Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

TRESSYA

The color was back in Gusselan's complexion. She was no longer a threat to the Salmun or their cause now her sons were dead, which had to be the reason the Salmun obeyed my command to halt whatever vile magic they were using to slowly kill her. They had me to achieve their goal, or so they thought.

"Perhaps this isn't wise," Gusselan said.

"You have to be in the Mother's presence at some point. Let's just get it over with."

I stepped aside and allowed Gusselan to enter the combat room first. The ex-queen was under my protection, and I was determined the Mother knew as much, so I encouraged her to join me during my training. I'd spent the morning reading through petitions presented by various noblemen, all expecting me to appoint the queen's council without delay. According to them, important decisions regarding the realm could not be made until I'd completed my council. The Salmun showed no interest in the daily administrations of the kingdom, which left the queen's council as my only living advisors. Having suffered through their boring lectures, I was eager to stretch myself with some hard physical training. For now, Gusselan could watch from the edge of the room, but at some point, once the Mother became accustomed to her presence, I hoped she would participate.

"My ability's still weak," she whispered, hesitant to step inside.

I'd never seen her nervous, though I could understand why. After a lifetime, I still had flash daydreams of becoming invisible when forced to face the Mother. Perhaps her claim of immunity to soul voice didn't extend to someone as fiercely adept as the Mother Divine.

This was the first time Gusselan hinted at any skill she may possess. I longed to know her secret and had thought time and subtle encouragement would win her over.

"Oh, and what may that be?" I prodded gently.

Gusselan's eyes darted from mine, her lips pressed thin. Conflicting emotions flashed unrestrained across her face before she gathered her reserve. I didn't blame her for her resistance to sharing her secrets. As part of our training, the Sistern schooled us in discretion and secrecy as assiduously as our ability to kill. I'm sure her training was no different.

"I know what you hope to achieve by asking me here. But I think it's a terrible idea."

Her loyalty to her order was an impenetrable barrier. If she knew the long list of my indiscretions toward the Sistern, she'd never trust me: a woman with such a fickle heart.

"Please, Gusselan. Emberfell is your home. You're not leaving. I promise you that. It's best to face the Mother as soon as possible."

"I was queen for twenty-five years, and never once did I forget my duties to my order. My devotion remains steadfast."

A lecture. Great, she believed I thought myself better than the Mother now I was queen.

"I understand why you were chosen."

"And I know why you were chosen." Her expression remained solemn.

The Mother chose me not because of my dedication to the Sistern or my cunning skills, but because I had the right heritage and gifts.

"Perhaps I would have made different decisions had I known the Mother's real intentions." Or maybe not. Tamas was my defense for every action I made; the enigmatic asshole obliterated any hope I had of acting sane. I had to resist rubbing the mark and soothing the tingles that flared on thinking of his name.

Would I ever see him again? Right now, I would surrender my place on the throne to see him one more time. Was that a display of my weakness?

"Perhaps," she replied.

I itched to take her hand. "We're not enemies."

"My High Priestess would say otherwise."

"No one will tell me how I shall rule." The words were heavy in my mouth, but the conviction emboldened my heart. I would speak the truth even if I lost Gusselan's support. "Especially when it comes to the Etherweave." I knew so little about it. There was so much I had to learn; in secret, so the Salmun couldn't influence what I discovered.

"You have no trust in your Mother?"

I glanced inside the combat room, where the Mother waited.

"You may judge me negatively for this, but since arriving in Tarragona, I've learned sometimes it's best to follow your own instincts."

The words strengthened me as I matched her gaze.

"My ability is not too dissimilar to your own." Her first offer of trust.

"You use your own soul voice?"

"No. It's not verbal. It's to do with the mind."

"You use your mind to compel others to your will?"

"It takes singular focus and immense discipline to master. For most, myself included, the practice is limited."

"How limited?"

She eyed me for three heartbeats; her gaze like an iron trap. Either she was trying to penetrate my mind, or she was deciding how much of the truth she would surrender, and I'd wasted little time dismissing my loyalty to the Sistern upon arriving in Tarragona.

"My control is of short duration. Those with a strong will are difficult to bind. Some minds, like the Salmun's, remain impenetrable."

"If you're no threat to them, why did they want to kill you?"

"King Ushpia is King Bezhani's greatest rival. The animosity between the two has held for centuries and deteriorates with each passing decade."

"Your order is loyal to King Ushpia?"

"King Bezhani's a tyrant. There's little he wouldn't do to further his ambitions. He would crush Avaloria given the chance, but he's failed his many attempts so far as Avaloria is not without support."

"Your order, for one."

She nodded. "Some of the Salmun have broken from the Creed and given their fealty to King Ushpia."

"That seems strange. Unless they see a way it would benefit them."

"King Ushpia can be most persuasive."

"How were you chosen as King Henricus's bride if the Salmun in Tarragona are loyal to King Bezhani?"

Her sly smile was my answer. Mind control was a potent skill and a terrible ploy for seeking revenge and power. "The High Priestess's ability in mind binding has long-lasting effects. Unfortunately, we were betrayed by one of our own. Word was sent to Tarragona of my true identity, and the Salmun began their persecution of me in secret ever since."

"Then I'm glad I came when I did."

Her lips tremored as she fought against her smile, then she nodded. I'd thought it would take longer for us to reach this far in our relationship.

I motioned her inside the combat room, which was not the real name for the room, but one the Mother was swift to label.

The mother waited at the far end, seated upon a wide wooden chair with ribbed high backing to make it look like a throne. She'd insisted I return to a rigorous training schedule, something I'd thrived on in Merania. I'd always thrown my anger into perfecting the six pillars, especially discipline, the pillar I held closest to my heart, which ensured I accomplished precision, my second favorite pillar.

In Tarragona, I'd grown lazy. Training and mediating on the six pillars was my only defense against the cruelty of the life I'd led in Merania, which was far from my experience now. Complacency replaced my training. I'd likely be sluggish in a fight; something I should be ashamed to admit.

I was sure the Mother resumed my training with a vengeance because she wanted to remind me of my place. She was right in doing so. I thought of what Andriet had said in the carriage days ago; it wasn't so easy to turn my back on the Sistern. Because of the Mother, I was queen; yet another reminder of who deserved my allegiance.

I groaned inwardly when I spied Albert, Turret, and Borat hovering on the far side of the room. At least the three spirits had bothered me little since the Mother arrived, so I was surprised to see them here now.

Gusselan dropped behind me as I made my way across the room to where the Mother sat. A Salmun stood at the other side of the room, his face shrouded by his hood. It wasn't Orphus. Even under their shapeless cloaks, hiding their tattooed faces with their hoods pulled low, I could pick the prelate from amongst his men.

The Salmun remained my constant shadow. The knowledge prickled along my skin, but it was something I would have to get used to. There was no way any of the Creed members would let their last surviving link to the Etherweave out of their sight. I would have to become cunning to slip their noose, as I doubted they would encourage my self-learning on all things to do with the Etherweave.

At first I was surprised when the Mother rose gracefully to her feet, then I remembered her supposed position in relation to me. A fine tickle of pleasure coursed through my body on seeing her ever so slight curtsey, though her face remained like chiseled rock. She wasn't pleased with her rank, or me, not after Andriet's attack in the carriage.

Luckily, Andriet left me in peace and spent the day following Daelon. I had no faith in his promise to keep his distance from his ex-lover, and I was fast learning he was deaf to my pleas. At some point, I feared I would be forced to command him to obey, or he was going to cause havoc.

The Mother's eyes passed over my shoulder to Gusselan, and the creases in her brow deepened. Her lips thinned so much they disappeared into her mouth.

"She's not welcome." The Mother kept her voice loud enough to reach Gusselan, contained enough no one else in the room would have heard. "I summoned you."

I swallowed. "She's in no one's way."

The Mother's eyes flared briefly before her gaze turned lethal. "Is that so?"

The air thinned, and I couldn't get enough breaths. I didn't want to be antagonistic, but neither would I be compliant. Not now. Not with who I'd become. I'd lied, kept secrets, fell for my enemy, killed a sister; there was no end to my disloyalty.

However, I wasn't yet ready to turn my back on the Sistern. I still needed the Mother's brutal training to nurture the strength and will I would need if I was to be queen of the Bone Throne. But it was time I forged myself a path. One that allowed me to stand for myself while harnessing the strength of the six pillars through the Mother's unforgiving training.

"The woman from Merania is long gone, I see." It wasn't praise.

"Yes, Mother."

"A warning. Those who grow too quickly make the biggest mistakes."

I lowered my gaze to her feet, my heart devoid of subservience the gesture might imply. "As always, I'm at your command."

The Salmun was at one end of the room, leaving Gusselan's only escape from the Mother in the adjacent corner, which is where she headed before I could say anything else.

As was their habit, the Salmun's hood stayed low, concealing his face, making him appear as though asleep while standing. I knew differently, knew that everything that transpired here today would pass back to Orphus, and not my training, because that meant nothing. Their interest lay in any power play between the Mother and I. While seemingly a harmless old woman, she was an unknown entity they would watch closely, especially if Orphus found her mind an iron trap. Then there was Gusselan, the woman with talent they'd failed to kill.

I turned at the sound of the soft padding of bare feet to see two thick-set men entering the room. Dressed in linen loincloths tied at the front, their chest and legs remained bare to display their defined musculature. A sheathed sword was on one's hip, the other carried a quarterstaff in his hand, the end studded with a metal spiked star. The way they moved around the room, alert to everyone present, I would say they were from amongst Tarragona's top fighters.

"This will not end well," Turret said. "Why the Salmun allow it, I cannot guess."

Great. I was too out of practice to be sparring with the best. This was the Mother's punishment for what had happened in the carriage. I'd already confessed my infrequent training, yet she'd chosen two men guaranteed to set me on my ass. She also knew with the Salmun present I wouldn't dare use soul voice on either of the fighters, if that was possible, which it wasn't because I'd grown lax on perfecting the skill.

Tamas, you're an ass . He'd sucked up all my attention, leaving me no time to focus on anything important. I clenched my teeth, ignoring the fine tinkles on my wrist over Tamas' mark. What I couldn't ignore was the aching emptiness spreading within me like a growing chasm. Why did it feel like I was now cleaved in two, a part of me lost in the north?

"Fear not. I will intervene if things look terrible for the queen," Borat said.

"You will do no such thing," interrupted Albert. "You are an imbecile at the best of times. What can you hope to do?"

"The queen—" Borat continued.

"Stop calling her that," Albert demanded.

I dragged in a long breath as I paced across to the wall of weapons the Mother had the weapons master erect, ignoring the spirits argument and the tingles running along the skin of my inner wrist all because I thought of Tamas.

It would show timidity and weakness to argue against her choice in my combatants. I would have to suffer her lesson. Pain and sacrifice honed my mind and were my vessels to greater strength. This is what I needed.

I chose a sword, my primary weapon, but I would also use it as a distraction. The dagger was my follow up surprise at close range.

"This is unheard of," came Albert's cry of indignation. "A woman with a sword. It is bad enough she is queen."

Fluttering my eyes closed, I took a deep breath, searching for my calming breaths. Discipline . I'd need exact breaths to shut out those three spirits if they continued to comment from the sides.

Sword heavy in one hand, dagger clasped firm in the next, I drew in another long breath and slowly filtered it through my noise, washing my body free of agitation while I gathered my wayward concentration.

This felt good; it felt right, familiar. Control of the mind and belief in my ability to win were the two safeguards I needed. Before Tamas, my only cherished moments were with a weapon in my hand, exertion and pain coursing through my limbs. Pain was transitory, defeat was not.

Feeling like myself again, I sheathed the sword and dagger, then turned to see the warriors had positioned themselves on either side of the room, both eyeing me like predators. I strove to reveal nothing of my skill as I paced toward the center of the room.

The tall warrior with the sword cracked his neck. He wore tattoos on the knuckles of each hand, spreading as dashes on the backs of his hands as far up as his wrist bone. Perhaps a tally of his kills. His face was stone. Eyes of deep blue stared out like a flat sea, empty of his schemes for the fight.

Snarling like a feral animal, the second warrior shifted his weight from foot to foot, barely restraining his instincts to fight. Smaller by half than the sword wielding warrior, his muscles quivered with anticipation. Veins protruded on the back of his hand, knuckles whitened from his fierce grip on the quarterstaff.

Neither I could dismiss, but the prowling, snarling warrior on my right concerned me the least. He'd burn half his energy in the first few strikes, hoping to use his hulking strength to do the damage with a few powerful blows. Dancing just out of reach would entice his fury, break his focus, force him into foolish decisions. The taller warrior was the lethal predator staying hidden, ready to strike.

The shorter warrior spun his quarterstaff over his head in a show of deft skill, then brought it down and slammed the end into the stone floor. Reenforced with a head of iron fashioned into a ball, the sound cracked through the spacious room like a clank of bells. The other end was also encased in iron, sharpened to the lethal spike of a starred arrow.

I spared him a look, but always my thoughts were on the taller man, who'd taken the stance of a fighter, legs apart to center his balance, soft in the knees to enable swift movement, sword relaxed by his side, eyes firm on me.

Unable to restrain his savage desire to crush me any longer, the warrior on my left stomped forward, baring his teeth while he raised his staff to mid chest. I tensed. Fool . After one forced breath, I eased the tension from my limbs. Agility was the secret of winning against the shorter foe.

"I cannot look," Borat groaned.

In three breaths, he'd covered the distance. At the last he shifted his hands to the bulbous end of his staff, telling me his intention. I waited until the last, watching the staff crash down. He'd come in with such speed, swiped down with stunning force, catching his balance in the strike's momentum.

I dived before the iron end broke my skull and tucked into a roll while pulling my sword from its sheath. The reverberating crack of iron on stone sheared up my spine as I came out of my roll onto my feet, only to face the rapid slash of a blade flashing in front of my eyes.

Instincts saved me. I jerked left, into the path of the shorter warrior, tucking myself into another roll rather than stagger out of balance. This time, as I came out of my tight tuck, I swiped my sword low, slicing the side of the staff wielding warrior's thigh.

A fierce roar raged through the room, but I was already dodging away, and none too soon, when the sharp end of the staff stabbed through the vacant air where I'd been. I would use the staff wielding warrior as a shield to the taller foe, burn him down, then slice him through, before I concentrated on the greater challenge.

"You can look. The queen is unharmed," Truett said. "I cannot say the same for her opponent."

Keeping the shorter warrior between me and the taller foe, I danced and dodged the swings, stabs, and blows of his staff. The warrior threw fire and muscle behind each swing, chewing up valuable energy, fueled by fury, while seeping blood across the floor, turning it into a slippery mess. If I could keep him fighting in his tight circle, he would slip on the crimson pool he'd created.

A quick glance at the larger warrior, I noticed he kept his distance, his eyes tracking my every move. He'd seemed content to allow my plan to play out. Perhaps he, too, was eager to tussle with me one-on-one.

After years under the tuition of the Mother, our bodies moved without thought, relying on instinct and years of relentless training. After months of doing nothing, being suddenly propelled into action, I felt my body slip the shackles of lethargy, growing limber.

I continued my dance, striking and stabbing when I spied openings. Unfortunately, he was agile enough to swerve just out of reach of my sword, so I reserved most of my strength and taunt him instead. I smirked at every missed swing and followed it with a wink, then ensured he caught my eye roll when his staff split the stone pavers once more. The bellow of his fury sent relief seeping deep into my limbs. He grew impatient, raging at every failed strike.

My next smile wasn't a taunt. I read each move he made, predicted his next as my eye for the game grew more acute the longer we fought. All I need do is keep my strength and focus for the next bout while I waited for the stout warrior to become sloppy.

When he did, I wasted no time, diving low, keeping from his wildly swinging staff, and slid close on my knees to spear him in the thigh. My slice cut from his inner thigh all the way back, opening his flesh to the bone, then quirked a brow at him when he cursed me with names I didn't hear because my concentration shut out the sound.

His blood soaked my pants legs, and the stone floor turned a deep black red. His leg gave out, but he gritted his teeth and stormed forward, the spear end of his staff barreling toward me along with spittle soaked rage.

I doubled back, braced as he came, but at the last heard the swift pad of slight feet, felt the eddy of wind from the fast moving blade.

I dove right, moving too fast to tuck into a roll and instead staggered, tripped and went down heavy, my grip fierce on my sword. Pain lanced through my knee, but my mind screamed for me to keep moving.

The chink of the blade on stone split the air beside me, but I was already climbing to my feet. Still crouched, I lurched further right, catching the raised staff in my periphery. Behind the stout fighter leered the face of the taller warrior who'd made his surprise attack.

I spun, dove under his staff onto my back, sliding across the blood-soaked stones, and speared upward with my sword to catch him low in his belly.

Wasting no time, I sprung to my feet and faced the taller warrior while behind me, the bellows of agony rose like a thick fog.

"Bravo," Borat shouted.

"It is not over yet. The next looks meaner," Truett said.

Half an ear to the stout warrior behind, I crouched, balanced and waited for the sword wielding warrior to make his move. He'd benefited from watching me fight, assessing my moves and learning my skill.

Damn that I'd given little time in Tarragona to develop soul voice, not that I could use it here.

His hesitation gave me time to calm my pounding heart and harness my focus. I had to fight to keep my eyes on him and not look to the distant figure of Gusselan behind him.

I gauged the distance between us gave me enough space to breathe a little. It would take him at least three strides for the tip of his blade to reach me. But his stillness distracted my mind. The Mother was there, the Salmun too.

Don't .

Now was not the time to lose concentration. I clenched my teeth as a subtle punishment to force my attention to the fight.

In my periphery, two men scuttled forward and dragged the stout warrior away by his arms, leaving a trail of his blood across the stone floor as the silence descended, thickening the air with anticipation. A tick started in my cheek as the remaining warrior stood like stone. I knew his game. He wanted me agitated, thinking he could draw me into an offensive position; not my preferred way of fighting. The delay gave me a chance to catch my breath and allowed me to center myself into discipline.

The tension eased from my muscles the longer I waited. Calm attuned my focus, cleared everyone from the room.

When he moved, less patient than me, I was ready for his first strike. Knowing his strength, I opted to glide my blade the length of his; the tip aimed for his chest, rather than exert force to try and push it away. But he yanked his sword downward, bowing his body as he jumped backward to avoid my tip.

I grunted, danced left to avoid the strike I knew was coming only for him to read my direction before I moved. In a breath, I twisted my body, feeling another eddy of air across my stomach from the near miss. Then a hard thump hit my shoulder and forced me from my feet.

"She has lost. This is madness," Borat shrieked.

I bit my tongue as I hit the stone on my side, then rolled and gathered my feet, springing away seconds before his sword sliced close to my face.

"You must stay on your feet, Tressya," Borat shouted.

Panting, I spun to face him, steadying my sword in both hands.

I swung with my sword. He caught the strike on his blade, sliced his down the length of mine, and shunted me with all his strength.

My feet left the ground as I flailed, falling backward. My spine cracked, then my head smacked the cold stone floor and agony split through my skull at the same time something inside me burst.

"Get up," Borat yelled in my ear.

A cage flew open and cold rage clawed its way out, ripping a snarl from my lips.

"Mercy on our souls," Borat cried, disappearing from beside me.

"Come back, you coward," Albert shouted, as Borat faded from the room.

The warrior jerked to a stop and frowned down at me. Taking the advantage, I sprung to my feet, swimming in a haze before blinking my vision clear. I puzzled at his surprised expression until I realized I was still snarling.

Still entombed in his confusion, this was my chance to slip under his indomitable attack. I jumped forward, sword poised to stab while my mind prepped my body to dodge right, away from his retaliatory strike, but the same strange feeling that had pummeled through my chest like a battering ram and sparked my body like lightning, drove power through my arms, feeding a ferocious determination.

I would win this. It was a knowing, foreign, and yet familiar at the same time.

Such was the strength of my downward strike, sparks flittered at the clash of our blades. With teeth clenched, muscles flexing under the strength at which I drove my sword, he grunted as he tried to deflect my blow.

Tried. Tried . A wicked glee thrilled through my chest, and if I wasn't emitting lusty snarls, I would cackle with excitement.

Never had my attention remained singularly focused on one goal, neither had I felt so supple, agile and strong. My body and sword were melded as one. I fought with a relentless savagery, surpassing his masterful strikes, his unbeatable strength and aggression. It was as though he were a child, learning sword play for the first time. What were once bold moves, I now thought were clumsy. I was gone before each lunge, blocking before he struck, enticing him, infuriating him, toying with him.

I could smell the iron tang of his blood, the sour sweat slick on his skin, hear the sawing heaves of his breath through his lungs as though I'd pressed my ear to his chest .

I felt magnificent, powerful, reborn.

And watched. Whatever strange yet wonderfulness growing within me needed to be quelled in front of those I'd yet to decide were my allies.

I quickened the warrior's end with a few perfectly sequenced, brutal attacks, crippling his defense, sending his sword across the room to clatter against the stone floor and forcing him to his knees.

Panting through my exhilaration, the tingles pulsing around my body would have driven a wild cry from my mouth if I'd not swallowed it back down.

The warrior bowed his head, hands limp by his sides. His chest was a bloody mess. The lacerations oozing a deep black, red, which pooled around his knees and into the cracks in the stone paving.

I blew out a deep held breath to steady this fierce otherness, still wanting more of the fight, like a feral dog, snapping and snarling on the end of its chains. A crack off my neck, and I clawed my sanity back and slowly turned to face the Mother, noticing the pesky spirits had disappeared.

What I saw on her face made me struggle, yet again, to maintain my calm and not whoop with joy. She was shocked, perhaps even appalled, to find her plans had not worked. Or was she, perhaps, shocked to find her manipulations had worked too well?