Thief's Magic

by Trudi Canavan

  Hmm, she thought. What was he doing there?

  “He offered to paint my portrait,” she told her aunt, to see what reaction she would get. “I told him Mother would never approve.”

  “No, she would not,” Narmah said. She looked up. “You were right to turn him down.”

  Rielle shrugged. “But I’ve painted you, and Ari, and some of the dyeworkers.”

  “Family. People you know and trust, who live in your home. He is a young man and you an attractive young woman. People would assume he was doing a lot more than painting a portrait. And that may be his intent.”

  Rielle laughed. “You have a higher opinion of my looks than anyone else, Aunt.” Except for him. She stopped to scrape the paint again, then paused. “What if he came here to do it?”

  Narmah straightened and set her stained hands on her hips. “Don’t even consider it. Besides, you’re the artist here.”

  “Not the only one, or else why am I learning from you?” Rielle set to grinding again. “And if he’s so good, maybe we would both learn something from watching him.”

  Her aunt frowned. “Why are you suddenly so interested in having your portrait done?”

  “I’m not. But if he’s so good, and willing to do it for free then why not let—?”

  “Free?” Narmah’s eyebrows rose. “Now that’s suspicious.” She opened her mouth, then closed it again and tilted her head to the side. “I think that’s … yes. The priest is here. Did you get any paint on you? No. Give me your apron.”

  Rielle untied the apron and handed it to her aunt. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes, but I’ll finish up here first. Go on. Off you go. Don’t talk too much. Don’t be opinionated – it’s vulgar in a woman. And don’t forget your scarf.”

  Picking up her scarf from a nearby chair, Rielle left her aunt’s room and started down the corridor. Muffled voices came from the receiving room at the end. Narmah had left the door partly open so she would hear when the priest arrived.

  As she walked she considered what she would say to him. Or, rather, what she wouldn’t. Nothing about seeing Stain. Nothing about taking the short cut down Tanner Street. But even as she thought of it, she realised she couldn’t lie about her location. She would have to admit to taking the short cut. Nobody would believe the abductor had snatched her from Temple Road without anyone seeing it. The priest would look for Stain on Temple Road, or find it on Tanner Street, know she had lied and wonder why.

  Her mother was going to be furious.

  Yet Mother had forgotten about her missing scarf the moment she had heard Rielle’s tale of being dragged away at knifepoint by the tainted. She had gone pale, then briefly embraced Rielle in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. “My daughter,” she had whispered. “I could have lost you.”

  Narmah had then insisted Rielle must still have her painting lesson. As soon as they were alone together she had asked Rielle if she had seen anything she couldn’t speak of.

  Rielle had paused to consider her words. “Yes. I pretended to see nothing. I will not speak of it.”

  “Good girl.”

  Reaching the door, Rielle draped the scarf over her head, tied the ends behind her neck, then drew in a deep breath before pushing through to the other room. Three people stood by the spiritual: her mother, father and Sa-Elem. Dark spots were slowly fading from the stone where the priest had sprinkled water. Not unlike Stain. She tore her eyes away and smiled as all turned to face her.

  Sa-Elem smiled. “Rielle Lazuli. Have you recovered from your ordeal?”

  “I think so.” She shrugged. “I feel fine.”

  “Come and sit down,” Mother invited, gesturing to carved stone benches the family had passed down for several generations.

  The priest paused as he saw the cushions, which were blue with silvery grey stitching to match the spiritual background. “This is lovely work.”

  “Rielle and my sister made and embroidered them.”

  He smiled at Rielle. “You are very talented.”

  She inclined her head at the compliment. This room was where her parents entertained important clients, so they took care to fill it with belongings that showed their products in the best light. But she had hated the stitching, preferring paint to thread.

  Sa-Elem sat down. “So, Rielle. Tell me how your encounter with the tainted began.”

  “I was coming home from temple lessons. It was hot, so I decided to cut my journey short by walking along Tanner Street. I hadn’t gone far when I encountered something solid but invisible…” It was not often that etiquette allowed her free rein to talk to visitors. Her parents expected her to remain largely silent, to respond only when addressed and to keep her answers short and to the point. Fortunately, telling stories well was a skill highly valued and discussed in temple classes. She tried to follow those principles as she described the day. Orient the listener in the setting, describe action with clarity, maintain attention, lead to the point of the story, then establish the moral. “If I had stayed on Temple Road none of it would have happened,” she finished, hanging her head.

  “Oh, Tanner Street is no more dangerous than Temple Road,” Sa-Elem told her. “We have as many incidents of crime on one as the other – not that we have many,” he added as Mother drew in a breath. “And it saddens me to say, had you chosen to stay on Temple Road it would not have prevented the crimes of the tainted. Instead your actions enabled us to capture him, and for that we thank you.”

  She lowered her gaze and kept her expression demure, though she wanted to grin. She was not in trouble. The priest was pleased with her.

  Her mother shrugged. “At least something good came of it all.”

  “This is the third tainted in the last year,” Father said. Rielle looked up at him, surprised. He looked as if he would go on, but seeing her surprise he closed his mouth again.

  Sa-Elem nodded. “You are not the only one who has noted this.” He sighed. “I fear we may have a corrupter in Fyre.”

  “The tainted said he had been tricked,” Rielle ventured, earning herself a frown from Mother.

  The priest’s expression hardened as he nodded. “He has refused to speak of it. But we will get the truth from him, I assure you.”

  Mother reached out and took Rielle’s hand. “I will make sure Rielle does not walk home alone from lessons from now on. The corrupter will have no chance to tempt her.”

  The look Sa-Elem gave her made Rielle’s blood go cold. She stared at her mother in horror, wondering if Narmah had changed her mind and told the woman of her ability. The priest’s gaze shifted to Rielle, then he smiled.

  “I’m sure Rielle would be of no interest to a corrupter.”

  Mother flushed as she realised what she had implied. “I didn’t mean … Rielle isn’t…”

  “Of course not,” he said. “As for anyone who does have reason to be tempted, they will soon be well dissuaded.” He stood up, and manners dictated that they all got to their feet. “I will take no more of your time – and I must also thank Izare Saffre for bringing Rielle home safely.”

  “He is known to you?” Father asked, as he led the priest to the main door.

  “Yes.”

  To Rielle’s disappointment, Sa-Elem said nothing more, and she could discern nothing positive or negative from his tone. As the main door closed behind the two men she opened her mouth to tell her mother that Izare had done the temple paintings, then remembered how much she detested them and changed her mind.

  The inner door opened and Narmah entered. She looked around and frowned. “Did I miss him?”

  “Yes,” Mother said, her lips thinning.

  “Did it go well?” Narmah asked, looking at Rielle.

  “Very well,” Mother answered, turning away.

  Rielle met her aunt’s gaze and nodded. Only then did Narmah relax.

  “Well, then, we still have a painting lesson to finish before dinner. Come along, Rielle. We must finish what we started.”

  Slipping h
er hand out of her mother’s, Rielle obediently followed her aunt out of the room. As they walked down the corridor she considered the meeting. Her mother hadn’t been too angry that she’d taken a short cut. Sa-Elem’s assessment of the safety of the street had helped with that. Rielle didn’t think she had said anything to suggest she could see Stain. Her mother’s ill-considered comment might have raised his suspicions, though. At times like those she wished her mother wasn’t so disinclined to obey the social rule that women should remain silent in company and business, though if she did then nothing would be said at all when visitors came. Her father was far too inclined to be silent.

  Sa-Elem saw I was aghast at what Mother said, and when Mother realised what she’d implied she was mortified. He must know she isn’t as clever as she thinks she is. In fact, if he did he’d realise she could never manage to hide a secret like that, as Aunt Narmah knew all along.

  But if Rielle had been a priest she would have to consider the possibility it wasn’t a mistake, and store that fact away in the back of her mind.

  Along with a thousand other meaningless comments. The priests are surely trained to know the difference between a foolish remark and true hints at magical ability.

  She had to believe that. And put it out of her mind. Following her aunt into her room, she resolved to think of nothing but paint preparation for the rest of the night.

  CHAPTER 4

  Four days later, Rielle sat among the daughters of the richest and oldest families of Fyre. She tugged her scarf back so she could let her eyes drift slowly across the vast painted half-dome that arced over the altar, as she always did when their affable old teacher, Sa-Baro, began to waffle.

  Though bigger than the one at her family’s local temple, the style was old-fashioned and static in comparison. The scene was divided into quarters. To the left, all was idyllic. Perfect trees laden with fruit overhung fields of crops and garden beds full of herbs and flowers. Rain was falling from improbable clouds that barely disturbed the pale blue sky. People tended the crops, harvested the fruit and herbs, and stood engrossed in conversation, as indicated by little curling lines emerging from their open mouths. This time was known as The Beginning.

  But as the observer moved to the right, the scene grew darker in hue and subject. This was The Strife. Storm clouds covered the sky. Men were shown fighting in pairs and small groupings, then armies battling armies. Red magic spilled from sorcerers’ hands, enveloping their victims in writhing flames. Women wept over dying children while priests watched, hands cupped and empty to indicate they had no magic with which to heal.

  Then a scene of desolation followed. Blackened earth, dead trees and skeletons formed the landscape, with ruined or ramshackle houses occupied by thin, sickly people. It was the time of The Waste. But in the background a shining figure stood at the head of a glowing crowd – a priest surrounded by his followers. Storm clouds still filled the sky, but they broke apart and shrank in the fourth quarter, where The Restoration began.

  In the final section the sky was blue again but the land was changed. Crops and herbs were growing, but in a desert land. Priests stood among the people, and in one place two with dark halos stood either side of a man kneeling in chains, surrounded by tiny red flames.

  Above the sky and storm clouds the painting darkened into an expanse of deep luminous blue, with stars represented by tiny criss-crosses of silver. Ten Angels floated above the world, surrounded by white halos of fine silver lines. Their skin was the colour of milk, lighter than even the rare ruddy pink of the southerners who occasionally visited Fyre. Their hair was as blue as the night sky. You would never mistake one for human, Rielle thought.

  The Angels furthest to the left smiled serenely upon the scene of bounty. Those above the scenes of human folly wept and scowled. Over the third panel they were stern and wise, but the last were joyous. To each Angel was attributed one of the great forces, both beneficial and destructive: birth, death, drought, storm, wild, tame, fire, snow, justice and love.

  Below, the ghostly outlines of people rose towards the Angels, disappearing into their shining halos. But above the man surrounded by flames, the soul rising into the heavens had been torn asunder by the sweep of the Angel of Justice’s hand.

  Rielle shivered and thought of the tainted. She knew she ought to believe he deserved that fate, if not for learning to use magic, stealing from the Angels, then for abducting her and threatening her with a knife, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. And wondering if he’d been driven to do what he’d done, and why. I suppose I want there to be good reasons, because to think he turned from the Angels deliberately and wanted to harm me is worse.

  Maybe that meant she was naïve. Maybe she could not bear to think that people could do evil for no reason.

  The girls around her suddenly sighed as one, then began to turn to each other and speak. Jolted out of her thoughts, Rielle looked around and realised that the lesson had finished. She hoped Sa-Baro hadn’t noticed that her attention had strayed. He had turned away and was walking towards the door to the inner temple where the priest, Sa-Gest, waited. The younger priest’s gaze shifted to hers and his mouth widened into a smile. Remembering the other girls’ whisperings about him, she managed a wan smile and quickly looked away.

  As the others rose, she stood and followed Tareme and Bayla to the main aisle. They hurried to the temple doors. Once outside, the two girls and several others crowded around Rielle, their eyes wide and full of curiosity.

  “So, what was it like?”

  “Were you scared?”

  “Did he do anything to you?”

  “Did he use magic?”

  Rielle never managed to finish answering the first question, or any after, before her reply was drowned out by the next enquiry. She gave up just as a voice boomed over them all.

  “This nitternatter is disturbing the serenity of the temple.” They turned to see Sa-Baro standing, arms crossed, in the doorway. “Off with you all, before the Angels come down to take away your voices.”

  As the girls scattered in all directions, Tareme grabbed Rielle’s arm and pulled her down the temple stairs, around the corner of the building and out of sight of the priest, her twin following.

  “So? What happened?”

  Rielle told them, keeping the story as short as possible. She looked for a familiar face among the few people in the courtyard, but saw no sign of a dyeworks servant waiting to escort her home.

  Tareme and Bayla made appropriate noises of shock and relief.

  “Sounds like you kept your blood cool,” Bayla said. “I’d have never dared to try tricking him into walking into the priest.”

  “I think by then I was too tired to be scared,” Rielle told them. “We’d gone all over the city, or that’s what it felt like.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be…” Tareme frowned and looked over Rielle’s shoulder, then adjusted her scarf and grinned at Rielle and Bayla. “You won’t believe who is watching us.” She grabbed Bayla’s arm to stop her from turning to look behind. “No, don’t look yet.” Rielle froze mid-turn.

  “Who?” Bayla demanded.

  “Guess,” Tareme said. “Dark. Handsome. Unmarried.”

  “Male?” Bayla asked.

  “Yes, of course.” Tareme giggled. “Who is it? More clues?”

  “Yes,” Bayla and Rielle said together.

  “Talented. Famous. Has done some work in temples.”

  Rielle felt her stomach flip over. “Oh! Not Izare Saffre?”

  “Yes!” Tareme’s eyes were ablaze with excitement.

  “But … why is he watching us?” Bayla asked.

  “He was nearby when the priests caught the tainted,” Rielle told her. “He offered to escort me home.”

  Tareme’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Angels! Did you accept?”

  “The priest didn’t advise against it so … yes.”

  The two girls smothered exclamations behind their palms. Tareme looked behind Rielle again.
“He’s still there and looking at us. He must be waiting for you.” She grabbed Rielle’s shoulder and turned her around. “Call him over.”

  “No. But…” Looking up, Rielle saw that Izare was indeed standing twenty paces away. He smiled as their eyes met, then strode towards her.

  “Ais Lazuli,” he said. “Once again we happen to be in the same place at the same time.”

  Her face warmed. “We do, Aos Saffre,” she replied.

  His smile widened and he looked around her shoulder. “But I see you are already with friends. Would you introduce me?”

  Rielle turned back to see Tareme and Bayla smiling broadly. She made the appropriate introductions, but she had barely finished when a voice called their names. Rielle’s stomach sank as the twins stepped apart to welcome their brother into the circle. He grinned at Rielle as he joined them.

  “Ais Lazuli, I hear you have become quite the heroine,” Ako said. “You are gaining a reputation as a woman not to be trifled with.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” she replied, trying not to emphasise the “you” overly, and failing.

  His gaze shifted to Izare. Suppressing a sigh, she introduced the two men to each other.

  “Aos Saffre escorted Rielle home after her ordeal,” Bayla added. She hooked her arm around Ako’s. “As you, brother, best do for your sisters now.”

  Tareme scowled at her sister as Ako nodded. “Of course,” Ako agreed. “Farewell, Ais Lazuli and Aos Saffre.” He offered his arm to Tareme, who took it reluctantly and sent her sister a dark look as she was led away.

  Rielle watched them go, puzzled. Why had Bayla initiated such a quick exit? She had appeared as eager to meet Izare as Tareme had been. Maybe she didn’t trust her brother not to offend or embarrass them in front of Izare. Or maybe she was less happy to have a male family member see her with a man of lower social standing.

  “So, Ais Lazuli,” Izare said. “You aren’t walking home alone again, are you?”

  Rielle turned to him. “No. Mother is sending a servant. Who I may miss if I linger here. Excuse me, Aos Saffre, I had best stand where they will find me.” She started back towards the centre of the courtyard.