Mirror Sight (20 page)

Karigan shuddered, thinking about what effect tainted etherea from Blackveil had on those exposed to it, filtered or not. She did not believe it could be
purified
.

“Mornhavon must revel in it,” she muttered.

The professor gave her a sideways look. “Eh? Who?”

“Mornhavon—the emperor.”

The professor gazed at her aghast. “My dear girl, Mornhavon the Black is long gone. He is not our emperor.”

It was Karigan’s turn to be taken aback. “He’s . . . I’ve believed . . . If he is not the emperor, then who is?”

The professor flipped the pages of the atlas to the very front of the book where the portrait of a man, framed by the sigil of the dragon with its tail wrapped around its neck, occupied a full page. It looked as if a child had scribbled on the picture, adding a large curling mustache to the man’s upper lip and giving him a pointy beard and very shaggy eyebrows.

“Arhys,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You can see why I can’t have this copy in the house’s library. If the wrong person saw this image of the emperor defaced, if even by an innocent child, there could be unspeakable consequences.”

A sick feeling bubbled in Karigan’s belly as she gazed at the picture, for even with the childish scribbles partially obscuring the man’s image, he looked familiar, his well-chiseled cheeks and chin, his dark hair swept away from his face, and the gray eyes staring out from the page. When she realized who the picture depicted, she gasped.

“I
t was not the Arcosians who conquered all the lands,” the professor said, “but the return of the sea kings. I apologize if I misled you.”

This had to be some dream, or even a joke, but to Karigan, the professor looked all too serious as he regarded her with a twitch of his mustache.

She glanced back at the portrait, and there it was in fine script beneath his picture, his name:
His Excellency Xandis I, Supreme Emperor.

Unable to contain herself, she blurted, “What in five hells is
he
doing here?”

Her voice echoed across the expanse of the mill floor, and the professor glanced around fearfully as if expecting someone or something to leap out of the shadows.

“You . . . you know the emperor?”

“I know him not as an emperor, but as a minor aristocrat distantly related to the king. A very irritating man.”

“I—I beg your pardon?” Clearly the professor had never heard anyone speak about his all-powerful emperor in such a way before.

“Xandis Pierce Amberhill,” she muttered.

“Yes, that is his name in full,” the professor replied with a puzzled expression.

“But is it really him?” Karigan mused. “He’d have died by now.” And then a mad laugh burbled out—she shouldn’t be here either, so why not him, too? But how? He had been nowhere near the looking mask when it broke, nowhere near Blackveil for all she knew.

“He is, er, undying,” the professor said.

“Undying?”

“The etherea. One would assume that the rumors about him learning how to prolong his life are correct.”

“Could it be a descendent?” Karigan murmured.

The professor shook his head. “Any offspring he’s begotten has been slain to prevent competition for his throne.”

It had to be the same Amberhill. She would know his face anywhere. She’d also seen stranger things during her time as a Green Rider, so why not an eternally lived Amberhill who was emperor of all the lands? She took one last look at the portrait, at Amberhill’s expression of smug self-confidence, even with the childish scribbles on his face, and she stumbled back to her chair, falling heavily into it and pressing her hand against her forehead. And she laughed some more. She could not help laughing. The professor watched her aghast.

Lord Amberhill, the annoying, arrogant aristocrat . . . But really, how much had she known about him? She knew he’d attempted to rescue Lady Estora when she was abducted by Mirwellian thugs working on behalf of Second Empire. He’d ended up helping Karigan, allowing her to escape from those very same thugs. He had seemed to know something about her special ability and had always taunted her about being the “vanishing lady.” Before she had left on the Blackveil expedition, she’d heard something about him leaving Sacor City, but not why or where he was going. She didn’t really care at the time. The last she’d seen of him was at the king’s masquerade ball, and he’d been full of his usual swagger.

How had he come to dominate Sacoridia and build an empire? Why had he chosen to oppress his own people and revive slavery? If he were the conqueror, that meant he was responsible for the death of King Zachary and probably most of her friends, as well. Her laughter ended abruptly and was replaced by a burning anger.

“How?” she demanded. “How did he become emperor?”

The professor, who had been gazing at her in incredulity, clasped his hands once more behind his back.

“He is the Sea King Reborn. He commanded the weapons that destroyed the Old City and caused the fall of all these nations.”

“Sea King Reborn? Amberhill? The sea kings are old history, gone a long time. Why would he think himself one?”

The professor shrugged. “I dedicated the first decade of my archeological research to the sea kings, trying to discover the answers to this and many other mysteries, and found almost nothing. Very few artifacts remain. Why the emperor should fancy himself the Sea King Reborn, I never discovered, but he had the power behind him. I was hoping by redirecting my research to more recent times in the ruins of the Old City that I could learn more, especially about these weapons he commanded and how they might be counteracted. With that power in our hands, we might be able to reclaim our sovereignty, our heritage.”

“I could ask him about it,” Karigan said on inspiration. “He knows me.”

The professor gripped the back of his chair to steady himself. “My dear, that would be suicide! Whatever you once knew of the man he was, he is not as he was. He does not negotiate, and past acquaintances are little safer in his presence than opponents. His temper is mercurial. Besides, he is not due to awaken for another three years.”

“Awaken?”

“Every ten years. I am not sure he actually sleeps, mind you, but he is at least sequestered during that time.”

“Then who is ruling the empire?”

“His inner circle of Adherents, at his sufferance. They take care of the day-to-day running of the empire. When the emperor rises, that’s when they receive his instructions, and he reviews what has happened during his sleep.” The professor shuddered. “We never look forward to the emperor’s rising.”

“Why?”

“That is when he makes a point of reminding his subjects of his authority. Examples are made to the populace—the streets run with blood. Criminals, dissidents, and innocents alike are purged.”

Karigan frowned. That didn’t sound like Amberhill, but she had not known him well. She suddenly felt very tired, the phosphorene lamps seemed barely able to hold the suffocating dark of night at bay. She watched as dust settled in the streams of light. She thought once again about why she’d been brought here, why the god of death had seen fit to intervene, and she couldn’t help but still believe that whatever had become of Sacoridia, and Amberhill’s involvement, was beneath Westrion’s notice. She’d been brought here for some other cause that had not yet been revealed to her.

Regardless of the death god’s plans for her, she knew that if she was able to find a way home to her own time, she would do whatever it took to stop Amberhill, to stop him from using his weapons, whatever they were, to conquer Sacoridia. She could not allow him to destroy everything—and everyone—she loved.

The professor stepped around his chair and sat with a creak. They gazed at one another, mirroring grim expressions.

“I have opposed the emperor in my own small way for most of my adult years,” the professor said, “but never have I felt such hope as when I came to believe that you are what you say you are. By whatever the miracle wrought by this looking mask of yours, or the old gods, that brought you to me, it is like a sign, and now that you say you knew the emperor when he was just a mortal man, I can only feel that the time has come.”

“For what?”

“To resist in earnest. It is time. And you shall help.”

Karigan shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She had not wanted to become involved in this world’s problems. Her duty was to get home with information. “How?”

“There must be things you know about the castle complex, its grounds. How it was all laid out.”

“Yes,” she said cautiously.

The professor leaned forward, now eager. “Earlier today on the outing you asked about Silk’s excavation. What he’s up to. Well, I’ll tell you. He plans to excavate the castle to its very foundations.”

Karigan stilled. A prickling ran up her arms.

“He will make some pretense at finding artifacts along the way, but I believe I know what he is truly after.”

“And that is?”

The professor slowly grinned beneath his mustache. It was a feral grin. “He seeks objects of an arcane nature, of course, in the very lowest regions of the castle. One in particular.”

Lowest regions of the castle.
Karigan’s frown deepened.

“It is said,” the professor continued, “that there were arcane devices, magical objects, stored in the royal tombs. Would you know anything about this?”

Karigan kept still. Tried to keep her expression neutral. “No, not really,” she lied. She still felt that need, that desire, that obligation to protect that which one did not openly discuss in her own time. “One hears the occasional rumor. The tombs themselves aren’t talked about. I suppose the king’s Weapons don’t want to deal with thieves trying to break in to steal valuables.” It sounded like a plausible answer to her, and not that far from the truth. She just didn’t admit how much she really knew and that she’d actually been in the tombs.

The professor stroked his mustache as if deciding how much to say and question. “There is a very good chance the tombs survived the destruction of the castle,” he said, “considering how deep beneath the ground they were placed. The only entrance we know of was through the royal chapel.”

Karigan nodded. “That is what I’ve heard.” She did not tell him she’d actually been through those doors.

“Have you ever heard of there being other entrances?”

Karigan paused, pretending to consider the question, then shook her head, unwilling to divulge such secrets. The professor looked disappointed.

“What is this arcane object Silk is after?”

The professor did not answer for they both started at a thudding sound echoing from somewhere deep in the mill building.

“I was not expecting Cade this evening,” the professor said tersely, and he slipped over to his desk and opened a drawer. From it he withdrew a gun weapon. Karigan shook her walking cane to staff length. In unspoken assent, they moved stealthily, but swiftly, across the floor to the entrance where they paused and listened. Footsteps clanged on the wrought iron steps as their intruder climbed.

Karigan adjusted her grip on the bonewood, and the professor pulled back a mechanism on his gun with a quiet click. As Karigan gazed at the gun, her eyes blurred. She looked away, blinking rapidly, and everything fell back into focus, but when she looked directly at the gun, it blurred again. She found she could look at it in general, or see it on the periphery of her vision, but she could not see it clearly when she looked directly at it.

She let the oddness pass as the footsteps grew nearer, louder, then paused.

“Professor?” a voice called.

“It is Cade,” the professor said in obvious relief, his hand that held the gun falling to his side. Karigan relaxed, but kept the bonewood at full length. “Come up, Old Button!”

Cade did, blinking in the light as he joined them. He set aside his taper and raised an eyebrow when he noted their weapons.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here,” Cade said. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come and do some training.”

The professor chuckled. “We were not, as you can see, expecting you either. I would not have come tonight, but Miss Goodgrave needed some things explained to her, and I in turn have discovered some startling information from her. She knows—or knew—our emperor personally.”

Cade glanced at Karigan in surprise, and the professor explained as the three of them strolled to the library sitting area. When they reached the big desk, Cade said, “It is difficult to envision the emperor as an ordinary, mortal man.”

“Clearly not ordinary if he became our emperor,” the professor said.

Karigan silently agreed. She’d known the swaggering nobleman, but there had to have been more to him that she hadn’t been able to see.

“I was just about to tell our Miss Goodgrave about what Silk is after.”

“I will make some tea.” Cade moved off to the kitchen area in the opposite corner, and Karigan resumed her seat, rolling the bonewood in her fingers, watching as Cade lit the tiny stove and placed a kettle of water on it, his movements calm, unhurried.

The professor did not wait for tea, and after returning his gun to its drawer, he began to explain.