Citadel of the Sky (Thrones of the Firstborn Book 1) (15 page)

She wondered how Cathay would fight Tiana for Tiana against an evil sword. She imagined him threatening the sword with another sword. It was tempting to encourage it to happen, just to laugh about it. She could wiggle her toes whenever Cathay got close, tap out a code against the floor. Uncle Yithiere was always making up codes. He’d understand what had happened, too. But the plan couldn’t go very far, because toes didn’t have very much in the way of imagination.

Foolish, foolish sword. It called her foolish child, but it would be lucky if it wasn’t tossed into a furnace instead of just hidden in the dark for another generation to find. She itched more, twitching and convulsing. She extended herself throughout her feet, and then she cramped up and stopped walking. She was the feet, and she was in charge!

The hand not holding the sword touched her feet, and she stole it. Now she had one hand, and two feet. She took the knees, too, since they were hardly useful without the feet. And the sword knew she was there now.

It had the right hand, the head, the chest. It was a good chest, but she was standing tight as a soldier, and she always thought that must be painful. It did display her cleavage nicely, she realized, as she stole her left arm, her left shoulder, and felt the downward slope.

A mighty presence, not her, sank into the parts of Tiana she’d reclaimed, reaching out from the high places it occupied to reclaim what it had lost. But she was in the low places, the valleys, the far reaches, the depths and extremities. And it was not, she found, very familiar with how female bodies operated. The presence moved across her skin like the wind over a wildfire, trying to recapture that which had burned the prison down. She took back her mouth and laughed at Jinriki the Darkener, and then surged, roared, danced into the heart of her self.

Tiana opened her hand and let the sword fall, clattering, onto the flagstones of the small hallway. Then she wiggled her fingers, let an emanation buoy it up, and cocked her head to look at it floating in front of her. She was content to let it speak first, and she was quite certain that it wouldn’t find a thing in her head to eavesdrop on. She knew it in her fingers. She knew it in her toes.

Finally, it said
**I see you have returned again, yes.**

Tiana stuck out her lip and said, “That’s no fun. I bet you’ve done that before, on other people, eh?”

**Yes.**

“But you didn’t expect me to get out so quickly, I’d wager!” She bounced up on and down on her toes and made the sword spin in a circle.

It didn’t respond, so she dropped it again and tapped her foot on the blade. “I’ve been thinking. Do you want to know what I’ve been thinking?” Still no response, but she fancied she was being annoying all the same. “I know you do. So I’ll tell you. I’ve been thinking, rather than hiding you away, I should find the hottest furnace in the Palace and stick you in there until you’re just a lump of metal. Maybe you’d still talk, maybe not. We could find out.”

**You’d be wasting your time.**
She thought it sounded tired.
**No heat in this world could destroy me.**

Tiana scowled. “Well, we could at least test that.” She waved the blade aloft a second time. “But I’m not that knowledgeable about furnaces, and I do know about my hiding spot, so I don’t mind taking your word.” She stumped down the hall, back into the catacombs.

After a time, she heard
, **Do not banish me from your hand. It would not help you. You will hear my voice, no matter how far you go.**

Now the sword sounded desperate, and she felt the barest twinge of pity. But she said, “Cathay is drawn to swords, and when I’m lost in the phantasmagory, I’m unpredictable.” She considered, and added, “Besides, you just stole my body. I don’t want you near me.

“As for voices, that’s nothing new. I’ve learned to ignore so many others.” She did not share with the sword that its voice was different from the whispers of the phantasmagory, that it had a strength and vividness, an intimacy that she could not imagine shutting out. She’d learn to cope.

The sword was silent. So she padded through the halls, taking a lantern from one of the junctures before she left the lit area, until she reached the spot where she and Lisette used to play, back before they were even ten years old. It was down some age-roughened steps, around a corner. Perhaps it had been a larder, long ago. It had stone shelves, and under the lowest shelf there was a depression, where two little girls could hide and giggle.

When she was six and it was her turn to pick a Regent from the crop of noble daughters her own age, she’d led the flock of girls down to the catacombs. Three girls abandoned the quest for her favor there, at the entrance to the old halls, frightened by nursery tales of ghosts.

“Of course there are ghosts; it’s where the Blood walks,” had said Lisette, and walked down the stairs, completely unafraid. They’d played hide and seek there. The third time through, when Seandri was the seeker, Lisette had found the larder and led Tiana there, around the corner, under the shelf. They’d never been found, not when all the other girls were found, not when the adult searchers came with lanterns and shouts, not until Uncle Yithiere and his eidolon wolves had sniffed her out.

There was still the blanket she’d brought down another time, and the porcelain teacups, the old metal teapot she’d stolen from the kitchen, and a gold-rimmed plate. Tiana put her lantern on a hook in the wall. She took the hilt of the sword in her hand and rolled under the shelf, into the depression. Then she laid the blade beside her, on its edge. It made a disturbing companion. In the light that seeped under the shelf, she thought she could just see the colors of her reflection in the blade, wobbling in the uneven light.

She would leave it here, rolled up in the blankets. If the Magister could deal with it, she would come back for it. There was no reason she shouldn’t. It was hers to deal with. Kiar might not think it was the responsible choice, and yet it had always worked before. But she held it loosely by the hilt, and she saw that it wasn’t bending itself to wrap around her hand, as she knew it could.

“Why were you so cruel to Cathay? He’d appreciate you much more than I can. Even now. He’s like that.”

**He isn’t mine. You are.**

Tiana shivered, but she said, “It’s the other way around, if anything. I’m a princess. I don’t belong to anybody.”

**When the monk—Helliac? When he woke me, he’d invoked you as the one who would carry me to the vengeance I was promised. You have the mark. You are the one. I can manipulate any mortal to fulfill my basic desires, but the mark is the only channel for my power. If you do not do this, there will be no one else who can.**

Tiana laid the sword on its flat, arranged the blanket around it, and tucked her arm under her head. Cathay would never find it here, would never even consider looking. He was disturbed by small, enclosed spaces, and he’d never liked the catacombs. Neither did Shanasee, who disliked the shadows and the memories.

She ran a finger up the center of the blade. It looked like it belonged here somehow, like it was the bone of some forgotten creature. Even more than here, it belonged below, in the dungeons, with their thick dust and strange doors. But that place frightened her. The shadows, the memories. Even now, she felt that something lived down there, something that did not know how to die. She imagined something walking the long corridor of cells, touching doors, sitting in the chair with its back to the door. But where was it when they had gone looking? Had it emerged into the catacombs above? Was it walking these halls now, soft footsteps echoing in the halls, murmuring to itself, looking for something taken from it?

She inhaled sharply. She could hear it, really hear it. Footsteps in the corridor, the soft murmur of a voice. Then the murmur of a different voice. Coming closer.

**Walkers. Are you afraid? If you hold me close and trust me, I promise you will never have anything to fear. Your curse, your madness is strange, but I am learning to understand it. We can conquer it, together.**

“Hsst,” she said to the blade, squirming further under the shelf. She snaked out a hand and took the blade’s handle, sliding it deeper into the shadow. She tried not to hyperventilate, but she could hear the walker coming close, hear the uneven shuffle of the footsteps and the strange multi-layered way it murmured. She flicked her fingers and the candle within the lantern was snuffed.

The darkness was absolute; she couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or closed. She ran her fingers lightly up the blade again, feeling the cold metal, the sharp edge, the roughness of the blanket. In and out, she practiced even, quiet breaths. Would it be able to find her by the warmth of her body? Would it see the taint of her power through the Logos?

The voice was close enough that she could make out words. “—amenable. Just because she’s suddenly taking an interest doesn’t mean she’s trying to get in our way. Maybe she’ll be as cooperative as the other one.”

**Two people, talking. Just mortals.**
Something eased inside and the panic surging through her started to fade.

Only for a surge of adrenalin to replace it, as a second, familiar voice spoke. “She believes in the old ways. And she is stubborn, she and her uncle. They are the two who would fight us, no matter what. For tradition’s sake, for history, for themselves. Lost in dreams of centuries past… They can’t begin to understand.”

“It’s good that our crowd of one yet lives, then. Best keep him that way. Have your investigators made progress?”

She
knew
that voice.

“It’s a tilting game, seeing what we can find out without someone calling Blight and activating them. And honestly, he’s likely to bend his head to her. A family squabble that wipes out the top three and leaves us with the younger girl would be ideal. She’d be overjoyed to give you free access in exchange for a pat on the head.”

The stranger said, “Judging from the past, the collateral damage would be tremendous. We don’t want that. But this plague is a lever. The workers are very interested. I wish we could get the wizard to provide us with his insights. They’re close to a way to neutralize their magic.” The voices were moving further away.

“I think that’s risky. Better to steal some of his notes. He’s got the bastard as his apprentice and he’s fond of her, to all appearances. I know someone….” It faded into indistinct murmuring again.

**You see? I am trying to accustom myself to your needs. I do not suggest we go cut off their traitorous heads. But I do suggest that if you keep me near you, I may be able to nullify whatever their wizards might try as a neutralization tactic. I am a sky fiend, after all.**

Tiana stared into the darkness. “What are you talking about?” She paused. “Were they talking about the
Blood?
” She gripped the blanket with her fists, thinking over the scraps she’d heard. Of course they were, even if she wished they weren’t. Then she said, “Why did you attack Cathay?” she whispered. “Why did you take over my body? How can I trust you?”

**He was unsuitable,**
the sword said pleasantly.
**Does it matter? You won that struggle. I promise not to bite your companions, as long as you don’t try to give me to them.**

“You have to stop calling me a ‘foolish child.’”

**Yes, Tiana.**
Goosebumps raised on her skin as the voice said her name. Was that really any better?

“I’ll test this nullification thing, you know,” she warned.

**Of course you will.**

Tiana scowled into the darkness and then crawled out of the depression, pulling her sword Jinriki after her.

K
iar stood
in front of Twist’s workroom door, confused. She was often confused around Twist, but it was different, this time. She had something to ask him about, but she couldn’t remember what it was. If only she could stop shivering, maybe she could remember why she was here. It was important, she was sure. If she didn’t tell him, it would be very bad. But for some reason, she’d forgotten. That was bad, too.

She concentrated, trying to retrace her path here.

I
t was
time to follow the path of the plague, inspecting the lines of contagion for any hints to the puzzle. Twist needed her help. She’d spend the day following the roads he’d outlined. Or had she gone on the circuit already?

She thought she must have. Her clothes were stiff with sweat and her muscles ached. She smelled more like horse than human, too. But it was hard to think. The last thing she could remember was riding her horse home. And now she was here.

Where was Spooky, her beautiful horse? Had she skipped through space like Twist? Wouldn’t he be impressed if she had? But she remembered she’d already tried that and he hadn’t been impressed, he’d been angry. So that couldn’t be it. That wasn’t
important,
and she knew she had something important to tell him.

She stared into the dizzy blankness that blanketed most of her mind. There were shapes hidden under there. Shapes and time. She
had
gone out this morning. But— there’d been something in the road. She’d seen something in the road, as she was riding.

Her teeth chattered together, which was annoying. She leaned her head on the door and tried again to remember how she’d gotten here from the road.

Her vision was dark. A herd of cows had broken out of their pasture and wandered into the beaten road. Spooky wouldn’t move past them. He bucked and threw her. She got back on. But Spooky was strange now. He shied every other step. He wouldn’t mind. He hated her. He threw her again. She didn’t need him, anyhow. She walked. Voices followed her.

Was she coming or going? Was it the night before after all? Twist had given her the map and he hadn’t smiled. She was to inspect the roads between the towns marked, looking for anything strange. She could do that. She and her beautiful horse, with his magical inscribed horseshoes.

Her feet hurt. She looked at her hands. They were dirty, scraped. She could see the eidolon pulsing inside her. A wave of nausea rocked her and she hugged her stomach. But she had her satchel with her notes in it. She wasn’t walking now. Where were her guards?

She was standing outside Twist’s door. That was where she needed to be. He’d want to know what she’d found. Did she already tell him? Jerya had asked her to work with him. Jerya relied on her. She was reliable.

Her head hurt. She whimpered and raised her hand to knock on the door. Twist opened it.

“Oh, no,” he said. “That shouldn’t have happened.” He pulled her into the workroom. Her father was there. Prince Yithiere. He was a prince, but she was only a Lady, because he wouldn’t admit she was his in public. But her mother was a housemaid, so surely she was grateful? She looked down. He gave her the best horse in the world, even though that horse threw her. He gave her puzzles to solve, even though he was a puzzle.

Everything was out of order. A candle’s flame hurt her eyes, and an inscribed orb shed only darkness. A blue silk shirt was crumpled on the floor. Somebody could slip. It wasn’t fair. She tried to keep things tidy. She bit her knuckles. It hurt.

“Kiar?” said Twist. She looked at the two men, and then let her satchel fall to the floor.

“I made notes,” she said. “I talked to everyone who could talk. I knew what to look for. There were villages. Not isolated. Not patterned. Not a trail, not of a wandering you or me.” She giggled and then stopped.

Twist’s hand went to her brow, and she reached up, took it in both her hands and laid it against her cheek instead. “Your hands are nice. So warm.”

Yithiere said, “Is she sick?” He too moved closer to her, his eyes perfectly dark, his face expressionless.

Twist said, “Oh, yes. I can see the taint all through her.” He patted her cheek. “Kiar, sweetheart, there was nothing?”

Yithiere’s voice was very quiet. “You said this couldn’t happen. You said it only happened to peasants. Farmers. On farms.”

Twist took Kiar’s hand again and drew her over to a wash basin. “Did you fall, Kiar?”

“Spooky doesn’t like me anymore,” Kiar explained. “I had to leave him behind. I’m sorry, Father. Sorry for Father. Don’t you want to see my notes?”

Twist shook his head, looking at Kiar, with the Logos shimmering in his eyes. “So far progressed….” he muttered. He addressed Yithiere, “I’ve interviewed dozens of plague victims. It’s a magical attack. I thought if anyone would be immune and forewarned, it would be her. But it’s… growing faster in her.”

“What does that mean?” Yithiere demanded. Kiar reached up to touch Twist’s face. His cheek was much warmer than her hand, and he’d shaved today. She was so cold. She wanted to lean into him.

“You’ve got mortal eyes, Your Highness. Use them.” He turned back to face Kiar, which she rather liked. “Kiar, why does your horse dislike you now? Where are your guards? Did something attack you again on the road?”

She shook her head. “Just the screams, the screaming people. They didn’t attack me but it was—” she frowned. She couldn’t remember. There were voices screaming, faces huddled over blankets, rocking back and forth, but it was scattered and broken, on the other side of the great chasm in her memories.

She peered into the chasm.

S
he was sitting down
. Yithiere was standing behind Twist, who was kneeling in front of her, holding a bucket. Her father was angry. She could tell. It never touched his face but a white fire burned in his eyes and she could feel it in the phantasmagory. Twist said patiently, “Something happened on the road. What was it?”

She smelled something sour and unpleasant. She tried to remember the road. A shape flashed in front of her eyes.

S
he retched
into the bucket and only then remembered having done it before. Was it a few minutes ago? A few days? Did she have too much wine? She was so
confused
and she
hated
it. Her mouth flooded with saliva. She bit down on a scream, but it emerged as a whimper.

Yithiere said, “Enough, wizard.” There was a growl under his voice and a wolf paced out of him. “She is suffering while you play these foolish games. She is not a specimen to be studied.”

He looked around the room and the lilt of his voice changed. “Isn’t illness part of the Logos? We have only your word that this is family magic, and she’s always trusted you too much.” He tapped his fingers against his leg. He was counting. He always counted when he was nervous.

Twist wiped at Kiar’s mouth with his sleeve and said, “I’m not lying to you, Yithiere. My words are clear. There is no hidden meaning.”

“There’s always a hidden meaning,” her father muttered. “You may hear what I cannot, wizardling, but you understand it no better than I.” He looked around again. “How do we cure this plague? You keep too many little secrets. Reveal this one, and I won’t ruin your game.”

The pain in her head spiked and once again a terrible blinding image flashed in front of her face. She brought her hands up to her mouth, willing herself not to vomit. Why couldn’t she see inside her own mind? Was there a place within that was no longer hers? Was the plague a living thing? Could she describe it?

H
er father was picking
her up. She clutched at him, protesting feebly. She was getting his vest and tunic dirty.

He said, very coldly, “You either know nothing or you have turned against us. But, because of past services, I shall assume you’ve merely gone stark raving mad. I’m not leaving my daughter in your care. Good day, sir.”

Yithiere called her his daughter! She hugged him as he carried her out of the workroom. But it was sad that Twist looked angry again.