Nemesis Page 8

  But Farrumohr accepted the new situation without complaint. Unlike their peers, who often singled him out for ridicule, Gaius was friendly. He sensed the older boy’s potential right away and worked hard to cultivate his interest. In time, Farrumohr became Gaius’s playmate and confidante, flattering his ego and stoking the flames of his ambition.

  Gaius’s family treated them decently, but everyone knew the story. At school, the other children either ignored him or stared sidelong, whispering together, like he was some kind of freak. Without Gaius’s protection, Farrumohr knew it would have been much worse. But they loved Gaius as much as they hated Farrumohr.

  In private, his father nursed his hatred. He had grand plans to settle the score with the other clans, but they never seemed to come to fruition.

  I’ll help you, father, Farrumohr would say. Please, tell me what to do!

  And his father would pat him on the shoulder. You’re a good boy. Never, ever trust them. They want what’s ours. Always have.

  And then one day, Farrumohr went looking for his father to show him a new talisman he’d made, one that could summon water from great depths. His heart pounded with excitement. His teachers had been impressed, praising his ingenuity and aptitude. He knew they didn’t like him, even though he was an eager pupil and top of his class. Some of them even seemed a bit scared of him, which Farrumohr didn’t mind. But it wasn’t their opinions he cared about. He would give the talisman to his father and they could go home.

  As an added bonus, he thought he might be able to use the talisman to siphon away the water from the neighbors’ wells. Let their lands wither and die, he thought with glee. Father will love that.

  Farrumohr had found him curled up next to the broom he used to sweep the constantly encroaching sands from the elegant patio of Gaius’s house. His mouth and eyes were open, but his skin was cold.

  They said his heart gave out, but Farrumohr knew what had killed him.

  Who had killed him.

  A small, ignoble death for such a great man.

  No one came to the funeral, not even Julia. She’d moved away by then, to her little house out in the desert. Farrumohr buried his father’s body at their old homestead. Afterwards, he wandered through the empty rooms, filled with drifting sand. He lay down in the tiny room of his boyhood, too exhausted and bitter to weep.

  He dreamt of fire.

  A hand touched his shoulder, gently shaking.

  Farrumohr? Wake up, it’s Julia….

  Culach jerked to consciousness with a strangled cry. Someone was in his chamber, he felt certain of it. He sat up, the furs falling away from his bare skin. Not Mina. He knew her scent. It was a woman, though, and she smelled familiar. But from where?

  Then she spoke and he knew.

  “Culach?”

  A soft voice, and not menacing. But his heart thudded painfully in his chest. Lines of phantom flame traced his scars. For a terrible instant, he felt the roaring heat of the flames, the agony as something inside him tore loose from its moorings.

  “Get away,” he cried, his voice high and cracked with fear.

  Ghosts. The keep was full of them. She was dead, torn to pieces by the chimera, and now she’d come to haunt him. To take her revenge.

  “Please. I only want to speak with you.”

  Culach groped for his sword. He always kept it leaning against the wall next to his bed, more out of habit than any expectation of needing it—or being able to stab anyone if he did. His hand struck the blade and it clattered to the floor. He dove after it, fingers questing across the stone.

  “Return to the shadowlands,” he growled, his hand closing around the hilt. He brandished it in the direction of the specter. “This blade is pure iron. Anathema to your sort. I shall smite—”

  “Um.” The voice moved closer. He shrank back. “I’m not dead, if that’s what you think.”

  Culach froze. The voice sounded so reasonable. But she couldn’t be here. It was impossible. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  “May I sit?”

  Bloody hell.

  He waved the sword in a noncommittal fashion and heard light footsteps move to a chair and a body settle into it with a sigh.

  “I know you wanted me dead and I don’t blame you for it.” She sounded nervous and determined. “Not too much, at any rate. But there’s things you need to hear first, and then if you want me to leave, I will.”

  Culach lowered the sword. He was suddenly aware he had no shirt on and pulled the furs over his shoulders.

  “First, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She paused. “There was something waiting just inside the gate, Culach. Something dark and evil. I saw it latch onto you when you passed through.”

  His gut tightened. Part of him remembered that too, though he’d been unsure if it was just a fever dream.

  “When you got to the other side, you weren’t yourself. I don’t know you well, but I don’t think your intention was to slaughter everyone.” Her voice quavered slightly. “You called them a pile of corpses. I saw flames in your eyes. And then that thing inside you…. It tried to take me.”

  He stared at the darkness, swept into the undertow of memory.

  “I did what I had to. I fought back. I drove it out. And in the process….” She trailed off.

  He swallowed hard. “I was blinded.”

  And severed from the Nexus. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell her that.

  “Yes. I nearly died myself, but Darius carried me back through the gate to Nocturne, where the fire magic burned itself out.”

  “This thing,” he said at last, a horrible suspicion taking shape in his mind. “Do you know what it was?”

  “Not for certain. But there was a creature your sister kept. Almost like a pet. A…demon, for want of a better word. Its name was Farrumohr.”

  The hair on Culach’s arms rose up. “Farrumohr?”

  “That’s what Neblis called it. She asked if I wanted to meet it, and I didn’t.” A strangled laugh. “But I think I saw it once. A creature of—”

  “Shadow and flame,” Culach finished, the words a whisper.

  “Yes. You do remember.” She sounded deeply relieved.

  “Some. I thought I’d imagined it.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I know who Farrumohr is. Or was. He’s been dead for a thousand years.”

  “Dead, but not dead,” she said grimly.

  “So it seems.” He fisted the fur blankets, a rancid taste in his mouth. “Since that day, I’ve dreamt of him. He was an advisor to King Gaius of the Vatras.”

  She drew a sharp breath. “He was a Vatra?”

  “Not just any Vatra. Farrumohr schemed to start the war. He despised the other clans and manipulated Gaius into an attachment with a Danai girl who spurned him.”

  “They nearly destroyed the world over a woman?” She muttered an oath. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Culach smiled at her vehemence. “I don’t think Gaius would have gone along with it, except that the Viper—that’s what the others called Farrumohr—did everything in his power to turn the king against the other clans.” He frowned. “But it was more than that. Farrumohr forged a talismanic crown. It gave him a pathway to poison the king’s mind, and perhaps the rest of them as well.”

  “Just like the diamond,” she muttered.

  Culach laid the sword across his knees, fingers absently stroking the blade. “Some talismans are forged not only using the elements but also the emotions of the adept. It gives them added power—like the chimera. Farrumohr murdered his own sister to make the crown. It needed grief and hatred. But that wasn’t enough. He whipped himself raw….” Culach trailed off, repulsed by the memory.

  “Sounds like a charming fellow. Do you know how he died?”

  “I’ve dreamt it a hundred times,” he said grimly. “He was fleeing into the Kiln when the sands swallowed him up. Some kind of sinkhole. The other Vatras saw it happen, but none stopped to help him. He was long i
n dying.”

  “That must have been awful for you,” she said softly.

  “By the end, once I knew what sort of man he was, I welcomed it.”

  “I can imagine. So you dreamed of him because he inhabited your body, however briefly,” Nazafareen said musingly. “Some…residue of the man was left behind.”

  Culach suppressed a shudder. “Residue? Bloody hell, I hope not. Other than the dreams, there doesn’t seem to be any connection. I’m not his puppet.” He paused, flushing. “But if you hadn’t driven him off, I would have been.”

  “It was self-preservation,” she replied. “But you’re welcome.”

  Despite her mild tone, Culach’s shame deepened. “The chimera…. That was Eirik’s doing, though I didn’t stop him. He asked my permission and I gave it. I take full responsibility.”

  “Forget it. I unmade them.”

  He blinked. Well, of course she did. “And Victor’s son?”

  She gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, he outwitted the chimera, so your hands are clean. But now your cousins hold him prisoner.”

  “The other holdfasts?”

  “Don’t worry, they’ve agreed to trade him for that diamond you gave Victor. It’s why I’m here.”

  Now Culach did detect an accusing note. “Victor asked for it.” He paused. “So they’re coming in?”

  “Soon enough. But listen, Culach. The Vatras are trying to return. One has escaped the Kiln already.”

  “That’s what Gerda said. So it’s true.”

  “Gerda?”

  “My late and great grandmother.”

  She was silent. “The one Victor killed, you mean.”

  “Oh, Victor killed her, but only after she killed Halldóra. Gerda had a notion that we ought to ally with the Vatras against the Danai. Halldóra disagreed.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it. I never would have thought Victor capable of cold-blooded murder, but I wondered.” She sighed. “We’re seeking the talismans that stopped the Vatras before. We already found the Marakai and she’s safe. The Valkirin is a woman named Katrin Aigirsdottir.”

  Culach’s eyebrows climbed a few inches. “Katrin?”

  He heard Nazafareen rise. “She’s waiting for me in the stables. Perhaps we can speak more later. I would hear about your dreams. But I must return to Darius—”

  “Wait,” Culach called as she moved to the door. “I know who the Danai talisman is.”

  Her footsteps halted. “Who?”

  “Galen. But he was taken by a mortal woman from Delphi.”

  Her voice hardened. “What woman?”

  “No one told you? A Danai and a Valkirin showed up here just before Victor deployed the ice defenses. They were with two mortals. Claimed to have stolen a Talisman of Folding to escape from the Oracle of Delphi.”

  “The Oracle? Darius was captured by her as well.”

  “I wonder if he knows them. It turned out to be a ploy to get inside the holdfast. They were hunting for the heirs to the power. Mina, Galen’s mother, says he’s weak in earth power—”

  “Galen? Are you certain?” Nazafareen swore richly. “How did they escape?”

  “I don’t know. Likely the same talisman. But the woman, Thena—”

  “Thena was here?”

  He blinked at the murderous rage in her voice.

  “You know her?”

  “Darius does. She was the one who tortured him. How long ago did they leave?”

  “A few days. I’m a bit fuzzy on how many exactly.”

  He heard a sound that might have been her teeth grinding.

  “I learned about the plot from Daníel. He’s the heir to Val Tourmaline. We found him in with the abbadax. He was in rough shape. This woman, Thena, had convinced him to play along. He eventually rebelled, but he let her leave.” Culach couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice. To his surprise, Nazafareen didn’t erupt in fury.

  “Thena’s methods are beyond vile,” she said. “Daníel can’t be blamed. But don’t worry, the Danai are going to Delphi as we speak to liberate the Oracle’s prisoners.” She swept toward him and a small, warm hand clasped his own. “They’ll get Galen back. You should go with Victor and Mithre. I’ll make sure you’re given safe passage.” She squeezed his hand once and let it drop. “Take good care, Culach Kafsnjór.”

  He felt a lump in his throat. “And you, Nazafareen.”

  She moved toward the door and paused.

  “Something strange,” she muttered.

  “What is it?”

  “Like we’re being watched. Don’t you feel it?”

  Culach wordlessly shook his head.

  He heard her pacing the room. She stopped before the chair Mina had thrown her dress over. Fabric rustled as she tossed the garment aside and sucked in a breath.

  “Where did you get this?” she demanded.

  Culach’s frustration rose. “Get what?”

  “Sorry. It looks like a globe.”

  “Oh, that. We found it in Gerda’s chambers. Do you know what it does?”

  There was a long pause. Then Nazafareen snarled, “You!”

  9

  The Mask Falls Away

  It happened almost by accident.

  After returning to the Archon’s palace, Nicodemus passed a few pleasant hours with the servant girl who’d flirted with him at him at breakfast. She had coarse black hair and a sweetly innocent mouth, though her eyes looked far more businesslike than the rest of her. She probably thought him a rich lord, perhaps a relation of Basileus. She clearly had no idea Nico was a Vatra because she wasn’t afraid of him in the least.

  In fact, she had pursued him, offering to draw a bath and then hanging about when he disrobed, blushing prettily as if she’d never seen a naked man before. Nico doubted this, but he desperately wanted to erase the memory of that stinking cell, and other than raiding the Archon’s wine cellars again—which he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t do—she was the quickest path to oblivion he could think of.

  They’d rolled around in Archon Basileus’s bed and she’d finally fallen asleep, one arm flung wide like a child. Nico still wasn’t tired so he decided to have a look at Domitia’s globe. It was a complex talisman to say the least. Whoever had designed the globes found it amusing to have the glass orb show random weather scenes, but that aspect didn’t seem connected to its true purpose of Seeking. No, the real power lay in the runes at the base.

  He turned it over in his hands, probing with delicate weaves of fire and air. As sometimes happened when he spent time in the emperor’s collection, a maudlin feeling came over him. How much knowledge had been lost, never to be found again? He could use talismans, but had no understanding of how to forge one from scratch. Yet Nico had learned a few things in his studies.

  He was examining the melted runes at the base, wondering if they could be fixed, when the girl woke with a gasp and dashed off, saying she was late to lay the dining room for supper and the cook would have her hide. Nico barely heard. He could sense the places within the talisman where the currents were distorted. The runes were merely a focal point for the power. So he’d done something with fire and earth that felt right, and immediately they’d begun to glow blue.

  He had idly thought of the Breaker and now….

  Here she was. Glaring at him.

  And holding her own globe.

  His first thought was that he wished he wasn’t lying on the Archon’s ridiculous bed, though why that mattered, Nico wasn’t sure. Yes, the décor was tacky, but it’s not as if he held any moral high ground.

  His second thought was that he was glad she wasn’t in the room with him.

  And his third was that he could use her somehow, if he was smart and careful.

  “I see you found my talisman,” he said mildly.

  She scowled. “It’s not yours. It belongs to the emperor of Tjanjin. You stole it.”

  “That’s a bit harsh. I thought of it as borrowing.”

  “Well, it’s been returned to its rightfu
l owner.”

  He frowned, digesting this bit of information. “So you found another one.”

  She bit her lip. She realized she shouldn’t have said that. Why? Because it offered a clue to where she was, that’s why.

  Now she squinted at the bed, obviously trying to figure out the same thing about him. “I see sunlight coming in the window,” she murmured. “You’re somewhere in Solis.” She sounded surprised. Her gaze wandered over the naked, gilded statues. “A house of ill repute?”

  “I’m staying with a friend.” Nico smiled. “And you’re in Nocturne. I see lumen crystals. But the Danai don’t build with stone so you must be with the Valkirins.” Added to the fact that she had a globe, it wasn’t hard to piece together. “You’re at Val Moraine, aren’t you?”

  Her face didn’t change, but Nico knew he was right. Then another voice cut in, distinctly male, though too low for him to make out the words. Nico pulled the view back and saw she wasn’t alone. A large Valkirin sat on the edge of a bed, a sword across his knees. His gaze was oddly vacant.

  “Who are you with?”

  “None of your business,” she snapped.

  “Where’s Gerda? What have you done to her?”

  “So you did know her.”

  “We spoke a few times. She was a sweet old lady.”

  The Valkirin made a choking sound.

  “She’s dead,” Nazafareen said. “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you think.” She sounded a tad defensive. Her gaze hardened. “Listen, you won’t win this fight. The clans are uniting against you. You lost Meb and you’ll never get the others now.”

  Nico heaved a discouraged sigh. “Now that you put it like that, of course I can see you’re right. It’s hopeless. You hold all the cards.” He scratched his head. “Except one. Almost forgot about him. What’s his name again?” Nico snapped his fingers. “Galen! That’s it.”

  She went blank again, but behind the mask of self-control he saw anger, and even a touch of fear.

  “I know precisely where he is,” Nico said. “About a ten-minute walk from here. But we also both know that he’s useless until you break his ward. So perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”