Chapter 55: Reunion

“The heart of succession is always murder. The new cannot grow where the old remains.”
– Theodore Langman, Wizard of the West

Four Calamities had gone south, and Scribe with them, but only two awaited on the other side of the fairy gate. I’d not expected to see Assassin, but looking at Warlock and Black standing side by side my heart broke a little. It was the way they stood: slightly apart, as if they expected a larger person to be behind and leaning over their shoulders. Captain had left a gaping hole behind her in more ways than one. Out in the open our greetings were polite, friendly even, but distant for all that. None of us were inclined to emotional theatrics in front of so many watching eyes. Warlock made himself scarce without bothering to explain, hard eyes lingering on me even as his handsome face smiled without a speck of sincerity, and my teacher silently led me to a tent in the heart of the Fifteenth’s camp. Before I even came in sight of it I could feel the wards pulsing, a least two dozen woven tigether that reeked of coiled and contained violence. Not Masego’s work, this. There was a depth and sophistication to it Hierophant had yet to reach.

It was where my teacher had been sleeping, I saw with a start. The inside was sparse and austere, functional Legion furnishings surrounding a standard issue cot. A handful of scrying tools could be glimpsed in a corner, glinting softly in magelight, and the short folding table that stood to the side was flanked by two rickety stools. The second most powerful person in the Empire slept here, and I could have bought everything in the tent with a mere month’s salary. I’d never been too inclined to luxuries myself, but Black took it a step further. The tent’s flap closed behind us with a quiet swish, leaving the two of us standing in the soft sorcerous glow. I was taller than him now, I realized. By a little more than an inch. How long had it been, since we’d last seen each other? A year, or close. He was still pale in that way that was more corpselike than Callowan, all the life in him gathered into those eerie green eyes. Named did not get tired the way normal men did, did not feel that burden as acutely, but in the lines of his face I read something like exhaustion.

The silence stretched on for a long time, me looking at him and him looking at me. If we were different people, I thought, he would be embracing me. But that wasn’t who we were, so instead his fingers fleetingly touched my shoulder, using the excuse of brushing off lint that did not exist, and I forced myself not to lean into the touch. Those were the lines we lived between, even now.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, “about Sabah.”

For what couldn’t even have been the full span of a heartbeat something like raw anguish flickered across the man’s face, before it was whisked away into the void.

“So am I,” he said, and there was something almost tired in his voice. “So am I.”

I couldn’t remember moving but found myself on a stool as Black claimed his own, watching as he broke the clay seal over a roughly-hewn bottle. He poured himself a cup of the red liquor within, and looked askance at me. I nodded and was handed cup of my own.

“Those who leave are met again,” he said quietly, the words cadenced and formulaic. “Be it Above or Below.”

Our cups clinked dimly and we downed the drinks. It tasted like wine, I thought, if someone had dumped half a bottle of hard liquor in a bad red vintage. I kept myself from grimacing.

“What happened?” I asked. “Last I heard the situation south was under control.”

He poured himself another cup.

“I have grown arrogant,” he said, and it was not a recrimination so much as a statement of fact. “I was caught up in my own cleverness, convinced I understood the nature of the opposition. So blind a nascent Name escaped my attention, that I failed to realize I was facing perhaps the most dangerous opponent of my long career.”

“The Wandering Bard,” I said.

Almorava of Smyrna, though now she went by a different name and face. I’d thought her a nuisance and not a threat, when I’d fought against her, a meddler that could help along defeat but never cause it. It appeared I’d been very, very wrong about that.

“You will face her too, in time,” Black said. “Do not make the same mistakes I did. No matter how powerful the heroes she will align herself with, she is the greatest threat among the opposition. If she is not contained, she will make you rue that failing.”

I studied him silently. The Empress had called him a raw, bare nerve. I’d hoped that she was wrong, but there was a shadow in the man across from me that gave me pause. It wasn’t the dark spiral of doubt and recriminations I knew best, but something… colder. As if he’d cut away the human parts of him, deemed them useless and to be set aside until the current messes could were fixed.

“It’s all right to grieve her,” I said. “I do, and I never knew her the way you did.”

The dark-haired man’s smile was mirthless.

“I will grieve her properly when affairs here allow it,” he said. “There will be a funeral in Ater, in a few months. I expect you to be there.”

I nodded slowly. He drank from his cup, fingers steady yet somehow fragile.

“I will have to tell her family,” he said softly. “I haven’t yet. It feels like less than her due to scry her husband for that conversation.”

He closed his eyes, finished his drink and the sliver of vulnerability there’d been on his face was gone when the green stare returned.

“I’ve been spending the last few days reading reports,” he said. “You’ve done well here, Catherine. There are few people that could have so deftly handled the fae.”

“The Empress helped me clean up the mess,” I replied honestly. “Couldn’t have done it without her.”

“Another pleasant development,” he noted. “I was glad to hear of your cooperation. You will need to rely on her in the future, and she on you.”

“You talk,” I said, “like you’re going to die.”

He laughed cuttingly, but the edge did not feel like it was directed at me. Or at him. It was the laugh of a man who looked up at the Heavens with only contempt.

“Oh there’s still a few years left in this hide, if I avoid the right mistakes,” he said. “There will be dangers in facing Diabolist, to be sure, but I am aware of the stories I must sidestep.”

Gods but I was glad to hear that. Because there was a picture that could be painted in Liesse, one that involved my mentor and my rival and the bloody succession that had been the way of villains since the First Dawn. I wasn’t… Fuck, I knew Black was a risk. That as long as he lived there would always be limits to how far I could push things with the Tower. But I wasn’t ready for him to die. I wasn’t sure that I would ever be. It wasn’t even just that I felt safer with him, the hazy memory of a warm cloak around my shoulders threaded with the bone-deep certainty there was not a line he wouldn’t cross to keep me alive. I worried my lip. It’d been easy to tell Grandmaster Talbot that the monster in front of me was the closest thing I’d ever have to a father, when he was so very far away. It was harder to do it now that he was here with me. It would have been breaking a pane of glass we’d always been careful to keep there, even if sometimes our hands pressed against that divide close enough to feel the other’s warmth. The hard girl with a distant father figure, I thought mockingly. When did I become such a hackneyed banality?

“Be careful,” I said, voice rough. “You’re still useful to me.”

Something like a smile quirked his lips and he nodded. I poured myself another cup to avoid looking at him even if the liquor had tasted like bad decisions, and felt a sliver of gratitude when he changed the subject.

“Diabolist must be dealt with before summer’s end,” he said. “We had a conversation, you and I, while I was in the Free Cities. About changes that must be had in the Empire.”

“I’m not sure the Empress will agree to the kind of changes I want,” I said. “I’ve made promises, Black. I thought I had it under control, but…”

“In Dread Crowned,” he said, lips curving around the name of the song my legionaries and thousands more had sung. “A lovely tune. Almost lovely enough one cannot hear the clamour for war under the words.”

“I made a deal with her for the vicequeenship of Callow, like you said I should,” I told him. “But the Wasteland is sick, Black. There’s centuries of rot set in. We can’t build anything that’ll last without clearing it away first.”

Because, much as I’d come to like Malicia, I could not help to think that our deal would not survive her. That all it took was a knife in the back by some ambitious High Lord and the armies would march, because the Empress was a creature of pragmatic reason but she was the exception and not the rule. If we were to really, truly make this work then the cabals of scheming highborn had to go. Or it was just a matter of time until another version of the coup in Laure took place, and we’d come too far now for that to lead to anything but rebellion. I hadn’t forgotten it wasn’t the Truebloods that’d made a grab for power in the capital, when I’d disappeared for a few months. It had been the Empress’ own allies, supposedly mine as well. To trust men like them was like throwing tea in the sea and expecting it to turn brown.

“And so, summer’s end,” Black said calmly. “Procer will not begin their campaign in autumn, not if it means taking the risk of fighting through the winter in foreign lands. We will have until the first pangs of spring to do what must be done.”

The tone had been serene, measured. Cold as the Winter running through my veins, and I was not ashamed to admit it scared me.

“And what exactly is that?” I asked.

“Praes,” he said mildly, “will be purged. From Court to gutter. I will not allow knives to be bared at our back as we prepare for the greatest war the Empire has seen in half a millennium.”

I looked into those pale green eyes and glimpsed the house of steel behind them, grinding wheels of steel that knew no pity or pause. There had been weight to those words.

“The Empress has already broken the Truebloods,” I said. “Most of them call themselves the Moderates now, and the rest is on the run.”

“Twenty years, I have kept my tongue as Alaya ruled Praes her way,” Black said. “She has done much with that time. Won a civil war without ever mustering a single army, and so much more I could never have done in her place. But it is not enough.”

His fingers clenched.

“I look west and I see the chosen daughter of the old ways, sitting atop a throne of death and sorcery in naked challenge to the Tower,” he hissed. “I look east and I see the remains of the same fools that fought us decades ago, defeated but not yet defanged. Those that kneel may be spared, Catherine. There is still use for them. The rest will burn, and from those ashes we will fashion an Empire that can turn back Hasenbach’s crusade.”

Strange, how fear could make a moment grow crystal-clear.

“That means going against the Empress,” I said. “Is that your intention? Rebellion?”

The cold intensity that had wrought the man’s frame went out like a smothered candle and he passed a hand through his hair. It was, I thought, one of the most human gestures I’d ever seen him make. More than his power or his words, the complete control Black held himself with had always been what made him feel unearthly. That made it thrice I’d seen the control slip tonight. It had my stomach clenching.

“No,” Black said. “Never that. Alaya rules. But she must understand that the time for long games is past. Praes now faces an existential threat. Compromise is no longer an option.”

“And what happens to Callow, in that path of no compromise?” I asked.

“You have a crown,” my teacher said. “Let us dispense with the bastard fig leaf that is putting vice in front of your title. Your people already call you the Black Queen, Catherine. Take Callow in hand. Deal out justice and authority as you see fit, so long as the kingdom is ready for war.”

My blood thrummed. I’d heard that title whispered, by legionaries and sundry soldiers. I’d been very careful not to claim it though. There were implications to it that would undo some very delicate balances that had been struck. But if Black was going to break those anyway… I did not look forward to it, what it would mean to be queen. The tedious matters of statecraft, the never-ending petitions and burdens on my hours. But who else would I trust to take the throne? I would leave the ruling in hands better fit for it than mine. But I would wear the crown and command the armies. And when peace was finally bought by enough death, I would put down my sword and make ploughshare of it. Find a successor that had the talents of peace I so damnably lacked.

“They won’t go quietly,” I warned him. “The last of the old breed. There will be blood.”

“They should have been put down like rabid dogs forty years ago,” Black said coldly. “Their mages conscripted into the ranks, the rebel holdings confiscated and their treasuries used to raise additional legions. For centuries they have hoarded secrets and rituals to use as knives in their bids to power. Let those be used on our enemies instead: the days were dissent could be tolerated are over. All of Praes will fight for the Empire.”

And whatever parts of it refuse will be destroyed, he did not say. He did not need to.

“You want to turn the Empire into a great war machine,” I said. “And it’s a tempting thing, I’ll admit. Legions boots over ever smug highborn throat. But what happens to it, after the war? If you make a Praes that is all forges and army camps, then it’s not going to put down the swords after we win. It’ll start looking for another conquest.”

I did not mention the possibility that, even after all that, we might still lose. There was no point in having that conversation at all. Except I’ll have to take precautions, I thought. Prepare Callow for the possibility, so that it would survive the defeat. I missed Hakram like a godsdamned limb.

“I imagine I will be dead, by then,” Black said. “But Alaya will rule, and you will have learned to do the same. The two of you can make the Empire what it should be. In this I have no regrets.”

“Cut out that fucking talk,” I sharply said. “You’re not dying so easily. If you’re helping me make this mess, you’re helping me clean it afterwards. There’s too much I don’t know, Black. Too many gaps in need of filling.”

He smiled, suddenly, and for the first time I’d seen him today he felt as young as he looked. His hand hesitantly extended over the table and patted my own before withdrawing. It felt awkward. I wished he’d kept it there longer.

“Do not try to become me,” he said. “I was a tool that served a purpose, and that purpose is coming to an end. This Empire will outgrow me and so will you. To linger beyond that would be to become a crutch, and do disservice to us all.”

“You don’t get to quit halfway through,” I said through gritted teeth.

I hated that my voice broke just a little.

“Oh, child,” he said, almost tenderly, and took my hand in his. “Do not grieve this. You will surpass me, Catherine. I saw that in you the moment we first met, that glint in your eyes that was the best of me without the worst.”

“This isn’t about surpassing anyone,” I hoarsely said.

“It always is,” he whispered. “I will gracefully leave the stage, when the time comes, and leave it proud of what will come after me. I knew this to be the outcome the moment I began.”

I squeezed his fingers and closed my eyes. No, I thought. This is just a story, Black.

And I’d already proved I could break those, if I was willing to pay the price.

44 thoughts on “Chapter 55: Reunion

  1. Unexpectedly Polite Cultist

    Woe is me, that I have found the last of the published chapters on this day!

    But I shall despair not. Your story has intrigued me deeply. Deeply enough that in three days I have burned through it. Oh, the highs and lows, the glory, the pitfalls of despair. Truly, a rodeo of emotion.

    *Show me more.*

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Zourath

      What are you talking about? That sort of thing is villain origin story 101. Ends justifies the means, do everything in their power to save/bring back friends or family, consequences and collateral damage be damned? Definitely villain territory. Those stories usually never end well for anyone though.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. She’s a little beyond the origin story use-by date. 😉 Even Daddy’s Little Villain usually winds up with some annoying High Heal Face Turn arc if said Daddy needs help — because, never forget that the Heroes have the narrative pull Villains don’t (especially with the Wandering Booze Cabinet on the case). I don’t think putting up with the White Hats less ambiguous than Thief for six weeks of plot is really Cat’s style. 🙂

        Liked by 3 people

  2. Keyen

    It’s okay, if Catherine doesn’t want to deal with the paperwork, she doesn’t have to get the crown. I’m sure Hakram would do a nice Black Queen too.

    More seriously, i’m surprised that Black would go against Alaya this frankly (even if he doesn’t want to rebel), and into the same direction than Cat concerning the Praes nobility.

    So, I guess we won’t see the combinaison, Black will die on Liesse and Cat will clean the Praesi mess alone.

    Happy new year!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. ArkhCthuul

      Queen has the right song for her title.
      Listen to it and you’ll understand…OR Not.

      Aside.from that, she could always bring him back as a vampire or.somesuch… the villain theme, his looks, and be horrible enough..;)


  3. Sniggs44

    So if I’m not reading too deeply into things, it looks like Black’s “broken machine” illness is going to manifest itself as his self control eroding, and him deciding on actions based less on logic and more on emotion.

    His stated plan to wipe out the Truebloods seems reminiscent of bucket list talk…like he’s basically saying fuck it, and doing what he’s always wanted to do despite how consequences may tip such an action into net loss territory. Is it that he doesn’t care as much about the consequences? Or is the machine so broken that he’s no longer able to evaluate situations with pure logic and find/pursue the optimal solutions? His instability ultimately sparking a civil war with the Empress would be an outcome Bard would love, I’d imagine.

    I liked the overall tone of chapter, it was quite emotional. Reminded me of dealing with family members with terminal illnesses, in a way. Though there may be disastrous consequences if Cat ends up going through the classical stages of grief as a response to Black’s situation. She’s kinda in denial right now, which isn’t too bad, but there are some pretty scary implications for what someone in the bargaining stage would be capable of in this sort of universe. Devils with which to make deals actually exist, for one.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. danh3107

    It’s like he’s got Alzheimers or something, the person you know is there but hidden…

    Also, I wonder if one of Sabah’s kids will become the new cursed.


  5. Shequi

    Wait, won’t Sabah’s family already know she’s dead? After all, the Curse was explicitly described as a “Bloodline Curse” way back in the extra chapter “Beast”.

    “She’s not a lycanthrope,” ((Wekesa)) said. “As far as I can tell, a Warlock put a curse on her bloodline a few centuries back. And this, kids, is why you put an escapement when you cast a blood ritual.”

    This would mean that one of Sabah’s children has become The Cursed, and could mean some horrible things for the rest of the family…


    1. B

      I don’t think her children will. Remember, she wasn’t just cursed, she was the Cursed. It was a Name that was passed along bloodlines. However, she probably broke that name by killing a small god and gaining the control necessary to change her Name to the Captain.

      If nothing else, she’s had decades for Warlock to magic up a way to keep the curse from spreading to her children.

      Liked by 1 person

    2. H.

      If there *must* be a Cursed, then shouldn’t it have moved on when she became Captain? I don’t think she was carrying the curse anymore, even if she could still draw on the transformation.

      At least, I hope that’s the case, because her kid might struggle to find another old Orc god to kill.


  6. alegio

    I REALLY hope that black will survive. He is probably one of my favorite characters ever, but as the story goes on its extremely unlikely. :/

    Happy nice year and thanks for everything!


  7. Engineer

    *clears throat and wipes eye (what? I had dust in them)*

    So, uh, argh, anyway, uh did Cat just enter the beginning phases of a transition or what?


  8. Engineer

    I wonder what those consequences will be…

    I wonder how Black will deal with the Calamities.

    I wonder why the Sovereign of the Red Skies is so pissed off at Cat.

    Dramatic Tension is on point.

    Now I am waiting for the Father-Daughter tag team bonanza. Ubua The Diabolist, oh you done fucked up now…


  9. I don’t think Black is as unthinking about this as some might think. Remember, when he and Cat had their scrying conversation after she created the Knightly Order, Black was already talking about cleaning house with fire and sword in Praes when he returned.

    I think Sabah’s loss has simply made him hyper-aware that his time is running out, and he can’t keep delaying doing what he knows what needs to be done because it will tweak Alaya’s loss-of-control neurosis acquired during her time as abused object in the previous Dread Emperor’s seraglio.

    The other thing: Black has been maneuvering to leave Malicia no choice but to treat with Cat as a partner rather than an elite minion. He knows that Malicia has been saved from the fate of countless Dread Emperors/Empresses before her by her peer-partner relationship with him, and he knows Malicia’s nature is untenable without a peer of a more knock head to solve problems mentality.

    Malicia likes to believe every problem has a chessboard solution. Many do…but the critical problem is that every so often a problem crops up that APPEARS like you can solve it with clever maneuvering…when just going out and cutting its head off is really the better solution. Now, faced with a problem that gives every indication it can be overcome EITHER by Malicia’s favored tactics, or Black’s…without Black around, which option do you think Malicia would choose?

    I also believe that Black is trying to make good on the essence of the promise he made Cat. That if she doesn’t break, and doesn’t shy away from doing what’s needful to fight fate and make things turn out for Callow the way Cat wants, that she’ll have the tools to keep Malicia from deciding to prioritize Praes over Callow at some point and screw Callow over. Black knows that kind of move leads back to pre-Conquest madness. Best to avoid the problem by keeping that temptation away from Malicia.

    Liked by 2 people

  10. knockoffnikolai

    Registering a guess: based on thematics, and Cat’s whole “slippery slope to evil” thing, I think that Black is going to die, and that the end of Cat’s journey to the dark side will be marked by her taking up the mantle of Black Knight.


    1. Keyen

      Honestly, it would be too conventional. I think the way Black will die will makes Cat understand what Vivenne said to William in Book 2:
      “Here’s the thing about Evil, though – they’ve used those methods for a lot longer than you. They’re better at them. If you want to make a better world, maybe you should act like someone who deserves to live in it.”

      I think the way Black will die will break the link between Catherine and Malicia (Maybe because she could avoid the whole mess), and thus, Cat will forsake the Dark Path and embraces the Chaotic Neutral.


    2. Shequi

      Well, drinking has often been this Series motif for descent into evil, and Black is now onto (badly) fortified wine. It’s only so long before he’s drinking spirits at breakfast.


  11. Blue

    There is no way Maliccia hasn’t planned for this. That’s why she preemptively talked to Cat and Cat is already wary about how Black is approaching this. Black and Maliccia are both right. Cat just needs to find a way to feed the Praesi to the First Prince and solve it that way.


    1. quaelegit

      I’m just reading this story for the first time now so no idea what happens after this chapter but you just gave me a hilarious/terrifyingly stupid idea: Cat can route the Tenth Crusade through Arcadia to Praes directly so Callow doesn’t become the fighting grounds!


  12. WhoEvenKnows

    I wonder how many more instances of hardening Catherine needs before she realises the depth of her hypocrisy and allows Kilian to have her full power.


  13. stevenneiman

    Nothing in there that was actually a surprise, but you sure know how to craft a heavy moment, EE. I doubt that Cat will be able to save Black in the long run, but I just hope he gets to have an awesome moment as he does leave the stage.


  14. “Our cups clinked dimly and we downed the drinks. It tasted like wine, I thought, if someone had dumped half a bottle of hard liquor in a bad red vintage. I kept myself from grimacing.”

    I just reread this chapter, after having read through the rest of the story so far. And the rest of the story so far includes Amadeus and Alaya drinking terrible, awful wine from Alaya’s home because of it’s sentimental value. And I just realized that this must be that wine. Amadeus is drinking this wine because it feels like home and he needs the comfort after losing his friend.

    Oh fuck I’m gonna cry. Yup. I’m crying now.

    Liked by 1 person

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