Empress Unborn se-7

by Jean Lorrah

  Wicket had called his friend “skinny.” Actually he was thin and wiry, and his dark gray clothing did nothing to make him appear larger. It was plain in cut, linen and wool of the highest quality, with fine black leather boots suited for riding but looking soft and comfortable enough for walking.

  His tabard was wool, its only decoration a single line of discreet silver embroidery across the top.

  Wondering if Pyrrhus should be on his feet, Aradia started to Read his physical condition as she neared the doorway-and Pyrrhus snatched his sword from the scabbard on the bed, whirled, and faced her with weapon at ready!

  Aradia’s throat constricted at the idea of a Reader at the mercy of his physical senses; how painful it must be to have someone sneak up on him. She had not meant to; with her advancing pregnancy she was simply most comfortable in soft slippers that made no sound on the marble floors.

  When he saw who it was, Pyrrhus saluted her with the weapon. “Lady Aradia. Come to see that I do not escape?”

  “Not without a proper meal,” she replied, sending a mental call to the hospital kitchen. “Actually, I did not expect to find you awake.”

  “Obviously neither did Wicket,” he said, replacing his sword in its scabbard. “Or has he gone?”

  “Gone?”

  “He does have all our money,” said Pyrrhus.

  “Don’t you trust him?” Aradia asked.

  “More than I ought to, I expect.” Leaving the sword on the bed, Pyrrhus put on a black leather belt with a square silver buckle and plain silver decoration along its length. Aradia noted that he had to buckle it two notches tighter than where the worn place in the leather indicated it was usually fastened.

  “You need a few good meals under that belt,” said Aradia.

  “Why should you be concerned about my health?” he challenged. “I’m a stranger to you.”

  “The child you saved was a stranger to you,” she countered.

  Instead of answering, he turned and began plucking items off the bed and stowing them about his person.

  Aradia sat down in a chair, bemused, to watch a dagger disappear into his left boot, a larger knife that she suspected was weighted for throwing into his right. What appeared to be a plain white linen kerchief did not move with normal lightness; it was obviously weighted with lead. Pyrrhus folded it to look quite ordinary, and tucked it into his tabard.

  He put on leather bracelets, the kind gladiators wore to protect and support the vulnerable wristbones, but when he bent his hands forward as far as they would go, sharp blades sprang from them, across the backs of his hands. With a tight-lipped smile of satisfaction, he touched hidden catches, and the blades slid out of sight again.

  But that was not all. Aradia’s amusement grew as she wondered whether the razor he tucked into his tabard, where there must be hidden pockets, was the same one he used on his face, or whether this one was merely another weapon. The man was a walking arsenal!

  Several bodkins, of varying sizes, also went inside the tabard, along with braided leather thongs, a sling, a burning glass, a lodestone, and some objects whose purpose Aradia could not guess. Finally, Pyrrhus clipped another dagger, quite visibly, to his belt. All that was left on the bed was a bow, a quiver of arrows, and his sword.

  For all the paraphernalia, no bulges showed in his outfit, nor did Pyrrhus move as if weighted down. He looked over at Aradia, tilting his head.to one side as if waiting for her to comment, and sat down on the bed.

  She grinned at him. “Just what army do you expect to face single-handed?”

  “Yours, possibly,” he retorted.

  The attendant arrived with Pyrrhus’ meal. He glanced at Aradia, but accepted the tray and began to eat.

  She noticed that, like Lenardo, despite his hunger he ate little meat.

  Readers kept to a vegetarian diet, saying meat dulled their powers. Aradia often argued with Lenardo, insisting that he could improve his Adept powers if only he would eat more meat. He would counter that if she ate less, she would be a better Reader.

  But no diet would enable Pyrrhus to Read again. Probably, like most people, he simply preferred foods he had grown up on. Aradia took the opportunity while Pyrrhus was eating to study him without enduring that piercing gaze.

  Now that his burns had healed, his coloring was back to normal. Aradia noted that his eyes seemed darker than they actually were because his skin was very fair. Even sun-darkened, it was lighter than Lenardo’s olive tones, and the brown of his hair was in the medium range, not the dark brown to black more usual among Aventines. His eyelashes were long and thick, but lighter than his hair, the contrast with the brown eyes increasing the impression that they were mysteriously dark and deep.

  Pyrrhus finished eating, set the tray on the bedside table, and took the wool of his tabard between thumb and forefinger. “How did you get the oil out of my clothing without ruining it?”

  “Adept talents are useful for many purposes,” she replied.

  He pondered that, then shrugged. “Why not? But you are not here to discuss laundry. Perhaps you haven’t noticed: I still can’t Read.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked at the abrupt turn of subject.

  “Isn’t it a little late for that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come now,” he said coldly, his eyes pinning her, “you won’t claim you resisted poking around in my head while you had me at your mercy?”

  “No, I won’t,” she said flatly, and saw a flicker of surprise on his face. “We will not lie to you, Pyrrhus.”

  “Perhaps. But you won’t respect my privacy, either.”

  “It was not a breach of healer’s ethics,” she said. “But then you must know that-it is the same for Readers as for Adepts. You were my patient. If, in treating your burns, I had discovered some other problem, such as a tumorous growth, you would have expected me to remove it. Didn’t you learn the same thing when you studied at Gaeta?’

  Gaeta was the huge hospital where all Readers of the upper ranks in the Aventine Empire were once sent to learn the rough medical techniques which were all they could practice without Adept powers. Herbs and potions, bonesetting by force, amputating limbs as had been done to Decius, actually cutting into people’s bodies.

  But even with those primitive methods they had healed many people. And now that Readers and Adepts were working together, there was almost no condition that could not be cured at Gaeta. -

  Except Pyrrhus’ condition.

  The man’s composure slipped enough to allow a brief puzzled frown. “I did not know that you had studied there.”

  “I didn’t, but my husband did,” she replied. “He is a Master Reader.”

  “Oh, yes-Lenardo the Traitor.”

  “So Portia and her cohorts called him,” Aradia struck back.

  She hit her target. “Very well,” said Pyrrhus. “Tell me what you found inside my head.”

  There was no way to put it gently. “We cannot restore your Reading powers. Nervous tissue has been destroyed, something even a Lord Adept cannot heal.”

  He did not blink, although she knew that she must have crushed the last hope, however denied, buried in his heart. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” he said finally.

  “You do believe me?” she felt compelled to ask.

  “Oh, yes,” he replied, cynicism returning to his tone. “If you lied to me, Master Clement would contradict you. That is his greatest weakness: he is a completely honest man.” He frowned again. “Physical damage?

  Done by Readers?”

  “Portia had an Adept working with her.”

  At his suddenly feral expression she quickly added, “We know who he was, and he is dead.”

  “That,” said Pyrrhus, “is unfortunate. Although it is fortunate for him.”

  Aradia was about to try to turn the discussion to similar criminals in Zendi when Master Clement arrived.

  “Aradia, Julia is unharmed,” he began.

  “Unharmed? What h
arm threatened her?” Aradia demanded, getting to her feet.

  “No-there is no need for you to go,” the Reader told her. “There are Readers and Adepts on the scene.”

  ” What scene?” Aradia exclaimed in frustration.

  “Julia was at the horse market.”

  “Yes. She had my permission.” Aradia had decided that allowing Julia time with Galerio and his gang might lessen the appeal of something forbidden.

  “A fire stampeded the horses,” said Master Clement. “No one was killed, and all injuries were minor.

  Julia and her friends are helping to round up the horses.” He allowed Aradia to Read the scene with him, to see that, indeed, all was under control.

  But- “Fire? Stampede? Master Clement, is this another-?”

  When the old Reader did not immediately answer, Pyrrhus asked, “Another what?” When he didn’t get a reply, he suggested, “Another unexpected event like a whirlwind in the middle of a city on a perfectly calm day?”

  That got their attention. “What do you know about it?” Aradia asked.

  He shrugged. “It sounds like the Adept harassment we got when I was a boy at the Academy. Adigia was on the border, and sometimes the savages would try to drive people out of the area by sending storms to ruin crops, or starting fires to destroy villages.”

  Master Clement nodded. “These events appear similar. There were other whirlwinds at the same time as the one in Zendi. Yesterday a hailstorm destroyed some crops. Today the horse market was disrupted.

  Thus far, our Readers have been unable to trace the source.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you,” Pyrrhus said with his well-practiced insincere smile.

  Master Clement looked at Aradia. “You told him?”

  “He asked.”

  “Yes, of course he would.” He turned to the man on the bed. “Pyrrhus, it is best you know the truth.

  However, you should know the whole truth.”

  Pyrrhus was lounging in a deliberately casual pose, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. If Sistena saw his boots on her clean bedding, Aradia thought, she’d tongue-lash him out of such casualness.

  But, head tilted curiously, Pyrrhus was asking, “What more is there to know? The nerves are burnt out. I will never be able to Read again.”

  “You have not lost all your powers.”

  “Oh, yes,” Pyrrhus replied acidly, “I can still send thoughts with a Reader’s power. I did so in the rapport that killed Portia. I suppose you could use me as a transmitter of messages to other Readers-but what good does that do me?‘t”

  Master Clement gestured toward the weapons on the bed at Pyrrhus’ feet. “Readers make the best swordsmen,” he said. “Wicket says you are the best swordsman he’s ever seen.”

  “Wicket is a fool,” sneered Pyrrhus.

  “You are still alive,” Master Clement countered. “Pyrrhus…”

  At the tone of the old man’s voice, Pyrrhus relented. “You’re right,” he said. “When I realized that I could not Read at all, I was afraid I could no longer fight-that I wouldn’t survive to take revenge. But the first time I had to use my sword I was caught by surprise, and reacted instinctively. When it was over, I realized I had lost none of that skill.”

  Master Clement nodded. “That is consistent with what we found. Portia destroyed the nerve center for analyzing and interpretation what you Read. You are still Reading, Pyrrhus-but what you Read no longer reaches your conscious mind.”

  Pyrrhus shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”

  “No, it’s not” said Master Clement. “You don’t think and analyze when you’re fighting. What you Read goes straight into action.”

  “What’s that?” came Wicket’s voice from the doorway. “There’s actually something Pyrrhus doesn’t analyze to death?” As he stepped forward, all of them stared, for Wicket was covered with dirt and grime.

  At their looks, he gave a sheepish grin. “I was afraid

  Pyrrhus might be awake already, so I hurried on over here. An’ I was right, wasn’t I?” he added brightly.

  “Where’ve you been?” Pyrrhus demanded impatiently.

  “The horse market. There was a fire, and then-”

  “Oh, that,” Pyrrhus said in bored tones. “We’ve heard all about it already.” He gave one of his arctic smiles. “Isn’t it convenient to have friends who are Readers?” Having effectively stopped the conversation, Pyrrhus savored the moment’s silence before asking Wicket, “What were you doing at the horse market?”

  “Thought we might need horses, didn’t I? Thought you might want to leave.”

  ” Did you?’ Pyrrhus began dangerously, but Master Clement stepped in before he could continue.

  “Pyrrhus, don’t leave without discovering the extent of your remaining powers. Let us treat you at the Academy.”

  “My Academy days are long over, Clement,” Pyrrhus replied.

  “Then come and stay at my villa,” said Aradia. “Both of you are welcome, and there is certainly plenty of room.” In fact, more than half the rooms were empty, and would remain so until Lilith arrived with her entourage.

  Wicket was watching Pyrrhus closely, and jumped in before Pyrrhus could refuse. “The royal residence!

  Think of it, Pyrrhus. When are we ever gonna live in the lap of luxury?”

  Pyrrhus glanced at Wicket with tolerant amusement. “You didn’t buy any horses?”

  “Nah-they closed down the market on me.”

  “You realize you’ll have to take a bath before you can set foot in Lady Aradia’s home?” Pyrrhus teased him.

  “What-two baths in the same day?” Wicket replied as if the thought pained him.

  “That’s the condition for sitting in the lap of luxury,” Pyrrhus explained.

  Because Wicket looked genuinely torn by the decision, Aradia laughed, and waved her hand toward him.

  The gesture was theatrical effect, of course-Adept power pulled the grime out of his clothes and onhis skin and hair, leaving him cleaner than when he had left the baths earlier, since he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

  Wicket stared down at his sparkling clothing, and delicately stepped out of the circle of dirt that had fallen at his feet. Then he grinned at Pyrrhus. “Isn’t it convenient,” he asked conversationally, “to have friends who are Adepts?”

  When Julia got home, she found she didn’t have to Read for Wicket: Aradia had invited him and Pyrrhus to stay at the villa.

  It was all she could do to get through the evening meal, worrying about Galerio. He had to face Capero with Mosca and Antonius tonight if their scheme was to work. If he didn’t convince the gambler that it was worth his while to try to snare Galerio, all three young men would have their throats slit.

  After dinner, Julia sat in the luxurious parlor, trying to follow the conversation between Aradia, Master Clement, Pyrrhus, and Wicket. Ordinarily, she would have been fascinated. Tonight she was only worried.

  Finally, though, a servant brought her a message, scribbled in Galerio’s almost indecipherable hand:

  “Tomorrow, one hour after sunset.”

  She saw Wicket notice, but his attention went immediately back to the conversation.

  Aradia also noticed. “Julia, you are not going out tonight.”

  “No, Aradia, I had no intention to,” she replied.

  Aradia did not ask what the message was.

  That trust made Julia want to tell Aradia. But she knew better. Her stepmother would feel compelled to stop it, but if she stopped Capero from harming Mosca and Antonius now, he would find another way to take revenge.

  And Galerio would never forgive Julia if she brought Aradia into it.

  No, it was best for Aradia never to find out at all.

  When Julia got up to go to bed at her usual time, Wicket said, “I’m tired. I think I’ll get some sleep, too.

  Good night, everyone.”

  Pyrrhus eyed his friend. “I’ve done nothing but sleep for
the past two days. Will you leave me to the tender mercies of these two?” he asked, indicating Aradia and Master Clement.

  “Aww, I don’t think they’re gonna cook you up for breakfast,” Wicket replied. “Maybe after breakfast, though,” he added, referring to Pyrrhus’ reluctant agreement to let Master Clement test him in the morning. “But I gotta put up with you afterward. Better get my rest, Pyrrhus.”

  As Julia suspected, Wicket wanted to talk with her. He and Pyrrhus had been given rooms on the other side of the courtyard from the family suite. “Where is it safe to talk?” he asked. “Or is there anyplace?

  The old man-”

  “You mean Master Clement? Wicket, he would not spy on us! And we’re not being watched. Entryways, the treasury-those are guarded at all times by both Adepts and Readers. But don’t fear being Read inside the villa, especially not in any private rooms.”

  “That’s a relief!” he replied.

  “You grew up in the Aventine Empire-you must know that the Reader’s Oath protects the privacy of nonReaders.”

  “Never had much to do with Readers, did I?” he replied. “Least never knew I did.”

  Julia took him to her room, where she gave him her small supply of money. “That won’t be enough to make you look like a rich merchant,” she said.

  “I’ll claim I’ve been spending in anticipation of a large sum. This will do. But there’s another problem: I need proper clothes for the part.”

  He was right. His plain tan shirt and hose and multicolored tabard were nothing like what a wealthy Aventine merchant would wear.

  Fortunately, Aventine styles were loose, not like the savage clothing that had to be fitted to the person wearing it to look right.

  Julia said, “Aradia is still in the parlor, and Master Clement hasn’t left yet. We have time. Come on.”

  “What happened to your Reader’s Oath?” asked Wicket.

  “All I did was check that they’re still in a public room,” said Julia.“Come on-and be quiet. Devasin will be in the anteroom leading to the corridor.”

  She took Wicket out the low-silled window into the courtyard, and into Lenardo and Aradia’s room, where her father’s clothes were kept ready in his chest. His red Master Reader’s cloak lay on top, with several white, black-edged tunics beneath it. Once those were lifted out, though, there was a mixture of Aventine and savage-style clothing, all in the finest materials, much of it sumptuously embroidered.