My cousin stood from his seat, popped a piece of buttered squid into his mouth, then put down his empty mug in a hurried fashion. He scanned the tables near him, grabbed a cup of water from a passing server, then held it out with his left hand while hovering his right by his waist. He took out a vial of iron, kept liquid by the garnet glass surrounding it, and poured it into the water. He tilted the cup downward, still chewing vigorously on the squid, and allowed a thin stream of water and iron to seep through his fingers onto the floor. He concentrated his eyes, feeling the water trickle over his palm. The shallow color of his pupils, the hooded sockets of his eyes as he stared into the water, and his heightened expression all made him look much paler than he really was. He gulped down the half-chewed squid with impatience, then brought his right hand up and waved slow from left to right in the space in front of him. The air shimmered with heat. A web of half-ignited embers appeared in a crystallized pattern, vanishing a few seconds later in a puff of cold smoke and orange-pastel glares.
Several of the groups around us clapped and nodded vigorously. Eyes from the far end of the great hall wandered in our direction. The difficulty in the alchemy he had performed had not come from its scale, but from the degree of control it demanded. A great deal of restraint and focus was necessary to create a design as intricate as the one that had appeared. It was far above anything we had been taught at the Cathedral, and almost equaled what I had convinced all my classmates I was capable of on a good day. Combine the alchemy of water to heat things and the alchemy of metal to control electricity—and you could command fire itself. It was the kind of alchemy that would have made Mother and Taa proud, if I had done it myself.
“Dina, that is what you should be practicing,” Aymeer said. “Magic is in our blood. We should be honing this talent day in and day out. This is what wins wars, not learning twenty-seven different languages. I would rather know how to fight a vampire than be able to speak to it. What power do words and poetry give over daemons?”
In moments like these, when his eyes were fixed and concentrated, and his expression hard and arrogant, you could see the dry bones of an Anasahara heritage poking through the frail and anxious outer shell of a Speight.
“Ahh,” Queen O’nell interjected before I could reply. Her eyes went back and forth between Aymeer and me. “I sense a familial rivalry. I had one myself when I was young. Nothing like a bit of competition to sharpen the edges around a royal family.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” my uncle said, chuckling politely. He rubbed a hand against a glistening cheek. “I was lucky to have one myself.” He took two fingers and spread the moisture on his brow more evenly across his forehead, dabbing at the corners next to his hairline. “Aymeer here means it in good sport. He’s been hard at work with his studies. Likes to show his progress now and again. You know how it is, the inclinations of youth. They always want to show off.”
“I take it your studies in magic are going well, young lord?” Queen O’nell asked.
“Better than anyone could have hoped for,” my uncle said, gripping his son by the shoulder. “By the time Aymeer is done with his training, I’m more than positive he’ll be the most talented alchemist in all of Chaya.” His eyes flickered over my sisters and me. “And you know, it’s not just magic he’s learning. He’s quite skilled at Riduan too. I’d put my money on him in any fight. He can already almost keep up with the Ivory Hands. Our secret is that we focus on practical arts and methods more than anything else.”
“Hah! That’s easy enough to do, what he did there,” Yephi chimed in. She walked over and dipped a few fingers into Aymeer’s cup of iron and water, then walked back. Everyone’s eyes followed her with curiosity. Both Mother and Queen O’nell held their breaths. Father absently scratched his beard. This kind of thing happened often, when royal families brought their children together, but the children usually never liked partaking. Today was different. Everyone could feel the pride hanging on to the undercurrents of our minor performances and exchanges.
Yephi waited several seconds in silence, then dipped her fingers into Iris’s cup to get more water. Iris looked down at her glass in disgust. Yephi waved at the air in front of her just as Aymeer had, and then waved her other hand and swung her head to the side to flourish her performance with a bit of dramatic flair. I had taught her well.
The air shimmered once more, sparkling in elaborate patterns, though less intricate than my cousin’s. Yephi’s hands were so small she could fit them through the gaps in the web of embers she had created with ease. The applause following her alchemy was far more lively and vigorous. She was more than five years younger than Aymeer.
Uncle Speight nodded vaguely, spearing the last of my cousin’s squid into his mouth. Aymeer turned just one shade of red brighter than he already was.
“Oh stop it, Yephi,” Father gently rebuked, holding his wine to the light while smacking his lips together to taste its leftover flavors. “It isn’t a contest, you know. No need to be a show off.” His eyes told a different story. They leapt from Iris, to Yephi, to me, skipping with pride and amusement. His voice was thick with more emotion than I expected.
Queen O’nell beamed. “And what about you, Dina?” she asked. “Show us something! More than once I’ve heard of the alchemical talents of Chaya’s eldest daughter. To see you was half the reason I came.” She pulled a deep breath in, holding her hands together tightly in anticipation.
“Yes, Dina!” my uncle exclaimed, only a hint of irony in his voice. “Show us a bit of magic!” He waved his hand enthusiastically at the crowd, drawing more viewers.
“We just said it isn’t a contest,” Mother broke in, stepping toward me. Her eyes narrowed at my uncle as she placed a protective hand around my neck. “I see no need to have Dina show off in front of our guests. That wouldn’t be appropriate for a host.” She turned to Yephi and Iris. “I think we’ve had enough familial rivalry for a day.”
“Oh come on, sister,” Queen O’nell protested warmly. “You are one of the most talented alchemists I have ever met. And Dina’s grandmother, well, she is perhaps one of the greatest alchemists in all of Mirradalia. I am sure I am not the only person waiting in eager anticipation to know what the future queen of Chaya is capable of.
Next to her, Haben tugged at his chin while nodding with wide, eager eyes.
“A brief display of my abilities won’t hurt, Mother,” I said, slowly brushing the side of her dress with the back of a hand.
She raised a brow, then stared at me silently for several seconds. For a moment, I thought she might continue insisting otherwise, unsure if I was being serious or not. Or perhaps she just didn’t want me to play at the game she knew I was going to play. In the end, she stepped back anyway, and gestured a hand forward to allow me to proceed.
Everyone watched with greedy, keen eyes. Even some of the servers stopped to watch.
The truth was, I had been waiting in silence for this moment for a long time now. Had I replied too early to my cousin, I wouldn’t have had the quiet regard my performance would now bring. This was how you built suspense and gravitas. This was how you greased the anticipation of a crowd. I was no alchemist, but I was a magician, a con artist of the highest caliber. I could sell snake oil to a cobra, silk to a spider—sunlight in a bottle to a vampire for three teeth and a gold mark.
And of everything possible, if there was one thing I knew how to do well, it was fooling an audience eager to be fooled.
CHAPTER 14
It is important, when you are going to fool a group of thirty people, many of whom have been trained artfully in the way and had many lifetimes worth of experience in uncovering other people’s lies, that you do not look away. It sounds like a trivial detail, I know, but just like the way, the nature of false facing lies in subtlety.
When the Sisterhood of Dusk marked a person for death, they sent a single grey feather, plucked from the wings of a sterling raven and wrapped in velvet cloth, to the marked victim. Death had alwa
ys come so certainly, that through the years, receiving parties had adopted the practice of silently wrapping up their affairs and making what tributes they could afford to Shanto, convoy of the long journey, god of peace and silence.
When you look at the person you are about to fool just before leaving them with the illusion of your trick, you are sending them a grey feather. It impresses upon them the slow coming of something inevitable. They must know, not think, that you are going to fool them right before their very eyes.
I walked up to a server holding a cask of tinesault wine. I picked up a glass, then asked him to fill it to no more than a third of the way. He poured slowly, watching Mother through the corner of his eyes. Mother watched me with a puzzled expression for several seconds, then gave me a demonic tilt of the head as she guessed at what I was going to do.
The servers around the great hall were beginning to hand out plates, forks, and knives. In the center of every table they placed more distinct utensils—serrated skewers, steel-plated crackers, and thin pairs of scissors with saw tooth edges. These would be used for cutting open fish, cracking crab legs, slicing squid into pieces, and prying open all manner of sea creatures. Tonight was going to be a customary feast in the fashion of Chaya’s traditional diet. There would be toasted crab flaked with buttered breadcrumbs and honey. Giant salmon baked in sweet white wines, sautéed greens, and caramelized peanuts. Hand battered shrimps fried in lemonnut oils, smoked with apple flavors, and dipped in brandy sauces. There were items not from the sea, but you would’ve been foolish to eat those here. In all of Mirradalia, no one made seafood like we did in Chaya.
I walked up to Uncle Speight with the glass of wine. He smiled thinly as he watched me, holding his own glass in one hand and resting his chin on the other. Aymeer was watching, but with his eyes diverted a few inches to the left of me. I turned to face everyone before beginning the performance.
“The alchemy of water is a well known practice,” I began, speaking in a mild manner. I did not want to sound too bold and suggest this was going to be easy, but I also did not want to imply that I doubted I could pull off what I was about to do. I made certain to maintain the same tone as I continued, “With water, you can control the temperature of things. You can cool a fire down to a few smoldering embers. You can heat the air around you, sometimes enough to spark flames.” I glanced at Aymeer for a moment, and then Yephi. “It is the main kind of alchemy that they teach to young alchemists in Chaya, and one of the four fundamental types of alchemy that they practice all around Mirradalia, next to the alchemy of earth for endowing yourself with physical gifts, the alchemy of metal for controlling electricity, and the alchemy of juices from flora, used by physikers for healing the sick and wounded.”
I paused for a while, turning my back to everyone and pretending to concentrate on the wine. I dipped my fingers into the glass and combed through the coral tints. I was not saying anything that wasn’t common knowledge, but this was necessary to build suspense, to create a pretext for the con.
I turned to my uncle. His expression was slowly changing from curious to doubtful. Like Mother, he was beginning to get an inkling of what I was going to do. Aymeer’s lips twitched with a hint of frustration. He whispered something to his father. They both knew I had no alchemical gifts, but they wouldn’t call me out for it. Not directly, at least. This was an indirect jab from my uncle.
More people gathered around us.
The color of the antechamber was beginning to change from a warm candlelight glow to a cool silver blue, brought on by the incandescence of alchemical globes that were being lit for dinner. It gave the great hall an archaic air. This is what the deck of old ships looked like when they passed through midnight seas. Intense metallic hues ebbed out of the spaces closest to the globes, but offered little warmth. If you placed your hand over them, you could create blurred shadows across the ceiling, not sharply cut like shadows from the sun, but obscure, bent figures that could not maintain their shape against the silver contours that scintillated around them like liquid jewels. The colors of people’s clothes blended into gradients of alloy shades. The calming and more arcane ambiance did wonders for people whose senses had already been sedated by sweet wines and hot ciders.
When the great hall was lit like this, it brought to attention other qualities and objects you might have missed earlier. Namely, the statues and paintings at the far ends of the room that were designed to stand out under alchemical lights. They lined the walls, with short descriptions etched into the space next to them that highlighted the contributions made to the world by the person being displayed, their voyages at sea, and the honor they had brought to the House of Anasahara. There was Andrekil Anasahara, the first of my ancestors to settle in Mirradalia from beyond the Shoreless Seas. There was Ashim Anasahara, who captained the ships that took Dh’hpur from the old continent to the new. There was Sneha Anasahara, who scaled the body of the Leviathan and pulled one of its teeth out. Every statue and painting was its own island of time, with faces marked by dauntless expressions and eternal valor.
After enough time had passed, I turned to address everyone once more.
“But there are more… elusive forms of alchemy in the world. Some of these take a lifetime to hone and master. They require total devotion to an art form. A starched and unyielding ability to sacrifice mind, body, and soul to mastering a craft.” I paused, blinked, made eye contact with as many people as I could. “Consider yourselves lucky. I will show you one of these alchemical forms today.”
Several people exchanged glances with each other. Father sat upright in his seat while Mother tapped a finger lazily against her collarbone. Queen O’nell looked insatiable, craving much more than just a simple display of alchemy. I raised the wine glass to my nose. Breathed in deeply. There could be no doubt in this performance. For a brief moment, I had to become a master alchemist. I had to have the humble demeanor with which they approached their crafts, I had to have the easy arrogance with which they approached those who were not truly devoted to learning the art the way they were. I had to have their ambition, their thirst, their longing. All of it had to be worn around me, cemented into every motion and glance, every thought and expression.
I dipped my fingers into the glass.
“Today I will show you the alchemy of spirits. The magic that can be done with alcoholic liquids.” Murmurs broke out through all the groups around me, along with a few cheers and cautionary whispers. Some shook their heads in doubt; others nodded vigorously in glee. “It is a clandestine art, a secret held by the Sisterhood of Dusk, and used by their assassins and spies. It greatly enhances the bearer’s mental abilities, allowing them to see the unseen, think in ways they never could while sober, and connect dots that seem irrelevant to the unassisted mind.”
It may not be obvious, but this was the distraction that the whole performance relied on. This was the part that you paid attention to, the part that made you want to be fooled. Some piece of your mind was already convinced about what you would see next. I had to do no more than string the caper along to its natural endpoint. The best disguises and lies do not try to shock and awe an audience all the way through to the final revelation. Those will feel too contrived, too forced. The best ones lull their viewers into a state of prescience. Their audience begins to expect what they’ll see, and then the trick allows them to see what they expect.
I took one last glance around the room, then turned back to my uncle. I waved one hand around the top of the wine glass, then held it there stiffly until it began shaking. I flexed my fingers, easing the tension away after several seconds. I breathed again, shallow and sharply this time, closing my eyes. When I opened them, my expression was different. More serious, deliberate, blank and emotionless. I focused my eyes until they blurred, giving myself a hazy and clouded look.
I did not know what wine alchemy actually looked like, but I’d seen a whisper addict once, lying across one of the footstools at the market square in town, who did somet
hing similar when he took a good long hit off a rusted metal spoon. Mother and Queen O’nell would know what the alchemy of wine really looked like, but I didn’t have to worry about the two of them. Mother would know this was all fake anyway, and if Queen O’nell suspected anything then I’d just tell her I was using an ancient, forbidden technique taught to me by Taa that was more effective than common methods. It was a full-proof plan.
I walked up to my uncle and set the wine glass down on the table next to him. He studied me leisurely, his expression guileless. There was only the tiniest hint of resentment in those eyes, barely visible against the slanting alchemical lights that tinctured the glitter and lines of his forehead. I waited seven heartbeats to begin the performance, just like Taa always said.
“This morning, Uncle, you woke up and took between fifty and fifty-five minutes to dress. My eyes tell me that you had some kind of chowder for breakfast, hot and salted, and then went on a ride sometime before midafternoon. You were caught in the rain, did not seek shelter, and then rode back quickly, half-soaked from the drizzle.” I made a show of observing his arms for several seconds. “You enjoyed the company of a group of courtiers from the old continent sometime during the day. They offered you gifts. You had coffee. You shaved with grass oils. You changed your watch before the evening, though you like the other one better.” My uncle shifted uncomfortably in his seat, possibly wondering if I’d start revealing more personal details. “And lastly, you practiced with your sword before having it cleaned. However, your mind was not truly devoted to the moment. You were imagining yourself somewhere else.” I gestured to the black and gold leather sheath tied to his double-waisted belt.
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