empress of storms (26 page)

Lukas closed his remaining eye again. The other one gaped like a flapping mouth. “Oh. Didn’t I already say? It was Margot.”

Matthias recoiled. “Your
aunt
Margot?”

“Yes. She told me long ago that she should have been on the throne, so she wanted to have a hand in the making of the next king.” Another faint smile, fleeting as birds. “She was always there. You put her in the rooms next to mine. She was always, always there, no matter how many women I slept with, no matter what I did to forget. She was the one who found the mirror and suggested I give it to you. She wanted me to be king, said I would be a better king than you.” Wetness trickled out from under the lashes of the good eye. “But I never wanted to kill Mother. I tried to tell her that night after night but she wouldn’t listen. She kept slashing at me with her talons, screaming at me all the time. I had to run every night, sleep during the day. Crossing moving water was the only thing that would slow her down, and even then she’d find me eventually. I thought if I made it to Hellas and got onto one of the islands I would escape her, but she caught me outside Armede and did this to me.” One hand came up and touched the skin below the empty eye socket. “Ripped it open like a grape. I wanted to die from the pain. She would have gutted me that night if I hadn’t made it over a small stream. I can still hear her screaming on the other side, hungry for my blood.”

Matthias tried to wrap his mind around the horrors pouring from his son’s mouth. “Your mother?” he whispered. “You’re telling me your mother is the creature that’s been attacking you?”

Lukas snorted, wiping his nose on his forearm. “I told the abbot about the mirror, how Mother died. He says that her manner of death turned her into a revenant, a vengeance ghost. She won’t rest until she kills the one who killed her. She’s been trying to kill me since the day I fled Mons.”

Matthias’s gut churned harder now.
Margot.
He had fostered the molester of his son in his home for decades, honoring her and including her in his confidences. And because of that he had lost his son and Hanne was now a mindless, raging ghost condemned to wander the earth in search of vengeance.

Bitter water flooded his mouth. He leaned over and lost his breakfast onto the turned earth.

The neck of a leathern canteen appeared in the corner of his eye. “Here, rinse your mouth,” he heard Lukas say.

He fumbled for the canteen and took a swig of water, swishing it around his mouth and spitting. He couldn’t turn to look at the battered figure next to him. “I didn’t know, Lukas,” he said, hoarse. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

A tentative hand touched his shoulder. “As am I, Father. I’ll spend the rest of my life here doing penance for the attempt on your life, and for Mother’s death. I…” Lukas broke off, swallowing audibly. “I can’t forget, but I am learning how to forgive. I hope that in time, she will as well.”

Could a revenant forgive? Was there such a capacity in a ghost filled with rage? Taking a deep breath of the warm garden air, Matthias turned back to his son and reached out, his hand covering the bony ones still stained with fertile soil. “I’ll speak to Danaë as soon as I get back to Hellaspont. There may be a way to lay your mother’s shade and give her peace that doesn’t involve your death.”

Lukas nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck. “Thank you. I know the right thing to do would be to travel back to the mainland and let her kill me. But I’m a coward, Father. Even now,” he gestured at his scarred form, “I still want to live.”

Could he blame Lukas for that? The will to live was something primal, difficult to refuse. Matthias tightened his grip on Lukas’s hands. “I’ll see Margot punished for what she did to you.”

Lukas nodded wearily at that. “Be aware that she bears no love for Danaë. She knows what the possibility of a new heir would do to her ambitions.” His voice thickened. “While we’re on the subject, let me formally abdicate the rank of crown prince and my position as your heir. Give it to your child with Danaë.”

“My—wait.” Matthias fumbled in the pouch on his belt, bringing out the heir’s signet ring. “We went through a mining village called Creswaal on the way here,” he said, holding up the ring. “The bookkeeper for the mine, a man named Simons, told us a story about you and his grand-niece, and a child named Luna. He gave me this.”

Lukas’s face lit up. “Did you see her? Is she well? Were they able to find a good foster home for her? Please, Father, stop there on the way back and leave some money for her upbringing, I beg you—”

“She is well,” Matthias interrupted him. “Is she your daughter?”

“Yes. Her mother—” His face spasmed in grief. “I married Kaat. I insisted, Father. I knew I might not be able to stay, and I wanted her and our child to have whatever protection I could offer. She was wonderful to me. Check the village church records, you’ll find the marriage there. Luna is my legitimate daughter.” He tensed. “But if you have the ring—”

“Simons brought Luna to us and asked us to take her in,” Matthias said, watching Lukas relax at his words. “Danaë has agreed to foster her in Hellaspont. We thought it would be the safest place for her, all things considered.”

“Safe. Yes, Hellaspont is safe.” His bony fists clenched under Matthias’s hand. “Don’t take her to Mons, for the love of all that’s holy. Not while Margot is there.”

“I will deal with Margot on my return, I promise you that,” Matthias said, his voice savage. “And Danaë and I will care for Luna. She’ll want for nothing.”

Something lost and haunted, and terribly young came into Lukas’s face then. “Then that is all I can ask of you. And it’s far more than I deserve.” Matthias could see his son’s struggle to remain stoic, and its slow failure. “I’m sorry, Father. So sorry. For everything.”

Roughly, Matthias put an arm around his son’s shoulders and pulled him close. “As am I, my son. As am I.”

A half hour later he and Kostas were back in the whitewashed room with Abbot Demetrios. “I wish to make a donation to the abbey,” Matthias said without ceremony. “A yearly donation, with more added if you need it.”

He mentioned an amount, and the little abbot blinked. “That … is very generous of you, majesty,” Demetrios said. “Rest assured that your generosity will assist a great many Hellene fishermen and their families.”

“Good. And if Lu—Brother Jonas requires anything, please send word to Hellaspont and her majesty will arrange for it to be sent.”

The abbot nodded. “I think what Brother Jonas needs more than anything is a measure of peace. Did he tell you the provenance of the spirit that haunts him?”

The broken, furious ghost of Hanne. Matthias’s throat tightened. “Yes. If there is a way to free the spirit and let it go on to the afterlife, I’ll see that it’s done.”

“Good. We shall remember you and your family in our prayers tonight.” Demetrios raised his hand and Matthias bowed his head to receive the blessing. “Go with the gods, and may the sea carry you safely home.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Matthias paused. In his heart of hearts, he knew he wouldn’t be returning to this island again. “Watch over my son.”

Demetrios nodded. “Watch over my queen.”

“Agreed.”

Another donkey cart returned them to the harbor around noon. To Matthias’s untutored eye the
Aegis
had been reloaded with supplies and was ready to leave. “How quickly can we get back to Hellaspont?” he asked Andros once he was aboard.

The captain squinted at the sky. “If the weather holds, I can have you back in eleven hours.”

Matthias calculated the time. “Make it ten and I’ll make you a rich man.”

Andros grinned at that. “I’m already a rich man, majesty. But I’ll get you back to the queen in ten hours if I have to beg Lis to pull the ship herself.”

****

After a year of being stymied by Pelas’s treachery, Danaë found that taking the adept’s test was something of an anticlimax. In order to graduate to the rank of magistra, three high-level spells had to be performed without error. The first, unsurprisingly, was StormCaller. Danaë understood her new tutor’s reasoning; if she could cast the spell that had become associated with the feelings of guilt over her father’s death, casting the other two spells would be simplicity itself.

Still, it felt wrong to stare up at the deep blue sky, feeling out the humidity riding on the air currents. “Magistra, are you sure we have to start with this one?” she asked.

“I’m sure,” Ife said, arms folded across her chest. “Remember, the cloud only needs to produce rain. You don’t need to be extravagant with its size.”

“Yes, Magistra.” Instead of the cliffs overlooking the Eastern Sea, Danaë stood in her favorite palace garden, a small one surrounded by an elegant peristyle. The guards had been cleared away, and she and Ife were alone in the space.

She sent her elemental power upwards, feeling for the heavier clumps of moisture in the air that could be drawn together. Under her breath she started a rolling chant, the words forming a channel for the magic and directing it upwards into the sky. 

At first, nothing happened. Then a wisp of vapor began to form high over the garden. Shepherding it with the greatest care, Danaë added more moisture to the nascent cloud until it was white and puffy.

She continued to grab humid air and pack it into the cloud, holding everything together while she increased the moisture level. The cloud spread out along its bottom, turning grey as droplets of water began to form inside it.

Now she funneled energy into the cloud, concentrating it. The effect was much like squeezing a soaked sponge. Glittering crystal drops of rain fell down from the cloud, dampening Danaë’s hair and watering the garden.

“Enough,” Ife said, and Danaë could hear the satisfaction in her voice. “Now dissipate the cloud.”

With care, Danaë reversed the process until the cloud had dissolved and the sky over the garden was clear once more. She checked the currents to make sure that no lingering influences were there, then sighed in relief. “That felt good, Magistra.”

“As well it should,” Ife said. “You’re finally using your magic in a proper fashion. Now,” she turned, studying the dry fountain in the middle of the garden. It featured a marble statue of a girl with an amphora on one shoulder. It was obvious from the design that water was supposed to pour out of the amphora and into the catch basin in which the statue stood. “Yes, that’s a good one. Make the water flow.”

Danaë considered the fountain. It had been fed by a spring that had dried up years ago after an earthquake. She would need WaterFinder for this. Extending her senses downwards, she began reciting the spell as she probed the earth underneath her for the dried spring. Sometimes a failed spring could be brought back to life by linking it to another nearby water source, or clearing away a blockage that had cut it off in the first place.

She discovered that the fountain spring was in the second category. Its outflow channels had been blocked by rocks and sand that had shaken loose by the earthquake. Directing the water to push aside the debris, she concentrated its power until the gentle spring was more like a geyser.

There was a loud belching noise, followed by a rumble. Brownish water spurted from the water bearer’s amphora, turning clear as the debris settled out of the flow. It splashed down into the catch basin, stirring up the few dead leaves and twigs there.

Ife walked to the edge of the fountain and peered down at the water, lips pursed in thought. “Very nice,” she said. “And now, your final test.” She reached into her robe’s pocket and drew out a small wooden cup. Holding it in the burbling stream, she filled it with water.

Then she drew out a tiny vial from the same pocket. Prying out the cork with a thumb, she poured it into the cup and handed it to Danaë. “The water has been adulterated. It won’t kill you, but it will make you very ill for days. Purify the water in the cup, then drink it.”

Danaë’s lips parted in shock. “Magistra, if I get it wrong, the wedding ceremony is tomorrow.”

“Consider yourself lucky, then. In the old days they would adulterate the water with poison.” Ife folded her arms again, nodding at the cup. “Right. Off you go.”

Apprehensive, Danaë considered the fluid in the cup. A faint, sickly sweet smell rose to her nostrils. She recognized it as an herbal extract that was a very effective purgative. If she didn’t neutralize all of it, she would be spewing from both ends for a good day or so.

Calm. You know how to do this. Focus.

Centering herself, she concentrated on the water and began the Purify spell. It was important to work from the top down as the spell turned the water itself into a filter that squeezed out anything dissolved in it—minerals, flavorings, drugs, poison, et al. As she worked she could see tiny grains of what she assumed were minerals settling on the cup’s bottom. An oily layer of the extract soon joined them. She ran through the spell one more time for safety’s sake, then formed a rime of ice over the impurities, locking them away from the rest of the water.

There was nothing else to do now but test her work. She cleared her throat. “Well, then,” she said, trying for a bright tone. “Bottoms up.”

Saluting Ife with the cup, she drank the remaining liquid. It tasted stale, like purified water. Licking her lips, she said, “Did I pass?”

Her tutor peered into the cup. “Since you aren’t vomiting, I think it’s safe to say that you passed.” She looked up with an approving smile. “Congratulations, Magistra Aqua Danaë.”

Reaching over, she touched a finger to Danaë’s adept’s band. It parted and fell off, landing on the grass.

Bending down to hide the sudden tears in her eyes, Danaë scooped up the curve of gold. “Thank you, magistra,” she said, her voice husky. “For everything.”

She could have sworn that she saw Ife’s eyes glistening as well. “Use your power wisely and with fairness, child,” the mage said. “That’s all I ask.”

****

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed like the best of all possible dreams. Danaë attended a final dress fitting, then met with the Guild of Anglers to receive their wedding present, a beautiful knitted shawl done in the traditional patterns used by Hellene fishermen, and dined with Darius, Ife, and a hand-picked selection of Hellaspont residents. And not once did she stop smiling.