Medoc walked away from the throne room in a stiff, formal march, his features perfectly even. He wasn't aware of where his feet were taking him until the air grew slightly humid, and he realized he was halfway to the baths. Well, that made sense. Of course he would go there to calm his nerves, soothe away the shock of the last few moments, to quiet his mind—which still rang with the Ice Queen's thoughts.
I can help you, she said over and over again, as if she was still linked with him. What had happened in there? He understood, but he still couldn't believe it was possible. The very idea repulsed him now, but when he had been a young Flame, pondering such things, he had always assumed that if a Flame mated an Icer, the union would produce no offspring, like the perverse matings with Semija, or a mating between a hippole and a cababar. At the least, the offspring should be deformed, sickly, unable to survive for long. Not hale, like the Ice Queen. Not able to draw T’Jas from both fire and ice. Why had the Fire Spirit willed that something like her would be allowed to exist? And who was her mother? The image in the Icer’s mind hadn’t been clear enough for Medoc to identify her. But he had heard a tale once of a Lady fleeing to the frozen tunnels. Her family had been executed for plotting against a King—was it Rodev or Ritnu? Medoc could not recall. The Lady had returned and been executed herself, after her mind was plundered for any secrets she might carry from Iskalon.
None of that mattered. The truth was, the Ice Queen could use heat T'Jas. Medoc was not staunchly religious, but he kept the rites as he was required by his position, and he often prayed to the Fire Spirit before battle. He believed that when he died, he would be consigned to the lava river and his spirit would flow to the lava lake, as it had during the testing, to rest for eternity. The Ice Queen had gone to the lake, been tested in its center, and survived, even returned with the mark of the Fire Spirit, though the lava mesh had not fully formed on her body—probably because her blood was contaminated. Medoc's stomach churned again. The whole thing was revolting.
And dangerous. Medoc had lied about his King, told the Guards that Dynat had tortured the Ice Queen, marked her, when he had not. Sooner or later, his lie would be revealed. Why had he lied? Did he really think the grotesque half-breed could be of use? She had seen his mind, knew that he had considered treason. If Dynat discovered that, Medoc would be lucky to be thrown into the Lava River. He would have to kill her somehow, without Dynat finding out that he had done so.
The humidity grew, and the stench of black smoke rose into the tunnel, covering a layer of delicious sulfur smell. He stood for a time in the tunnel. He would find no peace in the baths now, no quiet contemplation. But Bolv would be there, and he needed to speak with Bolv.
He found her in the large, communal bathing cavern. He leaned against the arched doorway, watching her address the crowd that gathered there. She stood on a ledge of stone, Semija kneeling at her feet. Fifty or so commoners listened, scratching heads, muttering, and tapping feet. A few nobles, standing out in gemcloth and golden plate, stood alongside them.
“ . . . King Dynat is aware of the situation, and grieves with you. He is very busy. I remind you, the war is just now over. The baths will receive their due attention.”
The commoners did not seem well pacified by Bolv's promises. One of the Nobles spoke up. “It's not the baths we care about, Kinyara. It’s the cursed drinking water. Half the tunnels by the baths are contaminated. These common Flames are coming up to our tunnels to fill their buckets. It has to stop.”
“We are working on the problem—”
“That's what you said five days past! What are we paying for, anyhow?”
“My hippole are all coughing blood! Will I have to pay taxes on hippole I can't even milk?”
“Ah, here's the General, maybe he has word from the King—”
Medoc would have liked to duck away, but instead he marched to Bolv's side. “What the Kinyara said is true. We are working on the problem. The King has been busy with matters of war, but he will turn his attention back to this. He is already speaking with his top advisors.”
Medoc’s second lie of the day left a bad taste in his mouth. He gestured with his head for Bolv to follow him, and pushed through the crowd, shielded by Bolv’s Semija. The shouts continued. He wondered if he would have to put down a riot.
After a few moments, Bolv followed him into the tunnel. There was something different about her. She was cleaner than the last time he saw her, scalecloth and hair perfectly in place, yet Medoc had a sense that she was fraying, coming apart at the edges. When had she last slept? For that matter, when had he last slept?
“Perhaps if you spoke with him yourself, Kinyara—”
“Do you think I haven't tried?” Her voice rose, and she took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. “He sent me away. He couldn’t—I heard that he summoned Lady Jisthe to replace me, and a whole string of Ladies after her. There are rumors that he has lain with Semija. Perhaps he is lying with them even now.”
She began to cry. Medoc stood by awkwardly, hoping no one would come up the tunnel. When Wilmina cried, it was always in the privacy of their chambers, but he never knew what to do then, either. He could fight a thousand battles, but a woman weeping made his blood run cold.
“Kinyara,” he said softly. “This will not solve anything.”
She gave one more heart wrenching wail, then straightened, took another deep breath, and let her tears puff away in steam over her disorderly lava mesh. Medoc gave her a moment to gather herself before he spoke.
“Our King, he is like a different man, Kinyara. Will you think badly of me if I say I do not see him as fit to rule in this state?”
Her eyes widened slowly. Though her anger at Dynat had brought her to tears, she had not yet considered treason. He saw her taste it on her tongue, swirl it around in her mouth, consider whether to swallow it or spit it out. She did neither, and Medoc continued to speak.
“I have no wish to govern, Kinyara. Believe me. I am content with my station, and I have served Dynat faithfully for many years. But I fear for our Kingdom. I fear that Chraun will not withstand Dynat's madness. He will pull us all with him into the Lava lake.”
She spat. Anger crept into those dark, tired eyes. “And so what if he does? If the Fire Spirit wills it, so it must be. Perhaps these are the end times for Chraun. Perhaps we are destined to be reunited with the Lava Lake, as we were cast out before. The Fire Spirit will welcome us home with open arms.”
Medoc nodded. “And so it must be, if it is willed. But we are talking about the lives of our people, tens of thousands of people. And the Semija? They will never survive the Lava Lake. We have a duty to them. What are we to do, leave them to their own devices in these tunnels? They will surely perish, even as the cababar would without us to feed and tend them. And what of all the untested children who will die? Do they not deserve a chance? Should we not at least try to save our Kingdom? If we try and fail, I will go to the Lava Lake content. If we do not try, there will be no place for me there.”
“What is it you propose?”
“I would like for you to confine Dynat to his quarters. Bind him there with ice if you must. We can tell the Kingdom that he is ill, or taking a retreat—it would not be as odd as any of his other actions. Let everyone think our commands come from him. Keep him away until I am done with the Icers in the Outer Tunnels. I intend to make them clean their lake. After that, we can let the Nobles decide our fate. I know the military will back me. I do not know about the Nobles, but once the Baths are clean, they should support me.”
She had begun to shake her head at the first sentence, and her movements became more exaggerated as he went, but he could not stop, and by the end of his proposal she was flickering like a flame. “No,” she said. “It is too risky.”
Medoc’s blood froze in his veins. He had revealed everything to her, sure that she was as fed up with Dynat's non-rule as he was. Did she love Dynat? He hadn't proposed harming the King, merely keeping him out of the way while he, Medoc, did the King's duties to the people. If she told Dynat, Medoc could be executed within the gong for treason. His body would be entombed in solid rock, or fed to hippole, never to join the Lava Lake and dwell with the Fire Spirit.
A survival instinct, honed by many years of warfare, sent unpleasant, unbidden thoughts into his mind. She was a strong Flame, but with surprise, he could best her. “Let us walk a bit,” he said, keeping his voice light. “I need to stretch my legs.”
She nodded, and he relaxed a little. At least she was not ready to run to Dynat at this moment. Perhaps she too clung to the element of surprise. He started walking down the tunnel, and she followed at his elbow. He was very aware of her presence, and tried not to alter his T'Jas in any way that might alert her to his thoughts.
“What is it you fear, Kinyara?” Medoc turned down a tunnel toward the lava river. It would be nice to bask in that heat, as the baths were not available.
“If we bound Dynat and then released him, we would both be executed for certain. The Nobles favor Dynat. No one would take our side, at least no one of consequence. If we are to do this and survive, Dynat must die. But his blood must not be on our hands.”
“But if we spoke to the Nobles, made them see—”
“The Nobles are fickle, General. They will support whoever suits them in the moment. They will use you for their own ends, turn their heads while you imprison their King, and then cry foul when Dynat reappears, turning on you—on us. You know well the ways of war, General, but not of politics. You've seen many Kings rise and fall in your time, and you think it is due to your coup, but I tell you it is the Nobles who chose.”
“The military—”
“How far would you turn your power on our own people? All the military has is its might. Unless you are prepared to use that might, it is worth absolutely nothing.”
Medoc stroked his mustache. The heat from the lava river radiated through the rocks, though they were still several caverns away. She was right. He had to have the support of the nobles, or else his uprising could turn into a bloodbath, him killing the very people he wished to help. Some would have to die no matter what. But he wanted that number to be as small as possible.
“So. What do you advise?”
“In order for you to succeed, Dynat must die. But your hands must be clean. The Nobles will jump at any chance to grab power for themselves. There are several houses already eyeing the throne. If they can prove you have killed Dynat, they will depose you as a murderer. You must have someone else kill him, someone absolutely loyal who will not betray you. Or someone you can force a confession from and then kill. Someone of no consequence.”
Medoc thought of Cadet Tejusi, and his heart felt sick. To use someone loyal to him for such a purpose was not in his nature. Even to kill Dynat himself . . . Medoc had sworn to Bretle that he would always protect his son. He had knelt before Dynat and sworn to serve to his own death if necessary; how could he kill him? But if he did not, what would become of Chraun?
Bolv was still speaking, and he forced himself to focus on her words.
“ . . . Adopt policies that will gain you support from the Nobles. You lower taxes, which are already low enough that we can barely maintain the Kingdom, you look the other way while they sport with Semija and common Flames. You let Chraun run itself, and spend your days hunting slink so that you never see the injustices done in your name. Dynat was doing it right. He just let the crisis of the Baths get out of control. Now the Nobles are unhappy.”
Her words chilled him to his very core. Had he been so blind to politics all his life? Was it really the Nobles who controlled the Kingdom? Medoc had always thought the Military was the soul of Chraun, holding it together.
They walked for a time in silence, as the roar of the river came into their ears. Soon it drowned out the click of Bolv's heels against the smooth stone floor. They came to a deserted landing, and Medoc went straight to the edge, hoping she would follow, and looked over. Like a giant vein, pulsing life into Chraun, the lava river roared below, glowing red-hot, so bright it nearly hurt his eyes to look at.
Bolv hung back, leaning against the wall of the landing, and Medoc turned at last to confront her. To his surprise, she was smiling. “Do you think I am a fool, General?”
She had to shout, to be heard over the roar of lava, but the smugness in her tone was clear. “You are so easy to read. Could you have done it? Just one little push? You’ve killed hundreds in battle, but I don't think you have it in you to kill this way, in cold blood.”
Medoc stepped back from the river, only to be met by a wall of fire. The Kinyara was drawing power from the lava river, and using it against him. For all her doubts about his ability to kill her, he did not think she would hesitate if she saw an advantage in killing him.
“I will not participate in your treason, General.” Medoc wanted to cover her mouth with his hand. She was shouting still to be heard by him, what if someone came by and heard her words? “But I will advise you, and reap its rewards.”
So, he was not to die today. But what did the Kinyara want? He had known before he had uttered a word to her that she would drive a hard bargain. He had expected to approach her from a place of power, not backed up against his own death. Though the lava gave him strength, if she wounded him enough, the fall would melt the flesh from his bones.
“You will swear, right here, on the Fire Spirit and your place in the Lava Lake, to make me your Kinyara, should you become King of Chraun. And I shall not be a quiet, meek Kinyara like King Ovid’s little Shareema. I will rule by your side, a Queen like the Kinyara of old.”
It was a sickening thought. She was not even his cousin! To make her his Kinyara would breach an ancient custom. She was supposed to follow the King into the Lava River, when he died. The common Flames would protest. But the Nobles who supported Dynat's rule were less concerned with tradition, and they would be pleased to see the Kinyara who understood their arrangements stay in power. Wilmina would not be pleased, however—far from it. Nor would his own cousin—he could not remember which of his many sisters’ daughters was eldest.
But this was not about Wilmina, or Bolv, or even Medoc himself. This was about saving Chraun from the monster Dynat had become. Bolv's words echoed in his mind. A Queen. Suddenly, Medoc saw a way to bring Dynat down without any blood on his own hands. Like the solution to a complex battle plan, worked at for many gongs, everything fell into place.
First, though, he would need to keep Bolv out of the way, bound in her own complicity. “I swear, by the Fire Spirit, the Lava River, and my own place in the Lava Lake, that when I am King of Chraun, I will make you my Kinyara, Bolv.”
The words, shouted, were lost in the roar of the river. Bolv's mouth stretched in a triumphant smile, but Medoc barely saw it. He was already looking past her, planning his next battle, setting his warriors in place.