“During the execution,” continued Kell, “Holland was trying to draw Osaron in. When Osaron appeared, I assumed it had worked, but then when he pushed Holland into the river … I didn’t think—”
“No,” snapped Rhy, “you didn’t.”
Kell held his ground. “He might have let Holland drown, or he might have simply been trying to get him away from us before claiming his shell, and if you think Osaron is bad without a body, you should have seen him in Holland’s. I didn’t realize he was after me until it was too late.”
“It was the right thing to do,” said the king. Kell looked at him, stunned. It was the closest Maxim had come to taking Kell’s side in months.
“Well,” said Rhy peevishly, “Holland is still alive, and Osaron is still free, and we still have no idea how to stop him.”
Kell pressed his palms to his eyes. “Osaron still needs a body.”
“He doesn’t seem to think so,” said Lila.
“He’ll change his mind,” said Kell.
Rhy stopped pacing. “How do you know?”
“Because right now, he can afford to be stubborn. He has too many options.” Kell looked to Tieren, who had remained silent, still as stone. “Once you put the city to sleep, he’ll run out of bodies to play with. He’ll get restless. He’ll get angry. And then we’ll have his attention.”
“And what do we do then?” said Lila, exasperated. “Even if we can convince Osaron to take the body we give him, we have to be fast enough to trap him in it. It’s like trying to catch lightning.”
“We need another way to contain him,” said Rhy. “Something better than a body. Bodies come with minds, and those, as we know, can be manipulated.” He plucked a small silver sphere off a shelf, and stretched it out between his fingers. The sphere was made of fine metal cords woven in such a way that they drew apart, expanding into a large orb of delicate filaments, and folded back together, collapsing into a dense ball of tightly coiled silver. “We need something stronger. Something permanent.”
“We would need an Inheritor,” said Tieren softly.
The room looked to the Aven Essen, but it was Maxim who spoke. He was turning red. “You told me they didn’t exist.”
“No,” said Tieren. “I told you I would not help you make one.”
The priest and the king locked stares for long enough that Rhy spoke up. “Anyone want to explain?”
“An Inheritor,” said Tieren slowly, addressing the room, “is a device that transfers magic. And even if it could be made, it is by its very nature corrupt, an outright defiance of cardinal law and an interference”—Maxim stiffened at this—“with the natural order of magical selection.”
The room went quiet. The king’s face was rigid with anger, Rhy’s own features set but pale, and understanding settled in Kell’s chest. A device to transfer magic would be able to grant it to those without. What wouldn’t a father do for a son born without power? What wouldn’t a king do for his heir?
When the prince spoke, his voice was careful, even. “Is that really possible, Tieren?”
“In theory,” answered the priest, crossing to an ornate desk that stood in the corner of the room. He pulled a piece of parchment from the drawer, produced a pencil from one of the many folds of his white priest robes, and began to draw.
“Magic, as you know, does not follow blood. It chooses the strong and the weak as it will. As is natural,” he added, casting a stern look at the king. “But some time ago, a nobleman named Tolec Loreni wanted a way to pass on not only his land and his titles, but also his power to his beloved eldest son.” The sketch on the page began to take shape. A metal cylinder shaped like a scroll, the length embossed with spellwork. “He designed a device that could be spelled to take and hold a person’s power until the next of kin could lay claim to it.”
“Hence, Inheritor,” said Lila.
Rhy swallowed. “And it actually worked?”
“Well, no,” said Tieren. “The spell killed him instantly. But”—he brightened—“his niece, Nadina, had a rather brilliant mind. She perfected the design, and the first Inheritor was made.”
Kell shook his head. “Why have I never heard of this? And if they worked, why aren’t they still used?”
“Power does not like being forced into lines,” said Tieren pointedly. “Nadina Loreni’s Inheritor worked. But it worked on anyone. For anyone. There was no way to control who claimed the contents of an Inheritor. Magicians could be persuaded to relinquish the entirety of their power to the device, and once it was surrendered to the Inheritor, it was anyone’s to claim. As you can imagine, things got … messy. In the end, most of the Inheritors were destroyed.”
“But if we could find the Loreni designs,” said Lila, “if we could re-create one—”
“We don’t need to,” said Alucard, speaking up at last. “I know exactly where to find one.”
VII
“What do you mean you sold it?” Kell snapped at the captain.
“I didn’t know what it was.”
This had been going on for several minutes now, and Lila poured herself a fresh drink as the room around her hummed with Kell’s anger, the king’s frustration, Alucard’s annoyance.
“I didn’t recognize the magic,” Alucard was saying for the third time. “I’d never seen anything like it before. I knew it was rare, but that was all.”
“You sold an Inheritor,” repeated Kell, drawing out the words.
“Technically,” said Alucard, defensively, “I didn’t sell it. I offered it in trade.”
Everyone groaned at that.
“Who did you give it to?” demanded Maxim. The king didn’t look well—dark bruises stood out beneath his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept in days. Not that any of them had, but Lila liked to think she wore fatigue rather well, given her sheer amount of practice.
“Maris Patrol,” answered Alucard.
The king reddened at the name. No one else seemed to notice. Lila did. “You know them.”
The king’s attention snapped toward her. “What? No. Only by reputation.”
Lila knew a lie, especially a bad one, but Rhy cut in.
“And what reputation is that?”
The king wasn’t the one to answer. Lila noticed that, too.
“Maris runs the Ferase Stras,” said Alucard.
“The Going Waters?” translated Kell, assuming Lila didn’t know the words. She did. “I’ve never heard of it,” he added.
“I’m not surprised,” said the captain.
“Er an merst …” started Lenos, speaking up for the first time. It’s a market. Alucard shot the man a look, but the shipmate kept going, his voice soft, the accent rural Arnesian. “It caters to sailors of a special sort, looking to trade in …” He finally caught the captain’s look and trailed off.
“You mean a black market,” offered Lila, tipping her drink toward the captain. “Like Sasenroche.”
The king raised a brow at that.
“Your Majesty,” started Alucard. “It was before I served the crown—”
The king held up a hand, clearly not interested in excuses. “You believe the Inheritor is still there?”
Alucard nodded once. “The head of the market took a shine to it. Last I saw, it was around Maris’s neck.”
“And where is this Ferase Stras?” asked Tieren, pushing a piece of parchment toward them. On it, he’d outlined a rough map of the empire. No labels, just the drawn borders of land. The sight tickled something in the back of Lila’s mind.
“That’s the thing,” said Alucard, running a hand through his messy brown curls. “It moves around.”
“Can you find it?” demanded Maxim.
“With a pirate’s cipher, sure,” answered Alucard, “but I don’t have one anymore. On the honor of Arnes, I swear—”
“You mean it was confiscated when you were arrested,” said Kell.
Alucard shot him a venomous look.
“A pirate’s cipher?” asked Lila. “Is that a kind of sea map?”