57
THE EMPTY THRONE
PART II
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Ember felt daylight warm his bones before it ever illumined his eyes.
The strains of magic lifted and vanished like the sweeping away of a cobweb, the heavy cavern air thinned around them, and the darkness softened as the ever-present glowing veins of stone sourced from the great tree fled deeper into the rock above their heads. And then he glimpsed the end of the grand road, and beyond it…
“Sky!” Ember cried with a breathless laugh—and he ran, aches and pains forgotten in his eagerness.
“Ember!” Ky called from behind, but the allure of fresh air and waving trees and upturned dirt beneath his toes was too powerful even for her siren magic. The light beckoned him. He sprinted headlong over the worn stone, faster, faster, his eyes fixed on the beautiful open road. He could almost taste the breeze upon his tongue, catch the drifting scent of summer wildflowers and pitch, hear the birds calling back and forth in the forest—
A clawed hand snatched his arm just as he reached the mouth of the cavern, yanking him back, but he put out his other hand, wiggling his fingers…
The stony path sprawled out before him, trailing away into soil and moss and tumbling overgrowth amidst an ancient array of cedar and pine. He encountered a familiar resistance, like gelatin, and slowly pushed his hand through.
It is going to let me pass—the mountain will release us!
“Please,” Ky panted in his ear. “Wait!”
He shivered, craning his neck upward in an attempt to see the sun. It lofted somewhere over the Sisters, casting a mountainous shadow upon the ground outside. He couldn’t reach its embrace from the door.
“Ember—”
“What?” he shouted impatiently.
She tugged on his arm.
“What if we cannot be getting back in once we have gotten out?”
He scoffed, but his heart tripped with a sudden uncertainty; her grip was strong, her words potent. Could she truly bring herself to keep him there against his will after everything which had transpired—all he had done for her? Ky opened her mouth, but before she could speak a single word, a soft grating sound echoed from above.
They glanced up, Ky crouching and Ember instinctively reaching for Fishbiter.
Far above, a circular slab of stone grated away from the ceiling, allowing a crescent of pale light to sift into the hall. Dust and bits of pebbled rock rained down on their heads, sunshine creeping across Ember’s scuffed leather boots and Ky’s bare feet, until they were standing in a perfect circle of daylight.
Another stone slab began to shift away further down a grand corridor which he had not noticed sprawling off to their right…
With each window which rolled open above, a pair of stone columns were revealed.
These pillars, moreso than the others he had encountered, had a weighty, ancient aspect. More debris filtered down through the beams of light, and at last the final slab of stone grated aside, the ceiling flickering with etched runes, and a grand beam of light fell upon a wide, flat staircase leading up to a stone dais. There, carved from the stone itself, rested two great thrones.
He opened his mouth, stunned.
Ky let out a gentle huff beside him but otherwise did not disturb the quiet.
The thrones were large and roughly hewn in places, but even from this distance he could see the human runes chiseled into their high backs: upon the one to the right was graven the word, wisdom; upon the other, peace. The bright sunlight dazzled his eyes, which were so accustomed to darkness.
He took a step forward.
And then another step.
The pillars were immense, but even they could not pull his attention from the two thrones, more imperious and alluring by far. When he reached the steps, he hesitated, feeling rather foolish. Who is here to forbid us? No one, Ember. No one.
He put out a hand, feeling for... well, he wasn't sure what he was feeling for. Traps? Magic? But he encountered only the tatters of forgotten cobwebs. Ky pattered along behind him, silent. Surely she would tell him if she sensed a mislaid spell. He took a deep breath, and carefully ascended the steps.
When he reached the top, he hesitated again before brushing a hand against the arm of the wisdom throne.
Crumbling detritus swept aside beneath his fingers, pattering to the rock-hewn seat and the stone floor beneath.
And then—to his own surprise—he laughed.
It rang out with a thousand echoes, shaking the stone to life, and another shower of dust rained down on his head. His merriment succumbed to a painful coughing fit and he pressed a hand against his chest, amused and awed by the thought that Ember Jarelsson, alone of all those simple folk who dwelt in the shadow of Sisters Mountain, had come to this place of wonder and woe. Not a single soul was left to lay claim to these halls. If he wanted to crown himself king, who would stand in his way?
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“I think we're the next in line, Ky Veli!” he proclaimed, grinning broadly. “What say you?”
He beckoned to the smaller throne with a flourish, spinning on his heel.
Ky still stood at the bottom of the dais, one bare foot planted on the first step.
Her mouth hung open, her face impossibly pale.
His smile slipped.
A sickly pallor stole across her features, and he recognized the glossy sheen in her eyes: she was going to be ill. Ember lifted his hand from the throne and trotted down the steps, reaching for her arm.
"Ah!" she cried sharply.
He yanked his hand away, wondering for a moment if he had struck her.
She spun around, shoulders heaving, and covered her mouth with both hands.
"Ky, what's wrong?"
The sirena shivered and shrank from his touch.
"Ember," she moaned. "Oh, Ember, do not be thinking ill of me…"
"I don't think ill of you!" he exclaimed, aghast. "Why would I?"
"You must," gasped Ky, lurching away from him and flattening her hand against one of the stone pillars. She bent low, her hair hanging in front of her face, chest heaving. "You must, you must!"
"Enough," Ember said, rather more harshly than he meant to—her voice grieved him. "Is this about your siren treasure?"
A faint breath stirred her hair. "There is a truth which Ember does not know…"
Only one truth?
He almost laughed again, but that would do little to remedy her fears, so he straightened his face instead.
"I know that you've been keeping secrets from me." Her black eyes flickered up to him, and he took a shallow breath. "If you were going to tell me about Bren, I've known what happened to your… friend… for a long time, now."
Ky froze, her lips moving silently, and then bobbed her head to one side like a startled owl.
Ember blushed, suddenly abashed, and scratched the back of his neck. "I saw a—er, there was a vision, I suppose, some kind of magic in the well of the oracles… It was a place behind that stone door at the end of the hall, after all the mirrors shattered. Do you remember?"
Her aspect went ashy-white.
Of course she remembered.
"But I understand—it wasn't your fault." Ember cradled her cold, damp face in his hand, smoothing his thumb across her jaw. "Your sister tricked you."
Ky twitched, her features distorting in some fey expression he could not reconcile with any human emotion—it had the essence of disgust, perhaps, or sorrow, and hatred simmered beneath it.
"Bren."
She whispered the name like a curse, or as one who had seen a ghost.
"Whatever you did then, or ever, changes nothing between us now," he assured her. "I promise."
She hid her face in her hands again, muttering to herself.
"Tell me! Ky, whatever it is—"
Her spine stiffened, and she held up two fingers. "Do not touch me."
His face flushed.
"I am not…" Her tongue worked against her teeth for a moment, upheld fingers trembling, before a sound of anguish burst up from the depths of her being. It wounded him, and he helplessly reached for her again.
"Tell me what's troubling you," he pleaded, eyes watering. The force of her emotion brought it from him, though he thought he had cried all his tears the night before. "There's no need to torment yourself on my behalf."
Another choked noise worked past her fingers as she covered her mouth with her hands again, but she refused to answer him.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his heart sinking. "I'm so sorry that we didn't find it…"
"No," she whined, pressing her hands to the sides of her head and staring down at the ground as she swayed to and fro. "No, no, Ember, I did find it."
He stared at her, aghast. "What? But when?"
She rubbed her arm, squeezing it with her fingers, and hummed a piteous little melody. "Are you truly not knowing? It has been with me ever since I came upon your nest beside the river."
His mind whirled. "How do you mean?"
"When I speak of true things, I am not telling you all of those true things. I am deceiving you, Ember, and I—I will have you know it all, from the beginning, before you are speaking again."
He took a breath to speak, but no words came to him.
"Be seating yourself," the sirena whispered, motioning to the stone chair. "And I will enlighten you."
"But—"
"Be seated!" Her voice rang out in the empty hall, and sent Ember reeling backwards up the steps, fumbling behind him with one hand. Her lip trembled, then stilled, and she gulped audibly. "This shall be my last request, and when I am finished, you may decide if I am just in my deceptions. If you will be hearing them."
He hesitated, struck dumb, and then slowly made his way across the dais to the larger of the two great thrones. He lowered himself to the stone seat, heart pounding in anticipation. After all this time...
"If that is what you want. I'll hear you, Ky—of course I'll hear you."
She took a deep breath, and lifted her chin. The cavernous chamber inhaled with her, a breeze whispering through his hair, and the daylight flickered as she exhaled.
Ember sat back, surprised.
"If this must be done, then I would be doing it properly, if I can," she murmured, almost to herself. She blinked up at the ceiling and tightened her lips. "You are never hearing a story sung right until you hear a siren sing it."
He wished to make some remark about the tales Hunter had told in their market square, but the words died upon his lips as Ky lowered her chin and swished back a few steps, brushing dust from her skirt and swirling the stained fabric around her ankles. There she stood, and was silent so long that Ember began to fear she had changed her mind.
"You be listening well, and listen truly," she commanded; the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end, and the stone itself trembled beneath the power of her voice. "The tale I am singing for you has never been sung for any mortal man, and this song brings with it the threat of death to both singer and listener among those of my clan."
Spellbound, Ember could not have done anything else if he had tried; his limbs weighed heavily upon the chair, as if he too had turned to stone, and he must listen in silence until her tale had ended.
"There once is living a siren whose name I cannot tell you, for it is an ill omen to sing of those who have passed into the Greater Darkness. To this end, I shall call him Elder, for an elder he is—the oldest and the wisest of us all. It is this very song which he sings to a little sirena long ago, this song of sorrow she now must sing for you…"