“Sailors are always seeing mermaids,” Rina said.
“But we can think of other answers, can’t we?” Klarissa said. “If a tattoo can let you see through the eyes of a falcon or wield your sword with the strength of a bull or run faster than a horse, then I have to believe that anything is possible.”
What she means is that there could be anything on that island. She’s dangling the idea of limitless power right in front of my nose. She doesn’t realize I’m not interested in that sort of thing.
But was that true? When Rina tapped into the spirit, there was a definite thrill, and it wasn’t just physical. The idea that she could somehow be . . . what?
More.
That was it, she realized, the idea she could be more than who she was, achieve things, control destiny itself. In the entire world, only she could—
Listen to yourself, girl. You’re almost drunk with the thought of all that power.
On the other hand, do I trust somebody else to have it? At least I know I’m a good person. Or is that how tyrants are made, thinking such things? Wanting power so much is probably the first sign a person shouldn’t have it.
“Why didn’t you go searching for the island yourself?” Rina asked.
“As you’ve pointed out, it would be a long journey, dangerous and expensive,” Klarissa said. “I don’t have a ship, and I can’t spare the men. For that matter, I can’t spare myself either. My people are settling in a new place, and they need my leadership.”
Rina bit her bottom lip, thinking. “I don’t think I could go either. I’d have to send someone.” And with those words she realized she was considering it. The Perranese had burned most of Klaar’s boats, but they were too small anyway, coast huggers for fishing. She’d have to send someone south to Kern to hire a proper ship and crew. As Klarissa said, it would be expensive. Rina wondered whether Borris Dremen might be useful. The merchant probably knew something about hiring a ship for a good price.
“Still.” Klarissa picked up the teapot and refilled her cup. “I wouldn’t mind sending one of my people as a representative.” She sipped from her cup, turning her head to look out the window as if this suggestion were something she was only just thinking of, no big deal.
Which means it actually is a big deal.
“Did you have someone in mind?” Rina asked.
“Maurizan has an adventurous heart,” Klarissa said. “But I sometimes feel she lacks . . . direction. I think it would do her good to see something of the world.”
Rina frowned, her mind racing to understand. Such a journey would be dangerous. Klarissa had admitted as much. Why send her only daughter into harm’s way?
Klarissa must have sensed Rina’s struggle. The gypsy woman decided to spell it out.
“The thaw has begun,” Klarissa said. “Maurizan would have gone up to see Weylan this summer . . . if the wizard hadn’t passed.”
Of course! How could I be so stupid?
Weylan had inked the Prime onto Klarissa’s mother and then onto Klarissa herself. Maurizan had been in line to be inked next, but the old wizard had died before it could happen. In fact, Maurizan held a bit of a grudge against Rina. Inking the Prime along Rina’s spine had been Weylan’s final act, and in an odd way the young gypsy felt something had been taken from her. It wasn’t accurate to say Rina had stolen Maurizan’s birthright, but she could see how it might seem that way to a young girl.
All her life she’s dreamed of those powers, and then I came along out of nowhere.
But Rina still felt she was missing something. Klarissa wanted the Prime for her daughter, and that was understandable. But she wanted something from Rina too. It was almost as if she were asking . . . permission?
Yes, that was it, Rina realized. For some reason, Klarissa thought she needed Rina’s blessing, as if Rina wouldn’t want Maurizan to have—
Rina gasped.
Klarissa’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
It was true. The thought of Maurizan having the Prime made Rina clench her fists. Rina had known two wizards in her life—Weylan and Talbun—and both had made similar comments about how jealously wizards guarded their secrets. They were a petty and competitive breed, and Rina was ashamed to admit that apparently ink mages were no better. The more people who had the powers of the ink mage, the less special Rina would feel.
So what makes me so special? I’m a duchess? So what? That’s an accident of birth. Who am I to keep somebody else from having what I have? These tattoos are not my identity. They are not the sum total of who I am.
“I’m sorry,” Rina said. “I was just . . . thinking.”
I have to prove that I’m not like that. That I’m not that petty. No, it’s not just about being petty, is it?
“I’m going to arrange an expedition to the Scattered Isles,” Rina said.
If I don’t obsess, if I’m not letting the power control me, that proves something, doesn’t it?
“And I think Maurizan should go also,” Rina continued.
I don’t care if Maurizan has the Prime. It means nothing to me. I am a duchess, and that has nothing to do with the tattoos. Alem loves me, and that has nothing to do with the tattoos.
“And if we find the lost fortress of this ancient wizard, if the secrets of the ink mage are there,” Rina said, “then I will do everything in my power to make sure your daughter Maurizan gets the Prime.”
Saying it made her stomach clench, and Rina hated herself for it.
“I hope you’ll accept this as my gift to you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Having important guests was supposed to be an honor. Really, it was a pain in the ass.
Rina remembered when her father had entertained visiting nobility. It had seemed all parties and flirting with young lordlings and, well, relentless entertainment. Now that it was her duty to keep these tedious people entertained, it was a lot less fun.
Brasley had come along with Rina to accompany the count and his retinue on a morning hunt. Gant had bagged a large buck, and that had seemed to be enough to declare the expedition a success. A luncheon followed with plenty of wine, and then the guests were allowed to retire and refresh themselves so they could summon the energy for more eating and drinking at the evening feast.
Only Rina seemed to notice that Brasley’s good humor was clearly forced. As an adolescent, Rina had thought Brasley dashing. Later, she’d found the man brash, full of himself, and immature. Now she thought of him as a friend, but she saw no way to help him.
Rina used the afternoon pause in the hospitalities to steal away to the prayer tower. It wasn’t a place that anyone would stumble into by accident, which was why Rina had elected to store all of Weylan’s things there. The only people who went to the prayer tower were those willing to climb a tight spiral staircase up ten stories to a barren room meant for quiet meditation and prayer. Rina and her family had been only perfunctorily religious, so the tall, narrow tower was visited only occasionally by those looking for a panoramic view of the valley below.
Rina felt out of breath and slightly dizzy by the time she reached the top. More than ever, she refused to tap into the spirit for everyday tasks. It was a way to assure herself that she was in control.
She took the key ring from the inside pocket of her cloak, found the door key, and entered.
She briefly surveyed the small room with its rough floors and unadorned walls. A plain wooden chair and table with books stacked atop it. There were padlocked chests against the wall, containing the wizard’s other possession, the keys to the padlocks on her ring. A brazier and a stack of wood for warmth, flint and steel. Rina reminded herself to bring a kettle and tea next time. Perhaps a narrow cot and bedding.
My home away from home for the foreseeable future.
Rina was determined to go through the wizard’s books. She would make his secrets her own.
She stacked kindling and wood in the brazier, and lit a modest fire. When it was warm enough, she took off her cloak an
d hung it on the back of the chair. She went to the windows. It really was a fantastic view, the snowcapped mountains in one direction, the valley stretching in the other, a glimpse of Lake Hammish beyond.
You’re stalling. Get to work.
The problem was that she really didn’t know what she was looking for. Lore about the tattoos, yes, obviously, but what would that mean? Did Weylan own a book titled Everything You Need to Know about Magic Tattoos? Rina doubted it. She was educated, but she wasn’t a scholar. The only thing to do was dive into the books and find whatever she could find.
She sat in the chair and scooted it up to the table. She examined the stack of books. A thick leather-bound volume caught her eye. Tight gold lettering down the spine doubtlessly made it clear what the book was about . . . if one spoke the language.
Rina did not.
Not the best start, is it? Okay, just open it up and have a look anyway.
She flipped the book open to the middle and squinted at a random page.
The letters—no, not letters, but symbols, foreign and impossible to read—swam before her eyes, her vision going blurry, her head light. She tried to avert her gaze but couldn’t. The symbols swirled on the page, making her dizzy. Then there was a roar in her ears, the sound of the ocean, the sound of screaming. She found it hard to breathe.
The symbols tried to worm their way in through her eyes, into her brain. They seemed suddenly too bright to look at, and yet she couldn’t turn away. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a strangled croak came out. The bright light seared her eyes. She couldn’t even blink.
Rina set her jaw, drew a deep breath and held it. With everything she had, she wrenched her eyes from the page.
She tumbled off the chair and onto the hard, wooden floor. She stood on wobbly legs, reached for the book, her gaze averted, and slammed it shut. She immediately fell back to the floor, dizzy and disoriented, the roar in her ears slowly fading. She panted, drawing in cool, ragged breaths.
No matter how many times she blinked, red spots kept exploding in front of her eyes.
Rina stuck a chuma stick in the corner of her mouth. She leaned into the brazier to puff it to life. The heat on her face was sobering. She sat on the floor again, and scooted back until she felt herself up against the stone wall beneath one of the windows. Her hands shook. She blew out a long plume of gray smoke.
Okay, that didn’t go so well. What the blazes did you think was going to happen, fucking around with a wizard’s magic books?
She took another long pull on the chuma stick. The mildly narcotic effect began to seep into her limbs. Her vision cleared.
This isn’t going to work. You don’t know anything about all this wizard shit.
She puffed and sat, looking at the pile of books and the chests. Anything in there could get her killed. What she really needed was someone like Talbun. In some ways the woman was terrifying, but she’d helped Rina by giving her the lightning-bolt tattoos on her ankles. If anyone could make sense of Weylan’s books, it would be her.
Too bad she’s hundreds of miles away.
Rina drew in a lungful of chuma smoke, held it, then let it out. The smoke drifted to the center of the room and hung there.
A moment later, the cloud of smoke began to turn as if it had caught a draft. Instead of drifting away, the smoke began to swirl around itself a little faster. Rina blinked. The ball of smoke spun faster around itself, and it was obvious now it wasn’t the result of an errant breeze. A pinprick of blinding light sparked to life in the center of the cloud and slowly began to grow.
Rina scrambled to her feet, scooted around the glowing smoke ball with her back against the wall until she came to the door. She put her hand on the door handle, ready to flee if necessary. Her other hand came up to shield her eyes from the growing brightness.
The tower began to vibrate, shutters rattling, dust falling from the rafters.
The smoke was a blur now, revolving at impossible speed around the light.
Had she somehow unleashed one of Weylan’s spells when she’d been flipping through his book? An instinct told her to run, but she stood transfixed.
The glow began to take shape, elongate. Rina saw it was now the shape of a person, legs and arms. It was a woman.
The light pulsed one last time so bright that Rina had to turn away. An explosive rush of air nearly knocked her off her feet.
Smoke and light had both vanished when Rina turned back. A naked woman stood in the middle of the room. She teetered, a moment of wobbly legs, then fell to the floor with a loud thump.
Rina rushed to her side, went to her knees but stopped short of touching her.
The woman’s skin was red down the side of her left arm and leg as if from a burn. Dark bruises were scattered along the rest of her body. The woman lifted her head. Blood streamed from her nostrils and the corners of her eyes.
Rina almost didn’t recognize the face for all the blood and the matted hair. “Talbun!”
Talbun turned wild eyes on Rina. “The gods are at war.”
***
Talbun sat at the table atop the prayer tower staring into a bowl of weak broth. When Rina had first met Talbun, the wizard had been beautiful and glamorous, her spells keeping her eternally young. Now she seemed pale, strain showing around her eyes.
The wizard hadn’t recognized Rina had first, had babbled about the gods a few more seconds before passing out.
Rina had tapped into the spirit and flown down the stairs, sure-footed and fast. She’d grabbed the first servant she’d seen and had calmly and clearly issued instructions—she needed two female servants at the top of the prayer tower immediately, at least one with nursing skills. Salve for burns. Food. Water. A simple, clean dress. Shoes. Underthings. “Tell them we’ve got a hurt woman. And she needs to be cleaned up too.”
She’d paused only long enough to confirm the servant had understood before streaking back up the stairs to the top of the prayer tower.
When Talbun’s eyes had finally flickered open again, a young girl with a warm, wet cloth was tending to her, wiping the blood from her face. When the wizard had been sufficiently cleaned, they’d dressed her in a simple dress, but Rina had been forced to cut the left sleeve off with a knife, so the girl could attend to Talbun’s burns.
They’d sat the wizard in a chair, and the girl had lightly rubbed a greasy salve down her left arm. They’d hiked up her dress to apply more salve to her thigh.
“Is it bad?” Rina had asked.
“No, milady,” the girl had said. “These burns are the mildest kind. The salve will ease the pain.”
Talbun endured the ministrations stoically, grunting answers to questions, still stunned or perhaps in some kind of shock.
The girl had just finished with the salve when another girl had arrived from the kitchens with a basket—chicken broth, brown bread, cheese.
Now Talbun sat there, sighing and looking down at the bowl of broth.
Rina had a thousand questions for the woman but forced herself to be patient. Whatever Talbun had been through, it had taken its toll. Rina would let Talbun gather herself before pestering her for information.
The kitchen girl filled a mug with water, and set it on the table next to the bowl of broth.
Talbun picked it up, drank. “Do we have anything stronger?” It was the first thing she’d said since raving about the gods.
“I’m sorry,” Rina said. “I didn’t think of it.”
“Begging your pardon, milady.” The kitchen girl went into the basket and came out with an earthen jug, the lid sealed with wax. “Bruny packed this. Just up from the cellar.”
Rina laughed, relieved and grateful. “Thank Dumo for Bruny.”
Talbun’s eyes shifted to Rina. “Bruny?”
“The ranking servant,” Rina explained. “She runs the kitchens.”
Talbun finished the water and held the cup out to the kitchen girl. “Please.”
The girl broke the seal on the jug and fill
ed Talbun’s cup.
Talbun lifted the cup. “To Bruny.” She tilted the cup back, drained it. She closed her eyes, sighed.
When she opened her eyes again, she looked at Rina. “You should join me.”
“It’s okay,” Rina said. “I don’t need any.”
“You will.”
“I’m sorry, milady.” The kitchen girl looked pained. “There’s only one cup.”
Talbun held out the cup for a refill. “We’ll share.”
The kitchen girl filled the cup again.
Talbun took a more modest sip this time, then set the cup on the table and slid it toward Rina, who picked it up and drank.
Talbun’s eyes flicked to the servants than back to Rina again. “We need to talk.”
“Thank you,” Rina said to the girls. “You can go now. Our guest needs her privacy. Tell no one she’s here.”
The servants exchanged looks then said, “Yes, milady,” as they dipped hasty curtsies and left.
Rina slid the cup back to Talbun, who drank.
“Where am I?” Talbun asked.
It seemed an odd question. Didn’t she know? “Klaar.”
Talbun nodded, drank again, and gave the cup back to Rina.
Rina drank.
“How do you want to do this?” Talbun asked. “Shall I just start talking, or would you prefer to ask questions?”
“Why are you here?” Rina asked. “What happened?”
“What happened is . . . a bit of a story,” Talbun said. “I’ll answer the why-am-I-here question first. It’s simpler. It will get us started. Tell me, were you talking about me or thinking about me right before I arrived?”
Rina was startled to realize she had been. “I wished you were here to help me figure something out.”
Talbun nodded, drank more wine. “That explains it. That’s what the magic latched on to.”
“A spell?”
“A defensive spell. Something I never expected to use,” Talbun said. “I escaped to a place between worlds and was held there outside of place and time. The magic would not allow me to be called back until I could go someplace safe. It latched on to your thoughts, this place, and brought me here.”
The Tattooed Duchess (A Fire Beneath the Skin Book 2) Page 11