Myth and Storm, page 23
“In the tea we fed you.” Ronya sighed. “The same tea that saved Tham’s life. You’re so bright, I really thought you would have questioned why you don’t freeze here.”
“You had no right―”
“To use our most precious resource to dose you with the very substance you needed to survive?” Ronya raised Mara’s glass, holding her gaze, daring Mara to refuse. “None of your party would have survived being pulled through the ice if I hadn’t chosen to save them.”
“Then you have my thanks.” Mara accepted the glass but didn’t drink. “Will the tonic you so kindly forced into our bodies keep us trapped here? Can we only survive in the cold of Isfol?”
“Not at all.” Ronya looked to the sledges loaded with glowing ice. “The few I’ve sent down to Ilbrea have all managed to adapt to the warmer climate.”
“Sending spies to Ilbrea is quite ambitious.” Mara gripped her glass, fighting the urge to smash it on the ground. “I’m so glad they survived. Are we quite through?”
“Your lack of gratitude is exhausting. Children, the ill, the brave souls who willingly travel through the ice to defend our city―our reserves of the tonic are meant to protect them. Helping you deprived my own people.”
“Deprived? You lured us into your mine―”
“A mine that only appears when the ice allows,” Ronya said. “When the mountain wills it, we are granted paths to the worms’ nests. We harvest all we can before the ice closes. What we can collect is all we have until the ice opens again.”
“A harvesting season. What a terrific secret.”
“If the ice refused to open, all of our infants would die.” Ronya’s hand shook as she set her glass down. “If we cannot dose them with the tonic, they will freeze. Then our elders will freeze. One missed season, and Isfol will fall.”
Mara shut her eyes, searching her heart for a spark of sympathy. “Has the ice ever refused to open?”
“No, but the time between openings grows longer, and the harvests poorer. Our mountain is losing its magic, and even I am not strong enough to save my people from the cold.”
“I’m sorry.” Mara met Ronya’s gaze.
“The people cannot know how tenuous our fate has become. It would cause chaos more dangerous than facing a freeze. If you tell anyone, I will have Tham executed.”
“Who better to share your secrets with than a captive?”
“You’re more than a captive, Mara. You’re a woman with a soft heart, and you’re going to help me keep my people alive. You simply haven’t accepted it yet.”
29
Niko
Madness or monsters? The question has plagued me through two days of walking.
I can feel something lurking in the dark, staying just out of reach of my light.
I can’t hear the creature or see it. But in all the times I have been surrounded by magic, I have never been so sure that something beyond the scope of normal man is trailing behind me.
Amec doesn’t feel it, but he’s agreed to sleep in shifts, a practice we had given up long ago. I think he might believe I’m losing my mind. Part of me fears he could be right. No man with sense would hope a monster is stalking their steps. But if there is nothing in the darkness, then my reason has truly slipped away.
How will I find my way back to you if I’ve gone mad?
We left the massive cavern that seemed large enough to swallow Ilara six times over several days ago. We found only one other passage leading out. The darkness is forcing us south. We’ve traveled so far in this tunnel, I don’t know where we would be if we found our way up to the surface. Even if we were to emerge in the kingless territories, I would be grateful for a glimpse of sunlight. I’d climb through the southern mountains to get back to Ilbrea with a song in my heart. Anything would be better than this.
Being kept in this narrow tunnel often feels like the earth is trying to squeeze the air from my lungs.
But at the least the beast can only attack us from one direction. If the monster exists at all.
I hope there will be enough of me left for you to recognize the man you loved when I return to Ilara.
I will find a way to reach you,
Niko
30
Adrial
The depth of the blue sank into the parchment as though opening a tiny portal to a daring world Adrial longed to explore. The pale lavender he’d looped along the edges of the page held a delicacy that defied the human hand in its making. The scarlet edging that hinted at the tale’s coming sunset brought a violence that belonged on a battlefield.
But it was the blue Adrial wished to lose himself in.
Dipping his pen into the ink again, he dug into his mind, trying find the memory that made the pigment so alluring. He drew another line, creating the edge of the river that weaved through the field.
The romance of King Gransen and his first Queen was not a tale usually highlighted in Ilbrean history, but their story seemed especially suited for Princess Illia’s vellum.
Her wedding, at least, had yet to be disturbed. Allora and the King had not been so lucky.
None of the royals or sorcerers had been wounded in the attack on the cathedral. Lord Karron had survived with only a broken rib and some terrible bruising.
But four scribes had been killed. Fifteen healers, seven map makers, eight sailors, twelve soldiers. Their deaths were a terrible blow.
The bodies had long since been buried, and the wounded had begun to recover. But the harm had passed beyond the physical, and though he’d only been allowed a short visit with Allora at the Royal Palace, Adrial knew the Willocs felt the damage deeply.
A new wedding date for Allora and the King had yet to be set. The cleanup of the cathedral hadn’t even finished, and arguments over plans for construction of a new space had already begun to plague the Guilds Council.
Adrial would have to sit through yet another council meeting tomorrow, where each Lord would argue their view of how the construction should be handled while all of them avoided shouting the obvious problem to the saints that guided them.
They had yet to find the villain who’d attacked them.
Adrial dipped his pen into the ink again.
The hue of the blue brought a good memory with it, far from the violence and fear of the cathedral attack.
Something dark and delicious. Not quite the current blue so prevalent in Ena’s hair. A far deeper shade than the blue that had glowed from the waterfall.
“If you’re going to waste all your time complaining, then go back to the scribes pool.” Tammin’s voice carried through the door of Adrial’s private workroom.
The rumbled response from the outer office was too soft for him to make out the words.
It wasn’t the blue of a night sky.
The Arion Sea as viewed from the cliffs at the Map Master’s Palace.
Adrial sat back in his chair, smiling as he imagined the wind rushing past his face. The world had always seemed infinite and terrifying from so high above the city. Full of bountiful possibilities and horrific disasters in equal measure. A step too near the ledge, and you’d fall to your death, but the beauty of the view made the danger worthwhile.
“There is a purpose behind our assignment,” Tammin said. “Respect the Lord Scribe’s decisions and get to work.”
This time, the rumbled response had a bite of anger to it.
“Alwyn, give me patience and wisdom.” Adrial pushed himself to his feet, taking a moment to test the stability of his hip before going to the door.
Seven desks took up the main room outside his office, the setup much the same as they’d had when working in the scribes’ shop out in the city. The wide windows here looked out over a different street, and the common folk were made to wait in the square and beg a scribes’ guard to bring their request to the scribes in the workroom. But the tasks of writing out the papers that kept the city going were the same, and so, unfortunately, were the scribes that did the work.
“Is everything all right?” Adrial stayed in his doorway, looking from Natalia Tammin to Travers Gend and back again. The two stood behind their desks, glaring daggers at each other.
“Everything is fine, Head Scribe.” Tammin gave Adrial a bow before sitting.
Taddy ducked closer to his desk, scribbling away so quickly, he’d have no hope of having his work approved.
“If anyone has a question as to why we are continuing to work on behalf of the people of Ilara while sheltering inside the library, I would be happy to hear their concerns,” Adrial said.
Travers’s jaw tensed, but he had the sense not to speak.
“It’s not…” Taddy said. “Well, I wasn’t talking about that, sir.”
“You, Taddy?” Adrial walked down the line of desks to his apprentice. “I didn’t know your voice had dropped so low.”
“It hasn’t.” Taddy blushed. “I’m just the one that started it, sir. And I’m very sorry.”
“Out with it,” Adrial said.
“I…” Taddy set down his pen, hiding his ink-stained fingers behind his back too late for Adrial to even pretend not to have noticed. Taddy cringed. “Some of the other apprentices have been talking about a story―or maybe not a story, it could be true I suppose―but I told them it was all nonsense, though I wasn’t really sure. So I asked in here, so I could get the opinions of full scribes, to see if they thought the story was true, and that’s how it started.”
“And it continued?” Adrial looked to Tammin.
“It continued with Scribe Gend saying we shouldn’t be serving people who shelter killers that draw Guilded blood and me reminding him that we have a duty to the Guilds and to our head scribe.” Tammin smiled as she shot a glare at Travers.
“Lovely,” Adrial said. “Though sad that, after all the city has been through, Scribe Gend still cannot find sympathy for the innocent people who are suffering. We cannot blame the masses for the foul deeds of a few evil men.”
“Is it a few men, then?” Taddy asked.
“Yes, Taddy,” Adrial said. “The whole of Ilara has not turned against us. Though they could if we ignore our duty to keep the city running properly.”
“Oh no, I know that part, sir. It’s just, are you sure it isn’t one man?” Taddy furrowed his brow. “One, possibly demonic man?”
“What under the stars are you talking about?” Adrial asked.
“It’s a story going through some of the younger scribes,” Tammin said. “They’re trying to scare each other, which seems like a waste of time when we’ve plenty of real fears to worry over.”
“Tell me the story, Taddy.” Adrial tucked his hands behind his back, carefully shifting his weight to his good leg as he waited for his apprentice to speak.
“As a punishment, sir?” Taddy asked.
“As a lesson,” Adrial said. “We scribes handle a huge volume of papers to maintain order for the people, but we are also the keepers of the stories and histories of Ilbrea. If you’re going to be spreading ghost stories, you’d better be equipped to tell a decent version.”
Taddy stood, back straight and chin high, as though preparing for a recitation. “Born deep in the shadows of the eastern mountains, the Demon’s Torch seeks vengeance on Ilbreans who proudly stand with the Guilds.”
“Why vengeance?” Adrial asked.
“Oh, right.” Taddy blushed. “He seeks to torment all who proudly stand with the Guilds. They say his soul has been consumed by fire, and if you’re fool enough to look into his eyes, you’ll see the inferno blazing within him. He travels along the mountain road, murdering soldiers, as he hunts for the one his heart cannot forget.
“He goes into the soldiers’ camps at night, setting their tents on fire and slaughtering them all, save three. He’ll kill dozens of men and always manages to leave just the three alive. But always, those poor men beg for death. He questions the three, torturing them with knives and flames, always seeking information none of them have. Sometimes, he searches for a girl with raven hair. Sometimes, he hunts for a man who stole something precious. Sometimes, he searches for stones made of men’s hearts.”
A shiver tightened Adrial’s shoulders as a child-like dread sank in his gut. He glanced toward the door, half-expecting a man with a soul consumed by fire to come charging in to kill them.
“By dawn,” Taddy whispered, “even the three survivors have been released from their pain. He’s hunted through camps and towns, searching for the answers he seeks, and his desperation has finally brought him all the way to Ilara. But the great capital is too large a place for even his mighty flames to consume all at once. So, the Demon’s Torch will scorch us bit by bit, picking away at the Guilds until there are only three of us left for him to question.”
Taddy fell silent, biting his lips together as though he’d terrified himself.
Adrial clapped and gave his apprentice a nod. “A finely told story Taddy. But it’s only a story.”
“I know that. And that’s what I told the other apprentices. But what if…” Taddy cringed. “What if it is real? What if the Demon’s Torch did come to Ilara and he’s the one who brought the cathedral dome down?”
“A fire cannot replace a soul,” Tammin said.
“Well, not literally,” Taddy said. “His skin would all burn up. But some legends have bits of truth woven into them. And what if the bit of truth woven into the tale of the Demon’s Torch is that there’s a man whose anger burns like fire and he’s really good at killing people and he’s come to Ilara to slaughter members of the Guilds?”
“I’m proud of you, Taddy,” Adrial said. “Searching for the grain of truth hidden within a legend can be a very valuable skill to have. But if there were one man who’d been terrorizing soldiers up and down the mountain road, we would have heard about it. We’d have had bounty notices pass through this very office. Something terrible happened, and searching for an explanation that fits neatly into a box is a very natural response. But the Demon’s Torch is not the one who attacked us.”
“Of course, sir.” Taddy’s cheeks pinked as he bowed. “That was the other point I made to the apprentices. One man couldn’t slaughter a camp of soldiers without magic, and all magic lies within the Sorcerers Guild. The whole country would know if there were any magic outside the control of the Sorcerers Tower, so the story of the Demon’s Torch is completely impossible.”
Adrial tucked his hint of worry behind a proud and placid smile. “Well reasoned, Taddy.”
“Thank you, sir.” Taddy gave another, deeper bow.
“If everyone is ready to go back to work without snipping at each other, I have to collect some new ink.” Adrial started toward the door.
“I can go for you, sir,” Taddy said.
“No thank you, Taddy. I have something to give Ena, anyway.” Adrial kept his gait even until he reached the corridor beyond the office and closed the door behind him. He took a moment to look up and down the hall, making sure he was alone before leaning against the wall.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out the little leather pouch he’d carried with him for days, procrastinating like a coward unprepared to meet his doom.
He untied the string, wanting to check the gift one more time to be sure it was truly worthy.
Not worthy―no gift could ever be worthy of Ena―but, at the very least, good enough he could feel pride in presenting it.
The little charm sat nestled in the silver chain of the necklace, the tiny bird as true to his memory of the mark on Ena’s side as he could hope to create. The raven had spread its wings wide as though ready to take flight. The feathers had been carefully etched and the head made without any of the grotesque errors so common in miniatures.
“Good enough.” He pushed away from the wall and cut toward the stairs that led below the main level of the library and out to the courtyard. “It’ll have to be good enough.”
The man Adrial had been a few short months ago would never have dared to bring a gift to a woman, let alone a woman like Ena. But he’d learned quite a bit about bravery, and nearly dying had made time seem to slip away all the more quickly.
He needed to offer her something in exchange for all she’d done.
I’d give her all Ilbrea if I could.
He avoided meeting the gazes of the scribes he passed as he made his way below the library and to the door that led to the far side of the courtyard.
As he stepped outside, the bright afternoon sunlight dazzled his eyes. He blinked away the glow, which had, for half a heartbeat, convinced him the world had been swallowed by magic. The heat of summer had finally struck in earnest. The warmth cut through Adrial’s robes, burning away the ice of the lingering doubts he fought so hard not to acknowledge.
Ena was a friend. A dear, wonderful friend who had given him indescribable amounts of joy. Even without knowing the true story of what her life had been before she’d come to Ilara, he knew she’d suffered more pain than most could survive. Her heart had been too badly scarred to be swept away in romance. Perhaps she would never again be able to feel the bursting, astonishing wonder of love that suffocated Adrial’s reason.
But she didn’t want to lose him. She cared for him and trusted him with secrets that would see her executed if the wrong people were told. That attachment meant more to Adrial than any romance with another ever could. He cherished her and would gladly accept whatever form of affection she offered in return.
The scars Adrial had been given as a child would never heal, and he doubted the pain Ena had suffered would ever allow her to heal, either. And, even if she ever could find love, Adrial knew he would never be the man to lure her into that exquisite danger.
Then why are you making a fool of yourself?
He leaned against the wall outside the library, shutting his eyes, wishing he’d taken the time to doubt himself in his office where no one could see him.
A gift for a friend. That simple. He couldn’t allow his panic to turn the gift into something to suit his selfish ends instead of a heartfelt thanks for all she’d given him.
