Godslayers

Every good con needs bait.

That’s the secret behind any manipulation, really. If you need the target to act, you gotta give them a reason to. And if the Voranetti had demonstrated anything about their motivations in the time I’d known them, it was that they were hungry. That, the girls informed me, was the mark of the more vicious strain of Varasite houses.

Mercantilists like the Jeneretti might elbow you into an unfavorable trade deal if you let them, but they’d never plot your destruction. Their philosophy was rule through coin. The Voranetti, on the other hand, practiced conquest through coin. They were trying to eat us—which you weren’t supposed to do, as a house of grace, but when have nobility ever followed the rules?

We could use that. It would really be unfortunate, I’d observed, if the Oathkeepers caught them breaking those rules.

“No, that would be extremely convenient,” Kuril had said.

“Irony, sister,” Roel had groaned.

Our primary objective was to prepare the House against the economic shock that we were now certain was coming. That was mostly Kuril’s work: decreasing costs wherever possible; building up the treasury; sending out feelers to investigate how many of our customers would stick around after House Voranetes stopped subsidizing commerce at the Guild of Wheels. But institutions don’t turn on a dime, and our opponents had two years’ head start on us. If they pulled the trigger next year, we’d suffer—recoverably, perhaps, with the unfavorable sale of Vitares assets to a newly prosperous House Voranetes. Kuril had declared that an unacceptable stain on Vitaressi pride.

So instead we were going to give them something else to chew on.

Roel and I took a ride out of the city to an ancient Vitares property. Peres came with us. Normally taciturn on anything not craft-related, she decided that today was the day she was going to start my initiation into the Sisterhood of the Wheel. Which, it turned out, was basically ancient OSHA with flowery prayer language thrown in.

“The Goddess of Delight is fickle,” she was saying. “You must work prayerfully and intentionally, every movement in synchrony. An arm carelessly employed may anger the goddess, and she may seek recompense.”

“What kind of recompense?” I asked.

Peres looked at me like I was an idiot. “The arm.”

“Gotcha. Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times.”

Peres gave the carriage a confused look before deciding to ignore me. “Now, on the subject of fire—”

I breathed deeply.

We arrived after too long to a breathtaking sight: a field of brightflowers. Farmers walked carefully among them, each wearing white shawls—which, in the noonday sun, brilliantly reflected the many colors of the flowers around them.

There was no rhyme or reason to them. No organization, no color wheel, no hue map—just a thousand shades of the rainbow scattered amidst each other like a child had gone a little overboard on the cupcake sprinkles. A structure of white stone, also shimmering in reflected light, occupied the center of the field, while smaller wooden huts stood at the edges.

“For processing them,” said Peres, nodding to the white building. “Paints, dyes, ghostlight hearts. By compact, the city is supposed to cover the expense, but somehow we always manage to run a loss.”

“Aren’t ghostlights, like, super expensive?” I said. “Why are we worried about money if we’ve got all this?”

Peres glowered at me. “The gifts of the goddess are for all.”

“Practically speaking, all the major families have fields like these,” said Roel. “The ghostlights are the only brightflower craft with a significant margin, and even if we’re the only ones who can make them, the other familes don’t buy them that often. It’s not enough to sustain the House. Besides, the point of brightflowers is to create for creation’s sake. Androdaima would be cross.”

“Sacred flowers. Got it.” I leaned down to investigate one. It was so blue. So brightly blue that it was a hard time believing it wasn’t secretly hiding behind an Instagram filter or something. On a hunch, I had my comm scan the flower.

“Check this out,” I subvocalized.

“Fascinating blessing,” Val said. “I have to admit some respect. Commander, look at the radiant braiding on this.”

“No idea what that means,” I subvocalized glibly.

“It’s really, really blue,” said Markus. “But Androdaima used a fancy way to do it, so Val’s having a moment.”

“I am not.”

“You totally are.”

“It’s respect for a fellow craftsman, Markus. You would understand that if you’d ever learned respect.”

“Says who? I get respect all the time.”

The commander’s derisive snort interrupted them. “Clear the comms, both of you.”

“Will it work?”

Val hmmed. “Further study is required, obviously. I don’t see any fatal issues at a cursory glance.”

I sighed in relief, then belatedly realized I’d left Peres and Roel waiting.

“Can I pick this one?” I asked.

“It’s yours now,” Roel said, not entirely keeping the bitterness out of her voice. “Niece.”

I bit back a grimace and took the flower. “You got the ingots?”

In response, Peres hefted a rucksack onto her shoulders. There must have been fifty pounds of iron in there. She didn’t even look strained.

A pair of servants brought Roel’s chair out to the carriage door. With their help, she levered herself down into it, relying on her good leg and wincing every time she put too much weight on the other one.

“Remember,” I began.

“It just has to look convincing,” Roel interrupted. “We remember, Ajarel.”

I shut up. We entered the white building.

*

“Godsmile, Lady Erephine,” I echoed Kuril, bowing to the head of the Kessim. “And thank you for meeting with us.”

“Godsmile,” she replied. “Lady Councilwoman. Lady Ajarel.”

Erephine Kess was a big woman, probably taller than Markus and Cades even if they had her beat in muscle mass. Her eyes were the the now-familiar shade of Estheni grey and her hair was tied back in an increasingly fractal series of braids, cascading down to her hips. Her expression was warm, every inch the welcoming host. Behind the affectionate smile, my comm picked up signals of rapid calculation and assessment. I noted them briefly, but kept my attention on the feedback from the broader scan.

“My gratitude for inviting us to meet with you,” said Kuril. “House Vitares has always respected and depended on your House to feed the city. I’ve often felt that role has gone overlooked in the operation of the city.”

“The Divine Husband teaches us to accept our place,” said Erephine, “but we have our pride.”

Good, that meant she was interested.

“Justly,” Kuril agreed. “I am a Maker, Lady Kess. When an engine is out of alignment, I fix it. I have a proposal for you.”

“The ingenuity of House Vitares is well known.” She was playing coy—we weren’t in the best political situation, so showing too much enthusiasm here would be bad for her House. This was probably the best we could expect.

Kuril smiled. “At our upcoming ball, we will reveal a great work; something we have developed in secret. I ask for your partnership in its manufacture. We will train your smiths and give you —beside us—exclusive right of sale, in compact witnessed by the Oathkeepers.”

“Gamal teaches generosity,” said Erephine, “but there are limits to what I can offer for such an unknown.”

“I understand,” said Kuril. “Lady Ajarel?”

I stepped forward, lifting the cloth-covered object I’d been holding and pulling the cloth away. There were gasps from the attendants as the shining bar of metal in my hands tinted the room slightly blue.

“Vitares Steelsinger was renowned for the invention of brightsteel, whose secrets were lost generations ago,” I said, still slightly entranced by the shimmering hue as it played over the walls and the furniture. “By the grace of Androdaima”—and a lot of slapdash improvisation with various lacquers, I mentally added—”we have recreated this storied and beautiful alloy, with which we will revitalize the city. We hope to produce a thousand ingots in the next year.”

“Praise the goddess,” Erephine murmured, eyes fixed on the blue bar. Then they sharpened, fixing on Kuril. “A thousand ingots? Has the Dancer stolen Varas’s crown again and left it in your chambers?”

“The generosity of the Kessim is well known,” said Kuril, repeating Erephine’s phrase from earlier.

Erephine smiled in acknowledgement. “A thousand ingots. The old compact gives you three hundred, if I recall? Will you build your crafts from brightsteel?”

“Not yet, unfortunately,” said Kuril. “Not until its material properties are better understood.”

“Your ambition is worthy of a Varasite,” said Erephine. “Why not offer this bargain to a Jeneretes?”

“I would not speak ill of such a noble House,” said Kuril. Erephine’s smile took on the quality of a smirk, and she gave a nod of understanding. I didn’t know what exactly was being implied there, but Kuril knew what she was doing. Erephine took a long, regretful look at the fake—er, I mean prototype—brightsteel, then sighed.

“These are hard times,” she said eventually. “I will live to regret this, but we are on intimate terms with neither Hammer nor Quarry. Five hundred I could do, I think, and it would be a reckless gamble when children go hungry in the street. Two hundred and forty would be justifiable. But I see from your expression that won’t be enough.”

“As you say,” Kuril said apologetically, “these are hard times. I cannot go lower than five hundred.”

“Could we invite another House to this deal?” Erephine’s tone was casual, but the read I was getting from her was very much a probe.

Kuril smiled humorlessly. “Who would we ask?”

Erephine considered her. “I see. If I might offer some advice, Lady Councilwoman?”

“Of course,” said Kuril.

“Vitares Steelsinger is long dead,” she said, her smile vanishing. “Your House’s rivalry with the Jeneretti weakens the city at a time when we cannot afford infighting. We both know they’re the only ones who can accept this offer of yours. Frankly, I’m surprised you even bothered. You’re the treasurer—surely you know our normal consumption barely approaches the volume of material you’re asking for.”

My comm nudged me and I zeroed in on the signal. I held back a smile. Check.

Kuril caught the significant look I threw her. Mission accomplished—time to go. “The Houses of the graced are not my purview,” she replied stiffly. “The honor of the Kessim is well known. You were worthy of the offer even if its demands were too great.”

“Come back if you can invent a more flexible set of demands,” said Erephine.

They smiled daggers at each other. I initiated the closing formalities and dragged Kuril out of there before she alienated a potential ally.

“Did it work?”

“One of the attendants had a very calculating look on his face,” I lied—hopefully I could get away with letting her think I was just very perceptive. “You’d think they’d hire better spies. In any case, they’ll know by nightfall.”

Kuril nodded. “Ajarel?”

“Yeah?”

“No magic,” she said, looking me in the eyes. “No spells. Nothing that can result in disaster like Salaphi. Promise me this.”

“I promise,” I said. It was an easy promise. I had something better than magic—technology!

Kuril held eye contact for a moment. She nodded.

Roel wasn’t in her room when we got back. Kuril sent someone to fetch her and immediately set to fretting over the contract we’d prepared.

“This is a risk,” she said. “We’re flirting with ruin.”

“In the worst possible case, sure,” I said. “It’s not going to come to that.”

“The secret of brightsteel was lost,” said Kuril. “This is not true brightsteel. If the contract is enforced—”

“Then something went horribly wrong and we’re screwed anyways,” I said. “Blame it on me if you have to. I can stab a couple of them on the way out.”

“Ajarel!” Kuril snapped. “Don’t you dare joke about that.”

“Sorry, sorry,” I said.

I wasn’t joking.

“Oh, there you are,” said Kuril. “Godsmile, both of you. Where were you?”

I turned around to see Bofa pushing Roel’s chair through the doors of Kuril’s office.

Bofa opened his mouth, but Roel interrupted him.

“I asked him to walk me around the courtyard,” she said, a touch too fast. I tilted my head questioningly at her, but she ignored me. Kuril didn’t seem to notice Roel was lying to her, despite having walked past the courtyard with me ten minutes earlier. “Did it work?”

“It worked,” I said. “We’ll probably hear from them in a couple days.”

I was wrong. Their envoys came that night. By the time they left, we had a morning appointment and the first real step toward victory.