The Midnight Kingdom, page 32
Lilia did not move or speak. Even Julian hesitated to make a sound.
“The same prediction that was brought to the Lunaris’ attention,” Kalen continued. “The same prediction that had them send you away.”
The princess took a long, near-silent breath. Then a small, sad smile touched her face.
“I know, Kalen.”
The astrologer’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I’ve always known it was you. Why else would they have assigned me an astrologer so young, even one born under the Augur Star?” She lifted her free hand toward him, and he took it as if by habit. “I need you. I’ve always needed you.” She turned to include Marcellus. “Both of you.”
The aides were stunned for a moment, but to their credit, they recovered quickly and inclined their heads. “Highness,” they murmured.
The base of Taesia’s throat burned at this show of devotion, of trust. She’d never had someone put such utter faith in her before. Even Dante had kept secrets from her, spanning farther and farther from her grasp until it was too late. Even Risha, even Camilla.
Even Nikolas.
Her next breath shook. The diamond winked in the starlight as Julian shifted closer.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If I’m hurting you.”
She wanted to brush it off, but oddly, it made the burning in her throat worse. Unable to speak, she looked up at him and found him looking back. She realized now why he’d been avoiding it; he was carrying something too big for her to name, something that soothed and agitated her in equal measure. They were so close like this, and still so far apart.
Under his fervent gaze, she didn’t feel quite as alone.
Julian ducked his head again to focus. Not a moment later, a jolt rocked through her. The diamond finally broke through the remaining shackle.
Her vision blackened. No—those were the shadows rising to greet her, gathering to her like water running downhill, a natural torrent that couldn’t be stopped.
She tilted her head back and laughed. The darkness wrapped around her and carded through her hair, loving and loyal, and if she could not inspire devotion in a living thing then at least she had this—the shadow and the night, and her at the center like a newborn idol.
I don’t need you, she thought at Nyx, grinning so wide her jaw ached. I’ve never needed you.
She raised her hands and a ball of pure darkness spun between them. The tears on her face burned cold as Umbra wove giddily between her fingers.
“Hi,” she whispered. “It’s been a while.”
She held her familiar to her chest and leaned her head against the tree behind her. Stared up at the sky, at the bright, blinking mass of a star threatening to wipe them out of existence.
You may need me yet, came a whisper from the shadows, carrying a smile sharp as the waning moon overhead.
Pay Attention
I didn’t intend to get sick.
You have to understand—I tried so hard to keep my family happy. To lower raised voices, and turn storming footfalls into soft steps. I did what I could for my father’s pride and my mother’s kindness. My brother’s love.
Glowing embers in the dark, beautiful until they were not.
And then a burning from within, a primal return to the birth of the world, when it was all fire and heat and madness. Isn’t it strange that beginning is both warm and traumatic, a terrible scream of creation amid blood and pain, an event so harrowing we’re forced to forget it? In comparison, ending is far gentler, like putting your head on a pillow at the close of a long day.
I didn’t intend to die.
In fact, I don’t think I ever truly did. There was the burning, and the pain—the numbness, eventually, that pervaded everything. But I was still there. Aware. Listening.
They brought me into the basilica. I recognized it by smell alone, amber and teak wafting from the thuribles, so familiar I might have cried. A thumb at my cheek, and my father’s rumbling voice above me, asking for a miracle. For a god’s intervention.
Not yet, whispered the Voice. It was the first time I’d heard it, so calm and comforting, like the cool cloths my mother laid upon my forehead.
I didn’t know if he was talking to me, or to the greater universe, or if my fevered brain had scorched away too much of itself. But I listened, I listened, and by listening I kept myself open like a door inviting the unknown in.
There was a pact made that day. In his basilica. In our blood. My father’s miracle.
My death, coming in the form of a circle, the stirring of a new presence that felt as ageless as—
What are you doing?
“Please, no, keep talking—just a little longer—”
Get out.
“Ri—”
ENOUGH.
(Her eyes are dark like a moonless night, her hair is braided, there is a name that comes to me and is gone, and so is she.)
I see you thought to take advantage of my distraction. That must be how she snuck in.
Do not think of her anymore. These memories will not serve you any longer. There is no use in holding on to them. In remembering.
Pay attention to me, now. We have been injured, but it is trivial. We have been delayed, but it is fixable.
I told you to stop thinking about her.
I sired my bloodline for a reason. We all did. Forget your father’s words, your mother’s touch, your brother’s regard. You are my child, my body. You have no need for anything anymore—nothing that I cannot provide.
Soon you will serve your purpose. Be good until then, and you will be rewarded. I know you hunger for it. I hunger, too.
There are still worlds to devour.
PART III
Paths to Ruin
I
Risha lay surrounded by marigolds. There was a hazy heat in her core, combating against the chill of her hibernating body, stitching through every layer of skin and fat and muscle. The sky was a stretch of cadmium clouds. Soft petals caressed her hands, her face. If she were to close her eyes, she could pretend it was human touch.
But hers was the only beating heart in this realm.
She sat up. They had found a field to rest in, the flowers whispering under a faint breeze. She didn’t remember how they’d gotten here; only that her chest had cracked open from the inside, sobs tearing up her throat, and Jas’s body was fading, nearly gone.
Turning, she found him sitting in the marigolds speaking quietly with Val. She had to focus to make out his outline, the familiar slope of his back and the tousled locks of his hair.
Pressure built beneath her sternum. She mourned for a thing she hadn’t yet lost, but how could she not, looking at him like this? In Nexus he had been a creature of touch, so solid and sure of himself that he affected everything around him—including her.
He hasn’t disappeared yet. I won’t let him.
Risha wiped the back of her wrist against her eyes before Jas turned to her with a smile.
“You were out for a while.” He knelt beside her, his movements unusually fluid. “How are your scrapes?”
She looked down at her hands. They had been torn up by rocks, but now they were riddled with faint silver marks. Jas leaned closer with an intrigued sound.
“Strange. Even though your body isn’t fully functioning, it’s still healing you.”
“Healing?” She raised her hands, pressing her thumb to one of the silver marks.
Jas’s smile grew, almost like he was proud. “Like I said, your power is incredible.”
But Risha had never been able to heal this fast before. It only added to the perturbed state of her mind, a buzzy, apprehensive murmur that grew louder and louder.
She put a hand down to steady herself. It landed on something hard: one of the scythes of Samhara. The weapon was warm, and under her touch it grew warmer, as if it sensed there was a spirit nearby it could convert into power.
Risha scrambled away from it, her heart squeezed by a ruthless hand.
“Risha!” Jas crawled closer. “It’s all right. This is what we needed, remember?”
She didn’t need a weapon. She needed—
Needed a way out.
Needed forgiveness.
Risha sought out Val, his head partially obscured by flowers. “You said… You told me Samhara would work if I used my own energy to power it.”
Val blew the bangs out of his eyes. “I only told you what I saw firsthand from Leshya’s fighting. How’m I supposed to know the mechanics of it?”
Risha resisted the urge to pick him up by his hair and throw him as far as she could. She had a feeling he wasn’t lying, but in that case, it meant that method wasn’t a viable option for her, not when her energy and Jas’s were entangled. She drew up her knees and rested her forehead on them.
“Then I won’t use it,” she decided.
“Risha,” Jas admonished. “You’re not thinking clearly about this. If Samhara gathers the power of enough souls, it could be strong enough to tear through the barrier. To get you home.”
“And leave you here?”
He had no reply to that, and they remained silent a long time. Not even Val made a sound, surrounded only by Mortri’s natural ambience, from the whispering of the flowers to the distant growl of thunder to the faraway trill of a creature.
Finally Jas spoke, but not any words she was expecting.
“We never danced at the Godsnight Gala.”
Risha lifted her head. He was staring off at a ridge of mountains, their peaks shadowed and cloaked in mist.
“No,” she agreed. “You were too busy raising the dead.”
He grimaced, which turned into a rueful smile. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, haven’t I? Not dancing with you was one of them.” He rose and held out a hand to her. “Let’s fix that.”
She stared at his hand. Translucent, insubstantial. Choking back the sharp feeling in her throat, she layered hers over it and stood facing him.
Jas smiled down at her, soft enough to break her heart all over again. As one hand reached for her waist, the other met hers in the air beside their faces.
“I wasn’t aware you knew any Vaegan dances,” she murmured.
“You can thank my mother for that. She insisted I learn a couple on the off chance I was invited to Nexus. Too bad I didn’t get to show off for you.”
The corners of her lips twitched. They leaned into the first few moves of the dance, a standard, slow bolero, stepping right then left, backward then forward.
Jas was supposed to lead, but he was only a sigh against her, a memory of laughter and blooming begonias. She leaned back when she knew she should, turned when the ethereal outline of him turned, drew closer despite knowing there was nothing to touch or press herself to.
It was Jas all the same, with or without his body. The same smile, the same wit, the same infuriating belief in her that no one else had freely given. There were tears on her face, but she didn’t move to wipe them away; they were a part of this, too, some small evidence that she could feel something of him still.
They only had the susurrus of marigolds for music. In the back of her mind Risha recounted balls and galas, yearning strings and rhythmic drums, and let it surround them in its own ghostly chorus. Jas smiled wider as if he heard it, too.
“What do you think we would have been like as a married couple?” he asked. “If we had gone to Parithvi and performed our vows?”
The question caught her off guard. Marriage, to her, had always been a distant threat—a pale vision of unhappy nights and tense conversations. Of never truly getting close to whomever her parents had chosen for her, bound by alliance and nothing else.
She didn’t get that impression with Jas. Instead she saw long visits to Parithvi and trying so many dishes her stomach protested. Hearing his laugh in the halls of the Vakara villa and letting it settle her. Sleeping in her own bed and satisfied in Jas’s easy understanding.
“I think it would have been nice,” she said softly. “That we would have respected one another. Enjoyed spending time together.”
“I think you’re right. Even though I’m sure you’d find any excuse to lecture me.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t stick your nose into things you shouldn’t.”
“Ah, my wife is so much wiser than I.” He grinned and spun her, her feet rustling against the grass. Then his expression dimmed. “It’s not your fault, Risha. It was my choice.”
She swallowed the ache in her throat. “I can still find a way to undo this.” They turned in a circle, her hand on the place where his shoulder should be, heads turned toward one another. “My power is incredible, remember?”
He huffed. “I shouldn’t underestimate how stubborn you are.” He spun her again, and they ended up side by side, her fingers laced through the cool hint of his. “But I also know you’re practical. And that you shouldn’t waste the opportunity to practice wielding Samhara.”
She glanced at the scythes as she stepped around him, leaning out until their hands were the only tether between them. “If I wield it, it’ll deplete you even more. I won’t risk it.”
“You don’t have to use it, then. Just practice with it. I can help, if you like.”
“Do you know tandshri?”
“Er, no. But I can watch and clap?”
She breathed out a laugh. Jas spun her one more time and she curled in close to him, his arm around her waist, his face brushing hers.
Risha closed her eyes and played pretend. Pretended they were in Nexus, that they were safe, that she could feel the warmth of his skin and the way he held her like something he never wanted to lose.
“All right,” she whispered. “I’ll practice.”
She stepped away, moving through his arm. He bowed to her, closing out the dance.
A loud, disgruntled cough came from the flowers. “That was nice and all, but can we get moving now?” Val complained. “You promised if I led you to the weapon, you’d find my body.”
Risha brushed the dirt off her trousers. “And we plan to uphold that. Can you recall where it might be?”
“Hmm.” He squinted thoughtfully at the grass. “I’ve been trying to remember my last moments. I was running with Leshya, and she was yelling something… but I have no idea how I actually died. How fucked up is that?”
“What was Leshya yelling?” Jas asked.
“I can’t quite… Huh.” Val chewed on his pale lower lip, brow furrowed. “I don’t remember what she said, but I remember she didn’t have Samhara.”
“Maybe it was after she had to abandon it,” Jas guessed. “Which means she was likely on her way to the Vitae portal, to return home. Your body could be near there.”
“That does ring a bell,” Val agreed. “She was tearing through Mortri like her ass was on fire.”
“It’s as good a lead as any,” Risha said. “And hopefully, once we find your body, Jas and I can move swiftly to the portal.”
Where she would have no choice but to use Samhara. Risha toyed with the idea of leaving it in the field and walking away, but that would have been beyond foolish, considering what it was made of. When she picked up the scythes, the phalanges rattled. Val watched them sway and click together.
There was no easy way to carry the weapon, so she simply held on to the handles. The humerus bones were warm against her scar-riddled hands, an echo of the thing curled at her core, and the dangerous beings that seethed in their walled cities.
Risha had been taught several movements of the tandshri by her father. Other than Sada, there was Khabha, an attack that required her to jump while letting both scythes fly; and Gaja, a melee attack where she squatted down and hooked one scythe up to gut her attacker. Whenever they stopped to rest—sometimes finding spots thanks to helpful wandering spirits—she went through the moves as best she could. But without the stability of her power, she often ended up wobbling and falling on her backside.
“This is fascinating,” Jas said during one of these rests, sitting cross-legged with Val beside him. Val was eyeing Samhara like he didn’t trust Risha not to let one of the blades skewer him. “I never thought to incorporate dance with fighting. Although I suppose fighting is sort of like a dance.”
“And I’m not very good at either,” Risha murmured, practicing her mudras.
“What are you talking about? I saw you take down the Sentinel. You made it look easy.”
“That’s when I was using my power.” And yours. Risha picked at the dirt under her fingernails. “Other than standard self-defense lessons I wasn’t given a martial background like Nik and Taesia. Although Taesia was the one who insisted on her family hiring her a sword master. There was a tournament that took place when we were younger, and after seeing one duel she was obsessed.” Realizing she was blabbering, she cleared her throat. “Were you trained to fight?”
“A little. I had an incident with some pickpockets, and my mother immediately hired a hand-to-hand combat instructor. I wasn’t the best at it, but I could throw a mean punch.” He ran his fingers over the grass, the blades passing through him. “Besides, I had earth magic. I figured that would be enough.”
Risha was uncomfortably aware how dependent they were on magic. The gods’ gifts, some would say, though at times it certainly didn’t feel like it.
They journeyed farther toward where Val insisted the Vitae portal lay. The landscape shifted from verdant fields to valleys that had long since become desolate boneyards. They were forced to hide behind a massive bear skull when another Sentinel passed through, black opal sword in one hand. Its movements were more aggressive than the previous two, its echolocation faster. As if it knew one of its own had been slain and sought vengeance—or had been ordered to double its efforts.
“Samhara must be a beacon to the kings,” Jas whispered as they waited out the Sentinel. “I wonder if they can sense it, now that it’s been recovered.”
Risha’s chest was tight. The handles of the scythes were even warmer against her palms, nearly burning.
