Chapter 19 #3
“What I represent is the same divine power your traitorous daughter harnessed to gain your advantage over me.” She drew herself upright to a full and regal height. Admitting her own divinity caused something to spread in her chest, less pride than a sense of invincibility.
And with that came the itching gums.
Dorian Drake stared, dumbstruck.
“I know about the deal with the sea witch.” She grinned. “I saw it in Dahlia’s eyes, and Ursla herself confirmed it. Even a thief you can trust to steal. It’s the traitor you have to watch. So either she’s lied to you, or she’s lied to Ursla and you are lying to me.”
“I don’t be—” he started, but Yemi felt herself falling away to the rush of adrenaline, the soft squeals of Flesh drowning him out.
“Do you know the origins of man? Your original purpose? Delicacy for the gods. Imagine food with daydreams of its own ‘limitless destiny.’ ” Here she laughed, perhaps louder and madder than she intended.
She frowned piteously at Dorian Drake on his knees with the tremble in his lips betraying all the promises he’d once made to live out his life as a king.
“I’ll admit I didn’t know if I believed it myself, especially now when your aroma, it’s so…
acrid. All piss and misery. Could the gods really have developed a taste for it? I am so very curious…”
She reached out and gripped his throat with impossible strength, the pulse against her squeezing fingertips exciting her so much her nails dug in, gifting rivulets of blood as he gargled and struggled to tear her hand away.
One sharp inhale later, she opened her mouth in ecstasy just as the door opened behind her.
She glanced back to see Nova’s surprised expression. She released Dorian, and he fell, coughing, against the wall beneath the window.
“Ennova!” he croaked desperately. “Please, get her away from m—”
A flick of the wrist, and Yemi’s spear was thrust upward behind the elder Drake’s chin.
His eyes blanked as it embedded in his brain.
She watched him a few moments, taking the excuse not to look Nova in the eye as she calmed and settled herself again.
She shut her eyes against the sight of warm, coaxing blood streaming from the lacerations on his neck and staining her fingertips and took a deep breath before giving Nova a satisfied nod.
“Alright,” Nova said, only giving her a curious look before shrugging. “Not as big a mess as I thought. House is clear. Gold Guard is sweeping the grounds. Cutter’s checking the radio in case we were flagged.”
Yemi nodded toward the smoking radio on the shelf. “He didn’t get the call out.”
“Great. I’ll send someone to clean this up. I’m starving. Do you need anything from the kitchen?”
“Maybe later. I need a bath.” She bit her lip. “Any sign of Selah?”
“Not yet. Which isn’t to say she’s not here, just… you know.”
“Right,” Yemi sighed. Her head was swimming.
Was it possible Selah had gone ahead to warn Dahlia?
That she’d been a fool in not securing the stone immediately, and that there was no longer a backup plan?
“Let me know when she arrives. Our arrangements must be intact. Now isn’t the time for surprises. ”
“Of course, My Light.” Nova nodded and left her alone.
Selah had been right: The itch of her ribs subsided as she submerged in the soaking tub of her parents’ en suite bathroom.
Steam scented with rose and sandalwood and seaweed soap did the work of clearing what could be cleared of her mind, relaxing what could be relaxed of her body.
She was still aware of the passing of time, the attention to be paid to the plan to secure the Rock.
There was still the question of where Selah was and how Yemi might procure the stone in the event she needed it.
For now, though, she gazed out of the broad window overlooking the western forest from which they’d come.
The walls and ceiling of the house were veined in copper channels housing the plumbing and wiring installed in the last fifty years.
They added character to the antique stone and cedar, an ode to the progress Dorian Drake had been so sure didn’t exist in Ixia.
She tried to imagine that the din of activity and muffled voices out in the hallway were all activities of family like they’d been every visit before this one and not the working sounds of a war party.
The steam dissipated as the water cooled.
She bathed before the chill set in and plucked the plug from its drain to allow the water to gurgle through the pipes to wherever bathwater ended up these days.
She moisturized, fingering gently the keloid scars over her gill slits.
Her mother never had these, but her grandmother had.
Her grandmother.
Between Minevra and Helene and Selah and her own mother, whose truth about Arielle was the most complete? And did it matter, in the grand scheme of things, if Yemi preferred her own?
Voices picked up downstairs as she dressed in trousers and one of her mother’s blouses. Lilac-dyed cotton, from a time before she’d donned black to hide her curse. Yemi’s subarmor lay coiled on the floor. She could do without it tonight.
She cracked the door and made out Derring’s voice among the others before deciding to go down to greet them.
The war party mingled around a central square table where she and her mother once worked jigsaw puzzles and her father lost most of their card games. The family portrait hadn’t been returned to the wall behind it yet.
Selah was among them, taking a cup of tea from Nefti, the house cook, and looking tired.
“Where have you been?” Yemi asked her.
Selah cocked an eyebrow. “Delivering Derring to you safely,” she replied. “Not everyone has a pack of borrowed guard dogs to escort them through treacherous territory.”
Yemi narrowed her eyes but bit back her retort as the others bowed to acknowledge her presence.
“My Light, glad you’re alive,” Derring said, smiling kindly.
“That makes two of us,” Yemi replied, bypassing the group to take her usual chair at the table, marked by grooves in its edges from summers’ worth of grinding down pencils during her tutors’ stale math lessons.
“Where are we, then? I assume you’ve been briefed that we are taking back the Rock.
We need your help to determine what that looks like. ”
“Yes, I’ve handed over the Drakes’ schedule. The west wing is being renovated for the Kept. Cerro is hoping to convert most of the royal grounds for the purposes of the faith.”
“Naturally.” She would deal with Cerro. “Armaments?”
“The new forces are heavily reliant on firearms, but beyond the palace guard, the military hasn’t been fully kitted out with them yet, as they have to be imported.
The cloud bridge is still under construction, so military response to an attack on the palace will be slow, but their weapons have range. ”
Yemi waited for Derring to find their next words, bracing herself for the almost assured unpleasantness that would be in them.
“Your most vocal support had been among the navy,” they continued, “though sometime last week a flotilla was sent out, officially on an exercise. A sort of exhibition for the new leadership. Details are scarce, but I have it on good authority that a number of the soldiers who didn’t return were in your camp. Commander Hurand was one of them.”
“Dahlia’s culling the opposition,” Cutter said bitterly.
“Hurand is dead,” Yemi deadpanned. The room was silent, even if the air between them was thick with unasked questions. “I saw it with my own eyes. I fully intend to avenge him.”
“What of the people? How accepting of this takeover are they?” Nova chimed in, changing the subject. She must have known it was better to move on before the right question was asked.
Derring sighed. “Well, the mood at the palace is that no one’s convinced you’re dead. It’s assumed that you’ve fled and are maybe abroad, bolstering support for an eventual return.”
“Eventual meaning ‘some years down the line,’ ” Cutter clarified.
“Really?” Yemi cocked an eyebrow, feeling a small thrill at just how unpleasant she could make this for Dahlia. “I hope they like surprises, then.”
“They’re counting on the apathy of the locals. People who haven’t chosen a side but just want to live their lives. To this point, the Drakes have had the more animated base. Even those who adored the Bear Queen and believe in your right to the throne aren’t moved to act on it.”
Pity, Yemi thought. But it was understandable. The fatigue of war was palpable all over the country. Dahlia was placating the people by not involving them or attacking them directly and forcing a fight. They were instead choosing rest.
“But that isn’t the real problem,” Derring said reluctantly.
“Well then, what is?”
Derring paused, for once in their life apparently unsure of how to ask a question. “Is it true that you had a prisoner’s tongue cut out?”
The room looked at Yemi.
“Shit.” Nova sucked her teeth while the others exchanged wary glances.
Yemi frowned and her face grew hot. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“The man survived, and the people who didn’t need a lot of help believing you were some unhinged tyrant… well, they got what they needed.”
“When did word get out?” Nova asked, her head down on the table.
“Recently, I suppose. My Li—Yemaya. They’ve toppled the Bear Queen’s statue at the basilica and on the grounds.”
Nova’s head popped up. “They what?”
“Who is ‘they’?” someone asked, but the conversation had been replaced in Yemi’s ears by a buzzing sound, a loud, moving drone as if she’d stuck her head in a hornet’s nest. She’d taken too long, failed to look after her mother.
She’d thought at least her parents could be at peace, that she could inherit their war without their needing to be a part of it anymore.
Nova brushed by, subtly dragging a finger along Yemi’s back to return her to the present. The buzzing stopped.