Engine of Lies ebook

by Barbara Howe

  Sorceress Lorraine said, “Very well, Your Majesty. But I warn you, an outcome that demonstrates the country is not going to hell may not be to your liking.”

  I turned back to the conference table and rested my head on crossed arms, fishing for any thought more pleasant than the problems lined up ahead.

  My little boy. He was adorable, just learning to toddle. That cheerful thought didn’t raise my spirits, because it was a shame he would soon have no mother. Even if I lived through the unlocking and destruction of the conspiracy, if I became Fire Warlock I’d have no time for him.

  I must have slept, because the next thing I was aware of was Jean wiping tears from my cheek with a warm, gentle finger.

  “My dear wife, once again I offer you my apologies. If you choose not to accept them I cannot blame you, but I trust in your generous nature to do so.”

  I turned my face away. “You said you couldn’t trust me.”

  He stroked my hair for a moment before answering. “I was not rational. You should know a fire wizard’s response to fear is anger.”

  “You’ve never said anything so cruel to me before.”

  “And I am ashamed of it. May I never do so again, but I have seldom been so frightened. The power you may absorb is limited. You do not know where the limit is, but I assure you at this time it is less than what Flint can throw at you. We are fortunate he reacted out of long-ingrained habit, and attacked with the feeble blast he uses for terrorising mundanes and lower-ranking members of the Fire Guild. If he had attacked with his full arsenal, you would be dead. Neither Beorn nor I would have had time to intervene.”

  Tears seeped from my closed lids and dribbled onto my arms. I was grateful for his touch. “I’m sorry.”

  “I worry more for your safety than I ever have for my own.” His voice was as gentle as his hand on my hair. “I would protect you if I could, but to guarantee your safety I would have to confine you to the Fortress, and allow you out only in my company. You would never tolerate that lack of autonomy. To fulfil your destiny as a warlock, you must be responsible for your own well-being.”

  “Yes, sir,” I sniffled. “At least you’re still calling me a warlock. I was afraid you thought I’d turned into a water witch.”

  “Of course you are still a warlock. No water witch would have taken such a risk.”

  I sat up and scrubbed away the tears. Blew my nose. Studied his sombre face. “Thank you for coming to apologise.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “What did you expect?” The first gleam of humour I had seen in two days brightened his eyes. “How else could I reclaim my cinnamon rolls, with you standing watch over them?”

  On Storm King that night we alternated calling down the lightning with probing for the limit on the power I could absorb. It seemed pitifully small, but Jean assured me it would grow with exercise. Little as it was, it stretched out my reserves, and I still felt fresh when Jean sent René home, nearly asleep on his feet.

  At first Jean had seemed reluctant to touch me, but I must have imagined it, for he was in no hurry to return home. Holding his hands comforted me. Funny that in two years of marriage I had never noticed how warm they were.

  We stayed at the aerie until long after the last glow of the summer sun had faded. Against the velvet blackness, relieved only by stars’ diamond brilliance above and glowing lava pits below, I saw for myself a minuscule lightning bolt, like a baby dragon’s belch, that I created.

  When at last we went home, I was exhausted, but at peace. We were both pleased with my progress. The drama of the past two days seemed, for the moment, far away. I sat on our bed and began to undress. Jean watched me with a smile in his eyes.

  I patted the bed beside me, as I had done many times before. “Help me out of my shift. It’s a struggle by myself.”

  He didn’t move. “I have seen you snatch that garment over your head with one hand. You do not need my help.”

  I dropped my hands into my lap and studied him. “What’s the matter?”

  He came closer, and cupped my face in his warm hands. “My dear, the outer manifestations of Lorraine’s gift are still upon you. You are cold to my touch.”

  I reached up to grasp his hands. He pulled free. I said, “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “It does. I will keep my wedding vows, even in the midst of illusion. If I am startled out of sleep by a woman I cannot discern is my warm wife, my reactions may be instinctual and violent.”

  I flinched. His uncontrolled reactions had nearly killed me once; I had no desire to experience them again.

  “Your safety is paramount.” His lips brushed my forehead. “I pray you will understand. Goodnight.”

  He walked out and closed the door behind him. Only after the door of the guest room down the hall clicked shut did I lie down and bawl into my pillow.

  Damn Lorraine. She never did me this much damage as my enemy. And this water magic was supposed to help me sleep, was it? Crying myself to sleep wouldn’t be very soothing.

  Racking sobs gave way to sniffles. The tears I shed merged with the trickles of tears other women hurt by their men had shed. The trickles became a rivulet, then a stream. The rippling water’s music soothed me, and I relaxed towards slumber. The stream flowed towards the sea, where a boat lay in the shallows, waiting for me to step in.

  I sat bolt upright in bed, yelling. “I’m a fire witch, goddamit. No boats. Anything but a boat.”

  Geez, big sister, what the hell was that? You scared the crap out of me.

  I leaned against the headboard, panting. Stampeding bulls thundered in my veins.

  Sorry, little brother. That was the water magic trying to rock me to sleep in a boat.

  God almighty. No wonder you yelled. At least that proves you’re still a fire witch.

  Thank God for small favours. Go back to sleep.

  I lay down and cursed at the water magic. How long before my pulse would return to normal? Would I ever get to sleep? I was red-hot, like a burning log in a kitchen fire.

  And like a kitchen fire, I subsided as the magic banked the fire for the night, covering me up and tamping me down so I couldn’t burn too fast. With a sigh, I let go of the anger, until only glowing coals and embers that would keep until morning remained.

  I was asleep within minutes, and woke refreshed and alert after a night of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. Sorceress Lorraine’s gift had benefits, after all. I cast about with my mind’s eye, and saw the household in good order. René sprawled half-on, half-off his bed as if he’d launched himself from the fireplace and fallen asleep before he landed. Servants sleepwalked through early-morning chores. The maddeningly pert nursemaid responded to Edward’s cry for food. In the kitchen Jean wolfed down a plate of bacon and eggs…

  I scrambled into a dressing gown and galloped down the stairs. “Jean, wait.”

  He mopped up the last of his eggs with toast and held out his mug. “I cannot stay, I am needed in Blacksburg.”

  I grabbed the coffeepot off the hob and poured. “I know, but I have a question. Yesterday, Beorn told me what else was bothering you…”

  He had been about to swig the coffee, but stopped with the cup almost to his lips, eyebrows drawn together. “Did he? What did he say?”

  “That you’re worried about losing him. What would happen if…”

  His expression relaxed, then became inscrutable.

  I shouted, “What other secrets are you keeping from me?”

  He drained the cup of its scalding contents and handed it to me, aiming a perfunctory kiss at my cheek as he passed, and bussing my ear instead. “Such a fervid imagination, fancying secrets everywhere.”

  The mocking laughter I heard as I hurled fire after him did come from my fervid imagination. He was miles away when the flames hit the back of the fireplace.

  Brotherly Love

 
“Master Sven, I need your help with a magical problem,” I said.

  “My help?” He grabbed a stack of books from a chair and shoved them onto a corner of his desk. “Please, sit down. Let me tidy up a little.”

  René moved books from the window embrasure to the stack on the desk and squirmed into the spot where they had been. I tipped the teetering pile of books and slid a penknife and a piece of chalk out from under it.

  Sven reached for the penknife. “I thought we were meeting in the classroom, or I would have straightened up.”

  He should have straightened up his study years ago, but I held my tongue. “Yes, I need your help—yours and René’s, I mean. I didn’t want anyone to overhear us, so I thought your study would be a better place to talk. Do you mind if I use magic against eavesdroppers?”

  There was no trace of foreboding in his expression. “Not at all. Go ahead.”

  I called up a barrage of spells and locks against eavesdroppers and conspiracies. For good measure, I even threw in a spell to baffle lip-readers.

  René watched with growing excitement, Sven with growing alarm. “Good grief, Lucinda, what’s this all about? Let me guess—you’re confessing you really are a spy from the Empire who’s stolen all Warlock Quicksilver’s secrets?”

  “Don’t be silly,” I snapped. “But it is about secrets.” I paused and took a deep breath.

  René said, “You’re going to tell us why the Frost Maiden—”

  “Sorceress Lorraine, you mean.”

  “Yeah, her. Why she gave you the gift of cold water. Is that the secret?”

  “No. Er, yes. Maybe. It’s to help expose the secret. Be patient, I’ll get there. Sven, you’re a mage—you do know something about conspiracies, don’t you?”

  Pride warred with caution and curiosity in Sven’s expression. “A bit. I did a paper on them at university, and I’ve started or been a member of several.”

  The vision of that tangle stretched over London flashed before me. I recoiled. “You what?”

  Sven’s eyebrows rose. “What did you expect? They’re fun.”

  “Fun?”

  “Well, yes. At any time there are usually several running at the Fire Guild School.”

  I gave him a frosty stare that would have made a water witch proud. “If there are you should inform the school staff so they can put a stop to them.”

  He snorted. “The staff put up with them because they’re good practice with theory-heavy magic. The conspiracies are usually childish attempts at hiding schoolboy pranks, like putting frogs in the housemaster’s bed, or sneaking midnight snacks into the dormitory. The Guild Council always has somebody, right now that’s me, keeping an eye on them so they don’t get out of hand.”

  “Oh,” I said, crestfallen. “I had no idea.”

  “Obviously.”

  René said, “I knew about them. Tom and Matt ragged on me all the time about the things I missed by not going to the guild school.” He hefted his wand and began target practice on a line of roosting pigeons outside.

  “They’re safer, too,” Sven said, “than the mundane variety, since they don’t usually need to use violence to enforce keeping the secret.”

  I shrugged. “If you say so. They just don’t seem like fun to me. I’d be happy to expose the one I’m a member of.”

  Sven’s eyebrows rose again. “Really? You’re in at least two. Which would you expose—the Fire Warlock’s secret, or that you don’t have to be a fire witch or wizard to use one of those diabolical weapons known as firearms?”

  I shuddered. “Neither one.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “I had forgotten both of those.”

  “So, what’s the third one?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Sven looked smug. “Meaning it’s one I don’t know about. Giving me a challenge, are you?”

  René thought at me, You mean the one about the Locksmith’s warning, right?

  Right.

  I said, “No. At least, I didn’t mean to. That one isn’t important, and I’m sure you could find out if you wanted to. It’s obvious you know a lot more about conspiracy magic than either René or I do. I bet you even know how to expose one you’re not a member of.”

  His smug expression deepened. “I do.”

  “That’s why I need your help. There’s a much more important, dangerous secret that I want to expose.”

  Sven looked sceptical. “Important? Dangerous? Why are you asking me for help instead of Warlock Quicksilver?”

  I slipped crossed fingers under my skirt. “Haven’t you seen how busy he is? He dashed out of the house this morning without even a peck on the cheek. I can’t waste his time with this.”

  René, lounging in the window, gave first me and then Sven a sharp glance, before twisting around. Rapid bursts of flame led to a raucous chorus of angry bird screams.

  Sven snapped, “Stop that infernal noise.” He frowned at me, fingers drumming on the table. “What’s the nature of the conspiracy?”

  “I can’t tell you about it until you promise to help.”

  “Nothing doing. I’m not buying a pig in a poke.”

  René flamed pigeons while I considered what would be safe to say. Sven was the most cautious fire wizard I knew, and I couldn’t afford to scare him away, or put him in danger. But if he refused to help, I would be in a pickle. “The noblemen, the king, they don’t want the secret exposed.”

  “What else?”

  I wiped sweat from my face. “That’s all I dare tell you without a promise.”

  René pivoted to face me. “I’ll help. Promise.”

  Sven slammed his palm on his desk. “For God’s sake, René, when will you learn to be more careful? It’s dangerous for a wizard to make promises, and the higher-ranking you are the more dangerous it is. Nasty surprises can turn up anywhere, so a promise is risky even when you know what’s involved. God help you if you don’t.”

  René shrugged. “You just said nasty surprises can turn up anywhere, so it doesn’t matter if I don’t know what I’m getting into, does it?”

  Sven glowered at him, nostrils flaring.

  “Besides,” René said, “Lucinda already told us she and the Frost Maiden—Sorceress Lorraine, I mean—want it exposed and the aristocrats don’t. That’s good enough for me.”

  I beamed at him. “Thanks.”

  “Interesting things happen around you. I don’t want to miss out.”

  Sven looked apoplectic. I lurched to the window and threw a few blasts in the direction of the squawking birds, as an alternative to hugging and kissing the grinning boy. Behind me, Sven slammed books around and muttered to himself. I waited. Nothing I could say would improve matters, and curiosity would win—he was, after all, a fire wizard, and a mage.

  “It’s obvious you two naïfs need my help. You’re both asking for trouble—serious trouble—without someone with sense keeping an eye on you. I will not make a blind promise. All I’ll promise is that I’ll help if, and it’s a big if, it’s important enough to run the risk for. And I’ll decide, not you. Is that clear?”

  “Clear and reasonable,” I said, and kissed him on the temple. “Thank you. I’m happy to let you make up your own mind.”

  Sven didn’t seem to find that reassuring. “Sit down,” he snapped. “Stop looming over me. So, what is this conspiracy about?”

  I hesitated, uncertain where to begin. “Before I tell you that, maybe I should tell you who else is involved, besides the nobility.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. Go ahead.”

  “To start with, there’s Mother Celeste.”

  He gaped at me.

  René added, “And Quicksilver and Arturos.”

  Sven choked.

  I said, “Plus Sorceress Lorraine, Enchanter Paul…”

  “
Good God, woman,” Sven exploded, “are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “No. That’s why I’m asking you for help.”

  He glared at me, breathing heavily. After a moment he turned his scowl on René, still grinning in the window seat. “You two played me for a fool. You’re in on it.”

  “Am not,” René said. “She hasn’t told me anything she hasn’t told you.”

  “Then why did you say Quicksilver and the Fire Warlock?”

  “Quicksilver too busy for Lucinda? Get real. And you’ve got a big head if you think she’d ask you first about something dangerous. She’d go to Quicksilver, then Arturos. She didn’t, so she couldn’t.”

  Sven half-rose from his chair and leaned across his desk until his nose was inches from René’s. “So you figured that out, and still went ahead and made a blind promise to help her with this suicidal mission, whatever it is? I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “Look,” René said, with the air of explaining something to a six-year-old, “Lucinda’s going to do what she’s going to do whether we help her or not. If she goes and gets herself killed, the whole country’s done for. Do you want to explain to the Fire Warlock after she’s dead you could have helped but didn’t? I don’t. I figure everybody’s safer with all three of us in on it.”

  Sven sank back into his chair without taking his eyes off René. “Go on, then. I’m listening. Tell us the whole thing.”

  “Impossible,” he said, when I was through. “I don’t believe it.”

  “I do,” René said. “Some of the things I’ve heard since we got back, when I’ve gone out listening for trouble, haven’t made sense. There are families, and groups of women, here and there, burning with hate and fear. I couldn’t figure out why. This explains a lot.”

  “I didn’t think you would, Sven,” I said, “and I won’t convince you. This will.” I unfolded the paper I had stuffed in my pocket and handed it to him. René left the window to read over Sven’s shoulder. “It’s a list of incidents in Lord Edmund’s and Baron D’Armond’s histories. Search for and watch them without me, because I’m not interested in losing my breakfast again. René and I will come back tomorrow morning. We’ll decide what to do then.”