And Mal and Issan were both warriors. Could they be gone too? Lacertin hadn’t seen them since his return to Ethea. Since Althem effectively ruled in the city, they likely served at Theondar’s direction. With Roln and Pherah gone, and now Mal and Issan, Incendin had destroyed more of their warriors in a shorter time than they had in years.
Not only warriors. If Ilton was right, they had gotten to him as well.
“The barrier serves as Lacertin intended,” Ilianna said.
“Lacertin?” Theondar asked. “He had the idea for the barrier, but it was the archivists and the other warriors who designed the shaping.”
If they continued to lose shapers—and warriors—maybe they would have to change the barrier, make it something more like what he saw around Norilan. The kingdoms would be isolated, but they would be safe.
There was silence. For a moment, Lacertin thought that the wall had sealed closed once again, preventing him from listening, but he still noted the way the soft breath of air came through the crack. He clung to what he sensed of the wind, curiosity and concern for Ilianna driving him.
But, he realized, she didn’t need him for protection, not as she once did. If she really could shape spirit, and Lacertin had no reason to doubt that she could, then she might be more capable than him. She might not have the same strength, but there was more to shaping than brute strength. It was the reason shapers like Wallyn were so successful. Sometimes, it was about what you knew, and the creativity with which you could use it, that granted real strength.
“Why do you dislike him so much?” Ilianna asked. “All he has ever done is serve at my father’s request, much as you now serve at my brother’s behest.”
Lacertin couldn’t help but feel that last comment was meant as some sort of dig at Theondar. Their voices faded and he knew that the time he’d be able to hear them was growing short. The opening in the wall continued to narrow, and soon it would be nothing more than solid stone once more. He could shape it, but that would only reveal his presence.
Before he turned away, he heard Theondar’s voice more faintly. “For you, I will try,” he said. “You know I’ll do anything—”
The wind disappeared, and all sound was shut off from him.
He leaned against the wall and sighed as he tried to process everything that he knew. Ilianna was a shaper, and she kept that from her brother, as well as the man courting her. Not Ilton, though. She hadn’t disguised from him her ability to shape, and it had been her request that had sent Lacertin away from the city. In a way, she had chosen him as her warrior, using him to reach the plates when she couldn’t safely reveal her abilities. Would she always hide the fact that she could shape, or would there come a time when she did so openly?
Without Althem being able to shape, she couldn’t unless she wanted to rule. And she had told him that she didn’t want to rule.
She had asked his help again, and he would do what he could, especially if it meant the possibility of helping Ilton.
Doing so meant that he needed to reach the archives, which were closed to even most shapers. Could he convince Nissa, Ilton’s trusted archivist advisor, to allow him access? If he couldn’t, was he willing to sneak into the archives? That was nearly as bad as violating the sanctity of the king’s final rest, but then, he hadn’t really done that. The king still lived.
First, he had to get free of the passageway.
Lacertin moved through the walls, retracing his steps toward Ilton’s chambers and stopping. With a shaping of fire, he created enough light for him to see what was around him. The passageway continued onward, but there had been another opening farther down the wall. Could he access Althem’s rooms the same way that he accessed Ilianna’s and Ilton’s? If he could, he might be able to get free.
The passageway twisted and turned more than he would have expected. Lacertin grew lost as he went. He never would have expected the space between the walls to be so vast. Was it only Ilianna who knew, or were there others able to move discretely through the palace like this?
Eventually, he reached a set of stairs. Lacertin considered staying on this level, but so far, he felt as if he moved in circles. He was no longer even certain that he could find his way back to Ilianna’s room, so taking these stairs at least gave him a way forward. There had to be another exit from the passages. If only he could find it.
Not for the first time, Lacertin considered shaping earth and forcing his way out, but doing that would open him to questions that he didn’t want to answer.
Lacertin took the stairs that led down through the palace, hoping he wouldn’t encounter any servants. Halls like this seemed perfectly designed for servants, but they would need to be able to shape to reach any of the quarters on that level.
What other purpose would there have been to have these halls?
Unless they had been designed to enable the rulers to move unobstructed, and without fearing that others might learn of comings and goings. That would have value.
Ilton must have known, though. For Ilianna to know, surely the king had known. Who else?
After descending an impossibly long time, the stairs ended. Lacertin had to be well beneath the palace now, but where would it lead? Walls practically pressed against him, giving him only enough room to walk. Were he a wider man, or much taller, he wouldn’t have managed quite so comfortably.
After dozens of steps, he paused. He was deep enough that any shaping wouldn’t be detected here, and if it were, he might have another way to explain why he was there. He pulled on shapings of earth and wind, searching for an exit. The wind drew him the most, and he followed it, moving with increasing speed.
Then the hall ended in a solid wall.
Lacertin touched the wall and felt the cool, damp surface. How had he detected airflow through here if the hall simply ended?
He didn’t have the answer.
Lacertin turned back, trailing his fingers along the wall. Fine cracks were present there, barely more than the settling of the foundation of the palace. The wall itself was so smooth, he wondered if it had been shaped.
He stopped. If it had been shaped, maybe the cracks were intentional. Pulling on the wind, he used the shaping to reach for the sense of air moving through the passage. Then he smiled. It did move through the cracks, but there were dozens of them, and each so small as to be barely noticeable.
Shaping earth, he pressed into the nearest crack and then added fire, as he had before. Nothing happened. Lacertin released the shaping, and tried a different approach. Earth had to be a part of it, but that didn’t mean fire did as well. Fire had worked before, but maybe because it had been keyed that way. The ancient shapers had ways of leaving shapings that could be triggered, but only by the correct shaping.
Lacertin cupped a shaped flame over his head and stared down the hall at the end of the passage, considering the damp stone, before turning back to face the wall in front of him.
This time, he tried earth and water.
A dark line appeared in the stone about halfway down the hall. He hurried to it and watched as it slowly worked up and around in an ever-expanding line. It was narrower than what he’d seen at Ilianna’s wall, and different than the zigzagging shaping that he’d encountered with Ilton’s wall, but much the same as well.
He pushed, and the door opened.
Lacertin held onto a shaping, not certain where he would be led or what might be on the other side.
There was no need. The door opened onto a stair leading up. Lacertin took it and was met with another wall. He mixed earth and water, adding wind and fire when nothing happened. The shaping was different than any other he’d attempted, mostly because he added the elements in equal parts. The shaping made him think of what Ilianna had said about how she reached spirit.
The entire section of wall slid open. Lacertin stepped through, emerging in a wide, arched corridor. A steady drip of water echoed from somewhere in the distance, and a gentle gust of cool air touched his cheek. There was a deep
sense of earth all around him, as if the entire city pressed down upon him.
Where was he? How extensive were these tunnels that he’d never known anything about before? Had Ilianna and Ilton known how far the passages extended?
He considered which way to go and decided to move to the left, toward the sound of dripping water. All he wanted now was to find a way out, but part of him wanted to explore, to understand what else the palace might be connected to.
After walking a dozen or so steps, he passed a massive door with a single rune stamped on the surface. Since he’d been sent to retrieve the plates, he recognized the rune. He might have recognized it regardless, but holding the gold plate, with this series of patterns stamped into its surface, had given him time to become acquainted with many runes he didn’t understand. This was one of fire, but not the rune for fire that he’d ever been taught.
Lacertin placed his hand on it and shaped.
The door shook but didn’t open.
He tried again, pressing into the rune with a stronger shaping of fire, but again, it shook—this time almost violently—and then stopped.
He wasn’t meant to get out that way. But why was the door here? It was too large to be for someone his size, and as far as he knew, there had never been men that much taller. What purpose would something like that have?
Lacertin moved on, continuing down the hall while holding a shaped flame above his hand. It flickered in the wind blowing through here.
A small pool of brackish water pooled over the path. Lacertin veered around it and continued. Maybe this wasn’t the right direction, especially if water flowed through here. For all that he knew, he might run into a situation where he couldn’t go any farther. And then what would he do? He wasn’t convinced that he would know how to find his way back to the doorway leading back to the hidden passage behind the walls of the palace.
In his haste, he almost stumbled into an opening leading down. At the bottom of a narrow stair, he found an actual door. Like the large, arching door he’d seen in the hall, this had a rune upon it.
Lacertin didn’t recognize the rune. It resembled earth, but also resembled each of the other runes. He decided to try shaping each of the elements into it. The shaping pulled away from him, sinking into the rune, but nothing happened. The door didn’t even shake, not as the one along the other hall had. He tried another shaping, this time pulling each of the elements together and twisting them, forging them together.
It was a shaping he’d never tried. With a flash of white light, the door opened and Lacertin stepped inside, holding the shaped flame before him.
The door closed, almost as if on its own. Lacertin ignored it. He recognized where he was, but didn’t understand how he had gotten here. This was the lowest level of the palace, deep beneath the main levels, and a level below even the dungeons.
From here he hurried, quickly reaching a familiar part of the palace. He would hurry to the archives. For Ilianna and Ilton, he would hurry.
CHAPTER 17
The street outside the archives was busy during the early morning. With the sun only beginning to creep over the rooftops staggered throughout the city and a haze hanging in the air, Lacertin made his way toward the archives. The normally cool breeze gusting through Ethea had shifted, leaving a warm, southerly wind. Usually such changes meant storms were coming, but the sky was otherwise clear.
He leaned on a shop across from the archives, ducking his head low and running his hand through his beard. At least he’d taken the time to trim it so he didn’t look quite so wild. Were he to remain in the city, he figured he’d need to shave completely. There were appearances to keep up as a warrior.
With his cloak wrapped around him, he still wished he knew what had happened to his sword. Wallyn claimed the archivists had taken it when he’d returned, but if that were the case, it would have been returned to the university stores or the palace. For what he had in mind, he would need his sword.
First, he had to do what he’d promised Ilianna. She’d asked for help understanding the plates, but he doubted that he would find anything in the archives on his own. The archives were massive, rows and rows of ancient texts, each shelf older than the one before, storing centuries of knowledge. And that was only on the main level.
There were deeper levels to the archives, but few ever were allowed to reach them. Even as a warrior, Lacertin wasn’t sure that he’d be allowed access.
That was why he’d come today.
Early morning, there were few archivists. Those who served at this time of day were usually junior, with less experience. That wasn’t the only reason the early morning mattered for what he needed.
One of the double doors to the archives opened, and a wide, black-robed figure stepped out. He squinted at the sun and looked up and down the street for a moment before crossing and making his way toward Lacertin.
Jax had a wide face, and his nose wrinkled, as if the smells along the street were intolerable after being inside the archives for as long as he had. He wore his hair short, the only nod to a childhood spent in Nara, where Lacertin had known him first.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Jax asked. He glanced again up the street and hugged his arms around his growing abdomen. When he’d been a boy, Jax had been as lean as Lacertin, and nearly as skilled a climber. Living in Ethea had changed him in ways that were different than what Lacertin had faced.
“Just two old friends meeting to talk,” Lacertin said.
“Meeting on the street? I’d rather a tavern and a mug of ale if that’s all you wanted, Ach.”
At the mention of his childhood nickname, Lacertin smiled. Even when he saw Jax these days, his friend never used his nickname. No one else in Ethea knew it. Ach was from old Rens, and a derivative of his full name, but the meaning was what mattered. Sun burnt. In some ways, it was more fitting than ever.
“I don’t have time for taverns,” Lacertin said.
“You never have time. You’re always too busy serving, never taking time to live.”
“If I didn’t, the kingdoms would have suffered a dozen times over.” He glanced up the street and nodded. “If it’s a tavern you want…”
Jax smiled. “Good. At least I can take advantage of the peace you’ve provided.”
Lacertin made as if to poke him in the belly as they walked. “I won’t argue that you’ve taken advantage of it.” Seeing Jax glance over his shoulder again, Lacertin guided him up the street to a small tavern with a fading sign with a pair of dice over it.
Inside was dark. Only a few people were in the tavern at this time of day. It was too early for the regulars and late enough that those coming for breakfast had already departed. A few lanterns hung on the wall, creating a hazy smoke. A musician polishing his lute near the back of the tavern glanced up as they entered before turning back to his work.
Lacertin took a table near the front of the tavern and waved away the waitress who approached. Jax crossed his arms over his chest as he took a seat, considering him with pursed lips. “What do you need from me, Ach? When you sent the message, I thought it some kind of mistake. In all the years we’ve been here—”
“I’ve visited countless times,” Lacertin said. Jax had been the reason he had been allowed into the archives before he’d ever fully learned to control his shaping. Students were allowed access, but not the kind of access that Jax had offered. To this day, Lacertin wondered if the other archivists had learned about his presence.
Lacertin leaned toward the window and glanced down the street, staring out at the stout building that housed the archives. From here—and even from the street—it didn’t seem like much. The stone was darker than the surrounding buildings, and solid. Few knew that the earth elemental golud had been coaxed into the stone by the ancient shapers building the archives, creating a more stable structure than stone alone would have managed. From here, the building didn’t seem all that impressive, but it wasn’t until inside the archives, descending into th
e lower levels, that the impressive nature of what had been built was apparent.
“Why the summons, then? You’re a warrior, probably the best the kingdoms has. You’re welcome in the archives. Why all this… subterfuge?”
Lacertin suppressed a laugh at the comment, realizing as he did that there was very little funny about what he was doing. Jax had hit directly on his concern without knowing. As far as the rest of the city was concerned, Ilton was dead. What he did now was subterfuge, and done at the behest of the princess.
“Because I need something, but it has to be discrete. I don’t want anyone else knowing that I’m searching for it.”
Jax rested his arms on table. At a nearby booth, an older man picked at a plate of runny eggs that Jax focused on. “We’re always discrete.”
“This is not a usual request.”
Jax pulled his attention away from the food and waited for Lacertin to continue.
How to explain what he needed? He didn’t want to risk Ilianna, but he needed to reference some of what was in the books she had. This was the part with which he wasn’t entirely certain how to proceed.
“Where do you keep the oldest books in the archives?”
“Many are old, Ach. That’s the entire purpose of the archives.”
“Yes, I know that many are old, but I’m asking about the very old volumes.” What Ilianna had would have been nearly a thousand years old. Would Jax even be allowed to access volumes that dated back so far?
Jax leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “How old are you talking, Lacertin?”
“It’s Lacertin now?”
“When you make a request to the archives, I think it’s best that it come from the warrior, not the friend, don’t you?”
Lacertin sighed. He had hoped his friend would have helped. Would it be necessary to be the warrior to find what he needed? “I need to know where the oldest volumes in the archives are stored.”
Jax leaned toward him. “I can’t answer what you want to know.”
“Why is that?”
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