KNITE:
My plans had changed. It mattered little; I was used to such changes. The idea had been to kidnap Elur. Not to kill her, mind you—I wasn’t quite ready to have Roche hate me. Aminy had changed that. Escaping with the unruly godling in tow was simpler than Elur and her house ought to have permitted. If my memory served me right, heads were sure to roll; Elur was never one for letting hypocrisy stay her hand. Abducting the preeminent Painter, undetected and without using my so-called divinity, was a challenging but feasible endeavor. Rescuing a frail Aminy in tandem? Less so. And now, in light of my recent escapades, security was sure to be rigorous. Too rigorous to risk another attempt at Elur.
So here I was, a week after the impromptu rescue, prowling the city with Helena. She’d returned as per the instructions I’d given Roche, ones I’d written thinking Elur’s disappearance would have the Lorail godlings too busy to capitalize on Lira’s perceived weakness—another matter of little concern. Change is the only constant, and those who adapt the best win the game of life more often than not. There are very few players as adaptable as me.
We ran along Halor’s outer wall, riding the inner curtain. Somewhere along the line of modest buildings hugging the western border, I spotted a strangely large estate, its structures cordoned off by deviously built walls—outwardly mundane and inwardly molded by Aedificators. I stopped, the toes of my form-fitting boots gripping the rim of the wall.
“Is that our target?” Helena asked, standing tall beside me. Even for the surety of her safety, she’d never question the potency of the alchemical solution she’d applied to our persons; such was the depth of her confidence.
“Yes.”
“How can you tell?”
I waved a hand around the area just outside the estate. “All the nearest buildings are far smaller.” I traced the perimeter with a finger. “The sensus-wrought walls are hidden under a layer of mundanely laid stone.” I pointed down at the main building, a defiantly dull, vermillion structure. “The owners are mostly mortals. Only one has the markings of a Tripler.”
“I thought our targets were ruling godlings?”
“Lorail’s children have grown to believe any pursuit except that for power and pleasure is for lesser beings. For the upper echelon of ruling houses, much of the day-to-day governance is handled by the equivalence of lesser Branches.”
“But isn't governing a populace a form of power?”
“They own the souls of those who govern for them; any power exercised by these servants they envisage as avatars is but a more compelling demonstration of their power.”
“Are you certain? It has been some time since you had the lay of the land. Things might’ve changed in your absence.”
“Lorail is immune to change. Age makes all of us stubborn. It is all but certain that her domain has inherited more of her… thinking. Besides, Aminy confirmed my suspicions before she’d succumbed to her lengthy slumber.”
Helena released Pinmoon from its sheaths. “Then I’m ready.”
I stepped off the ledge and let gravity pull me down. Assisted by Zephyr Arts and her desire to punish anyone who served the godlings in their dispensing of cruelty, Helena crept ahead, landing on the roof of the main building before me. We sprinted to the edge and used the protruding eaves as handholds, flipping onto the wall before scaling down it. The topmost window was locked behind metal shutters. Helena made short work of the obstacle, running a Zephyr blade along the tiny gap between the wooden doors. Past clear glass, a few minor matrix traps, and a pair of thick curtains, we stepped into the Tripler’s room. My assassin stalked forward, daggers at the ready. I grabbed her by the arm. She whipped around to glare at me. I pointed at the sleeping woman and shook my head.
“Fine,” she whispered, then headed for the door.
“Only this floor.” A tunnel of air delivered my words to her ear without leakage. There were children in the lower rooms, and since my promises barred my soulsight from gazing upon her emotions, I’d be none the wiser if she harbored murderous intent. It was one thing to allow her to reap carnage out of her own volition; it was quite another to let her kill innocents while she acted in my service.
I approached the Tripler. The woman seemed so peaceful, so unlike what her soul told me she was. Soft wrinkles creased between her brows and drew faint crow's feet beside her eyes. Considering her actual age, her appearance exhibited her power. Not in Duros Arts, however. Nor Painter. With her nose set too low, eyes too wide, lips too narrow, and vanity too deep, she was too far from beauty to be either. No, she was a Tunneller. Her youth came strictly from the closer bond between body and soul that all practitioners of the Arts were capable of.
I spiked a Tunnel of pain into her. She screamed awake, agony startling her out from beneath her covers. In an instant, she stood on the bed, arms wide, palms and back pressed to the wall. Her head swerved about the room as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Who are you?” A thin, silken nightdress clung to her figure. Few Triplers dared to wear silk; like other commodities whose production is unaided by sensus, owning silk was demonstrative of a high station. In Halor, to distinguish this meaning and further emphasize the disparity between men and women, godlings and commoners, the powerful and the weak, the rarity of the commodity determined who was allowed to own it.
“Sit,” I commanded.
The Tripler kicked her pillow at me with a flick of her foot, swooped down to pick up the dagger she kept hidden under there, and lunged at me. The blade slipped off my face without causing me harm. She had aimed for my eye, hoping to slide the dagger through the socket and into my brain. She was good; I was better. I could’ve dodged the thrust entirely. I didn’t, only turning my head so the tip slid off my cheek. I didn’t block her follow-ups either. The first bounced off the pit of my stomach as it sought to find my heart without meeting my ribs. The second swipe glided off my neck. The last skittered up from my groin. It was then that I lost my patience.
I grabbed the offending hand by the wrist. She groaned under the pressure of my grip.
“A persistent one, aren't you?” I said. “Three failed attempts, and still, you think another might see a different result.”
She tried to pull her arm away. Failing, she dropped the blade, caught it with her other hand, and went for my left eye. The butt end of one of my swords struck her sternum and foiled her attack. She dropped the dagger, a hand pressed to her chest as she gasped for breath.
I sighed. “I was hoping to avoid a scrying.”
Her head jerked up, face full of horror. “No,” she wheezed.
I closed my eyes and held my breath; so alluring was the scent of her fear. Composing myself, I asked, “You’ll behave?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Good.” And it was. I sensed Lorail’s seal upon her, one she’d bothered to make more useful than brilliant. Another reason I knew this Tripler was my target. Scrying or devouring her sensus would, in all likelihood, cost me dearly, tainted as her soul was.
I let her go. “You’re Halor’s Reeve, are you not?”
She tried to hide her surprise and failed. “Which House are you from?” she asked. “Bainan? Of course. Only they would send a Named. A man. My Goddess will not forgive this act of disrespect.”
A string of my sensus stroked the hopeless barricade protecting her soul. She shuddered.
“Did you not agree to behave?” I asked.
Her head and shoulders slumped in defeat. “Whoever you are, and whatever you want of me, I cannot betray my Goddess,” she whispered, her voice strained.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“I do not need you to. No, I need the name of the Tripler who’ll succeed you.”
The faint light from the hallway lanterns rose and fell as Helena returned. She came to stand next to me, sneering at the lowly godling wilting at my feet.
“Silently?” I asked her.
“As death,” Helena replied. “No one will know until dawn.”
I returned my attention to the Tripler. “So, what have you to tell me?”
“My sister.”
“Where can I find her?”
“She owns the Barrell estate, a complex a little south from here.”
“Is she bonded?”
“Yes.”
“As you are?”
“No.”
“Less than?”
“Yes.”
I narrowed my eyes, tasting a hint of satisfaction amid her dread. I erected a Tunneling matrix. It thrummed with enough power to make her flinch. “One more lie and—”
“Less but not by much.” Fearful eyes turned to Helena. “My daughter?”
“Dead.” Helena smiled. The Tripler muffled a cry, and Helena’s smile grew.
“And who is next in line after your sister?” I asked, unconcerned. I cared nothing for the pain the innocent suffered; I cared even less for the pain befalling the guilty—enough that it was my life’s greatest pleasure.
When she failed to answer promptly, I ran a finger down the back of her neck. Her attention was mine once more.
“Who?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Beatry is my successor. The only successor.”
I turned to leave. The godling didn’t sense her death, such was the swiftness of Pinmoon and her handler.
Our new destination was close and easy to spot. More modest than her sister’s estate, Beatry had less to hide but hid it far more incompetently: The wood, which seemed to be the primary material used to build her manor, was cultivated by a Brownsmith; the courtyard was laid by a Golem; she had the gall to erect a mind arena; and worse of all, I sensed women in her underground stables—a concession made only for the most distinguished of Lorail’s godlings. Women slaves were the rarest of commodities.
Over a wall, past a few inept guards who’d fallen asleep during their watch, through the front doors, up a set of stairs, and down an empty corridor, we found our target. Her heavily bonded soul was easy to spot.
A man slept at the foot of the bed, wearing nothing but a collar. Clean and healthy and sleeping on an oversized pillow like a well-groomed, well-fed, domesticated pet, his soul radiated contentment, accepting that, as a man of Halor, he couldn’t wish for more.
The Tripler looked like a rendition a mundane painter might paint of her sister if he used his artistic license to fix all that kept her from being beautiful. By way of her Painter Arts, the rendition pursued reality.
We moved on without disturbing her.
The hall was in the main building, its high ceiling level with the second floor with no third level to block the natural sunlight that would stream through the windowed roof during the day. Helena and I hid high among the tall joists and beams used to keep up the glass.
We waited. It took two days before someone rewarded our patience.
The large doors to the hall creaked open on the morn of the third. Beatry walked in, elation bright on her soul. The slave from her bed-chamber, collared and now wearing a chain leash, scuttled behind her, eerily happy and compliant. Five others, naked as the day they were born, lugged in her wooden throne, their handsome muscles evidence as to how well they were fed and worked. Once they placed the ridiculous throne atop a small dais at the far end of the hall, she shooed all but her pet slave away and took her seat, stroking the armrests as she smiled to herself.
The first meeting soon commenced. Two guards marched in and held open the doors, the circular emblem of their station sowed above their hearts, a sword above a quill marking them as officers from the War Institute lent to Admin as enforcers. Being the Reeve of Halor afforded her their services. With her sudden and precarious rise, she was wise to use them.
A godling entered. If not for my soulsight, I might’ve mistaken her for Lorail herself. She was annoyingly perfect, a spitting image of my sister’s adult form. But unlike my sister, she extenuated her beauty with cold armor and the deliberate grace of a fighter. Every step she took, every sway of her hips, the way her smile danced and her stark-blue eyes invited danger spoke of a woman who studied combat above all else. Most surprising of all was her soul: Clean. Not entirely, but compared to her kin… There were methods the most powerful of the godlings could use to cleanse their soul, but none bothered. Not when they thought me dead and buried.
The Fiora, for she was undoubtedly a daughter of Lorail, came to stand before Beatry. “It is customary to stand and bow to your betters, Beatry.”
Beatry swallowed her fear. “I am the Reeve now, Nikal.”
The godling shrugged. “You have me mistaken. Pompous formalities are of no consequence to me. I was merely warning you for those who come next.”
“I doubt you’re so kind as to offer a warning for altruism's sake.”
“Of course not. I warn you because such an insult might give one of my sisters enough leverage to browbeat you into making another mistake. And that, my dear Tripler, is a very slippery slope indeed. One I would much rather you avoid.”
“I’m the Reeve.”
“So you’ve said.”
“No one will dare attack me.”
“Your sister likely thought the same.”
“And when her killer is caught, all will remember why they ought not to.”
“You think my mother will return for the sake of your safety.”
Beatry paused, uncertain. “I am her primary agent in Halor.”
Nikal chuckled. “So?”
“So I am the hand by which she controls her domain.”
Nikal shook her head. You’d never guess she was nearly half the Tripler’s age. “My mother will rule upon her return, regardless of the circumstances. She does not need you to preserve her control. By the very nature of the role, your authority is entirely hers.”
Beatry sprang to her feet, rediscovering her confidence. “Exactly! Killing me would be an act of treason.”
“Your death would be a small act of unfilial rebellion. Mother is as likely to praise the author of your death as she is to punish them.”
The Tripler fell back into her seat. “Why have you come?”
“I’ve done what I’ve come to do.” And with that, Nikal strode out of the room.
I tapped Helena to get her attention. I pointed after Nikal, then drew my finger across my throat as I shook my head. My meaning was clear: Follow but do not engage.
There were five more visitors. Other than the twins—Elur and Lira—the ruling Fioras arrived over the next few days. They came, made demands, and left Beatry to consider her options. The Tripler was smart enough to follow Nikal’s advice, treating them courteously, offering them all the social cues expected of her, and then politely refusing to reject or accept any of their offers. I remained among the beams, observing.
With the twins and the newly risen Leaf, Nikal, eight Fioras ruled Halor in the absence of their mother. Elur controlled three cities and much of the south. Nikal, as inadvertently exposed to me by her sister, Ramla, held the entire east by herself, two of the twelve cities falling under her rule. Ramla, Aslian, Trisel, Munis, and Fralk controlled western and central cities. Lira held the northern tip, and though she held only one of the great cities, the land she controlled held three of the five free cities, putting her third behind Elur and Nikal.
After three days, I left in the dead of night, slinking back to the safe house. The mass of disjointed plans that had sprouted from what I’d absorbed would need time to untangle and prune. Until then, I had slaves to free.
***
Helena loomed over a merrily drunk Aminy, Pin’s tip resting above the godling’s heart.
“Helena,” I said from the doorway.
She turned to regard me, the move revealing Moon’s edge pressing down on the godling’s throat. Why prepare one killing blow if you can prepare two? Another one of my lessons.
“Stand down,” I said.
Helena did as I instructed, drawing back but keeping her blades unsheathed as if only a brief wait separated her from being allowed to put them to use.
“How long have you been waiting to kill her?” I asked.
“Since this morning.”
“Why?”
“She’s one of them.”
“A Godling? What of it?”
“Not by blood, but by belief. She thinks me lesser.”
Aminy sat up, grunting through the pain without letting her smile falter. Her injuries were far from healed. But then again, insanity does well at making light of such things.
“Well, you are,” Aminy said.
Helena spun and raised her weapons, falling just short of attacking, like Aminy’s admission brought the permission she sought that much closer.
I sighed and closed my eyes, tired despite being incapable of physical exhaustion. “What happened?”
Helena resettled her fingers around the handles of her weapons into a tighter grip. “I came back to find her here. She asked about my assignment. I’d told her I’d followed and lost the Fiora. She was of the opinion that I should’ve expected to, that if I had succeeded, death would’ve been my recompense.”
“Strictly speaking, she did not say you were less than her because you are a Root.” I turned my gaze to the smiling godling. “But Aminy, you are wrong to think so lowly of Helena. She is one of mine after all,” I said, tickling Helena’s pride even as I reminded her who she belonged to.
“Fine, fine. She might contend well enough against us to escape—your praise is enough to change my mind that far. But Nikal?” Aminy’s smile returned, sloppy and perverse. “We’re afraid not even Sanas is her match.”
“How old is she, this Nikal?” I asked.
“No older than fifty.”
“And she’d best Sanas in a duel?”
“Yes.”
Helena sheathed her daggers—being called weaker than Sanas didn’t put much of a dent in her pride. Once a Leaf, no more than a handful of the most competent Named could contend with Sanas’ might.
“Was she the first?” I asked.
Aminy thought for a time. “We’re not sure, but it fits. She’s likely one of the first.”
“It’s working,” Helena said. “I’d heard this Nikal was talented, but…”
“If, at her age, she’s already outdoing her sisters,” I said. “Yes, it is working far better than we’d suspected. Why is it you and Roche did not mention her.”
“We knew she was favored by Lorail, but only that. We’d assumed, given her age…”
“A rather glaring oversight.”
“But Merkon—”
“I know,” I said. “He was a failure. Whatever she’s doing must not work often. That explains why she’s had so many. It also explains why the others haven't acted against her.”
“Assuming they know.”
“They do.”
“Do they?”
“My mask. The one I’d hung over Merkon. Someone had disturbed the working.”
“Then they know what you’ve done?”
“No. They likely think the mask Lorail’s doing. I died, remember?”
Aminy’s giggling broke into our conversation. “Oh, how fun! The intrigue. The schemes. How we’ve missed these godly games of triumph and disaster. Tell me, how can we help?”