The Mirrored City (44 page)

We are not close, but you are my blood and you are a Tempest. I want you to survive. So do it, by any means necessary. Kill, fuck, lie, hide… Go to any length necessary and then go further than you can bear to go.

There is only the faintest glimmer of potential in you. Pray to Kultea it is enough to survive your family. As terrible as you think I am… my sisters are far, far worse.

—
SATRYN

JESSA AND PISCLATET
made their way through the narrow servants’ passage in the Coral Palace. Pisclatet, who waddled behind her, had foresworn his ornate attire for a skimpy black pearl codpiece that covered whatever scaly organs one would find between a fishman’s thighs. Jessa wore a black eelskin jerkin and trousers, with a foil at her side. She’d colored her hair black with squid ink.

“This way, your majesty.” Pisclatet led her through another tunnel. The rough porous stone was black and moist. Illumination came from sporadic tungsten bulbs powered by harnessed lightning from the Everstorm that raged above Thelassus. It was the only city in Creation with electricity.

“This place is huge.” Jessa had been to the Palace once as a small child, but she was shocked at how unfamiliar it seemed.

Pisclatet knew the hidden ways to move through the structure. When they did encounter a servant, a simple flash of Jessa’s silver eyes sent the person scurrying in fear. Even making eye contact with a Stormlord could be punishable by death in Thrycea.

Pisclatet waved his webbed hand. “There is a bigger palace in Velrailles. And the Diamond Tower in Karthanteum is arguably the largest and most opulent in all creation. But few have traveled as much as Pisclatet.”

“Your ability to remain unimpressed by anything is itself impressive,” Jessa said.

He offered a humble bow. “It is the curse of a true artist, majesty.”

Jessa paused. She felt a presence, a pulsing energy on the periphery of her senses. “I feel something this way.”

“That is unlikely Nasara. That part of the Palace is the library. Your aunt prefers to have her books delivered as she needs.”

Jessa pondered. Her mother had had a supernatural insight into the Stormlords around her, a gift that never manifested properly in Jessa. While most of the Stormlords possessed the same powers, she was learning that among the upper tiers of her bloodline many abilities appeared unique. “Let’s continue on.”

Pisclatet led her through a warren of hidden passages until they reached a door to the war room. Like all servants’ doors, it was small and out of the way. Perfect for meal delivery and espionage. They stepped into an open chamber dominated by a massive table etched with the geography of Genatrova and the Thrycean Archipelago. It was empty of people.

She made a casual observation of the markers for the positions of the various fleets, noting Nasara’s mistakes as well as her own. She’d learned enough from Warmaster Joy to know what the markers represented. Both she and Nasara had overestimated each other’s naval strength.
Have these centuries of pointless war with the Protectorate spread our fleets so thin?

Jessa walked over to a side door and turned to her companion. “You have gotten me where I need to be. I will not ask you to further endanger yourself on my behalf.”

Pisclatet breathed an enormous sight of relief. “Oh, thank you, majesty. Pisclatet is too talented to die at the hands of your crazy aunt and her contingent of well-trained guards.”

She expected more of an objection, but before she could gently voice her concerns, Pisclatet had already doubled back into the servants’ tunnels.
It’s probably for the best.

Jessa entered the Hall of Tempests. At fifty feet, it was far too short to afford an alcove for statues of all of the predecessors. Each Tempest to sit on the Coral Throne had to remove one statue to make room for their own. Some were sacrosanct, but many whose accomplishments had been lost to history had been replaced with more recent descendants.

Alessandria was there, although her statue looked newer than it should have been. Jessa studied the lifeless monuments of her ancestors, imperious people in glorified poses, holding tridents or, in a few cases, fish nets. She paused at one of the last alcoves. Her mother, Satryn, depicted as a naked woman with wild hair stomping on the globe that represented Creation, was frighteningly lifelike.

Satryn had been Tempest for a matter of hours. It was surprising to see her represented. In the adjacent alcove was a statue Jessa presumed was her aunt Nasara, an older woman with a pinched face, puffy gown, and lace collar shaped like a seashell, holding a scepter in one hand and a globe in the other.
My, my auntie. You’re a bit presumptuous.

Jessa wandered into the next chamber. It was a circular room overlooking the sea. The exterior wall was exposed to the outside, letting in gusts of rain and sprays of crashing waves. A white-haired male figure stood, hands behind his back, gazing out at the horizon.

He turned to face Jessa. “Who the fuck are you?”

Jessa bowed. “Lady Jolanda Corala, ninetieth in line for the Coral Throne. I appear to be lost, my lord.”

He said, “I’m not an idiot.”

Jessa straightened her spine. “Then who the fuck are you?”

“Nerrax,” he said. “Son of the Empress.”

Nerrax had grown much since her last visit to the Palace, and he was a fine-looking man. By all accounts, Nasara had never been a great beauty, but her son was quite pleasing to gaze upon. He had soft features, without compromising his masculinity.

She bowed more deeply. “I am quite sorry to intrude, your majesty. I have a message for your mother and was directed here.”

He regarded her cautiously. “Lady Jolanda has a much darker shade of skin than yours and more pleasing curves. She’s also a better liar.”

Jessa squared off. “If you’re truly not an idiot, then you should know who I am.”

He chuckled. “I honestly have no clue who you are—and I wish it to remain that way.”

Jessa raised an eyebrow.

Nerrax waved his hands. “Whatever the reason for your deception, it is likely important. I would be wrong to detain you further. She’s through that door.”

Jessa reached out with her senses and felt a pulse behind the door Nerrax had indicated. But she felt no stronger a sensation than she did from Nerrax.

“You should announce yourself to her,” Nerrax said levelly. “I’m certain she has no idea you’re here and would be very interested in what news you bring.”

Jessa paused. “Do you love your mother?”

Nerrax placed his hand on his chest and smiled. “With all my heart.”

They stood in silence for a moment as the wind and rain battered the observatory.

Nerrax bowed slightly. “I’ll be in my chambers if you need me… Lady Corala.”

Jessa curtsied. “My prince.”

The moment he left down the hall she marched over to the door and blew it open with a blast of thunder.

Nasara was an imposing woman, frail looking but tall, clad in ruby silk finery. The rage furrowed across her narrow face showed she was not a person who took kindly to interruption. At the center of an oval room, she stood on the surface of a deep pool of water.

Courtiers scurried to safety as Jessa strode in. “Hello, aunt.”

“Jessa,” Nasara hissed. “You’re even stupider than your inbred mother, coming into my palace to threaten me while I carry the Thunderstone.”

Jessa cocked her head. “You mean the Thunderstone Sireen gave you to kill my mother when she returned to Thelassus? Or one of the many fakes Sireen loves to pass around? Have you actually tested it on any Stormlords?”

Nasara reached into a hidden pocket in her dress and withdrew a roughly hewn bluish stone spike that crackled with electricity. “Of course I have, you idiot girl. The dear Lady Corala died after but a scratch.”

So Pisclatet’s cover was already blown,
yet Nerrax didn’t mention it.

“She wasn’t a Tempest.”

“Neither are you.” Nasara stalked across the water, stone in hand. Her courtiers fled the room. Her Patrean bodyguards took up defensive positions behind sofas set around the pool, arrows readied to fire.

Jessa threw her hands out and unleashed a torrent of lightning into her aunt’s bony chest. The arcing electricity slid off her like drops of water on oil-soaked leather.

Nasara sneered and returned the volley. It struck Jessa but felt like nothing more than a tingle.

The women released their onslaught simultaneously. Nasara prowled closer to Jessa, circling her like a shark. “We’re equals in power, Jessa. The position of Tempest should have been mine by birthright. But you are a child. I am the chosen daughter of Kultea.”

“Be that as it may,” Jessa backed away, “I come offering a proposal of peace.”

Nasara glanced at her Thunderstone. “How noble. If you were serious, you would have brought me the heart of that duplicitous traitor Sireen.”

Jessa said, “I will grant you the title of Empress of the Abyss, where you can serve Kultea herself.”

Nasara laughed. “That is exile. That’s where we put your dear uncle Maelcolm before he and your whore of a mother could spawn any more incestuous offspring. However, I would extend that same offer to you.”

“I have been there and had audience with the Mother Kraken,” Jessa said. “She didn’t come out and say it directly, but I think she prefers me to you.”

“Blasphemy! I will gut you with this Thunderstone.”

Jessa put her hand on the hilt of her rapier. “Tell me, Nasara. Did you ever fence with my mother?”

“You think a sword of metal can kill the Empress of Thrycea?”

Jessa drew her blade. “I sparred with Satryn from a very young age. I was never able to best her. Ever. I always thought I was too weak, too gentle to be any good at it. The best I could ever do was fight her to a draw.”

Nasara glared. “Then she taught you poorly.”

Jessa tossed the rapier into her other hand. “She never let me win. She humiliated me on a daily basis. But she was one of the best swordsman in Creation and eventually… I could fight her to a draw. My guess is that fighting you would be like a swim in the tide pool.”

Nasara lunged at Jessa. She stepped aside, letting the blow miss her.

Nasara yelled back to her bodyguards, “Cut her down!”

Arrows flew through the air. Jessa’s reflexes kicked in, and she ran as fast as she could around the edges of the room, ducking the arrows as they clattered against the stone walls. She spread her fingers and unleashed lightning, blasting sofas into splinters and sending Patrean bodyguards flying back.

She paused, making sure the room was clear of all but herself and her aunt before leaving the crouched position and walking toward her. “This comes down to you and me.”

Nasara backed away. “And Kultea.” She raised her arms, and the pool in the center of the room began to roil.

Jessa waved her hand, and the water resumed a glassy calm. “Kondole bestowed one gift Kultea does not. I can calm storms in addition to creating them. I don’t need Thunderstone.”

Nasara raised her arms and tensed her fingers, but nothing happened.

“Last chance, Aunt. The Abyss awaits.”

Nasara screamed and launched herself at Jessa, Thunderstone in hand. For an old woman, her aunt was surprisingly quick. Jessa drew her rapier and slashed at Nasara, but the older woman used her Thunderstone to parry the blows. She might have been a better fighter than Jessa or Satryn in terms of technique… in her youth.

But she was old, and all she had was a crude piece of rock no longer than six inches. Jessa slashed hard and wild, driving Nasara back, blows chipping the shard of rock in her hand, cutting her vulnerable flanks.

Tired of sparring, Jessa lunged to skewer her aunt’s heart. It was almost too easy. The old woman had left herself open. It didn’t occur to Jessa until too late that she had made herself vulnerable.

All it took was a scratch.

The Thunderstone in Nasara’s hand jammed just under Jessa’s ribcage, and she felt a riot of pain explode through her abdomen. Nasara fell to the floor, her heart pierced by Jessa’s rapier. Jessa fell beside her aunt.

“Ow. Fuck that hurts! You fucking bitch!” Jessa rolled over on her side, hand pressed against the bloody wound. She gasped in pain but realized she was neither dead nor dying. Blood gushed from under her ribcage, and it felt like someone had slipped a hot coal under her skin, but she was alive.