The King's Craft (The Petralist Book 6)

by Frank Morin

  Tapping water, he messed with the molecules in his canteen, envisioning delicious chocolate. The water thickened and darkened and he grinned. “I think I’ve got it.”

  Hamish tried a sip, then coughed and spat it out. “Ugh! This tastes like liquid dirt.”

  So of course Connor had to try a sip too. He grimaced. That really was bad. He and Hamish had tasted enough dirt over the years to know. So he went back to work on the liquid, but the best he managed was a weak tea.

  Hamish chuckled. “Just change it back to water. I wouldn’t have thought triple-ascended Petralists might be bad cooks.”

  “I’ll study hot chocolate next time we drink it. I’ll be able to make it work then. Messing with particles is tough.”

  “Yeah, looking through the micro-vision goggles, I realized tiny stuff is kind of scary,” Hamish agreed as he finished cooking another omelet and tossed it to Connor.

  While Connor ate, Hamish called ahead to inform the others of their arrival. Connor wondered if he could send voice messages to speakstones directly, even if he didn’t have a paired speakstone himself. It would be a handy trick. One more item to add to his training plan.

  A tiny shape lifted off the ground from distant Merkland and accelerated rapidly to meet them. Connor did not need quartzite to recognize Verena’s graceful flying style. She met them several miles out and the three of them hovered together.

  Verena had mostly restored the Swift. It looked complete, the broken components replaced, although she hadn’t managed to paint over the scorch marks and signs of recent repair. It flew as good as new, though. Connor drew in close and Verena dropped the shielding from her windows.

  She was dressed in flying leathers, but had left her goggles behind. Her black hair was pulled from her face by a blue, silken cord that perfectly matched her eyes and seemed to make them shine. Connor drank in the sight of her, marveling anew that she’d chosen him.

  Hamish waved and said, “I’ll meet you back at the palace. Don’t wait too long or Shona might just pop her gullet or something.”

  Connor chuckled. “That’s not really a thing, you know?”

  “If only it could be,” Verena grinned.

  Hamish shrugged and accelerated away. Verena sighed as Connor cupped her face in one hand. “I don’t really like to encourage Shona too much, but I do hope this works. We need it for all of us.”

  Connor started to reply, but an idea struck from out of nowhere. A lot of times those ideas proved to be some of his best. He grinned and said, “Hold on.”

  He absorbed a little obsidian and tapped it, then added sandstone, and then quartzite. He could’ve tried any of the elements, but Shona had been working so hard to make quartzite work that it felt natural.

  Air appeared in his mind, dressed in flying leathers to mimic Shona. She shook her head. “Your girl is not ready for this.”

  “We won’t know until we try,” Connor protested.

  “I can’t walk with someone who hasn’t crossed even the first bridge.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Verena looked at him, a question in her eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d responded aloud. Speaking with mental projections could be tricky sometimes. He tapped the side of his head. “Kind of busy in here.”

  “Sometimes I worry about you, Connor.”

  “Only sometimes?”

  Air drifted closer and said, “Don’t you remember talking about bridges?”

  Connor nodded and replied only to her inside his mind. “Of course. I’m trying to loan a bridge to Verena right now, right?”

  She gave him a long-suffering look. “How can you plan to ask her to cross the third bridge if she hasn’t crossed the first?”

  Connor blinked as understanding struck like an unexpected curse punch. He exclaimed aloud, “So Shona was able to accept a tertiary power loaned from Harley because she already had a secondary?”

  Verena’s eyes widened, looking as astonished as he felt. “How do you know that?”

  Connor decided he wouldn’t keep secrets from Verena. Water had appeared to her, so she must trust her some. “Air was just explaining some things to me.”

  “She’s here?” Verena asked, looking around eagerly.

  “Can you allow her to see you too?” Connor asked Air. To him, she was hovering outside of the Swift right next to him.

  She shook her head. “She’s not yet ready to converse with us, but her research into higher forms of Builder mechanicals may gain her access to the bridge she needs.”

  He relayed the message, and Verena grinned. “I’ve already started trying to work out how to recreate a higher mechanical like Kristin’s. Oh, Connor, it’s so exciting to know we’re on the right track!”

  He agreed. They needed the power that greater access to the elementals offered. “I was going to try loaning you quartzite, but it’s not going to work. Air explained I can’t loan a tertiary to someone who doesn’t have a secondary.”

  He thanked Air and switched to granite. He’d made it a habit to wear battle plates on his thighs with basalt and granite stuck to the inside edges of each one so absorbing granite was as easy as concentrating to pull it into his skin. The itchy crawling of his lifelong curse bolstered his confidence. If he could make this work with anything it would be granite.

  He had never purged a tertiary power before, but had purged granite many times so the effort was simple. Tapping obsidian and sandstone, he connected with Verena like he had just done with Nicklaus, but not deeply enough to step into her mind. At the same time, he concentrated some of the granite power into his chest and willed it out through the skin. Lamacal formed on his shirt and he scraped a small handful free before it could blow away.

  Extending it to Verena he said, “Want to help me make a new discovery?”

  She did not hesitate, even though it meant eating lamacal. She threw the small handful of white powder into her mouth and took a drink from a water bottle she extracted from a tiny compartment near her right leg. After swallowing a few gulps she grimaced. “Shona was right. It tastes terrible.”

  “Feel any different?”

  Verena started to shake her head, then her eyes widened. A second later her skin faded to gray and her shape altered slightly to perfectly sculpted lines. She laughed with joy, and Connor laughed with her. It actually works!

  She exclaimed, “This is how it feels to be a Rumbler? I understand now. I want to hit something.”

  That didn’t surprise Connor at all. Verena liked hitting things right after smiling. So he tapped granite too and made a beckoning gesture. “Come on. Knowing me has only encouraged you in the past.”

  Her right fist struck in an excellent curse punch that knocked Connor right over backward in an aerial somersault. Verena had always been a good puncher, and reinforced by granite she was nothing short of amazing.

  Verena gasped. “Are you okay?”

  Connor laughed and flew in close to steal a quick kiss. “Never better. Come on. Let’s go share this with everyone.”

  Verena grinned and said with a mischievous look in her eye, “I’ll race you back.”

  She seized the control levers, but did not yet understand her strength and managed to rip them right out of their bases.

  Verena groaned in dismay and Connor laughed. “Granite takes a little getting used to. Don’t worry, I can still help you land. Although crashing your Swift again without the excuse of a giant monster would definitely help you gain even more legendary status.”

  She grimaced. “I don’t want that kind of legend. Better to be known as the second Builder Petralist after Nicklaus, even if it’s just for an hour.”

  “We need to talk about Nicklaus. We stopped to visit him. Water’s been speaking with him,” Connor told her.

  She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I heard. I’m glad you spoke with him. I haven’t been able to get Water to respond to me again. I’d love to understand how his connection works.”

  “Me too.”

&
nbsp; Connor helped turn the Swift and push it back toward Merkland while Verena worked to reattach her control levers.

  “This is so much fun,” Verena exclaimed again, flexing her arms.

  “Am I going to have to deal with you pestering me to loan you my powers all the time now?” he teased.

  She turned in her seat and gave him an innocent look, pretty blue eyes wide and inviting. “You wouldn’t deny me, would you?”

  He sighed. “Never.”

  “That’s why I love you. Now, fly faster.”

  72

  Walking the Razor’s Edge

  Ailsa arrived at Queen Dreokt’s personal apartments in the central palace of Donleavy breathing a bit fast from the exertion. She might be the queen’s closest and most trusted advisor, but it would never do to dally when summoned unexpectedly. She’d stood in the queen’s presence all afternoon during her normal audience session. Usually the queen did not require her presence again until the evening feast.

  Even before she knocked, the ornately carved door to the queen’s suite opened and a silent, handsome attendant beckoned her inside. The man had been one of the royal family, reeducated into a mindless, efficient servant.

  Ailsa was growing so accustomed to the mind-wiped servants that she no longer even shuddered around them. It might be an effective self-defense mechanism, but deep in her protected inner thoughts, she hoped she never became so jaded to the realities of life in the palace that she started thinking of it as normal.

  The queen waited in her large sitting room, with its panoramic view over the expanse of Donleavy. The seven levels of the tiered city spread below, sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. Queen Dreokt was not alone. Ailsa instantly recognized the man standing before her, and her heart skipped a beat.

  Craigroy. High Lord Dougal’s chief spymaster. The last she had known, he was still prisoner in Merkland.

  As she approached, she schooled her features into her normal façade. She would weather the storm as she did all others, but she could not quite suppress a thought deep in her inner self that perhaps this storm would prove deadly. She knew Craigroy a little, had met him briefly in Merkland before the crazy events occurred around Alasdair that started Connor on his adventures.

  They had not parted as friends.

  “Ailsa, there you are.” Queen Dreokt gestured her closer. “I have been interviewing the most interesting servant. He brings word from Merkland. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Wonderful indeed,” Ailsa confirmed, forcing her surface thoughts to reflect pleasure, but tinted with reservation.

  When Craigroy turned to greet her, she nodded, her expression neutral. “Craigroy, is it not?”

  Craigroy was too good a spy and an actor to betray any outward emotion. No doubt he was on careful guard, as were everyone who wanted to survive long in the queen’s presence. He did not look like he expected to see her, which suggested he had not dared tap quartzite in the queen’s presence. Wise choice.

  He inclined his head in return and asked, “Ailsa, is it?”

  Queen Dreokt’s bright smile faltered. “You two have met.”

  Craigroy quickly said, “We have indeed, Your Majesty. I met this woman under questionable circumstances last year in Merkland.”

  “Indeed?” Queen Dreokt asked, one eyebrow raised in question. Craigroy looked pleased with himself, but Ailsa was not about to let him control the conversation so she said, “I agree. Your actions were indeed questionable.”

  “My people found you rooting around in High Lord Dougal’s personal apartment, and when I attempted to question you, you supplied only vague answers.” He added to the queen, “She escaped her cell without ever satisfying my curiosity.”

  Queen Dreokt laughed, looking delighted. “Ailsa escaped the very dungeons that held you for months? How long did it take?”

  Ailsa shrugged, her surface thoughts reflecting distrust for Craigroy and pride in her accomplishment. “Perhaps an hour.”

  The queen laughed again and slapped her knee. “From all accounts, you’re reported to be an exceptionally clever fellow, Craigroy. How did it take you so long to escape?”

  Craigroy maintained perfect control, although in her inner self, Ails wished she could sense his thoughts like the queen could. She hoped her liege was reading him, and didn’t doubt she was learning much.

  He said, “I was known already and kept under significantly tighter guard. Besides, I used my time wisely. When I left Merkland, I brought with me much useful intelligence.”

  “And what might that be?” Ailsa asked in a slightly bored tone, as if not expecting anything to prove quite as useful as he claimed. She kept her surface thoughts calm, slightly distrustful of him. In her inner self, she forced aside the fear that perhaps he had discovered something about her.

  “I know much about the inner workings of the revolution, drawn from their own mouths.” Craigroy smiled as he lifted a small box from a satchel he wore over one shoulder.

  “And what’s in there? Your lunch?” Ailsa asked light heartedly. Queen Dreokt started to chuckle along with her. That was a good sign.

  “This contains a speakstone, one of the marvelous Builder inventions—”

  He never got a chance to finish. Queen Dreokt’s good humor vanished as she leaped to her feet, her expression enraged. She made no gesture, but an invisible force hurled Craigroy across the room. He struck the wall hard enough to snap bones, and the breath exploded from his lungs. He slid to the floor in an unconscious heap.

  The box also hurled away, but never struck the wall. Instead it remained hovering in the air, held aloft by a tiny whirlwind.

  Queen Dreokt regarded the box like it contained a deadly viper. Actually hissing in rage, she snarled, “How dare he bring filthy Builder mechanicals into my rooms? I will make him pay for such folly.”

  “Should I dispose of it, Your Majesty?” Ailsa asked. In her persona as the queen’s trusted advisor, she allowed herself to feel great pride in her majesty’s bold defense of her person against devilish Builders.

  Queen Dreokt hesitated, staring in rage at the harmless box. “I would crush it to dust this very instant, as well as that foolish man, but he brought disturbing news that I must understand before meting out justice.”

  That was not good. Usually the queen’s wrath was an uncontrollable thing, and in a fit of rage she rarely showed so much control. “What news could be worth risking a Builder mechanical in your presence?”

  “Word that a spy resides among us.” Her wrath intensified, if that was possible, and she stomped a foot in frustration, cracking the floor. “How can a filthy spy remain in my household? Have I not purged the unworthy, reeducated the foolish, and surrounded myself with the very best?”

  “I have no idea. Perhaps the spy is another concealed mechanical, listening in on our communications?”

  The queen considered that, and ground her teeth so hard they actually started crumbling from the force. She did not seem to notice, and the teeth reformed instantly.

  “Take the filthy thing, Ailsa. Drag that idiot from my presence. I suppose you should have him healed so he may answer my questions before I decide his fate. Search the palace. Employ whoever you need. Find the concealed mechanical, if one exists. If not, I will scour the minds of all who enter my presence to identify the spy. When I find them, they will suffer such torments the world has never imagined.”

  Ailsa curtsied, grateful for the chance to look down and compose her expression. She kept her surface thoughts full of confidence in the queen’s ability to root out evil, and outrage that the pitiful revolution could sneak a spy into the palace. Deep in her inner self, she fought to suppress a shiver of fear. She was playing the ultimate game of catch-the-devil. She couldn’t imagine retreating from it, but one second of lost concentration could trip her up. Or one new player in the mix. And if the queen realized she was the spy, she had no doubt she’d suffer more than any living person ever had.

  Better not fail, then.


  Ailsa grabbed the box and gestured one of the silent servants to take Craigroy and drag him into the hallway. She was tempted to put him out of his misery, but she wasn’t sure she could conceal such a lie from the queen. She might not be able to kill him, but that did not mean she had to show him loving attention either.

  She was tempted next to have the servant simply drag him up and down flights of stairs until the jarring finished him off. She could probably justify that, but what if he did not die? Then again, why not change the situation? He might have a previous reason to suspect her, but if she saved his life, not even he could ignore such a debt.

  Especially if he continued living only as long as she allowed him to.

  So she ordered the servant to deposit Craigroy in a nearby empty parlor, then go with all speed and bring a Healer. In the meantime, she pillowed Craigroy’s cracked skull in her own sweater. Then with tender care she extracted three vials of chemicals from a pocket. Used for etching stone, when mixed in specific ratios they proved deadly if ingested. But they did not kill immediately and the effects could be delayed using small doses of antidote.

  She’d perfected the chemical mix, and not even the queen would wonder why she carried them with her. They were for her job, after all.

  Ailsa carefully mixed the chemicals in a tiny cup of water and fed it drop by drop into Craigroy’s unconscious mouth. He instinctively swallowed every drop. Humming softly to herself, she tended to him as best she could while she waited for the Healer. She passed a few minutes considering how best to turn the very dangerous man into her most profitable servant.

  Then her thoughts turned to the little box and the speakstone it contained, as well as the queen’s charge to root out the spy among them. The challenging development could indeed be turned into an opportunity. The hammer had fallen, but no critical fault line had been exposed.