First Lord's Fury

CHAPTER 27

Travel with the vord Queen was, Isana felt, an extremely unsettling experience—not so much because of the alien nature of the environment as because of all the small, familiar things that appeared, here and there.

Enough of the enslaved Knights Aeris had survived the Battle of Riva to lift a wind coach, though there were precious few others. Each evening, when dark lay on the land, Isana would accompany the vord Queen to the wind coach. She would emerge directly from the Queen’s hivelike lair to climb aboard the coach. The coach would soar up into the sky, just as every other coach she had ridden in. After a time, it would descend again, depositing them at the entrance to another hive.

The Queen would lead Isana back down into the new hive. Dozens of wax spiders would cooperate to carry Araris, still virtually entombed in a coffin-sized slab of croach, down to the new hive, where they would seal him to the wall as before.

Once that was finished, they sat down at a table (one always waited to receive them) to take a meal together. Genuine candles would light the table, though the eerie glow of the croach was more than enough light to see by. The food was… Isana wasn’t sure she could justly call it a form of torture, any more than she could have ascribed malevolence to Tavi’s disastrous first effort at cooking griddle cakes when he was a child. But whether ignorance or malice was to blame, the food twisted unpleasantly in her stomach. Eating sliced sections of the croach inexpertly prepared in the imitation of one dish or another was an experience Isana could have done without.

Several days after the Battle of Riva, Isana descended into the evening’s hive and watched the spiders settling Araris into the croach.

“I have a surprise for you,” the vord Queen said.

Isana had to keep herself from flinching. She hadn’t realized the Queen was standing at her elbow. “Oh,” she said, her tone neutral. “A surprise?”

“I have given consideration to your reasons for desiring properly prepared implements for the dinner ritual.”

“Clean dishes,” Isana said. “A clean tablecloth? Clean cutlery?”

“Your species is young and weak,” the vord Queen said. “Disease is no enemy of the vord. We have lived longer than most diseases. We have survived them. The hygienic concerns of the dinner ritual are unnecessary.”

“And yet,” Isana said, “if you do not follow them, you are not doing it properly.”

“Just so,” the vord Queen said. “There are… intangible factors at work here. Things that make your kind difficult to predict.” The petulant tone of a sulking child entered the Queen’s voice. “Their backs should have been broken at Riva. But they fought more tenaciously than at any time in my observation.”

“And they will only grow more determined,” Isana said. “Not less.”

“That is irrational,” the Queen said.

“But true.”

The Queen stared at Isana sullenly. “I will permit you to observe the proper forms of the dinner ritual. Water will be brought to you in containers. You may use salt and water to clean the implements. You have one hour. Prepare three places.”

She turned abruptly and stalked over to the croach-lined dome she used to command her creations.

The wax spiders began carrying in silverware, plates, and cups. Isana felt sure that basins of water and salt would not be far behind.

She sighed and rolled up her sleeves, wondering as she did how many First Ladies of Alera had found themselves playing scullion to an invading enemy.

It was slightly more than an hour later when, for the first time since the Battle of Riva, they were joined at the meal by Lady Invidia.

Isana stared at the other woman in shock. Invidia had been burned. Horribly. Though portions of her face and neck showed the fresh pink skin indicative of flesh that had been watercrafted whole, they only served to create a contrast against the thick scarring of flesh burned beyond the ability of any healer to make whole. Invidia had been considered one of the great beauties of Alera. One could still see the faint echoes of that beauty, but they only made the melted-wax scarring of her features that much more horrible. One of her eyes drooped at the outer corner, as if the flesh had melted and run down a bit before hardening again. Her lips were twisted into a permanent sneer. Her hair was all but gone, replaced by burn-scarred skin and a close-shaved stubble. The creature on her chest showed similar scars, but it still pulsated and stirred from time to time.

“Good evening, Isana,” Invidia said. The words were slurred very slightly, as if she’d had a little too much wine. “Always a pleasure to see you.”

“Great furies,” Isana breathed. “Invidia… What happened?”

The former High Lady’s eyes flickered with something satisfied and ugly. “A divorce.”

Isana shivered.

Invidia picked up her spoon and examined it thoughtfully. She did the same with her plate. She looked at Isana and arched an eyebrow before looking at the Queen. “I take it she convinced you to see reason?”

“I decided to experiment,” the Queen replied, “on the theory that by doing so, I might gain additional insight into Alerans.”

Invidia’s eyes went back to Isana, and her lips peeled back from her teeth. “I see. Though there seems little point for you in continuing the exercise. Din- nertimes are about to become a matter of historical record. Along with plates and silverware.”

“Part of my duty to my kind is to learn from and absorb the strengths of those beings we displace,” the Queen replied. “The emotional bonding between homogenous bloodlines seems to be the foundation of a wider sense of bonding among the species. Study is warranted.”

Isana felt a sudden stirring of emotion from the Queen as she spoke—a brief spike of sadness and remorse, as slender and cold as a frost-covered needle. Isana did not look up at Invidia, but in her watercrafting senses, the simmering cauldron of pain, fear, and hate that comprised Invidia’s presence did not change.

The former High Lady had not sensed the instant of vulnerability in the vord Queen.

The burns, the injuries, the trauma of suffering so much pain, had doubtless left her weakened, of furycraft, of body, and, most importantly, of mind. Now was the time to pressure her, to see what information she might give away, what weaknesses she might reveal.

From somewhere outside the hive, there was a high, ululating shriek or whistle. The Queen’s head snapped around toward the entrance—turning an unsettling half circle to do so—and she rose from the table at once to stalk over to the glowing dome.

Isana watched her go and toyed with her food. She was starving, but this particular dish—intended to be some sort of marinade and roast combination, perhaps?—tasted singularly vile.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” Invidia said. She cut herself a small bite, impaled it on a fork, and ate it daintily. “On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most revolting and one being almost edible, I believe that rating this recipe would require the use of exponents.”

Isana ate the largest bite she thought she could stand. It was not large. She chased it down to her stomach with several swallows of water. There was no point in starting an attack too soon. Even in her diminished state, Invidia would surely notice anything truly overt. “I suppose food does not absolutely need to taste good in order to keep one alive.”

“But to keep one from committing suicide, it does need to taste better than this,” Invidia said. She fixed her eyes on Isana and smiled. It was a grotesque expression. “Why, First Lady. What do you see that disturbs you so?”

Isana cut another bite from the rectangular brick of roasted croach. She ate it very slowly. “I’m sorry to see you so harmed, Invidia.”

“Of course you are,” she said, her voice dripping acid. “After all we’ve done for one another, of course you feel sympathy for me.”

“I think you should hang from the neck until dead for what you’ve done, Invidia,” Isana replied gently. “But that isn’t the same thing as seeing you in such pain. I don’t like to see anyone suffer. That includes you.”

“Everyone wants someone to suffer, Isana,” the former High Lady replied. “It’s simply a matter of finding a target and an excuse.”

“Do you really believe that?” she asked quietly.

“That is the truth of the world,” Invidia said harshly. “We are selfless when it suits our purposes, or when it is easy, or when the alternative would be worse. But no one truly wishes to be selfless. They simply desire the acclaim and goodwill that comes from being thought so.”

“No, Invidia,” she said quietly, firmly. “Not everyone is like that.”

“They are,” Invidia said, her voice shaking with unsteady intensity. “You are. Under the lies you tell yourself, part of you hates me. Part of you would love to pluck out my eyes while I screamed.”

“I don’t hate a serpent for being a serpent,” Isana said. “But neither will I permit it to harm me or those I care about. I will kill it if I must, as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

“And that’s what I am to you?” Invidia asked. “A serpent?”

“That’s what you were,” Isana said quietly.

Invidia’s eyes shone with a feverish intensity. “And now?”

“Now, I think you might be a mad dog,” Isana said quietly. “I pity such a poor creature’s suffering. But it changes nothing about what I must do.”

Invidia dropped her head back and laughed. “What you must do?” she asked. She put her fingertip on the table, still smiling, and smoke began rising in a thin, curling thread. “Exactly what do you think you could possibly do to me?”

“Destroy you,” Isana said quietly. “I don’t want to do it. But I can. And I will.”

“If you go shopping for a hat, darling, be sure to get one several sizes larger than the one it’s replacing.” She glared at Isana. “So you were the choice of the flawless Princeps Septimus, over every woman in the Realm actually qualified to be his wife. So your child by him was recognized by Gaius. It means nothing, Isana. Don’t think for an instant that your strength can compare to mine.”

“Oh,” Isana said, “I’m quite sure it doesn’t. It doesn’t need to.” She stared at Invidia for a quiet moment, her expression calm, then she picked up her knife and fork again. “When have you gone too far, Invidia? At what point do the lives your new allies take begin to outweigh your own?”

The expression drained out of the former High Lady’s scarred face.

“When does your own life become something you don’t want to live anymore?” Isana said in that same quiet, gentle voice. “Can you imagine another year of living this way? Five years? Thirty years? Do you want to live that life, Invidia?”

She folded her hands in her lap and stared at Isana, her scarred face bleak and expressionless.

“You could change things,” Isana said quietly. “You could choose another path. Even now, you could choose another path.”

Invidia stared at her, not moving—but the creature on her chest pulsed horribly, its legs stirring. She closed her eyes, stiffening in pain, which Isana could all but feel lance through her own body. She remained that way for a long moment, then opened her eyes again.

“All I can choose is death.” She gestured bleakly to the creature that still grasped her. “Without this, I would die within hours. And if I do not obey her, she will take it from me.”

“It isn’t a very good choice,” Isana said. “But it is a choice, Invidia.”

That rictus of a smile returned. “I will not willingly end my own life.”

“Even if it costs others theirs?”

“Have you never killed to protect your life, Isana?”

“That isn’t the same.”

Invidia arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

“Not at all.”

“I am what the Realm and my father and my husband have made me, Isana. And I will not simply lie down and die.”

“Ah,” Isana said quietly. “Quite.”

“Meaning what, precisely?”

“Meaning,” Isana said, “that whether you realize it or not, you’ve already made your choice. Probably quite some time ago.”

Invidia stared at her. Her lips quivered once, as if she would speak, but she withdrew into a shell of silence again. Then she took up her fork with a deliberate movement, cut another bite of the hideous croach concoction, and ate it with measured, steady motions.

Now, while she was retreating from the conversation. It was time to push. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Invidia. I’m sorry that it came to this for you. You have so much power, so much talent, so much ability. You could have done great things for Alera. I’m sorry that it went to waste.”

Invidia’s gaze turned cold. “Who are you?” she asked quietly. “Who are you to say such things to me? You’re no one. You’re nothing. You’re a camp whore who happened to be favored by a man. The fool. He could have had his choice of any woman of Alera.”

“As I understand it,” Isana said, “he did.” She let the simple statement hang silent in the air for a moment. Then she took a breath, and said, “If you will excuse me.” Isana rose from the table and turned as though to walk as far away from Invidia as the chamber would allow. But she listened as she walked. There was no chance whatsoever that Invidia would allow her to have the last word on the matter of Septimus.

“Yes. He chose you.” Invidia bared her teeth. “And see what it earned him.”

Isana stopped in her tracks. She felt as if someone had struck her a hard blow in the belly.

“The contracts were drawn. Sextus was agreed. Everything had been arranged. After he’d shown his power at Seven Hills, it would have been the perfect time for him to take a wife. A wife of breeding, of power, of skill, of education. But he chose… you.”

Isana felt her hands clench into fists.

“Septimus was a fool. He imagined that those he bested would react with the same grace he thought he possessed. Oh, he never went forth to humiliate anyone, but it always seemed to work out that way. In school. In games. In those ridiculous duels the boys used to find excuses to engage in. Little things he didn’t bother to remember would fester in others.”

Isana turned, very slowly, to face Invidia.

The former High Lady stood with her chin lifted, her eyes bright, the un-marred portions of her face flushed and rosy. “It was easy. Rhodus. Kalarus. It barely took a whisper to put the idea in their minds.”

“You,” Isana said quietly.

Invidia’s eyes flashed. “And why not me? The House of Gaius has earned its hatreds over the centuries. Sooner or later, someone would break it to pieces. Why not me?”

Isana faced Invidia and stood perfectly still for a long moment, looking at the other woman’s eyes. Isana smoothed her worn dress down carefully, considering her words and the thoughts behind them, and the burning fires of her own grief and loss that colored all of her mind the color of blood.

Then she drew in a deep breath, and said, “For my husband’s memory, for my child’s future, for those whose blood is upon your hands, I defy you. I name you Nihilus Invidia, Invidia of Nusquam, traitor to the Crown, the Realm, and her people.” She drew herself up straight and spoke in a hard tone barely louder than a whisper. “And before I leave this place, I will kill you.”

Invidia lifted her chin, her lips quivering. A little hiccuping laugh drifted around in her throat. She shook her head, and said, “This world is not for such as you, Isana. Wait a few more days. You’ll see.”