Eventually a scratching, snarling and occasional crackling had drawn Tanis’s attention, and he’d pushed up in bed to find Felix sitting at his desk alternately scribbling and cursing. It seemed to be a habit of his.
Tanis had climbed out of bed and prepared to start his day, but all the while he was getting dressed, he’d watched Felix crumple page after page and shove the balls into a pile. Finally, Felix had hissed a heated curse, gathered all the balls of paper into his knapsack, and barged from the room.
Tanis had taken up his satchel and followed. This time he locked onto Felix’s mental signature—why he hadn’t thought to do so the last time, he couldn’t say, but with Felix’s mental signature in mind, Tanis could track him anywhere.
In retrospect, the lad felt a mite foolish—he just wasn’t used to resorting to his talent to solve problems. But he made a firm commitment to do so in the future. What was the point of having so much knowledge and skill if he never used it?
As he waited now behind the column with his father’s journal in hand, trying to look inconspicuously bored, Tanis kept a firm lock on Felix’s mental presence. He wasn’t reading the other boy’s thoughts—Felix had an uncommon, natural talent for guarding them—but Tanis could feel him from a distance in the way one senses another person in a room. He tried to stay far enough behind Felix that the latter wouldn’t notice he was being followed. At least, that was Tanis’s hope.
Thus far he’d been successful. Tanis had watched Felix creep from shadow to shadow, intentionally avoiding everyone’s notice—he obviously had a lot of experience in skulking. Tanis had seen him several times fall in at the tail end of a pack of students and walk close enough to appear as part of the group to a distant observer, but not so close as to draw notice from anyone in the group. He never stayed with any one group for long. Before they perceived him, he would’ve darted away into another shadow or down a connecting corridor.
Why? Tanis shook his head with this thought. What’s he doing that he’s so afraid of people finding out about?
Several columns ahead, Felix moved off again into the flow of bodies along the Grand Passáge, which was ever as crowded as any boulevard in Cair Rethynnea, and equally as broad. Tanis slipped the journal beneath his arm and followed.
At the next dome, Felix turned off the Grand Passáge, headed down the Lord of the Forest corridor, then exited through a gallery connecting to another hall. Just as Felix was passing into the adjacent building, a host of red-cloaked soldiers wearing silver breastplates emerged. Praetorians.
Docents, students and scholars all stepped aside to let them pass, and in the general commotion, Felix disappeared.
Tanis inwardly ground his teeth. He could sense Felix still close by and quickly scanned the crowd. He thought he caught a glimpse of Felix’s head through a window in the building at the end of the gallery and was about to set off after him when he realized the Praetorians were in the way.
Actually…they were coming right towards him.
With a great clanking of armored boots on stone, the marching soldiers encircled Tanis. The lad looked around at the steely faces of the men and felt suddenly small indeed. Worse was the wave of excited murmuring that spread through the crowd.
The foremost among the guards clapped his heels together and declared, “Signore, if you will please come with me.”
Swallowing, Tanis nodded.
The soldiers turned as one and started back the way they’d come. Tanis thought he recognized a couple of the men as having been on the dock when he and the zanthyr had arrived in port, but he couldn’t be certain. They all wore identical helmets with etched nose-plates and a stripe of bristling crimson feathers, and they each marched with the same intimidating presence.
At first Tanis wondered if this was N’abranaacht’s idea of sending for him. Then he remembered that only the Empress could command the Praetorian Guard, and his hopes surged at the idea that perhaps they were collecting him on Phaedor’s behalf. As the phalanx of Praetorians headed inside the building with Tanis firmly ensconced in their center, the lad happened to glance to his left. Felix stood leaning against a statue, wearing a decidedly self-satisfied smirk.
Several galleries later, Tanis was still puzzling over his roommate’s expression when the Praetorians stopped before a sunlit courtyard bordered on three sides by tall limestone walls and on the fourth by the portico under which they’d halted. A marble-paved path led through the middle of a garden to a large fountain with a centaur at its gushing apex. The Praetorians spread out along the portico, and the leader motioned Tanis to proceed into the garden.
As confused as he was apprehensive, Tanis slowly descended the steps and headed along the marble path towards the fountain, which was large enough and loud enough to drown out the excited chatter of the crowd gathering behind the soldiers.
The centaur stood with a drawn bow and arrow pressed to a reclining maiden’s heart. The scene appeared so realistic, the statues so lifelike, that Tanis worried the pair might’ve been turned to stone rather than carved from it. The maiden arching helplessly beneath the arrow’s threatening tip wore an expression of rapture, but Tanis, looking into the empty eyes of the centaur, just felt apprehensive. The creature had an intimidating ferocity about it.
Rounding the back side of the large fountain, Tanis came to an abrupt halt.
A long marble bench curved synchronously with the fountain’s sculpted edge, and a figure dressed all in white sat upon it. A circlet of emeralds bound the opalescent veil that obscured her features and her long dark hair.
“There is much to appreciate about this fountain.” As the girl lifted her face to the centaur, Tanis could see the outline of her profile through the sheer silk veil. She pointed as she went on, “The feral centaur represents lust, an embodiment of unbridled passion—for life, for power, for riches. His lust is juxtaposed against the maiden’s purity, which represents innocence stolen, ravaged by time, by experience, or by love’s hardships. Yet within the maiden’s expression, you see both fear and desire, reflecting our own inner struggle to fulfill the craving of our hearts.”
Tanis didn’t know how to respond to this. The last thing he’d expected was to receive a lesson on art appreciation from the Imperial Princess Nadia van Gelderan.
He knew a little of the princess—some from the zanthyr, but more from gossip around the Sormitáge halls. The Empress Valentina had borne eleven children in order to produce a female truthreader, who was immediately proclaimed her heir. Nadia was a fourth-strand prodigy, like her mother and her truthreader, Hallian IV.
Beyond these facts, there were as many rumors circulating about Nadia van Gelderan as there had been about Prince Ean back in Calgaryn—from absurd whispers that she was actually a siren, to talk that her veil hid a deformity. But all of these rumors maintained that if Nadia lifted her veil to a man, he might as well be staring at the stars of Cephrael’s Hand, for Fate would claim him soon enough.
Tanis finally realized he’d been standing there staring at her while she was waiting for a response. He looked to the statue with a slightly furrowed brow.
“I don’t know, Your Highness. It’s fierce. There is power in it.” Tanis gazed at the sinews of muscle in the centaur’s back and shoulders, along its up-bent arm. The creature looked so frighteningly real. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say a fifth-strander sculpted it with elae.”
“That’s very astute of you.” Nadia indicated the fountain with a slender hand. “Nessun and Dahlia was forged by the Adept sculptor Lorenzo Dellanova, whose artful hands crafted many of the sculpture fountains decorating our fair city. Dellanova is one the best known artists from the Illuminato Secolo, that last wonderful century before the Adept Wars, when so many masterworks were created. Dellanova had many contemporaries, most notably the painters Raphe Nordskov and Immanuel di Nostri.”
Tanis did a double-take.
The hint of a smile fluttered Nadia’s veil. “I see you know these names.”
“Well, of course you are.” She waved and made a little laugh. “Nordskov and di Nostri are credited with much of the masterwork that is the Grand Passáge.”
Now Tanis well and truly gaped at her. He actually grew a little sick to his stomach. To think…all this time he’d been walking underneath that ceiling, awed by its majesty yet rarely giving the paintings the study they deserved. Suddenly he felt as though he’d been passing Pelas himself, day in and day out, without a single nod of greeting.
He swallowed and looked away from Nadia, trying to keep his expression neutral. Yet even could he have found his voice in that moment, he had no idea what to say to her.
Nadia noted his reaction with a curious frown. After a slightly uncomfortable silence, she looked back to the fountain. “The Empress would have me spend all of my waking hours studying political philosophy, but I much prefer the philosophy of art.”
Tanis hugged his father’s journal to his chest, feeling inordinately out of place and missing Pelas most desperately. “Forgive me, Princess…” Words failed him again, and rather than try to explain himself, he said instead, “I’m…I don’t understand why you’ve called me here.”
“You do not wish to discuss art with me, Tanis di Adonnai?”
This appellation made Tanis blink, for he’d never heard himself named in such a manner. “I…” he frowned. “I…would, should you wish it, Your Highness,” which was true enough. Nadia was lovely—even with the veil this was apparent—and he’d no pressing business elsewhere, yet the entire encounter felt so odd. Did a person really just dally about idly discussing art with the heir to an empire?
Yet you’ve traveled with princes and the cousins of queens. You’ve sailed with the High Lord di L'Arlesé and trained in your craft with the Fourth Vestal.
The oddest part of this thought was that it wasn’t his own.
He cast the princess a considering look.
Though her veil obscured the fullness of her expression, Tanis thought she was amused. She patted the bench beside her, inviting Tanis to join her. “The High Lord has never sponsored a student to the Sormitáge, you know.”
Still hugging his journal, Tanis walked over and slowly lowered himself onto the bench a discreet distance from Nadia’s person. He remained all too aware of the watchful Praetorians. “I don’t think it was entirely his idea.”
“The High Lord is not usually duped into doing things against his will.”
“He wasn’t facing a usual opponent.”
She smiled wryly at this. “Whatever the cause of his sponsorship, Tanis, Marius di L'Arlesé is a most honorable man. He…suggested I might converse with you, after a fashion.”
Tanis immediately knew an untruth in this statement, though it was also partly true. He considered Nadia carefully then, wondering what the High Lord had actually said to her. Instinct whispered that the princess was upon some game of cat and mouse. Playing along for the moment, he thought in reply, Only because Vincenzé failed to uncover anything useful in his probing.
Nadia gave a little laugh. Tanis hadn’t exactly pushed the thought over to her, but neither had he hidden it, much as she had likely done just moments before. Truthreaders were known to share the ‘public’ space of their minds with one another, especially among friends.
“You are not so innocent as the High Lord would have me believe, I think,” the Princess murmured, eyeing him with amusement.
Tanis drew slightly back. “The High Lord described me as innocent?”
“Not his words exactly,” she admitted with a smile. “Vincenzé called you cagey.”
Tanis grunted. “I hold him in mutual regard.”
She really laughed at this. She leaned to lay her fingers upon his knee with a gentle grace. “Your candor is refreshing.” She straightened and watched him quietly for a moment. “I confess my curiosity was piqued once I learned of you.”
Again, Tanis caught something in her words, an underlying truth she kept closely guarded. His eyes moved to her hand and noted the Sormitáge ring she wore. He sensed the princess would be a strong adversary, should they meet mind to mind.
“So tell me, Tanis,” Nadia continued as Tanis was wondering how best to treat with her, “why is the High Lord so interested in you?”
His eyes lifted back to meet hers. “His Grace didn’t tell you?”
“Have you met my father?” she laughed, to which Tanis gave her an acknowledging smile.
Though she was clearly withholding things from him, Tanis perceived no threat from Nadia. In fact, her mental presence rubbing against his felt…nice. Really nice, like a gentle breeze off the mountain, or sunlight on his bare skin. So Tanis decided to trust her, after a fashion—or at least to trust his instincts about her.
He returned his father’s journal to his satchel. “The High Lord mightn’t be so interested in me were it not for my relationship with the zanthyr.”
She drew back slightly. “The zanthyr. Could you possibly mean the zanthyr Phaedor?”
He settled her a level eye by way of reply.
She gazed at him in astonishment. “My mother has spoken of Phaedor to me. They’re traveling together even now—I don’t know where, and Marius won’t say. But he’s not sure she’ll be back by Twelfth-day.” She moved closer to Tanis. “What is your relationship with Phaedor?”
Tanis let out a long, slow breath. “He is both guardian and guide.” He cast her a look and stood to walk towards the fountain. “The High Lord had many questions for me, but the zanthyr didn’t want me talking about myself.”
“Why? Why must you be so secretive?”
Tanis shoved hands in his pockets and stubbed a booted toe against the fountain’s base. “I don’t know. I don’t have that much information even to share. But whatever Phaedor’s reasoning, it’s likely explainable by Balance—or at least unexplainable by that same rationale.”
“Balance.” Nadia gazed wide-eyed at him. Clearly whatever she’d expected to gain in her little game, it wasn’t this. “You think…he thinks you can somehow affect the Balance in the realm?”
Tanis understood how remarkable—and ridiculous—it sounded. He felt the same way. “My mother said I have to walk my path.” He gave a shrug and then turned and sat down on the fountain’s rim. “I know that everyone’s path isn’t necessarily impactful, and I don’t know that mine is either, but I know that the zanthyr is invested in keeping me upon my path.” He added with a grimace, “Really invested.”
Nadia pressed fingers across her lips. The space of her mind radiated wonder…and not a little fascination. After a moment, she took up the delicately jeweled hem of her veil and twined it thoughtfully among her fingers. “The Palmers believe that we all have a path, but while some tread a peripheral existence, others walk a thread central to the overarching pattern of the Maker’s vast tapestry. Finding and knowing one’s path is at the core of their faith.”
Tanis frowned at this. It seemed odd to him that an Arcane Scholar like N’abranaacht would subscribe to such a passive faith. After a minute’s thought, he looked to her again. “Why do they wear the robes?”
“Their robes are meant to be an inverse metaphor—the idea that we are all blind to our future, that we walk our path on faith, not empirical fact.” She frowned at her own words. “I don’t suppose they could really go around blindfolded, could they? Covering themselves from head to toe except for the eyes represents this inverse concept of walking blindly with faith along our paths.”
Tanis pinned his hands between his knees. “It sounds benign enough.”
She smiled. “They also believe fifth-strand creatures have no path.”
Tanis found something in this comment unsettling. “Why do they think that?”
She leaned back on her hands on the bench. “It’s complicated, but it has much to do with their immortality.” Nadia regarded him quietly
then while the only sound was the rushing roar of the centaur’s fountain. Tanis returned her gaze, feeling oddly warm beneath her inspection. Nadia’s smile disarmed him, and…well, she was lovely.
After staring into each other’s eyes for perhaps longer than was advisable, Nadia dropped her gaze back to her hands. “You’re not as I imagined you.”
“I’m flattered to think you imagined me at all, princess.”
She laughed then. “I cannot believe Vincenzé called you cagey. I find you very…charming.”
Tanis couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw the faintest blush come to her cheeks upon this pronouncement. He leaned and rested elbows on his knees. “Vincenzé pries.” Then he tilted his head to capture her gaze with his own and gave her a smile. “You entice.”
“I do not,” she gasped, embarrassment coloring her tone. She pressed fingertips to her lips and gave him a blushing smile beneath her veil. “You’re the one who opened your mind to me.”
Tanis frowned, straightened. “I’m sorry…was that inappropriate?”
“You’re just so different. I don’t understand why Fe—” Abruptly she stopped herself, making Tanis wonder what she’d been about to say.
To fill the space of her sudden uncertainty, he asked, “Different from other truthreaders?”
She replied with a telling look. “From any Agasi I’ve ever met.”
“Well, I was raised in Dannym.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “It’s just…most truthreaders I know are more guarded.”
Tanis wondered what she was used to dealing with if she thought he was unguarded. His private mind had been closed to her from the beginning.
She must’ve caught this thought—not that he’d hidden it from her—for she said, “Exactly my point, Tanis. Most truthreaders I’ve met won’t share even the common space of their minds with me.”
Well, if Vincenzé is any indication of the way Agasi Adepts treat with each other, it’s no wonder.
She laughed again. “Tanis, are you trying to sway my loyalties?”
Paths of Alir (A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book 3) Page 69