A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(2)



The room was rather bare, all things considered. The only other things of note were a raised dais, upon which stood a backless obsidian seat—for the Imperator, I shouldn’t wonder—and a large square pit with four compartments. One compartment held burning coals, one a pool of water, one rich earth, and one was empty save for a floating white feather that perpetually hovered inches from the ground. I’d read about this; it was an elemental square, like an altar in a church. Holy to sorcerers.

Everyone who entered walked up to the square, knelt, and touched their forehead to the edge. Was it wrong to find the whole thing a bit silly? We moved toward the square. Blackwood genuflected, and then I followed.

Kneeling before the elements, my body settled into profound stillness. I could feel the quiet whisper of the earth resonating through me, could sense the fire that pulsed below the surface of my skin. It was as if a cool, invisible hand had been laid on my shoulder, assuring me that I belonged. Gently, I touched my head to the obsidian. When I stood, I felt a bit dizzy and grabbed on to the edge. A sorcerer in his late twenties helped me to stand.

“It’s a bit of a rush the first time you experience it. You’ll find your feet,” he said, not unkindly. I thanked him and then went to join Blackwood. He was seated in the second tier and looking about at the crowd expectantly.

“I don’t think everyone will be here,” he mused as I sat down. “But whoever’s in London will come.”

I might see some of the boys after all. It had been months since Lambe had been in town, and I’d barely spoken to Wolff since the commendation. God, I hoped they’d be here tonight. Them, or Dee…or Magnus.

Then again, perhaps I didn’t need to see everyone.

“The Imperator should begin with formally inducting all the newly commended sorcerers,” Blackwood said. “But he might not. I’ve read that Imperators past—Hollybrook, for example, who held the title from 1763 to 1801—sometimes required a small blood oath. Apparently it was a grisly mess.” Blackwood’s eyes seemed to glow as he looked at the Imperator’s still-empty throne. “Don’t be afraid to speak up if you wish. There’s no formal structure for these sorts of things. Whitechurch is our leader, and he may ask for specific advice from the Masters, but everyone in the Order has a right to question or offer opinions.”

“You know quite a bit about the Imperator’s office,” I said.

Blackwood looked a bit sheepish. “I confess it’s a job that’s always interested me. Though there’s an unofficial rule that says Blackwoods can never be Imperators—we’re too influential already.”

“They’d be mad not to consider you,” I said. Blackwood would be one of the best choices for a leadership role. Even though he’d only just turned seventeen, he had a cooler head than most men twice his age. He sat up even straighter, his green eyes brightening.

“Howel!” Dee bolted up the stairs toward Blackwood and me, as excited as an overgrown calf in clover. I didn’t care. Someone from my old Incumbent house was here, besides Blackwood. Dee ducked into our row, jostling a pair of sorcerers, and sat on my skirt. It took a couple of tugs to get it out from under him.

“Dee! I didn’t think you’d be back from Lincolnshire. Did you battle Zem?” I said, stifling a laugh while he tried to yank his robe into propriety. Dee’s red hair was a brambled mess. He must have flown here.

“I didn’t get up close, but the Great Serpent was at work burning down masses of fields. Suppose the Ancients want to destroy crops, what with the winter coming. I got to work in the rain unit, you know. Even managed some lightning.” His round face flushed with pleasure. Well, he should have been proud. Summoning lightning was a bloody challenge.

“You must have won a great victory.” I smiled at him.

“We put the fire out, at least. How is everyone at home?” he asked, painfully trying to sound casual.

He was clearly asking about Lilly, my maid. He’d liked her since we’d all lived in Agrippa’s house together, though he’d never made his feelings known. Normally I’d have been worried about a young gentleman chasing a maid—those sorts of things didn’t usually end well for the girl. But I knew Dee would sooner cut off his own hand than harm Lilly. And if he didn’t, I’d do it for him.

“Everyone is very well. Everyone,” I said with a wink. Dee blushed harder, if such a thing were even possible. His skin practically glowed.

“What was that about?” Blackwood whispered.

“I don’t have to tell you all my secrets,” I said primly, fluffing my skirt.

“Pity. I’d like to know them.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking, and I studied him a moment. Blackwood’s profile was strong and distinguished in a shaft of moonlight, and the look in his eyes utterly distant. No matter how much time I spent with him, he could be as inscrutable as the dark side of the moon.

“All rise,” a sorcerer called at the door. Instantly, I was on my feet, alongside Blackwood and the rest of the room. We were silent as a black-robed man entered, walked up the steps of the dais, and seated himself upon his throne. Horace Whitechurch, Imperator of Her Majesty’s Order.

When I’d first met him, I’d thought him the thinnest, most unassuming old man, with white hair and wet black eyes. Now I could feel how his strength radiated outward. In this room, coupled with the power of the elemental square, I imagined him as the beating heart of a great body, his life force nourishing each one of us in turn. This man was strength.

Jessica Cluess's Books