Chapter Seventeen
In the Palace of Xy
Hours later, Riven tried to gather his wits and pull himself together.
He stretched out to full length slowly, ignoring the complaints of his muscles.
He closed his eyes, focused on his body, slowed his breathing, willing the shaking to stop.
Slowly, he consciously relaxed each part of his body, concentrating on his breath and nothing else.
When he was done, he opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling and frowned. What had come over him? Here was everything he’d hoped for and more.
Secure chambers, fine clothes, servants, decent food. Royal patronage. Royal protection. How many of his ilk could claim that?
Everything he ever wanted. Except…he swallowed as the craving rose in his gullet. His hand twitched, seeking a bottle to soothe his pain and bury his thoughts.
Except…what he’d really wanted was revenge. To make these people, who had destroyed his life, suffer as he had suffered. Tears formed, along with rage. He could still have that, achieve that goal, at the very least. Do this one thing for the Queen and the possibilities were endless.
Except…that look in Uncle Stancil’s dead eyes. In all their eyes.
Revenge was an empty promise.
Riven wept silently, letting the tears slide down his face. What he really wanted, really craved, was an end to his pain and grief. Revenge had given him focus, driven him forward. Seeking enough power to achieve that had been a balm, a distraction from his pain.
He’d never once given a thought to the cost.
His stomach cramped, and he discovered he’d curled up on the cot once more, hands clenched into fists, breathing ragged. The craving raged through his body.
He bit his lip, forced himself to concentrate, to relax each tightened muscle, slow each breath. There was no letheon here to deaden his pain.
He’d found other ways to suppress it, hadn’t he? By pursuing his studies, for instance. Though through those studies, he had crushed others in pursuit of his desire to punish the ones who had caused his anguish.
What did that make him?
Riven covered his face with his hands, flinching away from the truth but unable to deny it. He had done this. He’d kidnaped, tortured, killed, done whatever needed doing to achieve his goal. He’d drowned in his need for vengeance and never given a thought to “after.” What comes after revenge?
After life?
And here it was, the “after.” It had arrived with resources that lured him in and allowed him to ignore the fact that he would kill again, and again, and bond…enslave…five innocent lives. For what?
The door clicked open and he flinched from the light, plucking up the blanket.
Avice stepped in, closing the door behind her. “I thought I’d check on you,” she said. Her voice was soft and warm but her eyes were cold and hard. “I understand you had taken ill.”
Riven smiled weakly. “Too much excitement, I guess.”
“So Mira said.” Avice smiled, but not with her eyes. “Can I get you anything? Water? Food? Or do you wish to see the scroll?”
“I don’t want to risk damaging it.” Riven said. “Think I just need sleep.”
Her stiffness eased. “Sleep then. We will check on you later.” She turned to go, and as if to drive a point home, his mage sight rose.
He saw again the golden net with flecks of red that held her prisoner as she slipped out, the door locking behind her.
The red sparks…the blood red flecks. He should have seen it before, recognized it for what it was. The blood of the sacrifice that had been used to seal their bond, when Avice and the others were but six months of age.
Avice wasn’t free to make her own choices, enslaved as she was. Enslaved in ways she probably wasn’t even aware of.
Riven, on the other hand? He’d made all kinds of choices, hadn’t he? Choices he’d justified, admittedly, but choices he’d been free to make.
He couldn’t justify them now, could he? Couldn’t look at those decisions with the same cold, driven, uncaring eye.
The remembered taste of letheon formed on his tongue, and he swallowed the echo. Oh, for the sweet oblivion, the forgetfulness.
But that thought was what had gotten him here, wasn’t it?
Riven choked back a sob, then gave in to the pain, and the loss, and the conflict, and cried himself silently to sleep.
“Master?”
Riven stirred, opening crusty eyes to find Witless standing over him, rocking slightly, looking worried.
“Witless,” he rasped, “I’m fine.”
“You look awful,” Nora said from the doorway. “You’ve slept almost the whole day away. Kavage?”
“No.” Riven grimaced and rubbed his face as he sat up, Witless reaching to help him.
“We are moving you to your new quarters,” Nora said. “Should take us a few hours to have it ready. You need anything in the meantime?”
Riven shook his head, rubbed his eyes.
“Witless, bring the desk.” Nora gathered up the ink pots and quills. “We will take it to the new chamber.”
Witless gave Riven a frown. “Water? Kavage?”
“No,” Riven said. “No, thank you.”
Witless gave him a grin.
“Desk,” Nora commanded from the outer room.
Witless jerked, then walked over and heaved up the desk. “Desk,” he said, lumbering toward the door and blundering his way through. He pushed the door closed behind him. Riven slumped back onto the bed, pulling up his blanket.
The door closed. The lock didn’t click.
Riven tensed.
The noises outside faded. The door hung there, a faint crack of light showing that it wasn’t fully shut.
No one came to close it. It just sat there. Unlocked.
Waiting.
He could escape.
Riven threw the blankets back and sat on the edge of the bed.
A quick probe with mage sight showed only Witless in the outer room, still wrestling the table through the outer door.
Riven assessed himself; he had enough energy to sneak out, and enough cunning to elude searchers and flee the Palace.
It was late afternoon; everyone would be at their chores and tasks.
He’d take a chance and make a run for it.
He was across the room and reaching for the door before his brain caught up with his body.
Escape and do what exactly?
Escape and try to rebuild his strength and pursue vengeance?
Escape and denounce the Queen and then be executed?
Escape and condemn Witless and innocent babes to death and slavery?
Riven frowned, fingers brushing the cold metal of the handle. If he stayed and refused to cast the spell, he’d die.
He didn’t want to die; he knew full well that death was no balm for one such as him.
He couldn’t redeem himself. He’d gone too far, done too much, waded in blood thigh-high and rejoiced in it. There would be no redemption for him, not in this life or after.
But what if he could prevent the casting? Saving six lives, that was a start.
Besides, what else would he do? Run around the countryside doing good deeds? Chopping firewood for widows?
Redemption required more.
He snorted softly to himself, at the idea he could find redemption. It seemed impossible. The Queen, her Bondmaidens would all be against him.
But better to choose to try. Choice, he thought grimly, was about all he had left.
Witless was gone now, there was silence from the outer room.
The handle had warmed under his fingers. Riven gave the door a gentle tug. It swung shut and the lock clicked into place.
Calm swept over him. He returned to the cot, crawling under the blankets. He’d better sleep; he was going to need his strength.
Oddly enough, sleep came easily.
Nora stood, eyes down, as the Queen paced the room with a grim, determined look.
“He did not try to escape?” Satia asked.
“No, Bonded,” Nora said. “I had Witless watch. The mage never left the room, and Witless said the door closed and the lock clicked.”
“Can we trust an idiot?” Satia frowned.
“He knows ‘locked’.” Nora shrugged.
Mira bustled in with a tray. “Unsweetened tea, Majesty,” she chirped. “Just as the midwife ordered.”
Satia grimaced and kept pacing. “Was it deliberate?” She asked. “Perhaps a draft closed the door.”
“No windows,” Caris reminded her. “I think it’s deliberate,” she continued. “His interest in the spells wasn’t feigned.”
Satia nodded. Nearing the wall, she turned on her heel and started back.
“Bonded, perhaps walking the halls might be more interesting,” Avice suggested.
“Walking,” Satia snorted. “Waddling, more like.” She stomped on.
“The instructions clearly say that blood mages can’t resist the lure of power.
We have followed everything to the letter.
” She paused, putting he hands on her lower back and stretching.
“The hook might be planted, but we need to sink it deeper.” She sat in a high-backed chair, letting Mira serve the tea.
“Once I am assured of his cooperation, I can make other…arrangements.”
Nora felt her nerves tingle in anticipation.
Satia took the cup, steam rising slightly. She blew on it, her eyes unfocused.
Nora waited.
Satia’s eyes met hers. “Seduce him.”
The new chambers were lovely. High in the tower, with bright windows and plenty of natural light, comfortable if slightly worn furnishings, and a large bed with a feather mattress and pillows.
There was even a privy, with a cistern for bathing and pipes that ran water and drained the wastes.
Riven could hear Witless chortling about having his own room.
Riven stood in the center of the sitting room, staring around at the splendor. Everything he ever wanted.
His gut churned.
“See here,” Nora said, opening another door.
Riven followed, discovering a workroom with a wide stone floor. Various tables, shelves, and a few chairs completed the furnishings.
“Will this do?” Nora asked, her skirts swishing on the floor as she walked around.
“Yes,” Rivan said, turning slowly in a circle. Plenty of room to build the matrix necessary. “Plenty of space.”
“Good,” she nodded. “There are guards posted in the hallways, so you will not be disturbed.”
Riven nodded, not looking at her, pretending to study the room.
“You can begin in the morning.” Nora started toward the door. “I’ll bring the scroll.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “Sleep well,” she said with a smile as she left.
Riven stood frowning after her. That seemed…different.
He made no mistake; they’d kill him if he refused to cast the spell.
Kill him with no remorse or regret, if it was so ordered by Queen Satia.
There was a lady who’d command his death in a heartbeat.
Or hold him until a new blood mage was found to do her will, and offer him as sacrifice to one who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of this opportunity.
It was foolish to think he could find a way out of this.
And yet…he had to try.