Willow said nothing. It didn’t look like a weapon. They might ignore it, might leave it with her. The guard, who like the others wore Valant colors, turned it around in his fingers like spinning a baton. Then he slapped Willow, making her bite her tongue. “I said, what is it?”
“For starting the fire,” Willow said. It sounded stupid, but she clung to the possibility that she might be able to conceal its true use. The guard grunted and stuck it through his sword belt. Willow kept her face impassive, though her heart cried out in despair. They were going to lock her up, and eventually Terence Valant would learn about her, and he would…her mind stuttered to a halt, unwilling to imagine her potential fate.
They were bemused by the pocket full of silver discs. “Some kind of foreign money, maybe,” said the one Willow had pegged as their leader.
“Fair spoils for us,” said another one, whose face was dark with five o’clock shadow.
The leader scowled at him. “And have his Majesty know us for thieves? It’s all to give to him.” He scooped the discs into a belt pouch and tightened the strings. Willow saw her freedom disappearing into the distance. Good thing they hadn’t found her lock picks…but that was because she’d left them in her boots, far below. This was not looking good.
Two of the guards circled the brazier. “We should put it out,” one said. “It’s a signal to the enemy.”
“How do you suggest we do that?” the leader said. “Spit on it?”
“I’m only saying—”
“I know. Whoever it was meant to signal, it’s already done its job. Nothing we can do about it, ‘less you want to put your hands in and haul out the logs, dump ‘em on the ground.”
They all looked at the fire, which had grown to quite a blaze. “Let it burn,” the first guard said.
They flanked Willow, two before and two behind, prodding her into the stairwell. The heart of the tower was a black chimney of stones fitted so tightly together it looked as if it had been carved out of a single block. Narrow stairs of unfinished wood constrained only by a slim iron rail spiraled down out of sight. The guard in the lead took a lantern from a peg by the door and descended. Willow followed him and his companion quickly, not wanting to be prodded again. It was almost as cold inside as it was outside, though without the steady wind that had plucked at her clothes and worked its chilly fingers through the seams.
Willow thought furiously. She had no weapons, not even the wand. She was outnumbered by armed men. And she was going to face the most powerful Ascendant in Tremontane, a man who might want her alive for now, but would certainly kill her when she’d outlived her usefulness. Since she didn’t know what use he’d make of her, she couldn’t even guess how long that would be. Rank dread crept into her thoughts, and she ruthlessly pushed it away. She wasn’t going to give up until all hope truly was lost.
The lantern light struck the myriad tiny planes of the stone’s surface, reflecting glints of gold. Real gold would have been welcome just then, warming her even if it was just an illusion born of her magical ability. She tucked her hands under her arms for warmth, and the guard behind her prodded her with his sword again and said, “Hands where I can see them.”
“I’m cold.”
“As if I gave a damn about that. Hands to your sides.”
Willow complied, wishing she had her knives. And three fewer guards.
When they reached the bottom, the guard with the lantern opened a brass-bound door, letting in a brighter light. He doused the lantern and hung it on another peg inside the door, then stepped through, looking in both directions as if they were doing something illegal. Willow followed the guards into a passage just as chilly as the tower, though brighter lit and built of pale gray stone. The ceiling rose some twenty feet above their heads, coming to a pointed arch from which hung lamps of amber glass. They shed a warm light over the scene, though without providing any real warmth.
Once again the guards flanked her before and behind, and Willow was escorted along the passage. An observer probably couldn’t tell whether it was a gallows march or an honor guard, but Willow was very conscious of the swords surrounding her and how they were poised to strike if she moved funny.
They left the stone passage behind for a smaller one paneled in dark oak, then took a turn up a spiraling ramp carpeted in red velvet, after which they entered another stone passage, this one of creamy sandstone. Willow did her best to keep track of the turnings, though there was no point, since returning to the tower wouldn’t save her. It let her feel that something, at least, was under her control.
The palace was every bit the warren she’d imagined. The only difference was, she’d imagined it full of people, doing whatever it was nobles did. The halls were empty except for a few guards who passed their little procession at a run, ignoring them. The silence was unnerving. There weren’t even any smells—no food, no perfumes, not even a whiff of unwashed bodies, not that nobles ever went unwashed long enough to smell of it. It felt like a toy city, built by a committee of children who couldn’t come to consensus.
Running footsteps broke the silence. A guard came into view around a corner ahead. She skidded to a halt on the shiny stone and said, breathing heavily, “Is that the intruder? You’re to bring her to see his Majesty immediately.”
“Understood,” said the leader. He prodded Willow with his sword. She wished she could take it from him and make him eat it, point first. “Get moving.”
Willow refrained from saying she didn’t know where to go, just waited for the guards to lead out. She tried to keep track of their route, but her mind was frozen with fear. Terence Valant. And her with no wand. She wasn’t going to get out of this easily. Might not get out of it at all.
Eventually they ascended a short, straight staircase of well-waxed wood and entered a high-ceilinged room empty of furnishings, its heavy dark paneling and carved moldings giving it a regal look. The doors lining its walls were as dark as the paneling and nearly invisible, with brass knobs shaped like lion’s heads the only indication they were there. Another corridor led off into darkness, but Willow could see a dim gray rectangle at its far end and concluded it ended in a window looking out on…she’d lost track of the turnings, so she had no idea what she might see through it.
The guard leader walked to one of the doors that looked like all the others and knocked, tentatively. Willow heard nothing from within, but the guard, after a moment’s pause, opened the door, bowed, and said, “Your Majesty, you ordered the intruder—”
“Enter,” said a pleasant tenor voice, and the guards prodded Willow inside.
The room with its large windows was well-lit and looked like one of a hundred studies she’d infiltrated over the years: rich wood paneling of a warm amber hue, a heavy desk that looked like it could withstand a siege, an ornately carved armchair with burgundy velvet cushions. A fireplace flanked by black marble pillars and a matching mantel sheltered a fire, burning high and shedding heat even as far away as the door. Two bookshelves met in a corner as if conspiring against the rest of the furniture, while across from them a sideboard supported cut glass decanters and a couple of tumblers. If the room’s owner kept valuables here, they’d be in the desk, though she could tell from the wear on the book covers that at least some of them were false fronts. She closed her eyes and breathed out. Theft should be the last thing on her mind.
A middle-aged blond man sat behind the desk. He was thin almost to the point of being gaunt, and his chin and nose came to a sharp point that made him look like a Kazhari sighthound. His eyes—Willow suppressed a sharp intake of breath—were exactly like Felix’s, though lined at the corners and hardened, as if they’d seen horrors and been unmoved by them. His blond hair was closer to silver than gold, unlike Felix’s, and for that Willow was grateful, because the similarities between them were already almost too great to bear. Despite the late hour, he was fully dressed.
“You found this woman at the top of Old Tower?” Terence Valant said.
The
guard leader bowed. “Yes, your Majesty. She’d lit the signal beacon.”
“Which you extinguished.”
The guard swallowed. “Um. We tried, your Majesty, but it was already burning too hot. There’s nothing up there—”
“Never mind. The damage was done.” Terence made a dismissive gesture, and the guards stepped back, leaving Willow standing alone. “She was armed?”
“She had knives, and this,” the guard said, waving to his companions to lay down Willow’s things on the desk. Terence stirred the pile of silver discs with his forefinger, then picked up the wand and sighted along it. He twisted the ivory cuff, spun it around a few times, and laid the wand on the desk.
“You lit the signal fire atop the tower,” he said. “Who were you signaling?”
Willow said nothing. It was a stupid question, and she didn’t think Terence Valant was stupid, so he had something else in mind. Terence turned away from the desk to face her, and she focused on his chin, so sharply pointed it looked as if someone had shaped it that way.
The door behind her opened. “Your Majesty,” a man said, “you summoned me?”
“Please join us, Severian,” Terence said. Willow wanted to look at the newcomer, but judged that would make her seem worried, so she kept her eyes fixed on the so-sharp chin. “You two, back to your stations, and you, stand guard outside the door.”
“Surely you don’t need guards to defend against one woman, Terence,” the newcomer said.
“These rebels have access to strange magic, and I’m not so arrogant as to believe myself immune to it,” Terence said. “Go ahead and have a seat.”
There was some shuffling as people left the room, then silence. “Now,” Terence said, “I believe I asked you a question. Who were you signaling?”
“My people,” Willow said.
“Please face Lord Acasta,” Terence said. Willow reluctantly turned to look at the newcomer. He was much younger than Terence, with brown hair cut short like a courtier’s and cheerful blue eyes that crinkled at the corners. He was smiling at her in a friendly way that unnerved her more than antagonism would have. “Severian, repeat the question.”
“Who were you signaling?” Severian asked.
A rush of warmth flooded her veins, relaxing her. “The troops outside the city,” she said, then clamped her lips shut over more words trying to escape. Blue traceries of light spidered up Severian’s arms, and he smiled more broadly, as if her answer had given him physical pleasure.
“Be more specific,” Severian said.
“The ones at the gates.”
“Which gates?”
Her tongue moved uncomfortably in her mouth, desperate to answer. She clapped a hand over her lips and Terence wrenched it away. “You want to answer,” Terence said.
“The south gate and the western one,” Willow said, and the desire to speak left her. She wanted to weep with humiliation at how easily they’d manipulated her—well, it had taken Ascendant magic to make her speak, and who could stand against that?
“Ask her what the plan was,” Terence said.
“What was your plan?”
Willow bit down on her tongue. The pain offered her a moment’s respite from the unnatural desire. Quickly, she said, “They were meant to divide your forces, to better defeat them.”
“It’s not the whole truth, Terence,” Severian said.
“Ask again.”
“What else was intended?”
How long had it been since she lit the fire? Enough time for Rufus to eliminate the guards and let the army into the city? Were they even now on their way to the palace? She clenched her teeth against the urge to speak. The longer she could hold out—
“What else?”
“The army at the western gate was going to sneak inside and march on the palace,” Willow said, all in a rush.
Terence’s eyes widened. “You two, tell Captain Hamilton to send troops to reinforce the western gate. Go, now!”
“It’s too late,” Willow said. “They’re already inside. They’ll be here soon.”
“Sit,” Terence said, pointing at a chair in front of his desk. Willow sat. There was no point in defying him—well, there was, it made her feel better, but since he could probably force her to sit, there was no point in defying him in this instance. The chair’s slippery cushions were covered with red satin, Valant red, and she gripped the armrests and prepared herself for more questions.
“You must have known this was a suicide mission,” Terence said. “Does my nephew really inspire that much loyalty?”
“I thought I could go back the way I came.”
“Through the palace? With guards looking for you? Then you’re even stupider than I thought.”
Willow didn’t rise to this bait. “I didn’t come in through the palace. I came through Old Tower.”
Terence twitched as if she’d revealed a secret. “Through Old Tower?” he said, sounding incredulous.
“Up it, actually. I climbed the outside of the tower.”
Severian let out a whistle. “Old Tower is a hundred and fifty feet tall. That’s not stupid, that’s insanity.”
“I made it, didn’t I? And I’d have come and gone with no one the wiser if I hadn’t been spotted.” If she hadn’t been so terrified, she’d have been thrilled at having accomplished one of her life’s ambitions. As it was, it seemed insignificant in her current situation.
“Where did Felix find you, I wonder,” Terence mused. “You’re not one of my soldiers, despite the uniform, and I doubt Felix has any contacts within the city. So how did you get inside?”
Willow glanced at Severian, who opened his mouth to repeat the question. “I pretended to be a Valant guard and talked my way through the west gate,” she said quickly. Maybe if she were forthcoming now, she could keep Rufus’s name out of this.
“You should make an example of that captain, whoever it is,” Severian said.
“Don’t teach me my business, Severian.” Terence leaned against his desk, a relaxed pose that seemed wholly out of character. “Explain to me how these wands work.”
“You point them at an Ascendant, and they remove source.” Willow knew immediately this wasn’t specific enough. Terence’s eyes narrowed.
“That easy?” he said. He aimed the wand at Severian, who jumped out of his chair and retreated out of the wand’s line of effect. “It didn’t work.”
“You have to twist the little cuff,” Willow said.
“Terence, don’t—”
“Stand still and don’t be a child.” Terence twisted the cuff. Again, nothing happened. Willow let out a shallow breath, then squeaked as Terence grabbed the back of her neck and shook her.
“I grow tired of your recalcitrance,” he said. He brought his other hand around palm-first in front of Willow’s face. A bead of brilliant light glowed in its center, growing rapidly until it was the size of a ten-guilder coin, with little flames licking its edges. “Proximity to fire can make your eyeballs roast and explode. You’re the only one in this room who wants that not to happen. Now, tell me the truth.”
“The silver discs,” Willow gasped, closing her eyes and feeling the fire burn her eyelids. “You put one on the tip of the wand and it absorbs the source.”
The grip on her neck loosened, and the fire retreated. Blinking away pained tears, Willow opened her eyes. Everything was blurry—surely that didn’t mean permanent damage? She heard the door open and slam shut, and Terence cursed. Willow blinked again, and the world slid into focus. She and Terence were alone. “So your Ascendants don’t always obey you,” she whispered. “That’s interesting.”
“They’re not mindless slaves,” Terence said. “And having one’s source removed is, according to those who’ve experienced it, like death. Severian isn’t terribly bright, or he’d have realized I have no reason to use this on him.” He tossed the wand, with the disc still impaled on its tip, at his desk, where it rolled until it fetched up against the pile of silver discs. “At
any rate, I no longer need him.”
Willow eyed the wand. Was it close enough to reach? “That sounds ominous.”
To her surprise, Terence smiled. It was a weary, amused expression, not cruel or sinister in any way. He took a seat behind the desk. “I think you will tell me what I need to know without resorting to Severian’s magic. I don’t kill indiscriminately.”
“Except for your brother. And you tried to murder your nephew.”
“All discriminating deaths. You rebels don’t seem to understand that I only want to make Tremontane better.”
“Except your definition of ‘better’ means rule by Ascendants. They don’t deserve to dominate the country just because they have magical power. And you’re not reining them in.”
“I’ve been preoccupied solidifying my claim to the Crown. I’ll get around to punishing them eventually, if they’re convicted of a crime.”
“Small comfort to those who suffer and die now. What about that town in County Cullinan? The one your Ascendants destroyed because of two stupid drunkards saying rude things about you?”
Terence frowned and leaned forward. “How did you know about that?”
Was that a mistake? “Everyone knows now. The Countess—didn’t keep it a secret.”
“The Countess was not in a position to pass information along. How did you hear it?”
Willow was silent. “You’re no ordinary sneak,” Terence continued. “Who are you?”
He’d summon Severian back, and they’d wring the truth out of her. “My name is Willow North.”
Terence’s jaw went slack in a moment of total surprise. “You’re Willow North? The mastermind behind my nephew’s advance through Tremontane?” He laughed, a delighted sound that again didn’t have anything sinister about it. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”
It was Willow’s turn for stunned surprise. “I…wish I could say the same.”
“You’ve been thwarting me for months. I admire how well you’ve countered me. Tell me, how did you convince the vojenta mahaut to support you? I thought I had their allegiance.”
Champion of the Crown Page 27