Soulsworn (5 page)

A
Line of Blades

“T
hey’re gone. The count’s men left,” Lomin said as he entered the room.

Frowning, Aidah left Nerisse’s side and went to the window. Dawn’s light crept across Garangal, illuminating tiled roofs, dirty streets, and the bustle of people early to rise. Plumes of smoke rose from chimneys. She sought out the alcoves along the adjacent building and the alley where the Blades had waited. They were empty.
Praise the Dominion.
“Why do you think they left? And when?”

“I don’t know why.” He cast a glance toward the bed where Clara and Nerisse still slept. “But it happened just after the power Nerisse used.” Lomin was squinting at Nerisse now, brow beaded with sweat. “I know of only one thing that could infuse such soul into a melder, and the addiction it causes has driven more than a few of them mad.”

Aidah scowled at the Blade’s fearful expression. “And despite how you may feel, it seems to have dissuaded our enemies.”

“Maybe, but then that might not be so good.”

“My children’s survival says the opposite. The Dominion has answered my prayers and provided a way out. That’s all that matters.”

“Sometimes the answer to a prayer isn’t all that it seems.”

“Regardless, it’s an answer,” she snapped, “and so far it’s a good one.” He opened his mouth to speak. “You’re not here to question me, but to protect us. That’s all I need from you.”

Lomin looked as if she’d slapped him in the face. He bowed stiffly. “Understood, m’lady. What would you have of me now?”

“When do you think it will be safe for us to leave?”

“There’s no telling, but I would say the sooner the better, before they decide to return.”

Aidah nodded. “I would agree. If you have the men needed, then prepare the wagons. We leave as soon as Nerisse wakes.”

“As you say. If there’s nothing more?”

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Lomin bowed again, turned on his heels, and left.

Aidah ordered breakfast and waited. As she watched the children sleep, it pained her to know they were no longer innocent. The Empire’s harsh realities had stripped that from them. She wished she could give it back, but all she had to offer now was a path to survival. They would lead the way. Kesta must have recognized the potential when he set out to train them in soul magic. Despite her trepidation she whispered thanks to her dead husband.

A serving girl delivered the food. Aidah sat at the table to eat but found she had little appetite even with the meal’s appetizing aroma. Lost in thought she picked at the eggs and barely noticed the cinnamon when she sipped the coffee.

Nerisse was the first to wake. Power resided in the girl’s eyes, and although Aidah could not see it, she felt it, a sensation that demanded attention, forced her to glance in her daughter’s direction. At the same time it made her avert her gaze when Nerisse looked upon her.

“How do you feel,” Aidah asked.

“Almost like a different person.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good, I suppose.” Nerisse looked down at her forearms, face filled with wonderment. “The one other time I partook of the remains, it was a tiny amount. Father wanted to see my reaction. That was a pittance compared to this power. Why didn’t Father keep it to himself? He might still be alive if he had it at his disposal.”

“He did have it. That box wasn’t the only one.” Aidah nodded toward the empty container.

“And he
still
died?”

Aidah shrugged, melancholy easing over her like a dark cloud. “When your father gave the Dracodar remains to me, he made me promise to remind you of the shortcomings. He said you aren’t all-powerful despite what you might think or feel. And you will tire faster when you meld, so do so sparingly, reserving your strength for dire circumstances.”

“Yes, I remember.” Disappointment colored Nerisse’s tone.

“Whatever you feel might be tempting, but please take heed of your father’s warning.”

“I will, Mother, I promise,” Nerisse said. “Now tell me what happened while I slept.”

The girl listened to Aidah’s retelling of the morning’s events as she ate. She was on her third helping of eggs, creamed oats, coffee, and apple pastries by the time Clara sat up.

Clara rubbed at her eyes. She squinted at Nerisse and Aidah. “Mama? Neri?”

“Yes, pumpkin?” Aidah strode to her daughter’s bedside and picked her up.

“I had a dream.” Clara clung to Aidah’s neck. “A bad man said Papa and Gaston were dead. And then another man was trying to take me from you and Neri.”

Aidah stiffened. At first she considered not telling her daughter the truth, but Clara would know she lied. Instead, she said, “Remember when I told you a time will come when the Gods ask us to live with them?” Clara nodded. “Papa and Gaston have gone to be with the Dominion.” A low moan issued from Clara’s lips, the air warm and wet on Aidah’s neck. “It’s fine, my little pumpkin, they’re in a happier place now. As for this man, that was just a dream. I’ll never let anyone take you.”

“Neither will I,” Nerisse said. She came over, hugged Aidah with one arm, and stroked her sister’s head with the other.

They remained that way for a while, comforting each other. Aidah needed it as much as her children. Their closeness, the smell and feel of them, gave her a sense of completeness, a sense of purpose.

Nerisse led Clara to the table while Aidah prepared the little girl’s breakfast. Soon Clara was eating with as much gusto as her sister had been. Aidah smiled. The girls talked and laughed with each other, almost making Aidah forget their current predicament. A knock on the door, followed by Lomin’s voice, served as a grim reminder. The girls finished up promptly, and wrapped in the folds of hooded cloaks, they snuck down to the wagons.

Lomin had hired ten other fighting men as part of their escort. He sent them outside Garangal in separate pairings so as not to draw attention to the full group. Aran and Lomin remained with Aidah and the children. When the time came for them to leave they slipped in among a stream of wagons and people leaving the town to head north. Aidah peeked outside on several occasions, expecting to see Blades giving chase. All she saw was the other refugees. Before long her wagons were trundling along the Empire Road as the sun cast its glow across rolling plains and farmland.

A week avoiding small towns and villages brought them to a field within sight of Torens, a quarter of the way to the Chanting City. The girls had spent most of the trip playing. Clara acted almost as if things were normal. She did have one or two moments where she would become melancholy, but it pleased Aidah to see her smile. However, nightmares still plagued Clara’s sleep. She often whispered of Gaston and Kesta. Worst of all, she mumbled about the stranger she feared would take her. Clara had also renamed two of her dolls after her father and brother. She would often have them fight against an unseen foe.

Nerisse seemed to be like her sister as far as a happier demeanor, but Aidah saw the difference in the girl: the wary eyes, the focus at night or at dawn as she watched the road behind them, or scowled in the direction of refugees who came too close to the wagons. The times she kept watch were the most unsettling. Nerisse would sit for hours without moving as she stared out the slit of an opening at the wagon’s rear. Each evening she practiced with Lomin.

The new guards had been introduced on the first day. Lomin appointed Kitesh, a grizzled, gap-toothed Kasinian, as the lead scout. The Blade said the men were cyclers, capable of simple soul magic but not the ability to meld. Apparently all Kasinian melders were heading for Kasandar where King Ainslen offered a most generous pay for their services.

Aidah didn’t quite grasp the difference between the two types, other than in strength, but she was glad the men did have some kind of power. Better a little than nothing. Other than Kitesh, Lomin kept them separate from her and the children, which was much to her liking. Even in her current predicament a sense of station had to be maintained.

Lomin brought the wagons to the far side of a series of slopes that hid them from Torens and the Empire Road and set up camp. He sent Aran with five of the armsmen to procure supplies. Two of the other men were sent to watch the Empire Road with a third taking up position in a copse of oak trees atop a hill, their leaves ruddy orange.

The sky was a washed out blue, clear for miles, Mandrigal a golden orb that somehow seemed dull. The world itself was darker, less alive, the foods she once enjoyed no longer so tasty. Every day was a struggle to rise. Faith and the children kept her going. If she relinquished her grasp on either she knew she would give in and succumb to despair. So it had been for her since she accepted that Kesta and Gaston were dead.

Aidah took a seat on one of the stools she’d brought. Both Lomin and Nerisse had claimed the day was unusually warm, but all Aidah felt was a chill that made her wish she’d kept her coat. One of the byagas brayed before returning to its contented grazing, picking the sparse green amongst mostly yellowed grass. Nerisse was lying on a nearby blanket, eyes closed. Beside her, Clara played with her dolls, humming one of the songs Kesta often sang to her. Thankful they had gotten this far, Aidah whispered a prayer.

Afternoon slipped into evening as they waited for Aran, Mandrigal’s light leaking away. The wind swirled for a moment, a cold gust that rustled the grass before it died down. Lomin turned four rabbits on a spit while the other two guards, Borin and Nartal, kept watch near the wagons. Aidah found herself wishing for the food she had in Garangal.

A giggle made her glance in Clara’s direction to see the little girl chasing after a kagin fly, its feathery wings a swirl of red and blue the size of a palm. Clara stopped, brows furrowed, hand outstretched. The kagin fly’s wings flitted quickly, and then it turned toward Clara, glided, and came to rest in her palm. Joy to match Mandrigal’s glow radiated in Clara’s features. Aidah smiled. She’d never seen a kagin fly do that before, but surely it had to be a good sign, one from the Gods.

Lomin strode over from the cook fire. “Good to see her like this.”

“Yes, it is.” Aidah paused, hesitant, before she pushed on. “How’s her soul?”

“More stable, but sometimes it seems to disappear, as if she has none at all. I’ve never seen a person’s soul do that before, but each person is different, and there’s much that’s still a mystery.”

“Is it a bad thing?”

Lomin shrugged. “Not as far as I can tell. I’ll still keep an eye on her.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Lomin returned to the cookfire to tend to his rabbits.

Movement beyond Clara caught Aidah’s attention. Atop the hill, just outside the copse of oak, Kitesh leaped onto his horse. He flapped his reins and dug his heels into the animal’s flanks to send it bolting toward the camp. Aidah’s smile faded.

“I hear horses.” Nerisse sat up and stared toward the line of hills.

“It’s one of the guards,” Aidah said, trying to dismiss the unease she felt. Kitesh’s mount cut through the grass, hooves thudding.

“No, not him. They’re coming from the south along the Empire Road. Lots of them.”

“Clara!” Aidah yelled, snapping her head around to where she’d last seen her daughter. Clara was some distance away now, laughing and running a jagged pattern. Aidah could just make out the dark blot of the kagin fly as it glided ahead of her. “CLARA!” The girl kept running.

A blur from the cookfire became Lomin, traveling at a speed she would have considered impossible had she not witnessed it. He reached Clara’s side in a few heartbeats.

Kitesh entered the camp area at the same moment. He leaped from his mount and ran for his bow.

The sound reached Aidah then. The thunder of hooves. Hundreds of hooves.

Aidah ran toward her daughter and Lomin. A quick look toward the hilltop stilled her heart.

The first horses topped a rise to the south. Armed men and women sat astride each mount. More and more soldiers gained the slopes, stretching in a long line.

Lomin met her with Clara in his arms. Aidah snatched her daughter and hugged her tight, gaze riveted on the soldiers who stood silently along the hilltops. One or two horses stamped their hooves in impatience. No banners or uniforms announced who they might be. They were all dressed in nondescript woolens and cloaks. Clutching Clara, Aidah backed away until she was among the wagons once more.

“Put those down.” Lomin held a hand out toward the three armsmen who had drawn bowstrings to their ears. The men complied.

“I could destroy half of them before they got any closer,” Nerisse said. Her voice was a cold, dead thing.

“No, you couldn’t,” Lomin said. “They might no longer wear their uniforms, but those are all King’s Blades. And even if you managed to kill half of them, what of the other half?”

Dear Gods,
Aidah thought. She envisioned Ainslen somewhere among them, come to finish what he started in Kasandar, come to kill her and the children. She held tighter to Clara. Fear dried her mouth, prickled her skin like the wind’s chilled breath.

“It’s better than doing nothing,” Nerisse replied.

“Nerisse, remember what your father said,” Aidah snapped.

A space opened in the lines and a horse passed through. Atop it was a woman Aidah knew only too well.

Queen Terestere descended the hill.

A
City of Hope

T
erestere’s horse approached at a walk until the woman was no more than twelve feet away. A chill breeze ruffled hair black as a raven’s wings. Behind her, the line of Blades remained motionless. The former queen wore clothes more befitting a man: a pair of loose, black riding britches and a short tan coat with golden scrollwork along the arms. Despite her garb she rode with a stately grace, chin up, expression unconcerned, her mount moving as if it glided across the uneven ground. She was a small woman, almost childlike in size, but the way she carried herself made her dominate the surroundings. A pronounced jaw and sharp chin had replaced delicate features.
Had she lost weight?
Aidah frowned. When her gaze met Terestere’s amber eyes, Aidah looked away.

Aidah envisioned the emotions roiling within the queen. The hate, the despair, the grief. Most of all, a need for vengeance. A tear trickled down Aidah’s cheek as she considered Clara and Nerisse. As their mother, her job was to protect them, keep them safe. She had failed.
Perhaps if I beg for mercy, not for myself, but for the children’s sake, then maybe—

“Auntie Teres,” Clara exclaimed, struggling to get down from Aidah’s arms. Aidah held tight.

“M-Mother,” Nerisse said. “I-I can’t move.” The words were more a plea for help than anything else.

Lomin stepped forward, placing himself between Terestere and Aidah. Facing the queen, he got down on one knee, a hand on his sword hilt. “Mother.”

Aidah’s eyes shot open. The word wasn’t said with the familiar undertones of parent and child, but with more respect, formality, like that of a loyal subject. Her breath caught in her throat at the implications. Grimacing, she gave a slight shake of her head. First, Derega, and now, Lomin.
It cannot be. It cannot be. Gods, please don’t make it so.

“It is good to see you again, Lomin the Suicidal Blade. Your name precedes you.” A glint of fondness lit Terestere’s eyes as she regarded the man. “Rise and give an old woman a hand. I’m no longer as spry as I once was.” Lomin stood and strode to Terestere. He helped her dismount. “Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” he said before positioning himself behind her like a bodyguard. His expression was blank, cold even.

The queen acknowledged him with a nod. She regarded Aidah with an amber-eyed gaze that felt as if it saw through her. Terestere offered a smile and a slight dip of her head. Icy prickles crept down Aidah’s back. “My dear, Aidah, I’m so sorry for your loss. I know what it must feel like … the pain, the sorrow, but at least you and the girls are still alive.”

The mention of the children made Aidah tighten her grip on Clara. The girl peered at Terestere without a trace of fear or concern. Aidah’s mind raced. If she could somehow run past the woman and leap on the horse.
And you’ll do this while carrying Clara?
Don’t be stupid. If she’s preventing Nerisse from moving, then she could kill you with a wave of her hand.
Aidah swallowed. “Why … Why did you come here?”

“Out of concern.”

Aidah scowled. “They look more like vengeance to me.” She lifted her chin toward the line of Blades along the hilltops.

“My Blade captain insisted. He’s a most troublesome man, more like a hound, in fact. He does not give up on an idea once he’s gotten wind of it, particularly when my safety is involved. Anyway, I approached on my own in hopes that you would understand I mean no harm to you and yours.”

“And the reason for holding Nerisse captive?”

“That is not my doing, but I suspect it was done to save her from making a grievous error.”

“It’s not her, Mother,” Nerisse said, voice strained. “The meld belongs to Lomin.”

“Traitor! You dare,” Aidah snarled, lips curled as she shot a glance in Lomin’s direction. The Blade gave the slightest flinch and averted his eyes for the briefest of moments before his face was again a stony mask.

“Oh, stop it,” Terestere said. “You cannot be so blind as to not realize that he saved your daughter’s life. Had he allowed her to attack, my Blades would have responded in kind. If I were here for vengeance I would have sat atop the hill while they went about the task. Lomin is no more traitor than one of my Blades. From young they are taught that the king and queen come first above all else. You cannot fault him for that. I
am
still his queen.”

Clara leaned into Aidah and whispered, “Auntie Teres is telling the truth, Mama.”

“You should listen to Clara. She has a gift.”

“I know.”

“She’s also the reason I’m here. You, as well.” The queen paused. Her expression became tender. “I know how you feel. I lost a husband and a child too. Not to mention other members of my family. The pain you’re experiencing lives within me. I no more blame you for what happened than I could blame your children. Jemare’s demise was part of Far’an Senjin. It was to be expected. For me, that is where it should end.”

“I doubt Melinden, Cardinton, or Adelfried feel the same.”

“Do you see any of them here? Your children are like my own. I would protect them with my life.”

Such conviction existed in those words, in those unflinching amber eyes that Aidah’s animosity and distrust melted. She remembered the Terestere that would tutor Clara and Nerisse, the kind, gentle wife of a ruthless king. A woman who gave to the Smear’s residents, who would walk among them despite any threat they might pose. Aidah could never have done the same. “It’s fine, Nerisse, we can trust her.” Tension eased from Aidah’s shoulders.

Within moments the girls were hugging Terestere and crying and laughing as if they had found a long lost family member. They talked about the good times until twilight swathed the sky in burnt orange and purple bruises. Lomin made a campfire around which Aidah and Terestere sat. The queen’s Blades formed a perimeter around the campsite, lighting their own fires. Aran returned, a cart laden with supplies. One of the queen’s men prepared a meal of venison, potatoes, pumpkin soup, and fruit for which Aidah was grateful.

After the children finished their supper, Aidah and Terestere saw them off to bed. Aidah sang one of Clara’s favorite songs while stroking the little girl’s head. When she left the wagon, the stars were glittering jewels upon a black sheet, Antelen a glowing silver coin that lit the fields and made silhouettes of the hillsides. A creeping cold had replaced any semblance of the day’s warmth and made her glad for the campfire.

She sat beside the queen, inhaled deeply, and asked, “Do you know how Kesta and Gaston died?” Her hands shook.

“My ears said that Ainslen sent a group of his Farlander melders to Antelen Hill, the same as he did against the other counts he deemed a threat to his rule.”

Aidah squeezed her eyes shut. “And my son?”

“Killed by one of Ainslen’s Blades at the auction. That was where the fighting began between the nobles and the Consortium. Ainslen used that chaos to begin Succession Day. King Jemare barely made it out of Mandrigal Hill, but by the time he got home Ainslen’s Farlanders had already begun their assault on the Golden Spires. I saw what Ainslen did to him in the throne room. He tore him apart.” Terestere’s voice was haunted, eyes distant.

“Why was Gaston at the auction?”

“They say he went there with Ainslen’s son, Winslow, trying to catch a glimpse at a box of Dracodar remains up for sale that day.”

“I warned Kesta about Ainslen,” Aidah said, voice tremulous. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I warned him, but he didn’t listen. And Gaston too. When one of the other counts had an assassin try to kill Gaston one night, I told Kesta that I suspected Ainslen. Gaston was supposed to stay away from that man’s son. He promised me. He promised.” She couldn’t stop her body from shaking. “They’re gone, they’re both gone. What am I supposed to do now? What are the girls supposed to do? My life is over, theirs is over. Dear Gods, help me.”

“I’m here to help you.” Terestere stood before Aidah and drew her close. “But remember, more than anything else, the girls need you now. You must be their anchor, their rock in the storms to come. Look to them whenever you doubt what must be done. You still possess riches that might be coveted in any land. The Empire isn’t the only place left for you. The world is big and wide, and you will find a place in it again.”

“I prayed and I prayed,” Aidah said, “and still it wasn’t enough.”

“Prayer is a strange thing. The Gods don’t always deliver what we ask for as we envisioned.”

Aidah cried, head resting on the queen’s britches, inhaling the scent of horse and days spent on the road. She relived countless precious moments with her husband and son. The pain of such loss felt like it would last forever.

“Dear, dear, go ahead, let your grief out,” Terestere murmured, rubbing Aidah gently. “You’ve held it in for too long.”

And so Aidah let out her sorrow, as much of it as she could. A weight lifted from her shoulders as she sobbed. Slowly, something burned deeper inside her like coals stoked by a bellows. A need. A need to see her suffering repaid in kind.

At some point during her grieving, Lomin had placed a cloak around her shoulders and had made a pot of coffee. When Aidah finally found a semblance of emotional control, the queen passed her a cup of the steaming drink.

“Curate Montere told me why you came to the chantry.” Terestere took a sip from her own cup. “What brought forth Clara’s skill?”

Aidah inhaled the coffee’s strong scent and sighed. She’d avoided thinking of Clara’s ability the last few days, but the dreams always reminded her. Images of them filled her with dread. “Lomin says she was induced. He thinks it was Kesta’s doing.”

“Well, yes, she would have to be induced to meld at such an early age, but for her to use what she did, something must have caused it.” Terestere took another sip. “In most melders such activation results from dire circumstances, oftentimes one that involves a life threatening situation or being forced to push beyond a limit.”

“Blade Derega came to the estate. He said Kesta and Gaston had been slaughtered. And then he threatened to kill Nerisse, Clara, and I.”

Terestere nodded. “Yes, that would do it.”

“Mere words?”

“No. Intent. The same way that Clara can tell truth from lie, she must be able to feel a person’s intent.”

“Like Nerisse can at times,” Aidah mused. She sipped her coffee, the taste of cinnamon and the warmth offered by the drink a welcome comfort.

“Yes.”

“Lomin claimed that this induction, this ability to meld at such a young age might drive Clara mad or kill her as she uses too much soul.” Aidah couldn’t believe the calmness of the words even as she uttered them. Deep down, her stomach tied itself in knots. She did not voice the question she wanted to ask.

“It
will
do both … not might,” Terestere said softly.

Aidah shuddered. She stared off into the sky at the face of her patron God. “Is there nothing to be done? Th-that’s why I went to the chantry. Lomin said perhaps the wisemen might …” Her voice trailed off.

Terestere reached over and held Aidah’s hand. The queen’s grasp offered some warmth, and Aidah latched onto it. “There is a chance to change the outcome, to reverse the effect, but … no, there’s too much risk involved.”

Aidah placed her cup on a stool. “Please, tell me.” Desperate with hope, she grabbed Terestere’s hand with both of hers, squeezing tight. “Please. I will do anything to save my Clara. You said yourself that she’s like one of your own, so you
must
feel the same way.”

“I do, and that’s the very reason I hesitate. I’d be placing all of you in even more danger.”

“The Order can protect us once we reach Melanil.”

“No, they won’t. They are part of what worries me.”

Aidah frowned at the queen’s words. “We’ll be safe there, won’t we? No one would dare break the Precepts. They are more than just tradition; they carry the Dominion’s will.”

“Under normal circumstances I would agree, however, these are anything but normal times.”

“And what of Clara? Surely the Order has a cure for her ailment.”

“It’s more likely for them to use her, make her one of them,” Terestere said. “Not only are Mesmers rare, they are among the most powerful melders. A gifted one could make a person believe almost anything. Separating reality from illusion becomes near impossible. Under a Mesmer’s spell, legends and myths can live in a person’s mind. In hopes of gaining the most gifted melders in the Empire, the Order raises them as a farmer does a crop, and cultivates them when they’re ripe. Even mentioning her induction to any of them will spark interest as to the ability she earned from its use.”

“But she’s my daughter.”

“In most records, yes, but the Order keeps a detailed list of every child taken on the Day of Accolades and the nobles to whom they were given. A provision exists in their Precepts that allows them to place any such child of their choosing into the Order to serve the Dominion.”

“They cannot have Clara.” Aidah made a fist. “I won’t let them.”

“Neither will I.”

“So what can we do? Curate Montere already knows Clara’s a Mesmer.”

“Which is why I had him taken care of, but he sent out two riders, one to the Grand Chantry, and one to Kasandar. My men search for them now. Whatever we do, Clara must not fall into the king’s hands. He will partake of her soul.”

Stunned, Aidah put a hand over her mouth. Surely the woman couldn’t mean … but Terestere’s grim expression offered confirmation of Aidah’s thoughts. The image of the king with a box containing Clara’s remains made her retch. It took a few moments with Terestere offering comfort for Aidah to gather herself.

“Surely you can tell someone?” Aidah’s mind reeled. “The Order, perhaps one of the other kingdoms.”

“And they would do what? I doubt they would believe any one of us. Besides, as heinous as the act sounds, is it much different from what Nerisse did? From what other nobles have done?”

“It is different!”

“In your eyes it might be, because it’s your little Clara. Regardless, things are what they are and Ainslen is the king. Your word wouldn’t mean much against his. Neither will mine.”