Shadowblood

Chapter Eleven

Set atop high cliffs, the Palace was as much a fortress as a royal residence, and as much a religious centre as either. Guards in Imperial purple stood sentry at gates warded by ancient portcullises and even more ancient spells. Tamara passed over pits spanned by bridges as she made her way in, her papers scrutinised at every watchpoint, even though they were signed by the Prime Minister himself.

Security was even tighter than it had been before she had left. Kathea’s death had upset the Empress, understandably, given the nature of her own mother’s demise. Tamara suspected her father’s hand in that, from hints he had dropped, and she wondered just how complicit the old Empress’s daughter had been. Amarielle’s death had certainly come at a good time for Arachne. She had been out of favour and her mother had been about to announce her sister Arielle as heir. Perhaps her suspicious nature was a reflection of some guilt.

Tamara smiled, wondering if the Empress were capable of such feelings. If the human serfs thought her a goddess, she more than matched their opinion of herself. Her self-centredness was awesome even for a Terrarch.

Don’t be so sour, Tamara told herself. Just because the Empress has not invited you to tea since your father’s departure from high office.

There had been a time when Tamara was something of a favourite with the Empress and her courtiers, but at the time her father had been Prime Minister, so everyone courted his favour in any way they could. Things had been chillier since Malkior’s fall from grace, and perhaps the lack of an Imperial invitation reflected just how deep she was in disfavour herself.

A chamberlain waited for her at the last guard station, warned by whatever discreet system of surveillance was in place. She could just picture messengers scurrying ahead as she was kept waiting at each checkpoint, bearing news of her arrival to Xephan. Then again, perhaps the Terrarch had simply been waiting for her to appear. She had arrived on time for her appointment. Under the circumstances a lack of punctuality would have served no purpose.

The chamberlain bowed to her as she came up. She recognised Ryzarde, a friend of her school days, whom she remembered as something of a sensitive child. There was nothing sensitive about him now though. There was a smirk on his face, the look of one secure in his position dealing with someone not at all secure in their’s.

“Dear, dear Tamara,” he said. “Such a pleasure to see you again. How is your father?”

“I do not know. It has been some time since I have seen him,” she said.

“I trust his…diplomacy… is going well.” Ryzarde was a member of the same cult as her father and Xephan. He knew what Malkior had been trying to do. “A terrible scandal about poor Jaderac, is it not?”

“I do not think this is the time or place to discuss that,” said Tamara.

“Quite. Quite. Your discretion is an example for us all.”

“Gossip is the curse of the Terrarchy.”

“True but it is also our main amusement. For the sake of your delicate sensibilities I will try and limit myself to neutral topics of conversation as we stroll arm in arm through the Palace.”

Gallantly he offered her his arm. Tamara did not take it. Instead she fell in beside him and increased her pace slightly. She knew that Xephan had taken her father’s old ministerial office and she knew where it was. She did not need a guide and Ryzarde needed to be reminded of that.

He talked as they walked, filling her in on the latest Court gossip; which of their old friends were having affairs, who had fought a duel over a human whore, which tailors were fashionable and which simply were not talked about. It was the standard stuff of courtier’s conversation and she was grateful for it. At least he had not quoted any of his execrable poetry to her. Without any further embarrassing incidents she was delivered to the outer chambers of her father’s one time office.

It came as a surprise to her how crowded with petitioners they were. A number of older Terrarch matrons were there, doubtless come to use their influence on behalf of their sons, to seek the Prime Minister’s aid in finding them a place in a fashionable regiment, or under a famous commander. All of them glared at her as she entered, sensing a potential rival. She smiled sweetly back at them and composed herself to wait. She was quite surprised when Xephan’s secretary stepped from the chamber and called her name.

Now some of the matrons smiled back at her. After all, she might have some power herself, or be a personage of some importance to the Prime Minister, a lover or a mistress perhaps. She nodded to one or two of them in a friendly fashion just to encourage their hopes and illusions, and then she stepped into the office and was face to face with the most powerful male Terrarch in the Empire.

“Tamara,” Xephan said. “It is a pleasure to see you.”

“And it is a pleasure to look upon you as well,” she replied, quite honestly. There was no denying that he was worth looking at. He was a Terrarch of quite astonishing beauty, his hair long and dark and glossy, his features sharp and masculine. Tamara could appreciate his looks with an unbiased eye. She preferred a somewhat rougher type herself but she could certainly see what the Empress was said to see in him. His good looks made up for the comparative poverty of his House, and the rustic upbringing he had spent the past century distancing himself from.

He strode across to the door and made sure it was closed, then returned to his desk and uncovered the warding globe there. A few passes and an incantation and it glowed brilliantly, letting them know they could not be overheard by sorcery.

“Your father was indiscreet,” he said, and she was surprised by the amount of anger in his voice. “The Empress is very unhappy. Killing Kathea has upset her greatly. I do not need to remind you, surely, of how any reminder of Royal mortality does that to her.”

“How do you know my father was behind the killing?”

“I have my agents. They saw his body by the way. Asea had him killed and dissected. Our Lady of the West is quite the anatomist.”

So Xephan knew about her father’s death. A stony feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. It was confirmation, if she needed it, of what Rik had said.

“Are you sure your agents are reliable?”

“Indeed I am, sweet Tamara. I had one of them recover his head from where they buried it. Would you like to see it? I have it kept in preservative fluid to remind me of the cost of failure.”

It was all she could do to keep her jaw from dropping. She would not have believed it was possible to get from Halim any faster than she had, and yet, if he was to be believed, Xephan has managed to have her father’s head shipped here. His reach had grown very long indeed.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said calmly.

“Your father’s incompetence, and his protege Jaderac’s, has brought us all to the attention of the Inquisition. Joran is in Halim, making inquiries. There are matters afoot that the Brotherhood did not want brought to their attention for as long as possible.” There had been a time, not so long ago as Terrarchs measured time, when Xephan had been her father’s protege too. He seemed quite determined to forget that.

“Your spies have been busy,” she said, letting a note of amusement show in her voice.

“I am the Empress’s first minister. It is my duty to know that such things are going on. It is your duty to let me know.” She studied him closely.

There was something different about the way he talked to her, about his whole manner. He was more assured, more confident. It was as if he had stepped out of the shadow of her father and become wholly his own person. And there was something else, something she could not quite put her finger on, a subtle difference in the way he carried himself. He was more poised and graceful, seemed to have achieved the control of a dancer or a master swordsman.

“Are you talking about my duty to the Empress or to the Brotherhood?”

“Both.”

“So you speak for the Brotherhood as well as Arachne now?”

“The Council met when news of what had happened to your father reached us. It was decided that I would lead.”

“I should have been there.”

“Alas, you were not here, but do not worry, the meeting was quorate.”

“It’s nice to know that you still consider yourself bound by the same petty rules as others.”

“Do not be foolish, Tamara. We both know the Council’s decision merely reflects the realities of power. They support me because I am the best Terrarch for the job and because I have the most power.”

“And if I disagree?”

“Then you disagree, but your father is dead, killed by some half-breed apprentice, and I do not think you wish to set yourself against the Council.”

In this he was right. The Council contained some of the most potent sorcerers in the Brotherhood as well as some of its richest and most influential members. She felt a growing sense of resentment. Xephan was taking too much for granted, and so were the others. Her father had founded the Brotherhood, and she was his heir. She should at least be consulted. Xephan took her by the arm, gently, as if seeking to mollify her. His grip was surprisingly strong.

“Do not worry,” he said. “Your father did a most excellent job until his regrettable madness set in. We will see that his work is completed and the Enlightened Ones come to rule here.”

There was a total and frightening assurance in his voice, and for a moment, it seemed to her as if something else looked out at her from behind his eyes, something ancient and wicked and not entirely mortal. She was reminded of Rik and what had happened to him, but whatever was in Xephan was both more Terrarch and less innocent than the half-breed youth had been.

“How can you be so certain?” she asked, to see if she could goad him into speaking.

“Because I am their messenger. I have looked into the Black Mirror and seen what lies beyond.”

So that was what had happened, she thought. The Mirror had been centuries in the making, and now they had finally found the courage to use it. Had her father known about this, she wondered? And if so why had he not told her? The Black Mirror was the Brotherhood’s greatest artefact, a device intended to allow communication with Al’Terra.

“That was my father’s role.”

“Your father lacked the purity of spirit. His hungers soiled him and made it impossible for him to look into the depths.”

“So you claim.”

“So I know. Believe me, I now know more about these things than anyone in this world. More even than the likes of Lady Asea or Ilmarec or the other so-called sorcerers of the First.”

There was a fearsome pride in his voice, and a resentment that she understood all too well. They had both stood in the long shadows cast by the First. For someone as ambitious as Xephan that must have been a hard thing to bear.

“I have become greater than your father, greater than the Scarlet sorceress, and soon you shall see proof of it.”

His fingers bit into her arm painfully now, and the malevolent thing behind his eyes looked at her with something like hunger. She began to feel a little bit afraid.

“And you too will have a place in the new order of things, do not worry, Tamara. Your place among us is assured.”

“I am glad to hear it,” she said. “You have taken so much else for granted.”

“The Brotherhood values you very highly,” he said. “Just how highly you shall soon find out.”

“You have a mission for me, I take it.”

“Soon. Soon. Sweet Tamara. After you have renewed your vows of service.”

“To you?”

“To the Brotherhood. We have introduced a new oath and it must be sanctified in the sight of the Enlightened Ones.” Tamara thought she understood where this was going, and she did not like it in the slightest.

“You mean I must look into the Mirror.”

“You grasp the essence of matters so quickly.”

“And what will that do to me?”

“It will give you power beyond your wildest dreams.”

“As it has done for you?”

“Yes.”

“And what else has it done to you, Xephan?”

“What do you mean?”

“I fear you are no longer quite yourself.”

“I do not follow you?” It came to her suddenly, with a certainty that brooked no doubting. The sudden shock of the knowledge made her indiscreet.

“You are something else. Or something shares your body? I fear you are possessed, Xephan. I have seen others like you.”

“There are no others like me.” Anger and fear made her voice harsh.

“I think there are. Someone like you killed my father.”

“I can assure you I had nothing to do with that, Tamara.”

“But it does not sadden you that he is dead.”

“I would be lying if I claimed that was so. His time had passed. A new generation must take their place in the fore. It is our turn to shape the world.”

She could see that he believed that utterly, and he seemed perfectly sincere in offering her a place alongside him. She was no longer sure that she wanted to be there though, if it meant becoming like him, or the thing that was in him. She did not want to become like him or her father or Rik. She wanted to remain herself. She schooled her features to blandness, and smiled at him, not wanting him to know what was on her mind.

“Yes,” she said. “You are right. It is long past time.”

“Then you will come to my apartments tonight and we shall go into the Labyrinth below. The coven meets. You will be initiated into a new and greater mystery.”

His touch made her flesh crawl. She made her smile warmer. “I look forward to it,” she said.

“Then until this evening, sweet Tamara, I bid you adieu.”

She walked back into the outer chamber with a measured tread, feeling as if she were stepping between worlds. Out here everything looked normal. Back in the Prime Minister’s chambers insanity waited. She kept her smile fixed on her face as she departed, wondering what she was going to do now.