With all her coughing, maybe not even then.
From her vantage point, she could see a brightly lit window far above the street. Behind the glass was the room Kelhak had taken over as his bedchamber. The God-Emperor liked to burn far more lamps and candles than needed, even during daylight hours, and the window stood out like a beacon.
Felice scanned the street for anything untoward before returning her gaze to the window. She didn’t want to find herself recaptured just because she’d become complacent. Indryallan soldiers scoured the streets for the remains of any resistance, and they knew what she looked like. Despite her disguise, she thought it unlikely she’d be able to evade detection if seriously scrutinized.
Shadows flickered across the window momentarily as someone passed in front of the light. It could have been anybody: Kelhak, a functionary, or some servant. Or it could even have been one of his Silent Companions.
That thought made her shudder. She’d found out little about them over the past few days, other than the fact that they were elite warriors, and that scared her. If she was to kill Kelhak, they’d need to be dealt with somehow, but she had even less information about them than she did about Kelhak himself.
There, at least, she had a bit more detail, especially concerning just how legitimate his title really was—considering she’d heard the “God-Emperor” had executed a significant number of his own nobles and counselors. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was a move to keep his origins under wraps. Regardless, it was one more thing she was itching to find out.
A scuffling came from her right, and she reached for her dagger, ready to lash out—
Ah . . . it’s only one of my informants.
Felice released her grip on the hilt. She was becoming twitchy. Too many sleepless nights and too much looking over her shoulder.
The street urchin Poppy sidled up to her. Tangled brown hair atop a gaunt face stained with dirt. The intelligence in her eyes was sharp and wary, like that of a wild animal. In one hand she clutched a wooden rod a few feet long and as thick as Felice’s thumb. She was too young to be fending for herself. She should be playing with other children. Laughing and running around, with a mother who cared for her . . .
“Miss, are you all right?” asked Poppy. “Why are you crying?”
Felice wiped her eyes. What is happening to me? Not long ago, she wouldn’t have paid the girl much mind if she’d passed her in the street. Oh, how the mighty can fall, she thought with a touch of bitterness. “No reason, little one. Did you spend the ducats I gave you on food, like I told you?”
Poppy’s eyes flicked away. “Some. Had to pay most for my sleeping spot. The gang has rules. Didn’t have much left over.”
“Ah. Well, next time buy some food first. And I’ll make sure you have something to eat after this.” The homeless children on the street had proven themselves adept at extracting information from the Indryallan soldiers. Wide eyes, innocence, and childish curiosity often elicited candid responses that questions from an adult wouldn’t. They risked much for her, and when this was over, she swore she’d do right by them. In the meantime, if she could keep them fed, she was—if not content—satisfied. “Did you find out anything about the Silent Companions?”
A scrawny arm extended as Poppy held out a hand, palm up.
Felice dug into a pocket and removed a copper ducat, which she handed over. The girl snatched her hand back, and the coin disappeared somewhere under her rags.
There was a faint squeaking as two rats scurried past them across the street. Poppy leaped at them, startling Felice with her quickness. The wooden rod flashed down, whacking one rat on the head, while the other fled for its life. Poppy picked up the dead rat by the tail, its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth, and secreted it beneath her stained clothes.
“They don’t speak,” she said seriously. “Ever.”
“The rats?” replied Felice, puzzled.
“No, silly. The Silent Companions.”
“Really? Never ever?”
Poppy shook her head. “Not to anyone.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
Poppy gave her a strange look, half-afraid and half-wary, and took a step back. “I ain’t no one’s dear.”
Felice smiled and nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “As you wish, little one. Did you learn anything else?” She held up another copper ducat, which the girl eyed greedily.
“Maybe I did, and maybe it’ll cost you two coins.”
Without pause, Felice added a second ducat to the first. “Go on.”
“He does something to them,” Poppy whispered. “And they don’t talk ever again.”
“Kelhak?”
Poppy nodded.
“What does he do?” Felice asked.
“Something. He takes them, and when they come out, they don’t talk anymore. Or laugh. Or get angry. Nothing. Maybe he takes their pain away. Can someone do that? That would be . . . nice.”
Felice’s chest tightened, and she drew in a breath. “Pain can be taken away, but not like that.”
A look of disappointment came over Poppy’s face.
“There’s a pie vendor the next street over,” added Felice. “Maybe you’d like a hot pie?” She had other lines out, trying to gather as much information as she could, but they knew the locations she frequented. If they had anything to report, they’d find her.
Poppy nodded eagerly, and Felice handed over the two ducats, which disappeared just as quickly as the others. Together, they walked away from the brightly lit window, looking to anyone passing just like a mother and her daughter.
FELICE SLIPPED TOWARD a side door and used a rusty key Rebecci, the wild-haired sorcerer, had given her to enter the offices of the Five Oceans Mercantile Concern. Once inside, she paused, listening. She couldn’t be too careful these days.
The side entrance opened onto a narrow hallway in a storage area for records. A rickety flight of stairs led up to more of the same, and at their base an old man sat snoring in a chair—a sign that all was normal and the building hadn’t been cleared out by the Indryallans.
She tiptoed past the sleeping record keeper and made her way to Rebecci’s office, returning the nods of acknowledgment from a few employees on the way. She’d become a familiar sight to them recently, although Felice wasn’t sure that was a good thing. She’d have to limit her visits or send someone else, like Izak. And that reminded her: yesterday, she’d sent him with a few men to sort out her quarters in the Cemetery, and she hadn’t seen him since. She’d ordered another man to follow up, and apparently, in her absence, someone had moved in and appropriated her belongings, such as they were.
She tapped softly on Rebecci’s door and waited a few moments. When there was no answer, she let herself in. As usual, the room was empty, save for the padded armchairs and desk, along with the sorcerer’s glass figurines on the windowsill.
On the desk sat an envelope addressed to her.
Pignuts, cursed Felice to herself. So Rebecci was dodging her. It was incredibly frustrating. After all they’d been through to capture Savine in the diamond-caged crafting—or his essence, or whatever it was—Rebecci avoided her like she had the pox. And Rebecci was Felice’s primary source of information.
Perhaps she thinks she’ll eventually reveal too much.
One can hope.
Felice scoffed and picked up the envelope. It wasn’t sealed, and she unfolded the letter inside, scanning the text. Hastily scrawled apologies, excuses, and urgent matters to attend to. Not a word about Kelhak or his Silent Companions, or whether she’d found out what they were up to.
Felice pushed those thoughts aside. Rebecci had promised to try to get word to the emperor about how Anasoma was a trap, through her leader Gazija. The exact nature of what Kelhak could do from here was uncertain, but Felice was sure it would be sorcerous. The Indryallans had proven themselves to be adept at crafting so far. Where were the Protectors when you needed them?
Felice ran her hands th
rough her hair, feeling guilty almost immediately.
Dead, that’s where they were.
Voices sounded outside the door, and Felice stepped quickly to stand with her back against the wall, beside the hinges. The door creaked open, and the thin figure of Rebecci walked in. The sorcerer strode to her desk, leaving the door ajar.
“Can you close the door, Felice? Thank you.”
Another sorcerous trick, thought Felice. Knowing I was behind the door. A handy one, at that.
She closed and locked the door.
Rebecci’s face was even more pale and drawn than usual, if that was possible. Her expression was grim as she looked at Felice. Her fingers clutched at a pendant around her neck so tightly her knuckles were white.
“Please, sit down, Felice. Here.” Rebecci opened a drawer and removed a bottle filled with a greenish-blue liquid. Faint golden sparkles shone from it, even in the dim light. Sorcerous crafted wine. Expensive.
Rebecci took out a small glass, glanced at Felice, and then put it back. She placed the bottle on the edge of the desk closest to Felice. “You’ll need this.”
Felice bit her lip. “Bad news?”
Rebecci nodded. “Take the wine and sit down.”
“We obviously haven’t been found out, otherwise we’d be in chains or dead. Is Izak all right? Or have those two child sorcerers done something?”
Rebecci shook her head. “None of that. Please.” She gestured to the wine, and Felice reluctantly grasped the bottle.
Heeding Rebecci’s advice, she sat in one of the armchairs, removed the cork, and took a sip. A warm tingling swept through her, though she hadn’t swallowed any of the fine liquor. Peaches and candied cherries, with a hint of something indefinable—a swirling energy from the sorcery. This was some of the best wine she’d ever tasted. Rebecci’s news must be dire indeed.
Felice swallowed. “Out with it,” she demanded.
Rebecci dropped her gaze to her desk and pretended to rearrange a pile of papers with one hand, while the other remained clutching her pendant, the metal-and-diamond crafting she’d used to contain Savine.
If Felice had had her way, she’d have taken a ship out to sea and dropped the pendant in the deepest water she could find, but Rebecci insisted on keeping it.
“You were correct when you said the Indryallan occupation of Anasoma was a trap,” Rebecci said. “Your emperor’s forces were gathered outside Riversedge.”
Were, noted Felice, with a horrible sinking feeling. Surely not? “They’re on their way here? Or . . .”
“There was an outpouring of destructive sorcery. An Indryallan sorcerer named Bells used a crafting that—well, it destroyed a major portion of the emperor’s forces.”
“The warlocks—”
“Were not much use. They couldn’t do anything.”
Bells. Where had she heard that name before? Wasn’t that one of the Indryallan leaders here in Anasoma? Felice rubbed her stinging eyes, and for the second time in two days found she was crying. Thousands must be dead.
“The emperor? Was he—”
“No, he was untouched. Apparently the warlocks weren’t the ones to stop the sorcery, either. Credit for that goes to a young man called Caldan. A Protector, by all accounts.”
Felice reeled. Too many coincidences. She drank deeply from the bottle, this time not noticing the exquisite flavor, only wanting the blessed numbness sure to follow. Had the young man Caldan deceived her? What part had he played in all this? She took a deep breath.
“You’ve a way of communicating as far as Riversedge?”
Rebecci nodded reluctantly. “With my . . . people.”
Felice had never heard that was possible, but not much surprised her these days. “Can I talk with the warlocks? Why didn’t you tell me this before? I could have warned them!” Her voice had risen to a screech.
Rebecci let go of the pendant and held up both hands. “My people only just arrived at Riversedge. They couldn’t have done anything to stop this or been able to alert the emperor or the warlocks to the danger.”
Felice blinked and let the tears flow freely. She fumbled the bottle to her lips for another mouthful and swallowed. “I still need to talk to the warlocks. Can that be arranged?”
With a grimace, Rebecci shrugged. “I can ask—”
“Don’t ask! You demand! I need to explain the situation here to them. They’re blind to what’s happening.”
“They’ve their own problems as well.”
Felice paused. “Of course, the dead. But I need to tell them—”
“Not just that. There’s a horde of creatures assailing Riversedge and what’s left of the emperor’s army. Jukari and vormag. I assume you know what they are?”
That was impossible. A horde? “That can’t be right. A few dozen, maybe.”
“Hundreds, I was told. Perhaps many more.”
Felice cursed under her breath. This situation was going from bad to worse. The Indryallans had to be behind this. Somehow. She didn’t believe in coincidences. As in Dominion, everything had a pattern that could be teased into the light by someone with enough conceptual reasoning. The Indryallan invasion was years in the planning, perhaps decades. And this war wouldn’t be won in a few weeks. A jukari horde had to have taken months to assemble; their numbers were scattered across the Desolate Lands.
She looked at the bottle of wine before standing and reluctantly placing it back on the desk.
Rebecci came around and enfolded her in a hug. At first Felice resisted, then found herself surrendering to the embrace. Just a few moments, she told herself. Then she sobbed, and the tears started anew.
CHAPTER 8
A high-pitched laugh woke Caldan. He groaned and tried to sit up, then stopped himself as his muscles cramped and his head felt about to explode. Every fiber of his being ached as if it had been trampled by a horse.
Clothes rustled, and he heard a squeak as someone unstoppered a bottle, then the clinking of a spoon stirring a cup.
“Here, drink this.”
He knew that voice.
Tamara?
Caldan cracked open one eye and flinched as the bright light in the tent sent a spike of pain into his skull. The physiker held a cup to his lips, and he drank, hoping it was something, anything, that would take some of the pain away. He didn’t even try to ascertain what herbs she was dosing him with.
Once he had finished the cup, she left the tent and returned a short time later carrying a bowl.
“It’s not as warm as I’d like it, but I’m sure you won’t mind.”
Caldan caught the faint aroma of chicken. It was some sort of broth, and the moment he sipped, his stomach twisted with hunger. He slurped at the broth, and it quickly disappeared.
“I’ll be back with another.”
Caldan watched Tamara leave. It was bright outside, and judging by the shadows, the sun had been up a few hours.
He glanced around the tent. Everything looked the same as when he’d first arrived. A surreptitious check confirmed his ring and beetle hadn’t been taken from him while he’d been unconscious, nor Bells’s and Mahsonn’s craftings. The parts of his other automaton were still in the room he’d rented after escaping from the Protectors. He’d better get back there soon, in case the landlord thought he wouldn’t be returning and sold his valuables for a pittance.
Footsteps sounded outside the tent, then Tamara entered again, carrying another bowl of broth and a plate filled with chunks of roast meat and potatoes.
Caldan’s stomach grumbled as he drank from the second bowl. Tamara handed him the plate when he was finished, along with a fork, and he attacked the dish with a ravenous hunger. It was a wonder he was so famished after last night’s illness.
Before long, he shoveled in the last of the potatoes and meat—spiced goat. He looked up to see Tamara smiling at him, and he realized he’d ignored her the whole time he was eating.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was . . . very hungry.”
&nbs
p; “No need to apologize. I know a lot about what you’re going through, mostly from books, admittedly. You’ll need more food soon, and plenty to drink.”
“You’ve only read about it?” Caldan recalled that Devenish hadn’t remembered the name of the “new” physiker.
Tamara lowered her gaze and stared at her hands. “I’ve trained for this. I was the best in my year at the university. They said the emperor himself selected me for this role, but . . .” She laughed, a gentle, self-deprecating sound. “Of course, he wouldn’t know who I am. But the old physiker couldn’t cope anymore. His eyesight was going, though he tried to hide it. Mixed the wrong extracts and gave one of the Touched a bad case of the runs.”
An involuntary snort escaped Caldan, and Tamara giggled.
“It’s not right to laugh at someone’s misfortune,” she said in an amused tone.
Touched. Caldan knew the term, of course, and a bit from what Joachim had told him, but Tamara had stressed the word oddly, almost reverently. “What do you mean by Touched, exactly?”
“Kristof will tell you more, but I don’t think it can hurt to let you know. You are. Kristof, Edelgard, and Lisanette are. And the rest. You have the blood of the ancestors in you. You’re all Touched. It’s my honor to serve you.”
It could explain much, or it could be misdirection. Except when Tamara used the word, she really believed what she said. But it did make sense—Joachim had told Caldan the abilities were hereditary. But weren’t the ancestors just people they were all descended from?
Everyone revered their ancestors, those who’d passed from this world to the spirit world. The common curse he’d uttered a thousand times was part of his culture, and he’d never thought to question its roots: By the ancestors. Had it started out as something more than filial duty or veneration? If what Tamara said could be believed, then the ancestors were different from most people. What were they?
And perhaps more immediate a question: If he—and others like him—had some of their blood, a dilution, then what would the ancestors have been capable of?
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