Age of Empyre Read online

  “You’re alive—” Brin caught herself. “You’re okay.”

  Tesh put up a hand to shield his eyes and peered at her. “Brin?”

  She came close and watched as his face, bruised as it was, shifted from confused to elated.

  “It’s me,” she told him.

  “You’re all right.”

  “I’m fine. Well . . .” She looked behind her. “There were these scary things after me, but I think I lost them. They don’t move very fast, and I’m pretty quick. I’m hoping that once I got out of their sight, they stopped. Even if they didn’t, it ought to take them about a year to get this far.”

  Tesh’s hands inched off the ground. They shook with the effort, but he managed to cup Brin’s face. Cradling it ever so gently, he pulled her to him and they kissed. He was shuddering, his whole body quaking. “I’m so sorry, Brin. I failed you. Raithe begged me to take you away, to find a peaceful little place where we could make a new life together. He was showing me how to live, to really live. I should have listened. I was the last Dureyan, and because of me—because I didn’t listen to the man who was like a father to me—my entire clan is gone.”

  Tears welled in Brin’s eyes. The man who had been so strong, so confident and capable, now lay before her, broken and frail. She didn’t trust her voice to speak.

  “It doesn’t even matter if you can’t love me,” he went on, filling the silence. “I love you, and I should have married you. I should have listened to Raithe and taken you away and had children . . .” His voice broke. He gave up the effort and hugged her.

  “I love you, too,” Brin managed. “And we can still have all those things Raithe wanted as soon as we get out of here.”

  “How can you love me? You know what I did.”

  “Yes, I do. You followed me into the pool.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  She smiled at him. “I love you, Tesh. Don’t ask me to explain it. I just do.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Tesh, loving you isn’t something I decide. It isn’t a choice. Maybe I shouldn’t love you, but I do. It’s not something I control.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Doesn’t have to. Not everything is logical. Scales don’t need to be balanced. Wrongs don’t need to be righted. I’m not like you, Tesh.”

  “He’s not like you, either,” Tressa said. “He’s an idiot.”

  “Maybe,” Gifford said. “But he’s standing.”

  Chapter Five

  Inconvenient Daughters

  You never know who you will meet—even after you have met them. — The Book of Brin

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  Imaly felt sick. She’d been feeling horrible and getting worse.

  Maybe I’m too old for this.

  The thought had rattled inside her head for days, growing louder as it fought to be heard over the noises in the house.

  Revolution is for the young, she considered before remembering the tragic fates of Makareta and Aiden. No, that’s not true. The young are too foolish.

  Although the youthful benefited from drive, ambition, and an unwavering faith in their ideals, having those tools wasn’t enough. Experience was an essential missing ingredient. The young hadn’t seen enough to understand how the world worked. They took everything at face value because that was the entirety of their reality, and that limitation locked the door to alternative possibilities.

  To those who had glimpsed just a fraction of the landscape, assumptions were rampant and dangerous. Only by riding the slow river of time could a person distinguish the what-is from the what-was and determine the likelihood of what-could-be. That comparison granted wisdom and understanding. Some things were eternal, others could be temporarily altered, but a few things—a very few—could be changed such that the world shifted forever. Sacrifices made for the unchangeable or even the short term were foolish. But like those who are colorblind and faced with a red, green, and yellow door, the young couldn’t tell the difference.

  So it’s up to me.

  Imaly sighed.

  From the other side of the wall, the banging started again. Muffled shouts were followed by laughter coming from the bedroom. When Suri had first arrived, Imaly had been concerned that the mystic and Makareta would clash, and such a conflict would drive Makareta into a deeper depression. If that had happened, it could have made both of the Artists useless to the Curator. To her surprise and good fortune, bonds of friendship had risen from their recent tragic pasts.

  Imaly’s second concern was Suri’s presence attracting attention from the neighbors. Adding such a high-profile individual to her home was bound to draw interest. Imaly had nightmares of Fhrey from the outer villages knocking on her door and asking to see Suri. As it turned out, that didn’t happen. No one wanted anything to do with the Rhune, and everyone avoided Estramnadon now that the fane was making dragons. Even those already in the city sequestered themselves in their homes, fearing a knock on their door.

  Vidar had made the first dragon and had done so not far from Avempartha. Imaly often wondered what that trip had been like. Had he talked to his sister? Explained that he didn’t have a choice? Or had he spent the time weeping and begging for forgiveness? Suri had explained to Imaly what was necessary to “play the deep chords,” which explained why the Rhunes only had a single dragon.

  Lothian wanted more.

  Imaly knew that. Everyone did. And that’s why the residents of Estramnadon stayed in their homes, hiding behind doors and hoping the knock wouldn’t come.

  The only two people who didn’t worry about being sacrificed were the ones roughhousing in the next room. For all Imaly’s fear that Suri and Makareta would coexist as well as fire and water, it turned out the two were remedies for each other. Their unlikely friendship had done wonders for Makareta’s depression, and hopefully dulled the sharp edge of mistrust Jerydd had fostered in Suri by his mistreatment of her.

  Thump! The portrait of Gylindora Fane that hung on the wall rattled and tilted askew.

  “Stop it!” Imaly erupted. “Whatever it is you two are doing, stop!”

  The Curator collapsed into a sunlit chair in the little nook that looked out on her vegetable garden, now lost in snow.

  “Did you call us?” Makareta came around the partition wearing her filthy smock and a guilty expression.

  Suri lagged behind. She wore Imaly’s best asica, which was now tailored to fit.

  “Must you tear my house apart!” Imaly got up and straightened the picture.

  “We were just—”

  “I don’t care what you were doing. I can’t take much more.”

  “What’s wrong?” Makareta took a tentative step, and Imaly noticed the young Fhrey had a hammer in her hand.

  What in the name of Ferrol are they doing?

  “Nothing,” Imaly lied, this time out of convenience rather than anything else. She didn’t want to explain how she felt like a grape being pressed into wine. The members of the Aquila were losing their resolve, and Vasek seemed to be wavering as well. He was a fragile piece of expensive crystal she’d left at the edge of a table, and the wind was rising.

  On top of everything else, innocent people were dying—or would be soon. So much had been laid on her shoulders: the legacy of her ancestors, the outcome of the war, and the future of the Fhrey people. She held the lever and the burden of pulling it. And each night she came home to the antics of Suri and Makareta.

  Imaly sighed. “But it is time to go over a few things, so please sit down. Both of you.”

  The two pulled over chairs, moving them to the shadows to avoid the blinding sun that pierced the windows. Realizing the drapes were open, Imaly closed them before returning to her chair.

  It’d be cosmic justice if someone spotted Makareta and reported me. Especially now that this is almost over.

  “By a few things, do you mean . . .” Makareta began, her voice dropping in volume and rising in seriousness.

  Imaly nodded as she took her seat once more, then focused on Suri, who, despite Imaly’s efforts to keep an open mind, appeared ridiculous when dressed in an asica. Even with the alterations, it was both too big and the wrong style. This was the dress Imaly usually reserved for formal settings, and to see a Rhune wrapped in it was to witness the clashing of extremes. In many ways, this collision was appropriate, as Suri was a monument to contradictions.

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” Imaly began, “but a dragon has been successfully created.”

  “Where?” Suri asked, her grim tone making Makareta’s sound casual.

  “Avempartha.” Imaly tensed. This was the first of three dangerous hurdles she would have to clear, and none of them would be easy.

  “I told you I wouldn’t allow my people to be hurt.” Suri’s words were delivered as a threat.

  Imaly wasn’t surprised. She’d expected it, but there was a difference between suspecting a pet bear could turn on you and actually hearing it growl. Imaly had already learned that Suri wasn’t a subtle person, so the Curator knew the tone wasn’t being used to intimidate.

  Imaly faced the point of a sharpened spear as she spoke her next words carefully. “I have not forgotten our agreement, and please note that I could have kept this information from you but didn’t. That event has accelerated our need to act quickly. Tomorrow night I’ll hold an official meeting of the Aquila where we will pass a resolution to remove Lothian from the throne. The following day, we will kill him, fulfilling my part of our bargain.”

  Imaly waited and watched Suri, who knitted her tattooed brows in thought.

  As much as Imaly wanted to get through this quickly, she understood the value of patience. She couldn’t rush. Accidents happened when people pushed ahead too fast.

  “Has there been an attack on my people?” the mystic asked.

  “As far as I understand the situation, the dragon cleared the river camp and drove off the soldiers stationed there. This first beast’s purpose is for defense. More will be made for attacking, which is why—in order to stay true to our agreement—I have moved up my schedule. Is that satisfactory? Or will you kill me now?”

  Makareta’s eyes widened, and she straightened up, turning to get a better view of Suri and looking at the mystic like she had just morphed into something else. “What kind of deal did you two have?”

  Neither answered as Suri stared at Imaly. From the cold glare, the Curator wondered if she had overplayed her hand, misjudged the girl.

  “You’re not telling the whole truth,” Suri said.

  Imaly swallowed, holding still, fearful of betraying anything.

  She’s using magic, but she can’t read minds. No Miralyith can.

  Silence had never been so deafening as when those three sat facing one another. To the ignorant observer, they were three females chatting in a kitchen when a disagreement arose. For Imaly, the world, and everyone in it, swung on what would happen next. She forced herself to take even breaths as she wondered if Makareta would defend her if Suri decided to melt off the Curator’s skin.

  “You’re lying to me,” Suri said. “But . . .”

  With the thought of her skin hissing and crackling as it dripped down her body, Imaly was never so happy to hear the word but in her life.

  “Yes?”

  “But that doesn’t matter. Arion’s path goes through you. It has to. I’m sure of it.”

  “So you’ll let me live?”

  Suri nodded.

  “Well, that’s good to hear,” Makareta said with exaggerated nonchalance. “What just happened?”

  “Fortunately, nothing.” Imaly took a deep breath as she prepared for the next hurdle.

  Might as well get all of them over with at once.

  Addressing the young Miralyith, she said, “But that doesn’t mean we’re done. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Mine?” Makareta asked. She looked at Suri and then back at Imaly as if they were co-conspirators in some fiendish plot.

  “I have a favor to ask, a rather terrible one.”

  Once more, Makareta straightened in the chair, bracing for bad news. After that last bout, the Miralyith appeared unquestionably frightened.

  “The fane is protected by two bodyguards: Synne and Sile. I suspect Sile will be of little consequence, but Synne is a Miralyith, and she has a reputation for being incredibly fast. In order to kill the fane, Synne must be eliminated first.”

  “You want me to kill her?” Makareta asked.

  Imaly fixed her jaw and returned a grave nod.

  “Is that all? That’s the terrible thing?”

  “Yes,” Imaly replied. “I’m asking you to murder her.”

  Makareta smiled, then began to chuckle. “Not a problem.”

  Imaly found her cavalier response unexpected and a bit disturbing. “Are you certain?”

  “She killed Aiden,” Makareta said. “I’d be more than happy to eliminate her. One more death won’t make a difference.”

  “Well then . . . good.” Imaly paused and smoothed the wrinkles on the lap of her asica where she had unconsciously been squeezing a fistful of material.

  Time for the last hurdle.

  “All of this will happen very quickly. Everyone needs to know what to expect. So let’s go over this, shall we?”

  Suri and Makareta glanced at each other. Both shrugged, childish gestures for those who would soon hold the fate of tens of thousands in their hands.

  For this next part, Imaly stood up. She wasn’t prone to pacing back and forth, but she found walking to be calming. The room was small, so she was forced to orbit the little nook’s wooden table. Legend held that it was the one her great-grandfather, Eyan, had crafted for Gylindora, and it had been the reason her great-grandmother had fallen in love with him. Why something as mundane as a table had formed the foundation of their love was a mystery to Imaly, and everyone else. It didn’t matter. Some things just were.

  “At my urging,” Imaly started, “the fane will give a State of the War address in the Airenthenon the day after tomorrow. When he does, I want both of you there. Suri won’t be allowed inside, so she will need to wait on the steps.”

  “Why should I be there at all?” the mystic asked.

  “Absolutely no reason—if everything goes as planned, and let’s hope that will be the case. My greatest wish is that you spend an hour being bored while watching the proceedings through the archway. But should things not follow my plan, you’re my insurance, and I expect you to step in and protect me, the members of the Aquila, and the peace we intend to offer your people. Is that too much to ask?”

  “I’ll be there,” Suri said, but it didn’t escape Imaly’s notice that she hadn’t answered the question.

  “And what about me? Exactly how and when should I act?” Makareta asked.

  “You will come to the Airenthenon the same way you visited Vasek, with your hood raised and using that blocking shield that hides your Miralyith powers. Since it’s winter, no one will find it odd that your hood is up. Inside, people will be standing around talking in small groups. I’ll be in the center. Find me. Volhoric and I will position you behind the dais. There are two massive staggered sets of pillars there, eight or nine feet in diameter, at least. That’ll be more than enough to disappear behind. Everyone in attendance has been handpicked and briefed, so no one will take notice. I’m only concerned about someone unexpected wandering in, and of course, Sile and Synne. So keep yourself out of sight. When the fane sits down, Synne will position herself on Lothian’s right and Sile will be on his left.”

  “Won’t they search the Airenthenon before the fane enters?”

  “They never do.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why would they?”

  Makareta glanced at Suri, who gave no indication of caring one way or the other. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to make sure no one is lying in wait to kill the guy they’re protecting, perhaps? We did try to assassinate him once before, after all.”

  “No—not we,” Imaly said. “That was you and your friends. But that was years ago, and we both know what happened to those who participated in the Gray Cloak Rebellion. Lothian feels quite safe these days. He sees himself as our beloved god-leader who is shielded by the fact that Fhrey don’t kill Fhrey. He only fears the Rhunes, and they are across the river, much too far away to be of any concern.”

  “I’m not across the river,” Suri pointed out.

  “True.” Imaly nodded. “But he still believes you are inhibited by the Orinfar collar. Any threat from you would be physical and Synne and Sile would be more than enough to stop you before you got too close. The only true threat would be a Miralyith, and as far as Lothian knows, all of them are several days away except for his bodyguard, himself, and his son.”

  “Vasek knows I’m still alive. What if he or someone from the Aquila has had a change of heart and warned Lothian?” Makareta asked.

  “Then I suspect where you stand won’t make the slightest bit of difference. Besides, if that were so, we would have been arrested. Are you still concerned? Or can we move on?”

  Imaly waited, but Makareta remained silent.

  “Now then, as the fane delivers his speech, you will kill Synne. Yours will be the action that triggers all else, so time it for a minute or so into his address. Afterward, it would be in your best interest to eliminate Sile, as he will likely be coming for you.”

  “Shouldn’t I kill Lothian first?”

  “No. You’re only there for Synne and Sile.”

  “Then who will? And how?” Makareta asked.

  Imaly stopped walking. “We’re hoping to convince Mawyndulë.”

  At the mention of the name, both of them reacted. Suri’s brows rose, and Makareta began shaking her head as she leaned forward in the wooden chair.

  “No. No. Mawyndulë can’t kill his father. If he does, he’ll lose his soul.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Imaly, we’ve talked about this. I can’t allow it. I won’t let him . . .”

  Imaly held up her hands. “He won’t lose his soul—not for this. I have it on the highest authority.”