SpellBreaker: First Ordinance, Book 4 (30 page)

"I suggest you call upon your allies, honey," I told Ry. "Do it now. We have no idea how much time we have before they release the N'il Mo'erti on Karathia, and then send them across the Alliances."

* * *

Karathia—Past

Zaria

My hands shook only a little as I set the tray of food in front of Wellend. This was the last time he'd sit in his study as King of Karathia.

With the right people about him, he would have been a good King.

A just King.

His own family had plotted his death.

His and Warlend's deaths would be recorded in Karathia's history. I wanted to weep for the circumstances that brought us to this point.

I wanted to murder several afterward, for their parts in it.

Only time would tell if anything I'd done would have an impact on the future, and who would eventually sit the throne as the rightful Heir.

Time
.

To the Mighty, it could be nothing more than a blink. An irritation. For those of us involved in its everyday workings, it held both hope and disaster.

Even Schrödinger couldn't put time in a box—it was as ethereal as the emptiness between stars and as substantial as the weight of all worlds combined.

So many things depended upon my small nudges and the offering of ideas. Like arranging pieces into a puzzle, it would never become whole unless all were fit into the proper places.

Ilya, I love you
, I sent as I nodded to Wellend.
More than you will ever know
.

* * *

Ilya

Wallend was drinking at a pub near Blackmantle Manor. Even he'd become tired of his son's restless destruction at home. Too many things Deris destroyed were beyond Wallend's ability to set right.

I sat in a corner, nursing a mug of beer that could use improvement in its making when the barkeep slapped a refill in front of Wallend. "Heard yer brother's on the throne, now," the barkeep growled.

Wallend, who'd had too much ale already, chose to argue.

"My brother is not the rightful King. My son, by right according to the last Q'elindi's prophecy, will be King."

"I heard yer son is nothing but a useless whelp who likes fire too much fer his own good. Can't be a King if the palace is burned to the ground."

"Filth!" Wallend's spell went awry, knocking bottles and crockery off the shelves behind the bar instead of hitting the barkeep as intended. The scent of fermented alcohol followed the nerve-twisting crash of glass shards and chunks of pottery spilling in crunches and tinkles across a stone floor.

Before I could hold up a hand to stop it, the barkeep sent a Fourth-level blast against a drunken Prince, whose body slammed against the wall near the door and lay there, unmoving.

What followed that day will be burned into my memory; not because it happened, but because I never stopped any of it.

The barkeep had allies, I discovered, and they arrived at the bar in moments. Wallend, already dead, was stripped of his clothing and his body mounted on a pike outside the bar before a mob of at least a hundred gathered to attack Blackmantle Manor.

Hegatt had enemies, it appeared, and if what I feared were true, Deris had fanned the flames of discontent in the surrounding villages by his penchant for harming others. Someone, somewhere, had let it slip that Deris' father and grandfather thought him the rightful heir to the throne. If my guess were correct, Deris himself may have said something.

The people were striking back. What concerned me most, however, was who showed up at the last to lead the charge against Blackmantle Manor.

In disguise, most wouldn't recognize him.

I recognized him easily, as I'd been born during his reign.

Wylend Arden had come to destroy his younger brother Wallend and Wallend's eldest child.

No, I didn't see Lord Morphis anywhere, but that didn't surprise me. It would be easy enough for Wylend to take time away from his lover—time enough to lead the charge against this branch of the family tree.

In ten days' time, Wylend would lead a charge of a different kind—against those usurpers intending to take the throne.

By that time, his eldest brother would be dead.

The Heir's ring hadn't come to him. Did that precipitate this act of violence, or had it been fermenting in Wylend's mind for longer than that?

Had Zaria seen it, and not told me?

That's when her mental voice sounded in my head.
Ilya, I love you
, she sent.
More than you will ever know
.

Could that be a lie as well? I no longer knew what to think.

Yes, the plan I'd made was now less significant than the dust beneath my feet. Whether Wallend deserved death or not, it shouldn't have been delivered in this way, by his brother, who held no place in court. Only the King and his Regent could force Wallend to account for crimes committed.

Wylend had taken matters into his own hands. While he hadn't delivered the death blow himself, he'd likely orchestrated it.

Deris and Daris hadn't reached their majority and remained at Blackmantle Manor, while a mob surged in their direction. Deris had probably been foolish with his words regarding a prophecy he'd only heard once, but this was not justice.

Justice
.

It hung upon the tip of a pin. A shift in any direction and it would fall. Once justice fell, only chaos would remain—with murder in its wake.

As despicable as I found Deris Arden, Karathian law prohibited this attack upon him and his sister. Yes, I understood what the future held and argued with myself while precious time passed. With a sigh, I let the argument go.

Deris Arden
, I sent,
you and your sister are in danger
. Pulling his father's body off its pike with power, I employed more power to send it to Blackmantle Manor.

This is what awaits you if you stay
, I continued.

Your choice is disappointing.
The voice was new to me—and female.

* * *

Karathia—Present

Quin

The adjustments to the N'il Mo'erti must have been minor ones—they were accomplished in little more than a day. I didn't understand how that was possible until one of Deris' loyal warlocks spoke about it at dinner.

"Good thing those machines learn from one another," he grinned and bit into one of Janis' rolls. "Easy enough to tell one and let it tell a hundred more. I think we should keep the cook alive," he spoke around another mouthful. "Good bread."

Would the kitchen crew survive with Janis?

That would be something, at least. For now, too, Dorgus was still alive and still acting as Vardil Cayetes.

I wondered when the twins would learn that Vardil would soon retake his criminal empire. Would his war be with the twins instead of the Alliances?

I had no answers to that question; I only had guilt and shame for what I'd done.

Without Vardil, I was no longer needed to assist Dorgus, who found me repulsive anyway. I offered to help Janis, who'd welcomed me into the kitchen.

She was the only one who knew of Vardil's escape—with the assistance of V'ili. I couldn't bear to tell her the initial mistake was mine. Had I not healed Vardil, he'd still be here. Janis assumed he'd recovered on his own.

The Orb—had chosen to ignore Vardil's escape. I fetched and carried for the servants in the dining hall while fretting about that.

That's when I recalled that the Orb had marked all for death; all, not just Vardil Cayetes. Through Deris and Daris and the deadly machines they held, entire worlds would die in invasions of N'il Mo'erti.

Even Vardil's strongholds would fall if the N'il Mo'erti came. It no longer mattered that he could hide behind Sirenali, or have V'ili place obsession for him. The twins had Sirenali of their own, plus machines not susceptible to any obsession.

"We have after-dinner entertainment," Deris appeared in the dining hall with Dorgus, whose face was purpling with bruises. Dorgus also wore heavy chains—placed there by Daris, who arrived shortly after her brother did.

I went still.

Deris would experiment with his newly repaired machines.

Dorgus would be the target.

Brushing tears away, I shuffled toward the kitchen for another bottle of wine.

* * *

Karathia—Past

Zaria

We were forced to watch as the bodies of King and Regent were burned in the castle courtyard. My focus wasn't on the makeshift pyre, or on Hegatt, who stood with arms crossed as he waited for the fire to consume it.

My focus was on Helsa, who held a book in her hand.

No, it wasn't the book that appeared whenever a legitimate heir took the throne. This book was one of her own making. She would force the castle staff to believe that she would rightfully ascend the throne once the bodies on the pyre were gone.

I waited for that moment, with full understanding of what would happen. Nearly a week had passed and word of Wallend's death had reached the palace. Helsa barely acknowledged the loss of her youngest son. Word also had it that Blackmantle Manor, Hegatt's home, had been reduced to ash.

For me, there was no word from Ilya and Deris and Daris had disappeared, if the rumors were correct. Hegatt and Helsa likely had mindspeech from them; they seemed unconcerned by their absence, so they were in a safe place.

Helsa couldn't hide that information from me; I merely didn't wish to take it from her, yet. Deris wouldn't inherit the throne anyway until he reached his majority at twenty-two. Helsa intended to rule until then. Her fantasy would be interrupted soon enough.

In the interim, many had come to pledge their loyalty to Helsa; they feared their homes and families would be targeted if they didn't. Hegatt and his daughter had reputations on Karathia, and neither were good.

I wondered how many of these citizens intended to honor their vows to Helsa and oppose Wylend Arden when he arrived to take the throne. My guess is that their loyalty would lie with whomever came out on top, without their involvement.

The wood of the pyre fell inward with a crash of high-flying sparks, while white-hot coals burned in the depths of thick tree trunks. The crackle of the flames roared a song as smoke drifted and eddied through the courtyard.

I watched, unfeeling, as Helsa finished writing and closed the book she held.

Hegatt nodded to his daughter and both left the courtyard, calling for wine to be served in the Queen Regent's study.

* * *

Karathia

King's Palace

Lissa

What are they waiting for? I didn't voice my question aloud or send it to anyone—the thought was private as I didn't want to engender fear.

Bel Erland wore the uniform of a Commander in the King's army, his Falchani swords strapped to his back. Drake and Drew had trained him, just as they'd trained Rylend. Gavril arrived, then; I understood that he'd left Tybus in charge of the Campiaan Alliance.

Tory had come as well. These were Ry's brothers and they would stand with him, no matter what the outcome.

Then, the strangest thing happened.

A contingent from Grey House arrived, led by my daughter Nissa and her mates Toff and Trikleer.

Never in written history had Grey House wizards allied with the Royal House of Karathia. It helped a great deal that Ry was related to Grey House, now.

"Mom," Nissa made her way to me and wrapped her arms about my shoulders. I hugged her back and kissed her cheek.

"What are we going to do?" She pulled away, her eyes searching my face for an answer.

"Baby, this is a problem. If they order all those things to attack, we won't know where they're attacking from and spells sent toward the flying bursts probably won't be going in the proper direction. It's the way these things are made. Not only do they have ranos technology, they can send the blasts in loops before they ever reach a target."

"Meanwhile, we could be sending deadly spells toward villages and homes," Nissa shook her head.

"Sit down with me," I led her toward a small chamber outside Ry's throne room. "I need something to drink. We'll discuss this and you can decide whether you want to stay."

"We're here, Mom. To the bitter end." My daughter's mouth was set—much like mine could be. If circumstances were different, the resemblance would have made me smile.

* * *

Karathia—Past

Ilya

I hadn't expected to be punished.

Not like this. I'd been informed of my poor choice—and what I should have done instead. I realized how true it was when it was presented to me.

I'd been moved, too—in time.

Presently, I occupied a time six days past—well, six days may as well have been six thousand years.

Zaria was lost to me and I wept.

Chapter 17

Zaria

Hegatt made sure that all who occupied the palace were in the throne room to witness Helsa's taking of the throne. A page stood close by; the ring Marid crafted now lay on the pillow the boy held.

Many had stayed to kneel at Helsa's feet after she sat the throne.

I waited.

As did Wylend's army
.

* * *

Karathia—Present

Quin

Deris insisted that all attend Dorgus' public execution.

No, I didn't realize what he had in mind. I thought Dorgus' death would be swift.

It wasn't.

The Orb circled Deris' head like an evil crown as spell after spell was leveled at Dorgus. After Dorgus' initial shrieks when small, carefully aimed fires burned his flesh, Daris muted them. They were disturbing her enjoyment of Deris' artistry at torture.

Most of us closed our eyes after that; we had no desire to witness the silent torture of a man whose main crime was allowing his heart to rule his head. That's why I opened my eyes after a while and took Dorgus' life with the talent I held.

None would save his life; therefore, I spared him further torture. Dorgus' body slumped, lifeless, while Deris cursed him, kicked his body and set it aflame again. He hadn't gotten to employ one of his death machines at the last; Dorgus died before Deris could unleash his full fury.