by Dan Koboldt
“We might make a Pirean out of you yet,” Jillaine murmured.
“I do what I can.” Quinn cut off a tiny corner of the mutton. It was seared to perfection, but still so tender that it melted in his mouth. There were five-star restaurants back home that wouldn’t stack up against the cooking here. And nothing in either world stacked up to the company. “So, do you—”
“Well, well. It’s two of my favorite people,” Moric said. He’d appeared behind them, still in his threadbare riding cloak, looking more disheveled than usual.
“Hey, Moric,” Quinn said. “Where’ve you been? I was getting ready to send out a search party.”
Jillaine didn’t look at him, and went on as if she hadn’t heard anything.
Moric frowned at her, then at Quinn. “Oh, yes. You do look quite concerned at the moment.”
I think he just made a joke. “Well, come on. It’s mutton night and we’re celebrating, you know, me not having perished.”
“For which we’re all eternally grateful.” Moric put a heavy hand on Quinn’s shoulder and beckoned him to the door. “Could I have a word?”
“I’ll be right back,” Quinn whispered to Jillaine. Then he followed Moric out the door.
Moric led Quinn down the winding path that led around the green, a subtle signal for desired privacy.
“You sure you don’t want to eat?” Quinn asked. “The mutton’s unbelievably good.” As was the company, but he didn’t dare say so.
Moric chuckled. “I think you might catch more meals in the Pirean tower than I do. But I can’t stay, I’m afraid.”
“Everything all right?”
“I’ve had a message from our mutual friend, asking for some assistance.”
Quinn’s breath caught. “The Valteroni Prime.”
“I’m headed to Valteron, and may be gone a few days.”
Yes! Quinn kept his excitement under wraps. “Well, I appreciate the heads-up.”
“Please keep it to yourself. The Valteroni Prime is a delicate topic right now, thanks to Anton and his minions.”
Quinn felt a cold sliver of dread that Moric might know everything he’d been up to. An amateur might ’fess up to save his ass. Instead, he played it harder. “You want me to keep an eye on things while you’re away.”
Moric gave him a serious look. “You seem to be keeping an eye on some things already.”
Uh-oh. “Luckily, I’m the kind of guy you can trust with that.”
“She’s my daughter. I don’t trust any guy with that.” Moric gave him a hard stare, and it was all Quinn could do to not tremble under the weight of it.
Surprisingly, though, Moric’s face softened. “How is she?” he asked, more quietly.
“Mad at you, but otherwise fine.”
“Best not to let her know that I’ll be in Valteron, either.”
Quinn shrugged. “If that’s what you want me to do.”
“I do. And there’s one more thing I need from you. The wayfinder stone.”
“You don’t think you can find your way back here?”
“I can, but I think the Valteroni Prime may need a reminder of those I represent. If you don’t mind.”
Quinn couldn’t refuse; he had no use for the stone now that he was here, and pushing back would only pique Moric’s interest. “Sure thing.” He dug the leather cord out from under his shirt and lifted it over his head. The absence felt strange. He handed it over.
Moric put it on and reached into his cloak. “Here, take this.” He offered a dark-colored piece of stone.
Quinn took it, and was surprised at how heavy it was. It felt carved, but he couldn’t make out the design in the darkness. “What is it?”
“A summoning statue, in case you need me while I’m away. Shatter the statue, and I’ll come to you.”
“Thanks.” He tucked the statue into an inside pocket. “How soon do you have to leave?”
“I should be gone already. And you’d best get back to the common room. It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting.”
Quinn glanced back at the door to the Pirean tower, which still glowed with firelight and merriment. “Well, if you insist.”
Moric stalked away across the green. Quinn waited until he was out of sight, and then made right for the Caralissian tower. The butler, whom Quinn had begun mentally referring to as Jeeves, stood at attention at the top of the stairs. He spotted Quinn, and said not a word, but beckoned him inside.
Quinn followed him to the same dining room, and waited while the man knocked. It opened to reveal Anton in his usual chair, finishing up a meal. Another place setting sat at the far end of the table, but it looked untouched.
“Sorry to drop in,” Quinn said. He waited while Jeeves closed the door behind him, leaving him alone. “But I’ve got good news. Moric’s leaving the island for a few days.”
Anton dabbed at his lips with a cloth napkin, then stood. “When?”
“Now, tonight. No one else is supposed to know.”
“That’s good. But I’m afraid we have a slight problem,” Anton said. He gestured at the empty place setting across the table. “We’re still a vote short.”
Quinn’s heart sank. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
Anton shrugged. “I did everything I could, but Valteron’s influence here remains strong.”
I’m so screwed. Exposing the other team, lying to Moric, and now all of it would be for nothing. “There has to be something else we can do.”
Anton pursed his lips. “You said that Moric left in secret.”
“Yes. He wanted me to keep it quiet.”
“If something were to happen to him, the Pireans would be allowed to choose a replacement.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to him.”
“Of course not,” Anton said. “But if it looked that way . . .”
“How would it look that way?”
“I’ll take care of it. But we’d need to ensure the Pireans chose someone sympathetic to our cause.”
“Leave that part to me,” Quinn said.
Quinn hurried back to the Pirean tower, hoping Jillaine hadn’t left. And that no one else had taken his place. If you left a pretty girl eating by herself in public, that was a very real hazard. No matter the time period.
He whispered a word of thanks to all the Alissian gods when he saw she was still there. Betsy’d started chatting her up about something. Remind me to send that one some flowers.
“Sorry about that.” He slid back into his seat like he hadn’t been gone almost half an hour.
“I was beginning to think you ran off again,” Jillaine said.
He shook his head. “I promised you I wouldn’t, remember?”
“What did my father want?” she asked.
“To hear how you were doing.”
She nodded. “And what did you say?”
He took another bite of the mutton, which had remained warm despite his half-hour absence. “I said you’d tell him yourself, when you were damn well ready.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her little smile.
Leward turned up as Quinn finished. “How was it?”
“Best mutton I’ve ever had,” Quinn said, because it was true.
Leward’s face split into a wide grin. “Here, I’ll take your plates.”
“I’ve got it.” Quinn stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done enough.” He gestured at Jillaine’s plate. “May I?”
“Such a gentleman,” she said.
He grinned, and worked his way down the hall to the common kitchen. This was a snug, stone-tiled room with ovens and roasting pits on either side. He skirted the wooden table and made his way to stone sinks on the far wall. They were already filled with warm, fragrant water. Perfect.
He’d just started scrubbing when he heard someone come in behind. Probably Leward. “I said I’ve got it.”
“Got what?” Jillaine asked.
“Oh. I thought you were Leward.” He tilted his head toward the common room. “Go enjo
y yourself. I’ll just be a minute.”
“I don’t mind helping.” She slipped up beside him, warm and close and smelling of roses. He couldn’t argue.
They made quick work of it. Jillaine didn’t use her talents, though she easily could have. Come to think of it, most Enclave magicians didn’t use their magic on mundane things. Pireans especially. Maybe it was a cultural thing.
She did, however, splash him on purpose. “Oops.”
“Hey!”
“It was an accident.”
It was not. But he let it slide. They finished, and set the plates and silver out to dry on the table. Laughter and the buzz of conversation drifted in from the common room. Quinn felt a touch of disappointment, because he knew he’d never spirit her away from that crowd. Not with the attention they were getting.
“It sounds lively out there. Want to hang around for a drink?” he asked.
She glanced at the door, then gestured at his soaked shirt. “But you’re all wet.”
He shrugged. “It’ll dry.”
“Hmm.” She leaned closer to him and took his hand.
He didn’t dare breathe.
She pulled him around the sinks and waved her free hand at the wall beside the oven. A vertical crack appeared. Stone ground against stone as it widened, revealing a dim hallway beyond.
A hidden door. He gave a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be—”
Jillaine shook her head, and put a finger over her lips.
He bit his tongue. Let no one say that Quinn Bradley doesn’t know when to shut up.
They slipped through, and the gap closed behind. She led him up a spiraling staircase. Their footsteps echoed in the semidarkness. They passed a landing, then another. On the fourth floor, she pulled him down a curving hallway. Iridescent globes hung from the ceiling every ten paces or so, and cast little pools of light on the floor. He and Jillaine ghosted through them, moving deeper into the tower. She laced her fingers into his. They were delicate little things, slender but strong. Soft as gossamer silk.
She stopped at a plain wooden door. The top half of it had been carved into a tangle of vines and roses and hidden thorns. Quinn brushed his fingers on the rough edges, marveling at the detail. It swung open silently. He followed her in, wondering if he dared to close it behind them. He wasn’t brave enough, but the door closed on its own.
Jillaine snapped her fingers, and a fire sprang into life in the hearth. It was a snug one-room apartment much like his own. Narrow bed, table with two chairs. She had five times as many candles, though, and a bookshelf that would make Chaudri drool. Forty or fifty leather-bound volumes, minimum, all of them carefully lined up with each other and the edge of the shelf.
“That’s a lot of—” he began. Then he realized how close she was. The words left him. She stood on her toes, pressed her lips against his. She pulled away, but held him with her eyes. The invitation was clear as day.
“Are you going to tie me up this time?” he asked.
Her mouth fell open. She swatted his arm, but playfully. “Keep talking, and maybe I will.”
He put his arms around her waist and kissed her again.
Chapter 32
The Mentor
“It’s far easier to disappear in Alissia than it is on Earth.”
—R. Holt, “Ramifications of Technological Disparities”
Valteron. For the second time in just a few months, Veena laid eyes on the most powerful nation in Alissia. For this whole mission, the distance between her and Richard had seemed almost infinite. Now it had been compressed to the size of a single city.
The Valteroni captain had kept Dr. Holt’s word. They’d had their own cabins, wine and hot meals every evening, the works. The only thing not offered was proximity. Their attempts to engage the captain or crew in any sort of a deep conversation had been met with stony silence. No one was impolite, of course, but Veena got more information out of the seagulls than anyone else on the ship.
Julio was at the rail with his opera glasses when she came up on deck. She was beginning to wonder if he’d slept at all. “How does it look?” she asked.
“Crowded,” Julio said.
“Is that good news, or bad?”
“Well, no one’s rioting.”
She took the optics and made her own sweep of the harbor. The docks were jam-packed with people, but bustling. Plenty of ships tied up and in the midst of unloading, too. The last time she’d been here, burning hulks had littered the harbor, and half the city was starving. Fast-forward a few months, and everyone looked decently fed. Content, even.
“What do you think Holt’s been up to?” Julio asked.
Keeping his promises, she wanted to say. “Running a nation the size of Valteron probably keeps him busy.”
Julio shook his head. “Where does he find the time?”
“I’ll be sure to ask when I see him.”
Julio barked a laugh. Then glanced over and saw the look on her face. “Veena, tell me you’re kidding.”
“He’s expecting me. And the captain’s going to send him word of my coming anyway.”
“That’s not a good reason to go running off to his palace.”
“If I don’t, he’ll come looking for me. It’s better that the meeting happen on our terms,” Veena said.
“What if he takes you prisoner?”
“He won’t, if I go there voluntarily. It’s a matter of honor.”
Julio snorted.
“Besides, he did invite me,” Veena said.
“The fact that he’s sweet on you isn’t exactly selling me on this.”
If only he were. She handed back the optics. “Look, it’s the only way to find out what he’s really up to. Can you say that what Logan and Kiara have been doing is more effective?”
“They’re getting some intel.”
“It’s not enough. We both know that.”
“Fine,” Julio said. “But I’m coming with you.”
“They might let you come as far as the palace. But not inside the walls.”
“How am I supposed to protect you if I’m outside?”
“There’s no safer place for me in Alissia than inside that palace. Dr. Holt gave his word.” That’s the part of his letter she’d told Julio about—a guarantee of safe passage.
Julio snickered. “And you think you can trust him?”
“We need to know what he’s up to, don’t we?” she asked.
“That’s not your job.”
“It’s all of our job, and I’m the one with the actual invitation. But if Dr. Holt so much as glimpses you or Logan, we won’t learn anything.”
“Let me call it in,” Julio said.
The moment he did that, Kiara would put the kibosh on this. Veena had no doubt. So she put a hand on his arm, not firmly, but just the fingertips. “Please, don’t call it in.”
He froze when she touched him. “Veena—”
“Let me do this.”
He shook his head and muttered, “Logan’s going to kill me.”
That was as good of permission as she’d ever get. She waved to get the captain’s attention. “Captain! My manservant will be getting off early.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
The captain spat over the side. “Guess I can lend him a skiff and a couple of men.”
“Much appreciated, Captain,” Veena said.
Julio made a face. “Do I really have to get off now?”
“Why wait?”
He rolled his shoulders and looked away. “I was hoping we could, you know, spend some more time.”
I wish we could. Veena had enjoyed these weeks alone with Julio far more than she’d ever have imagined. He was so kind, so attentive. So different from Richard. “When this mission is over, we’ll have all the time in the world.”
“Really?”
“All we need is an excuse to break off from the group again. Think you can come up with one?”
He grinned. “Excuses are my specialty.”
Veena turned to the captain, who’d insisted on seeing her ashore in person. “Did you send some kind of word that I was coming?”
“Can’t say I did. But the Prime has ways of finding out what he wants to know.”
“We agree on that much.”
Two sailors in the bow leaped out onto the docks to make the craft fast. Veena pressed a jeweled brooch into the captain’s hand. “Thank you, Captain.”
He shook his head and tried to hand it back. “No need for that, miss. Just doin’ my loyal duty.”
“You didn’t have to let us board, or feed us, or treat us well. I insist.”
He let out a low whistle, grinned, and tucked the gem into his pocket. “As long as you’re insisting.”
A silver brooch with lab-created gemstones might be worth a couple hundred bucks, Earth-side. Here, on a planet that knew only the real thing, it would bring a pile of silver coins if the captain knew how to sell it.
“Need me to send a couple of the boys along, just to see you safely?” he asked.
“I think the Prime might take offense if you did.”
“He’ll take even more offense if I don’t get you there in one piece.”
She threw back one side of her cloak so that he could see the sword-hilt there. “I’ll be fine.”
The captain’s eyes went wide, and then he grinned. “Reckon I’m starting to see why the Prime takes such an interest.”
He helped her mount the gangplank, then watched as she crossed to where the sedan chair waited. She climbed up, waved, and told the bearers, “I’m ready.” From the corner of her eye, she watched Julio slip out of the tender as it slid back into the water. He’d changed into sailor’s garb while still aboard, and blended perfectly with the crowd at the docks. He promised to shadow her to the palace and stay outside.
The bearers picked up Veena’s chair without a word, and started for the shore. The docks were a hotbed of activity, but sailors and merchants and feather-hat captains alike gave the chair a wide berth. Veena took a silent tally of the ships that were tied up to the docks. Nine deep water vessels were anchored in the channel, all of them in the process of offloading crates or barrels or both. Six single-masted cutters were tied right to the docks. Their crews lounged on deck, looking bored. Waiting for something or someone.