by C. E. Murphy
"I knew it!" Kisia shrank in on herself at Masira's sharp look. "Well, I did," she muttered. "I didn't think about people getting hungry, but I knew the cold water had to be bad for fishing."
"Even if we could get beyond the harbor," Masira agreed.
That finally shook Rasim from his ocean-shock stupor. "Why can't we? Even if the whole of the fleet was out there, that would still be only half the guild. What kind of magic are the Northmen using?"
"Cold and hot and wood and metal," Masira said without hesitation. "It's not magic like ours. I've never seen anyone draw cold into a sword so the metal itself shatters, or anyone but the strongest Sunmaster turn a blade molten. Their magic is different, up there in the north. I didn't even think they had any."
Rasim, thinking of the murals and of Inga's theories, said, "They used to," then pushed the memories away. "Who warned the king about Isidri?"
"An Islander," Masira replied. "A man called Roscord."
Chapter 28
For the second time in a handful of minutes, Rasim's head swam. This time he sat down, dragging in deep breaths of air. Kisia squatted by him and put a hand on his shoulder. "It can't be," she said quietly. "It can't be the same man. How could he have gotten here a week ago? We left the islands on the next morning's tide, and the Ilyaran fleet is the fastest there is."
Desimi snorted. "Northern magic. Or island magic, since Rasim was teaching it to them."
"I taught one girl to purify water," Rasim said to his knees. "No one could use that to sail from the islands to here in three days. That's...if every wind was with them, if the seas were calm, if everything was perfect, maybe then." He thought again of the Northern city of Hongrunn, and the salt fountain at the bottom of its lake. He lifted his head, examining the far wall as if he could see the Northern witches if he studied hard enough. "Maybe it was perfect. Maybe their witches did it. We can, if we have to."
"We control the water," Masira said.
Rasim shrugged. "And we bring sky witches along with us to control the winds. Maybe they've got something similar, and Roscord knew he needed to get here fast enough to sow dissent against us. We didn't know we would need to defend our names, so we didn't hurry."
"Wait. You know this man?"
"Rasim does," Kisia answered.
Rasim, almost absently, said, "He tried to kill me," then blinked in surprise as Masira wheezed with shock. He began to explain, then gave up immediately, only saying, "It's been a strange month. Do you know if Roscord is a witch? He cursed me when he thought I was using magic to squeeze his heart..."
Kisia looked suddenly uncomfortable. Rasim was reminded abruptly of the impossible, familiar voice he'd heard shout his name in the moment before Roscord had struck him the second time. He got to his feet, staring at Kisia. "That was you. I thought it couldn't possibly be. I thought you were dead. You saved me? You saved me!" Then his stomach twisted, another realization following hard on the first. "Goddess, Kisia. Was that you?"
"It's my fault he got away," Kisia mumbled. "I had him with my witchery—"
"She has magic?" Masira demanded. "That's impossible."
"It gets better," Desimi muttered. "I told you, he's been teaching Northerners magic too."
Kisia ignored them both, her brown eyes fixed on Rasim. "—squeezing his heart like squeezing water out of cheese. But then I saw you and I was so surprised I shouted, and let him go. He could breathe all of a sudden. I think that's why he didn't hit you hard enough to kill you. He took a big breath and it pulled him back from you some. And then he ran and I—I let him go." Her shoulders caved with guilt even as her gaze remained defiant. "I couldn't just let him kill you! Not when I thought you were already dead!"
Desimi breathed, "Like that makes sense," but Rasim understood perfectly. It was hard, thinking a friend was dead. He would let anyone go, even the one who'd started the Great Fire, if his choice was stopping that person or saving Kisia. He nodded foolishly, and Kisia's smile burst through her defiance.
For some reason, Masira was grinning when Rasim looked away from Kisia. "Nothing," she said to his questioning gaze. "Nothing. We have to get you to the king, Rasim. He needs to hear what you know about this Roscord."
"Will he listen? I'm a journeyman from the disbanded Seamasters' Guild. I'm not even a good witch."
"I think you are," Kisia said, but Rasim ignored her as she'd ignored the others, earlier.
"We have to make Roscord betray himself. How can we—"
"Just show up where he is," Desimi said. "Trust me, he'll try to kill you."
All three of them looked at him. He folded his arms over his chest and glared at them in return.
A smile twitched at the corner of Rasim's mouth. The longer Desimi glared, the more that smile wanted to turn to a laugh. Just before it did, he said, "Sure of that, are you?"
Desimi's glare turned to a glower. "Yeah. I am."
Somehow that made Rasim's humor fade. He glanced down, then met Desimi's eyes again. "I guess that means the question is whether you'll stick your neck out to help keep me alive if Roscord feels the same way you do."
Desimi stared at him a long moment, then cursed and stomped away. Not far: just to the door leading to the rest of the bath house. He stopped there, fists working, and finally turned his head toward the others. "Are you just going to stand there, or what?"
It was a good enough answer. Rasim caught Kisia's hand. They ran after Desimi, only to be snagged firmly on each shoulder by Masira. "Are you mad?" she asked, almost pleasantly. "You're barely journeymen. What do you think you're going to do against an island witch? You can't go without a master. Or several."
Rasim shook her hand off. "We can't go with one. You said yourself the guild's been disbanded. Everyone will recognize masters and probably even high-ranking journeymen. But you're right. We are barely journeymen. Nobody will know us, Masira. We're the only ones who can do anything to an island witch. Desimi's as strong as any sixth-year journeyman, you know that, and Kisia—"
He broke off with quick shiver. Kisia, it seemed, was ruthless, if she'd been able and willing to use her witchery to squeeze Roscord's heart to a pulp. But she picked up where he left off, describing herself very differently: "I'm from the traders, and my father's bakery is popular. Lots of people know me. They won't think anything of me being out, even if it's somewhere they wouldn't usually see me. I can get us into the temples and maybe even the palace, if I have to."
Masira's eyes narrowed at Rasim. "And what about you? You're not much of a witch, Rasim."
He sighed, making mockery of himself as he said, "No, but I'm clever. I'll think of something."
"You'd better," Desimi muttered.
"I don't like it." Masira scowled.
Rasim shrugged. "You don't have to. Come on, the faster we find Roscord the less time he'll have to plot and plan. He's got to know the fleet is out there already."
This time Masira let them go, though the weight of her disapproval followed them like magic. Once out of her sight, Kisia gave Rasim a funny look. "You're a lot like Guildmaster Isidri."
Desimi snorted. "Right. Except he's thirteen, a boy, and can barely keep water out of his nose when he washes."
Kisia scowled at Desimi. "No, I mean, he can talk people into doing what they don't want to do. You should have seen the Guildmaster convincing my parents to let me join her. They didn't want to, but she just kept being sensible at them until they couldn't think of any more reasons to say no."
"Your parents," Rasim said thoughtfully as they left the bathhouses. The docks were unusually quiet for daytime. There were no ships in, no fish to haul to shore, and too much chill came off the water for it to be pleasant walking, even though the sun was shining.
Rasim was aware that all of those things made them stand out, but none of the few people nearby paid attention to them. They were obviously children, so young their hair hadn't grown out enough to even pretend to tie back in a queue. Children went places they weren't supposed to all
the time. Sneaking in and out of the Seamasters' bathhouses when the guild had been disbanded was hardly less than might be expected, and within a minute or two the three of them were away from the docks and hurrying toward the city center.
Only then did Rasim speak again, guessing the general sounds of business and gossip would drown out his quiet voice. "You're right, Kisia. You can get us in to the temples or maybe the palace, especially if we're bringing gifts. It's been a month since you left. It'd be a good time for your parents to send an offering to the gods for your safe return, wouldn't it? And I bet your parents know exactly which pastries and treats the Sunmasters' apprentices at the palace like best."
"What good's that going to do? It's not like this Roscord is going to be bunking with them." Belligerent or not, Desimi followed when Rasim turned toward the bakery, and made an irritated face of agreement when Rasim said, "No, but I bet they'll know rumors about where he's staying, or maybe about what's happened to Guildmaster Isidri, and they'll trade rumors for treats. We would."
"And once we're inside the palace gates we at least have a chance of finding Roscord." Kisia's features set with determination. "I won't let him get away a second time."
"It'd be better if we can get him to betray himself, than killing him," Rasim said uncomfortably. He didn't like the idea of killing anyone, especially not so cold-bloodedly they were discussing it ahead of time. "If we just kill him, it'll make the Seamasters look all the more guilty. We don't want that." He took a deep breath and smiled a bit. "I can smell the bakery now. It's the best-smelling bakery in Ilyara."
"It is." Kisia flashed an immodest grin, then broke into a run, clearly eager to see her family again. Rasim and Desimi chased her, the scent of fresh bread making Rasim's stomach grumble with hunger. People stepped out of their way, some smiling and some scowling, as the three raced through the streets. Kisia kept the lead, and began shouting her family's names as they got closer.
Her older brother Nereek came to the door as they ran the last block to the bakery. Broad-shouldered and big-bellied, he was usually good-natured, liking to throw the youngest apprentices into the air and make them yell before he would hand out cinnamon breads. But he filled the door with tension now, and his face was pale with fear and anger as the three guild orphans skidded to a stop.
"Keesha. Keesha, goddess, thank the stars you're alive." Nereek didn't move, didn't try to offer his younger sister a hug or any further greeting. He only took another half step out of the door and dropped his voice: "You have to run. You have to run now. They've taken our parents."
#
Shock flooded Rasim almost as sharply as it hit Kisia. Her knees buckled, though, and his didn't. He caught her elbow, and Desimi caught the other one. They began backing away, following Nereek's order, but Kisia threw them off and ran forward. "What? Why? Why? Nereek, what's going on?!"
Nereek advanced another few steps, keeping just close enough to be heard. His gestures were sharp, like he was casting Kisia out. She stopped short, then backed up too, injury crushing her features even though Nereek's words were as soft and kind as they could be. "Because you joined the Seamasters. They took our parents so they could get to you—"
"Of course they'll get to me! Where are they? What do I have to do—?!"
Nereek shook his head once, hard and angry. "Don't do it, Keesha. Don't go to them. It won't get Mother and Father back, it'll only put you in their hands."
"Who?" Rasim asked. "Who are they?"
Nereek's focus snapped to Rasim, then went back to Kisia, though he answered Rasim. "It was Yalonta herself who came."
The name hit Rasim like a wall of water. Commander Yalonta was one of those he'd imagined might have the support to succeed with a coup. It seemed like forever ago that he'd even thought about such things.
"But why," Kisia wailed. "What's wrong with joining a guild?"
"It's not how things are done." Nereek looked heartbroken, his greater understanding of how the city worked giving him no joy. "If you challenge the way things are done, people get upset. And then with the guildmaster being a traitor—"
"She's not," Desimi said with a ferocity that surprised Rasim.
Nereek opened flour-covered hands in a gesture of apology and helplessness. "With her being accused as one, anyway, having a baker's daughter joining her guild makes the people in power afraid of sedition. What if thousands of ordinary Ilyarans began studying magic? It's bad enough for the king with the fire's orphans numbering in the hundreds, and his own witchery weak. He's only ever a step away from losing his throne, and then the Seamasters made an alliance with a faction of the Northmen—"
"We have not," Desimi protested, but Rasim gave him a despairing look that both enraged and silenced him. Desimi wasn't dumb, Rasim thought. Not by a long measure. That might make Rasim's wit and ability to be listened to by adults sting even more. Rasim put the thought away for later, even though it pained him to do so.
"It doesn't matter," Nereek said. "You have to run."
A woman's calm and casual voice said, "I'm afraid it's much too late for that now."
Chapter 29
Rasim had seen Commander Yalonta before, though never from up close, and never when she spoke in a casual voice instead of a shout. Her voice was lighter than he expected, though the rest of her fit his memory: surprisingly small, for someone holding the highest ranking position in the king's guard, and surprisingly light of hair. Not as yellow-haired as the Northerners, but gold, like she'd been left in the sun too long. She wasn't pretty, not like Captain Donnin or even Kisia, but Rasim could see wanting to look at her for a long time. Her strong, confident features were interesting.
Or at least they were if she was arresting someone else, and not him. The guard appeared from everywhere, out of nearby buildings and from down alleys and streets. They'd been waiting, Rasim realized. They'd guessed Kisia might return home, and Yalonta had laid a trap. Judging from Nereek's expression, he'd had no idea. He looked tortured, his face anguished. Rasim suddenly hoped that was because he'd had no idea, and not because he'd sold Kisia to Yalonta for his own safety.
"Take them away," Yalonta said, still casually. "Put them with the others. Watch the big one. He's probably the ringleader."
"They're only children," one of the guards protested.
Yalonta's eyebrows shot up, adding a depth of mockery and strength to her features. "They're witches, and that one, at least," she said, pointing a thumb at Kisia, "has sailed with Isidri's right-hand man, Asindo. They may be in the heart of this conspiracy against the king."
"We are not! It's Rasim's stupid fault, he—"
Kisia whirled around and slammed her fist into Desimi's belly. The big boy wheezed and collapsed in on himself, utterly shocked. Kisia, face flushed with rage, snarled, "Shut up about what you don't know, Desimi. Just because Rasim doesn't have much magic doesn't mean he's stupid, or that I'm uninformed."
Rasim saw Yalonta reassess all of them, and with a sick twist in his stomach, understood what Kisia was doing. She was making herself the leader, making herself seem like the threat. She was the one who'd joined the guild late, making her a point of interest to the guard already. Now she'd established a hierarchy, putting Desimi below her by physical means and making it clear Rasim's magic was lacking.
It was a terrible, risky calculation, and it could get her in as much trouble as it might save Rasim and Desimi from. Yalonta jerked her chin at all three of them. The guards separated Kisia from Rasim and Desimi. Kisia gave Rasim one wild-eyed look. He offered a tiny nod, trying to say he understood what she was doing. For an instant she slumped in the guards' grasps, relief briefly visible in her eyes.
Then she became a struggling, squirming snake of girl, shouting absurdities toward the sky: "The sea will rise! The magic lives in all of us! Don't be afraid! I am Kisia al Ilialio, chosen daughter of the river, and I will never give up!"
Desimi, hauled upright by a pair of guards, was so long-faced with astonishment it was c
lear he'd forgiven, or forgotten, that Kisia had hit him. The guards threw him together with Rasim and made a wall of armored, bristling men around them, giving them an unexpected chance to talk under the rattle and clank of weapons. Desimi's bewilderment was so profound it sounded impressed. "What's she doing? Has she gone mad?"
"She's drawing attention away from us," Rasim breathed. "If we're lucky they'll think she's the troublemaker, the dangerous one."
Desimi gave him a look. "If we're lucky?" And then another look, more disgusted. "Neither of you have mag—"
"Tssst!" Rasim hushed him as harshly as he could without making too much noise. They crashed together again as the guards set off down the street, leaving a commotion at the bakery behind. Rasim, still whispering, said, "Let them think you're big and dumb and have no magic worth mentioning. That's going to be our only chance of getting out of this."
"Me," Desimi said in a tone Rasim didn't recognize. "I'm your only chance."
One of the guards barked, "Stop talking," and pulled Rasim away from Desimi. Rasim looked back, but Desimi's eyes were fixed forward, his jaw a firm-set line.
Rasim closed his eyes and stumbled along with his captors, wondering how he would get out of this one alive.
#
One way to look at it, he thought an hour later, was that they had successfully gotten inside the palace gates.
Yalonta hadn't bothered speaking with Rasim or Desimi. She'd only made a throw-away gesture, and they'd been hauled into the Sunmasters' temple on the palace grounds. It was magnificent, enormous windows cut through golden sandstone so sunlight poured in and made it an astonishing place of worship. Rasim caught glimpses of mosaics that told the story of Ilyara's rise.
And then he was dragged down a set of stairs, losing sight of Desimi.
The air below the temple was shockingly hot, as if huge kitchen fires roared everywhere. Rasim reeled in his captors' grips, but they lifted him and carted him along, unconcerned with his reaction to the heat. They went deeper, finally entering a narrow hall marked with three doors only half Rasim's height. A sun witch old enough to be a master stood outside the middle door, and looked uninterestedly at Rasim. He pointed at the door to his left, and the guards threw Rasim in.