“What do you mean?” Polaire asked.
Fox’s eyes widened. “King Randrall the Quiet, the dead king Tea raised by accident two years ago.”
“The one who declared that King Telemaine’s ancestor was the offspring of the queen and the commander of his army and therefore not of his lineage. We went through great lengths to have that confirmed,” I said.
“Doesn’t that affect King Telemaine’s claims to the throne?” Fox asked.
Mykaela shook her head. “King Randrall had no other surviving kin. He claimed the queen’s son as his own, so his legitimacy holds. Even so, Prince Kance and Khalad can still trace their line to House Wyath through their mother.”
“Politics are confusing,” my brother complained.
Polaire frowned. “We should launch our own investigation into that strange illness—which kingdoms have been affected and so forth. I’m surprised we have heard so little about it.”
“Kingdoms would not boast of it,” Mykaela said. “And they might not be aware of the connection.”
The shadows flitted through my mind again, and I saw wings beating on either side of me as the azi soared high into mountaintops that no human had ever scaled. The cold wind felt good on my face, but I closed my eyes, unprepared for the sun’s bright glare. I felt the azi nudge my mind affectionately. Master? it queried. Play?
“Tea? Are you OK?”
I felt a hand against my forehead. The mountains and the crisp air disappeared, leaving only the others looking back at me.
“She’s had a tiring day,” Fox said.
“You’re to return to your room and not leave it until dinnertime, Tea,” Polaire commanded. “We’ll look into the plot against the Yadoshans and these sicknesses.”
“But—”
“No buts, Tea! Go! And I’ll check up on you shortly to confirm you’re in bed as prescribed!”
Polaire always made me feel like I was a child of six, and I said as much to Fox as we left the room. “It was still my information. I would have appreciated a thank you at least.”
“She orders me about in much the same way. I haven’t met anyone who hasn’t gone through the same treatment when it comes to Polaire.”
But my mind remained ill at ease. The thought of having a black heartsglass like Aenah’s weighed heavily on my mind. How long did it take for silver to change? A month? A year? What other effects would it have on me?
Aenah was right about one thing: I had kept my links to the azi hidden from all, even my brother. I did not want to spend the rest of my life in the dungeons like her, left with a rotting heartsglass and no future to look forward to.
“He was blighted.” She was angry. Her fists clenched and unclenched. “I thought we’d found them all.”
“Blighted?”
“Spells that turn men into daeva-like creatures, most against their will. It is a consequence of darkrot—but this is different. Deliberate. I devoted nearly a year to hunting them down. Apparently, I did not find them all.”
I remembered the hanjian’s bulging eyes, his monstrous transformation before the azi ended his life. I knew it would haunt me for the rest of mine. What vile magic could have caused such a horrifying change?
“He knew he’d been Blighted. He completed the spell himself, to spite me…” She shook her head, almost admiring. “Silver-blighted are stronger than red, with far more frightening deviations. They kill even familiars, it is said. Slaughter them before they turn or rip out their heartsglass after they do. Perhaps he thought he would make a better opponent cursed than human.” Her lip curled. “He was wrong.”
Even here, the bone witch showed no respect for the deceased; her azi had carried the monstrous carcass away in its jaws, and now it lay on the ground before us. I was grateful for the heavy cloak spread over it to spare the others from the grisly sight.
“Are you still angry?” She sounded amused. “Despite your travels, you are unseasoned by war.”
Blighted or not, she intended to kill that man and for me to watch him die. “You talk like a recipe exists to accustom one to death,” I said, bitter.
“Oh, but there is,” she responded. “Take a girl and remove her heart. Add a touch of tragedy and a thirst for vengeance. Divide her into equal parts of grief and rage, then serve her cold. This is not the worst deed you will see before the week is out. If you have changed your mind about our mission, then leave. I am not yet done.”
“I will stay,” I said shortly, rising to my feet. “I will see this through, for good or ill.”
Most of the soldiers had fled, and those who remained were too injured to follow. Kalen saw to their wounds, moving from one to another to offer aid, though they shrunk from him in fear.
The asha signaled to me. I heard the crunch of marble behind me as the aeshma, the smallest among the daeva, followed closely behind, only barely able to fit through the palace doors, dragging the blighted corpse along with it.
The palace had long been deserted, servants and nobles having fled at the castle’s breaching. No bodies lay strewn along the corridors and hallways, which was some consolation. The asha did not waver and moved confidently from one room to the next until we arrived before the throne.
I was mistaken. The castle was not completely deserted. Someone sat on the golden chair.
I had always seen him from a distance, as one face in a sea of many, looking on when parades and processions brought the emperor through the busy streets of Santiang. I heard that most who throng those crowds were carefully selected, trained to kneel at a command, spurring the rest to follow suit. Dissenters were carefully culled from the herd by his loyal guards, sometimes never to be seen again.
But even guards can be goaded into betrayal, and the sycophants had long since abandoned the emperor of Daanoris. Without heralds to sing of his fine looks and proud form, he lost much of his appeal. His brows sagged underneath a face puffy from vice and arrogance. There was a lack of symmetry in his cheekbones and shadows over his dark eyes. It was an attractive face but one eroded by years of pride and avarice.
He awaited the asha’s approach, unmoving and unyielding. She stopped before him, so close that her skirts brushed against his bright throne. The aeshma padded after her, dropping the corpse before the emperor.
“My people will not suffer this indignity.” I was surprised to hear the emperor speak the common tongue. His still-powerful voice boomed, echoing across the chamber. “Whatever monstrosities you wield, you will fall. My allies will—”
The asha’s hand slammed across the emperor’s face, depriving him of both breath and strength. He crumpled against his throne, and my stunned cry bounced off the marbled walls.
“‘Your people,’ Your Majesty?” On her lips, his title sounded like a mockery. Her fingers moved through the air, and the emperor froze. “Your people are scattered, unburdened from the yoke you impose on their necks and call freedom. Your allies? The madman sniveling on the throne of Drycht tolerates you only for the money you exchange for their runeberry cloth and their soldiers. Even now, he has broken your treaty and allies himself with Druj. You are alone. Send him here then if you please. I shall cut out his heart and sup on it and leave the dregs for my daeva.”
Kalen stepped forward and grasped the emperor of Daanoris by the hems of his robe. The man’s struggles were futile; the Deathseeker dragged him to a corner of the room with little effort, discarding him there like a sack of old clothes.
The asha settled herself on the gilded throne of Daanoris.
“Where did I leave off, Bard?”
5