Chapter 1: Adamantine
Adamantine trod water as she softened the Court's exterior wall and forced her numb fingers up to the first knuckle in decades old stone. Beneath the surface her toes sunk deep into a crack between slabs and she reached up to jam her other hand into a higher position. She used her augmented grip on the cold slabs to pull herself up. Water streamed from her clothes and she paused long enough to let them drain before she continued upward.
A summer wind blustered around her and raised bumps along her exposed skin. Loose tangles of hair plastered themselves to her mask as she climbed and she spat a strand from her mouth.
She was only a couple handholds from the top when her leg spasmed. The foot beneath it slipped and she spun out with one hand still latched onto the wall. Her wrist twisted painfully above her and a thrill of power rushed through as death slammed nearer. She could feel it tugging at her fingers, pleading for her to let go—her old place in its grasp ready for her again.
Rarely did she have time to admire the view during her climbs, too engrossed in her work to notice. Since her earlier descent down the wall the sun had barely moved toward its zenith and only the smallest slice of moon could be seen at the edge of the western horizon. Far below Adamantine lay the great expanse of water she'd come from—a lake wide enough to successfully render the Court secure from attack on all sides except for the constructed land bridge that connected it to the shore.
Adamantine braced a foot on the wall behind her and flipped back around to face the stone. Her wrist twinged at the movement and she clutched the stone harder as her grip slipped. After a deep breath to dispel the strong flare of pain that had accompanied the movement she pulled herself up the last couple holds and over the parapet. She dropped down onto the high walkway that ran around the entire Court and brushed the hair from her face. A quick trace of her mask’s lower edge assured her it hadn't shifted and she took in her surroundings.
Two of the court’s young ladies watched Adamantine from down the walkway. She recognized them both vaguely; neither held importance in her life as either Adamantine or Evelina. They turned away when she looked at them and kept walking. There was no one else in sight, not that it mattered. Adamantine had no one to hide from here.
She took off down the walkway at a run. The air felt pleasant against her body, skin cool from her swim and dry from the climb. This was her favourite part of the day—when the Sovereign went into a Table meeting and neither Adamantine nor Evelina had duties. She could put on her mask and do whatever crazy and uncourtly thing caught her fancy. No one questioned the Sovereign's red hand, even though they gossiped about her at every occasion—often, unknown to them, directly to her as Evelina. She liked to feed the rumours. Who had more authority on the Sovereign's assassin than the Sovereign's handmaiden herself?
Adamantine slid to a stop and peered over the low wall separating the walkway from the inner Court far below. She slid her hand over the top of the barrier—pressed the tips of her fingers into the stone, which shifted to accommodate her. The tower stood before her, its base stemming up from the centre of the Court's grounds. The tower protruded above the walkway, the highest room—the Table room—level with her. Inside the Sovereign and the Court’s seated ladies would be deep in discussion over the Theyellan delegate’s stay.
Splayed over the inner Court’s grounds below lay the servants’ buildings, within one of them her destination.
She twisted her hand around to face back at her, elbow crooked out to the side, and dug her fingers further into the top of the wall. Another look down at the ground three death lengths below her, and she vaulted over.
Her feet hit the wall first and she bent her knees to press herself smoothly against the stone. Bare toes found cracks, pushed into the solid surface for a reinforced grip, and she began to climb her way down to the ground.
The Sovereign had asked her on many occasions why she bothered with such a dangerous feat every day when she could reach the water by way of the front gate, and her answer never changed. It was faster than taking the stairs, and she didn't put herself in danger with the stunt. If Thaxara permitted her death she would never have made it out of childbirth.
When Adamantine was still high enough to break the majority of her bones should she fall, she passed out of the sunlight and into the incessant shade of the Court's innards. The darkness only gave way during the highest point of the day and the sun had now travelled high enough up the sky to deliver all but a small corner on the west wall from the regular gloom. Descending into the shadowy patch prickled her lake-chilled skin.
A few handholds further down she stopped before the window of one of the guard's break rooms, the favourite of her family’s. Enkyridia's voice floated out to her.
“What's keeping her so busy? For all we know there could be more to this than she's let on.”
Adamantine was used to hearing gossip about her, but it was always a nice change to hear people discuss her as Evelina instead of Adamantine, especially her own people. She stepped out onto the slanted sill and dug in her toes to reinforce her security so high in the open air, hands pressed into the stone on her either side. A thin curtain kept her from seeing her family—and her family from seeing the Sovereign's personal assassin perched outside their break room—but she could imagine them clearly enough.
She’d first met them on the streets of Kedrium, Tebrica’s capital, nine years before, after she’d fled the northern continent with the intention of getting as far away from her shame as she could. She’d bribed, threatened, and stolen her way south so effectively her future family had tried to mug her upon first encounter, assuming she came from a wealthy upbringing.
It had been the first time other children had attacked her. She’d defended herself against adults numerous times, their assumptions in relation to her capabilities only adding to the ease of their defeat, but her assailants’ youth had given her pause.
There was three of them; siblings. Despite being the youngest, Enkyridia had two years on Adamantine. She’d been the first to approach her as she’d rested down a side street. Zatashi, the middle child and leader of the group, had hoped she’d be more sympathetic to the plight of a girl closer in age. They’d been wrong about the method, but the result had been the same—after a few injuries, some that had never fully healed.
Enkyridia hadn’t finished. “The new prisoners in the east quarter?” she asked. “Where did they come from? Thitia told me yesterday that she heard her lady and the Sovereign talking of assassinations. From what she could gather someone broke into the royal quarters and tried to kill the Sovereign. What if Evelina's in danger?”
“She’s strong,” Zatashi cut into Enkyridia's concern, and Adamantine could picture them on their feet, leaning forward on hands planted flat against the table. “I'm sure she'll be okay. And if there's something to worry about she'd let us know.”
“Seriously?” Mikayze. He'd be sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest like always, feet squeezed onto the end of his chair and arms wrapped around their peaks. Despite the protection of his two sisters, he’d had grown up as a young boy sleeping on the streets. He never took up more space than necessary at any given time. “We all know she wouldn't,” he continued. “She doesn't tell us anything. Nobody does. As far as we know this has been happening as long as we've been here.”
“She'd say something if it was as important as this.” Zatashi again, faithful as ever. “For all we know the Theyellan delegate’s impending arrival has kept her busier than normal.”
Adamantine hadn't visited with them enough in recent weeks, hadn't assuaged their worry for her. She must take the time to see them before their distress overcame her mitigations. Perhaps she could make time that night, after the Theyellan delegation settled in.
A knock came from the break room's door and wood screeched on stone as her family rose to their feet, Enkyridia grumbling about her aching knee. The door slammed behind them and Adamantine curled her toes over the edge of the incline.
—•—
Adamantine peered over the edge of the window sill, down the drop to the ground, and considered how easy it would be to fall. She could visualize her body crumpling against the cobblestones, bones snapping all at once. Her skull leaking into the cracks.
She leaned out over open air and imagined the sensation. She'd never seen anyone die from a fall onto a solid surface. It was rare to come so near to—near enough to sense—a death she couldn't experience. The closest she'd witnessed would have been one of the Creidorian soldiers she'd killed. She’d dragged him off his feet so abruptly his head had slammed against the floor. They'd both experienced a brief instance of pain as he died, only one of the many dozens that had filled up her small body one after another that day, paralyzing her young mind as numb limbs carried out her vengeance.
“It's different,” said a voice on the wall beside her.
Adamantine peered around the edge of her window cove and met eyes with Thaxara. For the death deity It was surprisingly kindly in appearance. Its skin had the same unnerving grey tint as her own—similar to a body after blood has stopped circulating—but for the most part It looked soft, with the sort of face that looked wrong when it took on a serious expression, as it did now.
“What's different?” Adamantine asked.
“Falling from a height. I'd liken it more to the man you crushed than that soldier’s head injury.”
“Why are you here?” she asked It, suppressing the pain that rose in her bones as she felt falling rocks mangle her body. When she'd first left the Ascali islands she'd travelled with a man who'd mistakenly assumed her to be defenceless. It hadn't been hard to kill him, and she'd wanted him to hurt for what he'd tried with her and had undoubtedly succeeded with other children. He’d taken hours to die, and she'd relished every moment of his agony tearing apart her mind as she sat next to him, ignoring his pleas for help.
“A warning,” Thaxara told her. “I've been trying to manifest for days now. You came close on the wall earlier but this is the first time you summoned enough of me. You need to start training again.”
“I do train.”
“Then you need to prepare yourself.”
“For what?”
“Give me a guess,” It said. “They're coming for you, and you're the only one who knows the worst of what they're capable of.”
Adamantine's balance faltered and she clutched the walls tighter. “How do you know? Tebrica is as far from them as I could get. I made sure of that.”
“I can't tell you much more. This afternoon will be the start—of what I don’t know—and by the end you will have a major impact in the number of lives that are either lost or saved.”
“In what capacity?”
They shook their head. “I have nothing more I can explain to you. It will be you, the cult of Nixante, and perhaps another. Someone sharp and silver and battered. Someone you know or will know. Someone that matters to you.”
“The last time you were this obscure we lost everything.”
“Such a large number of potential casualties results in obscured specifics. I’m not cryptic by intention; I wish I had more to give you. I came so you would know to prepare for the worst once again.”
Adamantine lay her head back against the window behind her, squeezed her eyes closed. “How are the islands faring?”
“They struggle and I watch. Every year too many pass on to me, but their roots are taking ground. I see no more great tragedies in their coming path.”
“I suppose that's as much as we can hope for.”
“There's naught else to do,” Thaxara said, and Its skin paled a touch further, stone becoming visible through Its body. “You should warn your Sovereign, Thienta. You will need to fortify this Court as best you can.”
And he was gone again, though his subtle leaving nearly caused Adamantine’s eyes to doubt he'd been there at all. She swayed in the window alcove for a moment, head boiling with fear and memories, before shaking them loose and climbing down the last few stories to the ground below.
She changed in the laundry rooms, leaving her sopping skirts folded over an empty dry rack. Her mask she tucked into the pocket of her apron, wrapped in a cloth so as not to soak through.
Evelina again, she took the stairs up to the ladies’ quarters at a quick pace, leading with her heels. One piece of the act keeping her two identities separate were the differences in posture, in gait. Her fingers throbbed from her earlier climb up and down the wall so she buried them in her new, dry skirts and squeezed them around the folds of thick fabric.
She slowed to a moderate pace for the second half of the stairs, despite the desire to fling herself up them without regard for who saw. Thaxara's warning bubbled in her mind and she wrapped herself around the fear and squished it tight—contained it, pushed it down. She was a daughter of the Ascali, last member of the Ascana Clielle. She was Thienta Xikona, challenger of death. She was Evelina. She was Adamantine. They would not take her second home from her too.
She exited the stairs when she reached the top floor. A thick green carpet marked her route down the corridor, muffling her footsteps. There was no one to hear her, however, as the heavy doors spaced out on either side of the hall thwarted any noise from leaking through.
She stopped at a familiar door, a plaque fixed to the wood announcing the rooms beyond belonged to Lady Qadite. Adamantine would have slipped inside without notice but Evelina didn’t have the authority or permissions to treat the place as her own.
Kaskal answered her knock after a few moments, a grin planted firmly on his square face. While his sister’s father had been a visiting Sasiat man, his own had most likely come from the northern continent. His skin was a pale, cool brown—his features and stature broad—but he’d inherited their mother’s empathetic spirit where Qadite hadn’t. Evelina could see it now, infecting his eyes; it was the reason she visited every day.
He stood aside and she swarmed passed him, through the foyer to the receiving room. Qadite had recently moved her apartments to the eastern side of the Court, having decided she preferred to enjoy the sun during the first part of the day as opposed to its end. Their windows now faced out onto a different portion of the surrounding lake, the morning sun warming the rug and highlighting the patterns of gold within its overall purple.
Evelina lay back on the carpet, sunshine drenching her in a tired haze while Kaskal paused in the doorway. She directed her eyes at the ceiling and closed them.
“Join me,” she said to him, arms spread across the floor. “It’s warm.”
He complied, settling himself out next to her. She lifted her arm to give him room and wiggled her her fingers at him. He took her hand, letting them fall across his chest, and squeezed.
“I missed you yesterday, he said. “Where were you?”
“Preparing for the delegate’s arrival. Why, did I miss something?”
He squeezed her hand again. “No, I was lonely.”
“You should make another friend,” Evelina said. “Aren’t there any other young lords you like? Or ladies?”
“You’re not very well versed in Court gossip.”
“I’m taking that as a no?”
“There’s a few I like but there’s few who like me.”
Evelina tilted sideways and rested her head on Kaskal’s shoulder. The sun drenched her exhausted body, soothing it. She wouldn’t be able to lie in the heat for long; she was already starting to feet lethargic. “That’s to their detriment, then, and my gain, if it makes you miss me when I’m busy for a morning.”
“My own detriment as well, if it makes me lonely. Not that it matters. Qadite’s sending me east in the fall, to stay in Tramanda. Friends won’t do me any good there.”
Adamantine’s body already felt too drained for her surprise to register physically. “But the arrangements haven’t been finalized yet—and you still have three years until your marriage.”
Kaskal let go of her hand and tangled his fingers in his hair. “Eddalia is reconsidering. Qadite hopes she’ll sign the agreement early if I stay with her for six months.”
“Six months? I can’t have you gone for that long? What will I do without you?”
Kaskal’s smile looked cracked—glimpses of something else peaking through—but before she could accost him about it the door to the suite squeaked open and Qadite’s voice swore.
Kaskal sat up quickly and composed himself, tucking his legs underneath him and folding his hands in his lap. “She’s been meaning to have someone fix the new door for weeks now,” he told her, his voice muted.
“One of these days you’ll stop excusing away Qadite’s temper,” Adamantine whispered back and dragged her head up off the floor to watch Kaskal’s older sister ruffle into the room. “The Table meeting’s ended, then?” she called. Before Qadite could respond her neck muscles gave out and she winced a little as her head slammed back into the floor.There you are, my lovelies. What do you think?
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