Prologue
They would be ringing his mourning bells soon. Chancellor Iprix Hagan let out a shuddering sigh that took every bit of his energy. A young healer rushed to his side, and soon a blanket of warm arcanum settled on his chest. It was a momentary reprieve at best. Her power would subdue the pain but not prevent the inevitable. Iprix would die soon, and there was nothing that could stop it.
Sweat dripped down the healer’s brow as she pulled at the threads of arcanum, willing the blood in his veins to move, heart to pump, and lungs to breathe.
Iprix would pity her if he weren’t so damned tired. She could be no older than thirty, but premature silver lined her hair, and faint lines had already carved a permanent home around her sunken eyes. It was taking everything out of her youth to sustain him for just a few more months at best.
A shame, Iprix thought, that such promising Talent would be wasted on his behalf—and a healer at that. There were so few left who could mend both bone and illness. But what was one more life compared to the blood that already stained his hands?
Iprix turned his head to the window, feeling the creaks in his joints and bones at the movement. Stars littered the moonlesssky, and the faint lights of Tarth’s Capital City decorated the inky night. It had been half a year since he was able to move on his own without assistance, and even longer since he had last left his tower.
He took in a deep breath and was met with a sharp, searing pain that radiated from his chest. He had sustained the curse for far too long. Iprix winced, and the fatigued healer pulled harder on her Talent, fingers shaking in strain as she eased Iprix’s pain.
He would laugh if he could, but the slow creep of death made such movements agony. He muttered a slur of words, repeating the lifelong incantation with weak, wheezing breaths.
The royal family of Tarth had prolonged their destiny for far too long. Greed was a sin with consequences, and Iprix was only delaying the inevitable.
Ruin would be upon them soon, and he only wished that his apprentice could finish what he started. End the nightmare of Witch Queen Yelenya before it began.
Iprix had managed to contain her unrelenting soul for over a hundred years, but could only keep her curse at bay for so long. He was bound to die sometime, and Yelenya made sure she would still have the last word with this curse. Stubborn even in death.
At least, while he was still breathing, her magic would remain dormant and hopefully give Tarth time to prepare for the potential onslaught. That eased Iprix’s guilt as he saw the healer’s eyelids droop from exhaustion. She didn’t have much longer either.
The old mage closed his eyes and let the soft thrum of arcanum guide him to rest. Perhaps, Iprix prayed, someone had listened to him years ago.
Her power had a source, and if someone could find her tainted soul, they could end this madness once and for all. Such a treasure existed; he was sure of it. The Witch Queen had boundher soul and buried the precious item it was imbued to. If there was one thing Iprix knew, treasure and secrets never stayed buried for long.
Chapter
One
They were late.
The last rays of daylight dipped below the horizon hours ago, and there was still no sign of her father and his charges.
This was a bad idea.Erinna cursed herself once again for caving to her father’s good intentions.
She paced restlessly across the sturdy, weathered planks of the dock, trying to ease her nerves. They were taking unnecessary risks by aiding new clients so soon after the last run.
She glanced over her shoulder for the hundredth time that hour. Behind her, an older man settled himself into a rickety chair. Flame danced from the end of a long matchstick, painting his hardened face as he packed his pipe with fresh swind. Scars decorated his cheek and hands; gray dotted through his dark-blonde hair and beard.
“He’ll be here soon enough,” the man assured her, taking in a few deep puffs.
Erinna curled her nose as the stench of the southern weed wafted up her nostrils.
She turned her worry on the evening’s sail master. “Will you ever take this seriously, Rexin?” It came out sharper than she intended, but the longtime family friend barely flinched.
“It helps calm the nerves.” He exhaled the smoke and held the lightly smoldering pipe out to Erinna with a look that said,You need this far more than I do. He was right, but swind was only a temporary remedy.
“I’ll be calm once the clients are on the boat and away from Tarthan-controlled waters.” A lie, but Erinna would believe it for as long as she could.
Rexin took in a long drag, held his breath, and then let out one long, controlled, exhale. His shoulders fell, as if the weed was already making quick work of his nerves. The smoke curled around his mustache before disappearing into the night.
Erinna wanted to complain but knew he would need this calm for the voyage to come. Early autumn waters were churning, and maneuvering through the Tempest’s Seas required a cool head.
Erinna hoped that would be enough.
A loud gong echoed across the water from the Chancellor’s tower, cutting through the wind. The old mage must have skipped another breath.
