Green Wild (Thrones of the Firstborn Book 2) (12 page)

She had no patience for subtleties. “Jinriki, where are you?” she said aloud, projecting her voice to carry across the ruins.

She felt a subtle shift inside her head and knew Jinriki had re-established his normal connection to her.
**She hid me under a fallen stone. She’s hiding elsewhere.**

**Oh good, show me and we can get out of here without hurting her.**

**And how would you stop this entire day from repeating itself?**

Tiana ran her hands through her hair.
**Tell her to come out, then.**

A hatch opened in the ground not far away, and a figure climbed out of what must have been a cellar. Like too many creatures Tiana had seen lately, it was only human-shaped, not human. The figure paused, tilting her head to stare up at them, and Tiana was strongly reminded of a fox by the large raised ears, the slanted almond eyes and especially the tail.

The earth fiend approached them until she was a few sword lengths out of reach and sank down to her knees, never taking her eyes off the riders. She spread her arms. There were bandages over her hands and scabs around her mouth. “You are the princess?”

Tiana dismounted, passing the reins to Slater. “I am.”

The fiend’s amber eyes bored into her. “You have convinced the Great Prince that you are his master. He insists you are uncorrupted. But is that what I see?”

Tiana said, “Yes?” and then closed her mouth before she began babbling. The earth fiend’s choice of language irked her, and she didn’t know why. She stood uneasily, listening to the breathing of the horses and the creaking of leather behind her.

The fiend said, “I see a fire devouring the wind. I see an ancient shadow. The shadow reaches for the flame.” She shook her head.

“Yes, that’s what we need Jinriki to help us fight!” Tiana shifted her weight impatiently, glancing towards the ruin where Jinriki was hidden.

“The earthstream tells me secrets. It whispers that once the murderer was as yourself. But there is something...?” The creature cocked her head and then shook herself all over, rising to her feet. “I cannot tell. But the Great Prince insists. He makes it so we all win: I will return the Great Prince to you, and I will follow along to serve and protect him. My name is Minex.”

F
OR THREE MORNINGS running
, Ambassador Smith sent his regrets that he wouldn’t be able to visit Jerya’s Court that day. Jerya was not surprised. She’d run away, after all. She’d demonstrated the weakness of her blood, acted like a frightened child,
ruined
her credibility. She couldn’t forgive herself.

She couldn’t forgive Vassay, either. They were so dangerous, and looked so innocent. She kept imagining what could be done with her own magic if she could send it hundreds of miles away, and shuddering.

At breakfast on the third morning, Jerya handed the note to Seandri as he sat across from her, spreading cheese on a roll.

“He’s really so very busy organizing the mission’s work, and he’s sure I’m also busy with the Blight,” she said sourly.

Seandri gave her an exasperated look and took the note to read it for himself. “And he looks forward to showing his work in the weeks to come. Come on, Jer, he’s right. You
are
busy.”

“Showing me
and
the Justiciars,” corrected Jerya. “Mustn’t overlook that part.”

Seandri shrugged. “They seem nice.”

“My father was nice too,” she said querulously. “Nice doesn’t get things done.” Comparing the Ambassador to her father made her uncomfortable. She didn’t know how to protect herself from such distracted kindness, and it had not, historically, led to good places.

“I’m nice,” Seandri pointed out, and handed her a bread roll.

“It’s not the same. You don’t let it slow you down.” She broke the bread roll open. It
wasn’t
the same. Seandri would probably make as passive a King as her father had been, but he was energetic and focused once he had instructions, and more importantly, he was always on her side.

She’d spent the last two days in the Tabernacle of Broken Hearts, paying absolutely no visible attention to the Vassay. Oh, certainly Gisen and Yevonne spent all their time asking questions, while eidolons sparrows—which were harder for her to craft than birds of prey, because she didn’t understand how they thought—pecked at their scraps with their living, breathing models. And certainly the city folk came to her with tales of the strange behavior of the foreigners, and every single thing they did wrong.

But Vassay was spying on her from their horrid, faraway University in their capital of Home, spying on her whole city, and able to use their magic from there to aid their spies. Her spying was not only completely fair and just as honest, it was necessary. How else could she protect herself and her people?

They’d changed everything with their arrival, with their aid, so much more insidious than a military invasion. The mayor and the city leaders had been eager for
her
help at first, desperate to keep the city functioning. But now they were busy with Vassay, who had dozens of people studying how to deal with flooding rivers and collapsed buildings and traffic management. All Jerya could do was talk to people or kill them. Or, she reminded herself bitterly, run away.

She wasn’t
relevant
to the reconstruction of the city. That burned. Lor Seleni was her city, the people were her people and they loved her. She made sure of that, but she had to take care of them in return, just like she took care of Tiana.

The thought pierced her, as it did so often now: she had to fix the city before Tiana came home again. Tiana loved Lor Seleni; she’d always regarded it as a source of adventures rather than a backdrop for life. Jerya was going to make sure it was here waiting when Tiana returned safely from her quest.

She thought about Tiana as she finished breakfast and set out for her court, wondering if she wrote letters to their mother still, letters she never sent anymore. It bothered her sometimes that Tiana would write, even in pretense, to the mother who had abandoned them, but wouldn’t tell the same things to Jerya.

She sat at the Tabernacle of Broken Hearts and spoke with her people. Tiana couldn’t manage the patience or the focus to listen to the personal stories they shared. She would have passed the work to Yithiere and Alanah, who stood near her chair. But people liked Tiana anyhow. It was strange.

She thought about Vassay again. No, even if people naturally liked Tiana naturally, it was best they had their separate tasks. Tiana would give up far too much to the Vassay.

“We are fighting a war, Jer,” Yithiere told her, watching as the latest supplicant departed. He had no patience now either.

She knew it, but she couldn’t help herself as she said, “I know! And intelligence is crucial. They’ve been promising a supply caravan since they arrived, did you know that? And about a quarter of them have started ingratiating themselves with our craftsmen. And they’re buying all sorts of trinkets. And they’re already planning a small expedition back to—”

“Jerya!” snapped Yithiere. “I am talking about the invaders murdering our people, not feeding them!” He had a lot of experience worrying about threats from multiple directions. “You are such a babe yet when it comes to splitting your attention. As long as you and Gisen stay away from the Vassay, we needn’t worry about them. They’re hardly more than glorified domestic staff.”

“You know what they can do. And death comes in many forms, Uncle,” Jerya told him primly.

“It comes faster when your duchies delay in sending their armies,” he grumbled. “We can’t simply sit outside the Blight forever, not when it’s growing. We need to get in there and penetrate to the heart of the fortress. And we need the armies for that. I don’t trust Tiana’s Firstborn.”

Jerya sighed. Yithiere’s Regent had died a year ago and she missed him, especially when Yithiere needed such constant reassurance. “We’ll get them. It’s only been a few weeks since the Blight appeared. Meanwhile the Vassay are
here
and so is their wretched magic-from-afar.”

Yithiere gave her a baleful look, as if she was a child bothering the adults. Then he muttered, “They’ve gotten comfortable. I should have mobilized them for—” Alanah touched his arm and he subsided as he reached over to squeeze her hand.

Twist wandered up to Jerya’s chair, unimpeded by the guards. He was eating a toasted sugar cake on a stick: holiday food. “Hello.”

“Where did you get that?” Jerya demanded.

“A stall near the Vassay’s camp at Bearfield. Happy Fallendre, Your Highness.” He nodded at Yithiere. “I have some messages for you. And for you, Princess...” He tossed her a brightly wrapped parcel.

Jerya frowned as she caught it. Fallendre, a week after Antecession, was a gift-giving feast day but the Blood didn’t play a ritual role as they did with Antecession and Arising. Any gifts given to the Blood were redistributed to the people, and this historically took the form of handing out lots and lots of candy to children.

Jerya opened the package and found a sack of Citadel caramels, made from goat’s milk and elderberry honey. The Magister usually brought the candy down when he visited for the triple holiday, but she hadn’t expected to see the treat this year.

“I couldn’t help but overhear a moment ago. You know,” began Twist, and then looked over Yithiere. “Both of you should know: I’m reasonably sure Vassay isn’t going to use the Logos to kill anybody from a distance.”

“The boy I spoke with wasn’t lying, Twist.” Jerya said patiently. “And look at their confidence.” She glanced at Yithiere for support.

He said, “Twist doesn’t know everything,” and then added to Alanah, “That’s for the best; if he did I’d have to kill him and he remains too useful,” which was not as helpful as Jerya had hoped.

Twist gave Yithiere a graceful bow. “I am pleased that even my ignorance serves, my prince.” As Yithiere snorted, Twist transferred his bright gaze back to Jerya. “All the same, grant that I do know much of how the Logos works. It is not something worked quickly. For example, I could work right now on stopping Alanah’s heart but you would notice, because I would be speaking to the Logos.” He smiled at Alanah, and she smiled back, all teeth. “I would risk stopping my own heart, unless I sufficiently differentiated Alanah’s heart from mine. Stopping your heart would be even harder, due to the veil of Royal magic that obscures your patterns.”

“Lightning from the sky,” Jerya suggested. “They’re excellent at weather magic.”

“An arrow in the dark,” countered Twist calmly. “Poison in your hot chocolate. I’ve heard that poison is a popular method of advancement at their University.”

Alanah said, “Twist! That is not helping.”

Twist glanced at Alanah again, returning the toothy smile from before. “It’s nonsense, of course. They’re proud of having grown past the need for assassination. They like to hold committees and General Assemblies instead, where they talk you to death instead.”

Jerya frowned. “Then what did Jory mean?” She’d discovered the boy’s name as one of her sparrows stalked him the day before. The ‘boy’, who was older than her, was Jory and the Ambassador’s assistants were Cutter and that wretched Landry, who happened to be the daughter of one of the University administrators, and the possible assassin was Thorn, who never smiled and paid little attention to his surroundings.

Twist shrugged. “Wards on the wagons that affected anybody who touched them without the key. Starting fires. Bringing, yes, storms. There’s plenty of aid the Logos-workers can send to a beleaguered expedition if they have the time, the conditions and the precise knowledge of what’s going on.” He hesitated. “And they cannot, I think, spy just anywhere. Our guests act as beacons.”

Alanah said, “As we speak, so they come. Be wary with your words.” She nodded at the edge of the plaza and Jerya looked beyond Twist to see a small group of Vassay looking around. She recognized Landry easily. The alleged assassin called Thorn walked on the edge of the group, as if he was simply headed the same direction. And indeed, as Landry’s coterie veered toward the Tabernacle, Thorn walked to a leatherworker’s shop just outside the plaza.

Landry had a handful of people with her: Cutter, another pretty young woman, and two men who seemed to consider themselves the pretty woman’s bodyguards. They glared at Jerya and Yithiere, like they expected something to leap out of them and bite.

Landry bowed to Jerya, totally missing the possibilities inherent in her flyaway skirt. Iriss would have frowned, but Jerya merely inclined her head in a silent greeting.

“This is your Court?” asked Landry, looking around curiously. “We looked for you at your inn, but Prince Seandri told us you spent every day here. What is the box? It’s very large,” she said, as if nobody had noticed that before.

“Landry,” chided Cutter, and the girl glanced at him, then sighed and gestured him forward.

Cutter cleared his throat and executed a much better bow than Landry. He was a tall young man, taller than he looked because he was so perfectly proportioned. “Your Royal Highness,” he began. “We understand it is a gifting feast day in Ceria today? We bring what we hope will be a gift for you? We’ve heard your lady companion fell ill after an attack by the Curse of Tranning, the Blighter, and it occurred to me that perhaps we had it within our means to heal her.”

Jerya grew very still. She glanced at Twist, but Twist only shrugged, as if he had no idea if that was plausible or not.

“And do you?” she finally asked, when it became clear Cutter awaited her reaction.

“We have a healer. We won’t know if she can succeed until we try,” said Cutter cheerfully, then gestured the other woman and her two bodyguards forward. All three of them moved hesitantly forward. The woman was small and slight, with a wary gaze that reminded Jerya of a mouse. Cutter took her hand and pulled her away from her guards. “This is Sora. She is a student of the medical applications of the Logos. She knows the human body better than anybody else we’ve brought along. She volunteered to evaluate your companion and enact a restoration, if possible. If you will grant your permission, Your Highness.”

Jerya stood and Sora the medical student backed away so quickly that she stumbled into one of her bodyguards. “Other wizards tried to repair the damage.” She couldn’t keep the frustrated hope out of her voice. “Our wizard—”

“I’m not a healer, Your Highness,” interrupted Twist. “I spoke in vain with some of the healers in the Citadel about Lady Iriss. I can’t imagine it would hurt to let Miss Sora look at her as well.” He gave Cutter a peculiar little smirk, dark and twisted. “They would welcome the chance to expand their libraries, I imagine.”

Iriss
. She was quiet and gentle and whimsical. She’d been the calm heart of the Jerya’s Regent Trials when she was seven years old, reading a book she’d smuggled in while the other girls swirled around her giggling and running. She hadn’t ignored Jerya; she knew why she was at the Palace. But instead of trying to entice Jerya into games, Iriss had invited her to sit down and look through the picture book.

By the time the trial concluded, most of the other girls sat around Iriss, too: listening as Iriss read the book aloud. Iriss was that kind of person. She read everything, and she was happy to share it all. She’d always been reading. She read in four languages and understood fashion and the smiles of men and she was still friends with most of the girls who had been her rivals for Jerya’s favor.

She wasn’t as politically-minded as Lisette, it was true. She was more absent-minded than a Regent should be, and too clumsy to ever be deft with a weapon, but she had her own intangible magic every time she smiled. Jerya would have torn out her own heart and stomped it flat to have Iriss back again, because that’s what not having Iriss felt like anyhow.

Her throat hurting with emotions she’d kept firmly under control ever since Iriss was attacked, Jerya said, “Yes. You have my permission. Let’s go do this now.”

Once again, Jerya had to displace Siana and Julina, who were sitting with the invalids while Cara dozed on a couch wedged in the corner. As she told them of Vassay’s intentions, she became aware of a scuffle—there was no more dignified word—at the door. She turned to see Cutter physically keeping the little healer’s bodyguards out of the room.

“It’s not a large room, fellows,” he said, pushing one of them back again. “Let the ladies leave and wait out here.”