her instruments 02 - rose point (17 page)

Entering the front hall cut off the wind, but Ontine was cold in winter, something no number of tapestries or rugs could mitigate. He straightened his clothes and allowed the inevitable guards to examine his bona fides, and then he was striding behind one down the halls to his cousin’s quarters. He surrendered his sword to a man in the white uniform he’d once worn and was escorted into Liolesa’s office, and there he was left, in the quiet. The suite was exactly as he recalled it—he could have been gone only a few days, rather than over fifty years—with the chairs and coffee table arranged on the rug before the hearth, and her desk and cabinet of books on the raised and carpeted dais, in the corner between two windows. Her office faced the city; her bedroom, the sea. That was Liolesa: pragmatic and visionary by turns.

She was also habitually overextended, and it didn’t surprise him that she wasn’t awaiting him. He sat on one of the chairs by the fire, grateful for the warmth, and composed himself to wait. He was in fact drowsing when the door whispered on its hinges, but the sound brought him to his feet, and he would have bowed save that her expression quelled him. She was standing by the door, arrayed in taupe and cream and citrines braided in hair coiled to hold her abbreviated crown in place, and she was glad to see him for no reason he could fathom but exhausted in every other way.

“Hirianthial,” she said at last. Her heels clicked on the stone floor and then the rug muffled them as she joined him. “It is good to see you, cousin. Welcome home.”

So simple. So easy. He had not expected it, and that was why he said, “I did not think you would be so forgiving.”

“Because you fled without so much as saying goodbye?” She rested her eyes on his, and it was rest; they had known each other that long. “Did you suppose I would hate you for it?”

“I abandoned my duty,” he said. “My House. My Queen.” He paused, finished. “My cousin.”

“I would hardly be worthy of your regard, did I blame you for leaving in the face of all your losses,” she said, and her sincerity glowed in her aura, warm as hearth-fire. “Hirianthial... it is in the past. You are here now, and I am glad of it.”

“My lady,” he said, and put all his gratitude in it, for he had not realized until now how painful he’d found the possibility of losing their long friendship.

She offered him her turned cheek as she used to, and because they were both people who permitted very few intimacies, even with those they trusted, he kissed it as he used to. Her tension was almost imperceptible, would have been had he not been able to sense her sudden concern; he withdrew just enough to see her face and her gaze, always too insightful, was studying him now. He could see the green flecks in their tawny irises, and on them, his own reflection, too grave.

“Something has happened,” she said. “Tell me.”

“Corel was no story,” he said. “You so intimated once.”

“I did,” she agreed. “And it was true. He was no story.”

“I have his worst power.”

She was silent for several heartbeats, her aura tight, too close for him to read. Then she said, “Sit.”

He obeyed and allowed himself the luxury of putting his head in his hands. Liolesa’s gown rustled as she strode from him, and he heard her pouring something. When she brought it back, he could smell the sweet almond of the cordial they’d shared when they were younger. “Drink,” she said more gently, and again he obeyed. Once he’d had a long sip, she said, “Now, tell me.”

Where to begin when he wanted to talk about it not at all? “I had been kidnapped on a colony world and was under duress in my captor’s keeping when... I could no longer bear his company. In a spasm of negation, I killed him and some six other people, and struck several more unconscious outside that radius.” He looked at the liqueur. “Having discovered this ability, I immediately applied to return home. If Corel was real, there must have been... training for such talents, real training. Protocols. Something I might learn to prevent myself from accidentally hurting anyone.”

“Was it so easy to do that you fear such accidents?” Liolesa asked, in a voice thankfully devoid of horror. It was always thus with her: practical matters first. Emotional reactions, if any, later.

“No,” he answered. “At least... I don’t think so. But I have had it demonstrated to me that I can be triggered unexpectedly.” He thought of Neren and flinched. “No, I need help. Tell me there is help here to be found, cousin.”

When she didn’t answer, he looked up at her sharply. “Liolesa. Tell me there is help to be found for my condition.”

She said, “I don’t know.” She lifted her fingers at his expression. “Soft, cousin. I don’t say this to fret you, but because the history of it is tangled and you know none of it; I knew none of it myself until Maraesa passed me the crown. Indeed, if I tell you any of it, technically I am committing treason—”

“Treason!” he exclaimed.

She laughed, rueful and low. “But I think I will write myself a pardon if I am ever discovered.” Rising, she went to the sideboard and poured her own glass. “I shall put it curtly for you. The Church was founded to seek and cull talents as powerful as Corel’s, not to foster brotherly love, no matter that they developed that mission later. So while it’s true that they probably have some understanding of how to train your abilities, we would have to ensure they didn’t kill you first.”

Hirianthial stared at her, stunned.

“And for the choicest of ironies,” she concluded, “I am the titular head of the arm of the Church devoted to slaying these rogue talents—as one might expect, given the permissions they would need to stage rampant executions—but both Jerisa and Maraesa gave them their heads for so long they no longer report their activities to the crown.” She sipped from her glass. “I have been putting pressure on them, but I suspect they lie to me. Cleaning house would require a near-dismantling of the entire priesthood of the God and I don’t need them throwing in their lot against me when the rest of the court is about to explode... a court, I add, that you have timed yourself perfectly to disrupt with your presence, given that we are convening in two days.”

His cousin had never been prone to hyperbole. Hirianthial set the cordial down with fingers grown suddenly numb and said, “What’s happened?”

“Decades I’ve spent slowly moving us toward the point where our enemies can no longer fight the inevitability of my plans,” Liolesa said. “More than that. Centuries. You know, cousin.” She sighed. “And it has come all undone. I no longer have an heir, Hirianthial.”

“That rumor’s truth?” Hirianthial said, startled. “But what has happened to Bethsaida?”

She set her glass down and rested her hands on the sideboard, her shoulders hard. Then she drew in a deep breath and returned to the chair opposite his. As she sat, she said, “Bethsaida had been making noises about proving herself to me, and it appears she decided to go off-world to demonstrate that she was capable of the same exceptionally stupid acts as I was when I was her age. While she was gone, the Chatcaava took her.”

“No,” Hirianthial whispered.

“She was rescued from their throneworld by the last scion of Imthereli at great cost to himself,” Liolesa continued. “But she has returned completely unsuitable for anything but religious orders, preferably someplace far from people, particularly men. Aliens too she will no longer countenance without terror. I have sent her to the Abbey of Saint Avilana, which is as remote a location as I could manage while still placing her on allied lands, and I have done my best since to make people think she is on retreat there. But that story hasn’t held. Few people who knew Bethsaida would have imagined her on retreat.”

“My God, cousin,” Hirianthial said. “What will you do?”

“That is exactly what I have been trying to decide,” Liolesa said. “But I am without issue and consort. So are you, and your brother, of course, is no longer an option—more on that matter later. I could go outside the royal bloodline and choose someone from a minor family within Galare, but such a move will incite people to demand I consider their children since I am already looking outside Jerisa’s line. But most importantly, my enemies see that I have no one to carry on the work, and they no longer wish to stand for my policies. They think it might be easier to find some way to pressure me into accepting their choice of successor... or worse, take the throne themselves.”

“No doubt because you have made their lives more difficult for them,” Hirianthial murmured.

She snorted. “They make their lives difficult for themselves, cousin. Most of them have been incapable of fulfilling a responsibility as basic as feeding their tenants. So I have fined them for it. Every time I have to pay for food, shelter, clothing, any of the necessities they are duty-bound to provide, I charge them for it.” At his expression, she said, “It is my right. They fail in their vows to me as vassals.”

“God and Lady,” he breathed. “How much money have you taken from them?”

“Enough that most of them are now in debt to the crown,” Liolesa said. She smiled faintly. “It was my plan at this point to allow them to pay off that debt by lending me their men-at-arms, so that I might begin to win their loyalty from their lords in preparation for the inevitable conflict. Now, though, my enemies are more like to withhold those men, and the war I was hoping to win over a parley table will probably escalate to actual fighting. That, I fear, is where we are.”

“And into this, you have brought a foreigner, and a human?” Hirianthial asked, astonished. “Why? So you could accelerate their plans to usurp the throne by giving them unforgivable insult?”

“The war is coming either way,” Liolesa said, tired. “I must consolidate my allies and see where I might use their talents to curtail the conflict.” She looked up at him. “We have been shrinking too fast. If I allow a drawn-out war, cousin, I might doom us to extinction. Since it’s clear that my enemies care not at all about insignificant long-term plans such as species survival, I must continue to shoulder that burden. And if that means I call the Alliance in, then I will.”

“You do that,” he said, soft, “and you will lose them forever.”

“But we’ll survive,” she said. “And maybe, if we live long enough, we’ll evolve out of this lunatic xenophobia that’s killing us. Because it is killing us, Hirianthial. We can no longer maintain our civilization without external aid. In fact, we don’t. My off-world fortune—one I built in anticipation of this crisis, and I am not happy to have been proven prophetic—is paying for imported food. We eat from the Pelted table, a bounty brought on ships staffed by the descendants of Lesandurel’s first friendship. One that Maraesa tried to forbid.” She rubbed her brow, just beneath the gleaming crown. “Bringing food may in fact be the most useful thing your Theresa Eddings can do for us—or running it from another continent, which is how far away I would have to put any sign of technology in order to prevent its sabotage. But before I put her to work, I would like to meet her for myself. Perhaps there is some other way she can be of use.”

“And you will put her to use,” Hirianthial murmured.

“I’ll put anyone to use for this cause,” Liolesa said sharply. And then reined herself in visibly. “I apologize, cousin. It has been a difficult few months. When I set you to the task that saw you immured in a slaver’s jail, I did not anticipate being so stunningly vindicated by the results.”

“Yes,” he said. “I imagine so. And I apologize for my part in your difficulties—”

“Stop,” she said, shaking her head. “I am glad you’re home, Hirianthial. I mean that.” Her smile was faint, but real. “I have missed the benefit of your counsel. I know it has been several centuries since I was an impetuous heir and you my trusted White Sword, but I have never forgotten how much easier things were when I had you at my back.” She drew in a breath. “And this is just the beginning.”

He looked up at her.

“This conflict here is as nothing, and you know it,” Liolesa said softly. “We have a far greater enemy outside this world.” When he straightened, she said, “Do you care to imagine what will happen when the Chatcaava finally find us? Us, as we are now? Without so much as a ship to our name, a fortification to defend us? God and Lady bless the Tams, but they are couriers, not warriors, and they have neither the firepower nor the training to prevent a determined assault force from reaching us. And then we are dead for truth, cousin: enslaved and then killed, because we never last long in their hands.” She squared her shoulders. “This thing with Asaniefa’s supporters must be put paid to as swiftly as possible, or we are done.”

“The Alliance,” Hirianthial began. “They would never stand for such a thing, surely. We are their allies.”

“They have their own concerns,” she said. “Oh, they’d come if we called for help. But they would be too late. We are remote, and the queens of the past have done nothing to cement that friendship. I am certain the Alliance would seek us once the dragons had raided us, but like Bethsaida, we would return from that experience broken as a culture. Some few of us would survive, but… enough to begin again?” She sighed and sipped from her cordial. “I need all the allies I can draw to my breast, cousin. And all the weapons I can take to hand. I won’t apologize for doing what I must to see us through this crisis.”

“I am here now,” he said into the silence that followed, and shaded it in the white of pure intention and vow.

“I’m glad,” she said. “Perhaps we can begin to mend what we set in motion when we destroyed Corel... Corel and every other person with even a hint of his talents. I have to believe that’s when it began. Too many died in those purges, and left us vulnerable to gaps in our knowledge and skills, to faults in our biology. We have to stop killing ourselves, and we can start with you.” Her smile was sardonic. “Which will be its own task because the brother that—might I remind you I advised you to kill—is at Ontine now—”

“Now? Here? How—”

“—and he is the head of the order of priests charged with the culling of talents,” Liolesa said, and at the expression on his face said, “Yes, indeed, he has found work to suit his proclivities. And I assure you, cousin, he has not forgiven you for sparing his life.”