Ghost in the Tower

by Jonathan Moeller

  “But you ask blunt questions all the time,” said Alassan.

  “That’s because I’m older,” said Ariadne. “Now, go get ready for dinner. Our guests will be eating with us. Is not a lord of the Empire supposed to show courtesy to his guests?”

  “That is true,” said Alassan, and he turned to go.

  “Alassan?” said Caina, and the boy paused. She winked at him. “I did dye my hair blond.”

  He grinned and hurried from the vestibule.

  “I am sorry about that,” said Ariadne. She looked slightly embarrassed. “He’s a good-hearted boy, but sometimes a little too enthusiastic.”

  “It’s all right,” said Caina.

  “Boy’s right, though,” said Morgant. “You two do ask blunt questions all the time.”

  Caina smiled. “Can you think of a better way to find out what caused these suicides? We’re going to have to ask a lot of blunt questions before this is over.”

  ###

  Dinner, to Caina’s mild surprise, was a pleasant experience.

  Pleasant, if a bit surreal.

  Ariadne’s cook set a good table, and they dined on a thick stew with more slices of Disali bread. Alassan chattered away the entire time. Caina realized that the boy was developing a crush on Sophia. For her part, Sophia was mostly quiet, though she told stories about Ulkaar that failed to mention Rasarion Yagar or the Temnoti. The girl was learning a circumspect tongue, which was a useful skill. Morgant and Ariadne spent a good deal of time arguing about the aesthetic value of painting versus architecture.

  None of that was surreal.

  No, what Caina found strange was sitting with family and eating a pleasant meal.

  What was more, despite her instincts, despite her experience with sorcerers and the Magisterium…she actually found herself liking Ariadne.

  Talking to Talmania had been like speaking with a twisted reflection of herself. Talmania thought in the same way, even had some of the same mannerisms…and Caina had been horrified by that realization. Ariadne was a great deal like Talmania and speaking to her was again like Caina talking to a reflection of herself. Yet there were numerous differences. Ariadne’s affection for Alassan was obvious. There was a warmth to Ariadne’s character that had been utterly absent in Talmania.

  And sadness, too. Caina caught glimpses of that from time to time.

  After dinner, Alassan offered to take Sophia on a tour of the villa. Sophia seemed half-intrigued, half-annoyed, but consented. Caina suggested that Morgant act as chaperone, and to her surprise, he agreed. Likely Morgant wanted to find out more about Ariadne and looking at her villa was a good way to do it. No doubt he wanted to criticize it from an aesthetic perspective.

  Ariadne invited Caina to accompany her to the villa’s library.

  The library was the largest room in the house, and Caina looked around with appreciative eyes. The room seemed to serve as both Ariadne’s study and library, and there was a desk and a work table laden with books and papers. Three easels held what looked like blueprints for fortifications and siege engines, and a free-standing blackboard held both scribbled equations and diagrams in chalk. It reminded Caina a little of her friend Nerina Strake in Istarinmul, how she had constantly scribbled equations on her blackboards while muttering to herself.

  There were two chairs in front of the hearth, and Ariadne’s servants had lit a fire behind the grate. Libius brought them two cups of tea, and Caina sat in the left chair, and Ariadne in the right.

  “Will there be anything else, my lady?” said Libius in his dry voice.

  “No, thank you,” said Ariadne. “We’re going to have an early start tomorrow, but we won’t need you until then.”

  Libius bowed and departed, closing the library door behind him. Caina took a sip of the tea and looked out the window. She saw Sophia and Alassan walking through the snowy garden, Alassan gesturing expansively as he talked. Morgant trailed them at a distance, scribbling in his notebook as he did. Probably drawing a picture of a barren tree or something.

  “Alassan seems quite taken with Sophia,” said Ariadne.

  “Markaine will keep them out of trouble,” said Caina. The tea was dark and bitter, which was to her taste.

  “Oh, I don’t worry about Alassan,” said Ariadne. “He’s a good-hearted boy. Not that I understand what having a good heart feels like. He’s just at the age when boys start to find girls less annoying and more fascinating, and he probably hasn’t quite figured out why he finds Sophia fascinating.”

  “Thank you for letting us stay here tonight,” said Caina.

  Ariadne smiled. “The First Magus left me little choice, I suppose. Besides, I know you would rather be at the Inn of the Seal with your husband.”

  “Yes,” said Caina. And she would rather have Kylon here with her now. Perhaps then this entire thing would feel less strange. “But the First Magus wouldn’t let him into the city, so we might as well make the best of it.”

  “Very sensible,” said Ariadne. “I need to ask you a question.”

  “About what?” said Caina.

  “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want,” said Ariadne, “but it is something I’ve wondered about for a long time.”

  Caina inclined her head.

  “How did Laeria die?” said Ariadne.

  Caina said nothing. Her initial reaction was to say nothing or to snarl back an answer that it was none of Ariadne’s business. The woman was a sister of the Imperial Magisterium, and Caina had always loathed the Magisterium. Her parents’ death was a painful topic for Caina, and one she disliked discussing. For that matter, she had been trained as a Ghost nightfighter, and her initial impulse was to keep her secrets.

  And yet…

  Maybe Ariadne deserved to know. She had known Laeria longer than Caina had. Caina suspected that Ariadne and Laeria had despised each other, but they had still been sisters. And it felt strange to discuss something so private with someone who resembled her so much.

  Perhaps that was what it would have been like to grow up with a family.

  Caina took a sip of tea and met Ariadne’s eyes.

  “I killed her when I was eleven years old,” she said.

  Ariadne said nothing but inclined her head.

  “She had taken up with a necromancer named Maglarion, one of the Moroaica’s former disciples,” said Caina. “My father discovered what she was doing and demanded that she stop. My mother tried to remove the memory from him. She wound up destroying his mind. I found my father and tried to wake him up, and my mother came in and gloated. I was so angry. I grabbed the fireplace poker and swung at her, and she lost her balance, hit her head on the side of my father’s desk, and cracked her skull. She was dead before she hit the ground.”

  Laeria Amalas had been the first person Caina had ever killed.

  The first, but most definitely not the last.

  “I am sorry,” said Ariadne. “That’s simply horrible.”

  Caina shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

  She heard a sloshing sound and realized that her teacup was shaking in her hand. Caina grimaced and set it on the table.

  “And I am sorry,” said Ariadne, “that I wasn’t able to do anything for you.”

  “Whatever for?” said Caina. She pulled her hand into a fist and willed it to stop. “You didn’t even know that I existed. I can hardly blame you for doing nothing to help me.”

  “True.” Ariadne gave a rueful smile. “But I’m quite good at blaming myself for things beyond my control.”

  “Really?” said Caina. “My husband has accused me of that from time to time.” As had Morgant, though rather less tactfully. “It seems that’s something else we have in common.”

  “It would appear so,” said Ariadne. “I assume the Ghosts took you in as both your parents were dead?”

  “Yes,” said Caina. She took another sip of tea, forcing her hand to remain still. She didn’t want to tell Ariadne about Maglarion, or what he had done to her, harvesting
her blood and leaving her barren in the process. Caina didn’t want to talk about that with anyone. She had told Kylon, but only because he saw her naked on a regular basis and there was no way she could conceal the scar from him. “Now I have a question for you since I answered yours.”

  Ariadne inclined her head.

  Caina took a deep breath. “What was my mother like? As a child, I mean. When she was Alassan’s age.”

  Ariadne considered the question. “Spoiled. Spoiled dreadfully, I would say. There is a very unfortunate tradition among the Magisterium of magi deliberately having children and training them in their own image. Even without the necromantic sciences, magi can often live substantially longer than most people, so a magus will sometimes find it advantageous to make his own allies. Like a farmer breeding his own workforce. Decius Aberon has just taken it to ridiculous levels.” She took a deep breath. “My father was much the same. He wanted sons to raise as his own private force of battle magi, but instead, he had daughters. So he wanted to raise the first six of us as battle magi. He tried to purge all weakness and mercy and compassion from us. With Rania and Talmania, he succeeded a little too well, because they finally murdered the old wretch. But you asked about Laeria.”

  “Why did your father treat her differently?” said Caina.

  “She wasn’t strong enough with arcane talent to become a full magus,” said Ariadne. “There was no point in trying to raise her as a battle magus, so instead she became the apple of his eye. The one daughter he could never refuse anything. She loved to lord it over us, and since we had so many rules that she did not, she enjoyed tattling on us whenever she caught us breaking one of Father’s rules.” Ariadne sighed. “I’m afraid my father ruined us all in different ways, but he especially ruined Laeria.”

  “Did Talmania and Rania tell you what they did to her?” said Caina.

  Ariadne frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “Talmania told me of it when I met her in Risiviri,” said Caina. “Boasted of it. She said that one night she and Rania crept out to play at dice in the sailors’ tavern. Laeria followed them and gloated that she would tell your father. So Rania and Talmania mind-controlled her, and ordered her to remove her clothes and let the sailors take turns with her.”

  “Gods,” said Ariadne, her eyes wide. “I never knew that. It makes sense, though. She became so much…angrier suddenly. So obsessed with acquiring power.”

  “I wish that Talmania hadn’t told me that story,” said Caina. “It made me…it made me feel sorry for my mother. I never felt sorry for her before, not ever.”

  “It spins around in circles, doesn’t it?” said Ariadne. “All of human history. My father was cruel to us, so in turn, Talmania and Rania were cruel to Laeria. She was cruel to you.”

  “Corvalis said something of the same thing,” said Caina.

  “Corvalis?” said Ariadne. “Yes, that’s right, you mentioned him earlier.”

  Caina rebuked herself for the lapse. “Corvalis Aberon. One of the First Magus’s sons. He sold Corvalis to the Kindred, and they made an assassin out of him. Later he escaped with his sister, and…well, we fell in love.”

  “What happened to him?” said Ariadne.

  “He died,” said Caina. “Saving my life on the day of the golden dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Ariadne. “That must have been a grievous loss.”

  “It was.” Caina shifted in her chair. “But you understand. At least, I assume you do. They call you the Widow, after all.”

  Ariadne laughed. “They do. The implication, of course, is that I murdered both of my previous husbands. But I didn’t.” She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of tea. “My first husband was Quartius Hegemonar. One of the high magi. Father arranged the match as a way of strengthening his position, which didn’t last since Rania and Talmania killed him later that year.”

  “Was he…” Caina thought of a polite way to ask the question. “Was Quartius a cruel husband?”

  “No,” said Ariadne. “We didn’t love each other, but we got along tolerably well. And if I may say so, while neither one of us came to our marriage bed as virgins, he was an adequately satisfactory lover. I’m afraid he died during an outbreak of illness in Artifel. My second husband was Julius Ildimer, a nobleman from Tausen.” She smiled. “Like me, he was quite interested in architecture, and he designed several buildings in the chief city of Tausen. I was quite thoroughly in love with him.” She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid he died in a shipwreck a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Caina. “Were there any children?”

  “No,” said Ariadne. “Not from either marriage. I’ve been pregnant three times, though. The first time…I was just annoyed by the whole thing. I didn’t want children, though obviously, that is the natural consequence of marriage. And then when I lost the baby…I cried for three days straight. It was like a switch flipped in my head.” She sighed and rubbed her face. “And then twice more with Julian. I’m afraid I’m unable to carry a child to term for whatever reason.”

  “Is that common in our family?” said Caina. “An inability to have children?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Ariadne. “Rania, Talmania, and Selene all joined the Umbarian Order, and are more interested in power than children. Laeria, as you know, had three, you and Seb and Calvia. Jocarna left the Magisterium and took vows of celibacy as a priestess of Minaerys. Cybele, though…she married Lord Marnius. He’s the Lord Governor of one of the Mardonish provinces now, and I think she is on her seventh or eighth child.”

  “Eight?” said Caina. “By the Divine.”

  “I know!” said Ariadne. “I was pregnant three times, and I didn’t carry the children to term. That was exhausting enough. But eight times! I cannot…”

  She blinked, and Caina was surprised to see that Ariadne was crying.

  “Hell,” Ariadne muttered. “Forgive me. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Grief’s like that,” said Caina, voice quiet. “It gets better, but it surprises you sometimes.”

  “Yes,” said Ariadne. She wiped at her eyes, waved a hand in front of her face, and sighed. “May I make a request?”

  “Certainly,” said Caina.

  “Could we talk about happier topics?” said Ariadne.

  Caina laughed. “If you wish.”

  “Your husband,” said Ariadne. “How did you meet him?”

  “It started as a sad story, I’m afraid,” said Caina. “We tried to kill each other during the siege of Marsis.”

  Ariadne blinked in surprise, her blue eyes a little bloodshot. “I confess I never met any of my husbands that way.”

  “We kept finding ourselves on the same side during the war with New Kyrace and Istarinmul,” said Caina. “After Corvalis died and I was banished to Istarinmul, his wife was murdered, and he chased her killers to Istarinmul. Then he went to insane lengths to save my life, and…”

  “And he swept you off your feet, and you fell into his arms?” said Ariadne, her smile returning.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “Into his arms and into his bed, if I’m honest.” Ariadne laughed. “I told him to go back to New Kyre and find a Kyracian wife. Instead, he asked me to marry him, and the day we wed, Talmania cast her spell, and we were pulled to Ulkaar.”

  “How romantic,” said Ariadne. “Though Lord Kylon certainly seems like a man who knows his own mind. What are you going to do now? Once all this business is over, I mean.”

  “We’re going back to Iramis,” said Caina. “I promised I would take Sophia to the Towers of Lore, and I’m going to hold to that.” And she had to get the Sword of Rasarion Yagar, currently propped against her leg in its sheath, to the Towers as well. “After that…I don’t know. Kylon isn’t welcome in New Kyre, and I’m not welcome in the Empire. But we’re both welcome in Istarinmul and Iramis. Maybe we’ll settle there. Kylon keeps talking about adopting children since I can’t have any of my own, but…”

  “But you fear it won’t be the
same,” said Ariadne. “That you’ll always feel like you’re raising someone else’s children.”

  “Yes,” admitted Caina.

  “I thought that way when I married Conn,” said Ariadne. “But now…I’ve spent a great deal of time with Alassan, especially in the last few months. He’ll never see me as a replacement for his mother, and that is as it should be. But I do love him. And I love Conn’s other sons as well, the ones serving with him as tribunes in the Legion. Gods, I hope they all come back safe.” She leaned forward. “Do you want to know a secret, Caina? Wait, can I call you Caina?”

  “Yes,” said Caina. “You can. And that would depend on the secret.”

  “It’s not blood that makes a mother or a father,” said Ariadne. “That’s just a prerequisite. And sometimes mothers and fathers have that prerequisite and fail when put to the test. Your mother and my father, for instance. No, what makes a parent is presence. Simply being there and trying your damnedest.”

  “I think Seb looks at you as his mother,” said Caina.

  “That’s very kind of him,” said Ariadne. She sighed again. “I did what I could for him and Calvia. Seb turned out all right, I think. But Calvia…Talmania had her so twisted up that I don’t think anyone could untwist her. I should be grateful she’s merely a freelance thief, rather than an Umbarian like Talmania.”

  “In the end, we make our own choices,” said Caina. “Now I need to ask you a question. How the devil did you wind up marrying Conn Maraeus?”

  Ariadne threw back her head and laughed. “How did Lord Conn Maraeus wind up marrying someone like me, you mean? Oh, don’t be shy. It doesn’t make sense on the surface, I know. I flatter myself that I am not unattractive, but I started telling myself I wasn’t getting any younger ten years ago, and Conn is the heir to the most powerful lord in the Empire. Usually, if a nobleman like Conn remarries, it’s to a woman fifteen or twenty years his junior. And certainly not a high magus of the Imperial Magisterium.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question,” said Caina.

  “No, it doesn’t, does it?” said Ariadne. “We don’t really have a good explanation. We just…clicked. My first marriage was arranged. My second was for love. My third…when Conn and I met, I was surprised by how intelligent and thoughtful he was. And how handsome, if I’m honest, especially for a man his age. And we were both lonely. For people of our rank, it’s often hard to find someone you can talk to as an equal.”