The Kingdoms of Dust (27 page)

Nerium’s lips thinned. “No. And not for cowardice—not entirely. I’m a healer. It’s a rare talent to grow in Qais. It also means my magic runs counter to entropomancy. I can’t control the nothing that is Al-Jodâ’im, only oppose it. The odds were poor that I’d survive the process.

“By that time Melantha was twelve, and close to Kash the way I was in my youth. It had become obvious that she was kamnur. For a child raised by mages, this was naturally a disappointment.”

To whom?
Isyllt drowned the question with a swallow of liquor.

“I didn’t lie to her, nor did I disguise the danger. Twelve is old enough to take our most preliminary vows, and those vows can’t be made on pretenses or half-truths. And while other members might have undergone the attempt for gain and glory, none of them would have supported freeing Kash. It was, I thought, the best choice.”

“To feed your own child to the abyss.”

Nerium’s lip curled. “If she had been someone else’s child, would that make it better? Don’t think it was an easy decision, or a heartless one.”

Isyllt lifted her glass, but it was empty. “What happened?”

“We made the attempt. I duplicated my grandfather’s precautions, and added more of my own. With Kash’s help we had more chance of success than any other experiment Quietus had undertaken.” Her eyes closed, lids thin and fragile. “I put my daughter in the pit.” She swallowed and continued. “Even knowing what was to come, it was…hard. She only screamed once, but that made the silence all the worse. The timing was key—too long an exposure and she would die; too short and we would accomplish nothing.”

“Since I spoke to her at dinner, I can only assume you didn’t leave her in too long.” The image of Melantha deflating like an overcooked pastry made Isyllt bite her tongue against untimely laughter.

Nerium closed her eyes again, longer this time. “I flinched. I pulled her out too soon. Oh, it changed her, in striking ways. But not the ways we wanted. I didn’t dare try again. And that meant that I couldn’t release Kash. He never forgave me for that.”

“It seems Melantha did. Enough to stay, at least.”

“The oubliette…took so much from her. As much as it gave, if not more. She recovered, but I’m not sure she understood how much it devoured. I’ve earned other resentments since.”

She smiled bitterly and threw back the last of her drink. Her eyes met Isyllt’s as she lowered the glass. “Think me heartless if you wish. I’m sure I deserve it. But I want you to understand the things I’ve done for Quietus. You know what it’s like to sacrifice for vows, don’t you?”

“I do.” It wasn’t precisely a lie. She had watched Kiril sacrifice so many things for his, even if she had been unwilling to do the same in the end. “But there are things I won’t sacrifice. If I choose to join you, Adam and Moth won’t be bound by my vows. Or Asheris.”

Nerium cocked an eyebrow at the challenge in her voice, but nodded. “The mercenary, no. You might wish to reconsider about the girl. We’ve grown lax in recruiting new members—another complacency we can ill afford.” Her focus drifted for a moment, then snapped back to Isyllt. “Your companions may leave if they choose. But if they won’t take our vows they can never return, or leave with knowledge of what we keep here.”

“Even Asheris? You won’t cloud his memory so easily.”

“Of course,” Nerium said, only a heartbeat too quickly. “We know as many of his secrets as he knows of ours, after all.”

Isyllt pressed her tongue against her teeth to hold back a challenge; it would help no one right now. “Why me?” she asked instead. “Out of all the mages in Khemia, why look to me for this?”

“You first came to our attention after Sivahra. Many of my colleagues were furious to lose so many years of effort there, but I chose to take it as a sign. I’d already seen the hastening trend of failure in the seals, but no one was ready to listen. Losing such a rich source of diamonds was the perfect excuse for me to begin making other plans. As for you—as I said before, as a vinculator and entropomancer, you were exactly the sort of mage we needed. And, I admit, I had a less noble reason as well.

“Many years ago, our supply of apprentices had already begun to dwindle. Since it was clear that Melantha couldn’t take my place, I began searching elsewhere. I’d trained in Selafai long ago, and knew the Arcanost taught the skills we sought. So I went to Erisín hoping to recruit a bright young talent.”

To let them smother here.

“I spoke to your master,” Nerium continued, “hoping to find him sympathetic.”

Isyllt rolled her empty cup between her palms. “He wasn’t, I take it.”

“He might have been, if I could have told him the truth. But without understanding my true purpose, he saw only a foreign agent trying to recruit Selafaïn mages for her own ends. My welcome in Erisín was very short.”

“So you would recruit me now out of spite?”

One cheek creased with her smile. “At my age, you learn to take whatever satisfactions you can find. Even petty ones.”

Nerium set aside her cup, and humor with it, and leaned forward. Despite herself—and her shoulder—Isyllt swayed closer in turn. The force of the woman’s gaze was hard to ignore; if she hadn’t chosen to cloister herself, she could have commanded armies. Nations.

“What we do here is beyond nations,” Nerium said, as if she saw the thought inside Isyllt’s skull. “Beyond kings and emperors, priests and spymasters. I can offer you wealth—we have vaults of it—but no chance to spend it. I can offer you glory, but only a handful will ever hear of it. You’ll have a place of honor in histories no one will read. But most of all, I offer you purpose. An end to doubt and wandering.”

It wasn’t a thing so hard to guess, especially if she’d been watching, or listening to Isyllt’s conversations. All the same, it felt as though Nerium stripped away her armor to see the weaknesses beneath it. Isyllt leaned back, cursing herself for the tell.

“Can you offer me untroubled sleep?” She’d meant to be defiant, but the question came out soft and pleading.

“Oh, child.” Nerium’s voice gentled, and her eyes were bright and sad. “No one can give you that, except you. And it’s a rare gift indeed.” Then she smiled, sharp and dry once more. “Live as long as I have and you won’t need as much rest. But you’re young, and should go to yours. Think on what I’ve said. All of it.”

“I will.” That, at least, was a promise she could keep.

A
fter her conversation with Nerium, sleep seemed an unlikely prospect. So Isyllt was still awake, staring at the ceiling as if only her attention kept it from falling, when Asheris knocked hours later.

“I realized,” he said with a grimace, “that I was never given a room without a bar on the wrong side of the door. May I stay with you?”

“Of course.” It would be a welcome distraction from wondering—and knowing—where Adam slept. “Normally I’d warn you that I kick in my sleep, but I can’t move at all with this damned splint.”

Asheris shed his robe and shirt—intact ones salvaged from their luggage—and ducked behind the sandalwood screen to wash. The lines of his back and shoulders were stiff and unhappy, even more so than after dinner.

Isyllt sat up to make room on the bed, squaring her back against the wall. Her shoulders, like her left hand, were something she took too much for granted.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. The wood-and-leather frame creaked softly as he sat. “Besides the dozen obvious things.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Only those.” He turned to meet her gaze; his own eyes were dark and raw. “I can’t stay here. The walls, the secrets, a thousand years of injustice piled one against the other—it’s too much. But how do I go back to Ta’ashlan and keep these secrets, knowing they’re killing the Fata? Knowing that mortal kingdoms are built on the suffering of spirits?”

“I don’t know.” She reached for his shoulder, meaning to offer comfort, but he recoiled from her touch. Her diamond glittered on her outstretched hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his fear-blackened eyes turning amber again. “It isn’t you. It isn’t even this.” He gestured to her ring.

“I know. It’s this place.” She leaned forward slowly, painfully, letting him see the motion before she pressed her lips against the curve of his ear. Muscles tensed and jumped beneath his skin, but he kept still. “I also know,” she breathed, “that there is nowhere here where we aren’t watched, or overheard. So be careful what you admit out loud.” She kissed his cheek, tasting salt and lingering soap, and pulled away.

His defenses rose piece by piece, till he was calm and unflappable as ever. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. The atmosphere in this place makes me melodramatic—imagine setting a play here. And speaking of which, a production of
The Rain Queen
is scheduled to start soon in Ta’ashlan. How much longer will you consider Lady Kerah’s offer?”

“I’ll have a decision for her soon. If I can ever sleep on it.”

But sleep didn’t come. She lay beside Asheris, each wandering in their own dark thoughts, as dawn crept toward them inch by inch.

It hadn’t yet caught them when a chill drew Isyllt upright. Not the draft over the casement, nor the cold of her ring that signaled death, but an unpleasant hollow sensation behind her sternum. The splinter of void that lived in her. Something, she guessed, had stirred Al-Jodâ’im.

Beside her, Asheris opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure, but something is. Shall we get into trouble?”

He grinned. “If they didn’t mean us to, they surely would have provided more entertainment.”

They met Adam and Melantha on the steps—neither of them looked well rested either. Moth trailed behind, still fumbling with her shirt-buttons.

“What’s happening?” Isyllt and Moth asked on the same breath.

“Trouble in the temple,” Melantha said, frowning. “My mother’s there.” Her vision blurred, looking elsewhere. “So is Kash.” She bolted the steps two at a time, leaving Isyllt and the others to scurry after.

As Melantha neared the top of the temple stairs and the wards there, Isyllt quickened her pace. “Wait!” Her shoulder burned, and every bouncing step felt like a saw cutting through her clavicle. “We can’t go in without you.”

“You don’t need to. This is Quietus business, whatever’s happened.”

Isyllt caught her eye—hard to look commanding when she was gasping like a landed fish. “If a mage is in trouble down there, you’ll need me.”

Melantha wasted only a heartbeat debating it before she reached through the barrier and grabbed Isyllt’s sleeve. With her tug Isyllt stumbled through and across the dark threshold.

The discordant music of Al-Jodâ’im swelled to meet them as they plunged down the spiral stair. Even ancient spirits didn’t like being woken in the dead hours of night. Beneath it, Isyllt felt a raw jagged rage that she recognized as Kash.

Isyllt stumbled into Melantha as the other woman drew up short at the red salt door. Over her shoulder she saw Kash, his wings a black storm as he threw himself at Nerium. The mage stood against the onslaught, her wards a shining web between them, but sweat glistened on her brow. As Isyllt watched, she retreated a single step. One step closer to the oubliette.

Melantha hesitated, reluctant to break Nerium’s concentration. Isyllt ducked past her into the chamber. Magic raged like a whirlwind, buffeting her back into the doorway.

“You want to know about Quietus? About Nerium?” Kash’s voice was a spike between her brows. “I’ll show you.”

Images unfolded behind her eyes, straining the sutures of her skull: Nerium alone in the room, unraveling the spells around a single diamond with a surgeon’s precision; the storm that sprang up as that stone failed, gyring across the desert to strike at Ta’ashlan. She saw plants and animals fall in its path, felt the hearts and minds of men fail as it swept through the city. Saw a woman weeping over a black-and-gold drift of dead bees. Heard a young girl scream as darkness closed around her. Watched Nerium’s eyes glisten with tears that never fell as she built an old man’s coffin. Felt the chains that bound Kash every day, hobbling wings and will, felt the hate and misery that grew in the scorched field where his heart had been.

Over the barrage of visions, Kash spoke. “No amount of death or misery will sway her, not even her own. Any mercy she ever knew has turned to salt and ashes. She’ll never let you go, and she’ll destroy your jinni for the secrets he’s learned. You know it.”

“I know,” Isyllt whispered. The taste of copper coated her tongue as she spoke; her nose was bleeding.

“Stand with me and we can end it now. Now while she’s weak.”

Nerium didn’t speak, but her eyes met Isyllt’s. A muscle leapt in her jaw, the cords of her neck taut with strain. She offered no denials, no pleas.

Melantha caught Isyllt’s arm. A knife was in her other hand, but she made no move to strike. “If my mother falls, the seals will fall. Are you prepared to release this darkness on Assar?”

Was it worth it? That was the question any spy had to answer. Kill a king to stop a war. Kill a friend to keep your cover. Let a city burn to undermine an empire. Bind the dead to spare the living. Drive spirits from their ancient homes so that mankind could thrive. Was it worth it?

She had thought so once. Before the vampire Spider, who lied and murdered to help his people just as she had killed and deceived for hers. Before Asheris, who lived among humans who would revile him rather than be alone. If Al-Jodâ’im suffered in secret to keep all of Khemia from chaos, didn’t the scales balance? If spirits withered while Assar grew strong, was that her problem?

Even if it was, unleashing the ghost wind on the world might be vengeance, but it would only bring more suffering.

There was no solution without betrayal and pain. No choice that wasn’t lined with misery. But she’d long since reconciled herself to painful choices, and she had to choose now. And if it ended in her death—well, what wouldn’t? She hadn’t known many spies old enough to collect pensions.

Isyllt shrugged off Melantha’s hand and stepped forward. Nerium’s nose was bleeding, too, and her shoulders sagged under the force of Kash’s attack. Sparks bled from her wards.

Kash’s attention shifted at Isyllt’s approach, split between the two mages. She tasted his exultation as she reached for him.

And felt the white-hot lash of his rage as her diamond flared, and her voice rang with words of binding.

Nerium’s voice cracked as she joined the chant, then grew strong. Kash shrieked in fury at the doubled assault. Light flared in a hundred diamonds, shredding his shadow skin. With one last raptor cry, he unraveled, banished once more beyond the temple seals.

Nerium gasped and fell to one knee. “Thank you,” she wheezed. “I know better than to drop my guard around him, but I was distracted—” She shook her head at the excuse; sparks crackled in her short hair. Her eyebrows rose as she looked up at Isyllt. “I wasn’t certain you’d intervene on my behalf.”

“I wasn’t either, at first.” She held out a hand and helped the older woman to her feet. “But now that I have, I’ve made up my mind.” The splint kept her shoulders square already, so she raised her chin for emphasis. “I’ll swear your oaths. I’ll join Quietus.”

She and Nerium emerged from the darkness of the oubliette together, and descended the steps side by side. They said nothing, but Isyllt’s choice hung between them like a banner. Adam cursed and turned away, avoiding her eyes. Asheris’s face drained dull and stiff as a mask. Moth only watched, her slate-colored eyes flat and unreadable as their stone.

She spoke her vows on the temple steps, by the rising light of dawn. She swore to serve the Silent Council, to keep the secrets of Qais, and above all to keep Al-Jodâ’im bound no matter what the cost. She swore it on her magic and her life and on the black diamond ring she had yielded to Nerium. She had sworn her oath to the Crown on the same stone ten years ago. Kiril had received her vows that day, while the king and crown prince of Selafai looked on.

Today Melantha and Moth bore witness. Asheris and Adam walked away, unable and unwilling to take part. Isyllt was just as glad—it was easier to speak the words without them watching. Easier to swear herself to dust and loneliness, to commit herself to a prison even as she became its warden.

She made herself hollow, and let the words fill her, drawing strength from Nerium’s voice. No glib lies would satisfy these vows, so she made herself a mirror for the other woman’s grim conviction. The trick was not to feign innocence, but to find true belief. And not to lose yourself in it before the end.

When the oath was spoken and Nerium had sworn her support in turn, Isyllt took back her ring. It hung loose on her finger; the desert had whittled her down. She thought it would hurt, to repurpose the stone Kiril had given her—that day had been the proudest of her life. Now she felt nothing. That was for the best.

When it was over and done, Isyllt returned to her room alone. She slept.