Chapter 11
SINAN
A fter slipping into the Noviodunam in disguise, announcing his presence to the most dangerous mages in the world, and blowing the doors of the Synod meeting room open, Sinan’s first thought as he entered the infamous sanctuary was how anticlimactic it all felt.
The space smelled like wood smoke and dust and was far less awe-inspiring than he had expected—a little stuffy, in fact.
There were no windows, which was hardly surprising considering the need for security when the ruling body of the Noviodunam met.
The wall panels painted with arcane sigils and stylized animals representing the various magical guilds—except for his own, of course—contributed to the space’s enclosed, suffocating atmosphere.
Lighting came from torches on the wall that fused incensor flame magic with artifex design, producing the type of showy display Sinan had mocked in the overdone fountain in the ballroom outside.
The ceiling was painted as a living night sky, with stars that twinkled and planets that glowed, and the heavens rotated around a circular panel representing the Zodiac.
A rectangular table dominated the room, surrounded by ornate chairs with high backs and decorations matching the guild panels on the wall.
For Sinan, the only seat that mattered was the one that wasn’t there.
At the far end of the table, opposite the incensor throne, an empty spot threw off the symmetry of the arrangement and made the entire room awkward and unsettled.
The torches near it burned lower, and the other chairs were spaced further away from it, as if trying to avoid proximity with the spot where the Throne of Letha had once stood.
He paused for a moment and offered up a prayer to the Lady of Shadows, thanking her for allowing him to gaze upon the location where Saint Letha had been condemned to her martyrdom.
Then he turned to watch his enemies trail into the room after him.
Gallmau strode in first, his shock of reddish-blond hair tamed into a queue with a velvet tie that matched his ornate waistcoat.
He looked like the hero prince in a storyteller’s tale tonight, handsome and regal, as he walked in escorting Queen Xiaolian.
Sinan reminded himself to focus on him as an opponent and stop thinking about how attractive he was.
Meri came in next, her water-cursed blades now openly secured at the waist of her dress, the golden material contrasting with her smooth, dark skin.
Her eyes never left him as she entered, beautiful and calculating.
He remembered all too well the sting of her two swords pressed against his neck as she had pinned him to the ground, and the sensation of her body on top of his—terror mixed with desire.
Aside from Abarsam, she would be the most dangerous person in the room.
Valentina came in next, her cheeks flushed and her steps uncertain.
She made sure to keep her distance from him, even to the point of drawing close to Meri as the Lioness joined Gallmau in standing on either side of Queen Xiaolian.
Apparently even a Tomb Fighter was a more welcome companion than he was.
Then again, Sinan’s last meeting with the medica hadn’t been under the best of circumstances.
The half-shattered doors opened one last time for the two remaining people joining them.
Sinan’s stunt with the warded entrance to the meeting room had been an unnecessary flaunting of his power, not to mention a drain on his reserves when he needed it most. Still, shaking up the Noviodunam mages had given him a deep sense of satisfaction.
How shaken up was evident by the late entry of Abarsam and Jacques.
The former had been delivering a tongue-lashing to Jacques, judging by the incensor’s furious but sullen expression as Abarsam curtly told him to attempt basic repairs to the wards.
For his part, the Kushian aquamage was all grace and diplomacy as he guided Queen Xiaolian to an elevated seat a few paces away from the table.
Sinan worried most about Abarsam where a magical fight was concerned. He understood the basics of the truce curse that had been placed on everyone who had entered the Noviodunam hall tonight—it was a water spell of incomparable complexity and power.
Whether it truly applied to Abarsam as well as everyone else was something only the Grand Vizier knew for sure.
He turned his attention back to the emptiness at the end of the table, reaching out with his senses for any hint of the power that had once rested there.
Letha was one of the central martyrs in his mother’s new religion, and he had heard the effects of her death pyre curse still lingered in the Noviodunam.
Did he dare find out if more than that remained?
Naghwe had been eager for him to use this opportunity to restore Letha’s Throne—another impossible task added to his already full list.
He had to focus on his top priority: getting Xiaolian to hold off on attacking his city.
The Council of the Living had plans if he failed—they had plans if he didn’t survive tonight—but his offer to help locate and rescue Rixende was his main bargaining chip to buy more time for Karakoncolos to prepare for another invasion.
“The full body of the Synod will meet later tonight.” Abarsam made sure Xiaolian was comfortably seated in what had to be the chair designated for the sovereign of Soissons and left Gallmau and Meri to stand on either side of her, playing the role of her Garde Royale.
Before sitting in the Aquamage Throne, decorated with a silver fish leaping over stylized waves, Abarsam gestured to the Medicus Throne, marked by a serpent wrapped around a tree trunk.
“Magus Valentina, as you are the highest-ranking medicus mage in the chamber, please do us the honor of sitting in the chair for your guild.”
“Thank you, Grand Vizier.” Valentina cast an anxious glance at Sinan before she sat. Her chair was closer to the empty end of the table where he stood than Abarsam’s. “I should point out, however, that I have resigned from my academic post at the Noviodunam.”
Jacques stalked back from the doors, which he had fixed enough that they at least swung shut. Sinan sincerely hoped the full repair would take an excessive amount of time and labor on the fire mage’s part.
“Your refusal to accept the protection of the Noviodunam almost cost you your life in Iotape, Valentina.” Jacques threw himself onto the incensor chair, which featured a bird with wings of fire as a symbol of his guild.
“This plan of yours to join the fight against the necromancer who took Rixende is even more foolhardy.”
The medica’s eyes flashed, and Sinan wondered if the incensor was set on infuriating everyone in attendance tonight. “Apparently, Magus Zhang Jue did not share your low opinion of me, since he requested my assistance with the same invitation you received.”
Jacques let out a long, angry breath of frustration and turned his attention to Sinan, who had elected to remain standing, still trying to sense any presence of Letha in the darkened end of the conference room.
“Go ahead and crouch in the dust of what used to be the death witch chair. Whatever charred bits of Letha the Witch remain are supposedly buried underneath the floor.”
Sinan, initially furious at the insult, tried to process what he had heard. Could the Noviodunam mages who had martyred Saint Letha have been foolish enough to inter her remains in the Synod meeting room?
Letha’s undead spirit, if he could raise her, might give him the answer.
Ghost magic wasn’t his strong suit, of course. But bones—well, other than shadow work, osteomancy was one of his greatest talents.
He steadied himself with a few deep breaths and reached out with his Gift.
In the empty space where the throne had been there was a floor of clay tiles, and underneath that, packed earth.
Sinan could detect thaumaturgic power in the earth, tiny life forms living and dying, and when he stretched his senses, bits of bone.
Human in origin and half-decayed, they were scattered into the soil.
Concentrating harder, he sensed pieces of a femur and part of a broad shoulder blade—remnants of a body which had been consumed by fire but not entirely disintegrated into ash.
He felt the empty framework of what had once been living osseous tissue and pushed his powers to call to it.
He had extended himself far too much this evening—Naghwe would chide him for this, assuming he lived long enough to face his mother’s criticism—but the temptation to connect to one of his religion’s greatest martyrs was too strong.
Something stirred in the earth. It was a dead, empty thing, a mere scrap of mineral matrix that would appear to the human eye as little more than a pale pebble.
Sinan could tell it was much more than that.
The room quieted as a sense of unease spread to the other living inhabitants.
They might not be as attuned to necromantic forces as he was, but the sense of expanding power, of chaos itself, would be evident to even those without a trace of magical awareness—and the mages in the room must know now he was planning to do something major.
The clay tiles of the floor exploded in a spray of dust.
A grinding noise filled the air—a disturbing sound, like steel scraping against rock—and the first part of the skeleton broke through.
Finger bones emerged from the disrupted earth like pale fungi, followed by the carpal bones of the hand, and finally an entire arm reached up to grasp the conference table.
Valentina gasped, and Jacques let out a curse that wasn’t in keeping with court etiquette.