The Queen of Lies (45 page)

“I said I’m coming with you two,” Heath reiterated. His words possessed an authority that left them silent.

The Patrean boy returned alone, carrying a stack of black moleskin notebooks with a blue sharkskin notebook on top. “Here’s the notebooks and the copies, Dean Maddox, as requested, sir. The blue one’s Riley’s visions after he attained your seal.”

Jessa snatched it off the pile and flipped it open, moving before anyone could stop her. She told herself it might contain valuable information, but secretly she was intensely curious what a true account of the future might look like.

She flipped through pages, astounded by the colorful artistry. In a public square, people in strange clothes (including women in trousers) chased after pigeons, the birds transforming into wineglasses in their hands. The next illustration showed a woman laughing as she held a strange sculpture against her ear and mouth.

The book slammed shut and flew from her hand, back to the pile.

Sword looked at her gravely. “You don’t want to know. Knowledge of what will happen can ruin your life. Imagine knowing a future you can’t change and how that would make you feel, being helpless to stop it.”

Jessa nodded. It wasn’t a pleasant idea either way; she didn’t like the idea that the future was already set in stone.

“If we could have truly seen the future for what it was, we could have stopped this months ago,” Heath argued.

“You say that like it’s so easy,” Sword countered. “If you could see the future, you’d see beyond this disaster to all possible disasters. You may realize that by averting one catastrophe you’ll cause another and another and another. I don’t know what’s worse to believe—that life is random and meaningless or that it was deliberately designed to be shitty.”

Jessa grabbed Riley’s notebook off the pile. “If this is a true account of things to come, it might be our only weapon against my mother. Riley said the banners of the city will fly blue. The imperial colors are red. If we can convince my mother of the book’s veracity, we can undermine her resolve.”

“That’s five hundred years in the future,” Heath said. “Even if it’s true, why would she give a shit?”

“Five hundred years is nothing to an imperial dynasty. Mother’s plan was in the works for generations,” Jessa said. “Iridissa bedded her own brother in secret while Thoras still sat on the Coral Throne. He wasn’t a stupid man; blood mages would have been consulted. They knew my mother and uncle were pureblood. They wanted a tempest of vast power who was expendable enough to send into the heart of enemy territory.”

“The Tempest’s power would have been frightening even in the old Sarn empire,” Sword said. “There’s not much modern magic outside Archea that could stand against it.”

“Sireen still has the Thunderstone,” Jessa realized suddenly. “Nasara never would let my mother cling to power. They intend to kill her once Rivern falls. My role was to be a decoy assassin. The real one remains.”

“Your family is fucked up,” Sword said.

“You’re certain Sireen is still in Rivern?” Heath asked.

“If she is, I know where she’d be.” Jessa rubbed her temples. “I can feel the drumming of electricity; it’s faint but present. It’s how she’s been communicating with Mother—through quiet rumblings in the clouds.”

They left the manor in a hurry. Crateus and Pytheria headed out with the remaining revenants and made for Oiler’s Park, where they could regroup. Jessa, Sword, and Heath headed toward Cameron’s house.

The streets were empty, and water roiled in the canals. The squall lashed at them from all sides as the winds whipped through the buildings.

Sword turned to the house and ripped off balconies, siding, and shutters. The mass of splintered timber hurtled toward them, and Jessa reflexively flinched. At the last second the boards froze in midair and arranged themselves into an orderly makeshift semisphere.

Jessa looked at the cloud of floating barriers that shielded them from the worst of the storm as they orbited around the three of them. Doors, shutters, and planks of wood whirled through the air, fending off rain and, in one case, lightning. It was like walking in the eye of a tornado of detritus.

Sword glibly explained, “Part of the magic of the Sword is spatial awareness—gauging velocity and predicting the movements and positions of my opponents. Visualizing the field of battle in three dimensions and placing yourself accordingly is the key to victory. It’s the same thing with telekinesis; adding my considerable power, there’s probably all kinds of new applications. I could write a paper on it.”

Jessa looked at Heath. “He seems…”

“Full of himself?” Heath finished for her. “He could get that from either personality.”

“You know what power I
really
wish I had?” Sword said. “That teleportation thing Esme pulled. The Asherai monks train for thirteen years to learn those techniques.”

“So how did she do it?” Heath asked.

Sword shrugged. “Probably knew it from a previous host. And don’t ask me how she got an Asherai monk to pick up a dagger, because they don’t need weapons. They have these tattoos that—”

Heath stopped in his tracks. “You can use magic from
other
bodies?”

“If they have the capability,” Sword admitted, “but I’m a fucking sword. Magic ruins everything fun and honest. It’s comes down to who can bend the rules the best. Then you have stupid shit where everybody is learning the bubble spell. There’s no honor in it.”

“The bubble spell?” Heath asked.

Sword shook his head. “I’ve said too much. Some lost secrets need to stay buried.”

“So how would the ancient wizards have dealt with a Tempest?” Jessa asked.

Sword said, “Probability manipulation, ripple effects, precognition, synchronicity. It’s just events coming together so that shit like this never happens. Rothburn coincidentally chokes on a chicken bone, and you’re married to some bucktoothed Amhaven noble while your mother drinks herself to death in Weatherly Castle. Works amazingly well when you’re the only one doing it.”

Jessa stammered, “Then why…the…fuck…are we going after a rock when you wield the magic of the ancients?”

“Because this mind is shattered, and I need at least some of it working to maintain my own thought process. The strain would rip my brain into confetti—possibly literally, with the streamers bursting out the top of my skull.” Sword wiggled his fingers in imitation of his description.

“But could you do it?” Heath asked.

“Would you ask me to?” Sword searched his eyes.

“No,” Jessa said firmly. “One borrowed life is still a life. I can’t consent to that kind of sacrifice. Kultea may be set against us, but we must remain faithful that Ohan watches over us. Our paths didn’t cross by coincidence.”

“They kind of did, though…” Heath said.

“Yet each of us has something the others lack,” Jessa smiled. “Sword and Maddox needed each other to become whole. Heath, you want to become a better person. And I need to swallow my pride and become a worse person if I’m to face my mother. The four of us have struggled alone with our demons, and when we’re united, there’s nothing that can’t be done. This is fate.”

“Fate isn’t always a good thing,” Sword said.

“T
HIS IS
C
AMERON’S
house,” Jessa said, staring at the door.

“He lives modestly,” Heath commented as his eyes scanned the house.

“I should go in first,” Jessa suggested.

The door to the house popped open slightly. She heard the snap of a mechanism, possibly a deadbolt, as Sword ripped it out of the frame.

The inside of the house was warm. Jessa heard the crackle of fire and the soft notes of a violin as it played a subdued refrain. Many voices were coming from the living area, which had been set up like a war room.

“Full recognition of our hereditary titles would go a long way toward securing support for the nobility here and in the other Free Cities.” Jessa recognized the woman as Dame Woodhouse, an elegant but snobbish woman who wore too much jewelry.

Her aunt Sireen sat in a high regal chair, her legs curled beneath her. Cameron stood to her right, dressed in the finery of a Thrycean admiral. Across from them she recognized Dean Archibald Turnbull and a red-haired man with a large mustache, whom she’d never seen before. His face looked bloodied. An older Patrean stood off to the side; his insignia designated him as a warmaster. A violinist played in the corner.

Cameron was the first to notice them. “Jessa! I went by the estate earlier. By Ohan, I was so worried about you…”

The violinist stopped playing and set her instrument to her side.

“Your concern is noted,” Jessa snapped. “I just stopped by to let you know I have everything well in hand. I have the Thunderstone, and I’m going to use it on Mother. Do either of you have any advice or opinion on the matter before I go off to do this very dangerous task you’ve assigned me?”

Sireen smiled softly. “You don’t have to go through with it. Stay here where it’s safe. You can help with the arrangements for the surrender and reconstruction of the city. We have representatives from every institution present, save the Orthodoxy. We want to make the transition fair.”

Jessa feigned consideration. “No, I prefer to kill Mother and let the people of this city decide how they wish to be governed.”

She marched over to the table and looked at the parchments. She slammed her dripping-wet hands on a battle map, smudging some of the ink. She turned to Turnbull. “You were a party to this?”

The bald man winced. “Not a willing participant, Your Majesty. Loran and I were brought here to discuss terms for a surrender. With the Invocari stripped of their power, there’s no hope for the city to stand against a Tempest. It seems we’ll be joining the Dominance.”

“Sireen has offered very generous terms of surrender,” Cameron interjected. “The Lyceum will grow in its scope of studies and faculty.”

Turnbull couldn’t look Jessa in the eye. She wanted to comfort him somehow.

“Jessa,” Cameron urged, “perhaps we should discuss this in private.”

“No,” she insisted. “In fact I prefer Dean Turnbull remain present. He possesses a Veritas Seal, so he’ll be able to tell me whether what you’re saying is true. Sireen may be too good of a liar, but Dean Turnbull can certainly vouch for your words.”

Sireen waved her hand. “Cameron doesn’t know the Thunderstone is a forgery, Jessa. Only I and one other person know of the true stone’s location.”

“Where is it?” Heath and Jessa said at the same time.

“Thelassus,” Sireen answered. “In the Sunken Palace.”

Jessa felt sick to her stomach. “You’re lying.”

“You couldn’t go through with killing Satryn,” Sireen explained. “Even if you were a match for my sister in battle, you don’t have the heart for it. Satryn expects a betrayal, so I gave her one. Her true comeuppance is in motion, as I promised you, but it comes from an angle she doesn’t expect.”

Sword looked across the table and pointed at some wine flutes. “Is that bubbly? I need a drink.”

Turnbull made a disgusted sound as Sword picked up the untouched glass from in front of him.

Jessa fumed. “You risk my life with your schemes, Aunt, and the life of my unborn son. You vastly underestimate what I’m willing to do to protect those dear to me.”

“I know my sister’s truest heart, and Satryn never would kill you,” Sireen said. “In fact she would respect you for making the attempt on her life.”

Heath addressed Turnbull. “So there’s no Thunderstone here.”

“Sadly, no.” He shrugged. “At least everyone’s being honest.”

“We could still try without the rock,” Sword suggested. “I mean, I’ve killed gods before. She can’t be worse than Vilos. Hells, all we have to do is get her drunk.”

Turnbull looked at him in shock.

“We should hear your aunt out,” Heath said gravely. “She’s doling out favors. I can represent the Orthodoxy as acting head of the Inquisition. What do you have for us?”

Loran sighed mournfully. “Heath…this is your city.”

Jessa opened her mouth to protest but held her tongue. Heath was playing a game, and it was one she badly needed to learn. She would follow his lead, perhaps make it seem like she could be convinced in order to get more information. She wrung her hands at the thought of the drowning and destruction her mother was wreaking on Rivern’s inhabitants.