The Heart Forger Read online

  The next page showed a rune of two intertwined hearts. The Heartshare rune, it said, bolstered a fading heartsglass with a second healthier one to delay death until medical attention is administered. It could even control one’s mind to an extent, but where the Compulsion rune used force, Heartshare used trust and claimed much better results. It also seemed to be the only spell in the book that asha and Deathseekers alike could use.

  It was probably not a rune the Faceless preferred, given their mutual distrust. When the azi had attacked the darashi oyun years ago, asha and Deathseekers withstood their attack by linking runes together. When I had confronted Aenah at the Valerian, Mykaela, Polaire, and Altaecia had lent me their strength in much the same way, similar to how I could take strength from the azi to add to my own. But sharing heartsglass appeared to be a much more intimate spell than even that.

  I turned the page. The Illusion rune was a series of whorls and loops. Rather than cast the image into one’s mind as most other runes would, this one cast the illusion around the target, to disguise it instead, a deception of sight rather than of mind. When done right, it was capable of hiding structures, people, even thoughts.

  Another rune dealt with controlling multiple living minds at the same time. The Dominion rune is a constant battle, I read, of pitting one’s will against many others. Use at your own peril. It sounded like almost every rune in the book should be used at one’s own peril.

  Next was a rune patterned after a chokehold of vines or perhaps a nest of intertwined snakes. The Strangle rune targets the seeking stones of your enemy. Weave and direct the flow into its center to disperse its source.

  There were no runes on the next page but a sketch of a silver heartsglass.

  To you, seeking Blade that Soars’s path: take that which came from Five Great Heroes long past and distill into a heart of silver to shine anew.

  I turned to the last page and found a sketch of another heartsglass, this one as dark as the first was bright.

  To you, seeking Hollow Knife’s path: present yourself with a heartsglass of black, where love’s blood has been shed and seven daeva’s bezoars. Boil the stones separately, and drink a vial’s worth of their waters. Weave Compulsion in the air; its heart shall reveal itself to you. Take it into your heartsglass.

  The process is not gentle.

  Each daeva increases the darkrot. The sacrifice is great, but the rewards are priceless. The unity of seven into darksglass and five into lightsglass is the key. Merge both with the First Harvest to achieve shadowglass and rise as the Great Prince once did, to rule as you see fit.

  I couldn’t see how Aenah and the other Faceless would be willing to give up so much for immortality if they might die in the attempt anyway. Take five into lightsglass? Boil bezoars? First Harvest? It read more like a recipe for those suspicious “cure-alls” sold in the shadier parts of Ankyo. And yet…

  None of the spells talked about severing links with azi either, and with the unexpected relief came guilt.

  I browsed through the rest of the book and discovered some pages were torn out. Aenah might claim to help me, but it was apparent some spells weren’t meant for my eyes.

  I turned back to the Scrying spell. My promise to Fox held; I had only sworn not to use spells I had not yet tried.

  Faint flickers of thought surrounded me, an unexpected smorgasbord of stray minds. I soon realized just how complex the rune was; without a specific target, its magic harnessed all nearby thoughts for sampling. Aenah had not needed to know of Garveth the guard to have access to him.

  I followed the path back to Fox and found him at the training grounds, attacking one of several straw dummies in the field. His mind felt warm and familiar—a calm clear pool that suggested more depth than it presented.

  He was quicker, stronger than I remembered. His body spun and whipped about in ways my clumsier form could never perfect, and his sword blurred, crackling like lightning as he scored decisive blows until he struck his straw opponent’s head off its shoulders with one final stroke of the blade.

  Not bad, I heard him think, but still not enough.

  Cheers rose from the onlookers at the sidelines, and I watched embarrassment march through my brother’s thoughts.

  “Three dummies in a week. Ten minutes in your care and they are demolished, when they would have lasted months with others. Your blows are deadly, Sir Fox.” Commander Lode of the Odalian army came into my view, smiling.

  I am still not strong enough to protect Tea, my brother thought but only said, “I do so under your excellent tutelage, milord.”

  “Modesty is well and good, but acknowledging improvements to one’s skills is as necessary as acknowledging improvements to one’s character.” The man clapped him on his back. “Though I must admit, you’re faster and stronger now than when you were on patrol. We will find that damned daeva and get revenge, Fox.”

  “Looking forward to it, Commander.”

  “Good work. You’d be a match for even Lord Kalen, and that’s saying something.”

  The men feared Fox, his ability to withstand injuries that would kill others, when we had first arrived. Many were old comrades he’d known before the savul killed him. But Prince Kance told me how the soldiers of the Odalian army were the best in the world, that skill and courage were lauded above all else, and that Fox would be welcomed despite his ties to bone witches.

  Thinking about Prince Kance sent a lump to my throat. I closed my eyes, willing away my own emotions before I alerted Fox to my presence.

  As the commander moved on, I caught a sudden flash of gold and a whisper of silk. A veiled girl stood half-hidden behind a pillar, staring at me. Our gazes met.

  In the next instant, she was gone, darting through an open door leading back to the palace. Within Fox’s mind rose memories of lavender and perfume.

  “Is this for me?” She held up a simple silver pin, a silhouette of a fox dotted with small crystals.

  “I’m sorry. It’s not much.” The tiniest of the turquoise gems in her hair had probably cost twenty times more than the trinket. A soldier’s paycheck did not offer many options.

  The princess of Kion laughed and hugged it to her chest. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll wear this forever.”

  Fox blinked and looked up into the sky. “Tea?”

  I flushed at the private memory. I’m here, Fox. Sorry. I woke up and saw you were gone.

  I’m training with the guys. Want some company?

  No, just checking up on you. I paused. I think I should get more rest anyway.

  Good. Don’t overexert yourself.

  Gently, he nudged me away from his mind, and I retreated guiltily back into my own head, focusing on my bed, my room, the book on my lap. The Scrying rune had opened up a new link between us—I had better access to Fox’s thoughts, which made it easy to stumble into his mind without meaning to.

  I thought about my brother and the Kion princess. I thought about how our laughter sounded that night after the engagement announcement. My infatuation with the prince was a one-sided affair. I imagined promises the prince never whispered, knew enough of myself to understand that I could catch him no more than I could catch a shadow on the wall.

  But without selfishness clouding my judgment, I saw how Fox mourned a relationship with the princess. His grief was sharp, and it sliced him deeper than any aeshma’s spike could, in places my magic could not heal.

  Khalad had said memories were no one else’s business but their owners’. And as close as Fox and I were, some memories were too private to be shared.

  Trembling, I stared at my hands. Learning these runes was surely a lesser transgression than hiding and abetting an azi. I could tell Mykaela at least. I could…

  I paused. Mykaela was too weak, and she didn’t need this stress right now. Polaire then? Altaecia?

  Polaire’s words drifted to mem
ory. To wield anything that the Faceless would, from the most terrible of daeva to the most innocent-seeming runes…there must be no compromise.

  Did Mykaela care for Illara as much as she had cared for me? Did my mentor hesitate before delivering the killing blow? Would she hesitate with me? Surely Polaire was exaggerating. There is so much power in this book that could be harnessed in Kion’s favor. So what if they had been the runes of the False Prince, guarded by his Faceless? A rune by itself did not define the righteousness or the immorality of the magic they cast—its user did…

  No, telling anyone about this magic would be premature, I decided. I should study the runes first, give myself more time to assess how harmful they could be. I laugh now at how foolish I had been then, thinking I knew enough to tell the difference.

  But fear is a powerful motivator. I had already compromised myself by taking in the azi. If I was to be condemned anyway, then I may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

  I turned the book over. The inverted crown stared back at me.

  “I will master you,” I told it. “I will protect everyone from you.” If only I were as confident as I had sounded.

  “And what spell from the book did you learn to raise Kalen?” the Heartforger asked.

  The bone witch grinned, suddenly impish. “It was not a spell from that book.”

  “May I?” Lord Khalad inspected her heartsglass, placing a finger against the dark surface. There was a faint spark as his finger met the glass, but the forger did not react. He watched the colors of her heart swirl and ebb before removing his hand.

  “You raised him from the force of your own heartsglass, channeled by the strength of all seven daeva. Did you know it would succeed?”

  “No. But they promised I could achieve everything with shadowglass. So why not this?”

  “I don’t understand,” I interrupted. “It is no secret that Dark asha can raise the dead. What is so different this time?”

  “Those with silver heartsglass cannot be brought back to life. But Kalen should never have died.” Anger was a potent venom sustaining her determination.

  “If you raised Kalen,” the Heartforger began, a sudden wild hope in his eyes, “then can you… Would you…?”

  The bone witch bowed her head. “I don’t know. But I will try. I can promise you that.”

  “Thank you,” Lord Khalad whispered, still trembling, and turned to the corpse, unfazed by the eviscerated remains. “Blighted?” he asked.

  She nodded. “We must be vigilant.”

  “I will inspect every soldier for symptoms,” the Heartforger promised, turning to the wounded. At Lord Kalen’s command, the injured had been carried in, and the room soon filled with groans and cries. Those who’d survived the daeva unscathed hurried in, lugging heavy pots of water behind them.

  “Set them up at the end,” the asha instructed. “Keep them boiling hot.”

  The men obeyed. The aeshma watching them curiously coupled with the thought of the other daeva waiting outside made them compliant. They barely spared a glance at their former emperor, still under the beast’s watchful eye.

  “You’re going to treat them?” The bone witch had talked about laying waste to Daanoris, to bring the kingdom to ruin. Yet she bade her monsters not to kill, to allow most of the population to flee unharmed. And now she treated the wounded.

  “The Heartforger will think less of me if I do not at least try,” the asha said even as she pulled up the sleeves of her hua, folding them up her arm like a fisherman’s wife might before she took in the daily catch.

  “I have never thought less of you, Tea. No matter what anyone said. And the sooner we are done with these men, the sooner I can finish the heartsglass I promised you.”

  “L-Lady Tea?” It was a stuttered whisper, an unfamiliar voice. A frightened young Daanorian girl stood, hiding behind Lord Kalen’s back. The asha smiled. “It is good to see you looking well, Princess Yansheo. I am sorry to meet again under unfavorable circumstances.”

  “But the kingdom! My people—gone! The monsters at our doors! Lady Tea, what have you done?”

  “Upheavals come with every new ruler. Your people have fled, but they shall return. Your army will heal. I have come only to rid Daanoris of a malignancy, and chaos was the quickest way to bring it festering to the surface.”

  “But what malignancy do you speak of?”

  “Do you need to ask? Who confined you to your rooms these long months? Who made you a prisoner in your own palace?”

  The princess glanced at the emperor and looked away.

  The bone witch’s voice gentled. “Do you miss him still?”

  The young noblewoman trembled. “Yes.”

  The Dark asha sighed. She wrapped a poultice made from herbs around a wounded soldier’s side and rose to her feet. She walked toward the girl and took the girl’s hands in her own.

  “Yansheo. Some days will be better than others. Some days you will wake up crying, his name the first to fall from your lips. Some days, you will look up at the stars in the sky from a lonely beach and know none of them look down on him.” Her eyes slid briefly to the Deathseeker, who had taken his place among the injured, and then returned to the princess. “That is the nature of grief. But to grieve means you have loved. To love opens up the possibility for grief. There cannot be one without the other.”

  “But, milady,” the princess choked, “it isn’t fair. He died so terribly—and for me.”

  “Life isn’t fair, dear one. And sometimes, neither is death.”

  8

  “Tea! Are you in there? Tea!”

  I shoved the book underneath my pillow and scrambled out of bed. I cursed the time, myself, even Kalen at my door, bellowing for blood, and then myself again for good measure. I had forgotten about practice!

  “There is no excuse for being this tardy!” Kalen exploded the instant I opened the door. His brown hair was tied back from his face and his hand was raised, ready to punch the door again had I been a second slower to respond. “Spare me your explanations. If you’ve enough time to slack off, then you’ve enough time to spar. Let’s go!”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he growled but said little else as he all but dragged me to the practice field. Normally, he would have blistered the air around him with remonstrations, so my apology must have startled him, my character typically being one that has few reasons to give him apologies.

  The fields were empty. A quick poke at my bond told me Fox and the other soldiers had moved to the archery grounds, and Kalen wasted no time beginning. Despite his earlier threats, he assumed the defensive, giving me the first chance to strike.

  My reflexes were slower, clumsier than usual. I was no master at swordsmanship, though Kalen had been training me for many long months. Regardless, the Deathseeker had never been one to give up on lost causes, even if that lost cause was me.

  Kalen’s blade blocked my first blow. I could hear his orders—“Bring your arm up! Keep your feet moving!”—but my body refused to comply.

  The Scrying spell, I realized. I’d used it before Kalen had come stomping in, and now that my initial burst of adrenaline was gone, I had no second wind to fall back on.

  I ducked low, using my smaller height to my advantage, and swung my sword up. He sidestepped the move, and I managed to parry his next attack. He backed away and waited again, but I never knew if I could have followed through with another blow.

  My knees buckled, and I must have blacked out, though I had no memory of hitting the ground.

  When I came to, I was sitting propped against a tree, a cloak bunched behind my head. Kalen was beside me, a combination of annoyance and concern.

  “You OK, Lady Tea?”

  Kalen never called me that before. “Didn’t you tell me that honorifics had no place in battle?” I croaked, strangely
light-headed. I felt something cold and soothing pressing against my forehead.

  “The battle was over as soon as you passed out. Why didn’t you tell me you were exhausted?”

  “There wasn’t time,” I mumbled, though that was only partly true. “You dragged me out of my room like the palace was on fire. But I’m better now.”

  “Don’t lie.” The Deathseeker gave the green flickers in my heartsglass a pointed glance. Sometimes I forgot that Kalen could read them as well as I could. “I should have known something was wrong. Your sword techniques are terrible, you leave your defenses so open that any expert swordsman could stab you through several times and run before you recovered, and you always try to overextend your reach—but tardiness has never been one of your bad habits.”

  Only Kalen could insult and praise me all in the same breath. “I’m glad you think so highly of me,” I said, but my sarcasm missed him by miles.

  “I know I’m not the first person you’d choose to divulge your secrets to, and I’m sure you have other friends in the asha-ka you can confide in. Share your worries with your brother. It isn’t good to keep them bottled up inside so you start losing sleep over them.”

  Was he trying to be nice? I was accustomed to a contrary, belligerent Kalen. A kind Kalen was a strange animal I had little experience with. “What are you going on about?”

  Was I imagining it or did pink touch his cheeks? Kalen was a master at concealing his emotions, so his heartsglass only showed obvious irritation. “Prince Kance, of course!” he shot back testily. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself!”

  I gaped at him. It had not occurred to me that Kalen was trying to cheer me up.

  His tone softened. “His impending marriage isn’t something he has control over. Neither of them do. This was an arrangement between Empress Alyx and King Telemaine, an alliance between Kion and Odalia. Prince Kance has nothing but the highest esteem for Princess Inessa, but he isn’t happy. Polaire and Mykaela were aware of the engagement, but I didn’t know they hadn’t told you.”