Then you’re free to go,” Corec said. “Let’s hope the next time we meet, it’s under more pleasant circumstances.”

The knights filed out of the room quietly, defeated but knowing the battle had gone much better for them than it could have.

Cason grasped Corec’s forearm on the way out. He’d offered to make sure Sir Jesson was freed from Fort Hightower.

Osbert was the last of the knights to leave, and Priest Conley went with him. The two men weren’t headed to Hightower—they’d volunteered for a different task. Corec wasn’t sure whether they could succeed or not, but he wouldn’t stand in their way.

#

In Sanvar, the end of the wet season and the beginning of the dry marked a time of change, a time when ancestral Zidari camps would migrate to new locations, and when farmers would harvest their summer crops and clear their fields to make room for winter planting. Some parts of the empire would dry up over the coming months, grazing would become difficult, but there would be less disease and fewer pests, and small fishing vessels could venture out safely into open waters.

For the residents of Sanvara City, the most immediate and obvious impact of the change was the weeklong festival of Lowturning.

Which, for Yassi, meant a week of awkward social events with people she barely knew, where she had to appear to support her husband while continuing her lie about why she’d traveled so far away from him. All of which was made more uncomfortable by having to waddle around with a rapidly growing baby pressing against her bladder and spine.

If she was going to make a public life for herself in Sanvar, it had to be done, but she’d managed to excuse herself from most of the events to which she’d been invited. For this final night of Lowturning, however, the gala was being held at the Sun and Sea—the imperial palace itself—and hosted by Empress Shereen.

Yassi and Merice arrived an hour after the party started, accompanied by Lucanus. Narini was perhaps more capable in her own way, but Lucanus had been with them almost since the beginning. It had taken him a few days to get over his anger at Yassi’s deception, but he’d finally decided to stay on, upgrading his wardrobe to something befitting a royal bodyguard.

The main body of the gala was being held in a large outdoor garden crowded with guests. Minstrels, silk-dancers, and fire-breathers strolled the pathways plying their trade, and a bard stood in front of a fountain at the far end of the garden, telling a sad story about star-crossed lovers. Servants wandered through the crowd offering pastries and small skewers of meat and vegetables. Yassi avoided the meat. Her temporary aversion to certain foods had faded earlier in her pregnancy, but anything spicy would keep the baby awake and kicking longer than usual.

The festivities extended indoors, into a broad, glass-lined atrium facing the garden. There, Yassi had to stop and take a break from walking. She and Merice found two empty chairs at the edge of the room.

“Do you see my parents anywhere?” Yassi asked Lucanus.

He peered out over the crowd. “No, not in here.”

“I’m sure they’ll show up soon, dear,” Merice added. “Samuel would never miss something like this. Do you remember that time he … oh, no, I suppose that was before you were born.”

“Your Majesty?” A thin man with a short, pointed beard stood before them.

Lucanus stepped forward, blocking his way. “What do you want?” he said.

The visitor tilted his head to the side so he could see around the bodyguard. “Pardon me, but I was told you are Queen Yassi of Larso?”

Yassi had to tap her foot against Lucanus’s leg to remind him they were here to mingle. He grunted and moved to the side.

“I am,” Yassi said to the stranger.

He weaved his fingers together and gave a short bow. “My name is Haneef Ussan. I represent a consortium that trades cotton to the north, and I’m hoping to discuss an agreement that would be acceptable to your husband the king.”

“I can arrange an introduction with Ambassador Luthe,” Yassi offered. “He might even be here tonight.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Ahh, well, I’ve spoken with the ambassador,” Haneef said. “He seems reluctant to disturb your wool markets, but cotton is already making inroads in the north. It’s the way of the future, and we wouldn’t want Larso to be left behind. I promise you, the venture will be profitable for all involved.”

Yassi didn’t like the man’s unctuous tone. He was Sanvari but didn’t seem to belong to any clan, though she couldn’t claim to be an expert after spending most of her life in Larso.

“Haneef,” a new voice said. “Go ply your trade elsewhere. Tonight is for celebration.” Shereen and her retinue had come to a stop behind the trader. The elderly empress spoke with disdain rather than the reserved, diplomatic tone she normally used. Shereen’s granddaughter and heir, Nasrin, gave Yassi a quick grin.

“Your Majesty,” Haneef said with a deep bow. “As always, I will accede to your wishes.”

He sauntered away, Shereen shaking her head as she watched him go.

Turning back to Yassi and Merice, she said, “Careful with that one, Your Majesties. Welcome back to the Sun and Sea. I hope you’re enjoying Lowturning.”

Merice rose to greet her. “It’s been quite overwhelming, Your Majesty,” she said. “It’s so much busier than Year’s End or Springtide back home.”

Yassi tried to stand too, reaching for Lucanus’s hand for help, but Shereen waved her back down. “No, no, stay seated,” she said. “I just came to ask if Merice would like to see the Vestathi glassware collection I was telling her about the last time you were here.” She gestured to Nasrin. “And then the younger generation can get up to whatever mischief they like to cause when their elders aren’t around.”

Nasrin laughed. She was much closer to Merice’s age than Yassi’s. “We’ll keep ourselves occupied, Grandmother.”

The larger group wandered off, leaving just the princess and her guards. The two men eyed Lucanus suspiciously.

Nasrin settled into Merice’s chair. “I was starting to think you’d changed your mind about coming.”

“Father told me to never be the first to arrive at a Sanvari party,” Yassi said. “But he’s late even by his standards.”

“Oh, I think your parents are around here somewhere,” Nasrin said, gesturing vaguely. “We’ll find them later. But first, how’s the pain?”

“My back is worse than last week,” Yassi admitted. She had over a month to go before the baby was due, but she wasn’t sure she could handle getting any bigger than she already was. She’d already decided the gala would be her last social event of the season.

“That’s to be expected for how far along you are,” Nasrin said. Her only child, a son, was nearly grown. He was likely out at the livelier part of the gala, surrounded by the blushing daughters of the city’s well-off families. “But your leg?”

“That’s worse too,” Yassi said.

Nasrin nodded. “As it happens, there are a few priests here tonight that I’d trust. There’s one in particular, new in town, who I understand is an excellent healer. Would you like to meet him?”

Now that Yassi had gone public with her identity, she couldn’t simply visit her neighborhood temple for healing. She’d asked Nasrin about other options.

“Oh, yes,” Yassi said. “Now?”

“Why not? He’s here, you’re here.” Nasrin stood and waited as Lucanus offered Yassi his arm. “Shall we go?”

The small party made their way deeper into the palace, to a quieter part of the gathering. There were no entertainments here, just the city’s movers and shakers making quiet deals. Apparently Shereen’s insistence that the gala was for celebration rather than business didn’t apply to this group. Yassi recognized a few of the clan leaders and merchants she’d been introduced to in recent weeks.

Nasrin led her to a bearded, white-robed northerner who was speaking in quiet murmurs to a dark-haired woman in a red gown.

The man noticed them approaching and gave Nasrin a deep, respectful bow. “Your Highness,” he said, “a pleasure.” From the look he gave Yassi, it was clear he knew why she’d come, but he waited for the appropriate pleasantries to be conducted.

“Your Grace,” Nasrin said, “may I introduce you to Her Royal Majesty, Queen Yassi of Larso. Your Majesty, this is Bishop Lastal of the Church of Allosur.”

“Your Majesty,” Lastal said, with a bow as deep as the one he’d given Nasrin.

Yassi greeted him with a nod. “Bishop?” she asked. It wasn’t a title used in Sanvar.

He chuckled. “I headed up the Church in Tyrsall for some years. The local hierarchs haven’t quite figured how I fit into the Order here. Officially, I’m on loan. I understand, Your Majesty, that you’re looking for a healer?”

“It’s just a sharp pain down my right leg, but Nasrin—I mean, Her Highness—says it’s not normal for my condition,” Yassi said. The woman in red was staring at her with a piercing gaze, making it difficult to concentrate on the conversation, but neither Nasrin nor Lastal had offered to introduce her.

“Not normal, but not uncommon,” Lastal said. “You’ll be happy to know it’s not serious either, and I can help with the pain. Shall we go somewhere more private?”

Yassi hesitated. Something was odd about the entire situation. Why would Nasrin bring Yassi to a northern priest, a newcomer to the city, for simple pain?

But the princess gave Yassi an encouraging smile, adjusting her hair and subtly pulling back her sleeve to expose a small tattoo on her left wrist—three circles in a row, each smaller than the last. The mark of the Zidari. Nasrin was clan. Which had to mean Shereen was as well, given her preference for long sleeves. How had they kept it a secret for so long? Why?

It wasn’t something Yassi could ask her about in the middle of a crowded room.

She leaned close to Lucanus, who was still standing nearby in case she needed support. “Stay here,” she murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

He frowned, but she didn’t give him a chance to object, allowing the priest to lead her away. He seemed to know the palace well, taking one corridor and then another. The Imperial Guards stationed in the halls eyed them carefully but didn’t question them, as if they were expected. Were there more guards than usual? Yassi had never been in this part of the palace before.

They ended up in a private reading room, not quite a library.

“Perhaps you should have a seat,” Lastal said, indicating a chaise lounge. “Make yourself more comfortable. It was the right leg, you said?”

“Yes,” Yassi said. “Sometimes it’s numb rather than painful.”

“Yes, well, we’ll attend to that in a moment. But first …” He laid a glowing hand on her brow. “Be gone, demon!” His voice was a tolling bell—not anything a human could produce.

Yassi shrieked, overwhelmed with a pain she’d felt only once before, when Rusol had first bonded her.

And then it stopped.

Something was … different. Thoughts she hadn’t been permitted to think suddenly bubbled into her mind.

“What did you do?” she asked, not daring to hope.

“You may not have been aware, but you’ve been suffering from the effects of a demonic compulsion, or possibly a curse. More insidious than any I’ve seen before. Have you noticed anything odd—”

“I knew!” Yassi said. “I knew. You stopped it?” Tears gathered in her eyes, obscuring her vision.

“The palace priests are skilled at their jobs. They could hardly allow you to continue visiting the empress and the princess while under demonic influence.”

“My parents …” Yassi started.

“The Exarch of The Lady has already cleansed their minds,” Lastal said. “They’re recovering on the floor above us. Your own compulsion required more delicate handling, and I’m known to have some skill in that area. Now, since you were aware of the spell, can you tell me what you know about it? We must make sure the cleansing is complete, and that no secret plots have been set in motion.”

But Yassi couldn’t answer him—she’d broken down sobbing.

I’m free! she exulted in her mind. I’m free!

#

Your Majesty,

I write to ask if you know the whereabouts of my son Toman, who left for Telfort months ago on your request. We expected his return before now, yet we’ve had no correspondence from him and my own letters have gone unanswered. My few contacts in the city say they’ve heard nothing about his arrival. No one was even aware he’d visited.

Toman’s mother is frantic; his wife hardly less so. As a desperate father, I beg of you, please allow my son to return home.

Your loyal subject,

Ansel, Baron of Tarwen

Rusol crumpled the page and threw it across his desk. Tarwen’s words didn’t sound like those of a traitor, yet he’d ended the letter with what amounted to an accusation. What did the baron know? How long would he keep his mouth shut?

Captain Tark’s scouts in the Black Crow Mountains hadn’t identified any unusual military activity, but Rusol had still decided to wait for his mercenaries to return before he sent a force to arrest Ansel. He told himself the delay was just in case Corec had set a trap.

How much longer could he justify waiting, though? The mercenaries would have a long trek back to Telfort, and judging by the warden bond, Sir Barat had been at Corec’s keep for weeks now. Had he elected for a siege rather than a direct assault?

Either way, he should have sent some sort of word by now—the army had brought along pigeons that homed in Hightower and Telfort.

More worrying was the fact that the knight’s bond had changed, in a way Rusol couldn’t quite identify. Yassi’s had soon followed. Could it have something to do with how long they’d been away from his presence?

He needed advice. The only person he really trusted was Magnus, but the man wasn’t in any of his usual spots within the palace. Rusol followed his bond until he’d reached the outer wall. Magnus was up on the wall-walk, but why? And where were all the guards? The palace was kept well defended even in times of peace, yet there were no soldiers in sight.

Rusol climbed the nearest guard tower and found the priest just outside, tucked away in the tower’s shadow as he looked out onto the city. This section of the curtain wall faced the huge Temple of Pallisur—Cardinal Aldrich’s domain and Marten’s final resting place.

“You shouldn’t be here, Rus,” Magnus said.

“What are you talking about?” Rusol said. “Where are all the guards?”

“I sent them away,” Magnus said. “The fewer witnesses, the better.” His war bow and quiver were propped against the wall behind him.

“Witnesses? What’s going on? Tell me!”

“Kolvi’s been sneaking her clan into the city, a few at a time,” Magnus said. “The witches in her clan, I mean.” He tilted his head toward the temple. “What better time to strike, now that you’ve sent four hundred knights to die at a warden’s hands? She’s rather annoyed that Barat went with them, but this is still our best opportunity—it’s the weakest the Church will ever be.”

“Her clan?” Rusol said, his gut tightening as he realized the implications. “What’s she going to … ? She can’t! She’ll start a war!”

The Church of Pallisur had to change, but Marten had always had the right idea—weaken and manipulate them slowly, carefully, until they became just one of the many factions vying for scraps of power. An all-out assault would tear the kingdom apart.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Magnus asked. “Kolvi’s told you all along that she didn’t come here to kill wardens. She’s here for the Church, just as I am. It’s time we do what we came for.”

“No!” Rusol exclaimed. “No! You’ve got to stop it! Stop Kolvi! Where is she?” He applied pressure to the compulsion spell he’d woven into the man’s warden bond.

Magnus gave him a pitying look. “It’s too late to stop it. Did you really think The Lady would allow her strongest priest to be swayed by demonic magic? As for Kolvi, I have no idea how she continues to resist you. I’m not sure she’s entirely sane. But she is determined.”

The bell tower at the top of the temple tolled the hour, and then the entire building lit up from the inside with a massive fireball that blew out all the windows simultaneously.

Rusol could only stare, aghast, as a dozen figures rushed at the temple from different directions, launching streams of fire and lightning at any priest or clerk who tried to escape the destruction.

A familiar-looking man in fine robes stumbled out of the front entrance, coughing from the smoke. Cardinal Aldrich.

“Like I said, you shouldn’t be here, Rus,” Magnus said, taking up his war bow and nocking an arrow. He drew back to the bow’s full strength, then let it fly, the arrow blazing white with divine magic as it struck Aldrich through the throat. “We can’t risk anyone seeing you take part in this.”

It was already too late to save those in the temple. Could Rusol stop Kolvi and her clan before they took things any further? He could kill Magnus, he suspected, but he’d have to pit his strength against Kolvi too, and he wasn’t certain who’d come out on top. Even if he succeeded, he would lose his two strongest and most capable bondmates, and how could he hide his identity while wielding that much power from the palace walls?

He backed into the guard tower to stay out of sight, slumping down against the wall.

Everything was falling apart and he had no idea how to fix it.