Serpent and the Throne (Fedosian Wars #1)

17. Toward the Storm

seventeen

Toward the Storm

A bright light flashed, gold and warm at first, but grew to white and blinding in a blink. Sofia was yanked by her hair, pulled back, torn away from Aleksei. It felt as though she was being dragged through the inside of a sun but it was the archmage, and she knew that before he was shoving her into his coach and lashing at his driver to ride off.

The six horse carriage bolted forward and they left the racecourse behind. The archmage slapped her across the face and blood gushed from her nose.

His yellow eyes burned. “How dare you!” he roared before he collected himself enough to straighten his gold robe. “With all the men and their cocks in Fedosia, how dare you insult me so entangling with a Shield WHORE!”

“I’m not a Guard. Why do you care? I’m an Elfurian necromancer’s daughter. You remind me so every chance you get.” Sofia covered her mouth, taking short, sharp inhales so as not to sob.

He grabbed her hair, pulled her down, and hit her on the back of the head, and that was how they were, weren’t they? Always in the hair or on the body, not the face, not usually, because the saints forbid people think ill of them.

They fought in the coach and the archmage beat the daylights out of her, releasing something he’d withheld. It wasn’t about her, no. It was about his daughter.

That whole day was a blur. Her head pounded, and at nightfall she found herself crying in Papa’s home, locked in her bedroom. They’d chained her wrist to the foot of the bed because she’d been yelling about leaving. She no longer wanted to be in this household. She’d rather take her chances on the streets.

Sofia sat on the floor with her back to the dresser, put her head on her knees, and cried.

Lev came to give her some food because the last servant who’d tried, Sofia had thrown it in her face. It wasn’t the servant’s fault. The physician had diagnosed Sofa as having ‘hysteria’ and left her with tonics for the nerves. She’d shattered the glass vials pitching them at the wall.

Lev had a bandaged arm, a splinted hand, and stitches on his face. The white cotton sleeping attire he had on didn’t reveal the injury to his body, and he moved fine. He set the bowl on the table and plopped on the wooden chair. He banged his head onto the table and stayed face down.

“I killed two people, injured six, and burned three horses including Semyon’s,” he said, disheartened. “They’re saying I cheated. It’s not true, Soful. Prince Nikolas had been at the race, which I hadn’t known. But unpermitted use of deadly magic in the presence of royalty, you know what that is, Soful. They’re asking for my head. Uncle is negotiating with the queen because thank the saints the prince wasn’t harmed, but I’ll at least be banished from Krakova.

“Also, I’m being expelled from the Boyar Duma . I’ll have nowhere to go but the church.” He turned his face, shut his eyes, and sighed. “I’m done, Soful.”

“The archmage cheated,” said Sofia. She got up from the floor, went to the table, and sat beside Lev.

“Don’t say things like that,” Lev mumbled.

She wanted to touch his crown but she’d reached the length of the chain. “Lev, can you take this off?” She shook the chain.

“I don’t have the key,” he said.

“You can break it,” Sofia said.

He sat there for a while before he said, “Eat something, Soful.” Then he got up and walked out.

Perhaps he wanted to talk about his troubles, and she’d been rude and inconsiderate, but she wanted to be heard too.

She’d slept for an hour, maybe, and as the birds announced the coming dawn, Sofia had resorted to trying to pry apart the frame of the bed with her bare hands without making too much noise, when the door opened and the count came in.

Of all the worst things… Saints have mercy. The archmage was one thing, Lev another, but it wasn’t a suitable time for a plain man to be trying her patience. Worried for Aleksei, her mind was restless. She could sense the invisible stranger for one. The unseen entity stalked the corners of the room as though circling her sanity, readying to pounce. He was usually comforting company when she found herself troubled, but felt like a predator just then.

“You humiliated me yesterday,” he said, setting the lantern on the bedside dresser. It wasn’t light outside yet.

“You’re delusional,” she said. “The queen’s nephew attacked a Guard. My brother used lethal magic. Elyena Durnova is dead. Boyar Duma is assembling. The houses are on the brink of war. No one cares about you, Gavril Illeivich. You don’t matter. You never did. Your daughters too.”

Sofia had been fiddling with the chain when black stars exploded in her head. Not a surprise there. He was used to hitting her. Their first night had been awful. Their marriage could have been better had they had an ounce of sympathy for each other, but they didn’t. They hated one another.

“You’ve been with a sentinel? Who else have you been with? The gardener? The stableboy?”

He’d thought of a hundred others to name. He’d mounted her and kept slapping her with each thing he said, so she wrapped the chain around his neck, put her knees between his shoulder blades, and pulled and pulled, till he stopped flailing.

Yeah, she was done now. She’d been sitting on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed, and staring at her hands, when she felt the cold draft on her back. She turned. Her window was open, and before it swung against the wall because there was a storm brewing outside, the morning just turning silver, Aleksei caught it.

He stepped over the head of the bed, saw the dead count, and only frowned. “Are you all right?”

Sofia flung herself into his arms. “I’ve killed him, Aleksei. They’re going to burn me now.”

“No one is going to burn you. Let’s get out of here.”

She showed him her chain. He looked at the iron cuff where it had some give around her wrist. He slid his fingers in through the space, the hand with the exoskeleton, and when he closed his fist the iron cuff bent, warped, and snapped with a loud crack. Then he pried open the cuff, breaking it completely. He couldn’t transmute iron. That wasn’t his alchemy, but the darksteel he controlled was far stronger than cast iron.

Sofia gathered a few garments, her toothbrush, things she could carry.

“Do you have riding boots?” Aleksei asked.

“No.”

“Can you ride?” he asked.

“Not well,” she said.

“That’s all right. Let’s just go.”

The servants were at their quarters, the household was about to wake up but not yet. Aleksei held her hand and they descended the wooden stairs. Sofia had worn her soft soled slippers, but the stairs creaked because the boards were old, and it sounded deafeningly loud in the silence before the morning bustle.

They crossed the foyer. Aleksei reached for the door, then paused. “I’m a lot faster than you, Lev.”

Sofia turned. At first, she didn’t see her brother, but then he stepped out from around the corner, the saber naked in his hand.

“I’m leaving,” she said.

Lev hesitated, tapping his leg with his sword. “He’s no good for you, Soful.”

“I don’t care,” she said.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I don’t care,” she answered.

The blond boy stood there, looking down and sad as he had when the count took her from their home a decade ago. Sofia dropped Aleksei’s hand and went to her brother, a grown man now whom she had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss on the forehead.

“I’m going to go now, all right?” She ruffled his gold locks. “You take care of yourself.”

“Wait, Soful,” he whispered, grasping after her.

“Lev…”

“Here.” He fished out a thing from his pocket, a gold chain with a sun pendant, and slipped it over her head. “Wherever you go, you’re still a Guard.”

“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek. “I love you, brother.”

Though the morning promised rain, the horizon brightened by the breath. Soon the household would wake up for breakfast, the Illeivich girls too, and would look for their father. Sofia kissed Lev again and dashed for the door. Goodbye.

As she stepped out onto the street it began to drizzle, and she tipped her head at the grey skies, closing her eyes and letting the water spritz her face. Aleksei took off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

“Here.” He pulled up the hood over her head and tucked back her hair. “Let’s go before the archmage gets back. I’ve been waiting all night for him to piss off.” He’d brought Tempest and Charger and boosted her up on Tempest. “Despite his name, he’s nice. This one, not so much.” He mounted Charger.

Though the captain of the sentinels was in plain riding attire, the city patrol recognized him, and they waved them through the blockade they’d set up on the bridge across Krakova River.

“What’s happening?” Sofia caught up to him and trotted alongside him. She wasn’t a good rider by any means, she’d ridden a horse a handful of times when she was a girl, but Tempest followed Aleksei on his own and gave her no trouble.

“Quarrel among the great houses,” he said. “Pyotr Guard has called his knights and Durnov retainers are on the way. The Chartorisky are hysterical because Lev’s trick with the fire injured Daniil. Also, I apparently broke Semyon’s sternum. The Skuratovs aren’t happy.”

“You nearly killed Lev,” she said.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Sofia didn’t say it was all right because nothing that happened yesterday had been all right, but Aleksei hadn’t instigated it either. The lethal fight among the children of Boyar Duma had been started by a sixty-year-old man who wanted to cheat in a horse race. The vanity and ego of the archmage had crossed from the conceit of a powerful man to delusions of grandeur.

Aleksei reached for her reins when some explosions went off at the fringe of the city, shooting up fireworks into the sky. “He’s afraid of fire and loud noises. Watch for that.” He let go because Tempest hadn’t reacted to the disturbance.

“What happened?” Sofia grabbed his arm. The explosion didn’t interest her, but she saw he had fresh scratches along his arm, and hand as well now she noticed.

“Nothing.” He pulled down his sleeve.

“Aleksei?”

“The queen wasn’t pleased about Niko being out, that’s all. If we go a bit faster, can you keep up?” The knocking of the hooves quickened, and the rain sloshed on the cobblestone road. They passed carriages and wagons heading out of the city.

“How is that your fault?” she asked.

“I can handle her, but Eugene can’t,” Aleksei said. “I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s all right.”

Not wishing to be yelling over the weather, the city, and their trotting horses, Sofia didn’t ask any more questions.

As the bells tolled for seven in the morning, they were outside a weathered wooden cottage at the outskirts of Krakova. An older woman, a merchant’s wife or a minor noble, stood on the lawn in her nightgown. Her hair braided, she had a shawl over her shoulders. Sofia thanked her because she’d brought out riding boots, a cloak, and trousers for her. They hadn’t been introduced and she hadn’t said a word. She was Eugene’s friend, Sofia gathered.

The sentinels stood a few paces from them, Eugene frowning at Aleksei. They were having a few words, and Eugene asked, “Niko?”

“Tell him I’ll be back,” said Aleksei.

“The queen?” Eugene asked.

“I’ll deal with her when I return.”

“She’s going to kill you one of these days, kid. That or you’re going to redline,” Eugene stated calmly. “You’re not going to see twenty-five, never mind thirty. Fedosia might turn into this heaven you and Niko think of but you ain’t going to be here for that, Aleksei.”

“I’ll be back, Eugene.” Aleksei patted Eugene’s shoulder, then turned to Sofia. “Let’s go.”

Sofia thanked the woman again, climbed atop Tempest, and they were off, riding toward the storm.