Chapter 2: A PRICE OF BLOOD
"Sebastian spent over a week closeted with the scroll, pouring over his books and scribbling into a notebook. Jason realized that he was attempting to translate it, converting the Maatish hieroglyphs into legible Caerish. He read in the library, but otherwise let him work in peace. When the scholarly fit came upon his father, nothing could distract him.
So when he got hungry, he visited the servants.
Jason got on well with his father's servants. They had always been kind to him, even during his mother's rages. As Jason got older, he realized that they felt sorry for him, and feared and detested Laeria. He knew that some nobles treated their servants badly, but his father always said that the true measure of a man was how he treated his servants, or those who could not hurt him or repay him.
So Jason tried to repay the servants' kindness in turn. The gods knew they took enough abuse from Laeria, after all.
Jason wandered into the villa's kitchen, looking for Azaia, the old Saddaic cook who prepared the family's meals. The kitchen had four large ovens and a dozen tables, but Count Sebastian rarely entertained guests, and Azaia and her few helpers never lit more than one oven.
"Azaia?" Jason called to the empty kitchen. "Are you there?"
His voice echoed off the stone walls.
Jason blinked in surprise. Where was Azaia? She usually had breakfast ready by now."
But the ovens were dark, and the kitchen quiet and empty.
"Azaia?" called Jason again, looking around. Had the old woman overslept? That seemed inconceivable. Or maybe she had gotten sick, and hadn't told anyone? Jason made up his mind and headed to the kitchen's back door. Azaia lived in a small room behind the kitchens, and Jason would see if she had fallen ill...
She stopped.
There was a strange smell in the air, something metallic.
She turned, frowning.
Something dark and wet trickled down the wall, leaking from the leftmost oven. Had Azaia left something in there? That, too, seemed out of character. Jason walked to the brick wall, gripped the iron handles, and pulled the metal door open.
Azaia stared at her from within the oven, dead eyes glassy, torn throat covered in blood. The scream ripped out of Jason like something alive.
His father's seneschal Morus found her, drawn by the screams, and almost started screaming himself. He shouted for the rest of the servants. Eventually his father arrived and pulled him from the gruesome scene.
"What happened?" said Sebastian.
"I...I don't know," said Jason , trying to talk through the tears. He had read about violence, of course, but to see it with his own eyes was something else. "I came down for some food, to see if Azaia was cooking breakfast. No one was around, so I looked for her, and I saw the...I saw the blood leaking from the oven..."
Sebastian looked stricken. He had known Azaia for longer, after all, before Jason had even been born.
Who could have done this?" said Jason.
"I don't know," said Sebastian, voice quiet. He fiddled with his heavy signet ring. "But we're going to find out, Jason. I promise you that. Whoever did this will be brought to account."
He stared at the bloodstain, his expression grim.
"Why would anyone kill Azaia?" said Jason. "She is...she was...so kind. Who would have hated her enough to do this?"
"I don't know," said Sebastian. "Azaia had no money, no influence. There was no reason for anyone to kill her. No reason at all. No reason to spill her blood." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Except for the blood itself."
He said the last so quietly he almost didn't hear it.
"You...know, don't you?" said Jason, puzzled. "You know who did this?"
"Maybe," said Sebastian. "I hope I'm wrong." He closed his eyes. "But if I'm wrong...then I've been blind. A blind fool." He opened his eyes. "I'm going to need help with this. Morus!"
The seneschal hurried over, face pale.
"Lord Count?" he said.
"Stay here," said Sebastian. "Don't let anyone inside."
"Where will you go, my lord?" said Morus.
"To town," said Sebastian. "I will inform the decimvirs of the murder, and...arrange for additional assistance." He took Jason's hand. "Come with me. Quickly."
They hurried through the villa's hallways and entered the library. The Maatish scroll still lay upon the desk, held open by two heavy books. Sebastian knelt behind the desk, opened the bottom drawer, and reached inside. He drew out a small wooden box and unlocked it.
Inside rested a single tarnished silver coin, its inscription and portrait worn with age "That's...the Emperor Cormarus, isn't it?" said Jason , curiosity overriding her fear.
"It is," said Sebastian, picking up the ancient coin.
"I've never seen him on a coin," said jason. The Emperor Cormarus had ruled millennia ago, during the age of the Second Empire. Most of his coins would have been lost or melted down long ago. "Why would you need such an ancient coin?"
"I don't," said Sebastian, sliding the coin into a coat pocket. "The coin itself has no value. But it will send a message to the right people." He took Jason by the shoulders. "Stay in the library until I return. It shouldn't be long."
"I don't want to be left alone," said Jason. He remembered Azaia's dead eyes. "What if...what if the man who killed Azaia comes for me?"
Sebastian looked away. "I don't think he will. But I will have Morus send one of the maids to keep you company." He kissed his forehead. "I will be back."
Then he left. Jason walked to the windows, and in a few minutes saw her father on horseback, riding towards Aretia. Galloping, actually.
He rode through the town's gates and vanished from sight.
Jason turned towards the shelves, running a finger along the leather spines of the books, but her mind was in too much turmoil to read. Why would anyone want to kill Azaia? Had thieves done it, perhaps? But why hadn't they tried to break into his father's strong room, or the library? Maybe the smugglers had returned to reclaim their Maatish scroll?
But the scroll sat untouched on Sebastian's desk. Jason doubted that Azaia had even known about it. And it was just a dusty old scroll, written by people long dead. It couldn't be worth spilling blood over.
All that blood, dripping down the wall...
No reason to kill her except for her blood itself. That was what his father had said. But that made no sense. Why kill Azaia for her blood? What use would her blood be to anyone?
Jason turned and flinched.
His mother stood in the library doorway. Laeria Amalas wore an elaborate gold gown, the drooping sleeves and the skirts slashed with black. As usual, her hair was coiffed and arranged, jewels glittering on her fingers and ears.
Laeria never let anyone see her the slightest bit disheveled, even when angry.
They stared at each other for a while.
"So," said Laeria, walking towards the desk. "I suppose you came here to weep over that lazy cook?"
"This is Father's place," said Jason, voice low. "You shouldn't be here."
Laeria sneered at him. "I am the Countess of House Amalas. I may go wherever I please in this house, boy." She stopped and looked at the desk, staring at the ancient scroll.
"That belongs to Father," said Jason, worried that Laeria would tear it up out of spite. She had done such things before.
"Is it?" said Laeria. "Everything that is his is mine. Including this. I would put it to far better use than the fool ever could."
"Doing what?" said Jason. "You'll sell it and spend the money on jewels? Or wine, perhaps? Or maybe you'll bribe the Magisterium to take you back?"
No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than he realized they had been a mistake. He would send Laeria flying into a rage.
But his mother only smiled.
"You'll find out soon enough," Laeria said. "Because you are mine, child. Mine to do with as I please."
"No," said Jason. "I hate you and I don't want anything to do with you." He glared at her mother. "Someday I'll have my own children, and I'll be a better father to them
"You won't," said Laeria, voice quiet. She laughed. "Have you been crying over that cook? Why? She was old and fat. Utterly useless."
Tears rose in Jason's eyes. "She was better than you."
Laeria laughed again. "Then you are as stupid as I always thought. I was a student of the Imperial Magisterium, a wielder of arcane science..."
"You were a novice for four years," said Jason , "until they threw you out because you were too weak. And useless."
Laeria's blue eyes blazed, and Jason knew that she had pushed her mother too far.
"Am I?" said Laeria. "Tell me again if I am weak."
She lifted her hand, palm out, fingers spread, whispering an incantation under her breath. Caina braced herself, expecting her mother to reach into her mind
"But instead, invisible force slammed into Jason, throwing him across the room and into a shelf. Books fell around him, bouncing off his head and arms. He struggled to regain his balance, to get away from the shelf, but the invisible force held him in place like a giant unseen hand.
Laeria had never been able to do anything like that before.
"Still think I am weak?" said Laeria, her face flushed, her eyes wide with something like ecstasy.
Jason struggled against the invisible force. Strain came over Laeria's face, beads of sweat rising on her forehead. Then the force sputtered and vanished, and Jason fell hard to the floor, rolling over the carpet. He staggered back to his feet, breathing hard, back and shoulders aching from the impact."
Laeria sneered again, and took a step forward, but had to grab the edge of the desk for support. Whatever she had done, whatever spell she had cast, had exhausted her.
"You belong to me," said Laeria. "Never forget that, you worthless, useless brat. You belong to me…and I will do with you what I please!"
Jason and Laeria looked to the door. One of the maids, a young Caerish woman named Gwen, stood in the hallway, looking back and forth.
"What?" said Laeria.
"Morus sent me," said Gwen in Caerish, "said that I was to…"
"Be silent! Or speak High Nighmarian in my presence, rather than the babble of commoners" said Laeria, turning away with one last glower at Jason. "Never forget, boy. You are mine to do with as I please."
Laeria stalked from the library without sparing Jason another glance.
Jason let out a long breath. He was shaking, his hands clenched into fists, tears trickling down his cheeks.
What…what should I do?"
Jason closed her eyes. "Help me clean up these books."
It did not take long to clean up the books, and afterwards Jason sent Gwen away. He was not afraid that Azaia's murderer would come after him.
She was afraid that her mother was the murderer. Or that Laeria knew who had done it.
Jason spent the day leafing through books, his eyes moving over the pages without seeing anything. Again and again he looked towards the window, hoping to see her father riding back from Aretia."
He did not come.
Eventually Jason fell asleep on the couch by his father's desk. He dreamed of the kitchen, of Azaia's dead eyes gazing at him. He fled, screaming, but the dead woman lurked in every door, reaching for her with pallid, lifeless hands.
Jason awoke with a start, his heart racing. He heard shouting. A man's voice, and a woman's, both raised in anger.
His mother and father.
The voices came from the hallway. Jason rose and crept towards the door.
"Don't take that tone with me," said Laeria, her voice full of contempt.
"Tone?" said Sebastian. "One of my servants lies butchered in her own oven, and you're worried about my tone?"
"Simply hire another one," said Laeria. "The woman's cooking was deplorable. Aretia is thronged with idle commoners. You should have no difficulty replacing her.
"She was murdered!" said Sebastian.
"What of that?" said Laeria. "Commoners murder each other for the stupidest reasons."
"I think the reasons had nothing to do with Azaia, or any other commoner," said Sebastian.
There was silence for a moment.
"So you are blaming me?" said Laeria, laughing. "You think I snuck down to the kitchens in the dead of night and cut the fat old cow's throat? Yes, indeed, that is how I like to spend my evenings."
"Not you," said Sebastian. "Your friends."
"My friends?" said Laeria. "Yes, dear husband, I have so many friends worthy of my attention, living in this miserable backwater."
Her voice had grown shriller.
"You know what friends I mean," said Sebastian. "Your correspondents. The sorcerers Laeria sniffed. "If I choose to correspond with the magi of the Imperial Magisterium, then that is my own affair..."
"The Imperial Magisterium is a collection of fools, tyrants, and murderers," said Sebastian, "but even they know better than to have anything to do with you. They cast you out after four years, after all."
Jason could just imagine Laeria's expression at that.
"Do not think to insult me," said Laeria, voice cold. "If I..."
"You've been writing to...other sorcerers, haven't you?" said Sebastian. "Not the magi?"
Laeria said nothing.
"The outcasts and the criminals," said Sebastian. "The sorcerers outside the Magisterium, the ones who practice forbidden sciences."
Laeria still said nothing.
"Tell me that I'm wrong," said Sebastian."
You've been reading my letters?" said Laeria. "Such a worthy pursuit of a nobleman..."
"It wasn't necessary," said Sebastian. "I know you, Laeria. I know what sort of woman you are, even if I didn't when we first met. You only want power. That's all you've ever wanted. You thought the Magisterium would give you power, but they rejected you. So you've turned to outlaw sorcerers instead."
Laeria said nothing.
"Tell me that I'm wrong," said Sebastian.
"You are a narrow-minded fool," said Laeria.
"Damn it, woman," said Sebastian. "Necromancers? Are you insane?"
"You are as blind as the Magisterium," said Laeria. "They could not appreciate my talent, my potential. But the outlaws can. They understand me. Why should I not associate with them?" Her voice dropped, so quiet that Jason could barely hear it. "And not all the Magisterium thinks as you do. There are magi who appreciate the potential of necromancy and the other banned arcane sciences. They would see the magi rule the Empire again, and the glory of the Fourth Empire restored."
"The Fourth Empire was built upon the blood of the innocent and the sweat of slaves," said Sebastian. "I will not have anyone in my house associate with necromancers! Not even you, Laeria. If need be, I will stop this."
Laeria laughed. "You are a weak and craven man. How will you stop me?"
"I will contact the Ghosts."
Laeria's laughter redoubled. "The Ghosts are a myth. A story fools use to excuse their failures."
"I will not tolerate this, Laeria."
Again she laughed at him. "And how will you stop me, dear Sebastian? You are a coward. You always have been a coward. Even now you are afraid of me. Stay out of my way, little boy, and perhaps you will not be hurt."
Her heels clicked against the floor. Silence hung over the library for a moment. Then the door opened, and Sebastian walked into the room. He looked tired and disheveled, his clothes rumpled and his thinning hair sticking up at odd angles. He crossed to the desk, reached into a drawer, drew out a dusty bottle of brandy, and poured himself a glass.
Only then did he look up and see Jason.
"Son," he said. "What are you doing here?"
"I fell asleep on the couch," said Jason.
Sebastian gave a distracted nod. "I'm sorry. My business in town took...longer than I anticipated. I should have been back sooner."
"What were you and Mother fighting about?" said Jason. "Sebastian closed his eyes. "You heard?"
Jason nodded.
"The same thing we always fight about," said Sebastian.
"It didn't sound like it," said Jason.
Sebastian sighed. "This...was not something I wanted to discuss with you, Jason. But..." He sighed again, and took a sip of his brandy. "I suppose it cannot be kept from you." One more sip of brandy, and he looked at him. "Tell me about the Imperial Magisterium."
Jason shrugged. "The magi of the Magisterium oversee the use of sorcery in the Empire."
Sebastian nodded. "Go on."
"They all learn to use the sorcery of the mind," said Hanson, remembering how his mother had dug into his thoughts. "They can also learn to control the elements of earth, wind, and water."
"But not fire," said Sebastian. "Why not?
Because using fire sorcery drives the wielder insane," said Jason. "They're also forbidden to use necromancy."
"Why?"
"Because," said Jason, thinking back to the books his head read, "because...other kinds of sorcery draw their power from the mind, or the elements. Necromancy draws its power from death, from blood, and...and..."
He remembered Azaia's corpse, all that blood dripping down the wall...
"Azaia?" whispered Jason.
Sebastian sighed and nodded.
"Some...some necromancer killed her?" said Jason.
"The Magisterium," said Sebastian, his voice heavy, "would have us believe that they have total control over sorcery in the Empire, that the forbidden arcane sciences have been stamped out. But that's not true. Bands of rogue sorcerers have operated within the Empire for years. And many brothers and sisters of the Magisterium are...sympathetic, to say the least. And some of the nobility, for that matter. They would see the magi rule the Empire once more, would see the forbidden sciences restored, and slavery reestablished in all the provinces."
"What has that to do with Mother?" said Jason.
"Your mother," said Sebastian, tugging at his signet ring, "has been corresponding with one of these outlaw sorcerers."
"Why?" said Jason.
"The Magisterium rejected her," said Sebastian. "Perhaps the outlaws will not. Never mind that necromancers fuel their powers with the blood of the innocent. Your mother, Jason...your mother would not scruple at any crime, if she thought it would give her power." He shook his head. "I had thought better of her. I had...I had hoped to think better of her."
"What will we do?" said Jason.
Sebastian looked out the windows, at the moonlight rippling on the sea. "The Ghosts."
"Ghosts?" said Jason. "Will the necromancers call up spirits?"
Sebastian smiled, briefly. "Not quite. Most people think the Ghosts are only a legend. But they're very real. They are the Emperor's spies, his eyes and ears. And occasionally his assassins. And they are bitter enemies of the magi, and all who practice forbidden arcane sciences. If any one can deal with your mother's 'friends', the Ghosts can."
"Or with Mother herself," said Jason.
Sebastian shook his head. "Your mother is...brittle, Jason. She's..." His voice trailed off. "There are bruises on your face. Did she hit you?"
"No," said Jason, touching his cheek. It still hurt, come to think of it. "No...she did something. Some kind of spell. She pushed out with her hand, and this...invisible thing hit me. It threw me into the bookshelf."
Sebastian frowned. "She's...never been able to do anything like that before." He looked at him, at the shelves, and then back to him. "She didn't have the power. That is why the Magisterium put her out…she simply wasn't strong enough to become a magus."
"Then how did she get so much stronger?" said Jason.
Blood. His father had said that necromancers used blood to fuel their powers. To make themselves stronger. And Laeria had become stronger. Jason had watched her practice sorcery for years, and Laeria had barely been able to lift a goblet into the air with her powers.
And now she had the strength to throw Jason across the room with a single gesture.
"Oh, gods," whispered Jason. "She killed Azaia, didn't she?"
Sebastian said nothing, but his sickened expression told Jason everything.
"What are you going to do?" said Jason, his voice shaking with panic. "She's going to kill us. She's going to kill me, she's going to kill me, she's…"
"Jason!" Sebastian stood, took him by the shoulders. "I will not let her hurt you."
"How?" said Jason.
"I will confront her with the truth," said Sebastian. "She was right about one thing. I have been a coward, and I have put this off for too long. I will give her one chance to leave with her life. If she is still here when the Ghosts arrive, they will kill her."
Jason grabbed his hand. "No. Don't. Don't! She'll kill you."
"She won't," said Sebastian. "Bad enough that she killed a servant. But if she kills an Imperial Count, she knows that the Ghosts will never stop hunting her.
Don't," said Jason, his fingers squeezing his hand. "Please, don't do this."
"I have to," said Sebastian. "It is the right thing to do."
"She murdered Azaia!" said Jason. It was the first time she had ever shouted at her father. "How is giving her a chance to run the right thing to do?"
"Because," said Sebastian. "She is still my wife, and I swore before gods and men to be faithful to her until death. And even if I hate her, even if we haven't spoken a civil word to each other in ten years…she still gave me you, Jason."
Jason had no answer for that. Yet every nerve in his body screamed that warning Laeria was a mistake, that Sebastian should contact the Ghosts at once, that he should avoid Laeria until the Ghosts arrived to deal with her.
But he could find no words to articulate his desperate fear.
"Don't," he whispered."
"I must," said Sebastian, squeezing his hand. "Go to bed, Jason. This will all be settled in a few days, I promise you."
Jason didn't believe him. But he was his father, and he trusted him. So he nodded and let him lead him to his bedroom. He lifted him, kissed him on the forehead, and placed him upon the bed.
"Good night," he said. "I love you."
"I love you, too," said Jason.
Sebastian smiled and left.
Jason lay alone in the darkness.
The shadows seemed to swallow him, and at last he fell into a feverish, dream-haunted sleep."
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