A Secret Atlas (66 page)

“Very much so.” Junel sipped his wine. “If they had more forces under arms, or more

weapons from Ixyll that would guarantee the superiority of their fighters, they would openly

revolt. But as it stands, they need money to procure weapons, and they need a leader. A

few even suggested
I
might fill that role, but it was flattery—and transparent at that. Each of them wishes to be prince of a new dynasty.”

“That would be horrible.”

“I agree, my dear.” The Desei noble set his cup down and twisted the gold and jet ring on

his right hand. “Prince Cyron is in a very delicate position. Erumvirine is a sleeping giant,

with half again the population of Nalenyr. Were their harvest to fail, a hungry horde would

pour north, and even all the gold Cyron gains from trade could not supply them rice. While

Nalenyr might help Erumvirine’s economy through trade, it is not enough to prevent them

from acting in the face of a disaster.

“Deseirion and Helosunde create another problem. Cyron funds the Helosundian exiles

and uses mercenaries to secure his northern border, but if his trade collapses, he will be

without enough gold to do that. If Helosunde and Deseirion were to settle their differences

and ally, Nalenyr would face an insurmountable threat.”

He looked up at her, a smile growing on his face. “In fact, it is only your family, Nirati, that keeps Cyron from disaster. Everyone is awaiting the outcome of your brothers’ journeys. If

they find new treasures, the attention of the world will be diverted
and
Nalenyr will have enough gold to buy peace. They could even buy the inland lords, or buy those who would

supplant them. Everything is balanced with an almost absurd precision, and all that will

upset it is if your brothers fail.”

She smiled. “But you are forgetting something that will make the balance less delicate,

Junel. You know who the inland lords are. If you go to Prince Cyron and give him their

names, he can neutralize them. He need no longer fear an alliance between them and

Deseirion. This is where they failed. They thought you were a Desei agent and in that

error they exposed their folly.”

“It’s not
their
folly that is exposed.” Junel patted her left calf with his right hand. She felt a slight sting where his hand landed and jerked back. “It’s your folly, Nirati. You see, I
am
a Desei agent.”

He slowly stood as numbness raced up her leg. “More correctly, I am an agent of shadow,

a
vrilcai
.”

“What?”

Junel laughed. “Really, Nirati, you should have been able to pierce my disguise. Think

about it. Those who did not believe the Viruk murdered Majiata thought it was Desei

agents who did so in an attempt to get to me. But would Prince Pyrust, who wiped out

every other member of the Aerynnor clan, allow me to live? Of course not. Not unless I

was already his creature, the one who had betrayed my family’s treason to him.

Continuing in his service, I fled south, the last survivor of a butchered family, and here I

was accepted most openly.

“That openness gave me entrée to Moriande society and the Phoesel family. Majiata died

not to get to me, but to get me to you.” He smiled as the numbness spread to her belly

and made her legs twitch. “You played your part beautifully. Your desire to rescue me

from Majiata much as you’d rescued your brother brought you to me.”

Nirati slumped back on the bed, no longer able to sit upright. Her goblet fell from nerveless

fingers, staining the sheets. “You . . . you killed her?”

He nodded solemnly. “Practice for you, my dear.” He leaned over and pressed a fingertip

to her numb lips. “My ring injected venom of the hooded viper. Your body will become

numb and will not respond, but your mind will remain aware. I know you have been taking

a tincture of gallroot to counteract what I have given you before, but it merely accentuates

the effects of this venom.”

Her head fell back on the mattress. She wanted to ask why, but her tongue filled her

mouth thickly and her jaw would not move.
He is going to kill me. All that went before was

prelude to this. All I endured, all I craved, it means I can endure more as he works. And

now that I am numb, I will know no pain, just the mental agony of horrors as he takes me

apart.

Junel brought the standing mirror around and adjusted it so she could watch herself. He

returned to her and gently released her from her clothing, stripping it off, neatly folding it

and piling it in a sideboard drawer. She saw herself in the mirror, naked and beautiful. She

wanted to close her eyes so that would be her last memory of herself, but her body

refused to obey.

He opened another drawer and began to draw out a series of knives and a leather apron.

“You’ll want to know what and why. What I will do to you will make what happened to

Majiata nothing. I will begin by stripping your flesh off and hanging it from the wall peg as if it were a cloak. You will live through that. You will live through the removal of some of your

organs. Not your heart, I am afraid. But, so you know, I will leave your head and face

intact, and position you such that the mirror will reflect your expression to those who enter

here. They will see you in the mirror first, then in all your glory. It will be exquisite.”

Junel pulled the apron on. “As for why, it should be obvious. Your grandfather loves you

beyond all others, and you are the last anchor he has to civility. With you slain right here in Cyron’s capital, his loyalty to the Crown will be sorely tested—especially when your killer

escapes. He never will be found, you see, for I will have tried to stop your killing and will

be wounded all but mortally, but my description of the killer will be useless.”

His eyes softened. “When they tell me of your demise, I will be crushed. I hope you will

appreciate that.

“In his grief your grandfather will stop creating charts, which will precipitate an economic

panic. Chaos will reign, from which my master will profit.” Junel held up a sharp knife.

Candle highlights glinted from the edge. “I will make you a work of art. Your death

presages that of your nation.”

Nirati survived far into the morning hours, much longer than she or Junel would have

guessed possible. In his intensity, he did not notice her slipping away well before she died.

Nirati left that squalid little room and walked along the shore of a cool, crystalline stream,

safe away in Kunjiqui. It felt good that her limbs worked again, and after a short time she

had even forgotten why they had not previously responded to her commands.

She came over a small, grassy rise and found a man, strongly built with black hair,

emerging naked from a pool. Mud was draining from his flesh. He laughed aloud, a joyous

sound. He swept his long hair out of his blue eyes, then smiled at her. He clearly was not

embarrassed by his nakedness and neither was she.

“My lady Nirati, I bid you welcome and thank you.”

Nirati shrugged her shoulders, letting the gold silken gown she wore slip from her. “Thank

me, why?”

“This is your sanctuary. Your grandfather fashioned it for you, but he has allowed me to

reside here.” He held a hand out to her and she took it, stepping down into the pool. “I owe

you a debt, and I shall make good on it.”

Nirati slid her hands over his broad chest and around his neck. She looked up into his

strong face. “How will you do that, my lord?”

“You have been hurt. I shall see to it that you are hurt no more. I shall see to it you are

avenged.” He lowered his mouth to hers and crushed her to him in an embrace. She clung

to him, raising her right hand into his wet hair, but he broke the kiss and murmured against

her lips. “I am Nelesquin. I am come back from a very long journey. Your enemies and

mine will learn to fear my return.”

6th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Ixyll

The explosion of wild magic knocked Keles from his feet. He dropped Ciras’ body and just

barely ducked Moraven’s flying form. Horses screamed, and shoes struck sparks from the

floor. Borosan had fallen and his light had rolled against the wall, showing Moraven’s

slumped body twitching, his hair smoking.

Keles looked back at the cave’s entrance, but could not see outside. A crystalline lattice

had capped the cave with a honeycomb pattern. Each cell in the lattice was made up of

hundreds of smaller hexagons, each of a different color, all shimmering. The storm’s howl

continued outside, but muted. For the moment they were safe, but Keles knew better than

to expect that to last long.

The Viruk had fallen to the passage floor, but slowly gathered his limbs beneath him. He

moved awkwardly, his limbs jerking and twitching, but he drew them in by dint of will

alone. He hissed, but made no other intelligible sound.

Keles thrust Ciras off his legs, then scrambled toward Rekarafi. “Let me help you.”

“No!”
His voice sounded hollow, tinged with the roar that a fire makes. He held a hand out toward Keles, fingers splayed, and a red light began to glow from within him. The bony

plates of his exoskeleton had become black, as if they were made of night itself, but all

around them this vivid red—the red of burning coals—built in intensity. His eyes filled with

it, then golden highlights moved through them as if his thoughts had become a flow of

lava.

“Stay back. I am not certain how much of this wild magic I can contain. Get the others

away.”

Keles withdrew slowly and dragged Ciras after him. He brought him to the base of the wall

where Tyressa was straightening Moraven’s limbs. “Ciras is alive. How about Moraven?”

“Alive, but barely. Shallow breath, very slow heartbeat.”

Borosan came over and knelt with them. He held his device for detecting wild magic out

so Keles could look at it. Previously the square device had appeared to have red sand

trapped between two thin layers of glass. The sand somehow took on other colors,

running from orange to violet, as the magic intensified. Now it had nothing but swirls of

blue and violet rotating very quickly around the same central point.

The
gyanridin
shook his head. “We are at the heart of the storm. It is centered on us and has probably moved us many miles away from where we were.”

Keles frowned. “That’s not possible, is it?”

“I’ve heard stories.”

“Borosan, shine your light at the far archway.” Keles rose and pointed deep into the

chamber. The
gyanridin
got up and joined him, playing the light over the arch as the two of them approached it. “I could have sworn it was open when we entered.”

Borosan shrugged. “It might have been. It’s not now, though.” He reached out and ran his

hand over the rock sealing the passage. “It’s different than the other rock here. We are

probably buried inside some mountain.”

Keles touched the cool rock. “Limestone. It’s everywhere, and this is pretty smooth. Could

be we’ve not moved at all.”

The Viruk dragged himself to the edge of the chamber. “We have moved. Can you not feel

it, Keles?”

The cartographer tried to see if he felt anything, but he didn’t. “I don’t, Rekarafi. But it

doesn’t really matter, does it? We don’t even know where this place is, much less where

we have been relocated.”

Borosan played the light over the wall again. “It’s a burial site. The script is old.”

Tyressa stood. “It’s the Imperial script. You mentioned Amenis Dukao. You said he died

with the Empress.”

“I’ve read the stories of Amenis Dukao since I was a little boy. I know he was real, but the

stories weren’t. I didn’t expect to find his grave here.”

The Keru folded her arms beneath her breasts. “The grave is what waits for all living men,

no matter how their lives are retold after they die.”

Keles nodded and sank into a crouch. “Your point is well-taken, Tyressa. Accepting that

Amenis Dukao is here means that these graves date from the time of the Cataclysm. I

think I know what we might have here. Do you see any of the names that have hereditary

titles?”

Borosan and Tyressa both studied the names they could see in the light, but neither

reported finding a noble among them. Tyressa frowned. “Is that significant?”