Lance of Earth and Sky (The Chaos Knight Book Two) (20 page)

“Rai,” Vidarian barked, and the cat sat, tail curling contritely around his feet.

“It's getting a little tedious around here,” the Starhunter said. “I think you should leave.”

And then she was gone.

A soft
clink!
against the window glass woke Vidarian from dark dreams.

Rai was growling again, and this time the spines along his back lifted. Vidarian threw back the covers and slid out of bed.

Someone had broken the latch and was climbing through the window.

There was no time to get to his sword. Vidarian summoned up fire, riding out its unruly objections and sharpening it into a spear of energy.

The figure wore a long black cape, and she pulled back its hood as soon as she landed on the carpeted floor.

It was Ariadel.

For a moment he was sure it was the Starhunter come back to torture him, but even the Starhunter could not have devised this particular incarnation. As she straightened, fixing him with a look that was hard and pained at once, the shadows wrapped around the unmistakable swell of her stomach.

“You're—” he breathed.

“I tried to tell you,” she said.

Vidarian learned a new definition of miserable as he remembered the last time they'd spoken. “
We should talk
,” she'd said—and then he'd flown off to the Imperial City. With Calphille.

The world shifted under his feet. This changed everything. Didn't it? Why was she standing so far from him, unmoving?

There was something different in her. Something harder, sharper. But even that thought brought with it the realization that they knew so little of each other. A year ago he had not known her name or that she existed. And now—

Circumstance had brought them together. A romantic might say “destiny.” But it was romance in the cruelest sort, of elemental forces and lines of power that had pushed them to seek solace in each other. In a peaceful world, would they even have found each other?

But a child—the word itself sent his thoughts reeling—it changed everything. The future shifted in front of him. And everything about this—the Imperial City, the Company, Ariadel sneaking through the night to climb through his window—seemed so much more real, and completely mad, all at the same time.

“You don't have to worry about me,” Ariadel said at last, breaking open his thoughts. There was a distant hurt in her words, almost an accusation, but it lurked beneath miles of ice. “But I need your help. That's why I'm here.”

A thousand things vied for his voice, filling his mind. Where had she been? Would she forgive him? And—she was here for his help? Had she even missed him? Surely if they were to raise a child—

A skittering on her shoulder made him flinch backward instinctively, interrupting his thoughts. It was the little golden spider. It crawled out from beneath Ariadel's hair, then leaped off her collarbone, spinning a thread of web as it fell to slow its descent.

Halfway to the floor, it changed shape.

No longer ash-grey, the kitten had grown into an elegant young cat with flame-colored fur. Its body was striped with cream, and its face was maned almost like a lion. It snaked around Vidarian's feet, then strode fearlessly up to press its nose against Rai's.

“Raven missed you,” Ariadel said softly.

Vidarian pressed her hands between his. “How did you get here?”

“It's complicated,” she said, and turned. The chill dismissal stopped him from pressing further. “Who is this?”

“His name is Rai. He's a shapechanger from the forest near the gate.” He knew he was rambling, relieved at having something clear to say in the face of all it seemed he couldn't. Rai had lain on the floor to keep his head more politely near the smaller cat's. “What's happened? Is everyone all right?”

She looked at him, searching, then sighed. “They've managed to keep it a secret from the cities.”

“Keep what a secret?”

In answer, she pulled a gemstone from a pocket of the dark cape and tapped its surface. To his astonishment, a cloud of mist emerged from it, and within were images. There was no sound, but there needn't be—a long line of raggedly clad people, black-haired and dark of eye, were being shepherded into a crudely constructed fort of some kind. Old men and young, women and children, all of Qui descent.

“What is this?” he said, distracted momentarily from what she so clearly did not want to discuss. “Where is it?”

“In the south,” she said. “Near Astralaar. The desert.”

“Here?” Vidarian said, so sharply that both cats looked up at him. “In Alorea?”

“My father sent word that my mother had contacted him using a farspeaking device. They'd come for her and were taking her to the desert along with all of the other Qui in the village where she was staying. They said it was for her protection, but she knew it wasn't.” Her eyes glittered and her voice hardened. “We've been able to stop them rounding up more—disrupting the caravans, helping them escape. But my mother is still missing.”

“The saboteurs…” His blood went cold again. All of Val Imris had its eyes on the war. The “Qui dissidents” within Alorea weren't dissidents at all…

Ariadel laughed coldly and without humor. “That's what they're calling us? The old and the young are dying. There aren't enough resources to supply the front, much less these afterthoughts. And they keep bringing in more. Trying, anyway.”

The image that came into his mind, of Ariadel's people loaded onto carts and wheeled to one of these makeshift cities, woke realization with a pang. “They're consolidating people. Moving entire groups into the same place. Sorting them.” He looked at her. “This is the Company's doing.”

“Come with me,” she said. “Help me undo this.”

It was as if his legs were frozen beneath him. He wanted to go; to throw himself after her and fight the problem in the most honest way possible, by assaulting it, bringing it down by force. To win her back with his passion. But something pulled him in another direction. The complex lacework of the palace politics told him that a smaller movement from a place of greater leverage could have much more effect.

“The emperor must not know about this,” he said. “If I can talk to him—”

Darkness fell over Ariadel's expression like a tide of shadow. Her voice was harsh and quiet. “
If
he doesn't know about this, which I very much doubt, then he will not have the power to correct it, not from within this web.”

“You don't know him—”

Her eyes filled with tears. “They told me I was wrong to come here. I don't know you,” she whispered. She murmured something else to the gem at her wrist, and a hole in the world opened beside her. Vidarian cried out, assaulted by memories of the Great Gate—but beyond it wasn't a spread of universes, a nothingness speckled with galaxies—instead, there was land, somewhere where the sun was high in the sky. Five gryphons, three of them species he did not recognize, held the portal open. Ariadel picked up Raven, stepped through it, and was gone.

The portal vanished after her, leaving emptiness in its wake.

V
idarian woke just as dawn was beginning to filter in through his window. For a moment he wondered if it had all been a nightmare—but the window was still open, its latch hanging broken, and Rai was toying with a long purple plume that must have fallen from the Starhunter's ridiculous hat.

His entire body burned with complaint, but he forced himself out of bed. The emperor was an early riser, and he hoped to catch him before the day's business began. Although he hadn't yet used the summoning bell, one of the maids had shown it to him on his first day in the palace, and he rang it now. A soft chime rang in his room, and if it was functioning properly, a louder one would ring in the page room.

A boy came knocking on the door within moments; the bell relay must have been closer than he thought. It was not Brannon, but a smaller mouse-haired boy, and for a moment Vidarian missed seeing Bran's familiar face. He asked for breakfast and
kava
after realizing he was staring with exhaustion.

The boy left, and Vidarian stumbled to the water chamber to draw a bath. He pulled the chains for hot and cold water, then sank down next to the tub, tilting his head back against the cool marble surface and listening to the soft roar of water against the stone. The palace's sophisticated water-channeling system was still novel—he well remembered arduous water-carrying for his mother's baths as a child—but his thoughts remained on the coming conversation with Lirien.

Part of him still had trouble believing Ariadel had been in his room only hours ago. Gryphons had opened the portal that brought her here, which must have been related to the Great Gate, but somehow it was moveable, and trained not just between worlds but within them. The amount of energy it had taken felt enormous, which was somewhat reassuring; likely only the gryphons retained the technique of creating them. And, given that she had had to climb through the window, their targeting must not be very accurate.

And Ariadel—was she pregnant?

The sudden returning memory of her stomach silhouetted against the window made his heart pound and adrenaline climb through his blood. He was grateful to be on the floor already, even as he knew that he would have to keep the thought of a child far from his conscious thoughts to do what he must. It was easier thought than done, and he allowed himself a few moments of reaction—astonishment, terror, wonder, an odd thing that he thought was gratitude or joy, followed immediately by spine-crushing anxiety. For the first time in a very long time, he missed his mother with fresh sharpness, as he thought of how overjoyed she would have been, and how she would have told him, no matter how dark the world seemed, that new life was to be celebrated and treasured.

The only thing that was certain was his galvanizing drive to protect her and the child, and to earn her forgiveness if he could. Part of him screamed to be demanding the portal technology from Thalnarra and Altair and finding Ariadel however he must, but the steadiness he had earned painfully from years at sea knew that, if these prison cities were what she claimed they were, the greatest hope of rescuing her mother—and therefore his responsibility—lay with the emperor.

The adrenaline had the side effect of temporarily beating back the exhaustion, and so he stood, stripped off sweat-soaked underclothing, and stepped into the bath. The hot water was a welcome shock, and he plunged down under the surface. He held himself there until his chest ached, then rose again, gasping. The air, though thick and humid in the heat of the water chamber, felt new and invigorating.

By the time he left the tub, rubbed himself dry, and dressed, a breakfast tray was waiting with his requested large pot of
kava
. Though he usually limited himself to a single cup in the morning, today he had three, and ate the piping hot breakfast quickly. Rai was more meticulous with his plate of meat (and Vidarian still gave over his toast), and was still eating when Vidarian strode out into the quiet hallway.

His time in the palace had at least earned him a modicum of trust: when he asked a passing steward where the emperor was, she replied promptly and without suspicion. He was in the Relay Room receiving the day's news. Vidarian made his way there quickly, glad that he wouldn't be interrupting a public audience.

Luck, in this, was further with him. Just as he entered the Relay Room, the chief relay officer was finishing his report. Accompanying him, to Vidarian's surprise, was Malloray, who smiled a quick greeting before returning to a professional stoicism.

“A good morning to you, Vidarian,” the emperor said, once the officer had bowed himself out. Vidarian gestured quickly for Malloray to stay. The man looked confused, but nodded, murmured a few words to his commander, and hovered near the door. The emperor was looking at Vidarian with curiosity, surprised to see him so early.

“Good morning, your majesty. I apologize for interrupting—” Lirien waved off his apology. “But I have…rather urgent…news.”

For a moment no one answered, and Vidarian could feel the ears of all the relay officers—though they remained studiously bent over their message spheres—straining to listen. For his part, the emperor looked at Vidarian for a long moment, then nodded. “Come with me,” he said, and left the room.

Two imperial guards moved before the emperor like water, holding doors and remaining ever near. Malloray had fallen in with them, earning Vidarian's smile of gratitude. The emperor did not seem to visibly direct the guards, but somehow they stayed with him, noiselessly following his every move.

Vidarian expected an audience chamber, but instead they wove even deeper into the palace than he had ever been before, coming at last upon a suite of rooms attended by less ornate stewards than appeared elsewhere in the palace. There was an air of business, aided largely by the adjacent small chambers filled with men and women bent over calculation beads.

Lirien led them to a large room near the rear, and, after the guards opened the large carved double doors before them, turned, and said, “Leave us.”

The guards paused for a moment, all that betrayed their unfamiliarity with the situation, but quickly bowed and took up posts outside the room. Then the emperor led Vidarian and Malloray inside and shut the door. Malloray, for his part, was white as a sheet, Vidarian noted guiltily; for all he knew, Malloray had never even seen the emperor before, and now was closeted in a private strategy chamber with him.

The room was plush with creature comforts—ornate silk rugs, dark-varnished wood, overstuffed tapestry-upholstered chairs—and resplendent in red, black, and gold. For all its opulence, though, it was a room with a purpose, as evidenced by the tall stacks of parchment atop the heavy, claw-footed desk, and the wear marks on the floor and chairs.

“Thank you for seeing me so quickly,” Vidarian said, and suddenly felt overwhelmed. He had half expected not to be able to find the emperor at all, and now struggled for words.

“I can see you're quite upset,” Lirien said, concern lowering his eyebrows. “And you look half-dead with exhaustion.”

“I've—had quite the couple of days,” Vidarian admitted.

“Well, have a seat,” the emperor said, gesturing them to a circle of four armchairs arranged around a small, lacquered table. And then, to Vidarian's surprise and Malloray's open gawking, the emperor himself proceeded to turn over three cut crystal glasses from a stack atop a polished liquor cabinet and pour generous helpings of a translucent amber liquid into them. He handed one to Vidarian, who took it, and held one out to Malloray, who tried not to accept.

“You're not fooling anyone,” Lirien smiled at him, pressing the glass firmly into his palm. “And it's quite all right.” Malloray relented, and the emperor then picked up his own glass and settled into one of the chairs.

Vidarian and Malloray took their seats awkwardly, and the emperor raised his glass, a toast and a prompt. Casting an encouraging look at Malloray, Vidarian took a drink, and felt his own eyes widen involuntarily at the strength of the liquor. He cleared his throat, and raised his glass a second time to the emperor, blinking to clear his watering eyes. “I was visited last night in my room,” Vidarian began, having decided to tell the story backwards. He described Ariadel's appearance, her condition, what she had said, and finally her exit, including the strange portal magic that had taken her. He knew that he should be drilling immediately to Justinian's assertions about the Company's strategy, but also knew he would not be able to put Ariadel's concerns from his mind until he heard an answer directly from Lirien.

As he spoke, the emperor's expression grew grave, and beyond grave, into something Vidarian feared might be dangerous. Gone was his politic ease, and now he looked sharply at Malloray. “You trust this man?”

“With my life,” Vidarian answered immediately, and the emperor nodded, then sighed.

“Even still, I should not,” Lirien said, and drained his glass. When he looked back at Vidarian, his eyes were tired. “What she told you may be true,” he began, and Vidarian's blood went to ice. “But not in the way she describes. The Court of Directors, and the Alorean Import Company, as a branch of their actions to support the war effort, have taken on the task of building and maintaining prisoner of war camps for captured Qui.”

“From her descriptions, and what I saw, these were not soldiers, your majesty,” Vidarian said, working to keep his tone even. “They were Alorean citizens. Women and children.”

Lirien looked up, a pained grimace twisting his face. “Could she have been mistaken?”

“I saw the images with my own eyes, your majesty. I know of no way such a thing could be fabricated to such quality.”

“It is possible,” Lirien said heavily, “that they may have become overzealous in their prisoner selection.” He rubbed his eyebrows for a moment. “In truth I had feared as much with their latest report—but the war has required my full attention.” At Vidarian's silence, he added, “It is no excuse.”

“Now that you know about it, can you stop it?” Vidarian asked. His head began to swim when the emperor didn't immediately answer. “There's more,” he said, and described, as close to the exact words as he could, everything Justinian had told him. That the Company actively desired the deaths of Qui and Alorean soldiers alike—and likely more, all across Andovar. That they had been collecting and separating knowledge for centuries, in preparation for a new kind of world-governing body that did not include the survival of the Alorean Empire, or Qui, as they currently existed.

As he spoke, Lirien stood and returned to the liquor cabinet with his glass. He paused there, then took the entire crystal decanter and brought it back to the table, pouring for himself and Vidarian. Malloray, despite instruction, had still not touched his drink, but as Vidarian continued his explanation he took a healthy swallow.

When he finished speaking, Vidarian waited. Lirien said nothing, and in fact stared into his glass, his eyes far away, but his countenance dark. At last he stood, setting down his glass without having taken a second drink. For a moment his hand lingered on the crystal, so tight Vidarian feared he would break it—but then he let go. He went to the desk, beginning to rifle through the stacks of parchment. His easy navigation of the stacks made Vidarian suddenly realize that this must be his personal office.

At length the emperor returned to the table, sitting and dropping a large, leather-bound book in front of Vidarian. A page was marked with a bit of red ribbon. At Lirien's gesture, Vidarian exchanged his glass for the book, and opened it to the marked page.

It was a ledger, a massive one. Tiny script marked out expenses laid down in columns that ran down all of the pages.

With rare exception, the tallies were in a middle column, with credit markers. To the right of the marker was the symbol of the Alorean Import Company. The symbols ran down the page—and the page before it, and the page before that—like a row of ants. At first Vidarian wasn't sure what he was seeing—and then he saw the key indicating scale of currency, and nearly dropped the book.

“These are the imperial finances,” Lirien said. “You can see that it isn't a good situation.”

“This is impossible,” Vidarian breathed.

“I only wish it were,” the emperor said heavily, and now he picked up his glass again, though only to sip. “You can see that the debt begins with Qui's invasion of our southern border. Prior to that, I had been making headway on repaying it.”

“Repaying it?” Vidarian looked up, then back down to the ledger, flipping through tens of pages at a time.

“I regret to say that the debt itself long precedes my birth,” Lirien said, rolling the crystal glass between his palms. “And my father's, and my grandfather's. Alorea has carried debt to the Alorean Import Company since the last Sea War.”

“I had no idea,” was all Vidarian could manage.

“Few do. That is the only copy of that ledger in the empire's possession, and the Company certainly does not share their own records. The empire operates, even prospers, but you see why correction of their behavior at this point is—complex at best.”

“But you see what they're doing? The Company benefits from this war! Not only does it accomplish their strategic objectives, it gives them more and more power over the empire itself.” Vidarian's voice shook, and he tightened his grip on the ledger in an attempt to master himself.