“I know what I’ve seen.”
“But is that an oracle or your own fears talking?”
“It isn’t...I don’t...” Kharel sounded distressed.
“Oh, come now. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Ranenok spoke even more gently. His words were followed by the sound of kissing.
Noises from the summerhouse grew unmistakeably more passionate. Tevi backed away through the ranks of tall flowers.
At the gravel path, she stopped and looked again at the summerhouse. No alarm had sounded. Sometimes even sorcerers could let their guard down. Tevi pursed her lips in an expression of sympathy. Ranenok should be free to pick the lover of his choice without fear of whoever else might object. It was something that everyone deserved.
Tevi raised her eyes to the sky. The moon had slipped below the battlements. The shortcut through the garden had not proved quick. Tevi swallowed. Her own relationship was about to hit a temporary rough patch. Jemeryl would not be happy.
When she opened the door to the main room of their quarters, Tevi caught a brief glimpse of Jemeryl pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace before her partner spun to face her, hands on her hips.
“Tevi! Where have you been?” Jemeryl both looked and sounded angry.
“I’m sorry. I was playing on the battle table and I got carried away.”
“This always happens.”
“I know. But I swear, one minute it was daylight outside, and the next time I looked up it was night.”
Jemeryl was not placated. “I was worried about you. I thought Dunarth might have kidnapped you for a few experiments.”
Underneath the anger, Tevi could hear genuine fear in her lover’s voice, and a pang of guilt hit her. She stepped closer and pulled Jemeryl into a hug. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can say. I don’t know where the time went.”
“I sent a message over to Yenneg’s rooms an hour ago.”
“I never received it. Whoever took the message must have forgotten to pass it on.”
A little of the anger left Jemeryl’s stance. Her body softened into the embrace, although Tevi could tell that she was not yet ready to forgive.
“You think you can just give me a hug and I’ll let it drop?”
“No. I know you better than that.”
“That’s not a good answer.”
“Would you like me to rephrase it?”
Jemeryl pulled away. She plucked a twig off Tevi’s cloak and held it to the light, then she stepped farther back and considered the state of the rest of Tevi’s clothing. Her frown shifted to one of confusion. “Are you sure you’ve just been playing at battles all this time?”
“Not quite. I got delayed on the way back. By Ranenok and Kharel.”
“How?”
“I spotted Ranenok tiptoeing through the garden so I followed him. He met Kharel in the summerhouse.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
“Um...yes. They’re lovers.”
“Oh.” Jemeryl sank back into Tevi’s arms. Surprise had clearly swept all other emotions away. “Do you think Bykoda knows?” she asked after a long pause.
“From the bit I overheard, Ranenok and Kharel don’t think so. They were worried about what might happen if she found out.”
“They’re probably right. Two acolytes forming a relationship is the last thing Bykoda wants. It’s why she puts so much effort into setting them at each other’s throats. Individually, she’s more than a match for any of them.”
“Could Ranenok and Kharel together challenge her?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so, but Bykoda doesn’t take chances. Did you know that the council meeting is the only occasion where she is ever in the presence of more than two of her acolytes at once?”
“So it’s a good place to kill her if you want a big audience.”
Jemeryl lay her face on Tevi’s shoulder. Tevi held her close, feeling the angry tension slowly drain from the body in her arms. She was going to have to do something to make it up to Jemeryl, but for now they were in harmony.
“I wonder...” Jemeryl said after a long silence.
“What?”
“I’d been thinking that the council room was an odd place for the assassination. Why tackle Bykoda where she’s strongest? Why make things difficult? But it would make sense if you wanted to be sure that the other acolytes knew who’d done it.”
“Would they do that? Most murderers want to hide their crime.”
“If they take over the Empire they get to make up the laws. Maybe they want to kill Bykoda in a spectacular fashion for the intimidation factor. The assassin wants the other acolytes to sign up as recruits for the new regime and knows they won’t do it willingly on account of them all hating each other’s guts.”
“Except for Ranenok and Kharel.”
“And maybe a few others we don’t know about.” Jemeryl yawned. “We can talk more tomorrow. It’s too late now.” She pulled back and directed an accusatory gaze at Tevi. “Try to be earlier next time.”
“I will. I promise.” But as she kissed Jemeryl’s lips, Tevi wondered if it was a promise she could keep.
*
Herbalism had always been Jemeryl’s least favourite branch of magic. The discipline involved too much careful measuring of unpleasant substances for unspectacular results. It also brought back memories of working in hospital wards—the smells, sounds, and sights. Jemeryl knew that for ordinary citizens the healers were the most admired of Coven sorcerers. On a daily basis, people’s lives depended upon the cures that herbalism provided, but that did not make it fun.
Jemeryl looked at the façade of the apothecary with distaste. The subject held even less appeal for her here in Tirakhalod where it was used to kill more often than cure. She had avoided the apothecary whenever possible. However, this far north, plants grew that were unknown in the Protectorate, and Dunarth was the expert in them. Not taking samples back would be unforgivably remiss. Jemeryl took a deep breath and climbed the steps to the door.
The first room she entered was an office. Ledgers filled a long shelf on one wall. Two clerks were working at a desk in the middle. A blackboard with scribbled notes was by the door. Jemeryl assumed the clerks would both be witches, magic users with access to only one of the paranormal dimensions. For witches assigned to the apothecary, their extra dimension would certainly be the fifth, where the life forces of animals and plants were held.
“Can we help you, ma’am?”
“I’d like to see Dunarth.”
“She’s through there.” One of the witches pointed to a door.
Even without the body on the slab, it would have been obvious to anyone that the room Jemeryl entered was used for dissection. Knives and bone saws lay ready. The air was thick with the smell of blood. On either side, shelves were lined with jars containing organs: some human, some animal, and some Jemeryl could not even guess at.
Dunarth and a young witch were working on the body. The alchemist glanced up as Jemeryl opened the door but continued with her task.
“Do you want something?”
“I was hoping for a few samples.”
“Animal or vegetable?” Dunarth’s voice was conversational, even cheery.
“Vegetable.”
“Can it wait a few minutes?”
“Yes.”
Dunarth nodded and carried on slicing. The corpse was a middle-aged woman of thickset build. A few old scars crossed her shoulder and upper arm. The hair had already been shaved from her head. Her skin was white. Jemeryl noted the severed jugular and surmised that the body had been drained, but no visible cause of death was apparent.
Jemeryl turned away. She did not want to know more, but a displeased snort made her look back. Dunarth’s expression had changed to annoyance. She discarded her knife and stepped back.
“There’s no point going on. Waste.”
The witch gave a questioning look. “Ma’am?”
“You can tidy up. Throw the blood out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dunarth stomped over to a basin to wash her hands.
Jemeryl joined her. “The experiment failed?” She could not help herself asking.
“Wasn’t an experiment. One of the soldiers got blind drunk and fell off the battlements last night. Broke her neck. I was hoping for a few samples. But from the state of her liver, she can’t have spent much of the past ten years sober. All her organs will be affected. Even the blood is useless. The bones might be all right, but I’ve got plenty of those in stock.”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the witch interrupted. “What shall I do with the body?”
“Put it out for burning with the rest of the rubbish.”
“Might the woman have some friends who’d want to bury her?” Jemeryl asked.
Dunarth stared at her in confusion, much as a cook might if it were suggested that the inedible parts of a sheep should be returned to the flock for a ceremony. “Why bother?”
Small wonder that she was so hated by the ungifted troops, Jemeryl thought, but said nothing.
“Now, what did you want?” Dunarth asked.
“I wonder if I could have specimens of some local herbs.”
“Which ones?”
“These for starters. But basically anything you think we might not have back in the Protectorate.” Jemeryl pulled out the list she had prepared.
Dunarth scanned it briskly. “Hmm. I don’t have any of that, or that. They don’t come into season until summer. But I can let you have all the rest and some other stuff. Follow me.”
The alchemist led the way to another room, where arrangements of jars, pipes, and funnels covered the benches. Jemeryl recognised the equipment as being for the preparation of potions. Judging by the sound of soft dripping, several were currently in distillation. Well-stocked shelves filled the rear wall of the room. Dunarth marched over and started taking down bottles and pouches.
“Watch what you touch in here. Most of it is poisonous.”
The warning was unnecessary. Dunarth’s potions had a deadly reputation, and Jemeryl would have had better sense than to prod around. She looked at the nearest bench. Green liquid was being filtered through sand. With morbid curiosity, Jemeryl examined the aura, expecting to be shocked, but to her surprise, it was faintly familiar.
“This one isn’t. And I feel that I ought to know it.”
Dunarth glanced over her shoulder. “Why? It’s a pointless waste of time.”
“Then why are you making it?”
“I was asked to.”
Jemeryl frowned. “Couldn’t you refuse?”
“Doing a favour can be a good investment.”
“So what is it?”
“A love potion.”
The reply was the last thing Jemeryl had expected, but at least she could account for the familiarity. Her apprenticeship in the Coven had seen its share of adolescent pranks. But why was Dunarth making one now? Surely nobody over the age of sixteen would bother with such a thing. Yet who, apart from the acolytes or Bykoda, would have the authority to request a potion made? And who would Dunarth think it worth currying favours with?
“Who’s it for?” Jemeryl had to ask.
Dunarth stopped measuring out the herbs and treated her to a long hard stare. “How long have you been in Tirakhalod?”
“Just over two and a half years.”
“And you haven’t yet learnt not to ask questions like that?” The alchemist gave a bark of laughter. “Let’s just say, someone who should know better.”
The description did not help. It covered all the possible suspects.
Dunarth carried on collecting the samples. Watching her, Jemeryl wondered whether by doing it in person rather than delegating the task to one of the witches, Dunarth might be trying to make another small investment. And if so, what repayment the alchemist was hoping for.
The answer to this question came as soon as the samples were finally bagged up.
“Um...your servant, Captain Tevirik.”
“She isn’t my servant.”
Dunarth brushed the objection away. “I’m intrigued by the potion you made for her, the one for strength.”
“I didn’t make it. It’s brewed on the island chain she comes from.”
“Does she have any with her?”
“No. As I understand it, the potion needs to be taken throughout childhood. It affects muscle and bone development. After the person is fully grown, there is no need to take it again.”
“Really.” Dunarth looked impressed. “I’ve tried making strength potions. The trouble is that the heart is a muscle like any other. People who took it ended up bursting blood vessels in their brains. I was never able to sort it out. Do you know that—”
“I’m familiar with the problems.” Dunarth was not the only one to be intrigued. Until Tevi had shown up in the Protectorate, every sorcerer in the Coven had believed that strength potions were impossible.
“I wonder...” Dunarth began cautiously. “If you would allow me to examine her. I promise I won’t do any permanent damage.”
Jemeryl restrained the first angry words that rose to her lips. Instead she settled for the one answer that she knew would cause the most confusion. “It’s not for me to say. You’ll have to ask Tevi.”
*
“It’s time to go.”
The magpie’s strident voice made Tevi jump. She glanced over her shoulder at Klara, perched on the windowsill. The beaklike eyes could not display human emotions, but Tevi felt the smugness radiating. She turned back to the table. The battle before her was reaching its climax. The first of her soldiers had breached the walls. If they could claim the gatehouse then the city was hers for the taking.
“Um...I want to see...”
“It’s on your head. You know what Jem will say. Just don’t blame me.”
Tevi sighed ruefully. Indeed, she did know what Jemeryl would say. And in truth, there was no need to continue. The defenders were falling back. Now that they had been routed from their positions, the battle was effectively over. It would have been nice to see it through to its conclusion, but what was the point in having a talking alarm if you ignored it?
“All right. I’m going.”
Tevi collected her belongings and headed for the door. Klara fluttered over and landed on her shoulder. Bringing her along to keep an eye on the time had been Jemeryl’s idea. So far, it was working well.
As she passed the door to his study, she met Yenneg coming out. The army commander gave a warm smile and adopted an informal pose, leaning his shoulder on the door frame.
“Ah, Tevi. Are you going?”
“Yes, sir. I’d promised Jemeryl that I wouldn’t be late this time.”
Another broad smile lit his well-formed features. “And it’s so easy to lose track of time.”
“I know. That’s why I brought Klara with me.”
Yenneg’s eyes flicked briefly in the magpie’s direction. A pensive expression flashed across his face. “How did you do today?”
“I won the battle of Rezecha Ford. And took the city of Tracheck.”
“You did well.”
“But I think I could do better. I’m not making the most of my cavalry.”
Yenneg nodded. “It’s all a question of timing. If you can wait a minute, I’ve got a book that you might find interesting.”
“Certainly.” Being a few minutes late would not matter. It was the few hours that had been testing Jemeryl’s patience.
Yenneg strolled back into his study. From her position at the door, Tevi saw him scanning along one of the bookshelves. He disappeared from view as he moved on to a second set. “Aha. Here it is.” Tevi heard the sound of rustling and then he was back at the door, holding out a thin volume.
“There you go. You can take it with you to read. Dravin’s thesis on the deployment of cavalry. It’s the classic text on the subject, a couple of centuries old, but it’s never been beaten. The language can be hard to follow in places, but I
’m sure Jemeryl can help you out.”
“Thank you, sir.”
*
After the evening meal, Tevi got the chance to look through the book that Yenneg had given her. Reading and writing were unknown on the islands of her birth. The skill was one that Tevi had acquired only after coming to the mainland as a grown woman, and she was happy to admit that her standard of literacy was open to improvement. Even so, she thought that “hard to follow” was definitely an understatement for the text.
It did not help that the book was written in an archaic version of the local dialect. After more than two years living in Tirakhalod, and with a little magical assistance from Jemeryl, Tevi was able to speak the standard form fluently, but the outdated terminology in the book was a struggle to understand.
Tevi glanced across to where Jemeryl sat transcribing loose notes into her journals, ready to take back to Lyremouth. A sorcerer’s work required much scouring of ancient texts, and Jemeryl was by nature a far more enthusiastic scholar than she was.
“Um...Jem. What does Giggynge of sheeldes and helmes bokelynge mean?”
“What?”
“I’m trying to read this book that Yenneg lent me. But I’m having trouble.”
Jemeryl left the table and came to sit beside Tevi on the couch. As she leafed through the book her shoulders started to shake with laughter. “Yenneg certainly wants to broaden your education.”
“It’s supposed to be about making the best use of cavalry.”
“It probably is. But I’d struggle to read it. And even if I could make sense of the words, I wouldn’t understand the context, although it might mean something to you. Um...Giggynge of sheeldes, that sounds like it’s something to do with adjusting the straps on shields.”
“Well, obviously you’d have to do that immediately prior to battle.”
“Oh yes, obviously.” Jemeryl put her arm around Tevi’s shoulder, still laughing. “I’m teasing you. I’d have assumed the straps would have been at the right adjustment to start with.”
“No. When you’re travelling, you—” Tevi broke off. A folded slip of paper had dropped from the book and landed on her lap.
The Empress and the Acolyte Page 10