Dark Immolation Read online

  Winter stood, slowly, and walked out of her cell and into the brighter light of the corridor. Sure enough, Daval stood there waiting for her.

  “My dear,” he said, smiling at her. He spread his arms wide.

  Winter blinked in the light. It took her a few moments to realize that Daval expected an embrace. Apparently it took Daval longer to realize that she wouldn’t give him one.

  He lowered his hands, his smile fading somewhat. “You should be happy to see me,” Daval said. “I bring good tidings.”

  Winter said nothing.

  “You know who I am, I assume?” he asked. When Winter did not respond, he continued with a shrug. “Whether you do or not does not matter. I know who you are, and I know that we require your services. We will pay you, of course. We can give you money, gold. New clothes. We would move you from this horrible accommodation.”

  Winter scoffed. “Help you? Why would I ever help you?” This man had to be mad if he thought she would—

  “And we can pay you in faltira,” Daval added. “As pure as it comes. As much frost as you could possibly want.”

  Faltira.

  “What do you want me to do?” Winter asked, incredibly ashamed that she would ask the question, but overpowered by the idea that she could have unlimited frost.

  Daval smiled. “I hope to soon receive a new title.”

  Winter knew exactly what he was referring to; thoughts of the succession were in everyone’s head in the empire. Daval’s mind might be hidden from her, but thoughts about him certainly were not. He was one of the top contenders for the imperial throne.

  “But my power is still fragile. There are those who would seek to stop me, and others who would seek to take it from me, once I get it. I can’t have that happen.”

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “You, my dear, can cause others to fear me. That is what I need now, more than anything.”

  Her telesis, then. That was what Daval was after.

  “What is to stop me from using my power against you?” Winter asked. And she certainly would. If she could get her hands on frost and not be blocked by one of those Ceno idiots, she would turn this entire city to ash and dust.

  “I never said you would use your powers,” Daval said. “I only need you.”

  Winter frowned.

  “I see you don’t understand, and I apologize. I have not been clear. Your powers, of course, are too dangerous to allow you access to them. But your presence would be more than enough. Rumors have spread of who you are, what you’ve done. Very strategic rumors.”

  “You spread them yourself.”

  “Well, not myself, no. I don’t gossip. I pay people to do that for me.”

  “You want me at your side, to threaten those who threaten you.”

  “That’s the gist of it, yes.”

  Winter wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to attack this man. To tackle him to the ground, claw at him, kick him, tear into his neck with her teeth, hurt him in whatever way she could. He deserved it. She deserved it.

  Only the bright ring of fire stopped her.

  And if she wouldn’t kill him, not yet, then she had nothing to lose by taking his deal. Everything to gain. More freedom only meant more opportunities for those guarding her to slip, to allow her the room she needed. “Very well. Show me this new place, where you’ll allow me to live. Show me the gold. Show me the frost. And I’ll help you.”

  Daval’s smile broadened. “Wonderful. I knew we would see eye to eye.” He nodded at the gaoler. “You’re relieved of your duties here. Take the day off.”

  The gaoler grinned, bowing. “Thank you, my Lord,” he said, and walked briskly away down the corridor.

  Winter was about to follow after the gaoler, but Daval stopped her. “One more thing I must tell you.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. He was short for a Rodenese man, but he was still almost a head taller than Winter. “I love you, Winter.”

  Winter stared blankly at him. She had learned, somewhere along the way of her imprisonment, to not react to things immediately. And so, while a part of her laughed at the ridiculousness of what Daval had just said, and another part of her cringed in disgust, Winter’s face remained calm, unaffected.

  “So?” she asked.

  Daval smiled at her. “I just thought you should know.”

  He turned and walked down the corridor, and Winter followed. Near the end of the corridor, Daval’s guard captain, the tall woman Urstadt, waited for them along with two Ceno monks in dark green robes.

  “Now tell me,” Daval said with a smile. “Do you like whiskey?”

  Keep Amok, Izet

  An hour later, Winter found herself in Daval’s study. Winter had never seen so many books in one place; they overflowed from the packed shelves that lined the room, they were stacked in corners and on tables. Daval sat at the large desk in the center of the chamber.

  Daval had dismissed the monks, but his guard captain remained. Winter stood by the doorway, Urstadt towering next to her. There were two chairs facing Daval’s desk, but Urstadt, motionless, did not seem interested in sitting down.

  Winter shrugged to herself. If the woman wanted to be that formal, fine. But if Daval had meant what he said—that he was going to use Winter as a tool—then she was going to damn well do as she pleased in the meantime. She walked forward and slouched into one of the chairs facing Daval.

  Daval smiled, although the expression did not reach his eyes. “Of course, make yourself at home, my dear. If we are going to have the long and fruitful relationship that I anticipate, I hope we can be comfortable around one another.”

  “What about your guard?” Winter asked. “She going to sit down?”

  “Standing suits me just fine,” Urstadt said.

  Daval chuckled. “Please, sit down, Urstadt,” Daval said, indicating the chair next to Winter. “Have a drink with us, why don’t you?”

  Urstadt did as requested, with all the excitement of a soldier obeying orders. Which was to say, very little excitement at all.

  Daval stood and walked toward a cabinet. He returned carrying three glasses in one hand, and a bottle of amber liquid in the other.

  “I’m proud of you, Urstadt.” Daval sat down at his desk once more. “What we have accomplished with House Farady, and now the betrothal, will help a great deal, I think.”

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Urstadt said, sitting tall in her chair.

  Daval sighed, pouring two fingers of whiskey for each of them.

  “Are you proud of yourself?” Daval asked, sliding one glass across the desk to Urstadt. He slid the other towards Winter.

  Urstadt took the glass hesitantly, but did not drink. “Am I… Sir? I don’t understand.”

  Winter raised the glass to her lips, and gulped. Her eyes widened, and she had to stop herself from spitting the stuff all over Daval’s desk. Instead, she swallowed, the liquid burning all the way down her throat. This was not the pleasant burn of frostfire, however. This was pain without the pleasure.

  “I mean are you proud of what you’ve done?” Daval asked, apparently heedless of Winter’s spluttering. “What we have done, I should say.” He turned to Winter. “We have made an example out of House Farady—a scheme that was almost entirely Urstadt’s brainchild. My daughter and Girgan Mandiat are engaged to be married, and they will soon be the most powerful couple in the empire. The succession will be decided soon. And you, Winter, have now decided to join us. We have a lot going for us, it seems.”

  Urstadt fidgeted. Probably something to do with the fact that Daval was talking so much. Winter could relate.

  “I think we might have the two-thirds vote required to win the succession,” Daval said, musing to himself. “Between the eight minor houses we control, the eleven houses sworn to Lord Mandiat, and the houses we have won over by eliminating Farady… we might have enough. Thirty-five houses have pledged to our cause. There are almost fifty houses on the Lords’ Council. Thirty-five should be m
ore than enough, really. But matters of politics never turn out the way one expects. There will be changes, last-moment shifts. Some in our favor, but some not, to be sure. All this is to say that we have a great deal going for us, or so it would seem. But Urstadt still hasn’t answered my question.”

  “I’m happy our house has succeeded in so many of our goals,” Urstadt said. “But as for what happened to House Farady… I don’t know if I am necessarily proud of that, sir.”

  Daval nodded, looking into Urstadt’s eyes. “And why is that?”

  Winter felt out of place. Why was she a part of this conversation? If Daval only wanted to use her as a tool, why did he care about bringing her into his plans?

  “We have completely destroyed one of the houses,” Urstadt said. “I know why we did it. But now they are gone, my Lord. I don’t know what to think about that.”

  “You regret our actions?” Daval asked.

  “No,” Urstadt said quickly. “But I do question them.”

  Daval nodded. “I have many speeches for situations like this. The greater good outweighs the evil of what was done. That House Farady had it coming. Or that this is the way of the Sfaera: kill or be killed. But none of those arguments have ever rung true with me. The world is full of nuance, and nuance compounds choice.”

  “If you don’t believe any of that,” Winter asked, “what do you tell yourself?”

  Daval cleared his throat. “That’s why I have brought you both here, tonight.” He nodded at a bookshelf to Urstadt’s left. “There, on the second shelf from the top, is a book by Cetro Ziravi. Poems and Verse. Take it down, if you please.” Urstadt rose and did so, then made to hand it to Daval, but he shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’d like you to read a passage from it. Page seventy-nine, I believe.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “I know you don’t like to read, Urstadt,” Daval said. “But I’d like you to read this.”

  “Very well, sir,” Urstadt said. Winter was amused at the strange sight; this woman in armor, a warrior, flipping through the pages of an old book. “Page seventy-nine?” Urstadt asked.

  “I believe so,” Daval said. “What is the title at the top of the page?”

  “‘Wild Calamity.’”

  Daval nodded, smiling. He sat back in his chair. “Read it for us, please.”

  I do not control myself,

  I do not hold back, hoping my rage and power spare the deserving,

  I do not weep through eternity, nor do I scrape my knees along the floors of time, atoning.

  Because I love what I love, and I love all things.

  I destroy all things,

  Just as I create them.

  I could not destroy that which I did not first love,

  And so the circle spirals onward.

  To destroy, I must first know love,

  And to create, I must first know destruction.

  And to love, create.

  Meanwhile, the needing, the touching skin, the welding bodies, the connecting of every pair of lost children, soft in body and young in mind,

  Continues my pattern and life’s wild calamity.

  To destroy, I must first know love. Winter felt the chill of the words as Urstadt read them. She looked at Daval, who was sitting back in his chair, eyes closed.

  “Do you understand, Urstadt?” he asked. “What about you, Winter?”

  Winter only shrugged. The words intrigued her, but she would have to read them herself before she could say she understood them.

  “Would you like me to help you?”

  “I would, my Lord,” Urstadt said.

  Daval smiled and opened his eyes, looking at Winter. The man apparently wanted a verbal confirmation.

  For the briefest flash of a moment, Winter was no longer looking at Daval. She was looking at the black skull, wreathed in flame, grinning across the desk at her. Panic shocked through her, but as quickly as the vision came, it fled, and she was looking at Daval once more.

  Winter swallowed. “Sure.”

  PART II

  THE DRIFT OF STARS

  21

  Harmoth estate

  CINZIA PACED BACK AND forth, heart pounding. The Odenites had congregated in front of a makeshift wooden dais, hastily constructed by carpenters found among their numbers. They had constructed the dais in the shadow of the charred remains of the great ash tree on the grounds, and the Odenites—now numbering in the hundreds—had gathered around to hear their Prophetess. Cinzia was behind the dais on the side nearest the house, while the crowd gathered noisily on the other side. This was the first time Jane would address them as a whole. It was earlier than Cinzia and Jane had intended, but after the Kamite attack—they found Kamite tattoos on the bodies of each of the men Knot had killed—they knew they couldn’t remain silent.

  The address would inform the people of Jane’s intent to rebirth Canta’s religion, as well as counteract the teachings of the Beldam. While the woman had stopped preaching against the tiellans publicly, her words had still caused damage that needed reparing. And, according to Astrid, the Beldam still held secret meetings at night, preaching the same doctrine.

  Cinzia still had not invited the Beldam to speak with her and Jane, and she wondered whether these secret meetings were a response to that slight. Cinzia had not purposefully ignored her deal with the Beldam, but she simply had not had time.

  Jane stood nearby, smiling. Cinzia did not know how her sister could be so calm. Cinzia had asked her what she planned to say, but Jane had been evasive. Cinzia couldn’t understand such an attitude. As a priestess she had planned her sermons meticulously beforehand, knowing every potential citation or angle she might use.

  Jane would be delivering the sermon today, but it was Cinzia who felt unprepared.

  Jane waved for Cinzia to approach. “It’s time,” she said.

  “All right,” Cinzia said, strangely breathless. “I hope you’re ready for this.”

  “I’m always ready when I put myself in Canta’s hands,” Jane said. “Things will work out the way they are supposed to, Cinzi. As always.”

  Jane walked up the steps to stand at the podium that had been constructed for her.

  “My brothers and sisters,” Jane began, and suddenly something threw her violently backwards. Jane’s body twisted and she landed on her side with a thud, nearly sliding off the dais. Cinzia glimpsed a dark shaft protruding from her sister’s abdomen as she collapsed. An angry streak of red was spreading around the shaft.

  Cinzia’s mouth worked wordlessly. She couldn’t breathe. For a brief moment she remembered that day in Navone, watching her sister on the gallows, unable to help, unable to do anything. Screams rose up from the assembled Odenites as some turned to run, while others pressed forward towards the dais, towards Jane. Then, Cinzia felt someone push past her.

  “Come on,” Knot shouted, bounding up the steps. “We need to help her.”

  Jarred out of her stupor, Cinzia ran up the steps after him. Elessa was already kneeling over Jane. “She’s been shot,” Elessa said, looking up at them frantically. She was pressing the hem of her dress around the shaft of a crossbow bolt, trying to stem the bleeding.

  “Oh, Goddess,” Cinzia whispered, kneeling at her sister’s side. “Jane?” her voice rose. “Can you hear me?”

  “Cinzia…” Jane whispered, her voice weak. Slowly, she turned on to her back.

  “It’s all right,” Cinzia said, not knowing how in the Sfaera it would ever be all right. “We’re going to help you.”

  “Where did it come from?” Knot shouted, his head turned towards the panicked crowd in front of the dais.

  “Someone near the front,” a man shouted back. “We didn’t see who.”

  “Were there other bolts? Is anyone else hurt?” Knot asked. “I don’t think so,” someone said. Perhaps Elessa, but Cinzia was not sure.

  “Whoever did this intended to kill her,” Knot said. “And may be hanging around to finish the job.” He looked to Cinzia. “Can y
ou help her?”

  Cinzia blinked. “Can I…?”

  “Haven’t you been trained?”

  Cinzia looked down at Jane. Of course she had received medical training as a priestess, but…

  “You need to help her,” Knot said. “You’re her best chance.”

  Cinzia nodded, knowing he was right. Blood pooled beneath Jane’s body, which meant that the bolt had likely gone through to her back. Only a few fingers of the bolt below the fletching protruded from her stomach. Jane clutched at the wound with pale and blood-soaked hands.

  “We need to remove the bolt,” Cinzia said. “Help me turn her.”

  With Elessa’s help, and that of another woman Cinzia did not recognize, they shifted Jane back onto her side. Sure enough, Cinzia saw the arrowhead protruding from her sister’s back.

  Was the shaft broken? she wondered. She gently tested it. It seemed intact. She hoped to Canta the thing had not shattered or splintered.

  “I need a knife, a saw, something,” Cinzia said.

  Knot handed a serrated knife down to her, and Cinzia began sawing away at the shaft above the arrowhead. Jane groaned.

  “I’m sorry, Janey,” Cinzia said, cutting as fast as she could. “I know it hurts, but we’re going to help you, I swear it.”

  In moments, the arrowhead fell to the dais.

  “I need cloth to place on the wound on her back.”

  Elessa looked up at her, her face pale. “Where do I get—”

  “Cut it from your dress,” Cinzia said, trying to keep her voice calm. She was already tearing strips from her own skirt. When they had enough, Cinzia placed the ball of cloth Elessa had gathered on the wound on Jane’s back. “Help me lift her,” she ordered, and Elessa and the other woman helped as Jane groaned, and she wrapped the long strips of cloth she had made around Jane’s torso, tying the bundle of cloth securely against the exit wound.

  “Now, we need to pull the shaft out,” Cinzia said. “I’m going to do it quickly. Immediately afterwards, you need to put pressure on the wound.” She looked into Elessa’s eyes. “Immediately, do you hear me?”

  Elessa nodded.