“The graveyard is beyond the castle walls. It was forbidden to store corpses within the fort.”
“Why?”
“By order of Grand Inquisitor Lysandros. He thought the castle could still harbor the Grim King’s curses. But the prison is underground.”
“Good. Tell me how to get there.” She began walking to the doors of the castle itself, traversing the vast courtyard between the wall and the castle. Here and there were collapsed huts. Arienne scraped at the rough red dirt under her feet. Underneath the top layer was the same rock that made up the walls. She imagined lines upon lines of legionaries standing at attention in this courtyard, a hundred years ago. Perhaps the whole legion could have fit in here.Yet another hundred years ago, Eldred’s army of bones and rotting flesh had filled the same space. This had been a living graveyard, until the Empire came for its king.
Noam was rattling off details about the legion and the fortress, as if to forget his fear of this place. He must have run out of things to say before she had made it across the courtyard, though, for he simply began to repeat the things he’d already said.
“How is Tychon?” she asked, trying to distract him from his fears.
“He’s all right. I’m watching him. He’s awake.”
She could hear Tychon’s cooing. To Arienne’s ear, they were clearer and seemed more meaningful than before.
“Maybe he knows his mother is here.”
Arienne continued across the courtyard, looking for a door to get inside the closest tower. Noam had said the resident legion had refitted the place, but aside from a few collapsed warehouses in the courtyard, they didn’t seem to have touched the exterior at all.
Finally, Arienne reached the obsidian castle doors, which were nearly indistinguishable from the walls. She took a deep breath before pushing them open; contrary to their size and appearance, the doors opened smoothly and without a sound.
Darkness. Arienne realized she had left her lantern behind and infused Power into her glass orb instead. The weak light reflected on the dark edges of the walls, showing her the outline of the antechamber.
“It doesn’t look that refitted inside, either,” she murmured.
Odd pillars jutted from the floor, shelves popped out of the walls, and tables and chairs were so melted it was miraculous she could recognize what they were at all. The “refitting” the Imperialshad done here was simply furnishing the building and doing nothing to its structure or aesthetics. It made sense—regardless of the Empire’s pride for everything Imperial, she doubted they would’ve wanted to touch anything in this strange and special place any more than was necessary.
Somehow, the room reminded her of the dragon’s cave in Arland, without looking anything like that place.
“Now where do we go?” she asked.
“Behind the stone table there,” replied Noam, “is a tunnel going down to the underground level.”
She crossed the hall. She walked past the huge, Imperial-style stone table that a hundred years ago might have been surrounded by legates and centurions in shining armor and velvet cloaks. She discovered an unassuming wooden door, half melted and fallen off the hinge. The tunnel’s entrance stood before her like the open mouth of a giant beast. The light of her orb illuminated stairs going downward. There wasn’t a sound.
Arienne began to descend.
33
YUMA
The long winter was coming to an end. It was perhaps the most peaceful winter Danras had ever seen, as the defeated Grim King had been silent. He made no demands of Danras, not for conscripts and tithes, nor for the Imperial emissary. Travelers from Iorca and Lansis brought similar news.
Several times had Yuma asked Lysandros about the corpse hidden inside Fractica. Every time, Lysandros refused to answer, saying that it was a state secret he couldn’t reveal yet. She eventually gave up. After all, Merseh probably had its own peculiarities, from a foreigner’s point of view. Perhaps the Empire attributed a special meaning to their dead. As the Emissary had shown his respect for the customs of this land, she decided she would do the same for his.
Yuma had lent her winter house to Lysandros, as he needed an official residence to receive visitors from all over Merseh as the Empire’s alliance-building with it began. The Host suggested Yuma move to an empty room in the Feast Hall. At first, it wastoo much space for her and far from cozy, but as winter passed, she accumulated various little gifts. The other day, Lysandros came bearing a baby’s cradle that he had made with his own hands.
It was a simple affair and not expertly done, but a thing unseen in Danras, meant to rock the baby to sleep. There were letters awkwardly engraved into the inside headboard. Yuma couldn’t read Imperial yet, but she knew this was the name of the baby—Tychon. When the Host prophesied a boy would be born to them, Lysandros had explained that it was an Imperial tradition for a man to bring the mother of his child a cradle with the name of their baby engraved into it. When he suggested he would make a new cradle if Yuma did not like the name, she laughed and said the name would suit the baby just fine.
That the Chief Herder of Danras was pregnant was a cause for celebration in the city. Some wondered why she didn’t marry Lysandros and hold a large wedding, but Yuma thought it inappropriate for the Chief Herder to marry a foreigner that many in Danras did not yet know well. It was part of the reason why she accepted the Host’s invitation to move into the Feast Hall, instead of living with Lysandros at her winter house.
Some weeks had passed since the passage through the southwestern range of the Rook Mountains—which the Grim King had sealed—was reopened. When construction on it started, she had often gone for inspections without much of a problem; but a month later, sitting on a saddle became too much. The thought that she would not make it to this year’s herding made her heart sink. Yuma sat in her chair and placed one hand over her visibly pregnant stomach and rocked the cradle with the other. As she wasthinking about who she should choose to step in to lead this year’s herding for her, someone cleared their throat outside her door.
“Come in.”
The Host entered. He wore not the ceremonial robe of feathers or the somber black garments, but the clothes of an ordinary child. As Yuma made to stand, he waved at her to remain seated.
“Chief Herder, I have something to discuss with you. Are you occupied?”
