The Queen of Lies (50 page)

“Luck,” Jessa offered. “In Amhaven some of the woodsmen tie offerings to trees to curry favor with the witches and Spirit folk. We’re close to the border.”

“I’m not going to enjoy my time in Weatherly, am I?” Heath asked.

“It will be brief,” Jessa said. “I need to coronate a king, and then we can be on our way to the many-splendored city of Thelassus, where you’ll live in a standard of luxury that all in Creation will envy. There you can enjoy hot baths, lithe manservants, and of course, a murderous web of intrigue.”

“I’ll take your crazy family over a walk through the woods any day. That’s how much I hate my life right now.”

“You want a drink?” Sword pulled out a flask and offered it.

Heath stopped in his tracks. “Mad—Sword, you promised…no alcohol.”

“Relax. It’s just water.” He tipped the flask back in his mouth and made a brief pained expression. “Really strong water.”

Heath grabbed the flask and sniffed it. The smell nearly knocked him back. He tossed it as hard as he could toward a reed-infested pool of stagnant water. It froze midair and returned to Sword’s hand. Sword grinned.

In some ways Sword represented the worst aspects of Maddox and Sword—he was impulsive, reckless, and defiant. Maddox never lacked confidence in his own abilities or superiority, but Sword’s carefree humor made it almost charming. Almost sexy.

“I think we’re close,” Jessa whispered. “The water around us doesn’t heed me as readily as it should.”

“You can see it through the trees.” Sword pointed past the gnarled roots of a swamp tree to a dead clearing.

Heath took Jessa’s arm. “Your Majesty, whatever you see here…it will leverage your fears, your insecurities. It can appear as anyone in your life who’s died, and it will use that appearance against you.”

“I’m more than prepared,” Jessa said. “My mother is the person who raised me to live in continual doubt of myself. She won’t break my resolve. I’m just curious why you think this will work.”

Sword explained, “The dolmens are old magic, corrupted by the Harrowers who use them them to murder people in this world. They can’t be destroyed, and if they’re contained, they move. Your magic is primal, which means it’s older and stronger. If you can’t blow this thing up, we’re fucked.”

“Summon the Father Whale if you have to,” Heath added. “I’ll pray to him as hard as I can.”

Heath meant it. Since seeing Jessa summon Kondole from the clouds to defeat the avatar of Kultea, he had felt the stirrings of a faith he had long thought dead. There was no Ohan to come to the aid of mortals, only an ideal to encourage charity and cooperation—when it wasn’t used to justify atrocities. But Kondole was real.

Jessa nodded. “I’m ready.”

The trio marched into the clearing where the circular stone stood atop the mossy crumbling monoliths. As before, the clearing seemed unnatural, the wilderness silent, the sun somehow dimmer.

Jessa raised her palm toward the stones.

“Wait!” a familiar voice called from the stones.

A Fodder in sleeveless black leather armor stumbled out with his hands raised. He had a scar across his face and a jewel-encrusted bastard sword strapped to his back. “It’s fucking great to see you again, mate.”

“Scar,” Sword whispered.

“Is he…?” Jessa paused.

Sword nodded. “It’s my old self. Again.”

“I was expecting Satryn,” Heath said, “or your dad or my mom or…”

Sword chimed in, “Torin would have been an excellent choice. But I suppose if you want to get maximum effect, the manifestation should be someone all of us knew.”

Scar clapped his hands slowly. “Bravo. You three have done a bang-up job. You ended Evan Landry. You saved Rivern. You’ve proven yourselves fucking champions. Cheers!”

“Rivern was destroyed,” Jessa said coldly.

“And Riley was killed by his girlfriend,” Heath corrected.

Sword added. “I’d call it a draw at best.”

“But look at you all,” Scar said emphatically. “Maddox got himself a better intelligence. Heath had a transformative epiphany that gave him faith, and Jessa…sweet, sweet Jessa. You finally found the courage to stand up to your evil mum.”

Heath nodded to Jessa. “The Harrowers are scared. You should light this up…now.”

“Full disclosure, mate,” Scar said. “They’re in fact very concerned that you’ll do something rash. You see, these sites play an important role in the ongoing survival of humankind. The Memento Mori are the collected dreams, hopes, and memories of all people, preserved for all time.”

Sword challenged him. “No, they’re memory constructs patched together from the conscious effluvia of the dead, puppeteered by a malevolent alien consciousness with a hunger for human suffering.”

“Still,” Scar countered, “it’s technically an afterlife. And it’s not human suffering they hunger for. It’s understanding. The pacts are a test. And you’ve passed with the highest honors.”

Heath chuckled. “They’re experiments, not tests.”

“And what insight did the months of terror you inflicted on the people of Rivern and the refugees from my own homeland gain the Harrowers?” Jessa demanded.

“It helps them understand you, love,” Scar explained. “They aren’t conscious beings. They don’t need to eat or shit or fuck or any of that. They aren’t limited to seeing time happen in one direction or observing the world from a single perspective. It’s as hard for them to understand the finite as it is for you to grasp the infinite.”

“Why would anyone open the green door?” Sword explained to the others. “It was a question one of the Guides asked me in a vision I had. Behind the green door was infinite suffering.”

“I don’t understand,” Jessa said, a confused look on her face.

Heath said, “How can a being not know they’re opening a door to infinite suffering? That’s the question behind every pact. An omniscient being can’t comprehend what it’s like to know nothing—no more than we could understand what it’s like to see the future but not the past.”

“I still don’t understand,” Jessa said, “and I’m not encouraged by this line of reasoning in the slightest. May I?” She readied her hands to deliver a blow against the dolmen.

Scar hastily said, “All right, all right! They have a deal for you. Five hundred and one years. For that amount of time, there will be no harrowings, no pacts. It’s enough for you and your direct line of descendants to live in absolute peace. Additionally…we’ll heal the priest’s cancer. We’ll also tell you the secret to destroying the Razor of Setahari. We can even reveal how to unbind the Seal of Sephariel, which keeps Maddox trapped in immortality. Hells, they’ll even throw in…Catherine.”

“Must be upsetting they wouldn’t offer
your
life back, Scar,” Sword said, “but you were a fucking asshole.”

Heath urged, “No matter how good it sounds, it’s always a trick. Nothing comes for free.”

Jessa sighed. “This dolmen could truly represent an afterlife for all the people lost to Kultea’s wrath.”

“It
is
the home of millions of souls’ memories,” Scar encouraged.

“I wasn’t finished,” Jessa said brusquely. “This afterlife is worse than the five hells. I thank you for your role in saving my life, Scar. You and everyone else deserve better than to be the puppets of these dark forces.”

Scar glowered. “You think you’re so righteous, don’t you? What bold new world will you create for mankind when your empire stretches to every far corner of the world?”

“I’m not my mother, and that isn’t my ambition,” Jessa countered.

“Sure you’re not.” Scar grinned. “But I’ll give you one fun little secret before you take out your aggressions for Mommy on a derelict piece of ancient engineering. The three—and a half technically—of you…you’re not the heroes in this tale. You’re the bloody villains.”

“Get somewhere safe,” Jessa whispered to her companions.

Scar laughed. “You can’t run from yourselves!”

Jessa raised her arms to the sky. “Kondole! I invoke you. Hear the prayers of your daughter and purge this world of blight!”

Clouds gathered in the sky above her, spilling out in a roiling vortex of thunderheads. Heath lowered his head in prayer—it felt strange to do, but he felt the presence of the divine.

Sword and Scar gazed up as the overcast darkened the sky. Flashes of lightning burst from within the cloud banks, illuminating them from within.

Sword enjoined with another incantation in an old language Heath didn’t recognize—a summoning ritual perhaps.

Even Scar grudgingly admitted, “This is kind of badass.”

As if the clouds were the surface of a vast ocean, the head of the Father Whale with his gaping maw of lightning surged toward the earth. The avatar was preceded by a shock wave of air pressure that nearly knocked Heath to his feet. He resumed his silent prayer.

Great Kondole, Creation needs you. The world is sick, and it has been far too long since the Gods dwelled among us. Grant us your protection and your mercy.

Kondole let out a high, mournful note that echoed over the sky as he floated toward the earth. His mouth was wider than the clearing and filled with a raging storm of lightning.

Kondole paused and let out a lower note, followed by something that sounded like an angry, guttural purr.

“Heath,” Jessa cautioned, “you might want to step back.”

Heath didn’t move.

The Father Whale breathed a torrent of white light into the dolmen, blinding Heath. The air became electrified, and then the deafening crash of thunder shook the earth, toppling him to the ground.

He picked himself up and studied the clearing. The dolmen had vanished without a trace; only faint impressions in the earth marked its presence. Jessa knelt on the ground, and Sword was sprawled some distance behind her.

“Fuck,” Sword said, rolling to his side.

“It is done,” Jessa said, then quickly added, “Obviously. I don’t know why I felt the need to say that.”

“I’m afraid it may have just started. The Harrowers aren’t going to take this lying down,” Sword said. “At least we know they have a weakness—fuckloads of magic.”

“We’ll be ready.” Jessa brushed her dress and stood.

“No, we won’t.” Heath struggled off the ground. “But we’ll be capable.”

Jessa stared at him, jaw wide.

Sword got off the ground and explained, “Achelon showed me another seal, and—” He stopped mid sentence, brow furrowed with confusion as he looked at Heath.

“Do I have something on my face?” Heath asked, feeling a bit exposed.

“Kind of,” Jessa said slowly.

Sword walked over to Heath and drew his Sword. He shoved the mirrorlike blade in front of Heath’s face so he could see his own reflection.

Heath’s hand went immediately to his cheek. He recognized his handsome features, but his eyes—the eyes he’d partially healed during Satryn’s attack—were whole. And silver.

“Fuck,” Heath gasped.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Sword asked Jessa.

“It can’t be,” she said. Heath saw his argent gaze reflected in Jessa’s own.

“I’m not a Stormlord too, am I?” Sword asked, checking his reflection in his blade, only to shrug.

“Kondole has chosen you,” Jessa said. “And I have no idea what that means. No one ever has acquired that power.”

Heath flexed his hand as arcs of bluish light flickered between his fingers. He grinned with delight. “It’s a sign.”

“Of what, though?” Sword asked.

TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK TWO

FROM:
[email protected]
(Astrid Stephens)

TO:
[email protected]
(Audra Maddox)

SUBJECT: It’s raining frogs—another anomaly?

Hey,

This is weird. I’ve had three people bring me rocks that looked like frogs…because apparently I like frogs?

Dinesh swears up and down he’s not punking me, and one of the rocks came from Tacker. Yeah, the director of Sentinel Security gave me a rock. He said he found it on a patrol and thought I might like it. What do you say to a nearly seven-foot-tall ex-Navy SEAL black-ops commando? I told him thanks.

There’s just been a lot of coincidences lately, and I’m a little freaked out actually. A lot of things have been happening like that lately. Lily has lost and found her engagement ring on the beach three times now. It’s a like a low-level mass hysteria back at Base Camp Two. Maybe there’s something in the food supply. LOL. So far no witch trials.

Anyway if you find any frog-shaped rocks, kick them my way. I think they make cool souvenirs.

Love you always and stay safe,

A

S
AGAR AND
S
KYE
were snuggling by a campfire on the beach. Their plastic pup tent looked like a glowing jellyfish from the light of the laptop screens inside. Strewn across the beach were matte-black cases of scientific equipment that Astrid knew next to nothing about. The budget for this project had been exorbitant, and her role in approving things was more of a formality. Half of what the scientists had requested was probably unnecessary.