Soulbreaker (8 page)

The mere thought of all she’d seen, the dead children, husbands, wives, nobles, commoners, the secrets, made her weary.
Too much death. I’ve seen too much death.

Reasons like those, the violence and war, entire peoples forced to spend their lives in slavery, or used for the power they could give, were the things that drove her. People of the faith ascribed to the Gods to lend them strength, and while that was all well and good, the Gods would not deliver. Her prayers were more out of respect for the power the Dominion represented, vast and limitless and utterly unknowable. Her strength derived itself from survival and a thirst for vengeance.

One day she would be sated. But today was not that day. It was another footstep.

With this stride the two men who helped give her a purpose all these years were gone, lives snatched in a moment. A husband and a son. Not a son by blood, but a son no less. Despite the need to distance her emotions, Prince Joaquin had grown on her. She helped raise him from a babe, more a mother to him than the whore Jemare had chosen to bed. A woman picked for her strength in soul and her fertile womb
.
The truth of that last was a secret she kept close. When the deed was done, Jemare had gotten rid of the mother.

At times she wondered how different things would have been had Joaquin been her child.
Would you be alive today? Or would you still be dead, another victim of Far’an Senjin?

Events pointed to the latter, for Jemare had done the improbable: drawn up new laws for succession, ignoring traditions with roots borne since the Empire’s inception. Kasinia was built on such traditions. In secret, Jemare had declared that a royal line would rule. And so had begun his endeavor to produce an heir. After decades of secret failures he made the choice to find a suitable woman, one that wouldn’t be missed by the nobility.

One day, when all was revealed, some would think her desperate. Or terrible.
Perhaps I’m both. Perhaps I’m a monster just like my late husband.
She hoped when people encountered the truth in its entirety they would understand her quest for a piece of her to survive.

For a moment she considered bringing an end to her plans. And in the same moment she steeled herself against the idea. Too many people relied on her to see them to some form of safety. The months to come would be among the hardest, but whatever was needed for her people to thrive she swore to see it done. Another sigh escaped her lips, this time from exhaustion, both physical and mental. The things she’d been forced to do weighed on her.

Lost in thought, Queen Terestere stared out the windowpanes down into Melanil. Spires poked into the sky, white stone and whiter ice glinting with sunlight like frosty crystals. Several hundred stairs led down from the chantry’s array of entrances to the walls that were decorated with friezes of the Gods and the Order’s past leaders. The most prominent of the latter was Cortens Kasandar, and although he only rose to Elder, he was still seen as one of their greatest achievers. Closest to the walls were villas and palaces—homes to higher ranks of wisemen, the Mystics, Curates, and High Priests and Priestesses. Only the Elders, the Patriarch, and Matriarch were allowed to live in the Grand Chantry itself, closest to the Dominion’s bosom.

Celestial Avenue ringed this section of Melanil, and on its opposite side were mansions, inns, warehouses, markets, taverns, and brothels, spreading as far as she could see. Perhaps more brothels than necessary, but then again, the Order had a voracious appetite, particularly for Kheridisian women.

Tree-lined streets, colonnades, cobblestoned roads, narrow alleys, and dirt paths drew lines among the brick and timber structures, tiled and wood roofs draped in winter’s finery, a white field of rime and hoarfrost. Smoke drifted up from the abundant chimneys. People, coaches, wagons, and horses crowded the streets despite the weather.

To the west, at the edge of her vision, the Crystal Skies shone, a precursor of things to come. The colorful swath made her think of Aidah Rostlin. Her expression grew grim before she directed her attention to the northeast.

Ice caked the banks of the River Silk except where the dockworkers kept the quays clear for the galleys, schooners, and warships out in the deep waters, each flying Kasinia’s new flag—a scaled hand from which soul emanated. She nodded, impressed with King Ainslen’s choice for a standard. Far in the distance, the walls of Tocar were a dark stain that rose from snow-covered fields near the glittering expanse of the Vordon Sea. The thick windowpanes before her drowned out the clangor from a city well into its daily routines despite the harsh weather. She took another sip from her cup.

“A sight to make one breathless, is it not?” Patriarch Corgansetti’s voice was the same resonant tone she remembered.

Terestere turned to the man who had been a cherished friend to her dead husband. “Always. Whenever I visit I understand why Melanil was chosen for the Grand Chantry.” She recalled when she thought she would spit in the man’s face when she saw him, but she’d outgrown the sentiment. Not the hate, though. That simmered, waiting its time.

Despite his shimmering robes, Corgansetti was showing his age. His head was a brown chicken egg marred by spots, and his eyes carried lines at the corners from years spent poring over books. His hands were wrinkled claws, skin pulled tight, a spiderweb of discolored veins beneath. Encrusted with diamonds, the ten-pointed, ten-sided Star of the Dominion stood out on the chain around his neck.

“I expected Matriarch Janania to be present also,” the queen said. She knew the Order mandated that those raised to be its leaders were to be like Mandrigal and Antelen, the sun to the other’s moon, compatible in race and in thought. Near inseparable, they lived together from young, and did almost everything in each other’s company. They developed a relationship so close that when they eventually married, and were raised to their respective positions, they were of like minds, two halves of one whole. Janania might not be here in body but she was in spirit. No decision was made without the other half.

“She has pressing business with another surviving member of your late husband’s court,” Corgansetti said.

Terestere wondered which one. From her reports, the whereabouts of Cardinton and Adelfried were still unknown to the king. Ainslen’s hunters had captured Melinden. She pursed her lips. “How many of them made it here?”

“A dozen lesser ones.” As usual Corgansetti had no intention of playing his hand too early.

“One of my people said Aidah Rostlin visited several months ago.”

“She did.” The Patriarch’s brow furrowed for the briefest of moments.

Let him think on what else I might know.
“What did she require?” Crossing paths with Aidah Rostlin and her daughters had been a surprise and a stroke of luck for which Terestere had praised Hazline. The woman’s husband, Kesta, had been a staunch supporter of Ainslen’s bid for the crown. Another woman might have remained in Kasandar after Kesta’s death, hoping her husband’s service would be remembered, and that she would be given a place in the new court. She smiled now, thinking on the encounter, glad that she took the time to thoroughly know the woman and her children.

“She petitioned for the Order’s writ of safe passage to the west,” Corgansetti answered.

“Carador?”

“Beyond.”

“Ah,” Terestere said, feigning surprise.

When she met Aidah, the woman had broken down and blubbered about the loss of not only Kesta but of her son, Gaston. Such weakness had curdled Terestere’s insides. She pointed to Aidah’s daughters and told the woman that they were her strength now; they needed her if they were to live. She impressed upon Aidah the brilliance exhibited by the children under her tutelage. Of course, the poor woman had continued to rant, lamenting that her life was already over.

Terestere had laid a hand on Aidah’s shoulder, listened to her, and given her a dose of encouragement and willpower, convincing the woman that there still was life. She pointed out the collection of riches, whispered that she knew of the gold and precious stones, and other treasures contained within the trunks. In any kingdom they would be worth their weight in trade. Terestere provided a decree of visitation from the Berendali High King, advised Aidah to visit the Patriarch for a writ, and sent her to seek out her new life in the west.

By the time they parted ways Aidah rode with her back straight, whispered prayers to the Gods to beg for vengeance, and set off toward the Chantry. Terestere smiled inwardly with the thought.

“So, what brings you here,” Corgansetti asked, snapping her from wistful memories.

Time for business, then. Good.
“My husband’s reign has ended.” Terestere didn’t need to state the obvious, but it was good place to begin things.

“So it has.” Corgansetti shuffled over to one of the cushioned chairs. He waved her toward a similar seat as the one he took. “You wish to know what course remains for you now that you’re no longer queen.”

She almost said she was and would always be a queen, but instead, she replied, “Queens typically do not survive Succession Day, so is the way of Far’an Senjin.” She lifted her dress a bit as she made her way across the carpeted floor. How she wished for a pair of trousers. Dresses were more obstructions than applications of practicality.

“The Game of Souls is a pitiless thing,” Corgansetti agreed.

“My late husband played it well, but in the end, he lost.” She gave a wistful smile.

“He did.” The Patriarch’s face remained expressionless. He would give nothing away.

The man’s nonchalance brought a measure of respect and loathing. Here he was, faced by a possible enemy, by the wife of the man he helped kill, and he acted as if it were nothing. Such were the ways of men, overlooking women. Thus, she gave them what they expected, beauty and a body. But not today. “You’re skilled, Corgansetti, you have always been.” She dropped any pretense of friendship, letting hostility seep into her voice. “Jemare relied on you, and yet you stabbed him in the back. The Farlanders? Of all the people to call upon, you chose them?”

The Patriarch shrugged. “What were we to do? Rely on the other counts? Ainslen was set on crushing them. Your husband erred by giving too much freedom to the rest of the Empire, a free hand to the Smear’s inhabitants and their guilds. The Heleganese, the Farish Islanders, the Thelusians, and the Kheridisians
must
be converted; every city in the Empire
must
have chantries.
That
was the agreement. Jemare became so addled by his own strength he forgot the Order won him the throne.”

“After all he did for the Order, you turn away from him over religion, and bring in heretics to boot.”

Corgansetti’s face grew dark with anger. “The Word must be spread throughout the land,” he said, teeth clenched.

“Yes, I remember, the advent of the Dominion. Do you realize what you’ve done?” She shook her head at the man’s disregard for what he’d wrought. “Now the Farlanders are here, there will be no rooting them out.”

“A way exists.”

“Yes, it does, and it involves bringing together the Empire entire, now an impossible task
because
of Ainslen and the Farlanders.” The vein along her temple throbbed with her rising voice. “The people have ever been fickle, never taking well to invaders or to the spirit of the game being broken. Look to Kasandar, the people rise up, fires burn across Kasinia, the Thelusian Stonelords have massed their armies, the mercenaries in Marissinia … Ainslen’s support is thin, at best.”

Corgansetti nodded. “Precisely. And that is where you come in.”

Frowning, Terestere paused before uttering another word. Seeing her apparent confusion, the Patriarch smiled.

“The people have always loved you,” he said. “No other queen has ever held their adoration in such a fashion. Who knew that going among them to give food or hand out medicine, to simply acknowledge them, could glean such results? The Stonelords, the Marish kings, the Heleganese, they all speak well of you. Even the secretive Kheridisians seem taken by you. Allowing you to live will sway some. Marrying Ainslen will make the Empire whole.”

Her mouth formed an ‘O’ as she allowed shock to encompass her features, but the idea was one she’d already considered.
Let him think it is his.
Jemare had always searched for power, but he failed to understand the strength of the people themselves. Corgansetti, on the other hand, bore no such misconceptions. His lips twisted into a slight smile at her reaction.

“Why do you think Ainslen would agree to this?” She already knew the answer but asked anyway.

“He has always wanted you.”

As do you, although you’re supposed to be a eunuch.
She saw through his lie, and the lie of so many other wisemen, their reactions, however controlled, giving them away. Besides, whores talked when paid well. As with most men, the Order had a taste for the exotic, like the Kheridisians or Thelusians. They had plenty to choose from in Melanil.

“Don’t pretend as if you were unaware.” Grimacing, he waved her off. “With your flirting it became obvious to some, even if Jemare ignored it, the same way he chose not to see your relationship with the Consortium leader, Delisar. Ainslen has always coveted whatever Jemare owned.”

She did her best not to show a reaction to the Patriarch’s revelation. “What makes you think I had a relationship with this Delisar?” With the name came pain and worry. Delisar was slated to die.

“Do not play coy with me. You hid it well, but you had one rendezvous too many. I had always wondered what made the guilds decide to operate under Jemare’s terms.” He leered as he regarded her, hunger in his eyes. “I suppose you can be very convincing.”

You have no idea.
She relented. Corgansetti would have this small victory. “How else was I supposed to make the commoners believe in Jemare if I did not give them something of their own? As with most men, the Consortium leader coveted me, so I gave him a taste of what he wanted for the sake of Jemare’s rule.”