The Heart Forger (The Bone Witch #2)(114)
“You killed your own flesh and blood!” the elder hissed. “That alone merits the executioner’s axe!”
“And I will pay for that sin soon enough. But not today. I know you will not allow me to stand trial, Elder. Would you really allow me to provide a full accounting of what happened that final night?”
“You—you—” Mistress Hestia stopped, her eyes bulging. A peculiar change was coming over the woman along with some of her fellow elders. A queer gurgling sound began at the base of her throat, lower than her thin voice could manage.
Lady Mykaela stepped back in alarm, and so did the bone witch, looking as startled as the rest. Mistress Hestia clutched at her throat, stumbled, and fell to the ground. Her tongue lolled out as she jerked and spasmed, turning bloated and black.
“What did you do, Tea?” Lady Mykaela gasped.
“I haven’t done anything!”
The elder moaned one last time—and insect-like wings sprouted from her back.
29
“Getting into Kneave,” Zoya growled, spitting out a mouthful of hay, “sounds infinitely better on paper than it is from inside a wagon.”
Unlike the Odalian army that had showed up at Ankyo, there was no Kion army attacking the gates, but there were Kion asha and Deathseekers gathered around the city, led by Alsron and Shadi, staying out of view until they were called upon. Besides, the azi was an army all on its own.
Under my guidance, it attacked the outposts first. The watchtowers crumbled, and I forced myself not to think about the casualties, of how many unsuspecting soldiers had been there when the attack commenced. I could not think about it; the stakes were higher now.
The azi still waged bloody war above us, and the whole palace shuddered whenever it flew too close, striking the top of the battlements with its tail, destroying centuries-old architecture in one heavy swipe. I had no fear that any attacks Odalia might mount in retaliation would injure the azi, so for the moment, I was content to let it move independently, leaving a cautious note in its head to increase its distance to the city, to prevent any more citizens from being harmed. The daeva had the easier task; all it needed to do was distract the soldiers from us.
Our entrance into the city was a lot less conspicuous than my azi’s, and Zoya wouldn’t shut up about it. “Whose brilliant idea was it to use a hay wagon of all things?” she sputtered as she crawled out from underneath the bales. Kalen was the first out the wagon, helping me to my feet. We were dressed like Deathseekers: black breeches and long-sleeved shirts further camouflaged us in the approaching evening. “Why didn’t we use a fruit wagon or one of those covered wagons Yadoshans seem to be so fond of—”
“We could have a wagon made from goose pillows, Zoya, and you’d still be complaining.” Polaire had recovered rapidly almost as soon as we had entered Kneave, nearly returning to her old self again. The color had returned to Mykaela’s cheeks, and she no longer needed Polaire’s help to move about, climbing down from the wagon with her old agility after Altaecia.
“Wasn’t it your idea, Zoya?” Khalad asked pointedly, squirming out of the wagon after her. Fox, his face hidden underneath a dark cloak and hood, was the carriage driver, leading the horses. The Illusion rune I had woven around us had been most effective, and we had managed to enter the city unmolested.
“Perhaps I am slowly losing my mind like the rest of you. Among us, I’m practically the only one not on the duke’s wanted fugitives list.”
“We all have a part to play in this enterprise, Zoya,” Polaire said sweetly. “And as you said, you have the least important part to play. You can stay in the city until we return if you’d like.”
“And miss out on all the fun? Not on your life.” Zoya brushed what straw she could off herself, making a face.
“A little less talk,” Kalen said. “The entrance to the crypts shouldn’t be guarded. Few soldiers keep watch there.”
“Tea knows,” Fox said with a sidelong glance at me, and I snorted.
The royal catacombs were as I had remembered them—gloomy and stale smelling, with the same statues and marbled columns. Kings of ages past loomed over us as we walked down the narrow stairway. Kalen brought up the front and Fox guarded our rear.
I could see the familiar shape of King Vanor’s tomb looming before us and watched as Kalen took the initiative. Fire combined with Mud, and the stone and dried bricks crumbled from the vault where the king’s body lay, the sound muffled by the ongoing chaos above us. Zoya and Polaire added their strength to Kalen’s, and heavy currents of Wind drew the coffin out into the open.
“Your turn, Tea,” Polaire told me.
As before, it was easy enough to compel the dead king to rise—much more difficult to compel him to speak. King Vanor showed the same stubbornness from when we had left off at his last raising. No sound issued from his lips, though his eyes remained trained on Mykaela as if the rest of us did not exist. It was clear that his presence pained my sister-asha. Pain and grief were evident on her face, and the anger inside me burned again.
“I can’t do anything if he’s not willing,” Khalad reminded us.
“Where is Lady Mykaela’s heartsglass?” I demanded of the corpse. As before, he made no reply.
Polaire frowned. “Perhaps we are asking the wrong question, Tea.”