any further thought to what we discussed yesterday?”
“The Pattern?” Her brother looked distracted.
“I have been warning you, Imperial Majesty, for months, about the perils of this Order you brought with you.” Del Rue pressed. “Now the man responsible for your sister’s disappearance is safe behind the skirts of the Mother Abbey.”
“It wasn’t him!” Zofiya then screamed her brother’s name again, but he made no gesture to suggest he had noticed it. Her hands clenched on the surface, but she could not look away.
“But they have rid Arkaym of the geists, and been very useful to—”
“Darling.” A voice from outside of the range of the tunnel made itself known by cutting off the Emperor, and Zofiya immediately recognized it. The Empress was apparently also present. “You yourself said it was the Arch Abbot of the Order who was the one that conspired to destroy Vermillion last year. We cannot forget either that the Deacons who you sent to Chioma, only a season ago, returned with my home in flames and my father slain. Now, to top it all off, they have taken your sister.”
Kaleva shook his head, glancing down at the floor. Zofiya knew that gesture from times past. He was coming to a hard decision. He was making his mind up with the poison of del Rue dripping in his ear. She pounded on the surface that stood between them.
“Much like the old Native Order, this one has fallen prey to avarice and power.” Del Rue leaned in closer to the Emperor. “You can always summon more Deacons from your father’s domain if you like. The Order of the Eye and the Fist is not the only one in the world.”
“You must think of your people!” Ezefia came into view, stunning as ever in an Imperial scarlet dress, and sat next to him, resting one hand on his knee. “It is about their safety as well as your own.” She made a sharp gesture, and one of her ladies appeared, carrying something on a cushion. With the care the lady-in-waiting displayed it could have been made of glass. Whatever it was however was a mystery, since it was covered with a blue piece of velvet.
“You got the Pattern from the vaults, my love,” the Empress cooed. “You must know what needs to be done.”
Zofiya sunk to her knees, keeping her face and hand pressed to the surface. “Kaleva, no! Whatever they are doing, turn away. Please!” She yelled it toward him, as if he could hear her by some kind of Deacon Sensitivity. If only they’d been twins, or born with the power. Too late now to hope for that.
Kaleva took the cushion from Ezefia’s lady, set it on his knee and then drew back the covering. The Grand Duchess ceased her wailing and looked. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen—and it was not the first time she’d seen it. Two pale blue marble tablets, about as long as her forearm, rested before her brother. A filigree of writing was carved into them, and soft blue light ran from the lines. From her angle she could not see what the words were, but she could remember from memory. The ten Runes of Dominion and the seven Runes of Sight. She’d last seen the Pattern, though she’d never heard it called that, on the wharf in Delmaire, just before they sailed for Arkaym. She recalled the Arch Abbot handing them to Kaleva reverently, and offering them up as a symbol of trust between the Order and their Emperor.
Back then she’d been too busy organizing her troops for the largest sea journey of any army in history to take much notice of what the Order did. As far as she knew he’d placed it in a box and sent it to the vault with all his other treasures.
However now, just looking at them, Kaleva’s face blanched. His hand hovered a few inches above them, but did not dare to touch the stones. Even del Rue and the Empress were silenced for a spell.
“The inscription is indeed lovely,” del Rue said, wetting his lips, “but if Your Imperial Majesty can see beyond that…”
“Think of Zofiya…” The Empress glanced up, locking eyes with del Rue.
Kaleva cleared his throat. “What do I do?”
The Grand Duchess was riveted, unable to move or say anything; trapped on the other side of the barrier and rendered impotent.
“One must simply break it.” Her brother must have been too foolish or perhaps too enmeshed in del Rue’s machinations to notice that the older man was leaning forward, and his eyes were hard stones fixed on the Emperor.
“Snap it? It’s that simple?”
Ezefia smiled and simpered, as if she were asking her husband to pass the salt, rather than destroy a partnership that had brought Arkaym back from chaos. “You are the Emperor, and it is your right.”
“No, no, no,” Zofiya muttered under her breath. “Don’t be an idiot, Kal! Think for yourself…please…”
Her pleas dissolved in the ether and never reached her brother. Kaleva straightened in his chair, and then leaning forward took up first the Runes of Dominion and then the Runes of Sight, and then simply by placing them against the low table before him, bent them in half and broke them. The snap of the fragile stone echoed in the room and in the corridor Zofiya watched from.
Zofiya found that she was holding her breath, but there came no rumble of thunder or shower of geists. Nothing.
Del Rue’s grin could not have been bigger. He looked as though he had fallen in a pit of gold and then been showered with naked women. The Empress too appeared delighted.
Meanwhile the Grand Duchess could barely hold back her rage. Kaleva! She loved him, and he was a fine Emperor when it came to day-to-day things. Handsome, kind, but the flaw in him had reappeared. That thread of weakness in her brother, the desire to please that their father had fostered in all his sons, had now come to the fore. It would be his people that would suffer for it.
All three rose to their feet, leaving the broken remains of the Pattern lying on the table. No longer gleaming with blue light, they were reduced to mere shards of rock. Utterly unremarkable.
“Now we can go gather the Guard and besiege the Mother Abbey.” Kaleva smiled bleakly. “I shall have that Deacon and answers to what they have done.”
“The Presbyterial Council and the Arch Abbot are the ones to be held accountable,” del Rue said nodding. “It is not the fault of the everyday Deacons that they followed their orders.”
“I shall be merciful,” Kaleva said, as he walked out from view, followed by his conniving Empress.
Del Rue closed the door on them and strode toward the portal.
Zofiya swallowed and backed hastily away down the tunnel. She only had a dubious piece of wood to defend herself, but she would damn well give it a try. Taking up a position to one side where the tunnel opened up into the larger cellar, she marshaled her remaining strength and waited, stick held ready. If she was able to get in one good blow on his head, she might have a chance to overpower him. Just what she would do after that was a question that could wait until he was lying at her feet.
She heard del Rue’s footsteps crunch on the dirt as he came toward her, and she let out a soft exhalation in preparation. Then she stepped around the corner, yelled in pent-up rage and frustration and drew back her weapon to strike.
However, before she completed her downswing, green fire enveloped her. It did not hurt, but she could feel the little strength left in her limbs drain away. When her captor withdrew the flames of Shayst, she was left limp on the floor, having trouble gasping for breath, and at the point of crying tears of despair.
She heard his words drop on her like hail. “I am a master of both Sight and Dominion, silly girl. Did you think I wouldn’t feel you standing there waiting for me?”
He rolled her over with the point of one boot and stared at her with all the chagrin of a disappointed parent. “My little miss Grand Duchess. Whatever have you done to yourself getting free? I am going to have to clean you up or that wound could get quite infected.”
She didn’t have enough energy to reply to him: not a sneer, not a clever remark, not even a groan of pain. He scooped her up easily into his arms and began carrying her back the way she’d come.
“Never mind,” he commented, “we shall start at the beginning again and all will be well.”
