Dust and Light

by Carol Berg

  “Gentle Lucian . . .”

  A sweet, piercing ache near stopped heart and breath, no matter years, no matter disgrace and punishment and grieving. She sounded so like—Impossible.

  By the time I groaned and named myself an idiot, a man celibate so long he knew only one name to call a woman, my hands were free, the weight gone from my back. I scrabbled up, but I was alone in the deepening snow.

  The storm worsened as I walked home. The wind howled, driving the snow before it like wild dogs. Feet and hands grew numb. Had I encountered living Danae? Every word the two had spoken was burnt into my spirit, yet even ten times over I could make no sense of it. A weapon readied to destroy my wits. But for what crime? Trespass. Delving too deep. What boundaries could they mean? Certainly if I told anyone of the warmth that lingered on one cheek or of naked bodies scribed with blue markings that spoke naught of magic, I would be judged mad.

  And yet . . . the power of childhood memory was astonishing. My grandmother’s stories had told that the trickster Danae relished pureblood children born with two bents and would steal them from their families, bind them with stems of meadowsweet, and carry them off to the kingdoms of the night to be their slaves. For years the scent of meadowsweet had left me anxious.

  Every few steps I spun around. At every turning I peered behind as far as the blizzard would let me see. Were they yet following me? Surely they were proof that my sensations of being watched were true. Unless I was already witless.

  I refused to believe that. The two of them, at least, were real. My hand clutched a finger-length bit of woven rope that smelled of green vine, rosemary, and meadowsweet, of sun-warmed grass . . . and Morgan.

  * * *

  “She’s gone, Domé Lucian!” Soflet’s panic dragged me out of my frozen, half-blind stupor the moment I stumbled into the house.

  “Gone? Goddess Mother! Not—” The word slammed into me like a mountain of midnight, threatening to split head and heart. After a day submerged in corpses, I could not think of any other meaning. “My sister? Dead?”

  “Vanished.” He could not have spoken dead in any more hopeless a tenor. “We cannot find her anywhere.”

  Vanished, lost, run away? In this city on such a night? Holy, blessed gods!

  “Maia set out her supper tray, but the young mistress threw it on the floor. When we came with mops and rags to clean up the mess, Doma Juliana was gone. We mustered everyone and searched house and gardens, even the street. I sent Filip to other houses on the street, inquiring about a lost hound, thinking she would hear him and make herself known.”

  “No sign of her? No word?” Light of Deunor, if she’d run away . . . Anger, horror, and fear rose in tandem, indistinguishable. Images of the strangled girl child threatened to choke me.

  “None. We didn’t know what else to do. Without your permission we did not presume to approach the three blood families, but every other house . . .”

  “Yes, good.” I fought away visions of Juli wandering the dark, filthy lanes in such villainous weather. I needed my wits. “Well done.”

  Three pureblood families kept houses in the nearby streets. I didn’t know them, only touched a finger to brow as protocol demanded when we passed in the street. But whether Juli had merely gone out unchaperoned or something worse, we could not allow the Registry to catch a whisper of it until we had exhausted every other remedy.

  Simple indiscipline would complicate our lives beyond bearing, compounding our already wretched family reputation. But if Juli had truly run away and the Registry discovered it, her life was ruined. They would name her recondeur—renegade. When they found her—and only the infamous Cartamandua recondeur, still running or dead, had ever eluded capture for more than a few months—she would be subject to unrestricted contracts. Contracts without protections—enslavement. She would never be permitted to marry or have children, nor would I, like as not. It would be the end of our bloodlines. And I’d likely never see her again.

  My lungs would scarce pump at the thought, the massive hurt that had existed in me since Pontia risen again to squeeze life’s breath from my chest. To lose Juli, the last of us, was a grief unimaginable, even after our hard tutelage in grieving. I had to find her without involving the Registry. Think, Lucian!

  The storm raged with a malevolent fury, rattling the glass windows and banging the shutters as if the Harrowers had roused the blade-keen wind to raze all human works. Even if Juli’s perversities drove her to such mad rebellion, she would never pick such a night to run. A fall, an injury—gods save us, an assault that left her lost or hurt—and she would die before morning. She, a girl who constantly named me miser for rationing her fire, would know that. She could not have left voluntarily.

  “No one came here? Invited her to visit? Could someone have breached the house wards and abducted her?”

  “The wards did not trip, domé. And no one came. None she would speak to, certainly, or—” Soflet’s broad brow, so rarely anything but smooth, drew into tight furrows, and a crimson flood washed his age-mottled cheeks. “I saw no one.”

  “But you suspect someone.”

  “Last winterset, a linkboy started coming round to light the gate torches at dusk. Filip’s always run to the market for Maia about that time, and my rheumatics have been fitful—”

  “She’s spoken to a linkboy?” Oh, great gods, serena! Didn’t my stupidity teach you anything?

  Soflet released a deep sigh, as if expelling a demon. “I warned her not, Domé Lucian. Locked the doors when he was about. Sent him off and told him I’d have the constable on him did he show his face here again. But I’ve suspected he’s come back since.”

  More than suspected, from the rue that wreathed the old man’s face. “And you didn’t tell me? Soflet, I trusted you. My parents trusted you. You know the consequences for her if she’s seen flouting such discipline.”

  But he couldn’t know, really. Soflet wasn’t pureblood, though he had served in pureblood houses since well before my father’s birth. And I knew exactly what he was going to say.

  “She was so very lone, domé. And the boy was mannerly and respectful always. Sometimes I pretended not to see. When your trouble came down, day before this, I told him no more . . . and warned her, too.”

  And she had been livid. Last night she had bartered a sleep charm for my promise to forbid Soflet from locking her inside. Which I had done.

  I sagged against the wall. “Where did they go on these visits?”

  Please all gods, let it not have been to his bed. Not even a month past, I had tried to warn her about low men. But bound up in my own embarrassment, I’d stammered like an idiot and left her mystified. I’d gone promptly to Maia and asked her to see that Juli knew whatever was seemly for a maiden—whatever my mother would have wanted her to know—but I’d never asked what had actually transpired.

  “They never went beyond the gardens, domé,” said Soflet, earnest and apologetic. “I’ll swear to that. And I never saw him lay a paw on her. Never would I permit such. They played the peg game from time to time. Talked mostly. Laughed a bit, as children do. That’s all.”

  “How long has she been gone? And what do you know about him?”

  “’Twas half seventh hour when we found her missing. I think his name is Elgin or Edan or some like, but I’ve not a notion where he bides.”

  Footsteps hammered on the stair. “Soflet! The sneakers are—” Filip, our excitable footman, burst into the atrium from the cellar stair. “Domé Remeni!”

  Pale as alabaster from hair to fingertips and deceptively slight for a youth who could lift a wagon bed while Soflet installed a new wheel, Filip halted, whipping his glance between the steward and me.

  “My sister?” I said, praying he brought good news.

  “Two bodies are creeping through the south hedge, domé. By size, one could be the mistress.”

  My blood surged. “You two keep them talking. I’ll see he doesn’t get away until we have some answers. And beware.
Her magic . . .” They both knew the sting of Juli’s ire. Though she’d never truly hurt anyone . . . or so I would have said that morning. Did I know her at all?

  I raced through the kitchen and into the garden. The icy blast scoured my face as I sped across the frozen ground, over the low wall in a single leap, and out to the lane. Silencing breath and footsteps, I slipped through a side gate so as to creep up behind them. The two of them had reached the inner gate, a wild-haired boy in snow-crusted slops, gripping Juli’s arm. She wore no pureblood cloak and no mask. No matter that my magic was depleted, I’d have him dead if he’d touched her ill.

  “. . . brother is off searching, near out of his head with worry, doma.” Soflet blocked the gateway, arms folded across his breast. “Though ’tis not my place to speak, I take it anyway. I’ve known you since you were birthed, as I have your good brother and all those lost to us. You’ve betrayed their trust in you and in him, in me and the rest of the staff, and I know not how—”

  I clamped my arms around the youth’s thin shoulders and, with no gentle force, dragged him away from my sister.

  “Luka! Wait—”

  “I’ll break your scrawny neck do you so much as twitch, vermin!” I could do it. He was almost as slight as she was.

  After a brief resistance, he went limp.

  “Are you all right, Juli? Has he hurt you, touched you? If he’s laid a hand . . .”

  “Certainly not! Luka, let him go.”

  “No. Have you the least idea—? Go inside. I’ll speak with you after I speak with this person.” With every word I squeezed harder, but he refused to so much as squeak.

  “Ancieno, listen to me. This is Egan. He’s my friend. Only my friend.”

  “He is ordinary. You know—”

  “I know he laughs and eats and works hard and cares for his mother. I know he’s clever at games and has taught himself to read. Let him go and I’ll tell you the rest. If you fear for my virtue, you can be easy. But if you hurt one hair on his head, I’ll give you such a case of boils, everyone you meet, including your new master, will believe you have the plague.”

  I could not allow her to distract me. “Where did he take you?”

  “He took me to his home, ancieno. Showed me how he lives . . .”

  My heart sank. Oh, gods, serena, have you no idea what comprises your virtue? “Juli!”

  “. . . and introduced me to his mother and his landlord. Luka, I found us a new place to live.”

  * * *

  “We cannot,” I said, holding patience as well as I could. “Not in the same house as an ordinary you’ve companioned so freely. I will believe you that he is all innocence. He may be respectful and clever, but we must live by certain rules.”

  It was the same stanza I had repeated for the hour since Egan—indeed a mannerly boy of Juli’s age—had gone. My sister and I were both wrapped in heavy quilts, seated by our hall fire and drinking a thick posset that had at last begun to thaw our bones.

  “But you said we’d need new lodgings, and I knew you’d not wish me left alone all day. I’d surely go mad and give you all sorts of trouble. Egan’s mam is so like Maia, you’d believe them sisters. She said she’d even cook for us if we paid for our own food. Certainly I’ve no idea how to do such a thing, and even if you did, I’d never stomach it when you came home smelling like a rotting carcass. The house is ugly and vile, but unless you’ve found better . . .”

  Which, of course, I hadn’t. Juli’s plan was eminently sensible, if we were ordinaries. But we were not.

  “I’m not stupid enough to believe we can maintain full Registry protocols on a hundred and sixty silver pieces a year, serena. But we must try, else—”

  “They broke the rules first.” She sparked and snapped like embers in the hearth. “Ask those dried-up sticks at the Registry who else had a contract accelerated two days ago. I’ll lay you Matronn’s thickest quilt against this luscious one of yours that you were the only one. Just listen to your story of the non-negotiation! Pew-Pons wants you punished. Perhaps she wants you to beg her mercy so she can force you into her bed, since no man could bear to look at the old cow. Or perhaps she’s one who takes her womanly pleasures seeing beautiful young men whipped!”

  “Juli!” Great gods, how did she know of such things?

  Something strange was happening to my sister—a twisting, twitching, squinting struggle that resolved itself only when she shook loose of her cocoon, flung her arms wide, collapsed flat on her back, and burst into great whoops. “Oh, Luka, you should see your face! Are you not the most priggish, solemn, dearest ancieno in this miserable world?”

  Such was the measure of my weariness that it took me a seeming lifetime to comprehend that the noise was cascading laughter. Then I grabbed hold of her arms, raised her again, and wrapped her quilt so tight about her it near squeezed her into hiccoughs. I was bereft of words. . . .

  Until she began pestering me again. In self-defense, I agreed to look at the house in the Bakers’ District where Egan and his mother had a room. No promises beyond that. No assurances. And no permission for her to visit it again.

  “. . . and you will wear your mask and cloak every time you stick a toe outside our door. Promise me. No! Hush your excuses. Swear it on all we hold in our hearts. Promise.”

  She promised. And then said Egan had shown her a shop where one could sell unwanted goods. Perhaps she could go there and take things we didn’t need and would have no room to keep, adding a few coins to our box.

  I hated that it made good sense. I’d never imagined visiting a pawner’s shop. “Filip can go. Not you. No, not ever. Pick a few things, but only things Matronn sent here from Pontia. These furnishings, the plate, the bedclothes, the hangings—all go with the house and we’d have to replace them when we turn it back to Tessati.” Whom I needed to notify very soon. “And keep your best clothes and jewels. We’ll still be summoned to sittings, to entertainments, to Registry feasts, and we must make a respectable appearance. This is your year for an anniversary portrait. Yes, gossip will spread about our situation. Many will expect us to crumble, but we won’t. We’ll not dishonor our family.” Even if some in the Registry did so.

  It was not the time to mention that as soon as she turned sixteen in the summer, families would begin inviting her to visit. Though we had naught for a marriage portion and our influence was ash, Juli carried powerful bloodlines. Eligible families would be foolish not to consider a match . . . as long as she behaved. My own marriage negotiation was supposed to begin at the end of my first contract. Now that rested, as did my entire life, in the hands of the Registry. Not that I could imagine any pureblood family matching their daughter with an artist who worked in a graveyard.

  “And serena pauli, please, about this Egan, you cannot—”

  “Oh, to be rid of that ivory nymph Camatronn sent me for my birthday. It looks like the hind end of a goat. Some half-blind crone will adore it!” Juli crushed my face into her quilt wrapping, smothering my command. Then she planted a kiss on the top of my head and danced away, giggling as I’d not heard in forever.

  As I drained my posset and gathered my quilt, she poked her head back through the doorway. “This Egan will be waiting in the inner court. I’ll let you tell him when we’re coming to see our new house.”

  She grinned and vanished.

  An entirely unwarranted laugh rose from somewhere not related to good sense. I wished I could share her enthusiasm. It was certainly understandable. After so many months of grief and boredom, such a change promised adventure, as the prospect of the university had done for me. If I could just cushion the worst consequences, it would be a blessing indeed. Perhaps Master Pluvius could advise me on that as well as the contract. He had both a daughter and a granddaughter. I had to visit the Registry Tower on the morrow, whether Bastien liked it or not.

  But first I needed sleep. And before either I had to speak with the boy in the courtyard. Egan was likely an icicle by now.

  * * *
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  Soflet had called the boy respectful and indeed he was. He kept his eyes down and waited for me to speak. To begin I draped one of my old cloaks over his shoulders. His teeth were clattering a galliard, his legs shaking, and it was impossible to miss the dirty strips of rag tied round his hands and bird-thin legs for warmth.

  “I’ll visit your house tomorrow midday,” I said. “But it is highly unlikely to suit. My sister’s position in life—her gifts granted by the very gods you worship—make demands of her that you cannot comprehend. Nor does she fully, young as she is. She cannot be your friend. Not that you are unworthy of friends, only that the course laid for you is different. We must all attend the work we are given. Do you see that?”

  He drew the cloak tight around with a sigh, as if it were his mother’s arms. Then he shrugged it off and pushed it back into my hands. “Didn’t come here to take nothing from you nor the lady. I’ll show you the house midday. It’s hard to find. Where shall I meet you?”

  “In the Temple District, at the point where the Elder Wall juts out over the west end of the hirudo.” Over the pigsty. I’d make the errand count for two.

  Tomorrow morning, I’d tell Bastien of my discoveries in the hirudo, insisting I needed daylight to discover the exact house where the girl’s murder had taken place. It would provide the excuse to leave the necropolis.

  “Do you know the place?”

  “Aye, lord. I light divine Arrosa’s cauldrons every even, though her priestesses are squinch on the pay.”

  “Arrosa . . . that’s where Arrosa’s Temple sits?”

  Revelation exploded in my soggy mind. Of course! It explained my vision—the moonflowers, the ephrain, the baths. The Goddess of Love saw cleansing of the body as a prayer; thus, her temple housed the finest baths in Palinur. Or so I’d heard. Three days ago, someone had defiled those sacred precincts with child murder.

  “Aye, lord. And if I may speak . . .”

  “Yes?” I forced my thoughts back to the youth.

  Fourteen, I’d guess his age. His light brown hair draggled on his brow. His bony, unfinished face was pinched with cold and raw with windburn, but his clear gaze met my own through my mask, fearless.