by Amy Keeley
“I swear it, Teacher.”
“Long ago (you may remember) the King was betrayed by selfish nobles who felt their own duties were more important than seeing to the remnants of that long ago war. You do remember this?”
“Yes, Teacher.”
“This showed us the fault of the old Ornic way of distributing power. We must have one centralized source of power, a being strong enough to open and close the rift as the Ornic lords of old did.”
Silence. “But even the Ornic lords didn’t open it alone.”
“Two of them, yes.”
More silence. “Forgive me, Teacher. Forgive me, but how? The King, as powerful as he is, and as strong as he is in his magic, how can he do this alone?”
“For years he has worked on mastering all magic. And yes, that is not enough. But there are ways, Hon Hyaji. There are ways of extending power. You do not know these ways because you have never been taught magic. But this is what the King has explained to me.”
Krysilla listened closely as the unknown voice went on.
“Magic takes its toll on a body, especially the more powerful spells. The body must rest, depending on the strength of the spell.”
Krysilla knew that. The bakery required a constant attention to spells, in rising the dough and regulating the ovens. It was more than she could handle, and in the end she’d been exhausted by the work. That was when Zhiv had met her, and it was only because of him that she was free of that work now.
“But there are ways, young Hyaji, of using magic such that it does not sap your strength. The Dogs use staves to channel it. The King uses items at times. And a large spell like that which creates the rift requires a large instrument for channeling.”
“Such as?”
“Your bell, the great one that knells the time.”
Krysilla’s eyes widened.
“All it would take,” the unfamiliar voice continued, “is some words written along the side to aid the amplification, and—”
“Ornic words,” Hyaji said. “The same words you’ve destroyed.”
“I know how it appears. I don’t care for this myself. But the result, my boy, that’s the thing. How else can we get the people to agree to a purification among the nobles who protect them if not by making the King’s rule absolute? And what better way than to show that the nobles are no longer necessary? If the King can open and close the rift at will, who can stand against him?”
“Teacher,” Hyaji was hesitant, “the Ornic lords who opened the rift did so without any amplification. The stories say they merely spoke and—”
“Those are stories, Hyaji.”
“But what if they’re true? If they’re true then the King is about to unleash the power of the rift and the nobles will be nowhere close enough to stop it. If the Ornic lords, with all their power, weren’t able to control it—”
“I understand your fear,” the unfamiliar voice soothed. “This is a frightening thing to consider. However, the King would never do anything that would jeopardize the lives of his people. He wants to save them.”
It had become difficult to breathe. The King is mad, Zhiv had said. And the same King had wrapped an oath around her wrist and burned it into her bones. No wonder Zhiv had been furious at that.
“I understand, Teacher.”
“But do you agree?”
“He is the King. And a King does not destroy his own people.”
Krysilla turned and softly walked back the way she had come. She had to tell Daegan. No, she had to tell Zhiv. If a spell on her wrist and an execution was enough to infuriate him, what would this do? Circle light, I hope not, he had said at just the thought of the King using the rift. And he’d been afraid.
When she arrived at the main library, she had to fight not to run through its shelves of books to hurry back to Daegan at the entrance. He should be there by now, she told herself. He has to be. And if he’s not...if he’s not, I’ll try to find Zhiv. Wherever that is.
Dogs walked across the hall and inclined their heads toward her. She couldn’t smile at them as before. She could barely manage a halfhearted curtsy as she hurried past, seeing that ball of flame that had once been human, that had once been a father and husband. And she knew she would never forgive anyone with a red vest for that, no matter whether they were involved or not.
The entrance hall was empty. Forcing herself to stay calm, she walked toward the doors, then stood against the wall. Waiting.
The minutes passed slowly, in a torturous procession. There’s no need to hurry, she told herself. But there had been timberwork that hadn’t been there yesterday. The King was moving quickly.
She desperately wanted to tell Zhiv. He would understand. He would have some idea of what to do. And, if not, she knew now that he would not be able to rest until he had discovered one.
Would he? He hadn’t saved Velensi, the merchant.
Because he’s weak, she told herself.
Then what can he do here?
She didn’t know. But she knew he would try something. Not sacrificing what Daegan had described as years of work for one man, that could be rationalized. The possible destruction of a city, or a nation? No. Zhiv would sacrifice whatever he had earned for that.
She had to believe that. Because, if she didn’t, why was she with him?
Daegan finally appeared around the corner, deep in thought. He looked up and, seeing her face, quickened his usually slow step. “Were you able to speak with him?” he asked, as if she had gone to have a pleasant conversation with a friend.
“No.” The word came out strangled.
He nodded and they left the building. The Dogs are on the grounds, she thought, realizing there were more of them around than usual. “I’m not feeling well. Can we go back to the house?”
“Of course.” He didn’t look at her, but there was a tone in his voice that told her he understood her perfectly. None of the Dogs followed them this time.
Only when they were inside the Jixsin home and the door was locked did the words come tumbling out, one after another. The King’s plan. The bell. What Hyaji had said about the Ornic lords. Daegan listened intently. When she had finished, he said, “Parlay must know about this.”
And then she remembered a small face looking at her through a door in the slums. “I have to warn my sister.”
“We don’t have time for me to escort you.”
“I’ll go by myself. I need to visit anyway.”
He hesitated. “The Dogs are out, and the King doesn’t trust either you or Zhiv.”
“Then let’s hope he only thinks I’m unfaithful to my husband.”
A smile touched one corner of Daegan’s mouth. “Hurry back home. It’s safer here.” He paused once more. “If you’re in a hurry, this spell will open any lock I’ve made.” And he described the image of the locks, and the sweeping gesture that opened all of them at once. “Good luck. I’ll hurry back here with Parlay as soon as I can find him. We’ll discuss more then.”
“Good luck to you, Hon Jixsin,” she said. “And thank you.”
Again, he smiled and this time inclined his head toward her. She waited until he had left before setting out herself, taking some food with her, as any woman would who had gone to visit family. Locking the door behind her, she couldn’t help one last glance.
It might very well be my last, she knew. If anyone had caught wind of her presence in that hall, she was done for.
The walk seemed to take forever. Sounds had little meaning, though she did keep an ear out for Parlay’s fiddle. She didn’t hear it the entire way. Perhaps, she hoped, Daegan had found him. Perhaps he’s waiting at the house for me to return.
Her steps quickened.
Eventually, she arrived in the slums, and once more was struck by how few people there were in the streets. Walking up to Nitty’s apartment, she knocked lightly. Her niece, whose name Nitty never said, opened the door. “Hello,” Krysilla grinned. “Is your mum home?”
Slowly, the little gir
l nodded, then stepped outside. “She’s sleeping.”
“Oh? I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when she’s sleeping.”
Krysilla nodded slowly herself, wondering what that meant. It had always been obvious when...and then she remembered her sister’s sly smile when she talked about surviving. Oh, dear. “Is there someone sleeping with her?”
The little girl nodded.
“A gentleman?”
The little girl nodded again.
She wanted so much to tell Nitty that she was taking her daughter on a visit and would bring her back later. If there was a gentleman here then Nitty would probably appreciate it. Instead, she said, “Do you think I could wait?”
The little girl nodded, then gestured for her to come with. Holding her niece’s hand, she said, “What is your name, dear?”
“Tira.”
“Is that your full name?”
The little girl nodded once more.
“It’s a lovely name.”
Tira put her finger to her lips, then ducked down a dark alley. Krysilla heard a man’s voice and froze. And then she recognized it and her fear melted away. As expected, Zhiv came walking toward them from out of the darkness, his bag slung over one shoulder, his fiddle case over the other.
Krysilla raised an eyebrow. “You’ve hired her? And how did you manage to get here so quickly?”
“First, I didn’t hire her.” He ran the fingers of one hand through his unruly hair. “You mentioned you had a sister and I got curious. Tira enjoys hearing my fiddle, so I play for her in exchange for telling me all about her mother and you.”
“Can you go any lower?”
“Oh, I can and have,” he grinned, and yet somehow she doubted him. “She likes you, though, that should please you. And now she tells me you’re visiting her mother, which seems odd considering you haven’t even shown a sign she existed past that first meeting.”
She thought of the man with her sister right now, giving her whatever money she needed to survive. “We aren’t children anymore.”
Zhiv nodded, and she knew that he knew that her sister sold herself. “Tira,” he said, “your auntie and I must talk. Would you like a sweet bun?”
She nodded vigorously.
He took out a piece of paper and a pencil from his bag. Writing quickly with the rectangular instrument, he said, “Hand this to the baker on the corner. And bring us back a sweet for your auntie, too.”
The girl looked at the note and waited.
“He’ll charge it to my good friend, Zhiv Mikailsin. You don’t need money.”
Tira smiled and ran off toward the baker for her sweet bun.
“So you can be something other than cruel and manipulative at times?” Krysilla couldn’t help saying.
“On occasion. I hate routine.” He looked at her for a moment. “You didn’t come here to visit your sister, did you?”
“To tell her to leave,” she whispered. Her voice low, she said, “You must return to the house. Hon Jixsin is looking for you. We must all speak of it once we return.”
He nodded, studying her closely. “Does it have to do with the matters we’ve already discussed?”
“Yes. It seems that the state of the tower is in worse shape than Hon Jixsin feared.”
Zhiv nodded. “That’s too bad.” Looking wistful, he said again, “That’s too bad.”
“It might require much time and Hon Jixsin wishes to discuss the implications with you.”
Zhiv shook his head. “Enough. I’ll go.”
“As if you belong here.”
“Everyone has their place to think. I come here. I have friends.”
“Like my niece?”
“Among others.”
Do any of them know? she wanted to ask. When you send a girl with a note asking a baker to bill the order to the King’s minstrel, do the people watching you know that it’s not because you’re clever at lying, but because you truly are Zhiv Mikailsin, dressed in the clothes of a commoner? Instead, she nodded. “I’ll wait here for the sweet, and to walk my niece home.”
“Tell her thank you for me,” he said, and with a wave said, “Until the house, goodwife.”
“Until the house.”
Just after he left, her niece came running back, obviously sorry she had missed him. “Does he often give you sweets when you see him?” Krysilla asked.
She shook her head, then opened her mouth. With a voice used to consequences if she spoke too loudly, Tira said, “He plays.” She handed Krysilla her sweet bun and began to munch on her own.
“Ah. Then you love his music.”
Tira nodded her head emphatically.
“So do I, dear,” Krysilla admitted. Then paused. “If you had to leave quickly, where would you go?”
“I’d find him,” Tira said.
“You think he’d keep you safe?”
Her niece nodded.
“Well, your mother needs to leave here, quickly. Do you think she’ll go?”
Tira shook her head. “The lord won’t let her.”
Krysilla stopped walking. “Lord?”
“He looks a little like Parlay,” she said, her dislike giving her voice strength. “But he’s not nearly as nice. He doesn’t play anything. Not games. Not music. He and mum talk in the back for hours and I’m not to disturb them.” She said the words as if they were something someone else had warned her. “And sometimes he does magic.” Fear now entered her eyes. “He says mum is his cat, and he’ll do whatever he likes with her. Once, he broke her dishes because she didn’t serve him anything when he came to see her. He threw them, one by one against the wall.”
Krysilla listened to all this with growing horror. She handed Tira her bun and the girl started eating that as well. “Was he the one with your mother when we left?”
“Yes. That’s why I took you to Parlay. I had heard him playing in the street. I thought he would keep you safe.” Her face fell. “I didn’t know he would leave.”
“Oh, dearest,” she said, brushing her niece’s dirty hair out of her eyes. “He’s going to keep all of us safe. You’ll see.” And she smiled, even though she wanted very much for her sister to leave the city. But not if she was with a noble, one with tendencies as violent as the one Tira described. She looked at the apartment and made her decision. “Come on. I’m going to take you to a very nice house for a visit.” She led her in the direction of Daegan’s house.
Tira beamed. “What’s it like?”
“Oh, it’s a lovely, warm home, with plenty of food and I might even be able to make you a cake.”
Tira giggled.
“And you know the best part?” Krysilla asked. The little girl shook her head. “Parlay lives there.”
The girl’s eyes widened and, even though they were still walking, she hugged Krysilla. For a moment, that ache for a child flared to life with horrible intensity. Tears sprang to Krysilla’s eyes as she held the girl, wishing Tira were hers.
“Now,” she said as they began walking again, “he may not be able to play for you. He and Hon Jixsin, who owns the house, will be very busy talking. But maybe, after they’re done, he shall play you a song. Would you like that?”
Tira nodded. From far off, a dog barked. Tira frowned. “Do lords keep dogs?”
“Some do. Why?”
“Because that lord said that he had a dog, and he would sic her on Mum if she did anything bad.” The girl looked up at her with big eyes. “If he knows I’ve told you, will the dog hurt me?”
And with a fierceness she hadn’t expected, Krysilla said, “I won’t let him.” And if he does hurt you, she knew, the man would pay, noble or not.
The girl gripped her hand tightly in response.
They turned down a narrow street that led to the one that divided the slums from the merchant section, when Krysilla felt a spell, smooth as silk and silent as Zhiv’s boots slide under their feet. Neither one could take another step. She looked down at Tira who
had begun to tremble in unconcealed terror.
“Ah, goodwife,” she heard Lord Teranasin say before she saw him leave the shadows ahead. “You came looking for me?”
Tira’s trembling increased dramatically.
Thinking quickly, Krysilla said, “Yes, I did.”
“Strange then, that you should be walking away from the place I was.”
“I thought you might appreciate it if I took Tira off my sister’s hands for a time.”
“It was very much appreciated.”
“Well,” she said, “now that you’re done, shall I send my niece off to play while we talk?”
Lord Teranasin shrugged. “Run back home,” he told Tira. “Your mother will be worried about you.”
Hating how quickly her niece ran to leave his presence, Krysilla tried to form a plan on the spot. “I had wondered how she was able to afford to live.”
Lord Teranasin snorted. “That isn’t living.”
No thanks to you, she almost snapped. Instead, she tried to stay calm.
“So, what have you found?” he said.
For a moment, she thought she might try to lie to him. For a moment, she wished she knew any number of powerful Ornic spells so that she could simply walk past him as if he didn’t exist. Instead, she decided to tell him the truth. “The King’s plans involve the bell tower of the Disciples’ library.”
He nodded, considering her words. “I assume he wants to have as big a performance as any Ornic lord?”
“Naturally. He is the King.”
Lord Teranasin studied her through slitted eyes. “But that isn’t all, is it? You have something else for me.”
“Nothing else.” And, as far as she knew, that was the truth.
“You wouldn’t be so keen on visiting family you can hardly stand just because the King has some insane notions in his head.”
“If it involves the rift, you’d better believe I would.”
Lord Teranasin nodded, then waved his hand in a circle in front of him. A cloth wrapped around her, covering even her head and face. The sensation of being unable to breathe panicked her. She struggled, but that only made the cloth grip tighter.