Serpent and the Throne (Fedosian Wars #1)

1. Archmage of All Saints

one

Archmage of All Saints

Light magic required consent, but how that was obtained had always been violence in Fedosia.

The sun set with the color of fire and dark silhouettes of ships set sail from the port of Murmia, gliding over the gilded ocean. The church bells tolled, marking nine in the evening. What day it was Sofia didn’t know, but the ringing had been making her mad. She could see the belltower from the window too small to climb out of.

She was at the heights birds flew at, but she didn’t care, she would have tried scaling down. Stone walls and bare floors, the room was round, had a single bed and a bucket for pissing. Two days she’d been imprisoned here, and for how long she’d been asleep before that, she didn’t know. For all the saints, she was losing her wit, feeling the invisible stranger’s presence when night fell, darkness came, and she was left without a single candle.

She’d pulled strands of her hair out—long, dark, curly locks on the floor, and she’d been digging at the stone walls with her nails when the iron bar clanked and the door opened. White robe and gold collar, an acolyte entered.

“Where’s the archmage?” Sofia rose. “I demand to speak with my uncle.”

“The archmage will see you now. Please follow me, Lady Sofia.”

Barefoot and in the same dress that smelled of Aleksei, she descended the spiraling steps of the stone tower after the acolyte, tempted to shove him down it. But then what? She didn’t know where Aleksei was.

They crossed the atrium with rose bushes where acolytes stood in a circle, chanting. Praying, they called it, speaking in the language of spells, but it was nonsense to her.

Sofia entered the nave and the doors closed behind her. The last of the day’s light streamed through the small arched windows over the altar, creating beams of amber hue, where the archmage in his gold robe lit candles for the gilded icons. The somber faces of the saints painted on the domed ceiling gazed down upon them. Though the floor had a red wool carpet and the hall appeared warm because of all that glittered, a stale cold had settled in.

“Where is Aleksei?” Sofia asked.

“Sit, girl,” the archmage said with his back to her. He wasn’t done lighting his altar full of candles.

“Where is Aleksei!”

“It’s Day Solis, you will sit, Sofia.”

It was Day Solis every seven days. There wasn’t any significance to it except for the one the church gave, designating it as the Day of Saints. Sofia knelt on the carpet and sat on her heels. “Uncle, where is Aleksei?”

“Look at yourself, listen to yourself, you act like a cock starved crone, shameful for a lady of Guard,” he said, turning, his yellow eyes catching the candlelight.

Gold locks, gold robe, gold slippers, the archmage looked like his gilded icons. He was nearly sixty, but he hadn’t aged since Sofia first saw him when she was five years old, thirty years ago. He used his magic to keep himself young, and the plan was to live forever, she supposed. All magic had cost, and though the archmage had a daughter once, he was now infertile and impotent—family secrets, of course, and every great family in Fedosia had them.

“I’m not Darina,” Sofia whispered and looked at her hands on her lap. Had she been his daughter, he wouldn’t have wed her to the count, but now he wanted to act like her father— the man he burned at the stake. “We’ve done you no wrong. Please let us go, Uncle.”

“You think I’d let you go to Elfur?” he asked. She looked up at him and he cocked his head. “Assume I know everything. All men confess to me, saints and sinners alike.”

“You’ve tortured him? Is that what you’ve done?” She dug her nails into her palm, and it bled. “I killed the count. It’s my fault. Let him go.”

The archmage tutted, then sat down on the altar steps. Elbows on knees, he dropped his head and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. After another long, deep sigh, he looked up at her and clicked his tongue. “Though I believe we still burn women who murder their husbands, I don’t give a fuck about that. It’s not that you ridiculed yourself tripping over your hem falling for a boy a decade younger than you, it’s not that you tarnished the Guard name with your theatrics at the steeplechase, it’s not even that you killed your husband, a man with a good name.

“It’s that I loathe all Shields and him in particular. I’ve asked you with words not to see him again, but that wasn’t enough, was it? And now that we find ourselves here, I’m afraid, my darling girl, the time for words is long past.

“I shall erase you from his memory altogether. And you, Sofia, will be taking an oath to light not to pursue him any further. I will be binding your soul to such an oath, and you are to die should you break it.”

“No,” she said. A promise made with a hope to die, and a memory spell, both of those things required consent.

“You’re my flesh and blood, Sofia. I adored your mother and I extend that grace to you. I will not hurt you. But I will absolutely break that boy if you refuse me.” His eyes burned, and with so much hate in his light, he looked ugly.

“He’s the queen’s nephew. You can’t do that,” she dared.

“Watch me, girl.” He rose. “We’re already at war. You will give me your consent and for that, I will spare his life. If not, I’ll strip his skin off his flesh, and make him scream for days, the same the Shields do to their prisoners. Where do you suppose the red in their name comes from?

“They are Red Shield. We are White Guard. Welcome to Fedosia, Sofia of Guard, and from this day on, you shall never see Aleksei of Shield. This is my word, and you will abide by it. The light of the saints shall see it through.”

Made a scene at the Royal Cup, he said, but wasn’t it his cheating and Daniil Chartorisky’s zealousness running over Elyena that stole the show? Viktor Guard, so called the archmage, was a petty, pitiful, spiteful, vain old man who couldn’t get over himself. Why did he care Sofia loved Aleksei other than he told her not to and she disobeyed him?

As to the truth of why he and Aleksei didn’t get along, she believed Aleksei. But none of that mattered because he held all the power, and she didn’t doubt for a single breath his viciousness.

“Uncle!” She got up and ran because he was walking away. “May I see him, please?”

He turned, grabbed her throat, and they waltzed backward. “Stop. Being. So. PATHETIC!” He slapped her hard enough for her to taste blood, and tears threatened to well in her eyes, but that was nothing compared to what he’d do to Aleksei. She had to gather herself and stop being so… pathetic.

“How do I even know he’s alive?” she muttered. “Show him to me.”

“I can show you him dead, will that suffice?” He shoved her and she stumbled back, trying not to fall.

“You want my consent, you may have it. But in return, you’d spare his life, you said. I want to see you have something to spare, Uncle.”

Gold brows knotted in amusement. The archmage considered for a breath, then said, “Go kneel before the saints. Pray they take your lust away. It diminishes you. When you lose the hysterics, you may come see me. I’ll be in the undercroft, teaching your whore a lesson about respect.”

Damn you!

He was doing it to rile her up so he could tell her to calm down. She tried not to lose it. Then he wouldn’t let her see him at all.

“I’ll try my best, Uncle.” She balled her fists.

As he smirked and twirled, a whisper, a breeze passed through the church, though there were no open windows. The light flickered as the candle flames at the altar fluttered.

The stranger circled behind her, casting a long, dark shadow. “Name. Give us a name.”

The archmage didn’t sense the darkness and walked out. It wasn’t real. Of course not. Perhaps she was secretly a Shield and was redlining. She turned to the altar, and the faces of the saints appeared to be moving as the shadow paced in front of them.

“Give us a name.”

She plunged to her knees in front of the saints. “I’ve hated, that’s my sin. I was unfaithful, that’s my sin. I’ve killed my husband, that’s my sin. I’ve disgraced my family, that’s also my sin. I’ve loved, but I won’t apologize for that. He made me live, and why can’t I?” Though she tried not to, she cried. “Why can’t I? Tell me, why can’t I?”

The stranger had vanished because he’d never been there. The saints said nothing because they were dead, but their eyes flaked in gold watched as she cried and cried, speaking to her brother who wasn’t there. “You gave me a tracker, Lev. You gave me something he can find. I don’t have a family because you all hate me. I’m sorry my mother died, but I didn’t ask to be born. I’m sorry my father was a foreigner, a necromancer, but I didn’t choose him, she did.

“I’m sorry about all this,” she said, finally. “I’ve gotten my Aleksei into this. I have to get him out. He’s all that matters.” She looked down at her hands and tears dropped on her dress, red for some reason though she wasn’t bleeding.

I must get him out of here, I must.