The Heart Forger Page 3

  “Oh” was all I could say.

  “To be headstrong is not a flaw, Tea. Mykaela was quite impulsive when she was younger. We all were. Why do you ask this now?”

  “I was only wondering, Polaire.” Because there is an azi nesting in my brain. Did that mean I was taking in more of the Dark than I should? Would I be another bone witch casualty, another Illara?

  I almost told Polaire my secret. I wanted to tell her.

  But if I did, would they kill me too?

  Polaire shook her head, having read the sputtering strings of color lining my heartsglass and mistaking them for lesser worries. “There is nothing to concern yourself over.”

  “Is something wrong?” Prince Kance approached us, a quizzical look on his face.

  “It’s nothing, Your H—Kance,” I said, moving the conversation away from my morbid thoughts. “But what does this taxation have to do with me? I have no experience with drafting laws.”

  The prince blinked. “Oh. No. I asked you here for something else entirely. It’s about the aeshma. I intend to accompany you when you confront it.”

  “Absolutely not!” Kalen and I exclaimed at the same time.

  The prince was still smiling, but he had a determined tilt to his chin that I recognized from both his older brother and their cousin. “That’s not a request, I’m afraid. To be a ruler goes beyond lawmaking, and if there is a creature terrorizing my land, then I will not hide behind my throne like a coward. Does a departure at seven tomorrow morning sound good to you?”

  There was no other choice but to agree. For all Kance’s merits, stubbornness always did run in that family.

  “Surrender,” she called out. The walls were no barrier to the zarich’s claws. Stone and granite tumbled down like they were made of sand, and armed men were sent screaming. The akvan sang and battered at the gate walls with its massive tusks and trunk until, with a loud splinter, they disintegrated.

  “Surrender,” she called out. From above, the indar struck, raking its terrible claws into wood and masts until every catapult and weapon of war splayed before us was rendered useless. The aeshma hissed and curled itself into a ball, using its spikes as a battering ram to break through the last wall. The cries of the fleeing soldiers and the groans of the injured carried louder than the sounds of battle.

  “Surrender,” she called one last time, and the nanghait strode forward, its two faces in full view for all to see. The daeva stood proudly in the open, and no manner of sword or cannon or pitch could pierce its hide, until, finally, even the bravest of the soldiers were forced to retreat from the nightmare staring back at them.

  But it was the azi that posed the greatest threat. From the skies, it swept down and bathed the roofs in fire and ashes until the city writhed from within a great bonfire. The beast screamed its defiance into the clouds, heralding death to the people below. But even then, Lord Kalen was quick to act; he raised his hand and water poured from the heavens, quickly extinguishing the inferno before it could do more damage.

  I cowered behind the savul, the only one among his brethren ordered to remain for my sake. It rested placidly beside me. With the scales of a large lizard and bulging yellow eyes, the savul was reptilian in appearance, yet this twenty feet of monster ended in sharp talons. Whenever a stray arrow or fireball drew too close, it lifted a hideous limb to snatch it out of the air. The fire did little to singe it, and arrows caused it no harm.

  I clutched at the zivar the asha had given me; it prevented compulsion against my will but did not protect from physical harm. Without any other armor, I clung to it desperately, the way a drowning man clings to driftwood.

  In the space of an hour, every line of defense from the city of Santiang had been demolished. At Tea’s signal, the beasts lumbered on, stepping past the gates and into the now-deserted streets of Daanoris’s capital.

  “Make for the palace,” the asha said and then added with a touch of steel in her voice, “Harm no one else.”

  Quietly, I wept. I heard the wails of the injured, of those searching for loved ones. The bone witch had tried to stem the casualties, but…

  “I had no choice,” the asha said quietly, her face drawn and tired. She repeated the words a few seconds later, like a mantra.

  The Daanorian palace stood before us, the ivory gleam of its curved towers shining brighter as we approach. Soldiers still manned the palace walls, the tips of arrows quenched in fire pointed at us as we drew nearer. Beyond them, heavy catapults mired in pitch waited for the signal to burn.

  The asha stopped, her face suddenly wreathed in smiles.

  “So it is the hanjian,” she called out pleasantly, her voice carrying through the distance. “How nice to see you again.”

  From atop the highest wall, a man in gilded armor came into view. He called out to her in Daanorian in a shaking voice, but she responded with laughter. “You know as well as I that you understand the common tongue, hanjian. It was the language you spoke when you betrayed your emperor.”

  The man staggered back, his fear palpable. He turned toward his soldiers and issued a harsh command. At his shout, they released the fire-tipped arrows. At the same time, the catapults flung flames into the air.

  The savul faced them with imperturbability, shielding me from the incoming storm. The arrows did no damage, but the fiery boulders produced better results. The savul’s scaled hide caught fire, and the beast began to burn.

  Alarmed, I backed away, but the asha took hold of my arm before I could step out from the daeva’s shadow. “Do not be frightened, and do not move if you wish to survive.”

  “You called him a hanjian.” The Daanorian word for traitor.

  “There is only one punishment for traitors.” She seated herself beside the savul’s webbed talons, heedless of the growing heat. Already the fires on the daeva’s hide were dying out, leaving no wounds. “We shall wait until the bulk of their arrows are exhausted, their stores of pitch and rocks depleted. It is the only way to save those soldiers’ lives.” She glanced back up at the wall, where the man in bright armor had revealed himself. A strange, terrible eagerness came into her voice. “That man, on the other hand, is a different matter. Shall I continue the tale as we wait, Bard?”

  I stared at her in shock, but already she was calmly resuming her story, even as fire and fear were all around us.

  3

  There is no training adequate to prepare one for fighting daeva, and I speak as one who has faced them all. Of these beasts, the aeshma is easily the most intimidating. Its body is an armorer’s dream, with spikes and talons of everlasting sharpness. It was two dozen feet high but still fast on its feet, scampering from view long before the soldiers’ arrows could find their mark.

  I had protested the presence of the king’s army, of Prince Kance coming to watch me. A daeva raising is not a cherry blossom viewing. It is not a kingdom festival that requires royal approval. A daeva is a creature that makes no distinction between noble and common flesh, and even all the armies of the world in attendance—and they were—will not improve anyone’s chances of survival.

  “Hold your fire!” I barked at the royal soldiers. “Make no sudden moves, and leave the fighting to Fox!” Brave as they were to stand their ground, the soldiers’ swords and bows were as useless to the fight as silk ribbons and dresses.

  The aeshma bellowed, but Fox dodged its attack, his own sword meant to distract rather than deliver a killing blow. Over the course of a year, Fox had had as much experience baiting daeva as I had had in putting them down.

  The monster charged, and my brother vaulted over its massive head, the aeshma’s spikes missing him by inches. He landed, then swatted tauntingly at its nose. Even Fox was not above theatrics when there was an audience.

  Pain blistered, an ache ripening behind my ears, but I fought through the hurt. I braided the wind around me, and a binding rune shone. The aeshm
a froze in its tracks as tendrils of my magic covered its form.

  “Die,” I growled, and the creature fell, paralyzed. But it was not vanquished yet; it took strength to kill, and my headache was proving a hindrance.

  A collective sigh of relief rose from the army. Prince Kance, his eyes unnaturally bright and his movements strangely stilted, stepped closer.

  In my head, the shadows shifted. I had another vision of water and wings folded back behind me as I sped quickly through the depths of the sea…

  I forced the image out of my head, but in that short, broken moment of concentration, the creature had gathered itself for one last desperate lunge. Kalen was already moving, grabbing Prince Kance by his robes and dragging him back as Fox jumped to shield him. One of the aeshma’s spikes caught my brother squarely in the chest, sliding out through his back.

  “Die!” I shouted again, and the spell tore into the aeshma, straight to its heart. The hideous monster fell backward, dragging Fox along on top of it. Its stubby, furred legs kicked out involuntary before it shuddered and went still.

  “Fox!” I’d seen him with far worse injuries, but an impaled brother was a vision no sister could grow accustomed to.

  From atop the unmoving beast, Fox rose to his feet, still skewered. With a faint grimace, he set his boot against the creature’s ridged hide and ripped himself free with a wet tearing sound.

  Around us, people retched. Prince Kance shook, averting his gaze, and Kalen was grim, his glare accusatory.

  “I’m fine,” Fox said. “A little heartache never killed anyone.”

  “You’re a moron,” I said, breathing easier now that I could see he was OK, and drove my knife deep into the fallen aeshma, ignoring the stench of entrails and blood as I probed deeper until I heard the telltale click of my blade against something stronger than bone.

  I plunged my hand in and pulled out the violet-hued bezoar. The aeshma’s corpse immediately crumbled to dust. All that was left of it was the gem that gleamed brightly in my hand. It is odd, I thought, how something so beautiful can come out of something so grotesque.

  • • •

  Back in the palace, Prince Kance trembled. He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know what came over me, Lady Tea. I was foolish enough to think it was safe. I didn’t know how close I was until you shouted.”

  “A daeva killing is not something you see every day, Your Highness,” Fox pointed out. “In all the excitement, it’s easy to act impulsively.”

  The prince smiled weakly. “I wouldn’t have called getting stabbed by a two-foot spike ‘excitement,’ Fox.”

  “If the Dark asha had put the aeshma down completely the first time,” came the frosty rejoinder from the palace window, where Kalen had taken up residence, “then additional ‘excitement’ might have been avoided.”

  “Perhaps if the prince’s bodyguard had been more vigilant,” I snapped back, “I might not have been so distracted.”

  Kalen opened his mouth again, but Prince Kance beat him to it. “It’s nobody’s fault but my own, Kalen. I was careless, and if it wasn’t for your presence of mind, I might have met a disastrous end. In my haste to learn more about how asha do their work, I was careless.”

  “I could have told you that in the safety of the castle, Your Highness,” I said, and Kalen made a small sputtering noise, and in my mind, Fox snickered. “Wh-what I meant was there was no need for you to view the daeva yourself!”

  “For far too long, I have been sheltered from the realities of my own kingdom, Tea. I cannot rely on books and advisors to tell me how to rule. How can I govern wisely if I have none of my own experiences to fall back on?”

  “The common people don’t exactly experience Daeva on a daily basis, Your Highness.”

  “But you do as a Dark asha, don’t you? Lady Mykaela is still convalescing, so that responsibility falls to you. I wanted to see you in action, to help me understand how I might lighten your burden. Instead, it seems I have only added to it.”

  I could feel my ears turning red and prayed that my cheeks did not follow suit. “Any burden you give will be light enough to carry. Your Highness’s safety is most important.”

  “I cannot be protected from all dangers, Tea. But I shall strive to be more careful next time.”

  “Next time?” I echoed as Kalen exploded with, “There’ll be no next time, Kance!”

  “You cannot tell me what to do anymore, Kalen,” the prince said. “I must know what lies beyond my borders and within them. In fact, I had hoped that I could accompany you when you return to Kion.”

  “Really?” My mood brightened almost immediately. Kalen’s glower spoke volumes.

  “I believe we can make it in time for the upcoming darashi oyun. I hear that Zoya and Shadi are dancing the lead roles again this year. Are you leaving for Ankyo after Lady Mykaela’s Heartsrune ceremony?”

  “A week or so after, Your Highness.”

  “Khalad shall be attending too. I offered him a room at the palace, but Father thought it best for him to take up lodgings at the Kingshead instead.”

  A shadow crossed Prince Kance’s face, and I knew why. Khalad had long since embraced his apprenticeship to the old Heartforger, but Prince Kance had never gotten over the guilt of inheriting the throne in his place.

  “The old forger probably insisted,” Fox remarked. “He’s not a fan of the king or most nobles in Odalia.”

  “I think it’s more than that. Khalad and Father had never been on the best of terms.”

  “No, we haven’t,” King Telemaine agreed, entering the room. As always, I had to tilt my head to look at him; he was tall, but he would have been a towering presence even without his extraordinary height. “For the longest time, he blamed the asha and me for your mother’s death, though time with the forger has tempered his anger. But son or not, to welcome a Heartforger under our roof foments more distrust and suspicion. That Mykaela already resides here has not set well with many.”

  “He’s my brother, and it is a ridiculous superstition.”

  “I had not wished a silver heartsglass on Khalad, Kance, but even kings must follow custom. Even if I would have wanted otherwise. Lady Tea, Sir Fox, you have my thanks once again.”

  My hands disappeared, engulfed within the king’s. Gratitude shone through his heartsglass, and I was embarrassed. “It’s nothing, Your Majesty.”

  “‘It’s nothing,’ she says. Saving my son and putting down the terrible beast plaguing my kingdom is everything to me, Lady Tea, and I vow to do everything in my power to repay you for your service.” He paused, unusually hesitant. “Is—is Khalad doing well?”

  “He is. He does a lot of good work, Your Majesty, and he takes pride in it.”

  “Good, good. If only…” The king sighed, his eyes distant.

  Bezoars found within kingdoms were customarily entrusted to their rulers, but I couldn’t move my hands to gift the gem. Fox solved my dilemma by fishing it out of my pocket and handing it over.

  King Telemaine shook his head in wonder, staring down at the purple stone. “So many wars won and fought over such a small stone. Lady Tea, Sir Fox, please excuse us. There are certain matters Kance and I need to finalize before his birthday celebration.”

  “I told you that we have no need for such lavishness, Father.”

  “You are my son and my heir. How is that not reason for lavishness?” The king’s laugh boomed. “Kalen, I shall need your advice as well.”

  Prince Kance bowed to us and followed his father out of the room, Kalen half a step behind.

  “Are you all right, Tea?” Fox asked.

  “I think my fingers are dead.”

  Fox’s tone shifted to one of concern. “Are you in pain? Did the aeshma hurt you?”

  Familiar or not, I wished Fox couldn’t decipher my moods so easily. “It’s nothing, just another headache.”
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  “You’ve been having a lot of those recently.”

  “I’m tired. I didn’t get to sleep much last night.” That was true enough. “I’ll rest once we visit Khalad. I want to ask him about his progress on Mykaela’s new heartsglass.”

  “If he’d made further headway, he would have contacted us.”

  “Well”—I cleared my throat—“I was also thinking about getting Prince Kance something for his birthday, and I have an idea I wanted to run by Khalad.”

  For someone who no longer needed breath, my brother’s sigh was loud and exasperated. “Tea.”

  “It’s only a gift! I can go without you if you’ve got other things to do.”

  “Oh, I’ll come with. But mark my words, little sister. Getting your hopes up will bring you nothing but misery.”

  Looking back, I suppose I should have wondered why he seemed so bitter, like personal experiences had inspired the remark more than sound advice.

  • • •

  “It won’t need much,” Khalad said. “A few happy thoughts and nostalgia. This is the easiest glass I’ve been asked to make in years. Did you kill the aeshma?” He paused. “Did you give the bezoar to Fa…the king?”

  The Heartforger apprentice’s room at the Kingshead was filled to overflowing with books, papers, strangely shaped glass containers, and bottles upon bottles of flickering lights and hues. I wondered how much the innkeeper had been charging Khalad to keep them all stored here. “I did.”

  “Did he say what he planned to do with it?”

  “He didn’t say. He asked about you though.”

  A frown marred Khalad’s face. “I don’t care. Fox, I’m going to extract a happy memory from Tea, so you might feel some tugging on your end.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Khalad, how long has it been since you’ve talked to your father?” I asked.