The Heart Forger (The Bone Witch #2)(105)
“Beating him was tantamount to fighting at least five men, don’t you think?” I whispered against his mouth, exhausted beyond belief. Kalen’s chest heaved with relief, with laughter.
I focused on the savul again, and it withdrew its claw. At the same time, the azi, independent of any control, wrenched its tail spike away from the old man’s body with a sickening, crunching sound.
With difficulty, Kalen helped me up, his stare cautious as his eyes rested on the three-headed dragon before us.
“It won’t hurt us.”
“You’re not compelling it, Tea. It can attack at any moment.”
“It won’t hurt us,” I repeated. “When Usij was distracted, it killed him without my urging.” The azi bowed all three snouts, resting its long necks on the ground in an act of submission.
“But that’s impossible.”
“What’s one more impossibility today?” The yellow eyes that watched me approach were trusting, and the rumbling noise that started from the back of its throat was almost kittenish. “You shook free of his control all on your own, didn’t you?” I asked in wonder, laying my hand on the azi’s head, as I had done so many times before. It purred again, and I felt its mind open to mine, inviting as, for the first time, a daeva bowed before a human master of its own free will.
The ramifications were boundless. Emperor Shifang was an imposter. The man who had been leading Daanoris all these months was its greatest enemy. Now I understood the bone witch’s hatred; now I understood her murder of the hanjian.
The pain of having his spell so violently dispersed took its toll on the Faceless. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he shook, and foam bubbled from his mouth. His hands and feet were still bound, but these were no longer deterrents; he was clearly in no shape to break free.
“You survived, you old fool,” the Dark asha said, almost appreciative. “Old as the mountains, your hands full of guts and viscera, and still you survived. But severely weakened. Maintaining this Illusion rune must have taken everything you had.”
“You…stupid…bitch…” he snarled between choking gasps.
“To you seeking Blade that Soars’s path,” the girl quoted, “take that which came from Five Great Heroes long past and distill into a heart of silver to shine anew. I have need of your heartsglass, Usij. Black heartsglass was silver once, and lightsglass has purifying effects. And the rub? I do not require your permission. Khalad, do it.”
The Heartforger was quick; he grabbed at the Faceless’s heartsglass, which rippled violently. With one hand, he forced the first of the five urvan into its center, the lightning-shaped glass disappearing into its depths.
Usij howled and tried one last time to break free, but Lord Kalen held the Faceless’s arms and Lord Khalad forced the second and then the third urvan in. Usij’s face swiveled to stare into mine, and I froze. It was like the face of a desperate animal, willing to do anything to free itself. The zivar I wore shone, but nothing else happened.
Kill them.
Feeling bemused, I rose to my feet. There was a small table by the side of the door, with the remains of our last meal. I took one of the larger knives there, examining it closely to gauge its sharpness. Quickly! The thought ran through my head.
I ran toward Lord Khalad’s unprotected back, knife raised and ready—and stopped as a new presence bored into my mind. The zivar burned again, so hot that I could feel it scalding into my skin, could imagine the sizzling of flesh there. I screamed aloud. The knife clattered to the floor.
“Desperation brings out strength,” the bone witch said. “Warded as you are, weakened as we made you—and yet able to reach out and control the bard still. You are a dangerous man, Usij. The land shall be glad to be rid of you.”
The Heartforger forced the last of the urvan into the black heartsglass and the room filled with unexpected light. The Faceless’s heart was no longer black like the Dark asha’s but instead a magnificent array of silvers. The girl ripped the heartsglass free from Usij and held it aloft in her hand.
“Leave,” she ordered, and a terrible languidness came over me. My feet moved independently of the rest of me, shuffling toward the room next door, even as a part of me struggled and screamed at the aeshma that now lumbered forward with horrifying eagerness.
“Tea!” the Heartforger pleaded. “Don’t do this. Kill him if you must, but let it be quick.”
The bone witch trembled. With what remaining access she had to my mind, I could sense her thirst for the darkrot, her yearning to be cruel.
“Tea,” Lord Kalen said, adding his supplication to his cousin’s. “Please.”
After a moment, the aeshma sniffed, retreating. I was already out the door and into the corridor, and what else happened in that throne room afterward, I knew not. My mind was peaceful and deprived of thought, and for that I was glad.
27
Emperor Shifang had not quite fully recovered from his ordeal. His eyes were bloodshot and glazed over as he looked out into his city and saw the remains of the carnage that stretched out before him, from the bodies of the Daanorian soldiers that had not survived the battle to the two hulking daeva out in the field.
He was no longer the perfectly manicured and well-dressed emperor who had greeted us with spears and threats when we first entered his throne room. But for all his faults, his formidable arrogance and assurance of his gods-given right to rule remained very much in evidence, even as he defied Tansoong’s orders to set out and see the daeva for himself, despite all reasonable arguments against his doing so.