The Godstone

by Violette Malan

  “I hope you’re not suggesting that I leave you,” Elvanyn said. “Because I won’t.”

  “No,” Arlyn said. “Of course not. But the two of you can leave me.”

  “What?” Elvanyn and I spoke at the same time, though in entirely different tones.

  “I’ll go to the vault. I imagine that Metenari has kept it open, since he doesn’t have the key.” Arlyn licked his lips. “I know where the Godstone is, and the lock should respond to me, whether I have power or not. Like the earrings, the locks aren’t dependent on outside sources of power.”

  “No.” Elvanyn’s voice was so cold I felt a shiver pass through me. “I don’t trust you alone with it, no matter what you say about not having any power.”

  “Then you come with me,” Arlyn said. “We’ll leave Fenra on the outside—out of it completely. If we’re caught, we’ll claim we tricked her, and she can say the same.”

  “It’s one thing for visitors to be on the grounds, especially during the day, but you won’t get into the building without me,” I argued. “Metenari is sure to have posted guards. I am the only one who can get past them. Tell me where the stone is, give me the key . . .” I trailed off as both men shook their heads.

  “We don’t even know for sure that there are guards,” Arlyn began.

  “That’s easy enough, I’ll go and see,” Elvanyn said. “No, it should be me. No one knows me here.” I thought I detected a flatness in his voice, as if he was thinking about all the people who would have known him. “I’ll check if there are guards, how many, their schedule. Once I’ve reported back, we can make more informed decisions.”

  He had been a guard himself, I remembered. “You’re not a practitioner,” I pointed out.

  “Nor do I need to be, to see the number and quality of any guards who may have been left to prevent unsavory strangers from entering. My guess is that if anyone sees me, they’ll simply tell me to move along, whereas either of you two are bound to be detained.”

  “Very well. Then I suggest you go now. Fenra and I will wait for you here.”

  “And if you have to move?”

  “Then in the Sun Dial Patio. If things go badly, we’ll try to get out that way.”

  * * *

  Elvanyn

  As soon as he was out of their sight, Elva’s footsteps slowed, though he tried to look as much as possible like a commoner here on an errand. If things hadn’t changed too much, the guard passed commoners in over the East Bridge, and wouldn’t bother those already inside the grounds unless they actually caused trouble.

  If things hadn’t changed too much.

  He didn’t know how he felt—or even what he should be feeling. The first few years of his life in the New Zone, he’d dreamed of being right here—home, the White Court, the stone of the buildings, the patios and fountains, his own small room and the dining hall of the guards. His duties, his friends. The smell of wet earth and stone when he had night watch on a rainy evening. He would have traded anything to be back where he belonged.

  But over time that homesickness faded, leaving only the occasional pang, fewer and fewer as the years went by, when something that looked or tasted or smelled like his old life suddenly struck him. He’d stopped thinking of his life here, and started living his life there. Now that he was back, everything looked and smelled just different enough to throw him off, to unsettle him.

  Or did everything feel different because of Fenra Lowens?

  As soon as he’d heard the word “practitioner” his heart had started beating faster, and it didn’t slow down when Fenra walked into his office. She’d been so solemn, so obviously exhausted—so dusty—that he’d only thought of what he could do for her, not what she could do for him. Xandra walking in swept all that away, but later, when she’d worried about how the horses felt, and how the grass felt, he’d known that the feeling he’d had —that she was somehow important in a way he’d never thought of—he knew that feeling was real.

  He shook away these thoughts and focused on the here and now. Evidently his sheriff’s clothing was not considered odd enough, when he was walking by himself, for anyone to look at him twice. Or maybe it was the way he walked: with just the right amount of swagger, one arm swinging and the other hand resting on the hilt of his sword, as though he had every right to be here, and what’s more, had an important errand. Still, it was odd to see all these unarmed people. In his day even practitioners routinely wore swords, though of course on the right hip, not on the left like commoners. He suddenly remembered a summer afternoon teaching Xandra to fence right-handed. No one would expect that from a practitioner, any more than Elva’s own opponents had expected him to fight with his left. Another memory he didn’t have time for right now.

  There were more people here than there had been in the courtyard—more than he’d ever seen in this particular area before. People here were on their way somewhere, supper perhaps; it was the time of day for it. Very few were lingering to speak to one another, and small shops along the way were closing, or at least bringing in their wares. There didn’t used to be so many commoners living in the fringes of the White Court, away from the better patios and gardens. Of course, someone had to bake the bread, provide fish, fruits, and vegetables. The meat and the spices. Practitioners were too busy to do their own marketing, or to cook their own food, though travel on the Road taught them all how. Still, he thought this section, here in the older part of the palace, was more crowded than he remembered.

  He’d taken the long way round to reach the tower, and now that he was closing in, Elva shifted direction subtly, making sure no one watching him could tell it was his destination. He also remembered the arched entrance of the tower as having both an outer and an inner gate, but the openings were empty, and the whole area appeared deserted. Nevertheless, Elva knew that a guard alcove was tucked into the right-hand section between the two now-nonexistent barriers, where men could stand without being seen from the street outside. That couldn’t have been changed, not and leave the entrance intact.

  As he had expected, a young man in apprentice gray but without the black cap stepped out of the alcove as Elva drew even with it.

  “I’m sorry, Dom, this area’s off limits today.”

  “Really? Whyever for? I was hoping to see the view from the battlements.” He spoke at his most charming, trying to appear totally fascinated.

  “There’s been a wall collapse, sir, and we’re keeping people out until repairs are completed. Should only be a day or two, if you’d like a tour later on.”

  Elva drew down his eyebrows. Turned out his clothing was odd enough for the boy to take him for a tourist from an outer Mode—someone too naïve to know about tensions between the Courts. “Two days? I wouldn’t have thought it would take practitioners two days to fix a broken wall.” As he expected, the boy took the bait, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the stone, ready to gossip with a friendly and interested stranger.

  “Well, we don’t want to fix it with practice, you see. Then someone’s theories would always be in use, keeping it up, no pun intended.”

  Elva grinned, rolled his eyes, and gave the boy a light punch on the upper arm. This child was an insult to real guards everywhere. “Whatever do you do, then?”

  “Well, the council sent to the Red Court for the Court Engineers to come look at the problem, and find some mundane solution. That’s what’s taking so long, they’re in no hurry to get here, and then each and every one of them has to have their say.”

  “Makes sense,” Elva said. He remembered Xandra using that word, “mundane.” It meant people who weren’t practitioners. Commoners. “Practitioners are far too valuable to waste on buildings, that’s for certain. Or for guarding, for that matter.” He smiled his warmest and most winning smile, knowing that there would be a twinkle in his eye. “I’d love to hear more about what’s going on in the White Court. What tim
e do you get off?”

  The young man grinned back, and ducked his head. “Not until sunset, Dom.” When visitors had to be gone from the Court.

  “What a shame. Well, thanks for the information. I’ll try to come back once the tower’s open again, if I’m still in the City. Fair day to you.” The salutation was out of his mouth before he thought of it, but the apprentice didn’t blink. Either it was still in use, or the boy put it down to his being from outside the City.

  Except for two people who smiled at him, one female and one male, Elva’s walk back to the courtyard where Fenra and—he had to start calling him Arlyn—were waiting for him was uneventful. The crowds thinned out as he left the older areas of the Court, to where red brick replaced white stone.

  Fenra and Arlyn still sat on the bench where he’d left them, though he thought they’d been sitting closer together. Within the framing of the arch they sat under, they didn’t look at all like fugitives, but like two people taking advantage of a cool place to sit. The girl looked better now, he thought, her natural color restored, less ashy gray than it had been when she’d brought them through from her old mentor’s vault. That was some trick, he thought, wondering whether even Xandra in his day would have been able to do it.

  Which endangered Fenra all that much more, since Xandra—Arlyn—needed and coveted that power. Elva made sure he sat down between them.

  “They’re taking no chances,” he said. “The whole tower is closed, and there’s a guard at the lower entrance to prevent anyone going in. Mind you,” he continued, cutting Arlyn off as he began to speak, “he wasn’t a real guard, but an apprentice—or maybe a student, since I don’t imagine there’s so very many apprentices that they can be used as guards. In my day commoner guards were used against outsiders, since we weren’t much use against even the youngest apprentice.”

  “Metenari started mentoring apprentices almost on the day he became a practitioner himself,” Fenra said. “So he might have a few to spare.”

  “Did you ever have one?” Elva gave her a more genuine smile than he’d given to the young apprentice.

  “No.” She smiled back, but shook her head. Unlike the apprentice, she saw right through him. “Very few practitioners want to live in the outer Modes, once their apprentice tours are complete, so I have always been alone.”

  “I’ve never had one either.”

  “That’s because you’re a prick,” Elva said without turning around. Though he grinned when Fenra laughed.

  “Perhaps we should get back to the matter in hand,” she said, still smiling.

  “I see two approaches,” Elva said. “First, the soldier’s answer: we kill him.”

  “No.” Fenra and Arlyn spoke together.

  “Fine. Second, he’s silly enough for us to trick him by pretending to be with these engineers he spoke of—”

  “No engineers have been sent for, really,” Arlyn said.

  Elva spread his hands, palms up. “I know that, and you know that, but I’d judge the boy on the gate doesn’t, not from the way he was talking.”

  “I have a suggestion.” Fenra looked from him to Arlyn and back again. “I can go myself and ask to see Metenari. I will say you tricked me, and that I have only now managed to get away from you. While I distract the guard with my story, the two of you will sneak in.”

  “I don’t like it,” Arlyn said. “I don’t like it at all.”

  “Neither do I,” Elva said. “Unfortunately, it may have the most chance of success.”

  Seven

  Fenra

  THE ONLY THING we were able to agree on was that we preferred not to kill the guard.

  “Think.” I knew I was right. “You cannot risk capture. Elvanyn has no status here at all. Whereas I can charm the guard.”

  “With what?” Arlyn said while Elvanyn looked at him sideways.

  “This.” I broke off a small twig bearing three new leaves from a nearby orange tree, freeing the scent of the blossoms. I smoothed it between my hands. “The boy at the gate will take me to where Metenari can be found,” I told the twig, breathing on it twice. “Once we have cleared the gate, the two of you can take advantage of the now unguarded doorway to enter the tower. Once your business there is concluded, I will rejoin you.”

  “We?” “How, exactly?” Elvanyn and Arlyn not only spoke at the same time, they wore identical expressions.

  “You’ll be in custody,” Arlyn added.

  I tapped the spot where Medlyn’s locket lay under my shirt. “Will I?”

  Elvanyn’s eyes narrowed. “Metenari will take it from you.”

  “To him it’s a piece of jewelry,” I said in my most certain tone. I myself had not known the locket was a key when I first saw it. “And no amount of examination will show him anything different. He would be ashamed to take a piece of jewelry from me, especially if I have come to him humbly, asking for his help.”

  It took some time, and further arguing, before they finally agreed.

  “And if Metenari is in the vault? If the guard takes you there?”

  I shook my head even before Elvanyn finished his question. “Let me in to see what he is doing? Absolutely not. Metenari would never run the risk of having to share credit for some discovery by having another practitioner present. Even one he believes is only a third class.”

  “His apprentices don’t count,” Arlyn added when it appeared Elvanyn would ask. “He takes credit for their work, not the other way around.”

  Elvanyn finally nodded, but I could tell he was not entirely convinced. “So he might leave an apprentice in the vault? What do we do then, if Arlyn hasn’t any power?”

  I ignored the “if.” “You are in no more danger from apprentices than you would be from anyone else—less, in fact. Metenari disapproves of training in arms, and that is the only way they can be a danger to you, since apprentices are bound from using practice on others without permission until they become practitioners.”

  “Since when?” Arlyn said, his voice sharp.

  “Since the Red Court insisted on it.”

  Arlyn pressed his lips together and shook his head. I refrained from pointing out that too much autonomy and too little oversight was what had brought us to this place.

  “In any case,” I continued, “I do not imagine that apprentices who cannot use any practice on you would be a problem for the High Sheriff of the Dundalk Territory.”

  Elvanyn touched the hilt of his sword, and the grips of his two pistols, and bowed.

  Even though it was my own idea, I trembled as I approached the tower entrance alone. I did not try to hide it, as I thought it would fit with my story. I jumped when the youngster at the gate stepped out to meet me, and like a fool he let me grab his arm. I hung on as if I were about to fall over from exhaustion and fright, and tucked my three leaves into the cuff of his shirt, where they touched his skin.

  “Practitioner Metenari?” I asked, breathless. “I was told I might find him here.”

  “He is, yes, but—”

  “I must see him immediately, a matter of great importance that pertains to his present work.”

  Annoyance, curiosity, worry, all flashed over his face in the few seconds it took him to make up his mind. “If you follow this wall, Practitioner—”

  I moved my hand to his cuff and squeezed. “Please, apprentice, I am in no condition to walk any further distance without assistance. I need your help.”

  This time only worry showed on his face. Worry over what Metenari would say to him if he made the wrong choice. Finally, just as I was thinking the leaves would not work, his face cleared completely and he smiled. “If you would come with me, Practitioner . . . ?”

  “Lowens, Fenra Lowens. Your mentor and I were apprenticed in the same year,” I added, and he became even more relaxed, more certain he was doing the right thing in abandoning his post.
r />   “Then if you would, Practitioner Lowens, please do use me as your staff.”

  I did not have to fake my exhaustion very much, and my experience with my leg was a great help in using the young man as a cane. I leaned on him more than I needed to, to give him the idea that I was even more tired and weak than I appeared.

  He led me into the building, past the main staircase, and down the long hallway to a bench at the foot of the rear staircase, lowering me with great care and courtesy to the seat.

  “If you will wait here, Practitioner Lowens, I’ll see whether Practitioner Metenari is upstairs.”

  I had no option but to watch him trot up the stairs without me. It would have been out of character for me to insist on coming with him, considering the emphasis I had put on my exhaustion and pain. At least I had cleared the door and the main staircase for Elva and Arlyn. Still, I knew how long the apprentice should take, and how long I would wait before going up after him, regardless of how it might look. Just as I pushed myself to my feet, the youngster came skipping down the stairs, with Metenari descending more sedately behind him.

  “Santaron! Thank you for seeing me. Please help me—you must—I have made such a foolish mistake.”

  “Of course, Fenra, of course. Come this way—Konne, please help Practitioner Lowens, can’t you see she’s limping? Come, Fenra, let’s get you sitting down and you can tell me all about it.”

  His concern was genuine. That made me feel a little shabby.

  I had hoped that we would go to Metenari’s office in the other wing, but my old classmate had taken over a suite of rooms in the old tower itself. They had been cleaned, and supplied with a worktable and comfortable chairs, but the paint on the walls was cracked and crumbled with age, and new carpets and bowls of peonies floating in water couldn’t quite cover a lingering musty smell.

  The young man, Konne, helped me as far as an overstuffed chair near the window and held my elbow while I lowered myself into it. I gave the leaves under his cuff a final squeeze. A casement window to my right let in cool air, and when he noticed me shivering, he closed it. Though the panes of glass were small, and many were rippled, they didn’t block the light.