Page 54 of Deadly Maiden

“You may,” I finally answer. “Sister, I need one of your novices to be a message focus for Kroll.”

“Ruelle cannot do this with her blood hawks?”

“No.” I smile rigidly. Showing displeasure to the church is a demonstration of power, and I could sup from that well daily. “They are being used for spotting from above, and you know they do not convey enough nuances for messages.”

She dares to let me suffer her silence for the tick of ten seconds, or more. “Of course, my lord. I will send you a novice. Do not touch her otherwise.”

That is an insult. Another word and I will risk the consequences of punishing her.

I say nothing. This game of silence is almost invigorating. The meeting drones on for another half an hour before I dismiss them. I crook my finger at the sister. Time to show her that she is not the dominant force in my kingdom. “Come. I go to pay my respects to my daughter. You will follow.”

Or I will lose my patience and behead you.

We wind our way down through the palace to the rear gardens. The white pathway stretches along a colonnade to where the tomb waits, white and square with sculpted blossoms dancing across the peaked roof. The stroll is peaceful, since neither of us speaks. A breeze makes flowerheads bobble in the lawn’s many garden beds.

The guards to either side of the tomb’s double, iron doors clap hands to sword hilts and bow as we pass. The doors emit only a whisper as they are opened and latched back to admit light. The major-domo needs complimenting on the maintenance.

We descend the steps together, the sister’s robes brushing the step behind her. I admire her poise if not her religion. Our world of Artreos simplyis; she does not need worshipping. The etharum exists whether or not the church encourages her worship. And I cannot say this no matter how it irks me.

“Behold, my sleeping child.” I gesture grandly to where Jennae rests.

“Sleeping, my lord?”

“Sleeping, for one day she will wake.” I smile at Sister Paloma. Her goggles reflect a slash of daylight. “You see how the stone effigy covering Jennae’s body is inclined? This is so she can see out the door on the day we lift the effigy, and she wakes.”

The skin around the sister’s mouth tightens.

“No reply? Do I detect some denial, some unhappiness?”

“My lord, we both know this cannot ever happen. Grieving is healthy but not this expectation.” She nods toward Jennae.

“Why do you think I need this necromancer? Surely you figured this out?”

Necromancy may be illegal, but I made that law. I am the king, and I break the laws I wish to break.

Horror spreads across her face as I smile and smooth my hand up the leg of the effigy of Jennae. The cold sinks into my fingers, ices the air. She is clothed in her battlewear, from the day she died. Armor, leather leggings, undershirt, chainmail tunic. “My daughter is a warrior.” I murmur, “and we have preserved her, fully, frozen by ice magik, so that her flesh and mind shall not decay. The day she rises, she will be whole.”

The sister’s mouth remains open.

I’ve shocked her. Good.

“You will stay here and pray for an hour, before you go. Do not touch the effigy unless you want to lose your hand to the cold.”

I leave her, climb the twenty stone steps, and when I exit, I order the guards to make sure she does not try to shirk the duty I gave her.

Her prayers will do nothing, but her anger and disapproval feed me.

Chapter 15

Wyntre

Venin

The cobblestones under our boots are irregular, and a few are missing in this gap-toothed street full of farmers, tradespeople, and others who seem a little downtrodden by life. The stone-and-timber houses and shops crowd in, leaning from their upper stories, and a few are in ruins. At least Venin doesn’t smell of sewage and rotting food like some of the villages I visited with Landos.

We’re relieved to see no evidence of wanted posters, and we’re ahead of the enforcers. This has to be good.

“Your friend works here by choice? An illusionist?”

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