The Midnight Kingdom, page 14
“I’m sorry,” Taesia said softly.
Lilia let her familiar dissipate and rewrap itself around her wrist. “Being a Lunari has never been easy, let alone the youngest heir born under the Malum Star.”
“How old were you when you left?”
Eyes on the temple below, Lilia answered, “Twelve.”
“That young?”
“An astrologer made a prediction that the Malum Star would be the undoing of our people. Shortly after I turned twelve, my eldest brother’s wife had a series of miscarriages. Once I was sent away, she delivered a healthy baby. An heir.” Lilia’s voice broke; that child had ended up dead anyway. “The prediction came to pass. This is the curse of the Malum Star.”
“That’s bullshit. I get why you value the stars and believe in their power, but—”
“Believe? Do you believe your Vitaean sun is warm, or do you simply say it is warm? So it is with the stars of our realm.”
Taesia sighed. “Fine. I know you don’t view it as a cruel practice, but it seems pretty cruel to me.”
Lilia gave a rueful smile. “Maybe. Maybe not. In any case, they sent me to one of the southern states to continue my education. They assigned Mar as my personal guard.” Marcellus, the soldier downstairs with the long silver hair. Taesia liked his genial attitude a lot more than the sullen astrologer’s. “Kalen was also given to me as a minder. Their help has been beyond invaluable to me, especially when it came to fighting off assassins.”
“Assassins? Did they want to ransom you back to your family?”
Lilia frowned as if Taesia was the one spouting nonsense. “No. My family sent them.”
Taesia willed herself to say nothing. No matter her origins, this was not her world. But Lilia noticed the hardening of her expression.
“It’s all right,” the princess said. “It was expected, and fair. I hold no venom for it. They understood, too, that it was up to me to decide my fate. And Mar was a prodigy even at such a young age. He took the first two down singlehandedly.”
Taesia ran her tongue over her teeth to dislodge the words she wanted to spit at the dead Lunaris. “Well, I know what it’s like to have people after your life. Not fun, but it keeps things interesting.”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Lilia chewed on her lower lip before asking, “Are there any Noctans left? In Vitae.”
“Yes. A good couple thousand, at least. They all live in Nexus. My family checks in on them, makes sure they’re taken care of.” For a moment Taesia was standing in the Noctus Quarter, Starfell lifted toward a swirling vortex. “When I left, they were still safe.” I made sure of that.
Gratitude flashed in Lilia’s lavender eyes. “Thank you. I will not forget it.”
Taesia coughed and turned back to the temple. “Yeah… anyway. Do you really think this will work?”
“If it doesn’t, then at least I’ll know I have done my duty to the best of my ability.”
The princess didn’t see Taesia’s grimace when they turned to head back to the others. As far as she was concerned, duty had never gotten her or her family anywhere.
Julian had been left behind with the soldier—“Marcellus Rhydian, youngest son of the Rhydian dukedom. A pleasure, despite the circumstances!”—and the astrologer, the latter of whom had elected to sit at the table with his arms folded, watching Julian.
They sat like this in uneasy silence while Taesia and the princess were gone. Julian very much wished he’d left with them.
Finally Marcellus laughed and poked at Kalen. “Kal, you should introduce yourself properly.”
“Do not call me that,” the other man grumbled. He swatted Marcellus’s hand away. “And stop touching me.”
“But, Kal—”
“Kalen,” the astrologer bit out. His gaze flitted back to Julian. “Kalen Braythe. If it matters.”
Julian nodded, feeling too large within his own skin. “Julian Luca,” he said hoarsely.
“Ah, there now,” Marcellus said, all cheer. He tossed some of his lustrous silver hair over his shoulder. “We’re all properly acquainted.”
Kalen hummed noncommittally. Julian said nothing, and the silence became its own sort of beast. Marcellus fiddled with his sword, unsheathing an inch and then sliding it back in. Julian noted the blade was darker than steel, the hilt an ornate blend of onyx and silver with a twisting basket guard, the pommel set with a pearlescent jewel.
The soldier was definitely nobility. Yet both were travel-dirty and attired plainly, all the better to avoid attention.
After a few unbearable minutes, Kalen sighed and rummaged through a nearby pack. He slapped a piece of parchment onto the table.
“Where were you born?” he asked.
Julian looked to Marcellus, who only smiled. “I’m… sorry?”
“The place where you were birthed,” Kalen drawled. “Somewhere in Vitae, yes?”
“Uh, yes, I… Nexus.”
Kalen wrote something down. Julian couldn’t read the looping foreign characters. “And the time?”
Another look to Marcellus, who nodded encouragingly. “My mother said I was born at night. After dusk, but before midnight.”
Kalen muttered something to himself that sounded like “of course” before he made a note of it. “And the date?”
Julian told him, more and more bewildered as Kalen’s pen scratched across the paper. “Your fifth calendar month would fall toward the end of our Full Moon cycle,” the astrologer explained, drawing lines between symbols. “And in Vitae, that would mean…”
He quietly studied the paper. Marcellus kept smiling placidly beside him. Julian caught his eye and the soldier loudly whispered, “I love this part.”
“You were born between the constellations Efuero and Bastion,” Kalen said at last, crumpling the parchment in his hand before tossing it over his shoulder like it was trash. “Which means you’d have been born under the stars Belua and Praeses.”
His tone implied this might not be a good thing. Julian waited for him to extrapolate. When he didn’t, Julian prodded, “And those mean…?”
Kalen narrowed his green eyes. “It means you’re a contradiction, and I’ll be watching your every move.”
Marcellus chuckled. “He’s always very dramatic about his readings,” he told Julian with a wink. “Don’t worry about it.”
Julian, the holder of a very pressing, burning secret, worried.
It was a relief when the women returned. At first Julian thought Lilia was alone, but then the near-invisible shadows behind her parted to reveal Taesia.
“Oh, good, I’ll put on some chori.” Marcellus went to the small stove in the corner with a dented copper kettle and a large unmarked tin beside it.
“Tea,” Taesia said at Julian’s unspoken question. “Or their version of it. They don’t grow the same types of leaves we do in Vitae.”
Julian had wondered about what they could grow here, considering there was no sunlight. But this was a wholly different realm, with rules he wasn’t familiar with. At this rate he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the moon was made of wax.
“How did the temple look?” he asked.
“Big,” Taesia said.
“Helpful, thanks.”
“Most of us haven’t been inside before,” Lilia added. “Which means we’re at a disadvantage.”
“Not to mention the dalyr does not have her magic,” Kalen pointed out.
Taesia’s mouth curved into something too sharp to be considered a smile. “Luckily I’m not completely reliant on my magic, like most Shades.”
Kalen’s familiar twitched around his neck. Before he could retort, Lilia walked to where Taesia’s sword was leaning against the wall. Taesia visibly tensed as the princess wrapped her fingers around the grip and lifted the sword. Again Julian was awed by the violent shape of it, the glimmering specks within the bone—the same bone Taesia had killed a man to obtain.
He glanced at her and found her glancing back at him, both remembering the bone dealer’s shop.
“There is much power in this weapon.” Lilia held it with both hands, gentle in her reverence. “Have you named it?”
“Yes. Starfell.”
“An unlikely name, but I suppose it fits. It has been many, many years since we have encountered an astralam. And yet you happened upon these bones in Vitae, of all places.”
Kalen joined her and held a hand above the blade. “They feel old. Centuries, at least.”
“Does it matter how I got them?” Taesia asked. “This sword might be the best tool to fight against Phos.”
“Why should you be the one to wield it?” Kalen flung back at her. “Lilia has—”
“No,” the princess cut in, setting the sword back down with great care. “This is not mine to wield.”
Marcellus seemed a little disappointed. “Why not?”
“Because there is another tool we need to defeat one as strong as Phos. And it is also in the Sanctuary.”
Kalen’s breath hitched in understanding. “The coronal?”
“The coronal,” Lilia agreed. “A sacred object of my family. It is made of an astralam’s fangs.”
“I know of it,” Taesia said. “It can absorb a massive amount of starlight that can be turned on enemies.”
“Yes, but it’s also a defensive tool. In the Century of Eclipse, we suffered heavy blows from Solara. One of my ancestors used the bones of an astralam gifted by Nyx to make the coronal. With it she erected a barrier across all of Astrum to stop Solara’s advances. Since then, it has been securely guarded in the Sanctuary of Nyx. But now, I… I am the only one capable of wielding it.”
Marcellus rested a hand on the princess’s shoulder. “We’ll retrieve it, Your Highness.” The kettle began to hiss and rattle on the stove, drawing him away.
“We should split into two groups, then,” Kalen suggested. “One to get the diamond, the other to get the coronal.”
“Is there any way to map the layout of the temple?” Taesia asked.
“There might be,” Lilia said. “Kalen, help me with something.”
The Noctans retreated to the table. Taesia turned back to Julian, who had long since decided his role was to be as quiet and helpful as possible. Now Taesia gestured for him to follow her into the corner Starfell occupied.
“We haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened,” Taesia said as they sat against the wall.
If Julian closed his eyes long enough, concentrated deep enough, he could feel the echoes of pain left in the wake of his refusal to accept what had been offered to him.
What even was it? A power, but not his power, not as he understood it. For most of his life he had been someone who could lock eyes on a beast and understand its intentions. For most of his life he had wrestled with the idea that this power made him a beast, too.
And now he knew for certain that he was. Not just a beast, but a demon, a remnant of a world long gone, and the only pawn left on a god’s gameboard.
Orsus. Goosebumps rose along his arms.
A hand encircled his wrist. “Julian?”
He kept his head down, afraid to discover what emotion she was wearing. He was still looking down when a handleless clay cup was shoved under his nose.
“Sorry to interrupt,” came a voice above them. “Just wanted to give you these.”
Julian instinctively reached for the cup before he could think to deny it. Marcellus handed another to Taesia and bustled off to the table where Lilia and Kalen were scheming.
The tea was a deep blue color and smelled like jasmine. He took a small sip and almost burned his mouth, but it was worth it for the flavors that coated his tongue, a satiny blend of floral and spice he had never encountered before. It tasted of a night in autumn, enjoying a warm fire in the middle of a cold night, leaves blushing orange and red, crisp air scented with the last of the season’s harvest.
His shoulders relaxed. He thought of his mother’s apartment, sitting at the table with her and his father as they laughed over a card game. The wintry air on his face when he and his father practiced shooting outside. The way his mother had tucked a blanket around him when he’d fallen asleep in his chair.
A gentle touch on his face wiped away a stray tear.
“I know it’s a lot,” Taesia murmured. “Take your time.”
Julian quietly drank his tea. Taesia sipped hers and waited, eyelids growing heavier.
Finally he said, “They spoke to me.”
“Who?”
Julian held the clay cup closer to his chest, seeking its warmth. “Orsus.”
She carefully set her own cup down. “The fifth god. Their… remains. Spoke to you.”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
He didn’t know how long he had lain in the Bone Palace with that whisper in his skull, telling him to control, create, conquer. He didn’t know what it meant, not even when he related it now to Taesia. What he’d been expected to do, other than destroy Phos with a power he did not comprehend nor want.
“I couldn’t do it,” he whispered, low enough not to carry to the princess and her aides. “I didn’t know what was happening. I just wanted to save Nik.”
“You snapped him out of Phos’s control for a while,” Taesia said. “That’s something.”
“But that wasn’t Orsus’s power, it was—” Azideh’s. “It was mine.”
“I thought it only worked on beasts?”
“I thought so, too. But I… I don’t know. Being in that place…” He was trembling, he realized in a distant way. “It did something to me. I didn’t like it.”
“But you’re not hearing the voice now?” He shook his head. “Good. Don’t give in to it.” She spared a glance at the others. “Nyx wants me to accept his power, but I can’t. If I let him have control over me, I might end up like Rian. Don’t let Orsus take control of you.”
He opened his mouth to say he wouldn’t, but that wasn’t a promise he could make. He was a simple man from a simple life—he was the least equipped person here to deal with something of this scale. And before him sat the daughter of a god, a daughter of kings, who had grown up steeped in magic and power. Who understood how to wield them.
What must she see when she looked at him? How much did she resent being here with him instead of Nikolas?
“I don’t want their power,” Julian whispered at last. “I’ve never even wanted my own.”
He only wanted to return to Nexus, to his mother, to home. To preserve a life left in autumn.
There was a flicker in Taesia’s dark eyes that may or may not have been confusion. Of course—she was one who sought strength, not rejected it.
But he had already seen what gods and demons could do. He would not allow them to destroy what little he had left.
II
Risha stood in the courtyard of the Bone Palace, in the eye of Thana’s wintry torus. Tendrils of power grasped at beating, taunting hearts—hearts she needed to squeeze to pulp, hearts crowding her chest in a synchronized drumbeat, hearts she knew by feel and name. Ash and smoke drifted on the air. Deia raged in a tower of flame before her.
“—sha!”
The nightmare shifted, folded, and Jas became Brailee. She dove before Angelica’s fire and held her hands up. The flames turned to rose petals.
“Where are you?” Brailee demanded.
Risha faltered. The petals were swept up within her torus, swirling around her in a fit. “How—?”
“Quickly! Where are you?”
“I’m—” Vitae, Nexus, courtyard, portal— “Mortri! I’m in Mortri!”
Another wall of fire, and Brailee disappeared into ash.
Risha woke with a choking gasp. Her pulse struggled, and for a moment she felt her body shutting down, a terrifying descent into dark waters.
See how easy it is to slip away? Thana whispered, grave-quiet. You cannot go on much longer. You know this. You almost crave it—to let go and fall, and not have to get back up.
Then Jas touched her shoulder and she could properly breathe. She shut her eyes again and focused on the blood traveling through her body, the rhythm of her heart, the electric response of her brain.
Risha rubbed her face before letting Jas help her up. “I’m all right. Just… nightmare.”
Jas nodded, eyes pinched. She tried not to look too long at the outline of his body turning vaporous.
They’d found an outcrop to rest under. The vegetation around here was dense and strange, junglelike, with trailing vines and razor-edged ferns and purple silken flowers that Val had warned them not to get too close to.
Val was situated on top of a flat rock to keep an eye on their surroundings. But now his gaze was intent on her, as if trying to figure out the potential hazards of sleep on humans.
“I made this while you were out,” Jas said. He handed her a bundle of vines that had been tightly bound together. “It’s for the head.”
“The head?” Val muttered. “I told you my name.”
The tangle of vines felt smooth and durable, thickened in all the places they were woven together. Not woven—fused. “Did you use your magic?”
Jas smiled. “I wanted to see if I could access it in this form. I can, but it’s not as strong as it was in Vitae.”
“Jas,” she sighed. “Thank you for making this, but you shouldn’t be expending your spiritual energy this way.”
“I’m all right. Honest.”
She didn’t feel like arguing. Instead, she stood and approached Val, who pursed his lips at the makeshift carrier. “Is this all right?”
“Better than being hauled around by the hair, I suppose.”
She tried a couple different options before wrapping the vines under his chin. She tied the ends around her shoulders so that he could rest on her back.
“Hey, hey, I’m facing the wrong way!” he complained.
“You can be our lookout from behind,” Risha said. “I’ll turn around when you need me to.” Val grumbled and fidgeted against her back. “It’s not exactly pleasant for me either.”
