Storm and Steel (8 page)

“The queen wants you to do something?”

He didn't want to get into this with her, but it was pointless to hide it. She'd find out soon enough. “She wants me to oversee the halt of the slave uprising.”

“She wants you to crush them. Kill them all and make an example of them.”

It wasn't a question. “Yes. Something like that.”

“And you didn't refuse.”

“I tried to refuse. It's not as easy as it sounds when royalty is staring you in the face. She expects to be obeyed.”

Her head was bowed so he couldn't see her face in the gloom. “I'm sure you tried your best.”

“I did. What about you? What have you been doing all this time?”

“The same thing I was doing when you met me.”

“Of course. Your mission. It must be nice to have only one worry.”

“I worry. But the threat is not ended. If anything, it's worse now.”

“How could it be worse? The Sun Temple is destroyed. The queen is safe now, and I'm a member of her court. I wouldn't let anything threaten you.”

She looked up. Her eyes, shining, pierced through him. “Because you're so vital, she couldn't deny you anything. Right? She could never make you betray your ideals.”

“It's not like that. I don't intend to let anyone be hurt. I'm in a position to help the rebels, to bring about a peaceful solution.”

Her laugh was short and painful, cutting through his emotional barricades. “Then you don't know anything, Horace. The rebels aren't interested in a peaceful resolution. They will fight until they get what they want.”

He hadn't considered that. All these things he wanted to do, everything he wanted to be, perhaps they weren't as compatible as he'd believed. Could he serve the queen faithfully and still hold true to his values? Did he have any choice at this point? “Then I guess I'll have to convince them.”

“Like the way you convinced the queen to be merciful?”

“She's considering my plan.”

Alyra shook her head. “No, she's goading you into doing something you don't want. She's in your head, Horace. She owns you.”

“Sounds like you're the one trying to control me. And you're angry someone else has my attention.”

She turned away so her profile was facing him. The moonlight cascaded down her long hair, turning it to white gold. “Then I feel sorry for you. You don't even know how lost you are.”

“If I don't handle this problem, Byleth will find someone else. And you can bet that person won't have any problem with killing as many rebels as it takes to put the matter to rest. Is that what you want?”

“It's not about what I want, Horace. I'm not the one making the decision.”

“Dammit, I'm trying to make this work! I'm trying to bridge the gap, but you aren't making it any easier.”

“I know and I'm sorry, but I can't help you with this.”

“No? Then maybe you're the one who's lost, Alyra. Or maybe you never cared in the first place.”

He flinched even as the words came out of his mouth, but he was too angry to take them back. She had cut him deep and then twisted the knife for good measure.

Instead, he stalked away. The
zoana
stirred inside him as he left the gardens, like a caged beast that wanted to be free. He kept it on a tight leash, though it would have felt good to lash out, to destroy something and watch it fall to pieces, to feel the power surging through him.

He threw open the door to his suite, not caring at the noise as it slammed against the interior wall, then slammed it shut behind him. His nerves were frayed. His cheeks hurt from clenching his jaws so hard.
Relax. Exploding isn't going to help.

He glanced down at the floor and considered meditating, but he wasn't in the mood. Instead, he went to the spirits cabinet and fished out a bottle of plum wine. The pale violet liquid sloshed inside as he held it up. He twisted off the top and took a deep gulp as he went out onto his private balcony. Sitting in a chair, drinking from the bottle, he looked out through the arched branches of the trees and caught a glimpse of the river's faint shimmer. The wind picked up, shaking the leaves.

He told himself he wouldn't think about Alyra, but his thoughts crept back to her like a beaten dog slinking back home. This wasn't how he had imagined her homecoming. Now everything was ruined. Shattered.

Perhaps he couldn't have everything he wanted, but he refused to quit just because things were becoming more complicated. He had his title and his power. And he also had the queen's trust, for now. They would be enough.
And if not, then I'll cross those waters when I come to them.

The alcohol spread through his body in a warm wave that washed away the hurt. He sat and rode that wave as the stars wheeled above the villa, thinking of all the endless possibilities before him.

He soared high above the shadow-dappled ground. Stars sparkled in the deep-black sky above him. Scattered moonbeams stabbed through him yet left no mark in his ethereal flesh. With a gusty laugh, Horace shot into a bank of gathering thunderheads.

His vision dimmed for a few seconds, and then he was flying over a rippling desert plain. A powerful energy burgeoned inside him, growing as the clouds stirred around him. They moved in a circle with him at the epicenter, slowly at first but with increasing velocity. The air cooled. The power inside him flared, building in waves until it exploded in a satisfying crackle of thunder.

He was the storm. The driving wind. The pouring rain. His voice was a hurricane.

Far below among the dunes and barren rocks, a town huddled behind scarred stone walls. Lights shone within, waving feebly in the rising wind. More lights twinkled outside the walls, but his wrath was focused on the stone towers and slanted rooftops inside. He did not know where this ire for the town came from, nor did he care. All that mattered was the power inside him, surging to be unleashed.

With a thrust of his hand, a jagged bolt of lightning flashed down at the town. Its green glow illuminated a maze of streets and hovels huddled around the larger structures. Flames erupted from inside the building he'd struck. Thunder boomed in his ears, drowning out every sound except the howling winds. Again and again his incandescent fury rained down, and with each attack he felt his strength flowing through him like a burning river, scorching away the tribulations of a mundane life that had haunted him for too long. Tired of being weak and at the mercy of others, he reveled in this newfound supremacy. But a voice in the back of his mind whispered it wasn't new. No, he'd always had this potential, buried so deep it might never have come to light if not for…

Lightning flashed, blinding him, and in that moment he was back aboard the
Bantu Ray
as the converted merchant carrack struggled in the grip of a nightmare storm. Verdant light flashed in the sky, and something opened inside him, like a hidden inner doorway opening for the first time. Dark energy seethed within. Then a wave of cold water crashed over him, carrying him away, and the moment was lost.

He watched the fires roar below and the tiny figures scurrying to escape the destruction he had wrought. He wanted to be free from the restraints that bound him, free to roam the earth, doing as he pleased, destroying all that stood in his way. Yet some force held him in this place. He strained against it, ceasing his rampage on the town to direct his strength in this new direction, to breaking free. Yet the power holding him resisted. He struggled harder, until something started to change inside him. Bits of energy drifted away from him, charging the air with their power, while at the same time a weird sensation akin to vertigo twisted his core. His view of the vista below grew dim and distant, as if the entire world were fading from his sight. Or perhaps he was the one who was fading. The last sound he heard was a peal of thunder, growing louder.

Coming closer.

Horace bolted upright with a sharp pain in his chest. For a heartbeat he didn't know where he was. Was he the storm soaring over the desert? Or was he the man?

He sat in a padded chair on the balcony of his room at the villa where he'd fallen asleep. The trees below swayed, their leaves thrashing in the wind. Something thrummed in the air, like a host of vibrations, invisible and inaudible, faintly palpitating across his skin. Rubbing his chest through his tunic, he started to stand up when the floor rumbled beneath his feet.
Am I still dreaming?

The floor bucked, sending him stumbling into the stone balustrade surrounding the balcony. A grinding rumble like stone being ripped apart resounded through the villa, punctuated by a staccato of distant
thumps
. The balcony shuddered with each impact. When it started to tear away from the villa, Horace jumped through the doorway back into his room. A piece of
bronze sculpture tumbled over from the bedside table onto the floor. Horace scrambled for the door. He heard the first detonation as he reached for the latch handle.

The windows in his room exploded, spraying glass everywhere. Shards nicked his arms and hands as he covered his face. Through his fingers he saw a growing light outside the windows, pulsating orange and yellow. Raw heat washed across his back as he threw himself to the floor. He grabbed for his power and tried the first thing that came to mind, conjuring a cloud of cool mist around himself. The
zoana
stuttered inside him, present but not obeying his will. He pulled harder, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He was inside a solid bubble of water. It filled his mouth and nose, suffocating him as the inferno washed over him. He thrashed on the floor and tried to spit it out, but the liquid just kept coming. He was on the verge of passing out when he finally managed to sever his connection to the power. With a choking cough, he vomited up the last of the water.

Horace coughed as he got on his hands and knees. The flames had retreated, leaving the room clogged with smoke. He crawled to the nearer window and peeked over the scorched sill. A stand of trees stood far back from the east side of the villa. A party of men stood on the grassy sward between the villa and the woods. Eight men in dark robes. Their gleaming masks stared in his direction, the bronze features fashioned into the likenesses of strange beasts. Three of the masked men raised their hands, fingers together like a salute. Prickles ran down Horace's spine a heartbeat before a barrage of bright lights rushed toward him.

Terrified that he might kill himself with his own magic, Horace didn't dare reach for it as he ducked under the window. The walls rocked as hostile magic struck the side of the villa. Fire seared the outer brick facing, and ice froze the mortar solid. A windstorm battered the manor while the ground shook. Crawling back from the window under a storm of frozen hail, Horace could feel the structure of the villa shaking around him.

A jet of flame flashed in his peripheral vision. Biting back his fear, Horace reacted as he'd learned from Ubar, using his feel of the
zoana
to follow the tether of power back to its source on the lawn. Before he could talk himself
out it, he seized a thread of Shinar and severed that ethereal connection with a quick slash. The fire evaporated in an instant, leaving behind a haze of smoke and soot. Horace was starting to stand up when a gale of bitter wind surged through the window and threw him backward. His arms spun as he tried to catch his balance, but the wind held him captive until it smashed him against the opposite wall. Eyes squeezed shut, he struggled to free himself, but the winds buffeted him without relent. After three tries, he found the connection to the Imuvar dominion fueling the winds and sliced it apart. Suddenly unsuspended, he fell to his knees. A blinding light shone through the window. Something was building outside the villa, over the figures on the lawn. Horace felt its power coalescing, a combination of at least two dominions. It was time to abandon ship. Staying on his hands and knees, he scurried toward the door. He opened it just in time.

The concussion lifted Horace across the threshold and into the hallway. He landed on his side, jamming his elbow hard against the floor. Gasping through clenched teeth, he fumbled his way to his feet. The hallway was dark. The floor, he noticed, was slightly askew.
This whole damned house is coming down.

He glanced in the direction of the queen's suite but then ran in the other direction, toward the south wing. To Alyra's room.

The floor shook again, and he almost ran over Mezim before a flash of light illuminated the secretary running in the opposite direction.

“Mezim!”

“My lord!”

“This way!”

They ran to Alyra's room. The door was closed. Praying she was inside, Horace shoved it open with his shoulder. Though the oil lamps were unlit, the window shutters were open, allowing stilettos of moonlight to stab inside. He approached the bed, where a long lump lay under the sheets.

“Al—,” he started to call to her when a silvery streak flashed toward him from the shadows behind the door.

Horace flinched away, almost tripping on the loose rug, as the point of a narrow blade hovered in front of his face.

“Horace?” Alyra lowered the knife.

He let out a deep breath and tried to still his thumping heart. Then he saw a slender woman standing behind Alyra. It was the handmaiden he had seen earlier.

Alyra gestured to the slave woman. “This is Sefkahet. We were just talking. What's happening?”

Horace held out a hand. “It's an attack. We need to get out of here.”

“Just a moment.”

He waited anxiously as Alyra knelt down and reached under the small bed. She retrieved a leather satchel and slung it over her shoulder. Then she nodded to him as she stood up. “Where are we going?”

“To find the queen.”

Horace led the women out to the hallway where Mezim waited, glancing anxiously all around. Distant lights through the windows cast flickering shadows across the walls. Horace started down the hallway in the direction of the royal apartment, but Alyra jerked him to a halt by grabbing his arm. “Wait! Stop!”

All at once, Horace felt the overwhelming urge to shake her. Here he was, risking his life to save her, and she couldn't help herself from questioning him. “What?”

“What's the plan?”

“We find the queen and get her away from here. Hopefully, to someplace safe.”

“And where is that?”

“I don't have a damned clue! All right? Let's just try to get of this alive.”

She released his arm. “All right.”

He spun around and hurried down the hall, trusting the others to keep up. Some of the floorboards had sprung loose, making for treacherous footing. As they got to the main body of the villa, the sound of quick footsteps made Horace stop short. He peered around a corner as Ubar appeared, hustling toward them.

Horace stepped out into the open. “Lord Ubar, it's me.”

“Lord Horace!” The
zoanii
slowed his gait. “I was coming to find you. Please hurry. We must get to Her Majesty.”

“That's where we were heading,” Alyra said, coming to stand behind Horace. “Are you all right?”

“Quite fine,” Ubar replied, pausing to take in Mezim and the handmaiden. “But we must hurry. The energies surrounding the house are growing in magnitude.”

Horace could feel it, too. A gathering sense of dread from outside the villa's walls, like a great wave about to break over the gunwales.

They found the first body at the mouth of the corridor leading to the queen's private suite. A member of the Queen's Guard. Three more lay behind him. The stench of blood and shit filled the hallway. Ubar held a sleeve to his mouth as he stepped past the soldiers. Horace forced himself to look down at them.
They were my responsibility. And I failed them.

Horace thought to look for signs of sorcery on the bodies—burns or bizarre fractures—but instead he saw blood from long slashes, the lethal strikes delivered to their throats and across their torsos. He saw a shadow move in his peripheral vision a heartbeat before he thought to call out a warning.

A figure cloaked in black from head to foot emerged from the darkness of the hallway. His garb looked like leather, but it fit his body like a second skin. A knife, its blade blackened as well, leapt out at Lord Ubar. Horace tried to focus his
zoana
to strike the assassin, but the power refused to answer his call.

“No!” he shouted.

The point of the knife stopped six inches from Ubar's turned back as if it had run into a stone wall. The attacker struggled as a faint shimmer of frost rimed his blade. Then the ice flowed up his hand and arm. He pulled back as if for another thrust, but Ubar raised a hand. The assassin stumbled backward, his blade dropped, clutching at his chest. He sank to his knees and then fell over, unmoving. A stream of clear water dribbled from his open mouth.

“A Blood Knife,” Ubar said. “Assassin from Scavia. Legendary in their prowess.”

Horace shook his head. “I'm sorry. I tried to—”

A second shadow in the same black skin-suit detached from the opposite side of the corridor, coming up behind Ubar on silent steps. Ubar started to turn, and Horace lunged forward, hoping to grab the knife before it struck.
The assassin stopped suddenly and turned, reaching back, but crumpled before he could complete the action.

Alyra knelt behind him. She withdrew a slim knife from his back and wiped the blade on the dead assassin's clothes before she stood up. Horace noticed her hands were shaking ever so slightly. He wanted to say something supportive, but instead he just nodded.

Lord Ubar's face had turned a pale shade of bronze, his eyes slightly glassy. Horace took him by the elbow. “You all right?”

Ubar nodded twice, his lips pressed tight together. “We should continue.”

The door to the queen's apartments was closed. Ubar reached for the latch, but Horace stopped him. Motioning the young lord aside, Horace opened an inner pathway to the Mordab dominion. At least he tried to. His
qa
remained closed. He actually felt embarrassed as the seconds passed and he was still fumbling to access his power.
Why is this happening now?