“The Empress knows what you are?”
“She knew long before her ascension. She came here years ago, when she wore a different body. ‘You have a secret,’ she told me, commanding that I bring her here or face denunciation. Knowing one word from her would be enough to secure my execution, I complied. And she laughed.” His mouth twisted in rage and shame. “She mocked this divine place.” He calmed himself with an effort, pointing to the plinth between the three statues. “But she stopped when she saw that.”
Reva angled her head to study the plinth once more, finding little remarkable in it save for the precision of its construction. It was free of any markings, anything that might indicate its purpose. She moved towards it, stepping between the woman and the bearded man. A font, perhaps? She leaned closer, extending a hand towards the indentation in the centre.
“Do not touch it!” His voice was barely more than a whisper but held such a depth of warning her hand instantly froze.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I do not know. Nor did any who came before me. But it is the most implacable commandment instilled in every member of my family since we undertook our divine duty: do not touch the stone.”
“Did she touch it? When she came here?”
He shook his head. “I had hoped she might, but no. She knows too much. But she was not alone when she came here. There was a young man, red-clad, barely older than you. Also, plainly besotted with her. ‘If you love me,’ she told him, ‘touch the stone.’ And he did.”
Varulek moved closer, playing the torchlight over the surface of the plinth; the black surface gleamed. Centuries down here and not a speck of dust, Reva saw. “What happened to him?”
“She didn’t want me to see, commanding me to stand at the door. But I saw the boy shudder, crying out as if in both pain and pleasure. She leaned close to him, whispering some question I couldn’t hear. The boy’s reply was faint but filled with awe, holding his hands up, hands that glowed with some strange light, flickering like lightning. She told him to touch it again, ‘see what other gifts it brings,’ she said. And he touched it once more. This time, he gave no cry, becoming very still the instant his hand touched the stone, as still as these statues, giving no answer to any whispered question. I saw her smile, a smile of great satisfaction . . . then she killed him, stepping closer to break his neck. ‘Give that to your beasts,’ she told me, pointing to the corpse. ‘I shall come back one day, some years from now I expect. Or much sooner if I learn your tongue has been loose.’”
“No other has seen it?” Reva asked. “None of her . . . fellow creatures.”
Varulek shook his head. “Only her.”
Keeping secrets of her own. Reva remembered the Empress’s whispered offer, When my beloved comes to me, we will bring down the Ally and all the world will be ours . . . What is she plotting? Reva sighed in frustration, wishing she could ask for Veliss’s counsel, she would reckon this in an instant. As would the queen.
“I can offer no insight here,” she told Varulek. “But if you can somehow convey a message to my queen . . .”
“An impossibility. I am bound to this place by more than duty. To stray outside the precincts of the arena by a single step would mean the three deaths.”
“Then why show me this?”
“This is not what I want to show you.” He returned to the wall, holding the torch close to a barely discernible cluster of symbols near the end, just before they dwindled into utter obscurity. “Here,” he said, beckoning her closer, his finger tracking over the marks. “‘Livella will be made flesh when the Fire Queen rises.’”
“Livella?” She remembered Lieza saying the name that morning, in a voice laden with fear. She found herself drawing back from the sudden intensity of Varulek’s gaze.
“A great warrior of legend,” he murmured. “Favoured by the gods with skill and strength beyond that of any woman. She journeyed into the pits and fought the Dermos themselves, killing three. One with a sword, one with a spear, and one . . .” He handed her the torch and moved away, going to a shadowed corner of the cavern and returning with something wrapped in a threadbare cloak. She saw how his hands trembled with excitement as he drew back the cloth, revealing a stave little under five feet in length, the wood pale and shiny from use, decorated on either side of the central span, one side showing crossed swords, the other crossed axes.
“And one,” Varulek went on, breathless now with mingled awe and fear, eyes shining in the torchlight. “One she killed with a bow fashioned from wych elm.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Frentis
“Your vengeance is hard indeed, brother.”
Fleet Lord Ell-Nurin’s expression betrayed a mingling of disgust and judgement as his gaze swept over New Kethia, taking in the ruined houses evident in every quarter and the smoke rising beyond the south-facing walls. Corpses were still being consigned to the pyre, a task that had occupied fifty freed folk for six days now. “Your people certainly have a talent for destruction.”
“Justice, as ordained by the queen.” Frentis could hear the hollow note in his voice. The sight of the grey-clad girl lying dead in her mother’s arms was yet to fade. So many years of battle and death, so many faces forgotten, but he knew this image would never dim.
“And the city is not destroyed,” he added. “Any damage will be restored according to the queen’s design, in time.”
“A task dependent upon a successful outcome to this war.” The Fleet Lord’s gaze went to the harbour, crowded with Meldenean ships and captured Volarian prizes, many more vessels anchored in the estuary beyond. They had arrived the day before, the sight of so many masts on the northern horizon provoking the newly freed populace to panic. Frentis had managed to calm them, though not before several hundred had fled the city with their bundled spoils. He arrayed his own people at the dockside in a thick defensive formation with archers on the surrounding rooftops, then ordered Draker to begin a cheer at the sight of the Red Falcon sailing into the harbour.
“I believe we have sufficient space to carry your entire command,” Ell-Nurin said, gesturing at the fleet. “I have to say there wasn’t much heart in the enemy when we caught up to them. Seems their admiral committed suicide rather than face the Empress’s wrath. Most gave up without a fight.”
“Carry my command where, my lord?”
“Volar of course. The queen will expect reinforcement.”
“Most people now bearing arms in this city were slaves up until two weeks ago. The others joined me to win freedom, not acceptance to the Realm. The Realm folk we freed will come, I’ve little doubt of that. The Garisai too, though many will expect payment. Perhaps two thousand swords in all. The others have suffered much, more than I would ever have asked them to.”
“They may have seized a city and slaughtered their masters, but lasting freedom will only come through victory. As I’m sure you’ll explain to them.” There was a hardness to Ell-Nurin’s voice, a reminder that he held rank here.
Frentis sighed and gave a slow nod of assent.
“Very good. This”—the Fleet Lord turned to a young woman standing amidst his entourage of captains—“is Sister Merial. You will give her a full report of your operations, and any useful intelligence gathered, for onward conveyance to the queen.”
Frentis frowned at the woman, finding her perhaps a year or two shy of his own age, dressed in clothing he assumed had been chosen for its plainness. She was also palpably uncomfortable in the presence of so many Meldeneans, though they seemed inclined to provide her with ample space. “Seventh Order?”
“Quite so, brother.” Ell-Nurin leaned closer. “And, however tempting it might be, you really don’t want to touch her.”
• • •
“Nine thousand more, y’say?” Sister Merial spoke with a strong Renfaelin accent, largely devoid of honorifics and rich in dubious inflection. “Of these terrible red men.”
“They’re real enough,” Draker growled. “Plenty of us with the scars and burns to prove it. Got one on my arse if you want to see it.”
“I think I’ve seen sufficient horrors recently.” Merial gave Draker a broad but empty smile and accepted a bowl of goat stew from Thirty-Four.
They had occupied the unfortunate governor’s mansion, though much of it was rendered uninhabitable due to the mob’s attentions. Frentis camped in the main courtyard, the rest of the army that had followed him from Viratesk taking up residence in the extensive gardens. He had been surprised and gratified by their discipline, keeping to their companies and taking a comparatively small part in the looting that continued to preoccupy the newly liberated populace. Perhaps a dozen fighters had disappeared in the aftermath of the city’s fall, and a few more had asked his permission to leave, either to return to distant homes or in frank admission they had seen their fill of war. He told them all the same thing, “You freed yourselves the moment you joined me. Queen Lyrna thanks you for your service.”
“So the queen marches on Volar?” Illian asked Merial. “Despite losing so many at sea?”