The Bone Shard Daughter (The Drowning Empire, #1)(119)

“Keep close,” I said to Mephi, twining my fingers into his fur.

We climbed the steps of the entrance hall and ventured into a dark hallway, our footsteps echoing.

A voice emerged from the darkness, sending the hairs on my arms on end. “Who are you?”





44





Lin


Imperial Island

I lay on the floorboards as the constructs destroyed one another above me. My father’s and Bayan’s attacked one another, heedless of which were meant to be friend or foe; mine attacked my father’s. I heard the click of footsteps, and then Bing Tai’s cold nose touched my cheek, a huff of warm breath gusted across my forehead.

I’d won.

Bayan was dead. Numeen and his family were dead. And here I was, still alive and more alone than I’d felt since I’d first awoken to chrysanthemums painted on the ceiling above me. I rolled onto my belly and pushed myself to my feet. Only the simple war constructs were left, and Bing Tai. As I watched, the last of my father’s was taken down. The dining room, a mess of overturned chairs and broken furniture, fell into silence. Above, rain pattered on the tile roof. I pressed a hand to the wound on my shoulder, grimaced and tore my sleeve off to fashion a makeshift bandage. The wound across my belly was shallow enough. I’d have to clean it later.

“Bayan?” My voice trembled in the empty air. I shouldn’t have even tried, but hope clung to my bones. No one answered. I limped over to where he’d fallen.

He lay on his back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his throat torn open. I didn’t realize I was kneeling until I was crouched at his side, my hands hovering helplessly over his neck. He was a construct. There had to be a way to repair him, even now once he’d died. If I did repair him, he’d be a new construct, no memory of me or his life before. Whatever magic my father had used to put memories into my mind and into Bayan’s, it was an imperfect magic I did not know.

I strode to my father’s fallen form next, still cautious, still not quite believing he was dead. The surviving war constructs had settled where they stood, sitting on haunches or lying on the floorboards, watching me. Bing Tai followed me, guarding my back. Shiyen lay face down, blood pooling beneath him and staining his robes. I knelt and touched his neck. His skin, papery thin and gray, had already begun to cool.

With some pain and effort, I turned him over. Sightless eyes stared at the ceiling. I’d have to send out missives announcing his death. The governors would expect a grand funeral, but I could ask for privacy. Even though Shiyen hadn’t been to the other islands since he was young, they’d met him. They hadn’t met me. I’d have to spend some time establishing diplomatic ties. And there was the larger matter of the constructs. The simpler ones would turn mad, sowing chaos. The more complex ones – I wasn’t sure. The Empire I’d inherited was already fraying at the edges, and this would only tug loose more threads.

A glint caught my eye. The chain of keys around my father’s neck. I unfastened the clasp and pulled it free. I still hadn’t found the place where he’d so often disappeared to. There was that door in the old mining shaft, the one that looked like it had seen some use. I steeled myself and patted down my father’s corpse.

Something small and solid was tucked into his sash pocket. I reached inside and pulled forth a small, golden key. Somehow I knew – this would open the door in the tunnel.

I should rest. I should call forth the servants from wherever they’d hidden during the battle. I should clean my wounds and change my clothes. But the pull of unveiled mysteries was too strong for me to ignore. Had his wife been so curious as well? The trek to the old mining tunnels seemed to take a lifetime. I kept touching the walls, each footfall a reminder that this palace was mine. These floors, these walls were now my property to do with as I willed. Bing Tai kept pace with me, and I leaned on him when I felt I didn’t have the strength.

I took a lamp from the wall and entered the tunnels beneath the palace, pulled along as though by a rope. My father, occupied by some other task, hadn’t taken the time to repair the guard constructs I’d disabled. Neither of them bothered me as I passed.

The door in the tunnel was where I remembered it, small and nondescript. I pulled the key from my sash pocket and tried it in the lock. It slid in easily, as if it had been used a thousand times. I stepped inside.

The room beyond was dark, my breath echoing off distant walls. I took the time to light the lamps by the door, and only then did I get a decent look at the room. It was more a cave than a room, vast and rough-hewn. A thick vein of witstone ran through the ceiling. A pool filled half the room, and as I watched, water dripped from above, sending ripples across the surface. In the middle of the space, next to the pool, stood a number of strange machines, tools and tables. The whole place smelled earthy and warm, like freshly roasted chestnuts.

This. This was where he’d disappeared to all those long days.

I ran my hand over the metal tables, the instruments. Some I recognized – scissors, needles, knives of various shapes and sizes. Others, with grasping claws and serrated edges, I did not. I wondered if he’d used these tools to build both me and Bayan. A glint of gold caught my eye. I turned to see a small shelf lined with various objects. On one of the bottom shelves was a silk cloth. When I pulled it free and unfolded it, I felt recognition stir in my chest. It was painted with golden chrysanthemums.