The Fall of Ventaris

by Neil McGarry

  Duchess moved slowly backwards from circle to circle, sliding along through the worshipers until she stood behind the very last row, craning her neck to look around. It was Ahmed, she was certain, and from this vantage she saw that the inner rings, where she had begun, were comprised mostly of the highborn. The commoners were relegated to the outer rings. Another misstep, and no doubt what had drawn Dorian’s focus.

  She had little time to regret it, for at that moment the radiants all burst into a paean of praise, and the sky ports were opened, and as light filtered back into the temple, movement stopped and eyes began to clear. The man next to her raised his own voice, and the woman next to him, and soon the entire congregation had joined the hymn. She did not know the words but at that point she could scarcely have drawn more attention if she’d attended the service naked. She didn’t want to think what Lysander would say when she told him.

  By the time the song had ended, the congregants were a crowd of city folk once more, shuffling about, blowing out candles, and muttering to each other. The mysteries, thank Ventaris, were over.

  * * *

  She blew out her own candle and looked about for Ahmed. The congregants were in motion, some moving towards the doors, and others waiting for the attention of the radiants, who were dispensing greetings and advice. She bit her lip; if she did not catch him before he attended his lord she’d have wasted the day. She was just wondering if she might ask Dorian for help when a hand grasped her arm and yanked her painfully from the ranks of the faithful towards the great arches that led to the Godswalk.

  It seemed that Ahmed had found her instead.

  “Wait!” she hissed, unwilling to make a scene. “Don’t pull it from the socket.”

  “Wait?” he spat, his now-familiar face red with anger. “Oh no. You’re not talking your way out of this. You’re going straight to the Saints, little thief.”

  She couldn’t let herself be turned over to the Temple blackarms. “You don’t want to do this,” she said, but he took no heed, still pulling her towards the Walk, his eyes scanning for guards.

  “Don’t I? You cost Mahlia her job, and you nearly cost me mine, you little monster.”

  “Ahmed, look at me.”

  That made him turn. “What?”

  “Look at me.” She grabbed his vest with both hands. “You know me, Ahmed. Remember when you let my brother take that big black stallion out even though Father had forbidden it? How Justin hurt his leg, but he told father that he’d fallen out of a tree?” Anger was turning into curiosity, and she pressed on before he could recover. “Marguerite was half in love with you, even though she’d never admit it. She was always following you about, asking for help taking care of that chestnut mare father had gotten her.”

  Recognition dawned in his eyes, and he released her arm as if she’d scalded him. His hands came to his mouth. “Gods...” he whispered, pale.

  “Hello, Ahmed.” She smiled, shaky with relief. “It’s been a while.”

  * * *

  “Of course we thought you were dead. It’s what they told everyone at the Freehold. We’d followed the stories all summer, and each one seemed worse than the last. It was awful,” he lamented, shaking his head. They were standing behind a cluster of hedges that afforded as much privacy as any place on the Godswalk. Worshipers were still streaming out of the Halls of Dawn, but to Duchess they seemed far away. “So when they told us the city house was burned by gangs, with everyone in it...well, what were we to do?”

  She took this in, feeling numb, hardly believing they were actually having this conversation. “You said you heard stories,” she said at last, trying to focus.

  Ahmed nodded, glancing about to ensure no one was within earshot. “The city gates were blocked and the harbor closed, and there were blockades everywhere. But there was money to be made sneaking supplies in through Broken Gate. There was a cloth merchant who used to get things for your lord father, things that...well, that weren’t quite official, if you take my meaning. Nothing dark or dangerous, mind you, but Ularion wine now and again, perhaps a bit of spiced cheese.”

  She knew Broken Gate, which lay at the southernmost tip of the city, in the worst part of the Deeps near the Narrows. It had collapsed long ago and had never been repaired. “And this merchant told you...”

  “Well, you couldn’t get a person through Broken Gate, but you could pass small things: packets of food, skins of wine, that sort of thing. Even better, you could pass rumors, so I took the steadiest horse in the stable and raided the kitchen for things to trade for news. Shara, the old cook — you remember her? She helped me sneak what we could out of the coldhouse, and I agreed to take her along.

  “Even far outside the city I could see the fires up and down the hill, little lights in the fog. The gangs were out of the Narrows by the time I got there, rampaging across the city, so the Deeps were safe...or as safe as you could expect. There were more than a few folk on the city side of Broken Gate, and Shara and I traded our hams and grain for their tales and a bit of coin. And that’s when we heard about...well, you know.”

  “And you never tried to get into the city to see if it was true.”

  He flushed, dropping his gaze. “None of us knew what was going to happen! We knew the...” he lowered his voice, looking about uneasily, “...we knew your father was at the center of it, and we’d had no word from Lord Marcus in weeks. I had myself to think about, and the rest of the staff. We heard that the house had burned, that the master was dead and his children with him...what were we to do?”

  He looked so plaintive that she almost wished she had some sympathy, but it was not Ahmed’s father who had died. It was not Ahmed who’d been left alone in a burning house.

  He sighed. “We turned back to the Freehold as soon as we could, and nearly lamed the horses getting there. We knew with your father dead that the war was over, and that the winners might not be kind to the losers. So we decided it best to just disappear. Last I saw Shara she was headed south to the Duchies — she was Nerrish, still had family in Verge.” He sighed. “I crept back into the city, figuring I could lose myself in the crowd, and so I did. I moved from inn to inn and district to district, never staying in one place too long, listening for news. I thought I might get word to Savant Terence, but it never seemed safe...”

  That caught her attention; only high-ranking scholars were called savants. “Terence? Who’s that?”

  “Your father’s closest friend. You don’t remember him? He used to bring his daughter to visit the Freehold now and again. Darley, I think her name was.” He smiled faintly. “You two used to fight just about any time you were left alone. I remember one time you came running to me after you pushed Darley in the mud. Well, pushed wasn’t the right word; you dug a hole and filled it with mud, and then chased her into it. When she climbed out you booted her right back in. I told you Lord Kell would give you Ventaris’ own wrath, but when we brought you to him you just explained precisely why you had to kick her.”

  She searched her memories. “I think I remember a tall man in blue robes, but this Darley...no.” Some things about that time were so clear, but this story meant nothing to her.

  “He was as close to your father as anyone I can remember. A good bit older, though it always seemed to me that he deferred to Lord Marcus in everything. Later I heard he personally shut down the Freehold and wrapped up the affairs. Seemed we’d done the right thing, leaving, after all. The tenants were allowed to remain, but there was no more need for house staff.”

  “And it’s still there?”

  “The Freehold? As far as I know. I haven’t heard that anyone bought the place, and I would, given my position with the baron...” He trailed off suddenly, as if only now realizing what he was doing. He stepped away from her, no longer her father’s master of horse but the majordomo of House Eusbius. “The baron and Lady Agalia will be wondering where I am, and they don’t need to see me with you. Your father was a good man, and for his sake I’ll forget that I saw
you today, but that’s as far as I’ll go. Since I left the Freehold I’ve known some hard times, and I owe Gallius more than I can say. He gave me a chance when few would and I’ll not have that taken from me. Not for you.”

  Duchess nodded. She knew about opportunities lost, and safety wiped away by the whim of chance. “You don’t have to worry,” she said. “I won’t bother you again.” Though even as she said the words, she wondered if she meant them. But no, that door to her that life had closed a long time ago.

  Hadn’t it?

  He made to leave, then turned back, his face unreadable. “Terence — hells, all the other scholars — came through the War of the Quills without disgrace, you know. He’s at court now, working for the empress herself. In Rodaas, a man doesn’t find himself in high position unless he stepped on a few of his fellows on the way up. One of those was no doubt your father.” He gave her a look. “Stay away from him, child. As far as he knows you’re dead, and if you want my advice, you should stay that way.”

  * * *

  She stood alone amidst the hedges for some time, frustrated and uncertain. For a moment she wished for her candle again. Perhaps it would light her way forward. A close friend to her father, and one who could likely tell her much, yet she dare not ignore the possibility that Terence had had some part in her father’s death. Revealing herself might spur him to finish what the fire had started. Still, she decided as she stepped from behind the hedges, she could be both cautious and curious...

  “I was wondering where you’d gotten to,” said Dorian Eusbius. She froze. Had he seen her speaking with Ahmed? A quick glance around did not reveal any of the other members of his House. As if reading her mind, Dorian said, “The baron’s already gone. He and my lady mother took their leave while I was looking for you.”

  That was a relief. “So you were looking for me, then?” she teased. She shouldn’t be doing this, but something had hold of her.

  “Caught by my own words,” he allowed, grinning. His teeth were straighter than Lysander’s, she noticed, and they seemed almost to shine when he smiled. “I was looking for you, but feared I might have to venture — how did you put it? — further down the hill.”

  She smiled ruefully. “In case you hadn’t noticed I was a bit clumsy in there. I didn’t know the steps to the dance.” He laughed, not unkindly. “How did you learn all that?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t remember ever learning the motions; I imagine I was taught as a child. Evidently you weren’t.” He leaned close. “As far as I’m concerned, you were lucky. The mysteries are tedious to say the least, as are the radiants who conduct them. The baron has them to dinner from time to time, and they make the napkins seem interesting.” She giggled. She really shouldn’t be talking with Dorian Eusbius, but there was something engaging about him. Besides, it was not as if handsome young men ordinarily gave her a great deal of time or attention, so she decided to get it while it was going.

  Her laughter seemed to encourage him. “Duchess,” he mused. “An unusual name. Some day you must tell me how you came by it.”

  She blinked. “That would be quite a story, my lo- Dorian.” Before she could say any more, a voice from behind interrupted.

  “Dorian, I believe the baron and your lady mother were looking for you.” Turning, she saw a tall man in radiant’s garb, and her heart sank. It was the same priest who’d eyed her during the mysteries. “They await you on the Godswalk. You can catch them if you hurry.”

  A look of annoyance flashed across Dorian’s face and was gone almost as quickly. “Thank you, Preceptor Amabilis, I’d better do just that.” He nodded to Duchess, his eyes meeting hers and lingering for a moment before he turned away. “A most excellent day to you.”

  “Praised be His light,” Amabilis replied, and the young man moved off, disappearing around the hedges. The radiant, an almost cadaverously thin man with white hair and deep-set eyes, turned back to Duchess. Those eyes were colorless, she noted, neither blue nor gray nor green. Unsettling, to be sure. “And a good day to you, my little mote.”

  “Mote, sir?” She didn’t know why any radiant, particularly one so highly ranked, would take an interest in her. Perhaps her missteps during the mysteries had angered him.

  “The name I gave you when I saw you wandering in the Hall. An errant mote, moving against the flow, a particle of chaos across the turning of the wheel.”

  So she was being rebuked. “My apologies, Preceptor. I was, ah, unfamiliar with...”

  “Oh, your reasons don’t concern me.” He smiled mirthlessly, which made his strange eyes seem even more unsettling. “All things serve the turning of His wheel. Chaos is part of order. I merely wished to see this bit of chaos up close.”

  Duchess had not spent years playing at words with Minette without learning to recognize coy curiosity, and in a strange way she felt more at ease. It was a game she knew. “And now that you’ve gotten your better look, Preceptor?” She could play as well.

  He smiled, undeterred. “I withhold judgment.” His eyes measured her. “Indeed, judgment, like forgiveness, comes from the gods.”

  “Then I hope Ventaris will forgive me for not introducing myself. They call me — ”

  “Duchess. I know.” Before she could ask, he added, “As I approached I heard young Dorian Eusbius say the name, which is indeed unusual. Almost too unusual to be true.”

  Duchess watched him warily, wondering if he was simply striking in the dark. “I’ve been called many things,” she replied at last.

  “But never overly cautious, I’ll warrant.”

  “And why should I be cautious in the Halls of Dawn, Preceptor?”

  “Your conversations with two members of House Eusbius today did not go unnoticed. I would think,” he mused, placing a finger on his cheek, “that someone in your position would be capable of more subtlety.”

  Realization stirred. Amabilis might wear a radiant’s whites, but he spoke like one of the Grey. If this wasn’t fruning, she was an alley cat.

  “Well, I’m still new at this,” she tried, “but I’m always pleased to learn from my elders.” The flicker in his eyes gave him away. He was Grey. She’d heard stories of high-hill Rodaasi and even nobles who wore the cloak, but she’d never imagined a radiant might do so. A day for revelations, indeed.

  He inclined his head slightly, as in salute. “We who wear the white and gold strive every day to serve the turning of the great wheel, no matter our position. All things have their place in the pattern.”

  “All things, Preceptor?” She thought suddenly of the boy with the torch and of Manly Pete and Lysander. “Even someone like Adam Whitehall?” Let him chew on that.

  If Amabilis was surprised at her audacity, he did not show it. “Especially someone like Adam Whitehall.”

  “You say that as if you mean it.”

  “I do mean it.”

  She gave him a long look. “And you know what he’s done?”

  “Of course. His crimes are what led him to the Halls of Dawn,” Amabilis said with a beatific expression. “I pray for the souls of those poor boys every day. But they are gone, and we are here.” He tilted his head. “There was a time when men made tools of iron, torn crudely from the earth and roughly shaped. Iron is brittle and black, but when exposed to fire the ore dries, the impurities removed, and in the end is turned to steel, stronger and more flexible. Forged and tempered into something better.” He looked down at her, eyes unreadable. “Ventaris is fire, child, and Adam Whitehall iron ore. Thus good might be made of bad, if one has but the will and the hands to shape it.”

  She thought of Lysander, and how easily it might have been him in place of Pete. She stepped away from Amabilis, towards the Godswalk, her head full and her stomach sour. She didn’t know what the preceptor wanted, but she’d had her fill for the day. “Then I leave you to your work. I wish you luck with Adam Whitehall.”

  “No fear, child.” Amabilis watched her with his strange eyes. “He has his uses. As do we all.” />
  Chapter Six: Worth the candle

  When word came from Minette to meet her keeper, Duchess thought she was ready. She could not have been more wrong.

  The Vermillion was busy, and the wide crimson parlor full of Minette’s ladies and their clients. She saw none of Minette’s boys, but that was not unusual. The Vermillion catered to men from up and down the hill, and commoners interested in diversions of that sort generally desired privacy. Lysander’s clients, on the other hand, were generally better born if not aristocratic, and less concerned about those proprieties. Not for the first time, she wondered why an act that was acceptable for the nobles was forbidden for the lowborn. None of the Vermillion’s males were as beautiful as Lysander, of course, although there was one Domae boy who was apparently a favorite. Minette was an equal-opportunity employer, and hired Rodaasi, Domae and Ahé alike. “Some men like a single dish, and others like a taste of this and a nibble of that,” Minette had once told Duchess. “So I stock all flavors.”

  Daphne was not to be seen – no doubt busy upstairs with the priest – and for once the tall, blonde Lorelai had no time to spare, which was fine with Duchess, who was too nervous for idle gossip. She took a seat in a corner and watched the Vermillion’s ladies charm the men the evening had brought, almost like fisherman winkling the day’s catch from the harbor. She rarely stopped by the brothel in the evenings, when business was brisk, but she thought her plain tunic and leggings were enough to discourage anyone from mistaking her for the help. Watching the women entice the men, with a loaded glance or the subtle swing of a hip, Duchess felt a pang. Was this what men wanted from women? Sly seduction? She’d known few men, and only Lysander intimately, but he scarcely counted. There was that locksmith’s apprentice in the alley behind Noam’s bakery — she’d long since forgotten his name — but she hadn’t exactly seduced him. He’d wanted to put his hands under her shirt and she had let him. If she’d played the coy temptress, would he have come back for more? And was that what she’d been doing with Dorian Eusbius? He’d certainly seemed intrigued by her. It was sad to think that in Rodaas love was nothing more than another game, and yet it encouraged her to think that she might one day play it well enough to win.