Antoch gave a sigh and gathered up the maps. “It’s an old sadness,” he said. “You haven’t made it any worse. Daul, the Séthe. Some people let bitterness and envy fester until there’s no curing it.”
But I wondered. Maybe there could have been some reconciliation, or at least understanding between Antoch and Daul. Perhaps Daul hadn’t crossed so far to the edge that he could not have been pulled back. But we’d never find out, because I’d helped shove him over the side.
We held Meri’s kernja-velde exactly one week later than scheduled. The tables in the Round Court were pulled back for the whole room to be filled with dancing and merriment. Meri wore a beaded gown, yellow silk woven of threads that appeared soft green when looked at one way, and ever so faintly violet another. I wondered if there was some coded language of fabrics; could she send secret messages by the precise swishing of her skirts? But I kept my mouth clamped tight on that; no need to give Lyll or Lady Cardom any ideas.
Meri floated through the room, her hair loose down her back, her arms laden with trea sures. All the girls and women of Bryn Shaer had a ceremonial role in guiding her along from childhood to adulthood. There weren’t any family members younger than she, so the tiny redheaded Sarist and a girl from the kitchens took their places. Meri moved from the youngest girl to the eldest woman, passing off a doll and an outgrown kirtle to the younger girls, and accepting gifts from those older than she: a volume of poetry from Marlytt, a sewing kit from her mother, a heavy brooch from Lady Cardom. Lady Lyll had assigned me the traditional bottle of wine to give, handing it off to me with a grin.
Lady Lyll read out the benediction as Meri stepped forward. “May all the gods and goddesses smile upon our daughter, Merista, who this day leaves her childhood behind. By Celys and Sar, Tiboran and Mend-kaal, Zet, Marau, and the Nameless One, may she live a rich and blessed life.”
Meri knelt on an embroidered cloth, a lively confection of flowers and animals at the center, blended artfully with celestial symbols radiating toward the edges. For a moment, it looked as though she were the center of the universe. With my hand bandaged, I couldn’t help braid her hair for the ritual, so the job went to Lady Cardom, who glowed with plea sure as she and Marlytt did up the plaits and twists. But I stood by, holding a glass bowl of pearls and gold beads; and if one or two or a dozen vanished from the bowl before reaching Lady Merista’s coiffure, I’m sure I couldn’t explain it.
Once Meri’s hair was in its complicated adult arrangement, Kespa and an older woman from Reynart’s people rolled back Meri’s sleeves and lifted her skirts, and spent the next half hour inking every inch of her exposed skin from feet to face with an elaborate pattern of deep violet stars and scrollwork that transformed her into an eldritch crea ture from some other realm. Even her fingernails were not spared, and though it was simply temporary ink, and not more tattoos, I thought Lady Lyll would have an apoplexy. But she controlled herself with typical steely calm.
Somehow the stately, dignified affair the Nemair had planned was dissolving into a strange ceremony that only Meri really understood, but that everyone else seemed to enjoy all the same. Reynart and his band mingled easily with the nobs, and I learned that some of them had been aristocrats once themselves. Stagne caught me, stroking a swirl of purple vine down the back of my hand with his brush.
“I’m no wizard,” I warned him.
He shrugged and grinned. “If you say so.” But after he floated off again, I found myself turning my hand back and forth in the light, until the inked leaves seemed to move on their own. Maybe Sar’s fearsome gift had a playful side, as well. I had seen magic tear through the army camp, and Werne had every reason to fear it. But the only reason I had to be afraid of my magic was Werne.
I looked over the party, with rebel and wizard and prince and thief all consorting together, and wondered if everyone in this room was utterly mad. If only Werne had stayed for this, we’d have every lunacy in Llyvraneth represented here. Could any of this amity survive beyond this strange sheltered place in the mountains? I had my doubts; I had seen too well how the climate outside these walls warped and killed. But this — well, not perhaps this exactly, but something very like it — was what they were all fighting for.
Meri danced with her father, then Wierolf, and then Stagne, and as she and Stagne fumbled and laughed their way through a wild reel that grew faster and harder with every round, I realized that Lord Cardom was standing beside me, holding out a cup of sparkling Grisel and smiling faintly at the two of them.
“They look happy,” he said, and he didn’t sound the least bit wistful or disappointed. He was a nice man, and he would have treated Meri well, but Meri had chosen a penniless Sarist boy instead. Then Cardom was holding out his arm to me. We made a ridiculous couple, but I downed the Grisel in one draught and let him pull me into the dance.
“Mother wants to bring you home to Tratua with us,” he said. “I thought I should warn you.”
I choked out a laugh. “Tell her I’ll consider it.”
“Yes, that’s probably wise.”
As we danced, I glanced across the room, to where Marlytt sat in lively conversation with three of the Nemair guard. I had kept her complicity with Daul mostly out of the official story. She had enough black marks against her.
“Are you going back soon?” I asked Lord Cardom when the music ended, and he nodded.
“His Highness needs ships, and Mother wants to get started telling our neighbors which side they’ll be on in the coming fight.”
“May I ask a favor, milord? Will you take Marlytt to Tratua with you?”
He blinked at me. “Marlytt? Certainly, but why?”
Marlytt sat alone now, in a sea of ice-blue silk, a wine glass in her hand. The admirers had departed, and she looked tired. “Her family’s there,” I said.
Finally I found a place to hide, back in the shadows behind the fireplace. I had half a roast partridge I’d nicked off somebody’s plate, and I was getting ready to enjoy wiping my hand on my gold skirts, when Meri found me. She said nothing, just settled beside me on the floor. I handed her a chunk of bird, and we sat there for ages, watching her party swirl on into the night. She spread her purple-or-green skirts out before her and stroked the cloth, which I’d been wanting to do all day. I reached out my hand, but paused an inch above the silk. I had, just for a moment, forgotten about the bandages.
“Does it still hurt?” she asked.
“Not so much,” I said. “How about you?”
She fluttered her fingers, and a ripple of sparks spun through them. “Getting better. You were so brave,” she added.
“We were brave,” I corrected. Something slipped into my memory, and I murmured, “Just staying alive is brave these days.”
Meri looked at me quizzically.
“Something your cousin said to me.” At the time I had believed him, wanted to believe him. But was it really enough just to stay alive? I knew the answer.
Not for Meri, not for Lyll and Antoch, not for Wierolf.
Not for me.
Not anymore.
“Mother says you’ll still be able to write, and sew, and play music, and work a stillroom,” Meri said. There was an odd note in her voice, something final and bittersweet. “You won’t stay, will you?”
Sweet Meri. I put my bandaged hand on hers. “Eptin Cwalo is leaving in a few days, and he’s offered me a place in his caravan, as long as I let him make another case for Garod.”
She bit her lip. “Where will you go?”
With a deep breath, I looked over the Round Court, at the great bloom of color displayed, the rich fabrics, the fancy dance steps, the food, and the fire and . . . and it felt too easy, too natural. I could stay here, make a life with these people, and be happy.
Or I could go home.
“Gerse,” I said, closing my eyes. Like that, I was there again — the hard cobbled streets, the stench of sewage in the gutters, the long rainy winters and hot sticky summers. Lyll and Wierolf and
the Sarists had their grand nob plans, but meanwhile Werne’s Greenmen still menaced the common citizens of Gerse, and that would only get worse when the war started in earnest. That dark city had saved my life and made me welcome when the Celystra spat me out, and I’d run from it. My city deserved more from me. Tegen deserved more.
“I left a friend behind. I have to go back.”
Meri nodded, a brightness in her eyes. “Well,” she said. “Just don’t forget you have friends here too.”
I looked up then, and saw Lady Lyll and Wierolf crossing toward us. Meri hauled me to standing, and for a moment I looked at my hands in hers — one with the silver bracelet to seal my friendship with Meri and the house of Nemair, the other with the battered fingers of a thief who’s made one too many mistakes. Somehow, by Tiboran’s inscrutable design, they seemed to fit together.
I grinned at Meri. “Never.”
LEXICON
Astilan of Hanival: Prince of the realm. King Bardolph’s nephew; cousin to Prince Wierolf.
Acolyte Guard: The Celystra’s honor guard; once ceremonial, now King Bardolph’s de facto secret police. Called “Greenmen,” in slang for their entirely green uniforms.
Bardolph of Hanival: King of Llyvraneth.
Berdal: Guard and groom at Bryn Shaer.
Breijarda Velde: The Wide Pass through the Carskadon Mountains, connecting the provinces of Briddja Nul and Kellespau.
Breijardarl: Literally “broad valley,” a settlement just beyond the Breijarda Velde. Formerly the center for the worship of Sar in Llyvraneth and home to a university for the study of magic (as well as medicine, astronomy, and other sciences). Its temple and university were closed by Bardolph early in his reign.
Briddja Nul: One of the three provinces that make up the nation of Llyvraneth. Briddja Nul occupies much of the northwest, and is home to the port city of Yeris Volbann.
Bryn Shaer: Literally “Bear’s Keep,” a castle fortress in the Carskadon Mountains, guarding the Breijarda Velde. Home to the Nemair.
Caerellis: Manor house north of Favom Court. Childhood home of Lyllace Nemair; now property of the Crown.
Carskadon Mountains: Literally “black mountains,” mountain range bisecting the northern half of Llyvraneth, separating the provinces of Briddja Nul and Kellespau.
Celys: The great Mother Goddess, goddess of life and the harvest. Her symbols are the ash tree and the full moon.
Celystra: Temple complex in Gerse devoted to Celys. Seat of Celyst worship and power.
Cardom, Lady: Noblewoman staying at Bryn Shaer.
Cardom, Lord: Nobleman staying at Bryn Shaer. Son of Lady Cardom.
Chavel: Private secretary to the king.
Contrare, Celyn: Digger’s alias.
Confessor: An investigator for the Inquisition, trained in the arts of torture.
Corlesanne: Nation to Llyvraneth’s east. Traditionally tolerant of Sarism.
Cwalo, Eptin: Merchant from Yeris Volbann. Longtime friend of Lady Lyllace.
Daul, Lord Remy: Lunarist and Llyvrin nobleman staying at Bryn Shaer. Son of Senim; foster brother and childhood friend of Lord Antoch.
Daul, Lord Senim: Llyvrin nobleman and commander of Sarist forces during the war. Foster father of Lord Antoch. Deceased.
Decath, Durrel: Young nobleman from Gerse. Cousin to Merista Nemair.
Decath, Lord Ragn: Durrel’s father.
Digger: Thief from Gerse.
Favom Court: Farm and manor house north of Gerse. Country residence of the House of Decath.
Gairveyont: Noble house on Llyvraneth’s southeastern coast. Home to Lady Cardom’s daughter.
Gelnir: One of the three provinces that make up the nation of Llyvraneth. A fertile region of farmland to the west and south, and home to Llyvraneth’s capital city of Gerse.
Gerse: Capital city of Llyvraneth. Digger’s home.
Greenmen: see Acolyte Guard.
Inquisition: Dedicated arm of the Celyst church charged with eradicating heresy. Led by a staff of inquisitors (specially ordained priests) under the command of the Lord High Inquisitor, Werne Nebraut. The Inquisition has wide-ranging powers and very little oversight.
Kalorjn: Battlefield in southeastern Kellespau; site of the Sarists’ defeat in the war.
Kellespau: One of the three provinces that make up the nation of Llyvraneth. A hilly region covering the northeastern third of the island.
Kernja-velde: Literally “third passage,” the celebration of a young woman’s reaching adulthood at age fourteen. The male equivalent is the traese-velde, or “fourth passage,” at age twenty-one.
Lieste: Queen of Llyvraneth. Second and much younger wife of Bardolph.
Llyvraneth: Island nation consisting of three provinces: Gelnir, Briddja Nul, and Kellespau.
Lunarism/lunarist: A discipline equivalent to astrology, by which the future may be divined according to the movements of the moons. Lunarist: a practitioner of this art.
Marau: God of the dead and consort to Celys. Twin brother to Sar. His symbol is the crow.
Mend-kaal: God of the hearth, the home, and of labor. Twin brother to Tiboran; son of Celys and Marau. His symbol is the hammer.
Morva: Cook at Favom Court. Nurse to Lady Lyllace and Merista Nemair.
Nameless One, The: Goddess of justice and divine retribution. Daughter of Celys and Marau. Nicknamed “The Hound of Marau” because her moon follows Marau’s closely in the heavens (the Nameless One’s moon is speculated to be an asteroid captured by Marau’s orbit).
Nebraut, Werne: see Werne.
Nemair, Lady Lyllace: Llyvrin noblewoman. Wife of Antoch.
Nemair, Lord Antoch: Llyvrin nobleman. Husband of Lyllace. Former Sarist rebel.
Nemair, Merista: Young noble girl. Daughter of Lyllace and Antoch; cousin to Durrel Decath.
Reynart, Tnor: A Sarist mage.
Sar: Goddess of magic and dreams. Twin sister to Marau. Her symbol is the seven-pointed star.
Sarist: Supporter of a rebellion against King Bardolph, favoring a more tolerant religious climate that would allow the worship of other gods in general and Sar in particular. Some openly worship Sar, while most simply support greater religious freedom in Llyvraneth. Not all Sarists are magical, but it is widely believed that everyone with magic must be a Sarist.
Séthe, Lougre: Former Sarist rebel. Deceased.
Séthe, Phandre: Young noblewoman. Daughter of Lougre; friend to Merista.
Silver: An elemental metal with antibiotic properties, used for thousands of years to treat infection in wounds and on burns. In Llyvraneth, silver also has anti-magical properties.
Sposa, Lord: Nobleman staying at Bryn Shaer.
Stagne: A young wizard. Friend to Merista.
Talanca: Nation to Llyvraneth’s south.
Taradyce, Lord Hron: Llyrvin nobleman. Raffin’s father; acquaintance of Digger from Gerse.
Taradyce, Raffin: Young nobleman from Gerse. Son of Lord Taradyce.
Tegen: Thief in Gerse. Digger’s partner.
Tiboran: God of wine and theater. Twin brother to Mend-kaal. His symbol is the mask, and he has been adopted as a patron by those who must lie for a living, most notably thieves.
Tigas or Tigas Wanderers: A nomadic minority ethnic group in Llyvraneth, believed to have migrated north from Talanca hundreds of years ago.
Tratua: Port city in southeast Kellespau.
Varenzia: Nation bordering Corlesanne.
Villatiere, Marlytt: Courtesan from Gerse.
Wellyth, Lord Petr: Elderly nobleman staying at Bryn Shaer. Longtime friend of Lady Lyllace.
Werne, Lord High Inquisitor: Also called “Werne the Bloodletter.”
Wierolf of Hanival: Prince of the realm. King Bardolph’s nephew; cousin to Prince Astilan.
Yeris Volbann: Port city on Llyvraneth’s northwest coast.
Yselle: Housekeeper at Bryn Shaer, native to Corlesanne.
Zet: Goddess of war and the hunt. Her symbol is the arrow. Patron of the nobility.
CONFESSIONS OF ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Under threat of torture, I am forced to reveal the names of the following individuals who provided aid, comfort, and material support at various times during the creation of this novel:
Rebel agent Erin Murphy, for never letting a client be left in the cold.
Handler extraordinaire Cheryl Klein, for heroic editing under the most harrowing conditions.
Local and long-distance allies Laura Manivong, Barb Stuber, Sarah Clark, Katie Speck, Jo Whittemore, and Rose Green. And particularly the Cleaner, Diane Bailey.
Scott McKuen, for information regarding the nature and behavior of moons.
Bruce Bradley of the Linda Hall Library of Science, Engineering & Technology Rare Books Room, for information on Renaissance-era bookbinding, blank books, and handwritten journals.
And my husband, Chris Bunce, who thankfully cannot be made to testify against me.
READ ON FOR
DIGGER’S NEXT ADVENTURES
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