Serpent and the Throne (Fedosian Wars #1)

21. Fallen Angel

twenty-one

Fallen Angel

The undercroft of the church reeked of the swamp. Built on false ground, the city was sinking. Mold had claimed a stack of ruined grain, the sacks torn as some rodents had tried at it before finding them unworthy. The debris from the ceiling of the undercroft falling littered the ground, passing by in the lanternlight as Sofia followed the acolyte through the tunnels. The floor had seeped in dampness, flooded with swamp in parts. Things scattered from the light, little claws scratching on the stone.

“How long has he been down here?” Sofia asked.

The acolyte didn’t answer. They were glorified serfs to the archmage’s whim. She didn’t fault them too much for most would have come to the church as children, sold by their parents when they displayed talent in magic. It was the same with the Imperial Sentinels. They weren’t typically highborn, just her Aleksei—the saddest boy to ever be born to a duke.

In the church’s dungeon, they’d locked Aleksei in a kneeling pillory, his head and hands bound into the wooden device, massive as though a great trunk grew out of the filthy floor.

The way he flinched from light broke her heart, his hands trembled, and his breathing stuttered. She ran to the cell and yanked from the wooden bars rotten with water slime, but had to wait for the cursed acolyte to open the door for her. She wanted to say his name but her voice croaked. Her throat clamped she was so angry.

He was afraid. The archmage could induce stunning pain and had a way of breaking people when he wished to. In the past, Sofia had known he’d driven men mad to get a confession, mostly those accused of necromancy. She hadn’t cared then for their crimes had been heinous, such as using children as an element in alchemy, mutating them horribly. But Aleksei hadn’t done anything wrong.

The cursed door finally opened. She rushed to him and knelt beside him on the wet floor. Realizing she was frightening him because he couldn’t see who it was, she finally found the voice to whisper, “It’s Sofia. It’s me.”

The acolyte opened the pillory. Sofia helped Aleksei out of it because he could hardly move, then she held him.

Shivering violently, “Sofia,” he breathed.

“The archmage will you see now, convict. Try not to run. The catalyst is daylight, and it is daylight outside,” said the acolyte.

“What catalyst?” Sofia asked. She held Aleksei, trying to calm the shaking.

“It’s a condition, that when fulfilled, activates the spell, Lady Sofia.”

“I know that!” Sofia snapped. She didn’t want to yell and distress Aleksei further. “But what do you mean catalyst? My spell didn’t work.”

“An enigma, I heard.” The pitiless thing smiled in amusement. “We’re all very excited for this great opportunity for learning, Lady Sofia. So, we thank you. But I was addressing the convict. His memory spell, when direct daylight touches him, he will no longer remember you, Lady Sofia. The archmage was merciful. Perhaps you should be grateful and not make such a dour face. A smile brightens the soul. Sunshine upon…”

Oh, she wanted to murder the plain faced woman with glassed over eyes, smash her with a rock, and watch her splatter. They must have his consent. They always get their consent. Light magic wasn’t light but full of cruelty and violence. She didn’t press Aleksei about it. His mind was frail. Instead, she helped him up because the frog like woman stood there with her wide smile, repeating, “The archmage will see you now,” and that alone was maddening.

In the narthex of red carpet patterned with gold, under the domed roof painted with the somber saints, another acolyte as ugly as the first tossed Aleksei’s clothes at him, disgusted he was being indecent in church though they’d stripped him themselves. There were no chairs and Sofia knelt in front of him to help him get dressed.

Aleksei was so miserable he just cried. His hands were dirty from the church’s underbelly and when he wiped his eyes the filth smeared across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his scarlet gaze on the daylight beaming through the arched window above the tall oak doors. “I was redlining. I couldn’t take it and my mind was slipping.”

“I know,” said Sofia. “I know, Aleksei. It’s all right.”

“He said I could see you if I just agreed…What am I going to do without you?” Soft brows furrowed, terror in his eyes. “What am I to do without you, Sofia?”

She got up and held his face. “It’s all right. You just get out of here, and I’ll find you. I’ll find you, all right, my darling?”

“No, she will not.” The archmage came strutting around the corner, his gold robe grand. “Should she ever speak to you again, she will die. I’ll make sure of it.” His synod had gathered, and he had a dozen mages with him. They were dressed in white like acolytes, missing only the collar around their necks. “My city, my church, my niece, you will leave all of it at once.” He gestured at the door as he passed it, and two mages stayed behind to push it open.

“No, you said I could see her,” Aleksei pleaded, backing away. His hand dug into Sofia’s arm, clinging to her desperately.

Acolytes had appeared behind them, more than two dozen, and yanked Aleksei away from her. Sofia screamed with all her fury, kicking and clawing at the two male acolytes holding her back. Daylight flickered in her mind, and the stranger walked amongst the mages dressed in white, his long black robe trailing on the red wool carpet of the narthex.

“Name. Give us a name.”

“No, Your Grace, please give me time, Your Grace!” Aleksei begged by the door, the daylight behind him, he’d grabbed the wooden frame.

“Ah, the boy addresses me properly. The first time in his life, I believe,” the archmage said, and his entourage laughed. “What are you, boy? Enlighten my niece as to what you are.”

“I’m a whore, Your Grace. I’m a whore. Please—”

“That, you are.” The archmage shoved him out the door, and an acolyte tossed his cloak after him.

“Name. Give us a name.”

“No!” Sofia got free and sprinted after him.

A mage caught her, pulling her back as the grand oak doors shut between her and Aleksei, she saw he’d fallen down the steps and was getting up. Then she couldn’t see him anymore.

She ran to a stained glass window, a mural of a saint, and peered out through a tiny chip in the corner. Standing on the church doorsteps, Aleksei looked confused. He stood there, alone, looking around. He had trouble bending as he picked up his cloak from the ground and walked away, his gait heavily uneven as he limped, when a gardener came and began yelling at him to leave.

“Oh, I hate you so much,” Sofia whispered. Then turned and screamed, “I loathe you!” Why did he have to treat him so badly? Why couldn’t he have given them a measly hour? She’d only wanted to comfort him because he’d been so distraught. What if he redlined this way? “I hate you! I hate you!” she screamed at the archmage.

Had he been more merciful, had he even considered letting them go when they hadn’t been causing him any trouble, she may have bargained with the only thing she had—information. She would have told him to seek out the prince because that child couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Nikolas of Shield had no claim to the throne and the mad queen mistook her nephew for her brother. The reign of the Shields could have been undone, so close to the throne of Fedosia the archmage of All Saints came, but the crown slipped from his grip when he shoved Aleksei out the door of his cursed church, sinking into the stinking swamp.

“I hate you!” Her tears burned they were so hot. “I hate you!”

“The hysterics must come from your father,” the archmage joked, and his ugly mages laughed, a wretched sound echoing through the cold marble narthex of his church.

“Give us a name,” the stranger whispered in her ear.

“Viktor Guard!” Sofia roared. “I wish death upon thee and your cursed church. House of cowards, I piss on your grave!”

An acolyte slapped her across the face.

“We accept.” The stranger dissipated into the dark of the church.

A gale blew through the nave, toppling gold icons and blowing out the candles. A shadow of concern fell on the archmage’s face, and he turned his head to the hall of his prayers. A grand chandelier cut free and crashed onto the red carpet, startling the acolytes.

“A bad omen, Your Grace?” a mage asked.

“Fuck omens. Bring the girl. There’s something wrong with her and I mean to find out.” The smirk returned to the archmage’s face. “I’ll be taking suggestions over tea, even from you, Ivan.”

The mages laughed and someone grabbed Sofia by the hair, pushing and pulling at once because it was more than one person, and they headed after the archmage into the nave where darkness had settled.

The wall of saints had a gold railing and some steps leading up to it. A thick volume of the Light Codex was open on the pulpit, and the archmage thumbed through the embossed pages, his blond brows furrowed.

Sofia was seated on a velvet cushioned side chair, and the mages sat around her in a circle. Once in a while, one would come to look at her, then return to his seat. They all had little books out as well, shuffling the pages.

The acolytes held their evening prayer as daylight retreated and darkness encroached on the port city. Sofia had been staring at the narrow opening above the altar, watching the beam of light turn from gold to pale silver. Her worry was for Aleksei and not herself or the old fools in the room.

How was he to go home without any money or his horses? What would happen to him when he returned to Raven without an explanation as to where he’d been for days? He wouldn’t remember their ride through the hills or the reason he’d gone to Murmia, for any memory having to do with her would be gone. He’d have days and nights missing in the last month, perhaps adding to his worry he was losing his mind.

He’d confessed to her the most intimate details of his family, of himself. Her mind swirled, trying to think of a way to free him from the life he hated, but what was she to do against the queen of all Fedosia? All she could think was to find him and beg him to run away with her again. A task made taller by the Guards being banished from Krakova.

Why was she so powerless? She loathed herself for it. She’d been staring at the dying light, when another old bastard came to tut in her face, stroking his long beard. He was the one called Ivan and it appeared he had all the terrible ideas.

“Of all the beings on God’s green earth, an antelope, a hummingbird, and a blade of grass, the only thing which does not possess light is a soulless, Your Grace,” Ivan said. “Sometimes, a thing is precisely what it appears to be. This is a chair.” He touched the crest of Sofia’s chair, then laid his hand on her crown. “And this, Your Grace, is a soulless. She has no light because she’s been to the dver. ”

A thump as the archmage shut the codex. “Define for me what a soulless is, Ivan the wise. ”

Low chuckles sounded through the nave. The faces of the men were dark because Sofia had been staring at the light. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes.

“It’s a dead thing that walks or a thing that was never alive,” Ivan said.

“Human, Ivan, not a cow,” said the archmage. “A soulless is a human who has died, their light passed through the dver , then was animated, not brought back, there’s a distinction there because no one returns from the dead, by the dark alchemy, so called necromancy . Darkness replaces where a light once was, called the soul in a human, not a cow, mmm? It’s their essence if you want to be philosophical.

“Contrary to the common lore, they do not rot, they have living flesh but what is a tell of a soulless? Anyone?” The archmage looked to his mages.

“They can’t enter hallowed ground without permission,” answered a mage who wasn’t Ivan.

“And where are we now? Is the church not hallowed ground?” asked the archmage. “She grew up in my house. The White Palace is also considered hallowed, the same as any other estate of the Guards, just so you know. Anyone else?”

“Corruption of gold,” said another.

“Right,” said the archmage. “Catch, Sofia.” He tossed something at her.

She didn’t catch it and it landed on her lap. It was the pendant of the sun, the thing he could find. Sofia flicked it and let it tumble to the floor, turning like a coin before falling still.

“The girl doesn’t like gold,” remarked Ivan.

The archmage made exasperated noises, marched to Sofia, yanked her from the chair, dragged her to the wall of the saints, and placed her hand on the gold railing.

“See?” he demanded. “Nothing. Not a soulless one. What else, fucken morons?”

As the archmage yelled at his synod, Sofia had been looking at the saints, her hand still on the railing and the archmage’s over hers, when all the saints turned to the door.

“Uncle,” she whispered. A sound as though someone breathing, and the candles for the saints flickered. “Uncle? Uncle!”

“What!” He turned and roared, then yanked his hand from the railing, backing from the wall. “Darkling walks on hallowed ground,” she heard him say.

The door slammed shut and the candles blew out at once, turning it pitch dark. Light strobed, mages yelled, and she couldn’t tell if it was only in her head.

Ivan chanted, light gleaming from his hand like a torch in the darkness, then it was just gone, and the next time something strobed, a flash of gold, Sofia saw the mage’s head on the ground, turned up like a cup.

She knelt and covered her ears. She didn’t know any prayers for they were in the language of spells, but there was a lot of screaming. She’d seen a pack of wolves tear apart a hobbled horse. It’d been Lev’s horse, and her brother had fought to save him. The creature had screamed like this then, being eaten alive.

A thing flew by overhead, went crashing into the altar, and left a blood trail, entrails on the marble floor. No, no, she shook her head. Such things weren’t real. A nightmare, the whole endeavor had been. She’d wake up in the barn next to Aleksei, and they’d get on their way to the pier to sail off to Elfur. Yeah, this was a bad dream.

Wake up, Sofia. Your lover awaits.

She saw the archmage, his gold robe drenched in red in the bright light of his tendrils. Like cornered snakes, they were snapping at something. The light from his palm illuminated the church.

“Who sent you, darkling, I command thee, tell me your name!” the archmage yelled, backing away.

Sofia saw what once was a nave, now a cattle slaughterhouse. She’d never been to one but imagined the sight was similar. Butchered creatures, severed limbs, an inside of a ribcage… There was a liver on the floor, just the raw red organ by itself…

Uncle’s light was so bright it burnt like a thousand candles, and the alchemy on his palm was scorching red. Sofia wondered for a breath if it hurt him.

A black cloaked man advanced toward the archmage, breaking apart in his light then reforming, breaking apart, and reforming. It screamed, inching toward him as though struggling against a strong gale.

“Who sent you, darkling, I command thee! Tell me your name!” the archmage of All Saints yelled.

A dark hand reached toward the archmage, the creature screeching, its hand bending backward because of the light.

“Tell me your name!”

“Yelizaveta Guard.”

His light flickered because he was stunned. The archmage frowned. Then slowly, he turned to Sofia, and his eyes swelled at once. “Sis—”

He was gone. The darkness took him.

Sofia covered her ears, sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth, and humming to herself the Fedosian waltz. A gold ballroom, she imagined. ‘I can’t dance either,’ Aleksei had said. Perhaps she could teach him.

Things fell from the ceiling where the light was wavering. A gold slipper, a pendant of the sun, a piece of cloth gently floating like a leaf, then blood, just blood and a lot of it.

“The rhythm is like this,” she said, rocking. “One, two, three. One, two, three… We’re tracing a box. You move forward, I go backward. You’re supposed to lead, I’ll follow…” She laughed. “No twirling yet, darling. Let’s learn the…”

The light had stilled and it was silver again, streaming through the openings above the altar. The night hadn’t come yet, it had just turned black inside the church. She flicked her gaze up to where the blood was dripping and saw the archmage among the painted saints. Where his tendrils used to be had made indents into the ceiling and it looked as though he used to have wings. Very messy wings, but wings nonetheless.

Drip, drip, drip, the blood pooled on the floor, but Sofia thought, fallen angel, and smiled.