70. Chapter 63
Chapter 63
Raven
A mon threw me in one of his cells. It was the one place Caelan hoped I’d never end up, the place he’d claimed me to save me from: his brother’s personal dungeon.
It was not a place for torturing demons and detaining prisoners. There were no children here, thank all that was holy. There were no men, no murderers, no halflings captured in the Borderlands.
This place held women who were waiting to die.
Amon did not share his brother’s preference for cold stone and chains. Though my cell was a bare square, even smaller than what I was used to, the hall that led to it had been laid with several layers of carpets. The colors were bright but faded, intended to banish the cold and the dark. The effect served only to make the place look rotted.
Old tapestries hung along the walls, their threads frayed and worn. Torches were lit at frequent intervals along the walls. It seemed Prince Amon liked light. When he became emperor, would he move his dungeon upstairs so the suns might shine through large open windows as he flayed women alive?
After Amon found me at the pit, he’d asked me what was inside. I’d told him nothing, and he hadn’t tried hard to persuade me to talk. Instead, he smiled in a way that suggested he already knew and commanded Aagha to escort me away. They’d sent a surgeon to stitch my neck before throwing me in here, where I sank into an exhausted sleep.
I dreamed of Asherah on the bank of the River of Madness.
My Chosen, the dragon crooned. Her joy filled me and leaked down my cheeks as tears. Finally, she’d Bonded. Their connection was unbreakable; their love, unconditional. They were one.
His hand petted her, stroking as if she were a dog or a bird. He’d never petted a dragon before, so he didn’t know yet that they like it differently—they like to be scratched beneath their scales.
Asherah told him thus and his hand moved, fingers sliding beneath the scales to quell the itch of rapidly growing skin that plagued her there. Asherah purred, closing one set of eyelids. She sank into his touch, satisfied at last. It had been such a long and trying journey.
But I recognized those hands. They were big and thick and strong with callouses from holding a sword. No horns grew from their knuckles.
I knew before Asherah turned her head and I got a look at him.
Caelan had Bonded Asherah.
My mind raced. Was Tanead dead? Or had Asherah deemed Caelan the worthier of the two? Ead's blood ran in his veins. But he was a Dragonslayer. When he left me, he was still undecided where his loyalties lay.
"I knew you would do the right thing," I whispered.
Caelan’s emotions swirled into my awareness. He was a part of a dragon now; my powers could touch him.
He was afraid. Overwhelmed. Perhaps a bit in shock. But alongside these natural reactions was a deeper contentment. It was the contentment of a person who has finally stopped running from who they are.
Caelan and Asherah whispered sweet nothings to each other like a mother and her newborn babe. He stroked her and she hummed. The love between them was strong like the tall trees that grew near the shoreline where I was born. They swayed in the strong winds that came in off the sea, but they didn’t break. “We are like those trees,” my mother had said. “We bend, but do not break.” I remembered that now.
Caelan’s love of Asherah would never break, either.
A tension that had clenched in my chest since the moment I felt the first spark fly between Caelan and I relaxed. Finally, we fought on the same team. Standing against his family. Against the Ravager. I allowed myself a little smile.
But war was coming. It would come fast. Emperor Calathan and Amon would never allow Caelan to Ride. While below me, the Ravager waited to rise. He had to be killed while he was still a babe. Yet even as I thought this, I knew it was already too late.
It was a bitter irony that my father’s belief that the Arbiter was Caelan had created the exact circumstances that the Ravager needed to Bond with me. Perhaps that’s just how destiny works. Perhaps it was never my parents’ fault at all.
I didn’t really believe that.
Destiny is no excuse for bad behavior.
Footsteps echoed in the hall. Dragonstone sucked in sound as well as light, but my ears were well-used to listening for the dim sounds that remained behind. I adjusted my shift as a key slipped into the lock in my door. When they’d thrown me in here, Amon’s lackeys had given me the simple shift of a prisoner to replace my travel-worn riding clothes. Though it scratched my skin, it felt familiar. The uniform of my former life.
The door was wooden rather than metal. Its hinges were well-oiled but it still creaked a little. The lights of the hall backlit the figure who stood in it, but I could tell it was a woman. That was a surprise. Amon's cronies seemed to be exclusively men. Maybe it was one of the denizens of this tragic place.
The figure stepped into the light and I gasped. "Lady Obsan."
Nahome smiled coolly. She was clean, her curls washed and freshly braided. She wore a split skirt with pants beneath in the colors of her house—green and black. Weapons were strapped all over her body.
"Given up the whole noble lady facade, have you?" I said.
"I don't know what you mean, Arbiter. I am still a noble lady. As are you."
"How'd you get free?"
"You will learn in time, Lady Rosa, that what he wants becomes reality."
" He is still a helpless babe."
"If that were true, your attempt to kill him would have succeeded." Nahome's eerie eyes pierced me. Were mine this unsettling when I gazed at people or was it her persistent calm that felt so unnatural?
"So you came to gloat? Or to try to convince me to serve him?"
"I came to escort you to court."
Servants arrived with a tin tub of cold water and Nahome turned her back politely as I washed.
"So you work for the emperor now? I have to say—I'm disappointed. I thought you were above all the raping and pillaging," I said.
Nahome raised her chin. Any higher and she'd begin to backbend. "I serve Anu, the Father, the Ravager, the Unweaver, Consumer of Threads."
"Why? Seriously, why would you do that? Have you read The Tapestry Unweaving? You must know that he'll destroy the entire world if he gets his way."
"He will remake it. As this world was once forged in fire, so it will be re-forged anew."
"And everyone on it will die."
"No. Some will remain to serve him," she said.
"Ah. I see. You think you'll be one of them if you're a good girl now."
Nahome tossed something at me. I dodged automatically, letting the thing billow and fall to the floor. It was a dress, I realized. Bright emerald green to match my eyes, backless to reveal my tattoo. The fabric would drape in the style of the Mouth.
"I do not presume. I know only that it would be an honor to die in his service and return to the Crust, where he has spent the eons since his last death."
My eyebrows reached for the ceiling. "You think you'll enter some sort of afterlife, like the gods do?" I knew of no mythos that allowed for any sort of mortal afterlife.
"Oh, no," Nahome clarified. "You see, the Temple exists merely to prop up the Havard dynasty, but there are followers of the Father who yearn for his return. We call ourselves the Judges. For us, the prophecy is a road map that guides us in bringing it about. My house is among the Father’s most loyal followers. Perhaps you know our sigil.”
I did, from my studies. "Green eyes over a dead leopard. Green eyes because you breed Touched like cattle. Or at least, you try."
“Yes. The leopard was once the sigil of our house, long ago. But we exist now only as servants of the Father. We are perhaps the only house in Vaharilar who awaits the Reckoning with eagerness. My family believes it will be the highest honor to serve the Reborn Father, whether as his slaves or as ashes.”
“You still haven’t told me why anyone would want that.”
“The slaying of the Father was a grave sin. We believe man is cursed until he rights this sin. After the world is washed clean with blood and fire, those few who remain will live happy and peaceful lives of service to the gods.”
I snorted. “Service is just a nice word for shackles.”
“It is,” Nahome admitted. “But some believe a life in shackles is more peaceful than a free life. Your mother’s house, for example, ascribed to this belief.”
My cheeks lit up at her casual reference to my inclinations. But Nahome didn’t try to shame me for them. Her tone of voice had never oscillated at all.
“My mother’s house words were ‘Unbroken.’ It displays strength to bend without breaking. To kneel of one’s own accord is a sort of freedom.”
“Precisely,” Nahome said.
“It’s hardly the same,” I snapped. “What you’re talking about sounds pretty damned broken.”
“That’s what your mother thought. She was a member of the Hopefuls, those who wish to stop the Ravager at all costs,” Nahome said.
At all costs. Some things are worth any sacrifice, my father had said before he’d pulled me into the pit.
“Those in power always say that the life of someone else is a worthy price to pay for the fruition of their ambitions, no matter what those ambitions are,” I said.
“To prevent the end of the world is a worthy ambition, is it not? Or to bring it about?”
I shrugged. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because the Father yearns for you, Raven. If you wish, I will take you back down to him now and you may be united as you should be.”
I laughed. “You need me to be willing, don’t you? You can’t make me touch him. It won’t work. I have to choose to do it.”
A lesser person might have pursed their lips in annoyance or flashed their eyes in anger, but Nahome only stilled.
“You don’t remember your father, do you?” she asked.
“None of your business.”
I remembered a warm hand holding mine beside a fire in a large hearth. I remembered the smile he saved only for my mother. I remembered him telling me to close my eyes in the moments before his choices got me executed.
“I didn’t know him either, of course. I am hardly your senior. But stories of him are still spoken freely inside the ranks of the Judges.
“They say your father was not a kind man. He was Calathan Havard’s best friend, a sadist cut from the same cloth as the Slayers. He was also a brilliant strategist and political mind. He knew that if he killed the emperor’s son without an army behind him, he’d be executed. And so he used the boy as an excuse to take the throne of Vaharilar for himself.
“He knew how to excite the ambition of others. He spoke sweet words to the common people and they rose up at his behest, thinking he cared for them. He made promises to great lords and they joined his cause, believing he’d keep them.
“But your mother was different. She studied the old texts from the Age of Dragons and was said to be compassionate towards all living creatures. Some say it was not the throne your father loved most, but her. Some say he did what he did because she begged him to. They say he could never refuse her.
“It’s a funny power Cytherans have over those with that certain inclination. Those who see only with their eyes see you on your knees, looking up. But those who see more clearly note that the leash pulls both ways.”
“Do you have a point?” I asked.
“I think that your father would have accepted the power that Anu offers, if he were in your shoes.”
“Just another way he would’ve been wrong,” I said. “This floor is wet. If I dress here, the hem will be soaked.”
“In the hall, then.”
I pulled the dress on quickly in the flickering light and Nahome pointed down the hall.
"Go ahead, please, Lady Rosa."
"Why are we going to court?" The tingling sensation that warned of danger was spreading across my skin with each step I took down the hall, but I filed every turn away, noting the number of steps we ascended and the closed doors we passed. I recognized the entry into the Emperor’s Dungeon but Nahome directed me past it. We went up into the palace. Pink sunlight streamed in the expansive windows. Hot air instantly dried the droplets of water remaining on my skin and curled my hair. It felt like a punch to the face after the refreshing coolness of the underworld.
The throne room doors were closed when we arrived. Tingling readiness flooded my blood, though I could hardly kill everyone who waited inside this room.
Did Emperor Calathan know that Caelan had Bonded Asherah? Is that why a companion had been called without her master? As for why a treasonous rebel who'd almost killed the empress had been released, I had no idea.
The double doors opened silently and the guards stood aside. They made no announcement, but the room fell silent as I entered. Every eye turned to me and I raised my chin, proceeding proudly.
The delicate metal collar Caelan had given me was still around my neck. He’d locked it, and Amon hadn’t bothered to break it open. Even the surgeon had worked around it.
I was glad. I reached out a tendril of my mind to touch Caelan's. I basked in the bliss his Bonding had brought him. It was nice to feel he was with me now, even if he wasn’t.
It wasn’t so long ago that I was used to being alone and anonymous, an invisible nameless girl in a cage. But Caelan and Asherah made me feel like I’d never be alone again.
You won’t be, Anu promised ominously.
I yanked my focus back to the present moment. I needed all my wits to confront whatever this was.
The throne room was packed. It looked like every noble in central Vaharilar had been called to appear. How long was I in Amon’s dungeon? No more than a few days, I thought. But it was hard to say.
I walked into the center of the room and the crowd parted for me as if I were a wave that might topple them over. When I reached the cracked tile, I turned towards the throne and my stomach bottomed out my feet.
Prince Amon lounged upon his father's throne, his knees hooked over the golden armrest, his crown skewed upon his red-blond hair. It could only mean one thing.
Prince Amon didn't exist anymore. Emperor Amon sat upon his own throne, easy and contemptuous of its power, for he was sure it belonged to him.
But it was not the most disturbing thing.
The new emperor’s eyes tracked me across the cavernous room while a familiar half-smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. Those eyes were not the familiar pale blue I’d gotten used to.
They were green. A bright shining emerald green that looked like it would glow in the dark. Like mine.
I closed my eyes and there he was, a human shape outlined in pulsing, green Threads.
It could mean only one thing.
Amon had gone into the pit. He was an agent of the Ravager now.
Had I been replaced as Anu's Chosen? No. If that were the case, the crawling, burrowing, begging presence of Anu under my skin would have ceased. Anu still wanted me. Needed me. The one who flew to him with bloodied hand and broken heart. That wasn't Amon and never would be.
Amon was a minion. The first mind ensnared by the rising Ravager, Consumer of Threads.
A powerful nausea swept through me. An emperor in the grip of the Ravager's malevolent power was the beginning of the end for us all.
My power could have been yours, Anu scolded in my mind. Then, in a whisper: It could still be yours.
“Come,” Amon said. Even his voice sounded different. No longer an entitled drawl but a powerful boom, deep and resonant.
There was nothing to do but obey. Trying not to shake, I took a step forward and then another. I felt as though I was back in the pit, approaching the Father I’d rejected and run from.
I knelt when I reached the throne. This was not the moment I died.
“Your eyes have changed color,” I said.
He laughed, delighted. “Yes! Yes, it feels marvelous.”
Did it? I didn’t remember a time before the god’s power flowed through me. I said nothing.
Amon held out his hand and upon his finger was the emperor’s ring. A huge ruby was set in glinting gold. The edges of the cut stone were smooth from generations of rulers rubbing their thumbs along its surface.
I knew what was expected of me.
I crawled forward and planted a kiss on the surface of the ruby. The cold stone was like acid on my lips. Rage pulsed in my heart. Everything I’d come here to do felt like a joke now. I’d been a na?ve girl to think I could come into this court and gain my vengeance so easily. The vengeance I’d craved all my life felt petty now, a false desire nurtured and encouraged by an evil god so I might better serve his wishes.
But Caelan has Asherah now, I thought, and it felt like hope.
Amon cast his voice so all the court would hear. “You may be a whore and a traitor, Raven Rosa, but I didn’t want you to miss this momentous occasion. You will kiss my feet and sit below my throne as all my nobles come forward and pledge their allegiance to their new emperor.”
“An honor, Emperor,” I forced out. At least he had fucking boots on.
“Yes, it is. And I offer you another. You may be the first to pledge your loyalty.”
Ah, so that’s why I was here. A show of dominance over the Traitor’s daughter as his first act as a new emperor. A show of dominance over Caelan, too. If I knew Amon, that second part was even more important to him.
There was nothing to do but obey. With all the court’s eyes on me, the tattoo on my back displayed proudly before them, I bent and kissed the tip of the boot Amon held forward for me. I cast my eyes down and murmured the words that would keep me alive a little longer.
“Long live the emperor.”