A Charm for Draius: A Novel of the Broken Kaskea (The Broken Kaskea Series Book 1) (6 page)

Aracia set her mouth into a thin line. “Rapport with the Phrenii shouldn’t prevent the King from doing his duty.”

Duty
meant fathering children, the primary function matriarchs expected from males. She made no secret of her opinions: he avoided his responsibilities to the Meran-Viisi and his people. Of course, she couldn’t understand the burden of the Kaskea.

Perinon became King at the age of sixteen, when his brother Valos died in the currents of the Whitewater north of the sister cities. Very few had been bound to the Kaskea at such a young age. There were legends of the effects of being in rapport with the Phrenii—not without historical support, because rapport could cause madness. Personal quirks exhibited by a king were often attributed to the Kaskea.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be marriageable for at least the next sixty years. I won’t retire from society and waste away.” His words were harsh, bitter, and immediately regretted.

A spasm crossed her face. When the Phrenii were near, Perinon saw light and darkness entwine into unbending strength within Aracia. The darkness was self-serving pride, but the light of her service and loyalty made her an excellent matriarch for the most powerful lineage in Tyrra. She’d been raised to always consider what was best for the Meran-Viisi, and she was only doing her duty.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should never have implied that I would go the way of my mother.”

“My sister was already broken by her losses from the Fevers. You are stronger, and I expect you to start considering a contract. The people expect this also.” She nodded toward the
H&H
.

“Need I remind you that bearers of the Kaskea have always had childless contracts, unless they’re allowed to choose their own spouse?”

“I’m not forcing a choice on you, I’m merely exposing you to possibilities.” Her mouth twisted into a prim expression.

“Well, I don’t have time for
exposure
this morning. I have to deal with the Reggis murder.”

“That’s only a matter of setting dates for an election. Surely you have time this afternoon.” She continued to push him.

“Fine—check with my secretary and schedule it.” He made his escape. His secretary couldn’t stand up to Aracia either; the poor man got a tic in his face whenever he dealt with the matriarch. Perinon had no doubt he’d see the Rauta-Nelja prospect this afternoon.

He was late entering the small reception room in his residence. His secretary started going through a pile of petitions. The first was from a man who claimed a milk cart had frightened his horse, causing damage to his buggy. He wanted compensation from the milk vendor, but the magistrate who handled the original complaint thought the training of the horse was deficient. The petitioner hadn’t agreed with the magistrate’s decision, so he exercised his right to appeal directly to the King.

“Sire, there’s City Guard here from the Office of Investigation. They’re waiting for an audience,” said one of the ubiquitous green and silver uniformed Guards who paced the corridors. The young man’s voice carried an undertone of disdain.

Happy to lay aside milk stands and buggies, he asked, “When did they arrive?”

“An hour ago.”

“What? I should have been notified
at that time
. Get them in here.”

The young Guard’s eyes widened. He left to find the officers while Perinon and his secretary waited. Inside this room, the roar of the Dahn Serin Falls was muted and the faint chords of a harpsichord wafted in from the marble hall. Soitto, Aracia’s second daughter, was practicing in the music room. Onni, Aracia’s eldest daughter, wasn’t allowed the trivialities of music because she was training to succeed Aracia as matriarch of the Meran-Viisi. There were reasons why the matriarchy was passed to daughters only as a last resort: Onni resented having this responsibility pushed on her and there’d been dissonant mother-daughter clashes in the household that made him wish he were anywhere else.

But today the household was peaceful and he rubbed his beard with relief, belatedly noting he hadn’t had it trimmed this morning.

Two City Guard officers were shown in, and he was pleasantly surprised to see one was his cousin Draius. Actually, their mothers had been true cousins and when they were alive, he and Draius played and learned together. They took lessons with other Meran-Viisi children of their generation, all traditionally called “cousins.” He hadn’t seen her since the Fevers abruptly ended their childhood, but he recognized her in the woman who faced him. The family resemblance was unmistakable and he could have been looking in a mirror: she had his same lanky bones, silver-blond hair, gray eyes, and the dusky, almost pewter-colored Meran complexion. She and her companion bent their knees, but he motioned for them to stand.

“Welcome, cousin.” He crossed the room and gave Draius a kinsmen kiss on the cheek. He kept his hands on her shoulders as a surge of happiness flowed through his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a while. His face broke into an easy and genuine smile.

“A cousin removed, Sire.” She bent her head and then returned a cool and tight smile, which quickly faded.

“As you wish.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders.

So it was true: she didn’t care to keep her name or her connection to her lineage, as was customary among the Meran-Viisi. The lineages of children were negotiated differently for each marriage contract and Perinon suspected her children, if she had any, were Serasa-Kolme. She’d given up everything her lineage could offer, which was substantial, and she’d become so—so unfamiliar. He wondered how the vivacious and loyal girl he knew had turned into this distant, controlled woman.

In the flicker of an eyelid, he suddenly felt the sun on his face and smelled the cold water of the northern canals. He saw the eight-year-old Draius, diving fearlessly into the water, then bobbing up and calling to him.
We are Meran-Viisi, Peri. We are never afraid
, she’d said that day, trying to convince him to take his first jump off the canal bridge. Had the Fevers changed her so much? Perhaps marriage had changed her.

“I’m reporting for the Office of Investigation, with my deputy commander, Lornis.” She didn’t provide the lineal name of her assistant. In theory, matriarchs planned unique names within each generation, so it was Tyrran custom to go by primary names.

Perinon went back to his desk and sat, placing his hands on the smooth, cool marble surface. Everyone in the room started to look like transparent shells around writhing light and dark veins. The air became brighter and fresher: he was reminded of sun shining on wet grass.

Mahri had silently entered the room and now stood behind his shoulder. His secretary backed away from the desk to stand at the wall; he knew when Perinon needed distance.

“This crime has high visibility, Officer Draius. A member of the King’s Council has been murdered. We can’t have the people losing faith in their leadership, or in their City Guard. The City Guard must use whatever resources necessary to find this killer.” This speech, however pompous and trite it sounded, fulfilled his monarchal duties.

“Sire, we’ll do everything in our power.” Draius gave him the rote answer, glancing at the creature standing behind him.

Adults outside the King’s presence rarely saw Mahri. The element of Spirit, with golden eyes, was the keystone and the controller of the phrenic circle. Mahri stepped forward and Perinon reached up, almost brushing the luminescent mane that framed the creature’s head like the nimbus of a star. Like any other adult, he couldn’t touch the Phrenii and his fingers stopped a hand-span away from the creature’s hair. He sensed Draius stiffen.

Some Tyrrans loved their King being exposed to the Phrenii and their magic, while others thought it unhealthy; apparently Draius was of the latter opinion. Perinon watched her struggle briefly with her distaste, then shrug it aside. Few Tyrrans could begrudge a relationship that made their King stronger than any other ruler in the Mapped World. Supposedly, “he who is bound to the Kaskea can command the Phrenii,” and no one knew the limits of their power.

That was legend, because Perinon knew he couldn’t command the Phrenii to do anything against their will, not any more. The original Kaskea had been shattered more than five hundred years ago and only one shard was fixed in the ring he wore. The broken Kaskea held only a faint echo of its original power.

“I’d like updates on your progress every eight-day, preferably in person. How goes it so far?” he asked, breaking the silence.

He watched his cousin summarize the relevant aspects of the crime. Draius had the strong light of duty and loyalty to her King and country. With that light intermingled dark wisps of stubbornness and pride. The pride was tinged with pain and perhaps his cousin had already paid the price for her Darkness.

He turned his attention to Lornis, saw a curious spark of light within the man and heard Mahri whisper in his mind,
the ancestors have marked this one
. So the Stars show a destiny for this man? He knew he wouldn’t get straight answers from Mahri, and instead concentrated upon Draius’s report. When she came to the sign painted in blood on the wall, he stopped her.

“Do you have a drawing of this symbol? The Phrenii might understand its significance.” Because they avoided the creatures, adults easily forgot the Phrenii were sources of historical information.

Lieutenant Lornis opened his satchel, pulled out a drawing, and held it up. Perinon saw two concentric circles with an “N” drawn within them. The tail of the “N” dipped into the concentric circles and entwined them. Before he could frame a question, a charge ran through him, a chilling vibration from the entire phrenic circle. Perinon gasped, unable to breathe—

“Sire? Sire?”

He looked up. He was sprawled across his desk and his secretary was beside him, trying to help him back into his chair. The City Guard officers were leaning over the desk in concern. Mahri stood behind him, still as stone. He was wheezing and managed to choke out a few words. “Just need air.”

The concerned mortals in the room backed away, making a semi-circle in front of his desk. Even the King’s Guard stood with the others. Soitto was peering in from the hallway. How long had he been fighting for air? Finally able to speak in a normal tone, he sat back in his chair and drew another deep breath. “I’m fine. Attend to your posts, please.”

While everyone went back to his or her assorted places and the guards shooed away the twelve-year-old girl at the doorway, Perinon went as deeply into rapport with Mahri as he could, without actually entering the Void. What went through the Phrenii was
fear
: raw, naked
fear
. There had been another time they felt such fear, when they were facing destruction. So this was the reason for the morning history lesson.

“Mahri, tell the officers about this symbol,” he said.

Mahri responded, using the circle to summon up memories from the Phrenii.

“The concentric circles combine to make a sign used in necromancy, a proscribed and evil art. Necromancy can bind power into inanimate objects, and that power might look like true magic to the ignorant. The ‘N’ is a reference to Nherissa, the sorcerer who developed this art.” Mahri’s voice had musical tones, but was neither high nor low, neither male nor female. After the Phrenii spoke, no one could ever fully describe their voice.

There was silence. The tales of the sorcerers Nherissa and Cessina were well known but had become children’s bedtime stories, obscured by time and multiple tellings. It was easy to forget that the Phrenii had lived during those times.

“We are speaking
hypothetically
?” Draius cautiously directed her question to the Phrenii. “Mankind might have used this art once, but can’t use it any more?”

“Nherissa was the last mortal known to use necromancy and he was consumed by the souls he imprisoned. He was one of the last men who had the ability to attain the rank of sorcerer.”

“But Nherissa’s art died with him. Our murderers did
not
use magic; this is man-made butchery.” Draius’s voice was clipped, almost sharp. “Sire, I should think torture, murder, and mutilation, whichever came first, to be the primary points here.”

Perinon hid a smile: he remembered how stubborn his cousin could be.

“Necromancy is the only crime on the books that still rates death on the wheel. Attempted necromancy can be punished with the same, or life imprisonment, if the magistrate deems mercy is deserved. Signed by King Kotiin in the year 998 and never rescinded.” Lornis looked sideways at Draius and finished sheepishly, “I just took the exams.”

“I know the King’s Law and I can quote that paragraph, too, but it’s unlikely to ever be enforced.” Draius looked at Lornis coldly, then turned back to Perinon. “Sire, I cannot support the hysteria being whipped up by the
H&H
. If this case cannot be solved by methods that have stood us good stead for years, then perhaps I’m not the best—”

“Officer Draius is correct.” Mahri’s voice, though soft and melodious, cut across her words like a knife. She stopped, looking confused at the unexpected support. “Mortal weapons and mortal evil killed those men.”

In Perinon’s head the Phrenii whispered,
her Meran blood will play a part we cannot yet see. In this, we are certain.
The added phrase indicated they had a clear prescient flash of the future. He rubbed the temples of his forehead. He already had a headache, and the day was only at mid-morning.

A messenger came to the door and Perinon waved him over. The young man gave him a note, which he opened and read. His heart sank. He waved the note toward Draius.

“Well, Lieutenant Commander Draius, you’ve got your work cut out for you. There’s been another murder and it sounds similar.” His head started to pound as he felt the agitation from the Phrenii.

He watched Draius read the note and saw compassion and anger wash through her body. She truly
cared
, though she gave little outward sign of her emotions. Her loyalty, her sense of responsibility, and even her stubbornness would serve him. She would hunt down these murderers with implacable justice and logic, and she would never give up until she found them.