condolence notes, this time over the death of Palaemon Zephyrus’s youngest granddaughter.
“He had married late. His children were in their thirties when they perished. And this granddaughter, born after the death of her father, was only nine at the time of her death. That month’s edition of the seigneury circular said she was swept away by a sudden flash flood. No body was ever recovered. It also said that Palaemon Zephyrus lost an eye in the search for his granddaughter.”
Kashkari pinched the skin between his brows. “So you are saying, ma’am, that he sacrificed his own children and grandchild?”
“I have no direct evidence, but that is very much my conclusion.”
Aramia looked as if she might faint—or retch. Instead she gripped the edge of her chair and stared at the clock on the wall.
“After that,” Mrs. Hancock went on, “the next round of condolences were finally for Palaemon Zephyrus himself. The obituary published in the seigneury circular mentioned that he had been heartbroken after the death of his children and grandchild and had spent the last few years of his life in isolation in his mountain retreat—and passed away there, according to the circular.”
“So the retreat in the uplands existed even before Palaemon Zephyrus was officially dead,” mused Fairfax.
“It looks that way.”
“Was he put on a pyre?” asked Haywood.
In realms that fell under the banners of the Angelic Host, a deceased mage was burned on the pyre with just enough covering for modesty. The face was never concealed.
“In those years, Atlantis as a whole was so impoverished that even the well-to-do didn’t have proper pyres for their funerals. We never had a great deal of woods on Atlantis, most of the original forest had already been cut down, and importing timber for pyres was beyond the means of all but a few. The bodies of the deceased were preserved for the day when they could be properly cremated, their ashes offered to the Angels. Until then, they remained underground, tightly wrapped, so that the Angels could not see their shame at having been buried.”
“Are these bodies wrapped even at the funeral?”
“Yes.”
“So no one ever actually saw Palaemon Zephyrus’s dead body?”
“Except one person, a nephew on his late wife’s side, who wrapped his body for the funeral. And he died very soon afterward, in his sleep. The cause given was sudden massive heart failure.”
Titus and Fairfax glanced at each other. The last time they had heard the term, it was in connection with Baron Wintervale, who had not suffered a heart attack after all, but had been felled by an execution curse.
“Killing off a witness who might know that Palaemon Zephyrus wasn’t really dead,” said Amara.
“Please tell me the atrocities against his own family end with his ‘death,’” said Aramia, paler than pale.
“That was my hope. Alas, a few years later, a baby newly born to the family, a great-grandchild of his, was stolen. It was news even in Lucidias—I found letters from the era referring to the kidnapping. There were some exorbitant ransom demands, so it was believed bandits and other criminals must have been involved, perhaps with help from some of the servants. There was a huge search, ransom demands stopped coming after a few weeks, and the baby was never found, though his parents refused to give up for years and years.”
Aramia shook visibly.
“Is there such a thing as sacrificial magic being more powerful, if it is your own flesh and blood that you sacrifice?” asked Kashkari.
“Was it a deliberate choice on his part to keep sacrificing younger and younger children?” Fairfax asked at almost the same time.
“Have any of you ever heard of a book called”—Mrs. Hancock hesitated, as if reluctant to even let the words pass her lips—“A Chronicle of Blood and Bones?”
Everyone shook their heads, except Haywood, who said, “That’s the best-known manual on sacrificial magic, isn’t it? I thought all the copies had been destroyed.”
“I had to dig deep into the library’s records. Apparently, days before the fall of the last king, a copy was confiscated in Lucidias and set aside for destruction. Then it was lost in the subsequent chaos.”
“That would have been around the time the Bane was born.”
“Correct. I don’t have positive evidence on whether he ever came into that copy or how, but during my research, I did read about a young man of Lucidias, by the name of Pyrrhos Plouton, who was miraculously cured of a deadly disease that was within days of killing him. And I came across his