“I did some asking last night, after ... well, after,” she muttered. “Nothing was taken from the vaults. Credell must have happened upon Lilith as she was trying to get in, not out.”
If she did not wish to discuss their argument from last night, Ebon was happy enough to oblige. “That is good, I suppose.”
“Not good for Credell,” said Kalem.
Ebon looked away. Then his eye caught on something strange: a white tabard amid the sea of black robes. He looked about the room to find more of them; soldiers in white and gold, and all bearing swords and shields.
“Who are they?” he said, pointing.
Theren and Kalem raised their eyes, and Kalem’s mouth fell open. “The High King’s guards. What are they doing here?”
“No doubt they were sent to aid the Academy’s defenses after the murder,” said Theren.
Despite himself, Ebon laughed. “What do they hope to do? Have they forgotten this is a school of wizards? Their blades and armor will help them little against all but the youngest of students.”
“Mayhap they think the murderer was no wizard,” said Kalem. “After all, Credell was not killed with magic, but by a dagger to the throat.”
They fell silent at that. Credell’s sightless eyes danced in Ebon’s vision again, and then his face turned into Cyrus’. Ebon’s breath came harsh and shallow, and lights danced at the edge of his eyes.
“Ebon, what is wrong?” said Theren. “Your face is pale.”
“I need ... I need to walk. I need air.” He stood, and they made to follow, but he waved them back down. “No, thank you. I would rather be alone. I will find you later. In the library, perhaps.”
His friends settled back into their seats, though Kalem clearly wanted to come. Ebon left the dining hall, nearly stumbling against the door on his way. The hall was cold, colder than he remembered—or perhaps it was just that the dining hall had grown too warm. He pressed his hand against the frigid stone to steady himself.
He must see Adara.
Now? he thought.
Yes. He could not attend his studies like this. Half of him wanted to vomit, and the other wanted to return to bed, to curl in a ball and never rise again. If he could not unburden himself, he feared his heart might fail him.
His mind made up, he went quickly to the Academy’s wide front hall. His heart crashed in vicious thunder at his temples as he entered the open space with its vaulted ceiling—but then he sighed in relief. The sharp old caretaker, Mellie, was not standing guard at the front door as he had feared she might be. It was a bald man instead, with a crooked back and rheumy eyes, who Ebon had heard was named Cratchett—some old wizard called back to duty long after his prime to fill one of the many sudden vacancies in the Academy’s staff. He wandered about his post, eyes seeming to catch nothing at all. Ebon waited until he had rounded the corner, and then ran for the front door and out into the street.
He gave silent thanks for the well-oiled hinges as he swung the door shut behind him. Sticking his hands into either sleeve against autumn’s chill, he set off into the streets. The air bit briskly into his skin, even through his thick robe, and he hurried his pace to get the blood moving. He thanked the sky that it had not yet snowed, though clouds crowded the sky, making him anxious. Quickly he turned his steps west and north, winding his way through the city to where he knew a blue door was waiting.
All about him, the Seat was bustling. Soldiers patrolled the streets, wearing different colors: the white and gold of the High King, the green and white of Selvan, and the Mystics’ red and silver. But, too, there were masons and carpenters aplenty, for buildings across the island were in need of repair. Dulmun had wreaked terrible havoc across the island, as had their allies, the Shades. Houses and shops and taverns alike had been torn asunder, and now, if the owners were still alive, those structures were being rebuilt. The air rang with hammer beats, and the songs of saws, and choirs of shouting builders. After the tragedy, the new activity joined into a chorus that lifted the heart, and yet it held also an undertone of urgency. War was upon Underrealm now, and if it had not yet blossomed to its full fury, not a soul upon the Seat doubted that it would, given time.
When at last he reached his destination, Ebon ducked into an alley and looked furtively about. Most upon the Seat knew that Academy students were not allowed out until evening, and he had no wish for word to be sent back about where he had gone. But no one seemed to pay him any mind. So he slipped from the alley and across to the blue door, entering as quickly as he could.
There were not so many people lounging about the front room as when Ebon had first come. No doubt some had fallen in the fighting, while others had left the Seat. But Ebon guessed that the blue door saw its fair share of customers these days; not only would many seek comfort after the attack, but the Seat now housed soldiers from across the nine kingdoms. His stomach twisted at the thought that Adara might be occupied already—but then he saw her in the corner playing her harp. She flashed him a wide smile, and he returned it. Then the matron swept forwards to greet him.
“Good day, sir. Do you wish to visit Adara?”
“If she will see me.” Ebon reached for his coin purse, but the matron waved it off.
“I do not doubt that she will. But you have not yet used up all your last payment.”
Her gaze slid past him. Adara stood at once and approached, leading Ebon to her room by the hand. Inside, she gripped his robes and pulled him close for a deep kiss.
“I have sorely missed you,” he said, holding her out by the shoulders to look at her.
“And I you. But what are you doing here now? It is the middle of the day.”
“I had to come. My heart is in turmoil, and my mind will offer no rest.”
Her hands slid down his chest, her smile coquettish. “Then it will be my pleasure to soothe you.”
“I ... that is not what I came for.”
She cocked her head, though her smile did not wilt. “I never thought to have you refuse me.”
That made him chuckle. “Nor did I ever expect to hear myself do so. But I came because there are things I must speak of. And they are ... they are things I can say to no one else.”
The smile faded, and her eyes grew solemn. “I think I see your mind. Come, then. Sit, and speak. Will you take wine?”
“Please.”
She fetched him a cup and poured one for herself as well. He took a deep drink and then stared at his hands in silence. Adara said nothing, only waited patiently, soft eyes never leaving his face. He wanted badly to tell her of the thoughts that plagued him, but now that he was here, his tongue felt thick and limp in his mouth.
“My family is coming to the Seat,” he said, because that, at least, was easy to say.
“And are you pleased?” she said, her tone very careful.
Ebon shrugged. “Mayhap. I shall see my sister again, and that is a joy. But my reunion with my father shall be ... not quite so happy, I fear.”
She placed a hand on his knee. “If he should trouble you, I will always be here to help you forget.”
“That would be most unwise,” Ebon said quickly. “I would be foolish to visit you while my father resides upon the Seat. No doubt he will have me watched. He might scorn me if he learns I am visiting a house of lovers, and that I could bear. But then he might go further, seeking to visit some sort of harm upon you.”
Adara’s eyes hardened, and her lips drew tight. “He would not dare raise a hand against a lover. The King’s law protects us.”
“Nothing so brazen.” Ebon shook his head. “He is a snake, and could devise any manner of trouble for you.”
Some of the fire left her. “I will take you at your word. Worry not—if you cannot see me while your family is upon the Seat, I will still be here when they leave. And yet ... forgive me for saying so, Ebon, but this is not why you have come to see me today, and you are only wasting time by not speaking of it.”
He dropped his gaze, staring at his hands w
here they fidgeted in his lap. When he spoke, his voice was far smaller than he had meant it to be. “No, it is not. I ... I cannot stop seeing ... that is, remembering what happened.”
“I understand,” she murmured. “It was no happy memory.”
“That was the first day I saw someone killed—and then in the same day I, too, struck a death blow.”
“You are blameless. Had you not ... done what you did, he would have murdered you instead.”
He winced. “And yet.”
She nodded slowly. “And yet. It may be the truth, but I know that makes it no easier to bear.”
His throat grew dry, and so he drained the cup. She went for the pitcher, but he shook his head. “No more. At least not yet. There is something else ... something I have thought of often since the attack. Had I not seen the two of you slipping away through the city, you would have gone with him.”
Adara’s eyes grew sharper. “Ebon, I have told you—”
“No, forgive me,” he said hastily. “I did not mean that as it sounded. I understand that you are a lover. And you had no knowledge of Cyrus other than his custom, I imagine. What I mean is ... had I not come after you, he would have taken you from the Seat in safety. He only hurt you after I attacked him. Without me, you would not have been harmed.”
“Oh, Ebon,” she said, softening. “Does that truly worry you? I am glad you came when you did. I knew Cyrus for a snake, but not the extent of his treachery. I thought he could remove me from the Seat in safety, and so I went with him, planning to leave his company in the first town we reached. But if I had known he ever laid a hand upon you, I would not have taken a single step by his side.” She cupped his cheek with her hand, and brushed her fingers to push a lock of hair behind his ear.
Lover’s words, he thought. And yet, when she had learned the truth, she had rejected Cyrus. It sent his mind reeling, but he could not waste thought on this now. He had come here to speak, not to wrestle with his feelings for Adara—though already he suspected that they were stronger than might be wise.
“I think of him often,” said Ebon. “I see his face, frozen in that death scream, and I hear him as he plunges into the Great Bay. In my dreams he visits me, and in my waking hours his wail is like a far-off thing, drifting to my ears through the windows, and I cannot escape it, nor speak of my troubles. How could I look Kalem and Theren in the eye, if they knew what I had done? Yet sometimes I wish to tell them, if only so I need not bear the burden alone.”
“You cannot tell them. You must not.”
Ebon raised an eyebrow. “Why so adamant? They are my friends. They would not betray me to the constables.”
Adara pursed her lips and took another sip of her wine. “The King’s law would justify what we did, were the constables or the Mystics to know. It is not the King’s law we must fear. It is your family. No matter the justification, how do you think your father would react if it were known that you killed a scion of the family Drayden?”
Ebon’s hands trembled at the thought. “My friends would never tell my family.”
Her eyes grow mournful, and she put a hand on his. “I know Theren well enough. She would understand. I know she had no love for Cyrus. But Kalem ... understand that I have not met him. Yet he is a royal, and thus holds a greater regard for the King’s law. He would not tell your kin. But he might tell the constables, and then word of it would reach your family regardless. I cannot believe a royal would be satisfied until the matter was brought before the law.”
Ebon’s brow furrowed. He wished to deny Adara’s words. And yet, it did sound like something Kalem would do. The boy would wish the matter resolved to the satisfaction of himself, the King’s law, and likely some within the Academy. Then word would surely reach his father. The thought made him cringe. Ebon could only imagine what might happen to him then.
Some of his worry must have shown in his eyes, for Adara gripped his hands tighter. “I see your fear. Do not let your heart be troubled. We need fear nothing, for your family will never learn the truth.”
“But then what am I to do? I may keep the secret from my family and the King’s law, and even my friends, but I cannot keep it from myself. And it is my own mind that plagues me.”
“Then take comfort in me.” Adara gently pulled him close, planting a kiss on one cheek, and then the other. “Tell me of your worries and your fears, and let me dispel them.” Her kisses fell to his neck as her hand slid across his chest.
Ebon gulped. “That is an attractive prospect, to be certain.” He drew back and met her eyes. “It will be as you say, at least for now. But you might not feel the same if you could only meet them—Theren and Kalem, I mean. What if we spent time together, all of us, beyond the blue door?”
Adara frowned, and in her eyes there was a worry Ebon could not place. “Are you certain that is wise? If your father is having you watched ...”
“He would not do so yet. Not until he reaches the Seat. And it would gladden my heart to have you all together—you three, who I love most in this world.”
He blushed and looked away, for that seemed a foolish thing to say. She is a lover, he reminded himself. He had known that when first he came to see her, and every time since. Why, then, was it so hard not to think of Adara as something more? He did not see her as his, certainly ... and yet, whenever he thought of her, it seemed to him that each belonged to the other.
Then, to his surprise, Adara’s hand was on his cheek, and she turned him to face her. Softly, she said, “If it would ease your mind, then gladly will I meet them.” Her hands fell to push him onto the bed, and then she was atop him. “After all, it is my duty to ease your burdens.”
His only reply was to kiss her.
eight
SOME HOURS LATER, EBON SAT drinking in a tavern a few streets over from the Academy. Soon the bells would ring for the midday meal, and he might slip in through the front door unnoticed. It was not uncommon for students to take their meal in the city, and he could merge with the crowd without drawing much attention. Some gave him odd looks as he waited—his Academy student robes were out of place in the tavern before the midday—but after his visit to Adara, he was unable to summon much concern.
“You must learn to wash the smell off, little goldbag.”
Mako’s growling voice nearly made Ebon choke on his wine. The bodyguard had appeared at his elbow without warning. Now he pushed Ebon aside and slid onto the bench beside him. Ebon was glad to see the man, but he could not stop a nagging thought, warning him that Mako had blocked his exit.
“Perhaps I shall bathe instead of eating.”
“You had better. You smell more like your lover than yourself.” Mako’s teeth appeared in a cruel smile—though Ebon did not find it quite so frightening as he once had.
“How did you know to find me here?”
“I did not. I had planned on visiting you in the library this afternoon, and was waiting for my chance to slip inside the citadel. Only by chance did I enter this place to find you waiting for me instead.”
“Waiting for you?” said Ebon, chuckling. “I knew not that you sought me.”
Mako’s smirk widened, and he motioned to a barman for ale. But then his face grew solemn. “You should have guessed it after what happened in the Academy last night. I had to come to see that you are all right.”
Credell’s corpse flashed in his mind, and Ebon shook the thought away. “I am whole. It is kind of you to worry, but I was nowhere near the murder.”
“That is not what I have heard. It seems you were one of the first to arrive after the body was discovered.”
“One of the first, but not the first. Credell was already cooling, and beyond any help, when I got there.”
“Do you know aught of what happened? Have you learned anything since?” said Mako. Ebon looked around with discomfort, but the bodyguard set a steady hand on his shoulder and grinned. “No one gets close enough to listen in on me, boy. Not without my knowing it. Speak.”
Still Ebon hesitated a moment before answering. “We were following Lilith just before it happened. She was sharing wine with friends, and then she went out into the gardens. We thought she was alone, but then we heard her speaking to someone.”
“Who?”
“We know not. We tried to find out, but Lilith left, and her friend disappeared. That is when the screaming started, and Credell’s body was found.”
Mako drummed his fingers on the table but never took his gaze from Ebon. His ale arrived, and he took a deep gulp. “It seems there is a strong case to be made for Lilith’s guilt.”
“Mayhap,” said Ebon, nodding slowly. “Yet we lost sight of her for only a moment.”
“Much can be done in a moment. A moment is longer than I need to cut a man’s throat, I promise you.”
Ebon shuddered and looked into his wine cup. “You think she did it, then?”
“I think more and more signs point that way. If Lilith had a hand in the theft from the vaults, or in Credell’s death, it seems the family Yerrin stands much to gain.”
“The artifacts, you mean? That was Theren’s guess.”
“The family Yerrin thwarts us in many things, and seeks ever to expand their influence. If they had even a handful of the more powerful artifacts in the Academy’s bowels, Drayden’s star might wane. Do not shrug—you might not care for your father’s ill fortune, but I would wager you care for Halab’s.”
Ebon flushed. “Of course I wish no harm upon her. And what is more, if it is true that Yerrin played a role in the attack upon the Seat, then I have no wish for their future success. They must be brought to justice.”
Mako smirked. “How very noble of you. I think you will have ample opportunity to catch her and expose the truth.”
“Why?”
“She has stolen from the vaults already, but now she has killed Credell before their doors. Why? Why would she have been there, if not to steal again? She was thwarted this time by Credell, but that does not mean she will give up. Keep following her, Ebon. Catch her in the act, and you shall have your justice. Mayhap you shall even have it before another corpse is on our hands.”
The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2) Page 6