The Native Star Read online

  “I figured that would be your answer,” she said. “That’s your answer when it comes to anything about yourself that’s real.”

  Stanton let out a long sigh, his brow contracting darkly.

  “I didn’t tell you because … because what’s done is done. You make a choice, and it seems right at the time, and …” He shook his head in frustration. “It just doesn’t matter, that’s all.”

  “It does matter,” she whispered. “It matters because—” Emily stopped short. She shook her head. “You should just be more careful, that’s all.”

  “More careful?”

  Some words were like smoke; if exhaled carelessly, they could never be reclaimed. Emily knew such words were dangerous, but she did not care.

  “Not to let people fall in love with you,” she said.

  He said nothing, just stared at her face. The moment hung for a long time, longer than it should have. Longer than it would if Stanton was going to say something in return. She turned away, cheeks burning.

  “I know you don’t want me. You made that clear when you kissed me … or stopped kissing me.” Emily’s jaw ached with humiliation. “Anyway, don’t stand there trying to figure out some credomancer’s dodge to make me feel better about it.”

  “Of course I want you,” he growled, leaning closer to her. “I’ve wanted you ever since I saw you dancing naked under that damn oak tree, botching up that preposterous love spell.”

  Emily jabbed an accusing finger at him. “So you did see me!”

  “It was an appalling spectacle,” he said. “I enjoyed it tremendously.”

  “So why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you do anything about it? Were you afraid I’d expect something from you? From the scion of the Stanton dynasty?” Her voice became bitter. “I don’t want anything from you, Mr. Stanton.”

  “You know, there’s one thing about you that always astonishes me. The longer you talk, the wronger you get.” His voice rose in intensity if not in volume. “Have you thought, for one instant, that perhaps I didn’t do anything because I respect you? Because I don’t think of you like some cheap hussy who can be bought with a hot meal and a little clever persuasion?” He paused, frowning. “If you don’t think I care about you more than that, then you really don’t know anything about love.”

  Then he saw the tears rising in her eyes, and he took her in his arms and gathered her close. She buried her face in the fabric of his shirt; he brought up a hand to stroke her hair.

  “I’m sorry, Emily,” he said. “Really I am.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said again.

  There was a long silence. When he finally spoke again, she felt his voice rumbling in his chest.

  “Because I liked having you believe I was someone I wasn’t. When you looked at me, you didn’t see all the mistakes I’d made, and I could pretend I’d never made them.” He paused. “But I did make them. And pretending I didn’t is … indecent.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t care,” she whispered.

  “Ten years ago I was a cadet at the Erebus Academy, I’m sure they told you that.” His voice was flat. “I studied sangrimancy and I would have become a Maelstrom. I told you how military sangrimancers protect themselves with neologisms. I had one of my own once, just like Caul. But a neologism cannot be maintained forever. The horrors it represses must be released sometime. The first time is always the worst, it is said.” He was quiet for a long time, and she felt him shudder. “After the first time, I couldn’t continue.”

  “Conscience,” Emily said.

  “Or cowardice,” Stanton murmured. “It doesn’t matter which. Neither is an excuse.”

  She held him tighter, as if physical closeness could hold him to her. But already, she could feel his distance, feel him moving further and further away.

  “I wish I could be someone you should love,” he said, and there was terrible finality in his voice. “But I’m not. I wish I could say you should love me, but I can’t. Because it’s not fair. Three times what thou givest, remember?” He paused. “I haven’t even begun to pay for what I’ve done. Being burned is my price, and there will be others. I won’t ask you to pay my debts with me.”

  Emily grabbed the fabric of his coat in her good hand, clasped it, and shook Stanton furiously.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she cried desperately, fighting tears. “You’ve told me a hundred times that I don’t know anything about love, but you’re the one who doesn’t know anything. You don’t know anything at all about love!”

  “You think I don’t?”

  “You don’t!”

  “Certain of that, are you?”

  “Reasonably,” Emily said, her voice quivering.

  He pulled her closer, brought his face to hers, close enough that she could feel his hot breath against her lips. But then he stopped, their skin a feather’s distance apart. He turned his head.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said, pushing her away.

  She pressed her hand to her mouth, stepping backward. Stanton drew a breath to say something, but before he could speak, Mirabilis’ voice rang from the doorway.

  “Miss Edwards,” he said, “we’re ready for you.”

  Emily turned, ran toward the door, skirts swishing.

  “Emily,” Stanton called after her in a low voice, but she pretended not to hear, stepping quickly into the brilliant room beyond.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The Grand Symposium

  When she reentered the great hall, the clock was just striking midnight. She saw that the colleagues had been joined by two burly manservants in Institute gray who had positioned themselves, arms crossed, in front of the two huge black doors.

  Miss Pendennis came to her side, took Emily’s arm.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Fine,” Emily said. Quickly, she dashed tears from her cheeks. As Stanton came into the room, pausing on the threshold to take in the faces of the participants, she looked away.

  “Dreadnought Stanton!” said Heusler with a slimy smirk. “The spirit of the next hundred years of the republic!”

  Stanton narrowed his eyes at the sangrimancer.

  “High Priest,” he said in a strained voice. His eyes flicked from the fat man to Mirabilis, who frowned, gesturing impatiently for Stanton to join the group. When they were all assembled, he lifted his hands in welcome.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mirabilis said. “For the actual proceedings, we shall repair to the Great Trine Room. For the safety of all, I must insist that everyone leave all weapons, magical or otherwise, with these gentlemen.” He nodded toward the thickset guards in gray. “They will be kept safe during the symposium.”

  “Just a minute, Mirabilis,” Rocheblave said. “I want to know where the third sangrimancer is. I see animancers and now”—he nodded meaningfully at Stanton—“a veritable superfluousness of credomancers. But I see only two sangrimancers.”

  “The third sangrimancer awaits us in the Great Trine Room,” Mirabilis said. “For reasons of safety, I insisted that he submit to a more intensive physical search.”

  “Showy charlatan’s tricks,” Heusler grumbled. He lifted a bloated finger and pointed at Mirabilis, Tarnham, Ben, and Stanton in turn. “Why four credomancers?”

  “Ben is my personal servant,” Mirabilis said. “He will not be participating as a colleague. As my secretary, Mr. Tarnham will be otherwise occupied, so I have asked Ben to record the events as they unfold.”

  “Then he’s not a credomancer?”

  “I serve the Sophos,” Ben said, and dipped his head meekly. Strangely enough, the answer seemed to satisfy them, though Emily wondered if any of the sangrimancers noticed that it wasn’t actually an answer at all.

  “Please, gentlemen, let us proceed. The hour grows late.” Mirabilis gestured toward the gray-uniformed men who were standing at the doors.

  “Going unarmed into Japheth Mirabilis’ center of power. I must be mad!” Rocheblave said as he
surrendered his alembic and a large curved blade that was intricately chased in gold. He laid these on a tray covered with red velvet; the gray-uniformed guard holding the tray was careful not to touch the objects as he covered them with a piece of red silk.

  “No one is required to participate, Mr. Rocheblave,” Mirabilis said.

  Rocheblave snorted, shrugging off his expensive-looking jacket. One of the large gray men patted his arms and legs.

  All the men were searched in turn. Heusler surrendered a glittering blade of black obsidian that he placed on the tray with delicate reverence. When Stanton’s turn came, he showed the contents of his pockets: a handkerchief and the misprision blade, which he removed from inside his coat and laid on the tray.

  “Why, Mr. Stanton,” Heusler said drily, “you still carry a bleeding blade. Perhaps I was too quick when I assumed we sangrimancers would be outnumbered.”

  “I also carry a handkerchief,” Stanton said, as he tucked the square of fabric back into his pocket. “It does not mean that I am consumptive.”

  When all the men had been searched, the guards looked nervously at Emily and Miss Pendennis.

  “Surely the women don’t need to be searched,” Ben ventured. Heusler pounced on the words like a cat on a cockroach.

  “Of course they must be searched. I won’t volunteer my instruments of power and have some Witch slide through on the disingenuous pretense that she can’t stand to have a man touch her.” His eyes grazed the rest of the assembly, stopping on Stanton for a moment before coming to rest on Emily. “Miss Pendennis is not the only one with reservations about the caliber of individuals you’ve invited, Mirabilis.”

  Mirabilis gestured to Miss Pendennis. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

  Miss Pendennis stood stalwartly, chin up, arms stretched out to her side, while an embarrassed man in gray ran quick hands over her waist, hips, and the bottoms of her legs.

  “Miss Edwards?” Mirabilis gestured her forward.

  Emily stepped up, and the guard repeated the perfunctory search, nodding approval. Heusler crossed his arms like a petulant toddler.

  “No! Her I don’t trust. I want to see her legs.”

  “Heusler, really,” Mirabilis snapped. “That’s entirely uncalled for!”

  “I’m sure the straightforward Miss Pendennis lacks the imagination or inclination for subterfuge. But her …” Heusler shook a finger at Emily. “I want to see what the skycladdische has tucked into the tops of her stockings.”

  “How dare you,” Stanton growled, but Emily had just about all she could stand of the insolent High Priest. Furiously, she reached down and grabbed handfuls of purple silk.

  “Look all you want, you filthy bloodletter!” Emily hiked her skirts over her knees, revealing legs modestly stockinged in white. “Shall I strip naked and dance a mazurka?”

  Heusler stared at her legs for a moment, then smirked disdainfully.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I’ve seen what I need.”

  Emily threw her skirts down and crossed her arms, looking away angrily. Miss Pendennis came up to her side, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “There’s the end to our carefully crafted illusion of reticence and delicacy.”

  “I don’t care,” Emily whispered fiercely. “It doesn’t matter. They all think they know exactly what I am. Let them go on thinking it, if it makes them so happy. This time tomorrow I’ll be a hundred miles away!”

  “Let’s get through tonight first,” Miss Pendennis said.

  “Now, if we’re finished with ungentlemanly insults,” Mirabilis glared at Heusler, “we can proceed about our business.”

  Turning, he laid a hand on each of the tall black doors. He spoke words in Latin, and there was a loud scraping sound as the tumblers of a great lock fell backward. When the noise finally stopped, Mirabilis gestured diffidently, and the huge doors swung open, silently, as easily as if they were spun of sea foam. When they had all passed through, Mirabilis closed the doors, locking them with an echoing chunk.

  The vast room was murky—a gloom that even hundreds of tall white candles could not entirely dispel. In the center of the room was a circle of high-backed mahogany chairs, each upholstered in gold brocade.

  The third sangrimancer was seated in the chair farthest from the door. In the low light, it was impossible to see his face. Emily smelled him before she could see him; he was smoking a stinking cigar. As she got closer, she saw that it was held in a twitching hand.

  “It’s about t-t-time.” The stuttered words washed over Emily like ice water. She clutched abruptly at Miss Pendennis’ arm.

  “Captain John Caul.” Mirabilis extended a hand toward the man sitting in the shadows.

  “I don’t believe it!” Stanton stared at Mirabilis. “Sophos, you can’t allow him to participate. You know what he—”

  “One doesn’t set a Precedent of this magnitude by bringing together friends,” Mirabilis said firmly. “Captain Caul has been relieved of all of his magical implements and he has been extensively searched. I am completely certain that he carries nothing on his person that can harm anyone in this room. He called off the Maelstrom attacks on the Institute. In reciprocation, I invited him to join us.”

  “He blackmailed you,” Stanton snarled.

  “Enough, Mr. Stanton!” Mirabilis barked. “Your lack of faith in my judgment is as unhelpful and annoying as I knew it would be. Need I remind you that if it were up to me, you would not be here?”

  “Doubtless Mr. Stanton is afraid. It w-w-wouldn’t be the first time.” Caul drew deeply on his cigar, as if the smoke would help calm his shaking. “We’re in the heart of Mirabilis’ p-p-power, Stanton. What c-c-could I possibly do against that?”

  There was a threat and a menace and a promise in his voice that made Emily shudder.

  “Take your seats,” Mirabilis said firmly. “Let us begin.”

  Emily sat next to Miss Pendennis, in the chair farthest from Caul. Without a word, Stanton claimed the chair next to her, glaring pointedly at Caul and then, with more bemusement, at Mirabilis. Flanked by Miss Pendennis and Stanton, Emily felt well defended. But she didn’t relax in the least.

  Mirabilis stood in the center of the circle, hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a ringmaster, polished and suave.

  “Colleagues, first I want to thank you all for agreeing to participate in the creation of what I am sure will be the most powerful Precedent ever. This represents a turning point in the history of magic, the birth of a new spirit of collegiality between—”

  “For God’s s-s-sake, stop it” Caul roared, bringing a hand to his head as if in horrible pain. The big muscles of his arms and legs spasmed in sympathy with his annoyance. “I won’t have you w-w-wasting my time with credomancers’ games. Drop the pretense of this being a ‘collegial’ gathering and call it what it is … a n-n-negotiation for the survival of your institute.”

  “I agree that it is more correctly called a negotiation, Captain Caul,” Rocheblave said. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re the only one at the table.”

  “I’ll be d-d-damned before I let Mirabilis hand the stone to either one of you,” Caul said, glaring at Rocheblave. His eyes then went to Heusler, mad hate flaring in them like a match touched to Black Exunge. “Especially you, High Priest. I know exactly w-w-what you’d use it for.”

  “Maybe you don’t like us, Captain Caul,” Heusler examined his ragged fingernails casually, “but surely you’re aware that your sentiments are not shared by everyone in the military.”

  “You mean conciliatory turncoats like General Blotgate? S-s-slaves your outlander goddess has gotten her black claws into?”

  “Gentlemen, enough.” Mirabilis’ voice rose above the din. “The aim of this gathering is to dispose of the stone in a manner most beneficial to all the magical traditions. It is not a forum for rehashing your internecine squabbles.”

  “Fine,” Heusler said. “Then let’s have a lo
ok at the goddamn stone. That’s what we came for.”

  “Fair enough.” Mirabilis reached into his pocket and withdrew the Otherwhere Marble, holding it up to glint softly in the half-light. “Gentlemen, Miss Edwards’ hand—with the stone embedded in the palm—is within this marble, safely protected.”

  “What is that, some kind of magical orb?” Rocheblave asked.

  “Never you mind,” Mirabilis said, as he motioned Emily to a place outside the circle of chairs, where they were out of sight of the group.

  “The sangrimancers have no understanding of the technology involved,” he whispered. “It’s the only thing that protects you. Understand?” He tapped the marble against the Boundary Cuff three times, in the same particular rhythm he’d used before. Then he tucked the marble into his pocket and took her elbow, guiding her back into the circle.

  Emily extended her hand to the sangrimancers. Rocheblave and Heusler examined it closely, then Caul stepped forward. She’d forgotten how big he was; he towered over her like a mountain, solid and menacing. Taking her hand, he squeezed it until she almost cried out.

  “S-s-skycladdische,” he whispered.

  “Hemacolludinatious,” she hissed back.

  Caul put his head close to her ear, close enough that she wondered if he was going to bite it. “I’m going to enjoy b-b-bleeding you,” he said. “S-s-sooner than you think …”

  “Captain Caul!” Mirabilis barked. Caul straightened and let Emily’s hand drop. Quickly, Mirabilis clasped the Boundary Cuff around Emily’s wrist again.

  “Now. You have all been briefed on how the stone came into the possession of Miss Edwards, the strange properties it has exhibited, and the vast quantity of power it contains. It is my belief that the Mantic Anastomosis has shed this power for a reason,” Mirabilis said. “That the appearance of the stone is the result of greater depredations—depredations hidden and unseen.” Mirabilis’ eyes roamed each of the three sangrimancers in turn.

  “That theory supposes that the Mantic Anastomosis is capable of conscious action,” Rocheblave sneered coolly. “I’d expect that kind of crackpot baloney from a dirt Witch, but from you, Mirabilis?”