Reign of Shadows (24 page)

After
a short time, the Magria opened her eyes and looked up into the face of her
deputy.

She
forced open her lips, felt them tremble. “Anas,” she whispered.

“Gently,
“Anas soothed her. She spread a blanket across the Magria and smoothed its
folds. Then she washed the Magria’s face gently with cool clean linen. “Take
your time. I have brought wine for you.”

The
Magria nodded, sitting up, and Anas brought the cup to her lips. The Magria
drank deeply of the golden liquid. It was dry, yet rich with flavor, supremely
restorative.

She
sighed, feeling strength flow back into her veins. But her fear and disquiet
did not lessen. Taking the cup, she gestured Anas away.

The
deputy folded her hands within her sleeves and stepped back. Well trained, she
waited with serene eyes.

The
Magria pushed away the blanket and climbed off the revival stone. She leaned
cautiously against it for moment until she had tested the strength of her legs.
She was drained entirely. She longed to sink back into oblivion and sleep for a
thousand years.

Then
with a blink, the Magria’s memory returned. She recalled the vision and its
terrible message. Her mouth went dry, and when she tried to sip more wine her
teeth chattered against the cup.

“There
is no hurry,” Anas said. “Rest longer, Excellency, until you are stronger.”

The
Magria turned her head sharply to look at the deputy. “Did you see it?” she
demanded. “Any of it?”

Anas
hesitated, then lowered her gaze. “I saw blood,” she admitted.

The
Magria hissed and slammed down her cup. “Anything else?”

“No,
Excellency.”

The
Magria glared at her and said nothing. After a moment Anas raised her eyes and
met the Magria’s steadily.

“You
know the danger of that,” the Magria said, deliberately letting anger fill her
voice.

Anas
did not flinch. “I could not withstand all of it. Blood seeped from the walls.
It ran among us, filling the floor. The hems of the sisters’ robes were soaked
with it.”

The
Magria turned away to hide her own fresh rush of fear. “Did anyone else see
this?”

“No.
All remained veiled.”

Relief
steadied the Magria. That at least was a mercy. She was in no mood to conduct a
purge. Not now when there was so much to do. “The sisterhood has grown lax,”
she said, keeping her voice harsh. The tone masked much, and she did not intend
for Anas to know anything other than what she chose to reveal. It was not easy
to come to terms with a vision of her own death. She needed time for that, time
that she did not have.

When
she turned back to the deputy, she was in command of herself again. Her gaze
was icy, and this time when she raked it across Anas, she had the satisfaction
of seeing her deputy frown.

“Forgive
me, Excellency,” Anas said. “I alone transgressed.”

“You
have been trained better than this.”

“Yes.”

The
Magria studied her, critical and still angry, but finding new shades of meaning
in what had transpired. Anas was making no excuses, no justifications. That
meant there was no deceit involved.

“You
did resist.”

Anas
nodded, looking troubled. “With all my strength. I know it is forbidden to
share a vision. I know the dangers.”

The
Magria narrowed her eyes. Yes, Anas knew the dangers very well. Her predecessor
had been a fool who let driving ambition overcome caution. She had interfered
in several visionings, until the day one of them killed her. Watching a
visioning occur unveiled, yet resisting the temptation to share in it, was the
final stage of training for a deputy. Until a sister passed successfully, she
could not be considered a true ally, or an eventual successor to the Magria.

Anas
had always been levelheaded and intelligent. She let patience temper her
ambitions, which was the foundation of wisdom. She had much potential, and the
Magria liked her.

If
Anas said she could not resist, then that meant she had tried very hard. She
must be afraid, although she hid it well. The Magria studied the deputy and
found the skin around her eyes a bit tighter than usual. Her serenity was
impeccable, but proving hard to maintain.

Satisfied,
the Magria ceased to blame Anas for the mistake. The vision had been extremely
strong, and that meant they had little time in which to act.

She
glanced at the exit that led back to the sanctum. “Are they waiting?”

Anas
shook her head. “I dismissed them. You have been unconscious for nearly six
hours.”

“Ah.”
More evidence of the power of this vision. And its truth. The Magria walked
back into the sanctum, feeling the grit stick to the salve that Anas had
smeared on the burned soles of her feet.

Anas
followed, carrying a robe folded neatly over her arm. The Magria ignored the
unspoken hint. She was not yet ready to be clothed. Robes were artifice and
concealment. She wanted to think without either restriction.

Climbing
the dais on legs that remained weak, she sank onto the stone chair with a faint
sigh and frowned at the sand pit below.

All
lay quiet. The candles had burned out, leaving the sanctum plunged in shadow.
Anas moved about without haste, lighting fresh ones. Only cold ashes remained
of the fire. The serpents had been left in the sand pit. They were ordinary
brown snakes again, restlessly seeking prey.

The
Magria extended her hand, and a small pale mouse appeared on her palm.

She
released it into the sand pit. The snakes sensed it at once and turned. The
mouse scampered back and forth in increasing panic, then froze, whiskers
quivering, as the first snake reached it.

We
are mice, the Magria thought, turning her gaze away from the creature’s
destruction. Our time is dwindling quickly.

She
stared at the mutilation scars on her arms, remembering the past when her old
dugs had been firm and ripe, when her body had been strong and young, when she
had felt the five powers coursing through her, sustaining her where she had no
wisdom.

“Excellency,”
Anas said softly. That one quiet word revealed her worry.

The
Magria turned to her. “No, I am not slipping back into the void,” she said
wearily. “Fear not.”

“You
are troubled.”

The
Magria pushed aside her emotions. “Stop hinting. I shall tell you soon enough.
I must.”

Anas
betrayed herself with a tiny smile. She had always possessed poise beyond her
experience. And now that the Magria had not reprimanded her for having shared
in the visioning, it seemed her natural confidence was returning.

She
said nothing else, but she was waiting. It was her place to be told first,
ahead of the sisterhood. She would expect the whole truth, not just part of it.
That was her right, as well as her responsibility, for being the deputy.

But
the Magria had no intention of sharing everything. Until her fear was mastered,
she did not dare.

“At
last, I have been shown the future of our world,” the Magria said. “The world
approaches ... chaos.”

Anas
blinked. “This is hardly unforeseen,” she said impatiently. “Death is coming to
the emperor. There are few in the world who have known anyone but him as its
center.”

“He
will die soon. This final incarnation will not be as long as the others,” the
Magria said firmly.

“Then
the rumors that say he will find the means to bargain anew for his life are
false?”

“Yes.”

Anas
drew in a satisfied breath. “Ah.”

“The
laws of time have been bent as far as possible, and the shadow gods are
impatient to end the bargain. They will claim him soon.”

“He
shall be glad to die,” Anas said with a lack of mercy that made the Magria
flinch. Anas stood straight and slender in her black robes. Her eyes were blue
and clear. “A thousand years is enough. Most men would find it an intolerable
burden.”

“Most,”
the Magria agreed wearily. She sipped again at the wine she had brought with
her, needing its help. “But he is not like most.”

“He
will die in the arms of Beloth,” Anas said fiercely.

“He
will find death ten times harder, to match the number of times he has cheated
it.”

“His
death will come from the hand of one he trusts,” the Magria said bleakly. She
glanced up. “When does the bride arrive for our training?”

“Lord
Albain has sent word. She comes to us in two weeks.”

The
Magria sipped her wine and let the silence grow.

Anas’s
eyes widened. “Our future empress will—”

The
Magria lifted her hand in warning. “Much of that remains unclear,” she said.
But her mind was busy turning over the interpretation of her vision. The
empress-elect would resist her training, would resist the emperor. As for the
blue and the green ... who were these men? Blue would be Prince Tirhin, but the
green? No answer came to her. A mystery. The woman whom destiny had chosen as
Kostimon’s final empress would be embroiled in that mystery.

And
I,
thought the Magria,
will die when the emperor dies.

Death
she did not fear. Death at the hands of Beloth, god of destruction—yes, she
feared that most implicitly.

“And
the child we want from this union?” Anas asked, bringing the Magria’s thoughts
back to the present. “Was it
foretold?”

“Unclear.”

“How
are we to train this bride if we do not know—”

“We
have more to do than teach a girl how to become a queen,” the Magria snapped. “Civil
war is coming. The land will inn bloody, and we will not be able to stand apart
from what transpires,”

“Are
we in danger, then? All the Penestrican orders?”

“The
gravest,” the Magria said grimly. “Beloth has awakened.”

Alias’s
eyes widened. “And . . . Mael?” She spoke the dreaded name very quietly. It was
unwise to invoke the name of the goddess of destruction, that fearsome mate of
Beloth. She walked clothed in famine and plague. With the distaff of suffering,
she spun the fates of the doomed. The return of both was only a matter of time,
thanks to Kostimon’s opening of the gates.

The
Magria shook her head. “I was shown much. I shall have to meditate long to
understand it all.”

“Will
you try another visioning?”

The
Magria did not answer.

Anas
compressed her lips. “When will we have the answers we seek? Every delay only
drives us farther away from power. How are we to train the bride if we do not
understand the path that will be victorious for our purposes?”

There
it was, the hunger and ambition that drove Anas, revealed for an instant like a
flash of lightning at the window. The Magria tucked the knowledge into a pocket
of her mind, satisfied that Anas had not yet completely mastered her emotions.
Until then, she remained an ally, not a threat.

“What
is to come is not yet determined. Destiny does not speak it. Another visioning
will tell us no more than we know now.” The Magria glanced up sharply. “Be
assured the Vindicants know nothing more than we do. No one has the advantage
right now.”

Anas
began to pace back and forth. Her black robes rustled about her, and in sudden
impatience she untied her lacings and took off the garment. Leaving it beside
the Magria’s, she seemed freer and more at ease. She had the kind of body that
pleased men, but she was not destined for such a purpose.

“What
are your instructions?” Anas asked. “Do I change the bride’s training?”

“Yes.”

Anas
slopped pacing. “Resta has prepared the usual course to teach the girl
receptiveness to seduction and the arts of—”

“No,”
the Magria said sharply. She pressed together the scars that crisscrossed her
palms, remembering their legacy. “I shall teach her myself.”