Page 16 of Among the Burning Flowers (The Roots of Chaos #3)

Five centuries ago, Queen Rozaria had built a palace from the rock and glass of the Dreadmount. Now felt certain that Fyredel had some unholy connexion to it. She imagined herself as an insect, trapped inside his gullet; that he felt her every footfall, heard her every breath; that she glimpsed his serpentine eyes in the slivers of black glass around the palace. She imagined that, even as the wyrm slumbered for all those years, his ears had been open.

The dungeons of the Palace of Salvation were close to the wine cellars, with no windows to banish the darkness. Three guards flanked the entrance, sweating in the light of the red torches.

‘Your Radiance,’ the nearest said. ‘Good evening.’

‘I wish to speak to the newest prisoner,’ said. ‘How long has it been since she came here?’

‘Almost a week,’ another guard said. ‘A wyvern brought her to the steps of the palace.’

‘Is she an Yscal?’

‘From the weapons she was carrying, we assume not. They look to be of Southern origin,’ he answered. ‘The wyverns must have found her on the plain, or perhaps in the Spindles.’ He glanced at the door. ‘She hasn’t made a sound, even though the Jackal used the iron boot on her.’

One of the interrogators Lord Gastaldo had brought to the palace, known for her brutality.

‘Very well,’ said. ‘I will not be long.’

‘Don’t step too close to the bars,’ the first guard warned. ‘The woman put up a mighty resistance, Your Radiance. Even thirsty and weak, she killed five of us before we could overpower her.’

‘Which cell is she in?’

‘The last.’

stepped through the doors, entering the dungeon for the first time in her life. Her mother had not been kept here, to her knowledge, but Denarva likely had. Finding the right door, she lifted the latch and pushed with her shoulder, scraping it open.

Beyond was a row of iron bars, behind which sat a woman in a stained white tunic, no more than thirty years old. Sweat and blood mingled on her brown skin, and dark curls fell into her eyes, which were puffy and bruised.

Her right foot was horribly mangled. had known that Lord Gastaldo allowed the Jackal to maim certain people – suspected traitors, murderers, the cullers he despised so much – but seeing the aftermath shortened her breath. The straw was soaked in blood.

She was not na?ve enough to think she would never have enemies when she was queen, but there must be a better way to treat them. Surely the Saint would not condone this cruelty.

‘Do you speak Yscali?’ she asked, receiving a wary look in return. She tried Ersyri: ‘What is your name?’

It had been a long time since she had spoken Ersyri, but recognition sparked in those brown eyes, alert and unclouded after days of torture. The woman sat up straighter, but said nothing.

Perhaps the Jackal had torn out her tongue. Either that, or she thought was another torturer. took out the small bottle of red wine she had brought from her apartments.

‘To dull your pain,’ she said, still in Ersyri. ‘And help you sleep.’

The guard had told her not to get too close to the bars, but she risked it, offering the bottle. The woman slowly reached out and took it, sniffing the neck before testing a drop on her tongue. Apparently satisfied that she was not being poisoned, she took several deep gulps.

‘Jondu.’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘My name is Jondu.’

‘Where did you come from?’

‘I was on my way to Oryzon,’ Jondu said. ‘To find a ship to Lasia.’

‘That is not what I asked.’

‘No.’ Jondu shifted a little closer to the bars, her face tightening as she moved her mutilated foot. ‘Are you Princess , daughter of Sahar Taumargam, Princess of the Ersyr?’

‘Yes.’

Jondu released her breath. ‘A mercy,’ she said. ‘The Mother is good.’

‘Why were you in the Spindles?’

‘The wyverns and their offspring are all over this country. I decided to make my way to the South through the mountains, to stop the creatures sensing me. It did not work.’ She fixed a steady look on . ‘The torturers informed me that Fyredel has wakened here. Is it true?’

‘Yes,’ said. ‘In a cave to the east.’

‘And where is Denarva uq-Bardant?’

It was such a sudden and drastic change of subject, hesitated. ‘You knew Denarva?’

‘Tell me where she is.’

was not used to being given orders, but Jondu spoke with such authority, she obeyed by instinct.

‘Denarva has been dead for years,’ she said. ‘She tried to help my mother flee this city, after she learned that my father had Queen Rosarian of Inys murdered.’

Jondu slumped against the wall again, gazing at the opposite side of the cell. Her cheeks were damp, either with sweat or tears.

‘It is as we feared,’ she said to herself. stepped closer, her brow creased, and Jondu looked back at her. ‘Denarva was my friend. I cannot say from whence I come, but I am a protector of the South, loyal to the House of Taumargam, known and trusted by your uncle, Jantar the Splendid. Can I trust you, Princess ?’

‘If you were a friend of Denarva, you are mine as well.’

‘Very well.’ Jondu glanced at her foot, which had started to bleed again. ‘Your Vardya seized a box from me. If you value human life, you will find a way to get it to Chassar uq-Ispad.’

‘Chassar uq-Ispad,’ echoed. ‘The Ersyri ambassador?’

‘Yes.’

‘What he has to do with your box?’ she asked. Jondu did not reply. ‘I would imagine that His Excellency is in Rauca.’

‘More likely at his estate in Rumelabar.’

‘It makes little difference. None of us can leave Cárscaro.’

‘There is a way out through a lava tunnel, which leads farther into the Spindles. From there, you can take the old Pass of the Imperator to the Ersyr. A horse trail laid by the Gulthaganians,’ Jondu said. ‘I am sure that is the path Denarva would have used to get you to safety.’

‘How do you know any of this?’ said, frustration surging up. ‘I have lived here all my life, and never have I heard of this tunnel. Even if I could find it, the Spindles are swarming with Draconic creatures.’

‘They will not attack a person who carries the plague.’

‘But the plague would kill anyone who contracted it.’

‘Not immediately. It steeps in the body for some time before the bloodblaze takes hold. And if the person you send forth is able to reach Chassar … he will be able to cure them.’

stared at her.

‘Ambassador uq-Ispad has a cure to the Draconic plague?’ She grasped the bars. ‘Hundreds and more of my people may have it, after two years of occupation, and he dares to withhold a remedy?’

‘It is not my place to say the reason.’

tightened her grip. It took her a long moment to master the anger that had risen in her.

‘This lava tunnel,’ she finally said. ‘How would I find it?’

‘It adjoins the foundations of this very building. If you still have the plans, you should find a stairway leading there, likely hidden in some way. But Denarva would have opened it.’

‘And what is in the box?’ asked her. ‘If I am to risk enraging Fyredel – to gamble with the lives of every person in this city – then I must know why.’

‘It is the key to a weapon. A weapon that may help defeat the wyrms.’

‘A mangonel, a springald?’ pressed. ‘What in the name of the Saint can you mean?’

‘I do nothing in his name,’ Jondu said, with such open contempt that stiffened. ‘Princess, you are a daughter of the Ersyr, heir presumptive of the House of Taumargam. You have my sisters’ respect and protection. I put my faith in you to finish my assignment.’

‘Who are your sisters?’

Jondu shook her head. had the sense of being caught upon a root she could not see.

‘Donmata,’ a guard called, ‘are you well?’

‘Yes,’ called. ‘Thank you.’ She stood. ‘I can make no promises, but I will do what I can.’

‘Wait,’ Jondu said, stopping her. ‘My cloak. Has Fyredel seen it?’

Red her cloak and sharp her blade.

‘Yes,’ said. ‘What is special about your cloak?’

‘It is dyed with Draconic blood.’

‘Are you a culler?’

‘Of a sort.’ Jondu raised her chin. ‘I know that I will die here, but let it not be at the jaws of a wyrm. Fyredel will make an example of me. Better it was swift and clean.’ turned back to her, and Jondu read her face with unexpected ease. ‘He has already given you orders.’

‘He will not kill you himself, but he wishes to witness your death. To hear your screams.’

‘Your torturers could not win one from me,’ Jondu said, her smile tight, ‘but I would still rather that my death was not to satisfy a wyrm. He will likely have me fed to his creatures. I would prefer to die in battle.’

‘Are you asking to fight me?’ said, returning the grim smile. ‘I am not strong.’

‘That cannot be true. You are a Taumargam. But no, I will not fight you, Princess.’

did not carry anything sharp. She had never been permitted, after the way her mother had supposedly died. Another lie her father had used to control her every move. There was dwale in the palace – a potion for reducing pain, too much of which could kill – but she would not find it before dawn.

All she had was the vial of basilisk venom.

If she handed it to Jondu, she would bear responsibility for the death of at least one person, whether that was Jondu herself, or the guards outside. The Knight of Justice would condemn her, but there was no justice in what Fyredel planned for this woman. A knight was supposed to prevent suffering. That was why, in ancient days, they had worn blades for mercy killings.

How easy it was to gamble with her place in Halgalant when a living woman sat before her, asking for help and compassion. As her conscience battled her faith, she remembered.

See yourself in others.

A clarifying thought, soothing in its simplicity. She slid the vial from her bodice and placed it between the bars.

‘This is basilisk venom,’ she said. ‘Do not use it to cause your own death, but to melt your way from this cell.’

Jondu picked up the vial and turned it several times.

‘I cannot cross the Spindles. Not with my foot like this,’ she said. ‘The arch is shattered.’

‘Then fight the guards. This time, they might be able to subdue you,’ said. ‘You can die in battle, as you wished.’

After a long and silent moment, Jondu nodded.

‘This is a kindness. A gift,’ she told . ‘I hope your Saint will not punish you for it.’

unlaced her partlet, revealing the pendant that sat below her neckline. Jondu beheld the mirror with clear recognition.

‘I do not only follow the Saint,’ said quietly. ‘If I am ever in your place, I hope to be shown the same mercy.’

Jondu smiled, cracking her lips.

‘You will make a mighty Queen of the Ersyr,’ she said. ‘I would have been honoured to be your protector. In my stead, may the Mother watch over you, Princess .’

did not ask who she meant. She had her own mother to watch over her.

She left the dungeon and returned to the guards. ‘Tell me,’ she said to them, ‘where are prisoners’ effects kept?’

‘In there, Your Radiance. On the bench to the right.’

‘Is there anything especially unusual among them?’

‘She did carry a strange box. We haven’t been able to open it.’

went through the door they had indicated. Beyond was a storage room, lined with instruments of torture. There was the iron boot on the floor, crusted with blood, turning her stomach.

And there, the iron helm that Fyredel had given her.

She stopped in her tracks at the ominous sight. Ermendo must have put it down here, so she never had to look at it. It was mounted on a stand, as if it were part of an ordinary suit of armour.

At first, she had assumed that Fyredel had forged the helm.

Now she looked again, it was obvious that one of the captive Yscals was responsible.

She wondered if the blacksmith had known that it was meant for her.

The vacant eyeholes seemed to stare into her soul, and she could not break their gaze. It was as if she looked upon her own casket, made to her measurements.

Before she could stop herself, she put it on.

Inside, all was dark. Her neck immediately started to ache. As sweat broke out on her forehead, she tried looking one way, and then the other. She could see through the eyeholes, but not well. She could breathe, but not with any ease.

Was this how Fyredel felt when he looked through her father? The thought made the helm even harder to bear. She wrenched it off with clammy hands and put it back on to its mount.

Jondu had been carrying more weapons than a hired killer, all worth a queen’s ransom. A crossbow with folding limbs. A fine Ersyri scimitar, its ornate white scabbard encrusted with pearls. Several other blades, the origin and type of which she did not recognise.

And there was the box.

It looked to be made of iron. An oblong at the bottom, with a lid shaped like a pyramid, all swirled with intricate engravings, which could be patterns or a language. There was a ring at the top of the lid, so it might be attached to a saddle or girdle. It was light in comparison to the helm.

The guards had not followed her. She hung the box from the back of her own girdle, so her cloak would cover it. When she returned to the guards, she wore an imperious expression.

‘There was no box in the room,’ she said. ‘Do you mean to trick me?’

‘Donmata, I will investigate.’

nodded and walked away, the box heavy against her hip.

She waited in her apartments all day, watching the mantel clock. At last, Ermendo came to her.

‘Your Radiance,’ he said in an undertone, ‘a woman escaped from the dungeons today. She didn’t get far – her foot was injured – but she fought. One of the guards slashed her throat by mistake.’

suspected it had not been a mistake, even if the guard had not meant to do it. Jondu had clearly known how to fight.

That meant she also knew how to die.

‘Tell Lord Gastaldo she died of her wounds,’ said. ‘Be sure that is what His Majesty hears, Ermendo. All of our fates may depend upon it.’

‘It will be done, Donmata.’

****

It was not for several days that was made to understand the consequences of her actions.

During those days, she found the way that Jondu had described, tucked in a corridor with a dead end.

She found the stairs that lay beyond it, twisting into the depths of the palace.

Though she dared not risk it yet, it comforted her to know that escape might truly be possible.

After some thought, she decided to share the discovery with Ruzio and Priessa, and to show the latter the box as well, in case Priessa had any ideas. Priessa pondered it for hours – she even took a small hammer to it – but could not get inside.

The next day was colder than most. Priessa was about to try a different tool when King Sigoso arrived. She curtseyed to him, hiding the hammer from sight. stepped in front of her.

‘Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling?’

Her father wore a silver mask, but she knew him by the smell of bonfires, the reek that always seemed to emanate from him. Likely the mask was to cover his blisters.

‘Come outside, daughter,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

Some of the Vardya were behind him, all with cloths over their faces. had little choice but to follow.

Sigoso had not emerged from the tower since Fyredel had summoned him. His infirmity was becoming too obvious. The Vardya ushered him into one coach, into another, and escorted them through the streets on horseback, keeping the people at bay with halberds.

Once more, observed her subjects through her veil, absorbing their silent hatred, their hollow cheeks, the plague masks that must be making them sweat in the oppressive heat of the Tundana. Where is the Saint? their eyes seemed to ask. Where is the Knight of Justice now?

The coach stopped at the Gate of Niunda. allowed the Captain General to help her down, then beheld the great arch of green stone. The paving stones beneath were dark with blood.

She tensed when she saw a creature nearby, circling the gate – about seven feet in height, with feathered wings and scaled legs ending in talons. It possessed a long tail, like a wyverling, but also a beak and a coxcomb, like a rooster. Its eyes were twin embers.

A cockatrice. It lowered its awful head and licked the ground with a forked tongue.

‘Look up,’ King Sigoso said. could only do as he ordered.

Jondu hung from the gate by her wrists. Her white tunic was bloody where the Vardya had cut her throat.

To her left was Ermendo Vuleydres.

His armour, came a distant thought. I have never seen Ermendo without his armour.

His face was intact. The rest of him was charred and withered, and his legs ended at the knee, one longer than the other. Next were Sir Robrecht Teldan and the Duchess of Ortégardes, flanked by the two Hróthi ambassadors, who had clearly been dead for several days longer. The beasts had jabbed and torn at their flesh, leaving gaping holes in their bodies.

Last in the row was Yscabel Afleytan, brown hair fluttering in the wind.

Two more cockatrices soared on to the Gate of Niunda. The one below called out to its kin – a sinister clucking – and winged up to join them. In unison, they began to peck at Yscabel.

And Yscabel made a weak sound.

almost fell to her knees. She turned away from the arch with a gasp of denial, but her father caught her upper arm, his fingers bruising. There were three layers of cloth between his skin and hers, but his touch still flooded her with fear. Even in his enfeebled state, she knew she could not have broken his grip if she fought him for the rest of her life.

Against her will, she imagined this hand on her mother.

‘No. Look up,’ her father sneered. ‘See what you have done, .’ Yscabel let out anguished sobs, making shudder. ‘See what your defiance has brought upon your subjects.’

For once, she wished the veil was thicker. She willed her tears to dull her sight.

‘Fyredel gave you an order, and you disobeyed him,’ King Sigoso said. ‘Did you not think I would find out that the bars in the dungeon were melted with venom? Do you think I am blind and deaf in this state?’ His hold tightened painfully. ‘No. I see and hear more than ever.’

Someone shoot her, willed the city guards, barely hearing her father. End her pain. But the guards only watched as the cockatrices began to feast. They would not risk being next.

Yscabel did not suffer for long. All the Draconic creatures were hungry, after centuries of macerating in their sleep. Soon there was more blood on the stained ground, and all was quiet again.

Like a tomb.

At last, King Sigoso let go of . Her ears rang and the world slanted, and there was no Ermendo to steady her. She feared she would fall to the ground, but she could not. Some of the Cárscari had followed the coaches here from the palace, and even if the guards were keeping them away, they could still see her posture, if not her bloodless face. She could not show any sort of weakness in front of her despairing subjects.

‘If you try any other tricks,’ King Sigoso said, ‘the Dowager Prince will be next. I have no further need for ambassadors.’

Stand firm. locked her knees, and the wave gradually passed. Hold still, as you always have.

‘Forgive me,’ she rasped. ‘Forgive me, Father.’

‘It is not for me to forgive you.’ He shoved her towards the coach. ‘Now only Fyredel can.’

sat in numb silence as they returned to the Palace of Salvation. All the way back, she held in her grief, but it was so large, so wild, that it threatened to split her. Her father left her alone in the entrance hall, where she swayed like a blade of grass, her sight dimming.

First her mother. Now this.

How much loss could one soul bear?

For only the third or fourth time in her life, ascended the steps of the tower alone, without Ermendo. She could not even begin to fathom how she would break this news to Ruzio.

When she finally reached her apartments, drained and aching from the climb, she doubled over and vomited on to the floor. Each surge wrung icy sweat from her in rivulets.

‘Save us,’ she choked out. ‘Anyone, I beg you, help us. Saint, Dawnsinger, Smith of the Heavens—’ She groped for the pendant. ‘Mother, I beg you, help me. What now can I do?’

She sobbed until she made no sound. At last, Priessa returned, her chest heaving.

‘?’

‘I killed them,’ she choked out. ‘Ermendo and Yscabel. I killed them.’

‘No, .’

‘Yes.’ She looked up at Priessa, her face tearstained. ‘Where is Ruzio?’

‘Ruzio is gone.’ Priessa pressed a note into her hand. ‘She was with her lover in the kitchens when the Vardya came. That is why she was not taken.’

‘Her lover?’

‘Lord Bartian,’ Priessa said quietly. stared at her. ‘They have been having an affair for some time. Ruz was even with child by him once. I am sorry for not telling you, but … I felt it was her business, even if it was a vice, so I looked the other way.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I do not understand why I was spared. I can only think that my lord father protected me.’

‘Fyredel has never seen you with me. He did see Yscabel and Ruzio.’

unfolded the note. Ruzio had clearly written in haste, and the ink was smudged in several places.

Yscabel is gone. I cannot bear the suffering. My lady we have dressed warmly & gone to the tunnel you found. They will arrest us as well if we stay, knowing we are your friends. Better they cannot use us against you. Saint protect & keep you in adversity. We will try to reach Prince Aubrecht. I pray we return, but if not, I trust to embrace you again in Halgalant.

‘No.’ started to rise, more tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘They will not survive the mountains. Essa, we must stop them—’

‘We can’t.’ Priessa caught her by the waist. ‘They are gone, .’

sank back to the floor in despair. Priessa embraced her, and they both wept bitterly.

****

Ruzio did not return. In the small hours, pored over maps of many ages, trying to work out how long it would take a person to reach Mentendon on foot. As Jondu had said, there had once been a Gulthaganian path through the Spindles, known as the Pass of the Imperator, but surely nothing remained of it now. Even if it did exist, it would be deep under the snow at this time of year.

The longer looked, the more she suspected that Ruzio had known there was no hope. That her friend had simply wanted to die on her own terms, with the man she loved, beyond the stranglehold of occupied Cárscaro. In that moment, was tempted to do the same.

But Queen Sahar would not have wanted that. She would wish, above all, for to live. To learn to be a flower that, deprived of water, kept growing. A flower that could bloom in fire.

Stand firm, like a desert rose, and you will yet be queen.

She pictured her mother now. Her broad smile and her warm brown eyes. Sahar Taumargam, who had discovered the murder of an Inysh queen, a fellow woman, and refused to ignore it.

And Vetalda knew what to do.

Aubrecht of the House of Lievelyn, Crown Prince of Mentendon, has sought annulment for his betrothal to the Donmata , Princess of the Draconic Kingdom of Yscalin, for her country has broken faith with the Saint.

Let it be known that His Virtuousness, the Arch Sanctarian, and Her Majesty, Queen Sabran of the House of Berethnet, who is the blood and heir of the Saint, hereby grant this annulment with the blessing of the Saint.

Let it be known that Prince Aubrecht is now at liberty to marry whomsoever he desires.