gray stone houses and shops, and gleaming gold churches. “I brought my precious boy here to help them win their petty war, and what do they do? Abandon him! Left him for dead on the walls of Stamballa two months ago, and did not make a single attempt to set him free. And now, now! There he is! Koschei the Deathless! The war god of Rus, the scourge of the Jochi hordes, the terror of the steppes, left screaming on a rope not one league from this place. And still they do nothing!”
The aether storm surged around them, momentarily obscuring the world behind a solid white wall of mist.
Two months ago? Wait, that’s when-
Below in the courtyard, a chorus of screams rippled outward from the base of the tower, and Wren peered down at the soldiers and servants lying on the ground, clutching their heads and curling up like terrified children wailing in the night.
“Stop it! They’re not immortal, they’re only human!” Wren wrapped her black jacket tightly around her shoulders. Insubstantial as it was, the aether was still leeching the warmth from the air. “Major Tycho and the other soldiers here, they’re only men. They’re trying to protect their homes, their families. You can’t ask them to risk everything for one man. Especially a man who can’t die. Sooner or later, Koschei will be free again. Maybe the Duchess will negotiate his freedom, or he’ll escape, or he’ll simply be set free when the war ends. He can’t die, Mistress Yaga! Your son will survive this, and you’ll see him again. You know that’s true, don’t you?”
“And until then?” The tall witch turned to glower down at the younger woman. “Until then, my son has to suffer unspeakable torments, hour after hour, day after day, just because he can’t die? Is that right? Is that fair? He may only be one man, but he is my son! My only son! And if he can have no peace, if I can have no peace, then no one will have any peace!”
She threw her arms up and her sun-steel bracelets rang as they crashed against her wrists, and the aether roared straight up the sides of the tower, streaming up into the late afternoon sky.
Wren stood at the railing beside her, gazing up at the mist cascading upward with all the fury of a massive waterfall.
When the sun goes down, and the temperature falls, the aether will only grow thicker all across the city. And when she can command that much aether… Woden, help these poor people.
Chapter 11. Negotiations
Salvator Fabris stood in the anteroom, exchanging glares with the Turkish guards by the office doors, and by the hallway doors, and by the windows. Each of the men in blue uniform wore a scimitar of Damascus steel, and a Numidian two-shot pistol, and an eclectic collection of mismatched daggers. The Italian sighed, wondering idly how the soldiers kept their belts from falling down under all of that weight.
“It’s been over an hour,” he said in his best Eranian to no one in particular.
None of the soldiers answered.
His left hand went to his own belt, again, and pawed uselessly at the void where his own golden rapier should have been, again. It had galled him to leave his prized possession with the chief of the Hellan armory before he left Constantia, but he knew the weapon would not be allowed into Prince Radu’s presence, and he didn’t trust the Turks to return it to him.
“The last time your ambassador came to the Palace of Constantia, he was shown into a private office where a page kept him quite content with wine and an assortment of cheeses until his meeting with the Duchess,” Salvator said loudly. “I would have thought you might show me the same courtesy, this time. But I see the war effort has strained your resources considerably. You haven’t even a single chair to spare for me, let alone for these eight valiant gentlemen who are doing such a fine job of guarding an empty room and an unarmed guest.”
The hallway door opened and the Turkish ambassador strode in. He was a rotund little man with huge soft jowls and a tiny black mustache plastered to his lip with oil. His suit was well-made but either it had been poorly measured or the ambassador had grown considerably around his middle, because his trousers and shirt were straining under his belt.
“Ah, Fabris!” he cried with a smile. “Such a pleasure to see you again, of course. I hear you have some new proposals and such to share with us, so I hurried down from the temple as quickly as I could.”
“I’m here to speak with the prince,” Salvator said. “Not you, Murat.”
“Oh, yes, of course, but Prince Radu is a very busy man. He is meeting with architects and artists from across the empire, you know. He is planning a most glorious renovation of poor Constantia. I’ve described to him its hideous state of decay and he is most eager to see it restored and rebuilt, once it is part of the empire, of course.”
“Of course.” Salvator sniffed and stared out the window at the slate rooftops of Stamballa and the gleaming domes of the Mazdan Temples. “You do realize of course that, as an Italian, I don’t give a damn about Constantia at all, and nothing you say about it is going to make me angry. I should also point out that nothing you say will make you any less of a fat pustule, or make me any less handsome.”
Murat’s smile faltered.
“Now about that chair.” Salvator peered down his nose at his counterpart and gracefully plucked at his long, silvery mustache.
Murat huffed, cleared his throat, glanced at the soldiers, and went back out into the hallway.
Another hour passed before the hallway doors opened and Prince Radu strode into the anteroom with a dozen grim-faced generals and perfumed servants trailing behind him. The Vlachian prince was a younger version of his brother, but everywhere Vlad was hard and crooked and dark, Radu was softer and straighter and brighter. He smiled easily and moved with the practiced grace of a court dancer.
Salvator performed a grandiose bow and said, “Your Highness, it is an honor and a privilege to see you again. I hope you have been well since our last meeting.”
Radu paused at the doors to the inner office. “Quite well. And you?”
“Never better, Highness.”
Radu glanced back at his retinue. “You should really handle Murat a bit more gently, you know. He’s a fine accountant, but he doesn’t have your wit.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Salvator smiled. “I’ll try to keep that in mind in the future.”
“Your little friend, the major, he is not with you?”
“He was injured this afternoon. Nothing serious, but he couldn’t join me.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I like him very much. So, is it business or pleasure today, my friend?” Radu opened the office door and led the way inside. He tossed his coat onto the back of the chair behind the desk.
Salvator sauntered inside and several clerks and guards shuffled in behind him to stand along the walls. “Business, if you can call it that. We caught your afternoon performance by the waterfront. I imagine if we were all quiet enough, we could hear the endless encore even now.”
Radu sighed. “These damn immortals. You know, for weeks, we’ve tried to learn his secret. How does he do it? Why can’t he die? Interrogations, torture. Nothing worked, of course.”
“You want to know why he’s immortal?” Salvator shrugged. “I suppose I can see the appeal, especially for a handsome young fellow like yourself. Couldn’t you simply ask your own immortal about it? The Damascena?”
Radu smiled. “You know as well as I do that she does not serve me, does not answer to me in any way. Ask her about immortality? Ha! If I could simply find her, it would be a memorable day. That woman has been a mystery to the Emperors of Eran for ages.”
Salvator chuckled. “It’s good to know we have that in common. And it’s very good to know that you couldn’t pry any secrets from your prisoner.”
“Hmph.” Radu settled into his chair and glanced at the papers on his desk. “Koschei is like a stone. He’s a brute, dressed in half-rotten skins and bloody furs. The only thing of any value we found on him was this.” The prince reached inside the neck of his starched shirt and pulled out a slender black chain from which dangled a small golden pendant.
Salvator squinted at the lumpy trinket. “What is that?”
Radu frowned at it. “I’m not sure, really. It looks like a human heart, vaguely.” He tucked it back into his
