The Cost of Love, page 21
The soldiers opened fire.
With a flick of will, I bent the stream of bullets backward. The rounds hung for the briefest heartbeat in the air like beads of mercury, before spinning with unnatural force and direction. Gunfire became requiem.
The room erupted in chaos.
The soldiers fell; crimson blossomed across uniforms, eyes wide in disbelief. The last echoes of the gunfire faded into silence broken only by the gasp of Chancellor Turgenev, who stood alone amidst the ruin of his men.
“Kneel before your empress,” I commanded. “Unless you would join the traitors already strewn at your feet.”
Chancellor Turgenev’s eyes flicked toward the bloodstained floor, then slowly, he bent the knee. The reluctance in his movement was painted in every line of his figure.
“Long live the Empress,” he intoned, the words dry in his mouth.
“And the Emperor,” Marisha added, her tone regal as she stepped up beside me, the folds of her dress sweeping like a banner in the still air.
Turgenev hesitated, then bowed his head lower. “Long live the Emperor. Long live the Empress.”
“Stand, child,” Marisha said in an imperious voice.
I glanced sideways and caught the flicker of her smirk, a glimmer of amusement beneath her regal facade. But it vanished by the time Turgenev straightened, his shoulders stiff with discontent.
“Your first task,” Marisha continued, her voice sharp, “is to lay the foundation for a school devoted to the training of Arkane Scientists. We must not let this art perish with us.”
Turgenev’s brow furrowed. “Pardon, Empress, but the Council...”
Marisha raised a hand, silencing him like a queen stilling a storm. “Yes, yes. They shall be informed in due time. Naturally.”
“But...”
“We will convene the Council tomorrow,” she said crisply. “By then, I expect a full report on your progress. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Empress,” he said, though the strain in his tone betrayed a man unused to being commanded.
He snapped a stiff salute and stalked out, his boots echoing hollowly down the marble corridor. Only when the great door sealed behind him did Marisha’s shoulders loosen, her breath easing.
“A school,” I mused aloud. “It could be a fine thing.”
“Better to have others help keep the city afloat than to end up like Nero with a mind full of holes,” Marisha replied. “We need a generation of minds to bear the burden, not just a single person.”
“You don’t like Turgenev.”
“We may yet need to kill him.”
“Perhaps,” I sighed. “But, I’d rather not.”
“We’ll see if he learns to heel,” she said. “But I’ve no patience for bureaucrats who wring their hands while the city collapses.”
“I also want to take Helga’s skyship and explore the surface. See what’s left. Perhaps the world has changed while Mashina floated above it, pretending to be untouched.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “And perhaps we might one day live without carving out pieces of ourselves to keep this city aloft.”
She stepped close and wound her arms around me, her head resting just beneath my chin. Her warmth seeped into me, quieting the weariness that had begun to gnaw at my bones.
“What did you sacrifice?” she asked softly.
“The ability to have children,” I said, barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t sure what else I could give.”
She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “I did the same. At the bridge. Against the beast.”
“That wasn’t in the memory the crystal showed me.”
“It was something I didn’t want you to see.”
We stood in silence, the enormity of our choices lingering between us. The quiet hum of the crystal drew me like a tide, and I stepped forward, laying my hand upon its warm surface. There were no visions this time, just a faint hum beneath my fingertips.
I could still feel a surge of excess energy beneath my skin. I went to the crystal and let the energy flow from me to it. When done, the crystal glowed brighter and healthier. Hopefully buying some time till other Arkane Scientists could be found.
I turned back to her. “What now?”
Marisha smiled, sly and wicked and wholly divine. “Let’s explore this gilded tomb. I want food. Then a bed. And then... other things.” Her eyes glittered like starlight in wine-dark skies. “After that, we can begin the hard work of ruling a city.”
I kissed her, losing myself in the moment.
Food could wait.
FAR BELOW THE FLOATING city, amidst the ruins of what once was, something stirred in the ash. It had seen the crystal’s light. And it was hungry.
Acknowledgments
To weave a tale is to construct a machine of memory and meaning – a contraption of words, thoughts and emotions – and no such device may function without the silent, steadfast workings of others. This humble volume, The Cost of Love, exists only because of the indelible contributions, compassions and curiosities of many.
To my readers: thank you for strapping on your boots, adjusting your goggles and stepping into the fog with me. Your belief animates these pages like aether through a filament. You make every whisper in the shadows, every twist of fate, worth the telling.
To the dreamers and skeptics alike who’ve wandered these cobbled alleys with me: your counsel, your critiques and your kindness have been the hammer and chisel to my raw ore. I am particularly indebted to those who offered sanctuary during stormy edits, whose lamps glowed late beside mine.
To the artists and alchemists who dwell behind the curtain, my editors, designers and literary allies, your dedication has turned raw brass into burnished gold. You’ve made the machine sing.
To those in my life who still see the boy turning clockwork dragons in his imagination: thank you for letting me build them bigger.
And to those who have known the cost of love – the real kind, the aching kind, the kind that rusts and burns and yet endures – you are the heartbeat behind this story.
This book is for you.
WITH A TIP OF THE HAT and a heart full of steam,
W. B. Biggs
Also by W. B. Biggs
The Summoning Circle
Stone-Cold Alibi
Graves of Lust
THE ARKANE SCIENCES
The Cost of Love
THE FINAL TESTAMENT of Mankind Novels
Exodus
Shofetim: The Book of Judges
First Immanuel
A YE OLDE TIME RELIGION Novels
Come Hell and High Water
A Deal with the Devil
NOVELLAS
The Four Corners
Desiderium
FLASH FICTION ANTHOLOGY
Scicoffeepia
POETRY ANTHOLOGIES
Ramblings of a Mad Man
W. B. Biggs
BORN ON A LONELY OUTPOST nestled among the far reaches of the stars, W. B. Biggs grew up searching for cosmic space wizards. Looking for magic, he found it nestled safely between words.
His wife and children remind him of the majestic magic that binds all reality together in a complex weave of beauty. He currently resides on an obscure branch of the great tree Yggdrasil, which roots burrow deep into the Mississippi soil.
W. B. Biggs, The Cost of Love
