The Queen of Lies (39 page)

“Maddox?” Jessa asked. “The drunken…homosexual?”

“I couldn’t think of a better way to describe him.” Heath smiled. “He has information I need.”

Jessa sighed as she knelt by the fallen swordsman. “I was rather hoping your favors would involve charity work, but I can arrange an audience. May I ask if this has anything to do with these intruders?”

“I don’t know, but it very likely will. Either way Esme’s not my concern.”

“Then I’ll do whatever it takes,” Jessa avowed. She looked at the bastard sword on the floor. It featured a large red jewel in the hilt, and the design was unmistakable. “May I also ask how a Patrean soldier came to possess the Vorpal Sword of Arix?”

Heath stood next to her. “You recognize the blade?”

“It’s a bastard sword with a thousand-carat gemstone set into the hilt and another of half that size in the pommel. There’s no other sword in Creation like it…nor would any sensible jeweler or blacksmith craft such a thing. It belonged to my third great-grandfather and apparently drove him mad. It was stolen by his squire more than a century ago.”

Heath looked at the blade. “Then perhaps it should return to its rightful owner.”

“I should hardly need such a thing, but it is marvelously crafted.” She bent down to grab the hilt.

Heath’s hand snatched her wrist firmly. They exchanged glances, hers puzzled and his conflicted.

He smiled. “You don’t want to touch it.”

“But you just said…”

Heath shook his head. “It’s cursed. Whoever touches it loses his or her will to the sword. It’s the same type of magic that possessed that poor girl he was fighting. It did likely make your ancestor crazy…but it’s also my friend. It’s just his nature. He can’t
not
possess people. I just need to find him a better home—and your child will need a mother.”

“My child?” Jessa gasped. “Could you sense that?”

“It’s why I needed to work so long to heal you,” Heath said. “The poison was concentrating on your baby, and his Light was fading. If I delayed a second longer, you would have lived, but he could have miscarried.”

“He?” Jessa asked.

“Congratulations,” Heath said. “It’s a boy.”

Jessa hugged him. “Thank you.”

He gently returned the embrace.

“We can’t stick around,” Heath cautioned. “I need to find something to pick up the sword so my skin doesn’t touch the hilt. And you need to get dressed. When the wolf jumped out the window, he would have set off the alarms from the warding glyphs. Invocari will be here soon with the city militia. We can’t trust them, so you’ll need to lie convincingly about what happened. I would tell them—”

“I don’t like deception.” Jessa shook her head. “There are secret passages throughout this place. Grab the sword. I’ll dress, and we’ll escape through the tunnels under the manor. That’ll put us out in the steam tunnels. From there we can make our way to the tower.”

He grinned and shook his head slowly. “All right. Let’s go.”

Jessa bolted toward her bedroom. Her mattress had been flipped over and torn open. And the Thunderstone was missing from the nightstand.

H
EATH AND
J
ESSA
made their way down the old servants’ corridors into the steam tunnels. The name was apt, as the air was hot and moist. These tunnels were arched, with greenish ceramic tile covering the stonework. There were ledges on either side of the passage, and deep aqueducts of river water flowed through the center. Brass pipes ran along the walls and ceiling, rattling and giving off periodic hisses of steam.

There were no lights, so Heath conjured some from his hand to guide them. He carried Sword on his back, hidden under his robes. Jessa followed with evident interest. She wore a leather hunting jacket and long riding dress. She arranged her hair in a braid as she walked on the surface of the water as if it were made of glass.

The tunnels were part of a utility network that provided compressed steam to power Rivern’s mechanical marvels—everything from pressure plates to elevators and sewing assemblies. Hot and cold running water also came from here for the families and institutions that could afford the luxury.

A side tunnel ahead flickered with the amber light of a fire, and waves of heat radiated through the passage. Two bored seal mages sat on either side of a card table, taking turns hurling fire at the burner. They glanced at Heath and Jessa as they passed but didn’t get up.

The tunnels were dark and uninviting, but they weren’t off limits to citizens.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Jessa asked.

Heath nodded. “There’s an outlet that will put us on the side of the Overlook, facing the Clockmakers’ District. There’s a bridge we can cross a few blocks down if we can’t flag a gondola.”

Jessa frowned. “I have your friend’s song stuck in my head.”

He flashed a smile. “I’m truly sorry. There are limits to what afflictions the Will of Ohan allows.”

“Will you find him another body?” she asked quietly.

Heath furrowed his brow. Speaking to Catherine and reliving Sword’s recollection of Reda made him waver in his conviction. He could round up another Patrean pretty easily, but he knew enough of them to know that despite their identical appearance they were unique individuals.

He also was dying. He could feel the cancer in his body beginning to grow. He might have missed it entirely if it weren’t for Catherine’s warning. Blood mages and alchemists had treatments, but they weren’t guarantees. What would it be like to take the blade himself and share his final days with his only true friend?

“Mother is quite fond of swordplay,” Jessa offered hesitantly. “And jewels. And family heirlooms.”

Heath narrowed his eyes and searched her face for any hint of irony or deception. He spoke very gently. “The bonding is irreversible, Jessa. Would you really do that to your own mother?”

“Is it…” She searched for words. “She’s acting out some grand scheme, and I’m at a loss as to how to neutralize her. I don’t wish her dead, but while she draws breath, even in a magically warded chamber, she’s a danger, and her schemes threaten me and my son. If she were to become an ally…Oh, it’s evil to consider such a thing.”

Her idea was brilliant, but he needed to tread carefully. “The sword also takes on a lot of its wielder’s personality and sometimes acts in line with what its wielder wants. It’s almost like it becomes a new person. It’s unpredictable.”

“My aunts want her dead,” Jessa said finally. “If my mother doesn’t change her course, she’s destined for destruction. She’s her own woman, but her choices and her life affect more than just herself.”

They continued down the tunnels.

“Losing my mother was the hardest thing I had to face.” Heath went for the sympathy play. “It made me stop believing in…everything. She could be a strict woman, and we fought like hell when I ran with the dock gangs. But she loved me. I never once doubted that she wanted what was best for me, and she would have laid down her life to protect me.”

Jessa placed her hand against her belly. “She sounds wonderful.”

They came to an opening. The water spilled into the riverway, and the tunnel opened to a pair of flagstone landings with steps that led to the upper roads and causeways. The entire length of the river was contained in manmade walls five to fifteen feet in height. At this level Jessa could see massive waterwheels in the Clockmakers’ District.

“What happens when it rains?” she asked. “It seems the city would flood.”

“The whole river and waterfalls are controlled by dams and locks,” Heath told her. “They have boat tours that explain it. Maybe after this is over, we can take one.”

Jessa smiled, and for the first time, she seemed playful. “I would much enjoy that.”

T
YRAGORN
: I
SN’T DECEPTION
your claim to fame? Why should I believe a word you say?

A
LESSANDRIA
: Oh, no! You’re, mistaken sir. You’re thinking of the Queen of Lies.

T
YRAGORN
: Is that not the person-creature to whom I address now with my eloquent mouth-words?

A
LESSANDRIA
: While your mellifluous voice could be the bastard child of a poet and a mighty stag, I must protest that you are mistaken as to my identity.

T
YRAGORN
: But you conform to the very description of her.

A
LESSANDRIA
: Your perception is powerful indeed, but it is the Queen of Lies who uses my description to perpetuate her awful mischief, my burly lord of lords.

T
YRAGORN
: Impossible!

A
LESSANDRIA
: Exactly possible, my stallion-lord. You see, I am the Queen of Flies. Our names are so much similar in pronunciation that people often mistake us. [pause for laughter]

T
YRAGORN
: I have heard of no such thing

A
LESSANDRIA
: Just so. I am from the kingdom of Carcass, you see, and my brother is the duke of Maggots. My country is a dead cow the size of a continent.

T
YRAGORN
: I am both disgusted…and inflamed with desire.

A
LESSANDRIA
: I am but an innocent virgin queen from a poor nation in need of your assistance…and affection. Lay with me and tell me your secrets.

T
YRAGORN
: At once!

—
THE QUEEN OF FLIES
, A RIBALD SATIRICAL PLAY BASED ON THE BIOGRAPHIES OF ALESSANDRIA, THE QUEEN OF LIES

M
ADDOX SAT MUTELY
on the sofa in Satryn’s cell. He was upright, but his gaze appeared empty and distant. Across from Satryn, Abbess Daphne sat cross-legged in her shapeless white robes, her gloved hands folded primly on her knee. She’d heard that the Orthodoxy employed spies and secret police even as they preached the endless mercy of their invented deity.

“Come on now, dear, drink.” Satryn placed a bottle to Maddox’s gaping mouth. “This is very expensive.”

His throat swallowed reflexively as she poured several hundred crowns’ worth of Volkovian brandy down his gullet. Some dribbled down his chin. She set the bottle aside and wiped his mouth with a silk handkerchief.

Satryn tsked. “Well, I do need to give you credit, Abbess. He’s completely broken, and you accomplished it in a single day. I don’t suppose you’re looking for employment. In the Dominance we have a relaxed code of dress for our torturers, and many of them enjoy the convenience of working in their homes.”

Daphne uncrossed her leg, her face a mask of false civility. “I’ll consider it if you embrace the Father of All as the master of your destiny. I’d leave you with some literature, but I didn’t bring any.”

“I like the ones with graphic depictions of the torture in the five hells,” Satryn confided. “I’m not sure if it’s a Genatrovan thing, but the pornography they provide here tends toward the stale side.”

“Why am I here?” Daphne said. “I don’t mean my motivations or any philosophical discussion. I know why I’m here. I’m here because you wanted to speak to me, and
you’re
here. What I want to know is the reasons
you
are
here
. Because I can’t think of a single one. You didn’t order the hit. I know Cordovis killed Torin Silverbrook. I have records, testimony, and even an absentee writ of confession from the man himself. But then…you commit another murder of your cellmate…or assault—the courts don’t know what to call it. Care to explain that one to me? Why am I
here
?”

Satryn sighed. “Yes, yes. I was quite mad with grief over my brother’s passing, and it’s becoming difficult to control my abilities. I fear it has made me a danger to myself and those around me. It’s why I was so happy to receive your visitation, Abbess.”

Daphne grinned and nodded. “And why I was so surprised to receive your invitation. Especially considering that you’re a priestess of Kultea, born into a holy office of your faith. You have no reason whatsoever to speak to me or even have any idea who I am. Why am I here?”

Satryn smiled. “Our faiths have many similar commandments. The religion of your false god was copied, sometimes from whole cloth, from the basic tenets of the true elemental faiths. For instance we see free thought as an intrinsic quality of every person’s potential for godhood. Thus we fiercely prohibit any theurgy that seeks to tamper with the minds of those unwilling. Just as it says in your scriptures.”

“An interesting example.” Daphne reached for her brandy glass and studied it. “Because if you think you have some kind of leverage—”