The Cedna (Tales of Blood & Light Book 2) (28 page)

W
e
traveled back
to Shankar by carriage, passing through Golddam, a small town of industry on the eastern shore of Lake Tashriga, where we picked up Jenesis’s ashes, and from there, south across mountainous country and into the fertile foothills of northwestern Ricknagel Province.

I kept the curtains open in the carriage I shared with Sterling. Prairie sprawled to the west, empty and barren. The grasses grew high on either side of the road, yellow and thick. No birds soared in the sky. The dry stillness of the land unnerved me, bringing to mind the lifeless Kaluq tundra.

“It’s strange,” I whispered, pushing forward in my seat to stare into the waving yellow horizon.

“What is?” Sterling slumped in the carriage seat opposite me.

“The grass. If you were lost inside it, it would be almost like drowning. It looks like water. Golden water, stretching as far as the eye can see.”

Sterling huffed. “We won’t get lost in it, Serafina. There’s a road. It leads to Fosillen.”

Fosillen was picturesque, with blue and white buildings embellished by silver metal signs and potted citrus trees. The residents wore colors to match the city, so even the traffic flashed by in a blue and white blur. I couldn’t help staring, though Sterling laughed at me.

“Serafina, you’re like a child who’s never been away from home! I thought you were well-traveled.”

“I’ve never seen anywhere like this. Everything matches.”

“Fosillen was originally meant to be Province Ricknagel’s center of magical power. This is where the Ophirae were sent after they were made from the Crystal Pillars.”

“The Ophirae?” I recalled the round green stone I’d seen in her father’s study. “Such as the one your father has?”

“Yes. My father has the Emerald one and my Aunt Siomar has the Moonstone. We’re headed to Siomar’s house—she lives here in Fosillen. Sho-mar,” Sterling added. “She hates it when people say her name wrong.”

Siomar Ricknagel’s house had to be the finest in Fosillen, excepting her neighbor’s place. Both dwellings rose, tall and narrow, into the city skyline. Siomar’s was topped with a curving cupola, vaulted and glassy, that reminded me of the spire of a temple. Her neighbor had a similar tower.

“Mageglass,” Sterling explained when she saw me staring again.

I continued to gaze upwards at the cupolas while Ricknagel and Sterling greeted Siomar’s household. Mage-crafted architecture took getting used to—so much delicate glass rising so impossibly. I’d seen mageglass in Galantia, but I’d never entered a building made of the stuff before.

“Xander, thank Amassis you’re here!” Tall and slender, Siomar Ricknagel, Xander’s sister, rushed Xander, Kyro, Sterling, and myself into a private entertaining solar, closing the door forcibly behind us. I had seen her only briefly at Costas Galatien’s Marriage Brokering.

Everything about the woman spoke of panic. Her voluminous white robes were disarrayed, and her hair fell down in golden straggles from its pins. Her almond-shaped blue eyes and prominent cheekbones marked her relationship to Xander. Creases of worry marred her forehead.

“What is it, Siomar?” Ricknagel took her hands. “You’re freezing! Are you suffering from the drainage sickness?”

“Xander!” Her voice rose. “Oh, Xander, I swear it wasn’t my fault!”

“Siomar, what are you talking about? What is going on?” Ricknagel tried to hide his strain. His sister had not even offered him condolences on his wife’s death.

“My stone!” Siomar shrieked. “They’ve stolen my stone!”

“Your Ophira?” Ricknagel said. “It’s missing? Who? Who stole it?”

“The Galatiens, of course! I tell you, I could kill him!” Siomar paced, her hands clawing at her destroyed hairstyle. “It happened at the Brokering.”

“Siomar, sit down.” Xander spoke in an icy tone. “Sit down and start from the beginning. Why didn’t you tell me you had lost your Ophira immediately? The Brokering was half a year ago!”

“The beginning? The beginning?” She threw her hands up. “Where is the beginning?”

“Sio,” Ricknagel said. “Stop with the dramatics. What happened? When did the stone go missing?”

“At the Brokering. I didn’t—I didn’t tell you because I figured I could get it back—I knew well enough that Alessio Rarmont was responsible. I—I never felt a thing, but when I went to reach for it later that evening, during that horrible attack, it was just ... gone! My beautiful stone!” Siomar clung to the mantle as though she might fall over.

“You took your Ophira to the Brokering?” Xander said in disbelief. “Siomar, of all the hare-brained—”

“You don’t know what it’s like! You don’t know what that—that man might do! He’s not above breaking and entering while I’m away. He’s done it before. So I keep it on my person. I even sleep with it in a little bag around my neck. And this! And this!” After a gasp, she went on. “To stoop so low! He must have hired a fingersmith! A dirty little cutpurse! I’ll kill him!”

“Who, Siomar?” Xander gave up trying to calm her down.

“That rat, Alessio Rarmont! My damned neighbor!”

“Why would Rarmont steal your Ophira?” Ricknagel said. “He has his own.”

“Ha!” she screamed. “He intends to take them all, I tell you! The Galatiens are up to something, and he’s their pawn, of course! I’m going to kill him! I’m going to tear that obscene tower of his down and watch him weep! My own neighbor stole my stone!” She gestured to the west, where her neighbor’s grand tower rose skywards like a grandiose dream.

“What could the Galatiens possibly want with the Ophirae?” Xander said, his deep voice a counterpoint to his sister’s frenzy. “They’re not good for anything these days. Besides, the Galatiens own the original crystal pillars. They could cut a new Ophira any time they want, and they still control the vast portion of Lethemian magic.”

“Not good for anything? Not good for anything?” Siomar flew at her brother, catching hold of his shirt in both fists. “Xander, of course they’re important. They’re the most powerful magestones in the world. Imagine if the Galatiens get their hands on all of them. They could destroy them, and then where would we be? Magic utterly monopolized in the hands of only the Galatien family. Xander, use your head.” She snapped her hands from him in a scornful action.

“Siomar—”

“Don’t chastise me!”

“What do you want me to do about it? You want me to run over to Rarmont’s house and demand he give it back? How likely is it that he will, if he’s truly the thief?”

“He won’t admit to taking it. I’ve been there already. He swears he knows nothing about it, the liar. I’ve been watching him, though. Waiting for my chance to steal it back.”

“If what you say is true, Siomar, the Galatiens grow even more hostile than I had imagined. Costas has rejected Stesichore and slighted us almost beyond enduring. What am I going to do? It’s as if they’re deliberately pushing us—”

“They’re going to cut you down, Xander.” Siomar’s voice went perfectly calm. “Mydon is afraid of you and your legions. He must know you’ve been going to Vorisipor these past few years, and he wonders what you’ve been saying to the Emperor’s agents. He thinks you’re treating with the Imperials against his own orders.”

I turned all my attention upon the Ricknagel siblings. My experience had shown me that Ricknagel had indeed been “treating with the Imperials.”

Ricknagel waved dismissively. “Damned Amatos, someone had to go! There are more than two ways to skin a cat. I’ve prevented an all-out border war with the Vhimsantese more than once. Mydon-gods-damned-Galatien should be kissing my boots for the diplomatic work I’ve done there.”

“Well, he thinks you’ve betrayed him, that’s what Alessio says.” Siomar burst out with a manic laugh.

Xander stared at his sister. Siomar herself deflated, all the frantic energy of her rant draining away. Sterling sat stiffly on the sofa beside me, her back ramrod straight, her blue eyes wide. Kyro stood in the posture of a soldier, legs spread, chin up, face frozen into a mask.

The tension in the room was as thick as cold seal fat.

“Gods in Amaranth,” Ricknagel said. “I am glad I did not send Stesi back to court. She will be safer where she is. What a mess. I have enough to manage. Jenesis’s death, the Governor of Vorisipor—”

“Xander, if you go back to Vorisipor you’ll be inviting civil war. Mydon is in no mood to be lenient. Especially not if you’ve removed Stesichore from his court. Don’t be rash. We’re in deep water here,” Siomar said.

“If I don’t go back to Vorisipor, I’ll be inviting a war with Vhimsantyr, and that prospect I consider worse. Mydon can stew in his own soup for a while. What I do in Vorisipor, I do for Lethemia. He should thank me for it.”

“Xander—”

“Siomar, I just lost my wife. My daughter has fled an abusive husband. I’m single-handedly holding off a godsdamned Empire without the support of Lethemia’s best magic, and quite frankly, I’m exhausted. We can speak more of your troubles tomorrow.”

I
overheard
no more of the Ricknagel siblings’ conversations, as we departed Fosillen the following afternoon. When our carriage arrived at the Ricknagel mansion in Shankar, both Sterling and Xander appeared shaken, as if the loss of Lady Ricknagel hit them afresh upon their arrival home. Xander looked ten years older and stumbled on the stairs.

I hurried to his side. “Let me help you.”

“Serafina,” he said, giving me that same look he always did, as though he’d never seen me before despite the fact that I’d now lived in his household for over a year.

I walked him up the four flights of stairs to his own chambers.

“I miss her so much already,” he said. “I miss her so much I feel broken.”

“I know.” Grief hung like a filmy shroud over his face and body. I had worn such a shroud myself for long enough to recognize it. As he missed Jenesis, so I missed Onatos.
Where was he?
I had dared to hope he might be waiting here at the mansion upon my arrival, but there was not even a letter or a note for me.

“My grief will never stop,” he murmured, “and yet I have too much to do. I cannot mourn her. I must put myself back together.”

“Yes,” I said, helping him out of his traveling cloak.

“I must go to Vorisipor tomorrow,” he said.

I tried not to let my surprise and concern show. With no sign of Onatos in Shankar, I had determined I must go to Queenstown to seek him out. “So soon? I wanted to speak with you about my—”

“I have matters to settle there that cannot wait. How is Sterling?” he asked. “I’ve been so caught up in everything, I have given her little attention. You must take care of her while I am away, Serafina.”

“She is upset and grieving. You should take a moment to see her before you depart. Lord Ricknagel, I—”

“I will, Serafina. And thank you. Thank you for everything.” He swept out of the room, leaving me hanging with my unspoken request.

Only after I departed his room did I recall that I had not brought up the subject of Ennis Angusina, either, but I did not have a chance to speak with Ricknagel again. He departed for Vorisipor before dawn the following day.

A
nother grey Shankar
morning five days after Ricknagel’s hasty departure found me sneaking out to the rose garden to cut myself and to make my offering—for whatever good it did—to the Hinge. I disguised my clandestine activities by doing them before Sterling woke. I worried about the girl. If I left her now, she might do harm to herself. She was in a state of depression.

Heading back into the Ricknagel mansion, I picked up the post parcel from the main foyer. There was a never-ending stream of correspondence, most of it for Lord Ricknagel, though Sterling exchanged letters with her sister, too. I was obsessed with the post, believing Onatos might write to me.

Sterling was wearing her silk wrapper and drinking tea in her floral bedroom. I set the post on the table beside the tea tray. Her gaze traveled over the letters and up my arm. “You’ve hurt yourself again, Serafina,” she said, leaning forward to prod my sleeve. I had bound my wrist with a linen bandage, but the fresh blood had stained through the white wrapping. “Oh, it looks bad. What did you—”

“It’s nothing,” I snapped, yanking my sleeve down and hiding my arm behind my back. “Look. Perhaps your sister wrote you a letter.” I had to encourage Sterling to sort through the post in order to discover if Onatos had written, since I could not make anything of the writing on the envelopes myself. I didn’t know what I would do if a letter actually turned up. I couldn’t ask Sterling to read it for me. She already knew too many of my secrets.

Sterling pulled the top envelope from the stack. “No, this one’s for Papa.” A crease formed between her brows. “That’s odd. It’s from Muscan, in Vhimsantyr. Who does he know there?”

A sharp knock sounded on the door. We both looked up, startled. Few household servants would dare disturb Sterling so early in the morning. I hurried to the door to find Galen, the master of the household guard and Ricknagel’s trusted man, breathless on the threshold.

“Lady Sterling, Lady Sterling,” he said, peering around me. “I’ve just received an urgent missive by special delivery from Lake Tashriga.”

“Stesi!” Sterling hurried to the man, hand outstretched to take the scroll. The paper crackled in her hands. “Oh!” Her face drained of color. I clutched her, fearing she might faint. Galen extended his arms at the same time; we both caught her as she dropped the scroll onto the pink carpet of her bedroom. But Sterling did not faint, did not even crumple to her knees. She shook our arms away.

“It is Stesi,” she announced after a deep breath. “She is dead.”

I clapped a hand over my wounded arm as it began to throb.

“This is terrible news,” said Galen, his handsome face a mask of upset and concern. “I feared it would be bad when the messenger arrived after riding through the night.”

Sterling, holding one hand over her throat and crumpling the scroll in the other, silently waved Galen away, shutting the door so she and I were alone. She smoothed the scroll flat on the table and read it again.

“What happened?” I asked.

She lifted a tear-streaked face. “They do not know. It says she was violently sick following her luncheon yesterday and died two hours later.” She cast me a stricken glance and collapsed into her seat at the table, head on her arms.

“Her illness was food poisoning?” I sat heavily beside Sterling, ruing that I had lacked the resolve to express my concerns about Ennis to Xander. My omission had suddenly become a chasm of a mistake. Had Ennis played some role in Stesichore’s death? I suspected she might have orchestrated or caused Jenesis’s death, too.

“Some kind of poisoning.” Sterling lifted her head. She remained colorless but for the red birthmark on her face.

“You think she was murdered?”

“The letter is from the steward of the Tashriga house,” Sterling said with surprising self-containment. She performed best under the greatest pressure, although she did not know it. “He believes she has been … assassinated. Oh Gods! Costas must have ordered it after Stesichore left court. She wasn’t lying about him; he did truly mean to harm her. I didn’t believe her! He had his own wife murdered!”

“You don’t know it was Costas.” Poison smacked of a woman’s touch. I scowled. Ennis Angusina seemed a likely poisoner. But had Costas given her the orders? Her presence as Stesichore’s servant had always struck me as odd. How had she gotten back in the Galatiens’ good graces after they had imprisoned her?

“This is a disaster,” Sterling said. “I cannot believe Stesi is gone. I cannot believe it! Papa’s going to lose his mind. He’ll go to war if Costas did it.”

We could only wait for Xander’s return from Vorisipor to see if she proved correct.

S
tesichore’s death
provided the distraction I needed to stop mooning over Onatos. I could not steel my heart enough to leave Sterling in her deep distress.

Sterling was convinced the Galatiens had assassinated Stesichore, but had I been able to connect Ennis Angusina in any way to the Vhimsantese, I would have suspected the Empire, for I knew how badly the Vhimsantese wished to push into Lethemia and take the country for their own. Ennis had been imprisoned those many years ago on charges of espionage and treason as well as her unsanctioned magic. I racked my mind to recall if she had ever mentioned anything about Vhimsantyr, but I came up with nothing. I did know, from the Vorisipor women’s house rumors, that the Empire had long hoped to foment a civil war amongst Lethemia’s Ten Houses. Into such discord they could better launch an attack.

Sterling feared a Galatien attack on Shankar, particularly if they learned of her father’s absence, or worse, his destination. She had the Ricknagel mansion running as precisely as a battleship in a matter of days, all her guards on high alert for any innuendo from Galantia that hinted at aggression.

Xander Ricknagel had not lived hard up against the border with the Vhimsantese Empire without learning what was needed to keep them at bay. He kept a legion in his Shankar barracks, ready at all times for his city’s defense. In the lands surrounding the city, east towards the border with Vhimsantyr, he kept several more legions on duty and three additional ones on reserve, to be called into service at a moment’s notice. Shankar and its surrounding countryside swarmed with Ricknagel soldiers, and always had.

House Ricknagel, I was informed by Sterling, was traditionally a House dedicated to military might. Their resources were put towards the maintenance of this standing army.

“What about mages?” I demanded as we shared a pot of tea over her father’s broad desk.

“We have few,” Sterling answered. “The Galatiens require it to be so. If House Ricknagel had strong mages, we would be too powerful. King Mydon uses his right of first refusal to claim the powerful mages who come out of the Conservatoire.”

“But how can Ricknagel protect Lethemia from the Empire without magic?” I asked. I had lived in Gante; I understood how magic could assist a much smaller state to defend against a neighboring giant. The Elders had feared using magic for our protection. Were the Lethemians making the same mistake? It made no sense that the Galatiens would not allow the Ricknagels to command magic against the Eastern Empire. They might as well have forced them to fight a tiger with their hands tied.

“The Galatiens control most of the battle mages,” explained Sterling. “A treaty limits the number of mages we can hold lienbound to only three. Papa has one imagus—a mage who isn’t lienbound—who serves him, but Marsyas is with Papa, as usual. We have only four mages in all. The Ricknagels and the Galatiens have a troubled history when it comes to magic.”

I frowned. “Who are these three lienbound mages?” I demanded. “Where can they be found?”

“Our battle mage is Taz Ballestos. He’s stationed in the Shankar barracks. He coordinates our missions and makes Sendings amongst our disparate troops. But without a full coterie, he cannot make war-magic, defensive barriers, offensive attacks—those require greater numbers of mages due to the drainage. You must understand, Sera, magic is not the method by which we work. Unless you wish to contribute?”

I sputtered, “I— I know nothing about warfare. My magic is Gantean.”

Sterling shrugged and leaned back into the seat of her father’s desk. “Does my father know you have magic?”

I hesitated. “Well, yes. He learned of it on our journey from Vorisipor.”

She nodded, as though some piece of a puzzle had fallen into place in her mind.

“Father always aims to find ways to command more magic, it’s true. He’d be glad of your help. And we must also seek out allies from the other Houses. Allies who command mages.”

“But you said House Galatien controls the vast magical force of Lethemia.”

“Yes. Fully fifty-nine mages. Seventeen of them battle mages.”

“Fifty-nine?” Compared to Ricknagel’s three, it was a staggering imbalance. “And how many do the other Houses have?”

“Amar has six lienbound. Talata and Entila, four each. The rest only two. Mages are expensive, and they are the primary source of the Galatien power.”

I pondered the situation. The Ricknagels had to have more magic— not for fighting the Galatiens, but for fighting the Eastern Empire. The Vhimsantese feared the Lethemians’ magic. I
could
help, but I didn’t wish to reveal myself. I could not let it be known that the Cedna of Gante had allied with House Ricknagel. Such information would only feed the Galatiens’ fury. I was a fugitive in their country, for all manner of tangled reasons.

Onatos had once told me that Amar had a long tradition of producing renowned mages. He had been so proud of his son, Laith, who had shown that magical talent at a young age.

“You should look into making an alliance with Amar,” I suggested. “I have heard their mages are skilled.”

Sterling rose from the desk chair and wandered over to the curio cabinet in the corner, removing a familiar wooden box from it. “I don’t think Lady Daria Powdin-Amar pays much attention to politics. Besides, I have no idea when Papa will return from Vorisipor. An alliance is a delicate arrangement. I must wait for him to decide if he should make such an overture.” She opened the box and took out the green Ophira that so abraded my magic sense, rubbing it against her marred cheek.

“Write to Lady Daria anyway,” I argued. “It opens a door, at least, and when your father returns, he can decide whether or not to pursue the matter.”

R
umors flew across Lethemia
: about Stesichore’s demise, about Ricknagel’s intentions and whereabouts, about Mydon Galatien’s sudden failing health, and about everyone’s plans.

Days passed, yet we had no news from Xander. He had not confided what urgent matter had sent him so recklessly back into the Empire. If his mission went awry, would we see the amassed hordes of the Imperial Army on the horizon? The Vhimsantese commanded no small force; their legions could be manned for decades even if their losses were extreme.

I still had no word of Onatos.

Sterling and I lived on needles, waiting for an attack, waiting for the mail, waiting for Ricknagel’s return. In the meantime, we practiced archery and tried to appear as normal as possible. Her battle mage, Taz Ballestos, a surly, enormous man I’d met when he came to confer with Sterling, had advised that we make no changes in our day-to-day habits, pointing out, “You never know who might be watching, trying to read intent into your actions.” He suspected Galatien spies in our midst, and he wanted to give them no cause for alarm or suspicion.

Lady Daria wrote back to Sterling. She read the letter aloud at my urging. “Lady Sterling, I wonder if you might play hostess to my son and his wife? They are newly wed and attempting to enjoy the traditional travels even in these troubled times. They are currently staying in Murana. If you agree, I shall make an aether-sending to him; he never travels without his personal mage. I am sure he will be eager to avail himself of the comforts of your home.” Sterling snapped the paper between her hands. “And she offers her condolences on all my losses.”