Canticle

Chapter 23

Lysias

Lysias ran his hands through his hair and squinted at the reports on his makeshift desk. Outside, a wind whistled across the plain where Windwir had once stood, and cold from it leaked into his tent despite the furnace that glowed in the corner.

This was a miserable, desolate place, and it broke his heart to be here again. The images of that first dreadful sight were burned into his brain, from Sethbert’s wide-eyed, gleeful expression as the Overseer watched the fire fall over wine and cheese right down to the smoldering, stinking forest of bones Petronus and his army of gravediggers had ridden into with their shovels and wagons. It was a reminder of a genocide he had helped cause by trusting the wrong man with his loyalty. In the end, it had cost him. It had also cost the nation he loved above all others.

After the Ninefold Forest invitation had been received, he’d spent two weeks preparing his honor guard and organizing their winter march north. The Foresters had worked hard to be ready for the rest of the Named Lands, erecting what he suspected was the same massive tent they’d used when they’d hosted the Androfrancines’ last council. They’d also carefully established quarters for each of the kin-clave in attendance, their Second Captain of the Gypsy Scouts working with each military liaison to assure that no nation was placed improperly in the elaborate network of relationships, all precariously balanced with the recent troubles to the north.

When the council had convened three days earlier, the new Gypsy Queen, Jin Li Tam, had invoked the Articles of Kin-Clave regarding the call to council and-as hostess for the event-had taken petitions for the agenda. It was no surprise that matters in the Marshland quickly eclipsed Entrolusia’s interests in the kin-clave. Rumors flew the camp of Y’Zirite resurgence and coup d’etat. The young Marsh Queen was placed on the agenda, along with Meirov of Pylos and the dour-faced steward of Turam. Petronus had made his petition as well, along with Erlund, who supported the old Pope’s call for a public trial. And then, because it had been some time since a kin-clave had been called, other issues were voiced. In the absence of the Androfrancine Order, the matter of access to the Churning Wastes through the Keeper’s Wall was on the agenda. Representatives from the various counties of the Divided Isle petitioned the Ninefold Forest Houses for the return of Androfrancine land titles in their territories. It was a long list. Longer than Lysias could keep track of, particularly with his mind on other matters.

You should go to her. She is not hard to find. Somewhere in the Foresters’ city of tents, his daughter sat with the young Gypsy heir. He’d gotten confirmation from his spies in their camp, even had word that she was healthy and well cared for. That should have been enough for him. But it wasn’t; he longed to see her.

More than that, he longed to atone somehow. For many things, he now realized, beyond his parenting. The quiet snow fields of Windwir’s buried dead whispered his sins to him. And at night, when he dreamed, he saw the coldness of Vlad Li Tam’s eyes as he passed the cloth-wrapped weapon and forged confession across to him during the night of their clandestine meeting. He heard the muffled cries as he and Grymlis helped Sethbert’s cousin, Pope Resolute, exit this life and make way for an end to a war they could not win by force but might survive by intrigue.

Petronus had been wrong, surely, to try Sethbert summarily and without regard to kin-clave and Entrolusian law. But Sethbert, regardless of why or how, had brought down Windwir-and boasted of it-and then, after breaking the back of the Delta’s economy, had forced a war upon the Named Lands that even now spun out consequences of violence faster than a Tam could weave strategies. This unrest now to the north with the recent Marsher skirmishes far from their usual teritories, the civil wars that still brewed in Turam and Pylos and the recently ceased hostilities on the Delta were all certainly outgrowths of Sethbert’s actions. Because from his vantage point, before Windwir fell and the Androfrancines were taken out of the role of shepherd-and before House Li Tam packed up its network and vanished-the Named Lands had been safer.

Before Sethbert brought back the blood magicks of Xhum Y’Zir.

And I helped him do it.

He’d thought that rainy night last spring, nearly a year past now, he’d done his part to make that right. He’d worked with Tam, planted a forged suicide note that was actually more truth than lie, from all he could see. The note had implicated Sethbert and his cousin Resolute in the destruction of Windwir. Certainly, Resolute had been deceived and manipulated. That was clear. And Sethbert had made a great show of having evidence supporting Androfrancine plans for subduing the Named Lands, but when the Overseer had been called upon to produce it on the night of his arrest, he’d not been able to. And then the Overseer had fled.

No, as far as Lysias was concerned, Sethbert had gotten what had been coming to him and the wrong man was now under scrutiny. If there was a villain here besides Sethbert he suspected it was Vlad Li Tam and not Petronus.

Lysias rubbed his eyes now and tried again to read the reports before him. But it nagged him now, and he felt something clawing inside of him, demanding that he pay it heed.

It is never too late to do the right thing. He remembered these words from his father, long ago. They were the very words his daughter, Lynnae, had recited to him when she allied herself with the Democrats and their dangerous philosophies.

Whistling for his birder, he pulled a scrap of parchment and started triple-coding a message. When the birder came and went, taking the note with instructions to send it under the white thread of kin-clave, Lysias pushed aside his reports, drew down a fresh piece of paper, and started making his notes.

Within the hour, he’d written down his every recollection of that night in Pylos and then that later night in Resolute’s guest quarters. Last, he wrote his recollection of his attempt to arrest Sethbert.

The more recent memories cataloged, he went back further, into the days of the war and days just before Windwir fell.

Some part of him knew that it didn’t matter, that there was no way Petronus’s kin-clave would find Petronus guilty. He was a gifted orator and had the graves of Windwir as his stage for this present drama. He was also a strong king and perhaps the most innately talented of the papal line when it came to statecraft.

Lysias did not do this now to save Petronus. Of that he had no doubt.

But he hoped, perhaps, he might save some part of himself.

When the bells announced the resumption of council proceedings, Lysias stood, scooped up his sword and helmet, and left for the palatial tent with his bundle of notes tucked beneath his cloak.

Winters

Winters sat to the side of the council and watched Jin Li Tam preside over another day of questioning and discussion. It had been hard for her to keep her attention on these strange matters of New World statecraft. The Marshfolk had their own approach to council, but with less bluster and bravado and certainly less pomp. They made their decisions largely by consensus, and as queen, her primary role had been that of dreamer and, during time of war, sermonizer. And because the Marshfolk had remained set apart and without kin-clave until their secret and one-sided alliance with the Ninefold Forest, she’d not had any opportunity to see the intricate system of rules and rituals at work in a formal meeting. Certainly Tertius had educated her in these matters, but even the former Androfrancine had glossed over portions of it as unimportant and unnecessary for the work ahead of her.

So now, she sat, trying to remain still and listen. She stayed quiet and she watched. And most of all, she tried not to worry about her people-an impossible task. There had been no word since the Gypsy Scouts had brought Seamus to her, and the ride to Windwir-and away from her troubled tribes-had killed something inside of her with each league. It had even eclipsed her sense of separation from Neb, though when they’d first swept onto the plains to approach the growing city of tents, she’d been reminded of that first meeting, that first kiss, those stolen strolls along the northern line. But the memories seemed small things now in light of what happened among her people.

She heard Jin Li Tam’s gavel and looked up as the Gypsy Queen called for order. The woman looked tired but regal, her copper hair pulled back from her face and held in place by platinum combs. Her blue eyes were clear, and she stood behind the podium watching the crowded tent. “We now resume the matter of Petronus, King of Windwir and former Holy See of the Androfrancine Order.” Jin Li Tam nodded toward the table where Petronus and Esarov sat. “The petitioner may continue his declaration.”

Esarov stood and bowed. “Thank you, Lady Tam.” He stepped out from behind the table. “Over the last two days, you’ve heard Overseer Erlund and his governors discuss the matter of Sethbert’s death. The council has seen and questioned witnesses to the Androfrancine Council. You’ve also heard Petronus himself speak. And there is no doubt: This man did personally and summarily execute Sethbert.” The man’s eyes narrowed, and Winters saw that he was staring hard now at Jin Li Tam. “You yourself, Lady Tam, bore witness to the events of that council and have spoken to them before us. But I would ask a further question of you.” He turned, looking to the crowded tent, and lifting up a piece of parchment.

Jin Li Tam looked nonplussed. “Ask your question, Esarov. You’ve the floor and need no permission from me.”

Winters leaned forward. She could hear something rising in his voice and noted that as he asked his question, he faced the audience. “Very well, Lady Tam, I will be direct: It has come to my attention that Petronus’s actions were heavily influenced by House Li Tam-manipulated directly by your father, according to a highly placed officer in the Entrolusian army. According to documents I’ve recently received, Arch-scholar Oriv-also known as Pope Resolute-did not commit suicide as we have all believed. His death was coerced in collusion with your father, Vlad Li Tam.” Here, Esarov looked to Erlund. “Sethbert’s family was involved at some level, though the extent of this is not fully known. They wished to end a war they could not win and prevent the Delta city-states from sliding into civil war. Resolute’s suicide letter-the very letter implicating Sethbert-was forged by one of the sons or daughters of House Li Tam, and an Androfrancine weapon was provided. A member of Oriv’s own Gray Guard-a Captain Grymlis-assisted in the matter.” He paused, turned back to the podium, and continued with a slight smile upon his face. “My question to you, Lady Tam, is this: Were you aware of your father’s culpability in these matters along with Petronus?”

Winters watched Jin Li Tam’s face. At Esarov’s initial words, she’d blinked but maintained her composure. Now, her face turned red with anger. “My father,” she said with a low voice, “is culpable in many matters. What exactly is your point in these observations, Esarov?”

Esarov opened his hands and held them out. “Only this, Lady: The Desolation of Windwir is the greatest tragedy in Named Lands history. Nothing like it has been seen since the days of Xhum Y’Zir and his Age of Laughing Madness. And as the Francis have taught us, these wounds go deeper than our awareness can know.” He turned now, and began pacing the room, making eye contact with the leaders gathered there. He stopped at Meirov, and Winters saw the cold wrath upon her face. “The Fivefold Path of Grief can take us down a winding road, lead us into decisions and actions that in hindsight may be excessive but at the time, feel necessary.” He continued pacing. “Already, they ask one another in the taverns: ‘Where were you when Windwir fell?’ We are not gods-most of us do not even believe in gods-and there is no powder or magick to clear the head in the midst of such trauma and violence.” He stopped, back at his table now, looking down at Petronus. “We all acted as we were compelled when Windwir fell. Right or wrong. But to single out one man when so many others could join him here seems premature and unjust to me.”

Winters looked out over the room. The faces were a blur of grief remembered and anger refueled. Jin Li Tam leaned onto her podium. “What are you proposing, Esarov?”

Esarov smiled. “I am proposing a full investigation, authorized by kin-clave and with the full cooperation of all nations, into the destruction of Windwir, any and all acts leading up to and following that event, including oath-testimony by your father, Lord Vlad Li Tam, and all others relevant to the subject at hand. We try everyone-not just one man. Or”-here he paused and Winters heard the whispered voices sweeping the room-“we mourn our dead, move forward and rebuild our nations, restore balance to the Named Lands, heal the broken kin-claves and work together to assist Queen Winteria with the resurgence that has grown up in her territories. Either course is proper, but do not think for a moment that what we do today even scratches the surface of truth and justice.”

Winters shifted in her chair, and as she did, the Firstfall axe shifted in her lap. For the briefest moment, she thought she saw movement reflected in the polished surface of its blade.

Then, suddenly, they were at Third Alarm as a mighty wind shook the tent, and a young woman entered as Gypsy Scouts fell back from her magicked escort.

“I bring you tidings of peace and grace,” she said as she raised her hands. She wore gold-scaled armor, and her brown hair was braided with bone and shell and stick. Her face bore similar markings to Ezra’s-the painting was more careful, using dark earth tones that accentuated her large brown eyes. She was unarmed. “Forgive my tardiness,” she said. “I’ve been tending to matters of salvation. I had hoped to join you at the very beginning.” The girl looked first to Winters, and when their eyes met, she smiled with warmth and affection. “Winteria,” she said, inclining her head. “A strong and prophetic name.”

She knows me. Winters studied the woman and quickly returned the nod, hoping her eyes would leave hers if she did. There was something in them that frightened her. Something masquerading as love.

The others were standing now, and Winters watched as scouts from the Delta and Turam applied their powders and vanished while drawing their blades. Gypsy Scouts, unmagicked for now, moved in closer to Jin Li Tam and Petronus, their hands upon the handles of their knives.

“I petition the council for audience,” the woman said.

She saw Jin Li Tam wince. “Silence the alarm,” she said, turning to the girl. “You have come into our kin-clave of peace, uninvited, with magicked escort that I can only assume stands ready to commit violence. Who are you and what is your business among us?” The Gypsy Queen’s level of calm amazed Winters.

“I am about the business of our redemption and atonement, Great Mother,” the woman said. “I am Winteria bat Mardic, first and true heir of the Wicker Throne and Queen of the Machtvolk.”

Winters heard a stifled gasp and realized it was her that gave it.

Petronus

Petronus looked to the newcomer and then to the Marsh girl Winters. The resemblance was uncanny, though the woman who announced herself was easily five years older. She carried herself with a confidence and abandon that he could read easily in her posture and stride.

“My escort is indeed magicked-you would have not admitted me otherwise-but if we intended violence,” she said, “we’d have made those intentions clear without introduction and without losing the advantage of surprise.” Around them, he felt the tension crackling like electricity in a storm. The woman smiled. “May I have audience?” she asked again.

Jin Li Tam frowned. “You already have it.”

The woman who shared the young queen’s name bowed. “Thank you, Great Mother.” She looked to the others and her voice rose. “The salvation of a people is difficult and painful work. Kinship must be healed. Blood must be let. Sacrifice must be made.” As she spoke, Petronus watched her eyes travel the room, settling last upon Meirov of Pylos. The rage upon Meirov’s face gave him pause, and for a moment he thought she might lunge forward to attack the woman with bare hands. Of course, it would be her death sentence if she did. He remembered the strength and ferocity of just one blood skirmisher and knew this so-called queen must have dozens of them with her and perhaps a hundred more nearby. She would not have walked into a kin-clave otherwise.

The woman continued. “You believe that you gather here upon the plains of our handiwork to judge the Last Son of P’Andro Whym and to hear my sister’s plea for help. But this is not true. You are here-called and set apart-to bear witness to the grace and mercy of House Y’Zir and the Crimson Empress whose advent is nearly upon us.”

Jin Li Tam’s eyes narrowed. “You speak in riddles.”

“No,” the woman said firmly, “I speak of prophecy and destiny for those who have ears to hear. She raised her voice: “ ‘And it shall come to pass that the city of P’Andro Whym shall become a pyre and in the shadow of that pyre, a child of great promise shall be born to make ready all people for the advent of the Crimson Empress and the Homecoming of House Y’Zir.’ ”

The words were unfamiliar to Petronus, but they had the ring of age about them. And they had a similar tone and cadence to other words he’d heard not so long ago. Thus shall the sins of P’Andro Whym be visited upon his children.

The woman continued, and her smile warmed when she fixed her eyes upon Petronus. “Last Son,” she said, “you know what I speak of. You chose this time and place for a reckoning you have felt calling you for some time now. Is this not true?”

Yes. He found himself nodding. “I have felt it,” he said in a quiet voice that only he and Esarov could hear. Some Franci corner of him spun the Rufello ciphers on this lock, but a deeper voice pulled at his will like a tide. How can she know this?

Petronus glanced around the tent to see what others were doing. Surprise and confusion still dominated most faces. Jin Li Tam watched carefully, her eyes moving from the woman who called herself Winteria, to the guards positioned at various points around the tent. He saw the briefest flash of fingers and hands moving to give orders. The Marsh girl Winters sat still, her eyes wide and her mouth open-it was obvious to Petronus that she was as surprised as anyone by this sudden turn of events, but the resemblance between them was unsettling. Last, he caught Ignatio’s eye and saw him lean forward to whisper something into Erlund’s ear. When the spymaster leaned back, his eyes locked with Petronus’s and he understood the smile some twenty days earlier in the council chambers on the Delta. He is a part of this.

The Machtvolk Queen walked to Petronus’s table, trailing her fingers across the surface of it as she strolled past. He caught the heavy scent of blood and mud and ash from her and from her invisible escort. “The time for kin-clave is past,” she said, “and the time of kin-healing is upon us all.”

Even as she said it, there arose a clamor beyond the tent. It was as if a thousand voices gathered just outside, raising up in a shout all at once, and then a frightened-looking girl entered the tent, a baby clutched in her arms. Behind her, an old man followed with upraised hands, singing loudly in an ecstatic burst of glossolalia. Around them, snow flurried as magicked skirmishers swept into the tent around them, forming an unseen wall between the audience and the infant.

Erlund’s general-Lysias, Petronus remembered-plunged forward and called out a name that was lost in the gasps and cries that filled the tent. Invisible hands pressed him back. And the loudest cry sounded from the front of the room, where Jin Li Tam clung to the podium with ice in her eyes and a snarl upon her lips. “Release my child,” she said, “and I will spare your life.”

The Machtvolk Queen laughed, and Petronus felt the chill of it along his spine. “You are in no position to command me in this matter, Great Mother. Your boy’s life lies in the hands of the Last Son of P’Andro Whym.”

Jin Li Tam cleared the platform in one leap, and Petronus watched as a wall of force caught her up and held her, invisible hands grasping at her arms and legs as she bucked and twisted. Petronus heard a disembodied voice. “Don’t struggle, Great Mother. We hold you for your own good.”

The girl holding Jakob sobbed now and clutched at him as the old man stretched out his hands to take him from her. Jin Li Tam shrieked her rage then, and when soldiers suddenly surged forward, unseen wind knocked them back and down. Then, Jakob rose up in the prophet’s arms for all in the room to see. “Behold,” the old man said, “the Child of Promise.”

It was Petronus’s first close look at the child. He was gray and smaller than he should be, his eyes squeezed shut against the light. He hung motionless in the old man’s hands, his head rolling to the side.

The older Winteria looked to Petronus and drew a knife and a ring from a pocket beneath her armor. He looked at them and blinked. How did she come by those?

He’d not seen either since that day he’d dropped them onto the floor of the tent and left to wash Sethbert’s blood from his hands.

“You know these, then?”

He nodded. “I do.”

She placed the ring upon the table. “I’ve told you that the child’s life is in your hands. Do you believe me?”

He studied the line of her jaw, measured the certainty in her eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I believe you.”

“Rise, then, Last Son, take up your ring and face your reckoning.”

He stood, his eyes never leaving the infant, and took up the ring. It was still brown with dried blood that he felt peeling away as he shoved it onto his finger.

He walked around the table to stand before her. She smiled at him. “You called this council of kin-clave for the matter of your guilt in the death of Sethbert as King of Windwir and Holy See of the Androfrancine Order. I charge you with more than this, Petronus, Last Son of P’Andro Whym. I charge you with two thousand years of blasphemy and bullying. I charge you with regicide and deicide.” She paused and looked out over the others in the room. “I charge you with home-stealing and light-hoarding.”

He looked to the baby and then back to the woman. “Who are you to make these charges?”

“I am the Bond-Servant of House Y’Zir, sent to prepare for the advent of the Crimson Empress. I am the Machtvolk Queen Winteria bat Mardic, the Home-Taker.”

“I do not recognize your authority in this matter,” he said, nodding toward Winters. “Winteria bat Mardic is the ascended queen of the Marshfolk.”

“You do not have to. My authority is in this moment and this knife.” She smiled. “And things are not as they seem. My little sister and I may share a name, but make no mistake that our father’s throne is mine by right of birth.”

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Jin Li Tam’s hands were moving. Do not play into her hand, she said in the Whymer subverbal. There must be another way.

He nodded so that she would know he understood her message, but he had no intention of changing course now. She held the knife in the same way he had, hidden beneath his robes, while he waited for the right moment. This is my reckoning, he thought.

“What do you require of me?” he asked.

She smiled. “I require a plea of you, Last Son.”

Petronus looked at the infant. “And if I give you what you require the child will be unharmed?”

She laughed. “What you give, you give for Jakob and for us all.” If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought love shone out from her eyes. “What you give, you give even for yourself.”

His eyes narrowed. Some part of him wanted to flee now, and his bladder suddenly demanded release. He remembered the place where he had stood when it was Sethbert, remembered the look in the dethroned Overseer’s eyes when he realized the knife had cut his throat, and he felt remorse again for the price he’d exacted-the price he had paid-in order to euthanize the Order and its backward dreaming.

It had been the right thing to do, he realized, even as now he knew this was the right thing.

“Then I offer my plea,” Petronus said. “I am guilty.”

The woman smiled.

He did not think he would feel the knife, but he did. It was a dull ripping with sudden cold against his open throat. He felt his knees buckle and saw his own blood.

Thus shall the sins of P’Andro Whym be visited upon his children.

He saw Esarov moving around the table, his face twisted in rage. He saw Erlund’s stunned look and the ecstasy upon his spymaster’s face. And he saw the baby, held high like a standard, so that his shadow passed over Petronus.

A wind of blood to cleanse; a blade of cold iron to prune.

He heard the cries of those who bore witness, he heard air bubbling through his wound, and above it all Petronus heard the Child of Promise raise up his voice and wail as if with great sorrow.

Then, the Last Son of P’Andro Whym smiled at his reckoning and embraced the light that reached for him.

Jin Li Tam

Jin Li Tam tore her eyes away from Petronus’s twitching form at the sound of her child’s cry. Her body and mind flooded with emotion as the weight of the day’s events finally broke her.

It had begun with the bird. Weeks late, a reply from Rae Li Tam had arrived before dawn, pushed into her fumbling hands by the captain of the watch. She’d read it by firelight and wept.

The note was brief, but she recognized the handwriting as her sister’s, and the triple-coded response was in the standard script of House Li Tam. There is no cure. I grieve with you, Sister.

Beyond those terse words, there’d been no further information and no word from Rudolfo, either, in weeks now. She’d kept the messages going out to him in the hopes that one would find him. None had-or if they had, he’d not responded.

She’d carried the note with her in her pocket and had spent the day crying in her tent when she wasn’t presiding over the kin-clave.

Still, she’d steeled herself for her duties, though the weight of that knowledge crushed her. Rae Li Tam was perhaps the best apothecary in the New World, and if she said there was no cure, Jin Li Tam believed her. Not even the promise of Sanctorum Lux could hold her despair at bay.

So she had hidden her sorrow and faced her day.

And now, the tent stank of blood and mud and ash as Petronus kicked his last on the canvas floor. Her son wailed-great sobs that made his tiny body convulse in the gnarled and filthy hands of Ezra the Marsh Prophet. In his short time with her, Jin Li Tam had never heard him cry so forlornly, and it went deeper than any scout knife.

The so-called Machtvolk Queen glanced at her and then knelt over Petronus, flipping him over. “Do not despair, Great Mother. Salvation is upon us all.”

Then, she opened the old man’s blood-soaked robe, baring his pale chest.

Jin Li Tam willed herself to struggle, but somewhere between her brain and her body, the message fell flat and she hung limply in the arms that held her.

The woman’s hand moved with confidence and precision, running the knife over Petronus’s chest. His glassy eyes stared upward, his arms spread cruciform.

When the mark of Y’Zir was complete, the woman looked up to Jakob. “Bring the child of promise to me,” she said. Then, from beneath her armor, she drew out an iron needle and a small glass phial on a silver chain.

Dipping the needle into Petronus’s blood, the woman unstopped the phial and slid the needle into it, depositing a single drop. She stopped it up and stood, approaching Jin Li Tam. Behind her, Ezra cradled her crying son.

“Your child is going to die,” she said, leaning close enough that Jin could smell the honey of her breath. “Ask me to save him and I will.” She replaced the needle and shook the phial in her fist.

Jin Li Tam swallowed. This was a darker mysticism than the Marshfolk had shown before, and some part of her mind reeled away from it. “You cannot save him. He is sick.” She felt panic growing within her.

She smiled. “Ask me to save him,” she said again, “and I will.”

Then, she turned and unstopped the phial she’d shaken. This near, Jin could see the black fluid that beaded in the bottom of the phial. “You cannot save him,” Jin said again.

Using the needle again, Winteria bat Mardic drew out a single drop from the phial. She shook the needle over Petronus, and the drop fell upon the wound in his neck. Jin Li Tam gasped at the smell of ozone that filled the room and felt the fine hair on her arms and neck lift up as the wound in Petronus’s neck began to knit itself together. His body began to drum upon the floor as his legs kicked and his hands pounded. The Machtvolk Queen sighed and stepped over him to avoid his flailing.

But even as he flailed, Jin Li Tam watched his eyes as they rolled in his head and watched the pallor of his skin flush with new blood. He sat up gasping, his eyes wild, still covered in his own blood, and reached trembling hands up to the ragged scar upon his throat, the careful mark upon his heart.

The woman turned to Jin Li Tam, holding up the phial. “Behold the grace and mercy of House Y’Zir,” she said, extending the phial toward her. Her eyes narrowed. “Ask me to save him and I will, Great Mother.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered to her. The eyes of the Named Lands were upon her and she did not know them. She saw only her son and the miracle now offered. All her life, she’d watched her father use his children to shape the world. She’d stood by the graves of many of them, expendable arrows shot with intent into the heart of the Named Lands. And though some part of her cried out against the abomination she now faced, a louder part clamored life for her son at any cost.

I am not my father’s daughter after all.

She felt the hands relax upon her, and she knew what must follow.

Do not look to the room, she told herself. She knew what she would see there. A mixture of wrath and fear and wonder. Instead, she forced herself to her knees before the Machtvolk Queen and took the woman’s feet in her hands.

“Save my son,” she said, weeping. “Please. If you can, save him.”

Nodding, the woman turned and dipped the needle once again, taking the last drop of that dark fluid upon it. While Ezra the Prophet cradled him close, the Machtvolk Queen shook the needle over his tiny mouth. The black bead fell upon his lower lip and Jakob, firstborn of Rudolfo, ceased his crying.

And when the Machtvolk Queen Winteria bat Mardic took him and passed him to his mother, Jin Li Tam already saw the gray fading from his face and hands, replaced by a healthy pink. His eyes, clear and wide and brown, were open and focused upon her and he smiled.

In that moment, she heard a voice cry out from the entrance to the tent and looked up to lock eyes with Rudolfo.

Weeping with joy and shame, she clutched her son to her breast and wondered what price she’d paid for this miracle.