Julio gestured to her left. A few meters away lay the tangled wreck of the spider jar. All but one of its legs had been ripped off, and its various tentacles reduced to stumps. The single remaining leg twitched occasionally, like the last limb of a crushed insect. Amazingly, the bottle with Kantelvar’s decaying skull inside seemed undamaged.
“Do you think he’s still alive in there?” she asked.
“I hope so,” Julio said. “Alive and screaming in impotent rage.”
That thought made Isabelle queasy. A clean death would have been better. One didn’t torture frothing dogs; one put them out of their misery. “We should dispose of him, throw him off the sky cliff.” Though perhaps even the long fall wouldn’t kill him.
“No good,” Julio said. “Even with the staff I couldn’t open the outer doors to get to the ship and there’s no guarantee we could control the ship even if we could reach it.”
“You couldn’t … how long was I unconscious?”
No longer eclipsed by despair, Julio’s manner was brisk and resolute. “An hour or so. I was going to have to rouse you soon if you didn’t come around. I need to know if you know where this skyland is. The last time I escaped, I was unable to inform my allies where to come rescue me. I know we’re on an uncharted skyland, but I was unconscious when Kantelvar brought me here and there are no windows.”
“This skyland is not uncharted; it’s mischarted. It’s listed as a reef, about four days off the coast between Aragoth and l’Empire Céleste, and very high up.”
Julio cursed. “A reef. Of course. Damn. I had Duque Diego looking in all the wrong places.”
“Just how did you escape? I assume Kantelvar left you no mirrors.”
“Let me show you,” he said, extending his hand to her. His grip was dry and strong, his fingers lean yet blunt. Calluses on thumb and forefinger spoke of countless hours with a sword in hand. She’d heard he was a great swordsman, but that was the sort of thing one always heard about royalty. His calluses proved he was at least serious about the discipline. As she recalled, Clìmacio’s hands had been softer. All those little clues we miss.
Isabelle permitted herself to be assisted. Her balance was wobblier than she liked it, but at least she didn’t tip over. The Temple was a six-sided room with a domed ceiling overhead. Kantelvar had stuck as close to the traditional designs as possible. There were niches carved in the wall wherein had been placed icons of all the Risen Saints. In the center of the space, directly beneath the center of the dome, was a wide pool of dark water. Isabelle could not imagine that a skyland this small had a natural spring, so this had to be the outpost’s cistern. The only thing missing from the standard layout was an oculus in the roof.
Aside from its sacred design, the room seemed to have been given over to practical use as a storehouse for the aerie’s supplies. There were shelves upon shelves of dry goods and tools, though Isabelle imagined anything vulnerable to the damp was stored elsewhere. There were also shelves loaded down with odd fragments of twisted metal, strangely colored glass, and partial pieces of quondam machinery.
Gretl handed Isabelle a mug of water, which she gratefully downed. The chill of the liquid reminded her body of the gelid humidity. She shivered.
“Is there a cloak you could bring me?” she asked.
Gretl gave a positive hand sign and hurried off.
Julio used the lamp hook to hang the alchemical lantern low over the water, pinning the hook in place with the heavy crate. The bright light in the dark room turned the surface of the pool into a smooth mirror.
“I didn’t know Glasswalkers could send their espejismos through water,” Isabelle said.
“It was a common practice during the Saintstime, but the technique was lost after the annihilation of Rüul. I’m the only modern sorcerer powerful enough to manage it, or at least the only one who dares.” Pride lifted his shoulders. “The reflection isn’t solid and there’s no speculum loci behind it to latch on to. Even Kantelvar thought it was impossible, or didn’t think of it at all, or he never would have left me the opportunity.”
“So what do you intend to do when you get there?”
Julio stared at nothing for a moment, his face grim, as if reviewing a decision. “I’m going to approach Duque Diego.”
“He’s the one you went to before, the one who had a mirror placed aboard my ship so that you could attack Kantelvar.”
“Yes. His name is a byword for honor.”
Feeling woozy, Isabelle sat down on the crate by the edge of the pool. Her brows knitted in puzzlement. “Why? I thought he had recently switched factions.”
“Yes, but Aragothic politics is like a peasant dance; people change partners all the time. Diego stands firm on the rule of law. His favorite son and named heir was accused of murdering his bride. Diego believed his son to be innocent, and it was widely believed that my father would spare the son to avoid offending Diego. Instead, Father accepted the judgment of the court and had Diego’s son destroyed. Diego might have raised his banner in rebellion. Instead, he renewed his vows to the king. No one has had the cojones to challenge him on his honor since then.”
Isabelle mulled this for a moment. “So he is your perfect ally. If you can convince him to argue your case to Margareta’s supporters—”
“No,” Julio said. “Didn’t you hear? He values the rule of law. Once he learns … what I am, he will be compelled to turn me over to whichever príncipe he chooses to support. I believe I can convince him to swear fealty to Alejandro and turn me over as proof of his sincerity.”
Isabelle’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you still trying to get yourself killed?”
“No,” he said. “That was never my preferred option, but it seemed the only one left to me. I … underestimated you. As for my current plan, I like my chances better with Alejandro than with Margareta. We were close once, before Kantelvar poisoned our shared cup, and Alejandro has every reason to spare my life. If he holds me up as a counterexample to Clìmacio, it will bleed away Margareta’s support, and may significantly shorten the war.”
Isabelle ran her mundane hand through her short-cropped hair and found it matted with blood. “I swore to Grand Leon that I would find a way to prevent this war.”
“It isn’t possible to prevent something that has already begun,” Julio said grimly.
“It must be,” Isabelle said. “There can’t be a war if no one fights. They have to choose it, and they’re fighting over a lie.”