“Why would the sender entrust such a delivery to a messenger who couldn’t be bothered to deliver the message himself, and instead ended up giving it to a random boy fishing on the river?” Elder asked, pushing the tip of his staff into Aren’s chest.
“About that…” Aren sucked in his lips, breathed, then said, “He gave me the message because he was supposedly being pursued by a mage. That’s how I got the staff.” Elder looked as though he could beat Aren on the spot. “The mage went after Selina and me, and that’s why we were running through the Wood.”
Elder knocked his staff against the ground, then said, “I will deal with your lies later. For now, tell us why a mage would want to stop the message that you say started it all?”
“Credibility?” Aren suggested. “After everything that’s happened, I’ve come to the conclusion that I was duped. The messenger and mage wanted to get the letter to you, but when the Harbor closed, they were at a disadvantage. The messenger made it seem like he was being pursued, and the mage was there to ensure that I had the motivation to get the letter to you. The mage didn’t like the change of plans and didn’t think I’d succeed. There was too much riding on that message. It’s a theory, anyway.”
“Why didn’t the mage or the messenger read it to activate the spell?” Elder asked.
Aren sighed. “I don’t know. I can only guess that it takes a certain kind of person to read it. Maybe you need to have lived in the House or something? So many variables.”
Vir spoke up. “Is Rose behind this?”
“I don’t know.” Aren ran his hands through his hair. “But that’s why I want to read the message. Is it possible that Rose is behind this? Yes. Is it possible someone’s infiltrated the House of Rose? Yes. Is it possible the message got intercepted between Rose and Tiede and cursed with magic? Yes.” He sighed. “I need to read it.”
Vir looked at Elder. “You’ve read it. Did you see anything odd?”
“I didn’t, but I wasn’t looking for any hidden meanings. What specifically are you looking for?”
There was an explosion, the sound of magic obliterating stone, and the House rattled. A Hunter peered into the room to check on them, then disappeared.
“I don’t know,” Aren said. “I’m going on instinct, and something is telling me to look at the message.” Vir and Elder only stared at him. Stars, he hated being treated as if he were some sort of creature that had just wandered out of Tiede Wood. “Lord Hraf believed in me enough to protect you from that whipping vine this morning. What more do I need to do to prove myself? I don’t want to know your secrets, I just want to—”
“Tiede Hraf?” Vir asked. “When did you speak to…” He looked at Aren as if seeing him for the first time. “That’s who you were talking to in the dungeons.”
Another boom shook the House.
“Now really isn’t the time to discuss the dead,” Aren said. “But yes, I was talking to Lord Hraf in the dungeons.” One day, Aren hoped the words that came out of his mouth would sound sane.
“Wait a minute,” Elder said. “There’s evidence that the creature made appearances before you and Selina arrived, not after.”
Aren hung his head, took another deep breath, then looked Vir in the eyes. “I read the message before I brought it to you.”
Vir’s usually composed face transformed into a mask of rage. “You what?”
Aren didn’t back down. “I’ve read it, and I never told a soul. The seal was broken, and I risked my life to get back to Tiede just to get it to you. I wanted to know what I almost died for. I didn’t even tell you about the unicorn—”
“I should have had you put to death!” Vir shouted, his face red.
Elder came between them, but Aren shouted, “Maybe you should have, because putting my life on the line as often as I have these past few days clearly isn’t enough to appease you!”
“There were private things in that message,” Vir started, his voice lowered, a finger pointing at Aren.
“And I didn’t breathe a word of it to anyone. I’ve sworn my allegiance to this House, and other than the incident with Lady Geyle, I’ve done nothing against Tiede. In fact, after saving your life in the dungeons, I spent the better half of the day torturing my brain to figure out how to kill this monster. I might be on to something, but I need to read that message again.” Elder looked like he was going to have a heart attack. “The Fire god’s blood seems to burn hot in Alaric’s people. You can have me executed after we kill this monster, all right?” Aren stated in a more conciliatory tone.
Vir’s expression changed from one of outrage to confusion to frustration at being addressed so boldly. Aren didn’t budge, meeting his stare. At last, Vir said, “It’s in my study. We’ll take my private stairs.” Elder made to follow, but Vir stopped him. “Wait here, Elder. You’ll act as witness if this fool errand gets me killed. Send a Hunter to catch up with us.”
Aren followed Vir to the back of the bedchamber. In the corner, set off by a curved stone wall, a set of stairs wound its way to the study. The stairs were dark, the sconces along the walls extinguished. Vir navigated each step with ease, and Aren wondered if the blood of Tiede really could see in the dark.
Vir was already at his desk by the time Aren caught up to him, and the Hunter managed to close the distance to a handful of steps. Tenley swept past them to check the doors. They were just down the hall from the battle raging in the courtyard, and Aren wondered what madness had possessed him to put the Lord of Tiede in danger.
Producing a small iron key, Vir unlocked a compartment in one of his desk drawers. He reached inside and pulled out the message that Aren had once carried from the river and through the Wood into Tiede. Vir ran a thumb over the wax seal, contemplating his decision.
Aren looked him in the eye. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
Vir pressed the note to Aren as if he couldn’t stand to touch it any longer. Aren bowed his head as he took the parchment. He took a deep breath and unfolded the message, laying it on the desk. Then, he read:
This message is hereby addressed to Lord Vir of the House of Tiede.
It is written by the hand of Master Fern Grivel, House Pen, on behalf of Lord Gaithus of the Illustrious House of Rose.
Lord Vir, husband to Rose’s most beloved daughter, it is with great distress and anxiety that I write you this letter. Word has reached us that the House of Trum has been infiltrated by mages. My scouts say that mages were embedded within the House, that mages who had walked the streets as one of their own had turned against them. Upon what gods are we to call now? Unleash what prayers and chants, hymns and sacrifices?
Trum is as good as lost to Cordelacht, numbering the remaining Houses at seven with the Night Houses outweighing the Light. What can a peace-loving House such as ours hope to do? The Rose is a symbol of the ideal. The Rose is trampled in battles and wars. Should mages raise arms against us, we would be even more defenseless than Trum. Once weakened, we will eventually be overrun by the ambitious Illithe from the north and the barbarous Kaishar on the western end of the Rail.
The fall of Rose is no good omen for Tiede. You, Lord Vir, are as kin to us now, and we would do what we can, not only to protect ourselves but also to ensure your long life with that of our daughter Geyle. We cannot chance mages rising against us, and so the Council has decided to begin detaining all the marked; it matters not who you are or what your class in our society. I am only thankful that Geyle is far from here, as the thought of having her locked away breaks my heart. You are her chosen, her protector. With you, I know that no harm shall befall her. Just knowing that you are Reading my letter. The Terror is kept at bay still longer.
I risk being bold and request assistance from Tiede. We need soldiers to keep the peace, to guard the detainees, to quell the riots. These are troubling times. These are changing times. This era is coming to an end. When the new one begins, will the Houses still be standing? Will the mages rule Cordelacht? Will our gods die with us? Of what c
an I be certain of anymore? The old texts of Rose speak of renewal by Fire, but not the same Fire as that of our gods. The mages seek to transcend our gods and end our current way of life. As far as Rose is concerned, you, Lord Vir, are our savior and martyr. It is Upon Tiede we place our faith.
While I am being bold, I would stress the apparent lack of an heir to Tiede. While I recognize your loyalty and fidelity, while I trust your word, I do not feel that our Houses are truly joined. The blood of Tiede and Illithe run through you, and so Illithe has made its peace with Tiede. Yet, you and Geyle are independent entities joined by ceremony and fragile promises. A child would seal that promise. Whatever ailments or shortcomings you have must be overcome. These are small obstacles for you, Lord Vir. Geyle must be made with child one way or another, and our doctors have ensured us that she is healthy and more than capable of conceiving. Should you be unable to plant your seed, we will have to seek out more creative solutions. This is no threat, Lord Tiede, only encouragement.
Please send Words back soonest on your decision. The House of Rose would be ever in your debt. Lord Vir, have mercy on your extended family.
In all things Light, I sign this letter with much affection as your father by marriage,
Rose Gaithus, Lord of the House of Rose
Aren read the message over and over, trying to ignore the watchful eyes of Vir over his shoulder. He supposed the whole section about Gaithus nagging Vir for an heir was the personal part. Gaithus wasn’t shy about laying the blame on Vir—to the point of making subtle jabs at his manhood. It made Aren wince to read between the lines.
There was a rhythm to the message, a sort of singsong lilting. He looked up to see Vir glaring at him. “Is Lord Gaithus always so…” Aren trailed off, not wanting to offend.
“Long-winded?” Vir offered. “Rambling?”
“Verbose?” Aren couldn’t help but grin.
“Our wedding ceremony took hours because of his lengthy speeches. Tiedan weddings are never so full of—”
“Words?” Aren cut in. The corner of Vir’s mouth lifted in a rare smile. “There’s something about the sound of it in my head that’s jarring, though. Have you read it out loud?”
“I’m not in the habit of reading personal messages aloud so that anyone passing might hear me.”
Aren ignored the sarcasm and muttered the lines in the first paragraph over and over. He frowned, then moved the fingers of his left hand as if counting them. He reached for the pen in his robe pocket only to realize he didn’t have a pen or a robe. He spotted a pen on the far side of the desk and reached for it, his mind still turning the puzzle over in his head. His thumb rolled at the small copper gear near the pen’s nib. He felt for the change of pressure when one gear pushed against the other, waited for the familiar resistance of a full ink tank. Satisfied, he drew a series of quick strokes on the back of his left hand. Then, he read the words again in a whisper. “Eight,” he said after he was done. He blew his hair out of his eyes. “Twice. A special number.”
Vir stepped closer. He tried reciting the words to himself as well. Then, Aren started as if he had just woken from a dream, and Vir had to take a step back. Aren scanned the large desk, its surface covered in volumes and papers. He moved a few of the books, his lips articulating a silent mantra while he rearranged the objects around him.
“Is this some kind of ritual?” Vir asked.
“Paper.”
Vir opened a drawer and pulled out several sheets. He handed them to Aren, who grabbed them and began scribbling his notes before the paper even had a chance to settle.
Upon what gods are we to call now?
Unleash what prayers and chants, hymns and sacrifices?
“The rhythm is all wrong.”
“What are you talking about?” Vir’s tone was full of annoyance.
“And why comment on the number of Houses?” he said, more to himself than to Vir. “It’s like a key that doesn’t quite give itself away because the key is eight words, not seven.”
“Apprentice,” said Vir, “I’m about ready to strangle you—”
The House rumbled again.
“It could just be an explanation, not an answer.” Aren frowned. He scanned the desk again and reached for the ornate silver box that was smaller than his hand. He opened it, and pulled out a pinch of fire magic. He replaced the box and muttered the incantation over the silky, black slivers in his palm. The flame appeared and he paused for a moment, catching the concern on Vir’s face. He placed the fire on the parchment, and Vir stepped back, expecting the fire to consume it. The paper didn’t catch, and the fire fizzled with nothing to burn.
“Magic,” Vir breathed.
“Right, so there is a key; I just have to unscramble it.” Aren scribbled two more sentences.
The Rose is a symbol of the ideal.
The Rose is trampled in battles and wars.
“That’s just Gaithus being melodramatic again,” Vir said.
“Maybe, but it fits the pattern. Look, it’s falling into place.”
Just knowing that you are Reading my letter.
The Terror is kept at bay still longer.
Of what can I be certain of anymore?
It is Upon Tiede we place our faith.
These are small obstacles for you, Lord Vir.
This is no threat, Lord Tiede, only encouragement.
Please send Words back soonest on your decision.
Lord Vir, have mercy on your extended family.
“You’ve pulled out random sentences. What does it mean?”
“They aren’t random. They’re the only sentences with eight words apiece in them. Also, why are certain words capitalized?” Aren pointed, then circled Reading and Terror. “Why does he address you as ‘Lord Tiede’ here”—he circled again—“but nowhere else in this message?” He drew another piece of parchment, then scrawled out more words, thinning out his list.
Upon, Unleash, Reading, Terror, Upon, Tiede, Words
The battle cries were getting louder, and Tenley made his way towards them. “My Lord, we should return upstairs. We have a better defense up there.”
“Apprentice, we’re running out of time,” Vir said as he watched Aren work. Vir motioned for the Hunter to leave. Tenley bowed his head and returned to guarding the doors.
Aren pointed at the mess of connecting lines and circles. “I had to infer based on what we’re given, but part of it says, ‘Unleash the terror upon Tiede Vir.’”
“You said you had part of it. What’s the other part?”
Aren returned to moving words around, crossing out parts of sentences. Then, he took a step back so Vir could read.
Upon the Reading of these Words, unleash the Terror upon Tiede Vir.
“It’s a spell,” Aren said, his brows furrowed. “I can’t undo a spell, and if everything I’ve read about magic is true, then this creature won’t stop until you’re dead.”
SEVEN
“Who cast this spell? Gaithus?” Vir asked, his anger rising.
“I’ve never read anything about Lord Gaithus having any gift for magic; I don’t think he’s even marked.”
“The messenger who asked you to deliver this? The House Pen of Rose?”
“It could be either of them or none of them,” Aren said. They stared at each other for a moment, the sounds of battle unceasing. At last, Aren said, “I know what you’re thinking. It wasn’t me.” Vir was about to speak when Aren cut him short. “If it was me, why would I decipher it for you?”
“Because it’s too late to make any difference.”
“Unbelievable.” Aren shook his head. “I work for you and fight for you—stars, I even talk to your dead ancestors. You know what it is? You don’t trust me because I’m Unblessed.”
“I don’t trust you because my wife…” Vir exploded, grabbing him by the shirtfront.
“Your wife and your problems with your wife have nothing to do with me, Kel Vir.” He pushed Vir’s hands away. “We’re wasting ti
me. I’m going to see what I can do about modifying this so that creature might stop seeing your death as its end goal.”
Aren returned to the parchment. Feeling the heat color his face, Vir was ready to draw his sword when he was struck by how Aren had thrown himself right back into the message as if nothing had happened.
“When you had me locked up, Lord Hraf talked to me about the Ancient language and the power of the spoken symbol,” Aren said, as if they were two colleagues working on a Guild research paper. “If I can apply it here, it’s possible I can change the message. What do you think their language was called back then? They probably weren’t calling it Ancient, right? I like Lord Hraf, but he can be intimidating.”
Vir snorted a laugh as he considered the young man’s bravado. Aren was so peculiar. Vir knew he was loyal, and he had no idea what had overcome him when he’d accused Aren of treachery. Gods, was he that jealous of the young Apprentice?
“I’ve tried manipulating some of the words, but I’m not seeing any reaction,” Aren said. “I have one last option, but I don’t know if it’ll work.”
“What’s that?” Vir looked down at the scribbling and stared in wonder at the way the parchment seemed to reject Aren’s writing, causing any additions to disappear.
Aren cursed under his breath as he pushed his hair away from his eyes with one hand and opened the ink reservoir in the pen with his other. Vir opened a drawer and pulled out an inkpot, placing it on the desk.
“It doesn’t want me to change the spell, but the fact that my writing vanishes makes me think it can be changed, given the right words.” He refilled the reservoir with a deftness that impressed Vir. “Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be using the right words.” Aren paused and looked at the tool in his hand. “This is a really nice pen.”
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