Chapter Thirty-Five
In the Palace of Xy
In the morning, after Nora had slipped out, Riven stared at the perfectly clean floor of his workspace, the sunlight making it gleam, and took a last sip of his kavage.
It was to be tonight.
Witless and the babes had been banished from the chambers until they were needed. There would be no afternoon visit with a Bondmaiden and the scroll. The day was here, the moon would rise, and they would begin the casting that they had anticipated for all these long months.
The last of the kavage was cold and bitter. Riven drained it anyway. He’d need it to concentrate on the preparations. Not just on the mixing of the sands and the diamond dust and the gold flakes. Not just on the drawing of the matrix and the placement of the gems.
But on himself.
Riven knew full well that death wouldn’t offer peace. It wasn’t a balm, a soft sleep that everyone seemed to think it was.
Death was far more complicated than that.
He set the mug aside and held up his hands to the sun streaming through the windows, trying to decide what had changed. This decision? It certainly was not enough to absolve him, but maybe it was a start at redemption.
His hands were steady, his mind was clear, his heart set on a goal, and his determination firm. He was ready.
It was a fool’s hope, of course. Riven smiled as he turned to his worktable.
He already knew that about himself, didn’t he?
He picked up the first silken bag of diamond dust and gold flakes, took a breath, and started to chant.
The moon was high when the door opened. Mira, Nora, and Caris entered, each carrying a baby on one hip. Witless followed with a babe in each arm. They all stayed close to the door, avoiding the design that glittered on the floor.
As requested, they all wore black tunic and trous, to avoid skirts brushing the matrix. As he had also anticipated, they were all armed with daggers at the waist.
He didn’t let himself look at Nora beyond a brief glance at her lovely face. Anymore and he might give himself away.
Witless was subdued, standing as far from the women as possible, his eyes cast down.
“The Queen?” Riven asked.
“She comes,” Caris said, lifting her chin to avoid the grasping hands of her burden. “She is withdrawing the guards from the floor.”
Riven nodded, and reached for the child. “Here, let me,” he said, taking the boy from her arms.
“Warm in here,” Caris commented.
Riven had built up the fires in both hearths, which made the matrix on the floor gleam. For both the light and the comfort of the babes.
He stripped the swaddling from the child and placed him in one of the outer circles. The child looked up at him with wide eyes and immediately grabbed for his own toes.
“Should we start without her?” Mira asked as Riven took the babe she held. He handed her the swaddling.
“Best to move swiftly,” he said.
Nora started to strip her babe even as he placed the second. No one else protested as he worked, stepping carefully into and about the matrix on the floor, placing each babe in the center of its designated circle.
He turned to Witless, who handed over one of the boys he held, his expression anxious. “Baby good?” Witless asked in a small voice.
“Baby good,” Riven said reassuringly, with a nod. He was just placing the last infant as the doors opened and Queen Satia swept in.
She was a glorious sight, wearing a red dress with black trim and wide skirts. Her jewelry glittered, catching the eye, as did her tiara. She stood in the door, posing, as if framed, imperious as she met his gaze. Avice stood behind her, holding Xykeir and the scroll box.
Riven bowed low. “Majesty,” he said.
“Blood mage,” Satia said, her voice oozing with satisfaction. “I brought something to celebrate with once the work is done.” She held up a bottle that gleamed purple in the light.
He lifted an eyebrow in a silent question.
“Letheon,” the Queen said. Her smile was warm. “I am sure that after all these months, you can handle a glass.”
Bitch. Riven bowed again. “Your Majesty is most considerate.”
The Queen nodded and surveyed the room, clearly checking the glittering pattern and the five chubby babies. “Ready?”
“Just missing the most important element,” Riven said. “Also, I wish to double check the pattern.”
“Of course,” Satia said. “Avice,” she commanded.
Avice stepped forward to hand Xykeir over. Riven unwrapped the princeling’s swaddling, then went to the very center of the matrix. Xykeir cooed as he was set down, kicking in delight.
Riven retreated from the pattern, minding his feet.
Avice had put the box on the table, set out the scroll, and opened it to the matrix pattern.
The bottle of letheon sat there as well.
Avice shifted to the side as the Queen moved closer and stared down at the scroll.
Satia was clearly comparing the patterns, her gaze flicking back and forth.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed, her eyes alight.
Riven stepped close and made a show of doing the same. “Almost,” he said. “I still need a knife.”
“You will have it,” Satia said as she retreated toward the closed door. Avice kept her place.
“Witless,” Riven held out a hand and Witless walked over to him. “Just like we practiced,” Riven reminded him. “Don’t step on the lines; lie down there.” He pointed to the correct spot.
“Don’t touch,” Witless muttered as he stepped into the pattern and stretched out in the largest oval, at Riven’s feet. “Don’t touch,” he whispered again, craning his neck to look at the babies.
“Witless, like we practiced.” Riven said. “Stay still, eyes closed.”
Witless obeyed, nodding and closing his eyes.
Riven checked everything over again, and then looked up through the window at the moon. “We may commence the ritual,” he said, then turned and lifted an eyebrow at the Queen.
Satia nodded to Avice, who reached into the box and pulled out a sheathed blade.
Riven sucked in a breath.
Queen Satia seemed pleased by his reaction. “Another heirloom of my Blood,” she said. “Use it well.”
Avice extended the weapon, the hilt toward his hand, the leather sheath in hers.
Riven didn’t need mage sight to see the darkness within. The handle was bone, creamy whitish-yellow, cool under his fingers. He pulled the weapon from the sheath.
The blade was stone, black and glittering in the light of the fire.
Riven wet his lips. “Is it sharp enough?” he asked, not wanting to test the edge himself.
“It’s always sharp,” Queen Satia replied, her confidence clear. “Positions,” she snapped. Riven noted she remained by the door, well away from the matrix. The Bondmaidens moved, each taking a position outside the circle, arranged at equal distance.
Nora came to stand behind Riven, as the mage took his place at Witless’s feet. For the briefest of movements, their eyes met, and she brushed her hand against his free one, caressing his palm.
Riven didn’t dare look at her. He trembled with power. With possibilities.
He took one last look around. All was ready.
He raised his hands, knife glittering in the light, and started to chant. The words flowed, like ritual music, perfect in tone and cadence. The power he’d hoarded for so many months rose in him, and he sent a shower of sparks to the key locations in the matrix.
Startled breaths came from the women as the sparks settled and the pattern of sand, diamond dust, and gold flakes glittered and glowed before solidifying into bright cords that rose from the floor to hover in mid air.
The babes rose with it, floating above the floor.
Some giggled, some stared in wonder, one of them drooled on the fist that he had just stuck in his mouth.
Riven wanted one last look at Nora, but he forced himself to concentrate; it wouldn’t do to lose focus on the spell. He poured more power into the design, narrowing the cords, tightening them so that the power started to flow in and around, the entire structure pulsing.
He caught Witless staring, with wide-wondering eyes. He still lay on the ground, the point that tethered the wheeling maze to the earth.
Riven frowned; Witless jerked his eyes closed.
Queen Satia had taken a few steps closer, her own eyes as wide and wondering as Witless’s. The Bondmaidens had shifted nearer as well, caught in the beauty and power of the magic.
The power was at its height, the magic bright and magnified, Riven reached the point where all he had to do was slit Witless’s throat, feed his blood, his very being, into the matrix.
Riven…no, Tassos. He was Tassos.
He jerked the power away from the spell matrix.
The structure wobbled, the babies jostled in midair.
Riven formed his fingers into a claw, one that glowed, with sharp, jagged edges. He turned toward Nora—
Her eyes widened—
Riven reached, mentally and physically, for the flaw in the webbing, at the pulse point at her neck, the tiny little wrinkle. He grabbed and pulled and…realized his mistake.
It could only be broken from within.
He’d never told her, never said the words, and they tried to spill out now as he opened his mouth.
Dullness engulfed in her eyes, as they narrowed, grew hard and cold and commanded. Nora moved, her dagger drawn, her mouth twisted in a terrible grimace.
Which was when Riven’s second mistake became apparent.
The power he had tried to use flared up and used him.
The bond he had been creating already existed within the matrix; the blood was only necessary to seal it.
The power jerked away from him, wrenching itself back into the pattern.
Riven spun around to see the cords writhing, the nascent Bond protecting itself as the power flooded in, strengthening, brightening the entire structure.
Nora was behind him, the warmth of her body pressing against his, her hand in his hair as she yanked his head back and brought her blade to his throat. The knife was sharp, he felt only the slightest pain as he started to choke on warm blood.
He fell forward, on top of Witless, who was frozen in horror. Blood splattered everywhere.
The stone knife fell from Riven’s hand.
Witless screamed, struggling under him.
Nora pressed down, her hand and knee on Riven’s back, screaming her battle cry as she seized the stone knife and plunged it toward Witless’s neck.
Riven grabbed her wrist. He had just enough strength to deflect her.
But not enough to stop the knife from piercing Witless’s skin.
Blood dripped onto the glowing matrix, which instantly turned a seething, hot red. The color and heat pulsed and spread throughout the pattern, weaving through the coils and the ribbons, and there was nothing Riven could do as he choked on his own blood and felt his life ebbing away.
A baby wailed, a heartbroken cry. Riven looked up to see Xykeir, floating in the center of the glittering power. Tears in his eyes, the boy’s tiny arms were reaching for Riven, for Witless. His little face puckered in frustration and want and—
The matrix flared as the last bits turned red. There was a blindingly bright flash that sucked at his soul.
Riven collapsed.
He became conscious of the crying of several babes.
He tried to lift his head to see what was happening. He felt dazed and confused. The world seemed odd, out of focus. He was alive?
Something under him squirmed.
He rolled off Witless, onto a bare stone floor. No sand, no diamond dust, no gold flakes. The mage put one hand to his throat, expecting pain and blood, but his skin was whole.
Someone was shouting, over the cries of the babes, demanding to know what had happened.
A woman stood over him and he blinked up at her. Nora stared at him, surprised and shocked; her eyes were filled with horror and regret.
“I cut your throat,” she whispered.
The Bonded wailed. He was commanded.
He turned away from Nora, rolled onto his hands and knees, not strong enough for much else. Weak, trembling, drained and exhausted, but the Bond demanded he—
Witless had beaten him to it and was cradling Xykeir in his lap, hushing the babe and rubbing his back. They were surrounded by crying babies, all naked on the bare wooden floor.
“Kill him,” came a scream of outrage.
Xykeir held out his hands. The Bonded commanded.
The mage kept crawling.
Nora grabbed his hair and pulled him to his knees again. “Riven, what have you done?” She hissed, her blade in her sticky, bloody hand.
“Stop,” Avice commanded. “Wait. Don’t you see?”
“The babes are not bonded.” Queen Satia stared in fury at the unmarked wrist of a crying infant.
“But they are,” Nora grabbed the mage’s wrist and twisted it up to show The Queen.
Satia cried out in horror. “No, no, no!”
He stared at his own skin, the bond-mark clear on his wrist. He invoked his mage sight, to see—
There it was, pure gold bands, floating and weaving around him, and Witless, and Xykeir, moving and drifting and tightening, pulling him. It tugged him toward the Bonded, and only the Bonded.
Staring at Xykeir, he started to crawl again. Nora’s hand slid from his hair, releasing him.
“This cannot be,” Queen Satia spat. “Check the babes, all of them,” her voice grew shrill. “And shut them up!”
Witless had Xykeir in his arms, sitting there with no blood, no scars, just a wide smile as the mage drew near and sat beside them. Xykeir held out his hands and the mage found the strength to pull him into his own lap.
Witless comforted the other children as the Bondmaidens checked their wrists and dropped them into his lap. He wrapped his arms around as many as he could and chortled. The babes quieted, growing content.
“None of them,” the Queen raged, piercing and shrill. “None of them bear the mark, except the idiot and the mage. All that time, all that money.” Her voice rose in a shriek. “What happened?”
Nora stood over them. “Riven?”
He looked up at her lovely face. Safe within the Bond, safe within the golden net he was sure pressed into his own skin, he smiled at her.
“My name is Tassos.”