I would visit the taverns tomorrow as well as join the soldiers for their early-morning training. When I arrived at the Second Chance Inn, I checked on Quartz. She munched on hay, but poked her head over the stall door so I could scratch behind her ears. With eyes half-closed, she groaned in contentment. Then she moved, presenting other areas for me to scratch until I dug my nails into her hindquarters. Spoiled horse.
“A Sandseed horse. Figures,” a man said with a sneering tone.
I turned. A tall man leaned against one of the stable’s support beams. His crossed arms and relaxed posture the exact opposite of the strain in his voice.
“Excuse me?” I grabbed the handles of my sais. Magic enveloped me for a moment then receded. I stayed still despite the desire to bash him on the head with the shaft of my weapon.
“Some people get all the luck,” the magician said. “Sandseed horses and special treatment even when they’re no longer special.”
He appeared to be unarmed, but his combative tone set off warning signals. I drew my weapons, keeping them down by my side. “My mother believes I’m special.”
He snorted. “She would.”
I’d had enough. “Is there a point to this conversation? Otherwise, you’re wasting my time.”
“I want to know what you’re doing here.”
“I’m checking on my horse.”
“Cute. Let me rephrase the question. Why are you bothering Councilor Moon?”
Bothering. Interesting word choice. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is my business. I’ve been assigned to protect her.”
Ah. Zebb. “Then go ask her.”
He straightened and stepped toward me. A tingle of fear swept my body. He wore a short cloak over dark pants and knee-high boots. No visible weapons.
“I already know the lies you fed her. Came to visit and stayed to help. What a sweet little girl,” he mocked. “Except I know there is nothing sweet about you. You destroyed the entire communications network in Sitia. You’re persona non grata with the Council, the Master Magicians and most of Sitia. Let me ask you again. Why are you here? Who sent you?”
“I’m not a threat to Tama, so it’s still none of your business.”
“I disagree.”
I shrugged, trying to project a casualness I didn’t feel.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re going to tell me.”
I braced for a magical attack, but nothing happened. “Why would I?”
He held up one of my glass messengers. The ugly goat reflected the weak lantern light. I could no longer see if the interior of the goat glowed with magic or not. The glass no longer sang to me. Emptiness filled my chest.
“Because if you don’t tell me, I’m going to broadcast the news of your immunity to every magician who still has one of these, which includes the Master Magicians and all the Councilors’ bodyguards.” He brandished the messenger in my face.
“I was going to tell them eventually. You’d be saving me the trouble.” I kept my voice even.
“Trouble is what you’re going to be in when I tell them you came here to assassinate Councilor Moon.”
5
“THAT’S A LIE,” I SAID, LETTING MY OUTRAGE COLOR my tone.
“Too bad there are only a few precious glass messengers left,” Zebb said. “Otherwise, you could tell them the fast way. But a message sent by courier will take five days. And, really, who would believe you over a magician assigned by Master Bloodgood?”
I assessed the magician. Sandy brown hair fell in layers around his face and the tip of his nose looked as if someone had pushed it down toward his upper lip. He wasn’t bluffing.
“That’s blackmail,” I said.
“No. I’m protecting the Councilor.”
I huffed in frustration. “No one sent me. As you pointed out, I’m not very popular with the Council or the Master Magicians right now. I came to ask Tama for a job, but when I saw how…fragile she had become, I wanted to help her instead.” The truth. When he failed to reply, I added, “Besides, I had planned to convince her of your…good intentions? Maybe I need to rethink that. Unless you’d rather she not trust you enough to let you be in the same room with her?”
His stance relaxed a smidge.
I pressed my advantage. “And I’m positive her view of magicians wouldn’t improve if I told her you’d been using magic to spy on her.”
“I’m not spying. I’m doing my job.”
“Then why isn’t she surrounded by a null shield? That would have protected her.”
“Not from you.” He gestured to me. “You could have attacked her with your sais. Magic isn’t the only weapon.”
“But she’s surrounded by guards at all times.”
“Guards you selected.”
“They’re Fulgor soldiers. They’re more loyal to her than you,” I shot back.
He crossed his arms again. This conversation had gone nowhere. I returned my sais to the holder hanging around my waist. Long slits in my cloak allowed me to access them without getting tangled in the fabric.
“How about a truce?” I asked.
“I’m listening.”
“I believe Tama can sense your magic on an unconscious level.” I held up my hand when he opened his mouth. “Hear me out. In order to help her over her fear of magicians, I need you to stop the protective magic. If you feel she’s in danger, you can surround her with a null shield. And in return, I will keep you updated on her progress.”
He considered my offer. “Not you. I want the Councilor’s First Adviser to give me twice daily reports.”
So he could read Faith’s mind to ensure we didn’t lie to him. “Fine.”
“And you have to answer two questions.”
Wary, I asked, “What questions?”
“Why didn’t you tell Master Bloodgood about your immunity?”
He couldn’t use magic to determine if I lied, but he studied me with a strong intensity. Remembering what Valek had said about my poor acting skills, I kept as close to the truth as possible.
“At first, I hoped my powers would return after I healed. They didn’t. Now, since the Council and Bain are dealing with the consequences of the soon-to-be-extinct glass messengers, I wanted to keep a low profile until things settled to a point where I can tell Bain and he’ll be more receptive to figuring out a way my immunity can help Sitia.” I waited, hoping that last bit wasn’t too much.
“Why did you come looking for a job in Fulgor?” Zebb asked.
“Obviously, I can’t go to the Citadel and my hometown, Booruby, is filled with glass factories.” I lowered my gaze, not having to pretend to be upset. The hot sweet smell of molten glass fogged the streets, and the glint of sunlight from shops displaying glasswares pierced the air. It was impossible to avoid the reminders of what I had sacrificed.
“I have a few friends in Fulgor. It seemed like a good place to start,” I said.
He agreed to the truce, but also puffed out his chest and threatened to tell the Council about my immunity if I failed to keep him informed. I ignored his bluster. What concerned me more was I still didn’t know why Zebb failed to erect a null shield around Tama. Until then, I wouldn’t trust him.
Tama Moon’s confidence crept back over the next twenty days. We had weeded out the inexperienced guards and assembled a group of seasoned veterans with flawless service records. Nic’s team remained her personal bodyguards, but her distrust of magicians failed to abate despite my assurances and the lack of magic.
The taverns buzzed with general rumblings from the citizens over the mass firings of the guards, but otherwise their biggest concern was over why their Councilor hadn’t returned to the Citadel.
Sipping wine at the bar of the Pig Pen, I overheard bits of a conversation from a few people talking nearby.
“…they’re making resolutions without her.”
“…we need someone to speak for our clan.”
“First Akako and now this…maybe we should demand her r
esignation.”
“The Council could assign someone…”
“…they take forever to make a decision.”
When they turned to another subject, I stopped listening. Their accurate comment about the Sitian Council and the slow pace of decisions snagged on one of my own worries. What if the Council decided to execute Ulrick, Tricky and his goons before I had a chance to find out where they hid my blood? A slight risk, but still a possibility. Perhaps it was time to resume my own project.
I had planned to ask Tama to arrange a visit with Ulrick for me, but no visitors were allowed inside Wirral. And I couldn’t find any exceptions—like by order of the Councilor—to that rule. I needed an alternative plan.
“Faith, do you have a minute?” I asked from the threshold of her office.
“Sure, come in.”
Sunlight streamed in from the large glass windows behind her. I suppressed the memory of being here when Gressa had occupied the First Adviser’s position. Then I had been manacled and considered a criminal. Instead, I noted the lush carpet and rich furniture. Her office was as ornate as the Councilor’s, but smaller.
I settled into a comfortable chair in front of Faith’s desk. When she smiled at me, a prick of guilt jabbed me. Squashing all such feelings, I stayed pleasant as we exchanged small talk. Eventually, she asked what I needed.
“Tama has improved so much over the last twenty-five days, but she is still terrified of Zebb,” I said.
“That’s understandable,” Faith said.
“I know, but the townspeople are worried about her missing Council sessions and if she doesn’t return soon, there could be a call for her resignation.”
Faith tsked. “There are always naysayers out there. You can’t please everyone.”
“True, but I have an idea that might help.”
Her eyebrows arched as she waited for me to continue.
“I’m assuming her sister Akako and Gressa are in the maximum security prison?”
“Yes, they are both in the SMU along with those other men.”
“Do you know the correctional officers who work in the SMU?” I asked.
“Not personally. They’re a specially trained elite unit. In fact, there are only a handful of people allowed in the SMU.”
“Do the officers live there?” That seemed extreme.
“No.” She tapped her fingertips together. It was an unconscious habit that she displayed whenever the logic in a conversation didn’t quite add up; as if she could push all the illogical pieces together and build something she could understand. I’d spent more time with her than I realized. Tama had made an excellent choice when she appointed the practical and sensible Faith as her First Adviser.
“Do you have the names of those in the elite unit?” I asked.
“How is this related to Tama’s fear of Zebb?”
Time for a little creative reasoning. “We did background checks on all the guards in the Council Hall and Tama has relaxed. She’s afraid of a magical attack. So I thought if we did some digging into the backgrounds of the unit, she would feel better, knowing the men and women guarding those who know blood magic are trustworthy. I know I would sleep better with that information. And I think we should check into Zebb’s history, as well.”
Faith’s hands stilled and she pressed her steepled index fingers to her lips. “Why don’t you just ask Tama for their names?”
“She would want to know why I was interested. And it’s more complicated than with the Hall’s guards. Then we were just weeding out the inexperienced and those of questionable repute. The unit has been with these prisoners for over a season. What if we discover a real problem? Akako could have assigned moles in the prison just in case her plans failed. You know Tama requests daily updates, and I can’t lie to her. She would be terrified by the notion. I’d rather wait and tell her good news once we assess the situation.” I held my breath.
“A reasonable plan, and I agree we shouldn’t tell the Councilor. At least not yet.” Faith opened a drawer in her desk, pulling out a sheet of paper. “I’ll send a request to Wirral’s warden.”
Uh-oh. I hoped to keep the number of people involved to two. “Don’t you have that information here?”
“No. Grogan Moon is in charge of all Wirral’s personnel.”
“Is his office in the Hall?”
“No. It’s at the prison where he spends most of his time. He comes here for meetings with the Councilor and other clan business.” She dipped her quill into ink and wrote the request.
After she folded the paper and sealed it with wax, I jumped to my feet. “I’ll deliver the message.”
She hesitated.
“I want to make sure it reaches the warden and not some underling. Besides, I think it’ll be helpful if I take a look around.”
As soon as I entered, the solid mass of the prison’s stone walls bore down on my shoulders. The air thickened and I fought to draw a breath. I clutched Faith’s request in my hands, which were pressed against my chest as if it were a shield.
With each step, I sank deeper into the bowels of Wirral. My escort held a torch, illuminating his aggrieved scowl. Most messengers delivered their communications to the officers at the gate, but I had insisted on handing the missive to the warden himself.
After an intense debate, an order to disarm and a thorough search of my body, I had been permitted to enter. I’d regretted my insistence as soon as the first set of steel doors slammed behind me. The harsh clang reverberated off the stone walls, and matched the tremor of panic in my heart. More sets of locked gates followed until I lost all track of time or location.
Rank and putrid smells emanated from dark hallways. Shrieks of pain, curses and taunting cries pierced the air. We didn’t pass any cells. Thank fate. I had no wish to view the conditions nor the poor souls trapped in here.
Eventually, the officer led me up a spiral staircase so narrow my shoulders brushed both walls. The acrid odors disappeared and the oily blackness lightened. Dizzy with relief and the fast pace, I paused for a moment by the only window we encountered. Drinking in the crisp breeze, I looked down on an exercise yard. Completely surrounded by the prison, the packed dirt of the square at least allowed the prisoners some fresh air and sunlight.
My escort growled at me to hurry, and I rushed to catch up. The top of the staircase ended at another steel door. After a series of complicated knocks from both sides of the door, it swung open, revealing two officers wedged in a small vestibule. Another round of explanations followed another pat down.
Yep. This had been a bad idea. One of my worst.
I was finally admitted to the warden’s office. Windows ringed the large circular room. A stone hearth blazed with heat in the center, and behind a semicircle-shaped desk sat the warden.
My first impression—big bald head. Second—an immaculate uniform cut so tight wrinkles would be impossible. Another man lounged in a chair next to the desk. He also wore a correctional officer’s uniform, but instead of the standard blue, his shirt and pants were deep navy and no weapons or keys hung from his belt. He eyed me with keen interest.
My escort waited for the warden to acknowledge our presence before approaching the desk. I lagged behind and tried not to duck my head when the warden turned his irritation on me. Steel-gray eyes appraised me, and I stifled the need to scuff my foot and fidget like a small child. He stood and held out his hand. His movements were so precise and rigid, I wondered if his bones had been replaced by metal rods and his flesh petrified by years spent inside this stone prison.
“The message?” His voice matched his demeanor. Rough and sharp.
I handed him the request. He snatched it, ripped it open, scanned the words and tossed it on his desk. “Go,” he ordered.
“But—”
“What? Am I supposed to hand you the information?” His tone implied yes would be the wrong answer.
“Er…” Wonderful retort. Opal, the superspy.
“Am I supposed to stop ever
ything I’m doing to give you classified documents?”
“Um…”
“Go now.”
I used to believe a powerful Daviian Warper addicted to blood magic was the scariest person I’d ever encounter. Not anymore.
Outside and several blocks away from Wirral, I sucked in huge gulps of air, trying to expel the fetid taint of the prison inside me. My gasps turned to hiccupy giggles as I imagined going through with my original plan to work undercover as a correctional officer. Light-headed and unable to draw in a decent breath, I reached for a lantern post as my head spun. I missed and toppled to the ground. Dazed, I waited for the spinning to stop.
“Hey! Are you all right?” a man asked. He peered down at me in concern.
“Fine. Fine.” I waved him away. “Just lost my balance.”
He knelt next to me. “It’s brutal the first time.”
I squinted at him. “What?”
“You were in Wirral. I thought you looked…shaky.”
Recognizing the man from the warden’s office, I pushed to my elbow in alarm. “You followed me?”
“Of course. Your face was whiter than a full moon, your eyes were bugged out and you wobbled when you left. What was I suppose to do? Let you fall and crack your head open?”
“No…sorry. I’m just… That was horrible!”
“It’s a punishment. It’s not supposed to be fun.”
“But it seemed…cruel.”
“What did?”
Was he teasing me? A cool humor lurked behind his grayish-green eyes, but it didn’t spoil his genuine interest in my answer.
“The smells, the shrieks, the darkness, the…”
He waited. When I didn’t continue, he said, “Did you actually see anything cruel?”
“No, but—”
“Your imagination filled in the details.”
I wanted to correct him. Not my imagination, but my experience.
“I won’t lie to you. It is bad, but not cruel. They’re fed, given water, exercise and fresh air. No one is tortured or harmed by the COs. And considering what most of them have done to others, it’s more than they deserve. Here…”
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