The Queen of Lies (49 page)

“Like the Harbinger but very,
very
different,” she said. “We have a complicated, oppositional, but interdependent relationship. Don’t worry—I’m friendly. I’m not here to give you any prophecy or cryptic riddles. I just want to throw a party. You can stay as long as you like.” She winked.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Heath offered a slight bow. “But why are you here? Is it your wyrd?”

“Wyrd? Wyrd. Wyrd…” She tossed the word around as if she were trying to chew it. “That sounds so…”

“Weird?” Sword offered.

Libby paused, placing a finger on her chin, then replied, “I was going to say ‘formal.’ But yes, we all do things for a reason, even if we don’t always know what that reason is…or if it’s even a good idea. Whereas the Harbinger’s appearance is an omen of great misery, my presence offers consolation in the simple pleasure of the moment. Where there is suffering, there is no greater need for laughter in the face of it. Don’t you agree?”

“I could think of a few things these people need more,” Jessa said. “Graves for the drowned and medical supplies for the living, as a suggestion.”

The Libertine placed her arm on Jessa’s shoulder. “Those are just bodies. Death reminds us that all life is fragile and fleeting. Every moment wasted worrying about death is a missed experience in the present. Out there is past. What’s happening here and now around you is the present.”

“So we shouldn’t care about any of it?” Jessa asked incredulously.

Libby smiled emphatically. “You don’t have to. I can take away your pain, and you’ll never have to feel sorrow again. Look at these people. They’ve lost their wives, their sons, their homes, but they’ve found true eternal happiness in this place.”

“Never feel sorrow?” Heath echoed. “Even if they’re injured or starving?”

“Even if,” Libby said proudly. “No one chooses to be unhappy. Life chooses that for us, and we scramble to react. But fear begets paralysis. Rage begets regret. Sadness immobilizes us until we’re unable to properly react to the situation life throws at us. These emotions don’t guide us—they cripple us.”

“What about motivation?” Heath asked. “If everyone were happy just existing, nothing would get done.”

“That guy’s getting a hand job at the bar,” Sword said.

“Motivation? You mean like what paranoia and an unholy lust for power give you?” She motioned through the door to the shattered world outside. “I think we know what that can lead to. Theurgy is wonderful, but these malignant emotions are why we can’t have nice things.”

“Valid point,” Sword said, “but she’s still completely nuts. They all are.”

“This is a waste of time,” Jessa insisted, and spun toward the door. “I need air.”

“The lunatics are running the asylum,” Libby called after her. “There’s a war happening all around us. The Harrowers were the beginning of something that threatens all of Creation. Satryn wasn’t just a Stormlord—she was an Architect. This day will have massive ramifications, and your choices will affect the All-That-Is.”

Jessa stopped and listened.

Sword froze. “Say more.”

“Two Architects coming into their power at the same time.” The Libertine looked him dead in the eyes. “The old magic is coming back. Satryn never should have been able to summon one of the primal aspects, and that power transferred to her daughter. Evan Landry shouldn’t have been able to call the Harrowers. And you shouldn’t have completed the Master Seal of Sephariel. These things never were supposed to happen again. And now they’re happening, and the balance is shifting.”

“You’re scared,” Heath told Libby. “There are a lot of bars in this town you could have set up in. The Broken Oar is bigger, and they have a much better wine list, which isn’t saying much. You came here to tell us—to tell Maddox something because he’s an Architect.”

“If I were capable of fear”—her expression darkened—“I’d be huddled up and shaking in a corner. But lucky for me, I don’t have to deal with that.”

“What did you come to tell Madd—er, me?” Sword said.

“I have nothing against lushes with divine power, being one myself,” Libby explained, “but he isn’t the reason for my visit. You are, Valor of Crigenesta.”

She reached behind her back and pulled out the Razor of Setahari by its hilt, took the blade in her other hand, and offered it to Sword. He wondered briefly whether Setahari was playing him, pretending to be a Traveler, but he knew she wasn’t the Razor.

The blade floated in the air in front of him. The three of them stared at it as it twirled in the air, its sinister emerald-colored jewels twinkling in the light. Sword grabbed the blade and tucked it into his belt.

“Thank you, Libby.” Jessa breathed a sigh of relief.

“We do help sometimes.” She bowed slightly. “The Artifex made this and entrusted it to the great houses of Sarn. He was the only one of us to be both a Traveler and an Architect. I have no idea why the fuck he made such an ugly being, but he built it to last beyond his days. The thing is fucking indestructible, and like all his toys, it has a hidden purpose. Find out what that is.”

“Aren’t your people more qualified?” Heath asked.

“Studying isn’t my forte, and we don’t cooperate very well,” she laughed, then added, “Anymore.”

“Anything else you can tell us?” Heath asked.

“I’ll do your fucking research if you fix his cancer,” Sword said. If anyone could do it, a Traveler could.

“I can remove his fear, his sorrow,” she said. “I can even limit it to the cancer growing in his stomach if he wishes to keep his other anguish. But I can’t change what’s meant to happen. He’s going to die—”

“Don’t say that.” Sword grabbed her throat. “You can and you fucking will!”

Libby instantly vanished and appeared beside him. “Not cool, dude. When I say I can’t do something, my words are the absolute truth. I don’t prevent misery—I remove it—and for that to happen, there kind of needs to be misery. Our magic is nearly limitless in pursuit of our wyrd, but we have to follow its dictates to the letter. Now will you let me finish?”

Heath grabbed Sword’s arm and gently lowered it. “Please. Finish.”

“Heath is going to die because he’s mortal. I didn’t say how or when. The Archeans have a cure, and so do the Maenmarth witches. You might try asking them…ass.” She rubbed her throat.

“Fuck you too,” Sword said. “I knew that already. And stop pretending that hurts. You’re barely human.”

“I don’t mean to offend you, but you’re kind of harshing the vibe at my little soiree, so…” She flicked her wrist.

T
HE WORLD EXPLODED
into green and red. The ground seemed to rush up against Sword’s feet, making him stagger. Heath stumbled beside him. Jessa remained upright, registering only mild confusion as she glanced at her surroundings. They were standing on grass inside a large red tent.

Soldiers in red armor drew their weapons and huddled around a group of people seated at a table. Sireen stood and spread her arms. “Jessa! You certainly know how to make an entrance.”

Sword looked at the gathered dignitaries. Dame Woodhouse, Cameron, Turnbull, and Loran sat on one end of the table. The rest were clearly silver-eyed Thrycean nobles and their blood sages and warmasters.

“Satryn is dead,” Jessa said.

Sireen nodded. “And Kondole once again rides the sky. Jessa, we’ve waited generations for you to return our people to the ancestoral traditions of our forefathers.”

Heath asked, “So you’re a heretic?”

Sireen smiled. “No. The heretics are the ones who followed Kultea, who preached oppression and deceit.”

Jessa shrugged. “You didn’t lack for talent, Aunt. The city of Rivern is in ruins.”

“But in chaos is opportunity,” Dame Woodhouse offered. “The old Assembly never would have allowed women a seat, but now we can have our own voice.”

“The Protectorate did nothing to aid Rivern during the harrowings,” Cameron said. “And as empress you can chart a new course for the Dominance.”

Jessa shook her head. “Nasara is empress after Mother.”

Sireen leaned forward. “You’re equals in Heritage. The fight has just begun, and Nasara won’t settle for peaceable negotiation.”

Sword said, “Then we have to kill her.”

“Easier said than done,” Sireen replied.

Heath flashed an ivory smile. “No. Killing her is easy, and I have a perfect plan. But before we do that, I’d need to take care of some unfinished business.”

D
EAR
S
CHOLAR
B
AELAND,

You have a tremendous gift.

We haven’t shared the existence of the Master Seals with the world at large, and they’re rare achievements among even our most skilled mages. The Master Seal of Sephariel hasn’t been successfully inscribed since the Calamities, and only five mages have been known to possess one throughout all history. You are the youngest.

It brings me great delight to offer you a place at the Archean Academy. Historically Archea has always offered a place for people of exceptional talent. Over the centuries the bar has grown impossibly high as we isolate ourselves under the auspices of safeguarding our traditions. But even the staunchest among the senate could not deny your gift.

I wish we could share our knowledge for the benefit of Creation. Your accomplishment is an important first step in rolling back those restrictions. I hope you will say yes, for the good of my people as well as yours.

Make yourself ready, and speak the name of the Guide whose seal you bear into this parchment. The spell will do the rest.

Most humbly yours,

High Wizard
Petra Quadralunia, Appropriations Committee

—
LETTER, RECEIVED AT THE LYCEUM FOUR DAYS AFTER MADDOX’S EXPULSION

T
HE GROUND BENEATH
Heath’s feet was soggy and strewn with bog filth. He despised being so far from the comforts of civilization, but this was something he had to do. He gave an envious glance to Jessa, who stepped across puddles and streams as if they were made of glass. She wore simple trousers and a hunter-green doublet.

“I don’t suppose you can teach me that trick,” he half joked, yanking his foot out of the mud.

“Stop being such a baby,” Jessa chided. “I was born to a life of privilege, and I can assure you that refined sensibilities aren’t categorically opposed to the enjoyment of the majesty of the untamed wilderness.”

“Says the girl who can walk on water,” Heath grumbled as he slapped his neck, “and electrocute mosquitoes. I’m being eaten alive. You know how many diseases they carry?”

“None of us has to worry about that problem. You can heal us all,” Sword said, then turned to Jessa. “He’s so prissy, though. He had a bad experience during his Inquisition survival training.”

“I’ll kill you to silence you,” Heath said.

Jessa laughed. “It’s so freeing to be away from all my courtiers, advisors, and generals. This might be the last time I enjoy such a luxury. Do try to be civil.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty, but some things aren’t appropriate to discuss in such esteemed company,” Heath said. It was starting to sound less awkward, though to him she’d always be Jessa. She had become more comfortable in her imperial position, though not entirely. Her leadership skills were still weak, and she was idealistic to a fault.

“Kultea’s cold tits.” Jessa sighed. “Don’t ever address me as if you were a subject. Please, both of you, swear to me that you’ll always be candid and open with me.”

“Careful what you wish for.” Sword smiled. “But if I learned anything from Heath, it’s that we need to get used to playing the part, at least in public. If people see us treating you like a normal person, they’ll see it as a sign of weakness. Heath’s good at this stuff.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Heath said.

“No problem, buddy.”

Heath squealed when he saw the moldering corpse of a bog rat hanging from a tree amid the wispy hanging moss that grew on the branches. “That’s disgusting. Why would someone do that?”