Storm and Steel (36 page)

“I cannot risk using the engine for such a task without a suitable source of energy, Majesty.”

“I told you I would see to getting you more subjects, but I cannot conjure them out of the air. You will strike now using what resources you have at hand.”

“That could prove unwise—”

“At once!” She allowed the
zoana
to fill her once again, imparting its power to her voice.

Lord Astaptah stared at her for several heartbeats. He didn't blink once, his amber-gold eyes unwavering as if he were trying to penetrate her will. Just as she prepared herself to take the clash of wills to the next level, he nodded. “As you command. Will you stay to witness it?”

The question surprised her. “Yes. I would like to see—” She almost said “you” but switched in mid-speech to, “your invention in action.”

With Astaptah's floating onyx light leading the way, they left the sanctuary and headed back to the central cavern. The heat returned as they entered, washing over Byleth like the breath of the furnace. Several of the vizier's minions appeared and crossed the narrow bridge to the island at the center of the magma pool.

At Lord Astaptah's direction, his men took down the cloth covering the storm engine. As the inverted pyramid of silver and black struts emerged from under the cover, Byleth went over the bridge as well, waving her bodyguards to stay back.

“What has gotten into you?” she hissed at Astaptah on the other side, low enough that no one else could hear. “You know our plans hang in the balance. If the Nisusi reach the city…”

He bent over a metal box of lights and switches, adjusting some of them. “I understand my responsibilities in our relationship. Yet I am beginning to wonder if you understand yours.”

Stunned by his words, it took her a moment to recover. “What are you talking about? I've given you everything you have. Even this—” She waved her hand at the machine. “—this monstrosity was created with funds and materials supplied by me. Don't dare to speak to me of responsibilities. You have no idea the pressures I face, while you tinker down here in the dark.”

“Of course. I apologize.”

Astaptah pulled a lever on the side of the metal box, and a deep vibration traveled through the rock island. Byleth felt it in her chest, too. Above them, the engine began to hum with an occasional crackle. Tiny sparkles appeared in the heart of the metal lattice, like strands of diamonds hung in midair. A swirling purple haze formed around the sparkles, muting their brilliance. Then an arc of green electricity ran through the miniature cloud with a sharp sound like a cracking whip.

Her heart beat faster as the little storm brewed inside the machine. It was stimulating, knowing that this incredible power was at her disposal.
I will destroy the Nisusi and their allies in one stroke, and then every city will fear me. I will drive the Sun fanatics—

A loud pop erupted from the metal control box, followed by a stream of black smoke rising from its rear.

Astaptah jumped to the panel and started flipping switches, his hands flying across the board. Inside the silver lattice, the purple cloud pulsated. Tiny green bolts of lightning flickered within so fast Byleth could barely follow their movements. “What's happening?”

Astaptah went around to the back of the box. Wrapping the cuffs of his sleeves around his hands, he reached down. More smoke and the acrid stench of burning skin poured from the engine as he tugged. The crackles and pops grew louder. Byleth took a step back. Just as she was about to repeat her question, something exploded within the lattice.

A long branch of silver metal flew past her head. Heavy droplets of magma splashed into the air as it plunged into the molten pool.

Xantu was suddenly at her side.

Byleth watched the interplay of electricity within the machine. Showers of orange and yellow sparks rained down from the ends of the broken strut near the top of the engine. Lord Astaptah was almost completely occluded by the cloud of smoke issuing from the controls. Byleth considered helping him, but self-preservation overrode her sense of altruism, and she allowed Xantu to pull her away, back over the stone bridge where her soldiers were already rushing up the ramp to the catwalks above.

The pyrotechnics continued as she was hustled up and around the chamber. She paused for a moment at the tunnel mouth leading back to the surface. The bottom half of the chamber was shrouded in smoke. Then movement on the catwalk caught her eye. A tall figure in black stumbled up the ramp.

Lord Astaptah caught up to them as they climbed the long tunnel to the outer door. A burning haze followed them, making every breath more difficult than the last. Finally, they reached the black door, and Astaptah shoved it open with a strike from his palm. Half-carried out by Xantu and Anshara,
Byleth gulped the fresh air of the corridor beyond. Once everyone was out, Astaptah started to close the door.

“What…?” Byleth asked between coughing. “What about…your people?”

Lord Astaptah shook his head as he pushed the door shut with his shoulder. He didn't cough, but his face was slightly green. His eyes were sunken even deeper into their sockets. The ends of his sleeves were blackened and burnt. She couldn't see his hands, which he kept pulled up inside the garment, but she suspected they must be badly burned as well.

Once Byleth had recovered enough to stand on her own, she asked, “What happened down there?”

“The engine was pushed past its capacity,” Astaptah answered. He had drawn himself up to his full height, the color returning to his features.

“How long before it will be fixed?”

“I do not know.”

Gritting her teeth, Byleth sent her guards down the corridor. Then she turned back to her vizier. “By every god and spirit, Astaptah, I swear if you—”

“The storm engine is destroyed.”

“Destroyed? You mean it's broken, but you can repair it. Correct?”

He sighed. It was the first disappointing sound she'd ever heard from his lips. “I will need to begin again. New materials…new conductors…new everything. It will take a significant amount of time. Several months, at the least.”

Byleth sagged against the cool stone wall of the corridor. Of all the things he could have said, that was the one she'd been the least prepared to hear. All of her plans…ruined. Gone up in smoke before her very eyes.

She hit the wall with her fist. “No! I don't accept that. You
will
repair it. Use whatever you need, on my orders. Commandeer any person and anything you need, but fix it. The army could be at our doorstep within days. Without that machine, we're finished. Both of us.”

He did not answer, his back to the door, eyes downcast toward the floor.

A cool breeze wafted down the street, scattering stray leaves and blowing someone's old straw hat into the gutter. A squad of soldiers marched in formation, spears on their shoulders, down the avenue and around the corner at the end of the block. Alyra held still in the shadow between two vacant fruit stalls until she could no longer hear the stomp of their boots. Then, after a quick glance around, she stole across the street and pressed herself against the base of the high wall. She willed her heart to quiet its incessant thumping. This was just another mission.
Keep telling yourself that.

With another look in both directions and a scan of the buildings across the way, she turned and climbed. The outer face of the wall was brick. Her fingers and toes found purchase in the mortar joints, and within twenty rapid heartbeats she reached the top. The crown of the wall was canted outward and capped with barbed spikes. Alyra grasped two of those spikes and, springing from her heels, bounded over the barrier. She folded her legs as she landed on the other side and rolled to a halt flat on the ground. The grass of the courtyard's broad sward tickled her ears as she held her breath, listening for signs she had been detected. All was silent.
All right. That was the easy part. Get up before someone spots you.

Operating by faint starlight, Alyra approached the royal palace from the south. She'd spent all day going over the instructions left for her by the network, trying to find the flaws in their plan, but had finally been forced to admit it was solid. She would enter through the servants' wing where, at this time of night, there should be little traffic. Assets inside would ensure she didn't meet anyone on her ascent to the royal apartment. The queen's last official duty had been evening vespers, meaning she would likely be in her residence when Alyra arrived.

The weight of the new dagger on her belt reminded her of what was to come. She had dealt with soldiers and miscreants, people with more than a little blood on their hands, but this time she would be the one dealing the
killing blow.
Don't think about that. Just focus on what's in front of you. One step at a time.

She stayed low as she ran. These inner grounds were patrolled by soldiers, but none were in sight. She got to the door set in a deep alcove in the palace's bottom tier. Sheeted in dark iron, it was an imposing barrier. She held her breath as she pushed on the cool surface. The door swung inward on silent hinges. Alyra ducked inside.

She entered a small antechamber where deliveries of food and sundries were received. Stealing across the tiled floor, Alyra peered through the doorway on the other side, into an empty hallway. The kitchens were off to her right, but they would be empty until the morning bakers arrived a couple hours before dawn. Alyra bypassed the first set of stairs she encountered, which led up to the various reception rooms and dining halls on the second floor. Instead she headed for the private stairs at the inner edge of the servants' wing, the stairs reserved for the royal handmaidens. A brief fit of anxiety fluttered in her stomach. There was always a member of the Queen's Guard stationed here, day and night. Yet the corridor was empty. Things were going according to plan. And that made her even more nervous.

As she started up the steps, she strained to hear any sound coming from above. The stairs were narrow with no place to hide should someone come upon her suddenly. Her hand kept straying to the dagger under her cloak as if it were a talisman.
I'm going to do this. And then I'll get Horace out of the region, far from the tentacles of the Sun Cult. But what would he say if he knew I was doing this? Would he hate me?

Apprehension clamped around her throat as she reached the top tier of the palace. The stairs stopped at the handmaidens' quarters, in the common room they shared when not attending the queen. Alyra eased the door open, wincing as it squeaked faintly. However the space beyond was empty. Starlight through the lone window provided just enough light for her to navigate past the plush floor pillows and a twenty-squares board, its round tokens scattered on the thick carpet. Four other doors exited the common room. Two led to sleeping chambers for the handmaidens, one to a pantry and wine room, and the last to the queen's quarters. Alyra was halfway across when the wine room door
opened. Her dagger was out in an instant. She lowered it as Sefkahet appeared, a candle in her hand.

Alyra returned the dagger to its sheath, not liking the way it fit so well in her hand. “You scared me,” she mouthed with a soft whisper.

“The other girls are already gone. I'm the last one here, and I'll be going once the deed is done.”

Good thinking. Whether I succeed or fail, there will be interrogations after tonight.
“No, leave as soon as I go inside.”

“If something goes wrong—”

There was something in Sefkahet's eyes, a bitter anguish that reached out and squeezed Alyra's heart. She did her best to shunt it aside. “You won't be able to help me. Is the queen abed?”

“In a manner of speaking. She is joined by the new captain of her guard. With luck, they will finish soon. Don't worry. She never lets them stay the night.”

“How many guards?”

“Six in the hallway. Alyra, I'm sorry this deed was given to you. I tried to tell them I was in a better position to—”

“Don't be silly. It's my honor to serve the cause. After tonight, everything will be different.”

Sefkahet nodded, though she didn't look happy about it. “You'll have to leave Erugash, won't you?”

“I suppose so. What will you do?”

“Cipher hasn't told us what's next.”

Alyra put a hand on the woman's arm, feeling the softness and warmth. Many nights she had lain in those arms back when she was a handmaiden, taking what little comfort she could in a place where life was often cruel. “Be safe, Sef. Whatever happens…I'll always care for you.”

Sefkahet smiled, her eyes suddenly wet in the candlelight. They embraced. Alyra tried to be comforting, but she was so tense she could only manage a halfhearted squeeze before she pulled away. “All right. I'm ready.”

Sefkahet went to the door to the queen's chambers. “May the gods smile on you.”

Then she blew out the candle.

As the door opened, Alyra started forward. Her legs were heavy, as if she were walking through mud. She paused beside Sefkahet. “Lock it behind me. And don't open it again no matter what you hear. If I fail…”

Sefkahet touched her gently on the cheek. “You won't.”

With a nod, Alyra entered the dark suite. Her shoulders tensed as the latch clicked behind her. There was no turning back now. Faint light from the floor-to-ceiling windows allowed her to make out the furniture arranged around the room. A light breeze rustled the gauzy drapes.

The bedroom door on the opposite wall was open. Sounds issued forth, a combination of moans and sighs that Alyra remembered all too well from the times the queen had made her be present during her lovemaking bouts. Thankfully, Her Majesty hadn't requested spectators this night.

After a quick glance at the windows and the balcony beyond, Alyra inched up to the doorway. Candles flickered on the long vanity that extended the entire length of the left-hand wall, their flames reflected in the many mirrors to light the room in a hazy glow. The bed curtains were tied back, giving Alyra a clear view of the queen straddling her lover, rising and falling in a frantic rhythm as her moans grew louder. For a moment Alyra felt a twitch of irritation. She knew about Byleth's incessant attempts to lure Horace into her bed, and for a moment she imagined him under the queen before she shoved the image to the back of her mind. As Sefkahet said, there was no one else in the suite. Alyra slipped the dagger out of its sheath.

This was it. The moment of truth. Her heart beat strong and steady. All fear had left her. Now there was just one final act to propel her into a new future. One death in service to the world. Could she do this?

As she slipped into the bedroom, her eyes focused on the queen's naked back, the heaviness she'd felt earlier returned. Lifting the dagger took all of her strength. Her feet halted halfway across the room, rooting her in place.
Is this some enchantment? Does she know I'm here?

The queen continued to writhe atop the guard captain, both of them completely oblivious to Alyra's presence. This was her own body betraying her. The sounds on the bed changed tenor, and Alyra stumbled back, reaching the
cover of the doorway just an instant before the queen rolled off the bed. The soldier got up, too. He was quite tall and good-looking despite his shaved head, but the queen dismissed him without a good-bye kiss. He gathered his uniform, boots, and sword belt from the floor before he left. Alyra pressed herself against the wall as he strode past. When the outer door opened and closed again, she released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The worrisome tightness had returned around her neck, now extending down into her chest like iron bands around her lungs. Glass clinked in the queen's bedroom. Alyra peered inside.

Byleth stood at the bar with her back to the doorway. Shadows played across her coppery skin like the caresses of a spectral lover. The queen set down the crystal glass and tilted her head to the side as if listening to something far away. Alyra stood completely still.

The queen went back over to the bed. She wiped between her legs with the coverlet and dropped it to the floor before crawling onto the mattress. A minute later, her head was on the mass of pillows, and the low drone of her breathing filled the room.

Alyra considered her approach.
Just go in and do it. Now while she's drowsing. A quick stab in the chest. That's all it will take.

Yet, as she tried to convince her feet to carry her inside, Alyra felt the doubt rising up again. This didn't feel right. She'd done a lot for the network over the years, endured things she never thought she'd have to experience, much of it at the hands of this woman. But murder didn't seem justified.
If the network wants to get around Byleth, there are better solutions than this. And if they don't like that, they're welcome to do it themselves.

The pressure around her chest eased as she retreated from the doorway. She started to turn away until she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. A shadow detached itself from the room's darkness and glided toward the bed. Candlelight flashed off a short blade in its hand. Alyra froze, unsure what to do. Was this another assassin? Who sent him?
Did the network set up a contingency in case I failed?

While Alyra debated what to do, the shadow slid up beside the queen. The blade rose and fell with startling swiftness. The queen stiffened, her eyes
opening in pain, and then a scream erupted from her throat. The shadow flew backward as if swatted by a gigantic hand, the blade falling from its grasp. It was a dagger, exactly like the one she carried.

Alyra ran toward the windows. On her way out, she reached inside the satchel under her cloak and dropped a bundle of papers on the floor. Then she dashed onto the balcony, unwinding the rope bound around her waist. She tied one end to the railing of the stone bannister and tossed the rest over the side. The silken line hissed as it played out down the side of the palace.

Her hands shook as she grasped the line. She swung a leg over the bannister. When she got to the bottom, she would—

The front door of the suite cracked open with a terrific crash, its panels sheathed in frost. Lady Anshara strode through with a squad of guardsmen at her heels. As the sorceress hurried to the bedchamber, something detonated inside with a massive thump. Alyra took that as her cue and jumped.

Her feet touched down on the palace's sloped wall four spans beneath the balcony. The rope played out between her fingers, not too fast or she would lose control, but always with haste in mind. She needed to get to the ground before she was seen. She was going over her plan to get out of the city when a sudden gust swirled around her. She almost lost her grip on the rope as she rolled across the face of the palace wall. Holding on tight, she waited for the wind to die down, but it remained, making the line quiver. Her fingers cramped around the rope.

She started to look down, trying to gauge the risk of rappelling down in this wind, when an invisible force grabbed her around the middle. Its fierce hug squeezed the air from her lungs. With clenched teeth, she let go of the rope with one hand and tried to draw the dagger sheathed at her waist, but the unseen power held the handle tight against her body. As her fingers cried out in pain and her shoulder started to ache, she tugged at the bottom of the sheath. Inch by inch, she worked it free. The wind's pitch rose to a keening screech, and then the power let her go.

The sudden release almost made her fall. Shoving the dagger back into its sheath, she grabbed onto the line with both hands. She shimmied down as quickly as she could manage.

She couldn't help from letting go of a long sigh as she touched down on the roof of the next tier. Feeling the stone under her feet was almost enough to make her cry with relief, but she wasn't done yet. She went to the edge of the tier and looked over the side. Taking another deep breath, she stepped off.