Sespian, Sicarius, and Amaranthe Lokdon stood beside her, all regarding Tikaya curiously.
“Never mind,” Tikaya finished. Though she liked Sespian and had come to know Amaranthe somewhat before the woman left the city, she didn’t feel comfortable admitting that some weakness might be plaguing Rias. She was even less comfortable admitting it—admitting anything—in front of the assassin. He had been civil to her in all of their encounters, but he wasn’t much different in his cool mannerisms than he had been twenty years earlier, so she struggled to believe he was a better person now.
“If you’re not too busy—” Mahliki’s eyebrows rose in her you’re-being-odd-mother look, “—we could use your help to translate a language.”
“Oh?” Tikaya wiped her dusty hands on her skirt and stepped forward.
Amaranthe eyed the dust smears, and her fingers twitched toward the garment. She grimaced and clasped her hands behind her back instead.
“Some ancient puzzle that needs to be decrypted?” Tikaya asked.
Mahliki lifted her own hand. “Don’t get too eager, Mother. It’s nothing quite that obscure. Sespian?”
He strode forward, holding out the note. “It came attached to this.” He waved the arrow.
Tikaya perused the Turgonian line first, snorted at the idea of a favor being required for such an act, then read the last passage. “The honorable hunter does not kill the kits to avenge the chickens stolen by the vixen.”
“That’s... what it says?” Sespian asked.
Sicarius and Amaranthe exchanged looks, having clearly read some meaning into the old proverb.
“Yes.” Tikaya returned the note to him.
“In what language?” Amaranthe asked.
“It’s a Nurian dialect used solely among a very old, very secretive society over there.”
“Such as?”
“The mage hunters,” Sicarius said, as if he had known all along. Maybe he had.
“Yes,” Tikaya said.
“That sounds familiar,” Sespian said. “Can someone remind me?”
Tikaya thought Sicarius might respond, since he was obviously familiar with them, but he waited with his hands clasped behind his back, his face toward her.
“Nuria has long been a place where magic reigns,” Tikaya said. “As on Kyatt, the Nurians shun that term now, having refined the skills required to turn various mental feats into repeatable sciences, but in the old days, they referred to those we call practitioners as mages and wizards. The difference in the terms has been largely forgotten over the years. A powerful practitioner is still called a mage or a wizard, and one who studies at Stargrind, an academy that teaches a combination of fighting and Science skills, can aspire to the title of warrior mage.”
Amaranthe stirred and met Sicarius’s eyes again. That man who had possessed him the winter before had been a warrior mage, but Tikaya decided not to bring it up. She had never forgotten the violation of having her own memories stolen by a telepath back during her first encounter with the alien technology. To be a slave to another... That could not have been a pleasant experience.
“Practitioners of all types and ability levels are given an honored status in Nuria with privileges not unlike those your warrior caste has had over the centuries, but the separation is even more pronounced. Mundane individuals without the aptitude or interest in pursuing a Science-based career can never aspire to wealth, government sway, or land ownership. For those who have family members with power, that is enough, for the entire family receives the right to claim honored status. For the rest of the nation, they are forever second-class citizens. This hasn’t always gone over well with the populace.”
“Imagine that,” Sespian murmured.
Mahliki stifled a yawn. The hour had grown late, and she might be genuinely tired, but, in case that was a hint, Tikaya trimmed her history lesson to get to the point.
“More than a millennia ago, someone founded a secret training academy to study methods for defeating practitioners without using the Science.”
“Methods other than a sword in the belly?” Sespian asked.
“They did train as fighters, with that making up a large part of their studies, but they also learned many methods for breaking a practitioner’s concentration so they might close in and slay him with mundane means. They learned to block or deflect mental attacks and battle through assaults that could cripple another man—or drive him insane. The idea behind this secret sect was to overthrow the government and rid the land of any practitioner who sought to use his skills and powers to punish or exploit the mundanes.”
“They couldn’t have been very successful,” Sespian said.
Amaranthe nodded as if she had heard this story before. Sicarius remained stony and impassive; one never knew if he was listening or not.
“They weren’t remotely successful,” Tikaya said. “As it turned out, it took years—decades—of training to master the skills to combat mages, and this was no path toward reward except for those who believed they could actually pull off a usurpation. Some did believe that to be possible, mind you, but not enough trained to become mage hunters. The organization never grew large enough to threaten the government. Still, there’s always been a mystique about them, and practitioners do indeed fear them. That’s one reason bodyguards are so often employed. There have been many assassinations by mage hunters over the centuries, with some of the great chiefs themselves falling to their blades.”
Mahliki raised a finger. “Dak said there’s a Nurian assassin in the city, so can we assume this person is a mage hunter?”
Tikaya spread her hands. Dak hadn’t shared much with her.
Sespian rotated the arrow in his hands. “Why would a mage hunter be sent after me then? I’m no practitioner. Although... that thing about kits and vixens...” He looked toward Sicarius.
Now all eyes turned toward Sicarius. His face remained neutral, though he considered Sespian, Mahliki, and Tikaya in turn. Then he met Amaranthe’s eyes—she was gazing at him, an expectant expression on her face.
“The honorable hunter does not kill the kits to avenge the chickens stolen by the vixen,” Tikaya murmured, repeating the translation. “Is Sespian... a kit?”
“Only if Sicarius is a vixen,” Sespian said dryly.
Amaranthe touched the back of Sicarius’s hand. “Any mage hunters on your trail that you would like to tell us about?”
“I am unaware of anyone seeking me specifically,” he said.
“Anyone you dealt with long ago, who might have kin out for revenge?”
“I dealt with many people for Emperor Raumesys.”
Tikaya shivered. The man still uttered such statements without any humanity, any hint of remorse. Amaranthe seemed a sane woman, but Tikaya had a hard time seeing why she would have chosen Sicarius for a mate.
“Mage hunter people?” Amaranthe asked.
“No.”
“Never?”
Sicarius’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Tikaya wouldn’t think anything of it on anyone else, but had a feeling the expression might pass for a sign of emotion from him. He glanced at the others again... and said nothing.
“Mahliki,” Tikaya said, “perhaps we should leave them to talk about assassins and mage hunters among themselves.”
“Does that mean you’re going to take me aside to tell me what you were doing on top of the library shelves?”
“Yes, actually. I’d like your opinion on—”
Something banged against the wall, and glass rattled. Tikaya spun toward a bank of windows. None of the curtains had been drawn, and night pressed against the panes. But not all of the panes. One window had been thrown open, the frame still shuddering.
Amaranthe ran over and looked out.
“What happened?” Tikaya considered the size of the open window. This was the second floor, but a human could fit through it. “Did someone come in?”
“No, someone went out,” Sespian said. “Sicarius.”
It took
Tikaya a moment to realize the assassin was gone.
“We saw someone outside, climbing past,” Amaranthe said. “He reacted much more quickly than I did.” She stuck her head outside, twisting it to look up.
“Did you see a face?” Tikaya wasn’t sure whether she should join her at the window or run off to find Rias.
“The person was wearing white and some kind of wrap that covered the face.”
“All white?” Sespian asked. “That’s the description Maldynado gave of the shooter in the baths.”
“I’m going to grab a sword and go out there to help hunt.” Amaranthe jogged for the door. “Sespian?”
“Do you think he’ll want our help?” Sespian waved toward the window. “I didn’t even see the climber.”
“I don’t care whether he wants help or not. If we’re interpreting your note correctly, he may be the target. And this all may be a trap.”
“Right.” Sespian ran after her.
They disappeared into the hallway.
“Mother,” Mahliki said, starting for the door, “I’m going to—”
“Stop right there,” Tikaya commanded in her firmest you’ll-be-in-trouble-if-you-don’t-listen tone. Her daughter could take care of herself in any ordinary situation and many extraordinary ones, but she was not trained to hunt assassins.
Mahliki halted so quickly the vials inside her jacket rattled. “But they may need—”
“You’re needed here. The plant, remember? You may very well be this city’s best chance at getting rid of it.” And so what if that was only an excuse for Tikaya to keep her daughter inside and safe?
Mahliki’s mouth opened and closed a few times, then her shoulders slumped. Good to know that she would still listen to her mother once in a while. At seventeen, she was a lot more headstrong than Tikaya had ever been.
“Come with me, please, so we can find Rias or Dak and warn them that—”
An ear-splitting boom shattered the night. The windows shuddered in their frames, doors banged open, and the floor heaved. Bookcases wobbled and tilted. Tikaya struggled to find her balance, to keep from wobbling and tilting herself. One of the massive bookcases toppled not ten feet away, hurling thick tomes to the floor.
“Mahliki.” She pointed toward the hallway. “Get to the doorway.”
Tikaya tried to follow her own advice but stumbled and flailed as she navigated falling shelves and a carpet littered with books. Mahliki ran toward her, took her arm, and helped her toward the exit.
They staggered into the hall together, almost crashing into soldiers and in-house staff, some uniformed and others in their bedclothes, who were racing about.
“Where to?” Mahliki asked, still gripping Tikaya’s arm.
“Upstairs. Your father’s office. That sounded like... I can’t tell, but we have to make sure he’s all right.” Tikaya was running as she talked, guiding Mahliki past soldiers who were all jogging toward the staircases. What did they know that she didn’t? She didn’t stop to ask.
“You don’t think... would Father be the target?” Mahliki asked.
Tikaya didn’t mention the previous assassination attempts, the ones she had only recently been made aware of. She had to appear strong for her daughter, unconcerned, though in her head, she couldn’t help but think how much she missed home where it had been a long time since anyone even glared at Rias. And where she had her friends and family for support. What am I doing here, she asked silently at least once a day. Her work was a continent and an ocean away. If anything happened to Rias...
They reached the top floor and ran along the landing to his office. The door stood open, but it had not, thank Akahe, been blown ajar. Her relief faded as she ran inside and spotted the missing window and blackened wall around it. Rias was kneeling beside a man in military blacks who was crumpled to the floor beside him, his arm raised while Rias held makeshift bandages to... the place where the soldier’s hand should have been. Rias was trying to stop the bleeding and—Tikaya gulped—reassure a man whose face had the pallor of a glacier.
“Lieutenant Pustvan,” Mahliki blurted.
Rias’s eyes swelled with emotion when he saw them run in. Tikaya would have dropped to her knees and thrown her arms around him, but she dared not interrupt his ministrations.
“You’re all right, thank our ancestors,” Rias said, his voice oddly loud in the quiet that had befallen after the explosion. “I wanted to run and find you, but—”
“No, that’s...” Tikaya stopped herself from saying something as mediocre as understandable and waved bleakly at the injured officer.
After a stunned moment, Mahliki walked around them and knelt in front of the man. She hesitated, then took his other hand. He blinked a few times—poor man, he had lost so much blood, why couldn’t he fall unconscious and save himself some pain?—and focused on her. Though Mahliki didn’t say anything, the soldier seemed to find her face more encouraging than Rias’s.
“What happened?” Tikaya whispered, eyeing the office more closely now that she had examined Rias and found him uninjured. The furniture wasn’t damaged, but many of the gifts on his shelves had toppled to the floor, and papers had flown everywhere.
He shook his head. “What? My ears are still ringing.”
“What happened?” she asked more loudly.
“I was doing some final work for the night when the window shattered. A homemade explosive device dropped onto the floor. Pustvan and I both lunged for it, to throw it back outside before it blew up, but I was behind my desk, and he got there first. He made it to the window, but... that’s it.”
Tikaya reached over and gripped his shoulder, though she was careful not to jostle his hands or the lieutenant. A moment later, soldiers charged inside with a doctor clutching a medicine kit and wearing bed slippers.
“Here, bring in that stretcher,” the doctor ordered.
Tikaya backed away as he and the soldiers worked to transport the injured soldier out of the office. As soon as Rias let someone else take his spot holding the bandage, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder. “This place is turning into a nightmare,” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.
“I’m sorry.” He returned the embrace. “I’d like to think it will calm down in a few more months, but if you... want to take Mahliki and go back home—”
Tikaya’s grip tightened. “You want me to lie awake in my bed every night wondering if you’re all right way over here? No, I won’t leave you.” She swallowed. “But I can’t lose you. Not to this. Haven’t you... suffered enough for these people during your lifetime?”
Rias sighed and didn’t respond.
“They’re coming,” Mahliki said from the window—from the place where the window had been. Cool night air gusted in through the gaping hole in the wall. “Sicarius and Dak, and they’ve got somebody.”
“My would-be assassin?” Rias wondered.
“What’s the punishment for trying to kill the president?” Tikaya asked numbly.
“It’s been death thus far, I understand. Dak is... Turgonian through and through.”
“Would you have it otherwise for someone who tried to take your life?” Tikaya had never condoned killing or wanted to be a part of it, but she couldn’t feel remorse for the person who had tried to blow up Rias, whoever he was.
“I don’t know. To order people killed for attacking me seems as much a failing on my part as on theirs. I—” Rias winced and touched a finger to his temple.
“Was the explosion ear-splitting?”
“I... perhaps. My head hurt before this started, but it’s hardly worth complaining about. Compared to Pustvan...”
“Has Dak shared his theory with you?” Tikaya wondered if she should have mentioned his name; he had confided in her, and though he hadn’t demanded a promise of silence, he clearly hadn’t been comfortable suggesting a mental deficiency to Rias’s face.
“That I was a lunatic to accept this position?”
“No,
that...” Tikaya hesitated. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything until she had proof. What if it had simply been the stress of the job that was getting to him? With her toe, she nudged a leather pouch wrapped with green silk twine that had fallen on the floor. “Have you opened all of these gifts?”
“Few. I suspect most are bribes rather than gifts.”
“Well, one might be responsible for your... headaches.” She left out the absentmindedness that others had noticed.
“Hm, you don’t think having explosives hurled through my window might be causing that?”
“I’m sure that doesn’t help, but you’ve been rubbing your temples all winter,” Tikaya said.
“Oh,” Mahliki said from the window, “I was wondering—I mean, there’s one in the corner with leopard-print wrapping that I thought might be from his first wife. She seemed shifty.”
Tikaya frowned. “From who?”
“She was here tonight and once last week,” Rias said. “And she sent an inauguration gift. I never opened it. Most of them, I just had the secretary stack up in... well, that’s not much of a stack any more.” He nodded toward the scattered gifts, some as charred as the wall around the window.
After twenty years of marriage, Tikaya wasn’t worried about Rias’s relationship with his former wife, but she couldn’t help but feel miffed at having not been informed—and at the woman’s presence here in the first place. What could she want after all this time? “It could be something more inimical.”
“I don’t think she wishes me ill any more,” Rias said.
Mahliki walked to a particular corner and pushed gifts off the pile, clearly hunting for one in particular.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. A man with a soot-stained shirt and a face almost as dirty was thrust inside, his face twisted into a rictus of pain. Sicarius gripped him from behind, pinning his captive’s arms behind his back. The prisoner wore flamboyant yellow and red robes that were shredded in spots and as soot-caked as his face. Wolf-head pins held a crimson cloak back from his shoulders. Those wolf heads... they were a symbol of Nuria. Odd, this man appeared all Turgonian in height and skin-coloring.
Dak and a couple of soldiers clomped in behind them.
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