The Mirrored City (50 page)

“Fuck me,” Sword said.

“If you had slain your opposite during the Long Night, you would have absorbed it like the fan here. You’re a reliquary for humanity’s demons. Isn’t that neat?”

“It’s dead.” Sword cradled the folding fan in her palms.

“It fulfilled its purpose. There is one less Harrower in the world. One less person dying in their sleep every night. We finally have a way to beat them. Let’s party. Drinks are on me this round. Do you think they take diamonds? I have a bunch left over from this secret society sex party in a Barstean nunnery. Oh my Guides, you have to go to one of those if you haven’t.”

She paused, realizing everyone was staring at her. “It’s time for me to leave, isn’t it? You’re all giving me that look like ‘what is this bitch still doing here?’ I get it, you don’t want to party with the old folks. I have another thing to get to anyway. Some of the Travelers are having this little get-together in honor of me and how I pretty much single-handedly saved the day. And even though it was some really awesome work on my part, I couldn’t have done it without your help. Seriously.”

And with a little pixie wave, she simply vanished.

Lyta studied the sapphire pin in her hand. “Do you have interactions like that often?”

Heath said, “More than any of us like.”

Maddox said, “It’s good to know. Now we know that we have to keep the Sword away from whatever its opposite is.”

Sword spoke, “House Actrasterias was known for its poetry and appreciation of beauty. ‘The glowing praise’ was their motto. Alerion was a house champion like me. Fun at parties, never said a bad word about anybody—to their face anyway. Fucking stupid as a weapon, but that was Actrasterias for you. Form over function.”

Maddox put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry…”

Sword said, “Do you have any deadly poison on you? I need to get out of this fucking body. Now.”

Lyta was curious how much of Daphne’s personality was still inside Sword. An Inquisitor would have strong feelings about ending a Harrower.

“I thought you’d never ask. Do you want quick and painful or slow and peaceful?” Maddox said.

“Give me both.”

Maddox slapped two vials on the bar and slid them over. “Knock yourself out.”

This was all getting a bit too bizarre. There was a lot of history here that she wasn’t a part of. Lyta excused herself. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll join you tomorrow?”

The others nodded and mumbled goodbyes as she slipped out. The rowdy patrons of the bar slapped her on the back and shook her hand eagerly. She tolerated the attention as she made her way to the door.

The crowd of revelers spilled into the alley, but the torches hadn’t been lit. She could fade into obscurity. With her veil raised, she was just another Turisian girl.

She had nowhere to go, but curiosity got the better of her, and she found her steps carry her to House Ibazz. It was strange seeing the gleaming white building nestled amid Dessim’s black. A few lights shone through the windows. No guards were in sight. The door had been bashed in and propped over the entryway. She could have walked inside.

She didn’t.

She made it to the front steps and stopped. Most of the devout had been the early victims of the Harrower’s madness, at least that was the rumor. Vyzad and Safina weren’t particularly holy people behind closed doors, so it was possible they had survived.

Lyta took the blue sapphire pin and weighed it in her hand. It was all she had left of Shannon—a memory. Lyta set it on the steps and walked away.

That was her old life. The new chapter awaited.

F
ORTY-
F
OUR

The Coral Throne

J
ESSA

Kondole was all but forgotten. The children of the Wavelords turned their back on their father. He was nothing more than a whisper, but he lingered and he remembered his children. For the Father Whale was patient and tricky.

Kultea grew fat on conquest and blood as her children turned mad with power. The Tempest Satryn drew Kultea to the place of three rivers. The Mother Kraken, greedy for the riches of the west, was all too eager to abandon her abyssal domain and responded.

So it was Jessa, daughter of Satryn, who looked out upon the suffering and wept. Her tears became rivers, which flowed toward the sky. The Thunder Whale awakened from his dream and banished Kultea to eternal darkness.

And things were good again.

—LEGEND OF THE KONDOLE,
ORAL HISTORY

JESSA SAT ATOP
the spire of coral jutting from the central pool of her throne room like a narrow island. The throne itself was organic and vibrant in color. Gold and gems wove their way through the multicolored fronds and fans. It was a massive thing that made her feel small rather than regal. Above her, suspended by heavy iron chains, loomed a massive obsidian kraken clutching a black pearl globe nearly three feet in diameter in its tentacles. It was certainly imposing, but it did not suit her.

She was almost too afraid to pass gas on the vaunted seat of her ancestors. Then she remembered Iridissa had been incontinent by the time she was removed from power. Jessa shifted uncomfortably on the smoothly carved seat. It was tradition to be nude when granting audience, but she had adorned herself with strategically placed chains of gold and ruby to maintain modesty.

The doors to the chamber opened as a booming, ominous fanfare played. It was one more thing Jessa would need to change, but between ending slavery and dealing with three open rebellions, it was low on the list.

Pisclatet waddled into the room, holding a scroll in front of him and reading, “Empress Jessa, may I present the Champions of Rivern and the Heroes of the Short Night—”

She smiled. “We do not need introductions.”

Heath stepped forward, smiling broadly, his long blue cape sweeping behind him. “We also didn’t need to be received in your audience chamber, but the gesture is much appreciated. Your
Imperial
Majesty.” He took position in front of her and bowed on one knee.

Maddox and another young woman Jessa didn’t recognize exchanged awkward glances as they stood on either side of Heath.

“Citizens of the Free Cities are not required to bow,” Jessa reassured them, motioning for Heath to stand.

Pisclatet’s gills flared. “By imperial decree, such offense is punishable by disembowelment—their bodies to be hurled to the hungry sharks that swim beneath the very throne itself.”

“Write up another decree,” she said impatiently.

The fishman nodded and scribbled in a notebook. He was diligent when it came to the minutia.

Maddox whistled as gazed up at the kraken. “This is one ugly ass throne room.”

Pisclatet sighed. “Pisclatet has said this many times.”

Jessa had heard the news about Sword by way of seal. The young mage standing in front of her was both a familiar face and a stranger. It made her smile that his candor seemed to come from him and not just the Sword. “I’m glad you are yourself again, Archwizard Baeland. We haven’t formally met, and I look forward to getting to know you.”

“Sword actually does a pretty good impression,” Maddox admitted. “It’s better at being true to a person than they are… usually.”

Sword had stayed back in the Mirrored City to assist with the Patreans and search the undercity for more information about its creator.

Jessa sighed. “Sword’s presence will be missed, but I’m glad you’ve decided to join us. And with a new friend?”

Heath motioned to the woman beside him. “This is my apprentice, Lyta Ibazz, of whom I’ve sent word.”

“Most impressive,” Jessa said. “We will have to get better acquainted in less formal settings. But anyone Heath would vouch for is counted within my trust.”

The girl blushed and looked away. It was hard to imagine this shy slender woman being the warrior Heath described, but someone might have thought the same of Jessa at passing glance.

“Now that you’ve seen the Palace, we can acquit ourselves of this ‘ugly ass’ throne room.” Her lip quirked. “I would speak to Heath privately on some boring matters of state. Pisclatet will show the rest of you to your respective villas and introduce you to your attendants. You have but to ask and any request will be granted.”

She paused and then looked at Maddox. “I have already taken the liberties of ensuring your chambers are well stocked with firebrandy. There is no more to be found in the city.”

He pressed his hand to his chest. “You make an awesome empress. Guides bless you, Majesty.”

Heath put his hand on Lyta’s shoulder. “I’ll catch up, and we can work on your training with the springblade.”

She nodded and left with Maddox and Pisclatet.

Once the chamber was clear, Jessa narrowed her silver eyes to slits and bore down on Heath. “What the fucking fuck, Heath? You killed the Patriarch of Baash without my leave or even consulting me? That is not what I sent you to do!”

“Apologies.” Heath bowed. “But Baash no longer exists and the Patriarch would have died in the Harrowing for certain. My mistake in acting prematurely to secure our interests.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Jessa said. “I get enough of it from Sireen.”

“Fine.” Heath dropped the pretense. “I killed the fucker because his religion is a threat to ours and his stubbornness was an obstacle to building a unified empire where people elect their leaders and no men are slaves. I would have spit on his corpse if I’d had the time to do it.”

Jessa pleaded, “We are trying to be different than the Stormlords before us, Heath. I have centuries of precedent painting me as a bloodthirsty despot. You represent something new, a different direction away from the lies and intrigue, but you engage in them more egregiously than my kin.”

Heath walked closer to the throne. “You. You are what’s new and different. Your son Torin will also be different. But until we know what that looks like, you need me to do what you are unwilling to do.”

She folded her hands. “You could just as easily sit on this throne. We are equals in power, though you go to great lengths to hide it. Even in the face of a Harrower, you didn’t call Kondole. Why not claim your rightful place if you know so much what needs to be done?”

Heath placed his hands behind his back. “The practical answer is that I’m dying, though that is no longer true. I would rather see you to power than someone like me. If it were my choice, you would have never known. But the insular faith of the Ohanites stands in complete opposition to democracy yet hides behind the ideals of religious tolerance even as it works to impose theocracy. They’re a problem if we want to unite the Protectorate and Dominance.”

“He had children,” Jessa said. “A family.”

“Would you have liked to have been his daughter?” Heath asked. “Would you want that family for yourself? Because I know someone who was raised by these people and taught to hate herself because she was different.”

“Tragic indeed,” Jessa said. “Yet I know when you’re only telling me half the story, Heath. My mother was the Queen of Lies, and you are not her equal.”

His silver eyes regarded hers. “You’ve changed.”

She stared back at him. “I only see you more clearly.”

“So are you going to reprimand me?” Heath inquired.

Jessa rested her face in her hand. “You know I won’t. I’m just… disappointed. I will shed no tears, save to mourn
all
the innocent citizens of the Mirrored City who were taken from Creation before their time. I would hear your thoughts on the outcome of our longer-term plans.”

Heath smiled. “The provisional government in the Mirrored City appoints a sympathetic representative to the Grand Assembly, thanks to the new districts and the participation of Patrean voters. I also hear word that the Grand Ambassador from Velrailles turns toward favor of alliance now that Nasara is defeated without need for military resources. The vote is secure and the terms will be accepted.”

“Patrean voters,” Jessa mused. “Is such a thing legal?”

Heath shrugged. “They are technically citizens of the Protectorate. They just never exercised their rights in any great number, neither did they run for office.”

Jessa asked, “Could this pose a problem? If their interests, for whatever reason, do not align with ours?”

Heath said, “They constitute the bulk of the military force for every advanced nation. So if they start to value their newfound independence over their sworn contracts… yes. But I see it as an opportunity.”

“For what?”

Heath shrugged. “Imagine if every standing army of every nation turned to our cause. We would have a knife at the throat of every tyrant and corrupted official in all of Creation. Thrycea could expand to every corner of the world without even shredding a single drop of blood. You could end every pointless war…”

Jessa paused. “No nation has that kind of wealth, not even Archea.”

“What if it didn’t cost a thing?”

“If it were anyone else, I would say they are crazy,” Jessa challenged.

Heath stepped toward her, his feet standing on the water surrounding her throne as he climbed it to look her in the eye. “Soren is the ranking member of the Patrean race. They defer to him above their contracts. He’s a good kid, and he’s easy on the eye. But Jessa, more importantly—he’s agreed to a marriage uniting Stormlord and Patrean bloodlines.”