by Glenda Larke
Maybe now we can get on with our lives…
Except there’s still Amberlyn. And Taquar. Her heart gave a sick lurch as it always did when she thought of Jasper in confrontation with Taquar. She glanced to where he was pulling on his clothing. He was thinner, and there was pain in his gaze. Grief at his acknowledgement of his final parting from his brother, and far, far more. Amberlyn was in the care of his worst enemy. To attempt a rescue was to risk her life; he knew that and would do it nonetheless. If the attempt failed he would have to live with the consequences for the rest of his days.
God save him, how is it even possible to make that decision?
They finished dressing and went downstairs to have breakfast at the bread shop next door. It was already mid-morning, so the place was empty and some of the varieties of stuffed buns had sold out, but neither of them minded that. They were together again. And, for the moment, safe.
“I suppose you have to go up to Breccia Hall this morning,” she said, spearing a bun with her knife. “Do you want this one? It has kumquat jam inside.”
“Thanks.” He took the bun, broke it in half and gave half back to her. “I am not taking you to the hall, though. I don’t want you near Senya or Laisa, not after what Umber told me last night.”
She shrugged, licking her fingers. “I’m still alive, and Laisa has kept Senya on a tight leash since it happened. How long will it take you to complete the stormshifting?”
“Ten days and I’ll be done.”
“Were you serious about going to live in the Gibber?”
“Yes. If—if you’ll come with me. It won’t be like it was when you were a child, I promise you.”
“I hope not. And I am glad you’re doing this, Shale. I don’t mind leaving the Scarpen, truly. It’s time the Gibber became a better place.”
“Umber told me he was going to stay in the Scarpen, at least for a few years. Possibly forever.”
“Yes, I know. He’s already courting a seamstress down on the fourth.”
She wondered why he didn’t speak of Amberlyn. He hadn’t mentioned her name since he’d come back. Not once. Yet surely her situation was haunting his every waking moment and probably his dreams as well. She said, “I think Umber rather likes the idea of becoming a highlord. He has his eye on Scarcleft if you can get Taquar out of there.”
He nodded. “Bet Lord Ouina will have something to say about that. The city will be his if he wants it, though. Who is going to say no to a stormlord when there are only three of us? Oh, another thing—I want to see Jade today.”
“She’s opened a healer’s hospice on Level Ten. I go there every day to help her with translations. Now that Rubric’s here, he can do that.”
“We can set up the scene that will leave them both free to go home.”
“Will Rubric leave?”
“I think he would, if Jade does. But I don’t think he wants to. In fact, I’m sure he doesn’t. But Jade has lost two of her sons…”
“I think she’ll decide to stay if Rubric tells her he wants to. She’ll probably grizzle about it, but she actually wants an excuse. She’s enjoying being a much sought after healer.”
“Good!”
“I’ve learned a lot from her about healing using waterpainting. I hope I can put it to good use in the Gibber.” When he looked at her with an odd expression on his face she asked, “What?”
“Just thinking. It’s ironic. Nealrith dreamed of a more united Quartern with strong stormlords and a powerful cloudmaster. Instead we have a land more splintered than it ever was. Nothing has turned out the way I thought it would. And yet everything seems to be, well not exactly easy, but at least functioning.”
“Remember the Lords and Shells game? There’s a Wild Lord who can change everything.”
He pondered that. “Kedri?”
She nodded.
“Who knows?”
That’s it, she thought. No one ever does know.
And still he didn’t mention Amberlyn. He stood and dropped some tokens on the table in payment. “Here’s Rubric to escort you. I have to go up to the hall. I’ll be back tonight.”
She grinned at him. “You’d better be.”
As he reached the door, he turned back to her. “It’s difficult to talk about her when I can’t do anything about it. Yet.”
A tear edged out of the corner of her eye to wet her lashes. She gave a tiny nod, which he returned, and then he left.
Rubric smirked knowingly as he entered.
Highlord Laisa visited Senya every morning after she’d completed her morning’s workload. She’d come to hate those visits. Senya loathed the restrictions that had been placed on her. First, she was only allowed to leave her apartment for the city under guard, and Laisa made sure the head of the guard was always Elmar Waggoner because he was the one person she could trust to have the Cloudmaster’s personal interests at heart. Nor would he ever be swayed by any approach from a waterpriest. The second restriction imposed was that Senya could have no visitors unless her mother was present.
The result was that every day Senya assailed Laisa with a one-way litany of complaint and abuse. And never, not once, did she acknowledge that anything she’d ever done was unjustified or worthy of condemnation.
On the day Laisa told her Jasper was back but had not yet come to Breccia Hall, the visit was even more unpleasant than usual. Senya, quite rightly, assumed that Jasper had elected to see his lover rather than his wife, and she was incandescent with rage, her ire spilling out in the form of foul language that Laisa had been unaware Senya would ever have heard, let alone known how to use.
At the end of her diatribe, she said, suddenly amiable, “But never mind. I know how to get my own back on that snuggery slut.”
“Oh, how?” Laisa asked, not expecting to hear anything much.
“Oh, poison her, of course. You thought you were so clever, taking that poison from me, but we’ll see who has the last laugh.” She folded her arms. “And I’m not going to say another word. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Laisa smiled pleasantly, even as her stomach churned in sudden apprehension. “Oh? I don’t believe you’ve done anything at all. You’re just making it up.”
It took her the run of a sandglass, but eventually she had the whole story. Senya had bribed her maid, Inya, with a piece of her jewellery, a pearl necklace, to procure another vial of the same poison, label it as essence of sweet vanillin, then wrap it and have it delivered to Terelle’s lodgings as a present from Jasper. It was supposed to be a flavouring to be added a few drops at a time to any drink.
Senya was smiling triumphantly as she related her vision of Terelle’s painful death.
Laisa heard her out without comment. Within, she was raging. The stupid girl would bring both of them down with her irrationality. Thank the Sunlord, Terelle had changed her lodgings several times since the last attempt on her life, ensuring that such a present would have been delivered to the wrong address. Not that Laisa could imagine Terelle being so gullible as to accept unknown presents. Every word Senya uttered drove Laisa’s despair deeper. Her daughter was not only naïve and irrational, she was sandcrazy.
Perturbed, Laisa left her alone and cornered Inya to find out the details. At first the girl pretended innocence, but Laisa wasn’t fooled. Inya broke down under further questioning and added another layer to the sordid tale. Yes, she’d taken the jewellery, but she hadn’t wanted to poison anybody. Instead she’d sold the pearls to a pawnbroker, then used the money to buy an apprenticeship for her brother. She’d come back and lied to Senya, telling her that she’d bought the poison and safely delivered it to Terelle.
Laisa had the Overman of the Guard lock Inya up for theft and sent one of her trusted servants to check the information. When he reported back to her later that day, it was clear Inya had told the truth. Laisa thanked him, then dismissed the maid on the spot, but took no further action on the promise of her silence.
The next morning Jasper came to the
hall for the first time after his return to the Breccia. When he met Laisa, he was chillingly polite and distant as he gave her a brief outline of all that had happened in the Red Quarter. In return, she told him she’d insisted on regular reports from Zirca and Crystal about Amberlyn. “Your daughter is well and thriving,” she said and showed him the latest message she had received, written in Zirca’s childlike script.
He read it and slipped it into his pocket. Calmly, he repeated the words he’d sent by cloud message, “If she dies, so do you.”
That was the only reference he made to her treachery, but she felt she was living poised on the edge of a knife blade. Perfectly poised at the moment, but knowing that sooner or later she would fall and impale herself because Senya would bring her down, if nothing else. He’s going to kill me, the first time I put a foot wrong, I know it. She’d betrayed him, sold his daughter to Taquar. His anger was there, it must be, even though he never showed it. His gaze was cold and dispassionate, but one day…
The strain of waiting made her sick. She couldn’t eat or sleep. A few days later, after Jasper had been coming to Breccia Hall every day to stormshift, he told her he would soon be finished and would be able to go to the Gibber with Terelle. She knew she’d run out of time. She had to do something to show her new loyalties.
She sat for a long while that morning, deep in thought. Then she went to her jewellery case and took out the poison Senya had got from the waterpriest, still in its pretty onyx container. It was pale green, with strands of brown through the polished stone like tresses of hair spread out on a pillow…
Early the next morning, before Jasper arrived at the hall, Laisa went to see Senya.
As usual, Senya was in a fury. “When do I get a new maid? I hate that old hag of yours you’ve been sending me! She’s as sour as an unripe kumquat. And I don’t understand why Inya left anyway.”
“I’ll find you someone new and young,” she replied. “Senya, I was thinking, tomorrow why don’t we go and buy some new clothes? I heard there was a pede caravan in from the ports full of the latest fashions. There’s a shop down on Level Four that has promised to show them to us first, in the morning.”
Senya clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful! Why can’t we go now?”
“They’re still unpacking. Tell you what, why don’t we look at your wardrobe and see what you need?”
They spent an hour discussing clothing and what Senya required. No, it’s more a list of what she demands, Laisa thought, sighing inwardly. She fingered the vial in her dress pocket.
When they’d finished dissecting Senya’s wardrobe, she ordered a jug of Senya’s favourite juice and they sat down in her sitting room. When the drink came, Laisa dismissed the servant and went to pour the juice herself. With her back to Senya, she asked, “Tell me, do you ever think of your father?”
“No, why?”
Laisa glanced over her shoulder, the juice still unpoured. “Don’t you miss him?”
Senya laughed. “Of course not! It’s because he was so sun-fried that we’re in this horrid city. Him and grandfather. Tell me, do you think they have any pearls in the shipment? I really need some more, seeing as I sold the ones I had. Have you heard if Terelle’s dead yet?”
“No. Not yet.”
She pouted. “I’m beginning to wonder if Inya really did buy the poison. Maybe she just ran away with my pearls.”
“Maybe she did.”
“I’ll have to think of something else, then. Mama, we have to do something.”
“We will. Here’s your juice.”
Senya took the glass and drank it all. “I was thirsty,” she said. “Can I have some more?”
“Of course.” Laisa smiled at her. “Drink as much as you want. And think about what fun we’ll have tomorrow.”
“The highlord is waiting for you,” the guard told Jasper when he arrived that day. “She asks that you see her first before going to the stormquest room. She said to conduct you to Lord Senya’s apartments, m’lord.”
Jasper hid a grimace. The last person he wanted to see was his wife. He braced himself, aware that he had been putting the meeting off longer than was wise. Better to get it over and done with and comfort himself with the knowledge that he’d soon be able to leave and shake off the corrosive memories of Breccia Hall.
It was Laisa who bade him enter Senya’s apartment, and he walked on in, closing the door behind him.
And stopped in shock.
Senya was lying on the divan, her eyes closed. Unmoving. Her hair was loosened to cover the cushion under her head. And her water was no longer alive. Laisa sat beside her on a hassock, holding her hand. On a table close by there was a jug of juice and two glasses, one full, one empty.
For a long while he stood stock still, taking in the scene.
Finally he said, “You—you do know she’s dead?” Inane question; of course she knows. He felt nothing. No sorrow, no relief, no regret. Just… a neutral interest. As if he’d scarcely known Senya Almandine.
Laisa fumbled in her skirt and withdrew an onyx vial. She held it up, then placed it carefully on the table. “I found out she’d hatched another plan against Terelle. I scolded her and told her I’d tell you. She took the poison she’d intended for Terelle.”
He eyed the two glasses. “I see.” No other words came to him. Murder, of course. Laisa’s—what? Propitiation? Her atonement for her wrongs, reparation to him? For a moment he felt ill. She had killed Senya to regain his trust? To ensure her position? He stared at her.
“You know what my biggest mistake was, Jasper?”
He shook his head, not moving from where he stood.
“Not appreciating Nealrith nearly enough.”
“A lot of people made that mistake.”
“Yes. Would an apology mean much?”
“To me?” He gaped, robbed of further speech. It wasn’t what he’d expected.
“Yes.”
It was a moment before he managed to say, “Not much. In fact, nothing at all. Not while my daughter is held by Taquar. Truth to tell, probably never. And somehow I doubt that an apology would make Nealrith feel any better.”
She nodded, accepting his words without apparent distress, awaiting his decision on her future. His approval for what she’d done? That was when he glimpsed something he’d thought he would never see in her eyes: resignation. Even, perhaps, a little regret.
When he said nothing, she asked, “So what’s next?”
“Somehow I don’t think I want to see too much of you in the future, Laisa. In fact, I don’t want to see you ever again if I can help it. I even regret that I still have to use your stormquest room for another three days.”
“You’re welcome.”
“The Scarpen has a stormlord in Umber. I suggest you all treat him very well indeed and continue to search for other water talents to train. Start accusing Umber of blasphemy, and you will find yourselves without water, because I’m through with the Scarpen. I’m through with you all. You can tell Lord Gold that. Actually, I think I take great delight in leaving him for you to manage.”
She frowned, as if she didn’t understand what he was trying to say. “You’re not bringing storms for us any more?”
“Not once I leave, no. It will all be Umber’s task. He’s both skilled enough and happy to manage the Scarpen by himself.”
“The Red Quarter?”
“Rubric—that’s Lord Jade’s son—has undertaken to send storms there, possibly with the help of Jade if he needs it. But the Red Quarter has found another source of water and may gradually become independent under Dunemaster Kaneth.”
She looked at him blankly.
“I doubt that the Red Quarter will ever bother you again.”
“I have difficulty thinking of an irresponsible womaniser like Kaneth ruling all the dunes with the slightest competence.”
“He will. With Ryka’s help.” He wasn’t sure she was taking it all in. No wonder, I suppose, with Senya’s body lying there. He continu
ed, “The White Quarter expects to be able to persuade Khromatis to supply their water from now onwards. If that doesn’t work out, Terelle and I will do it.”
“And me?”
“Laisa—I don’t care.”
She looked at him, dubious.
“I simply don’t care,” he repeated. “Somehow I don’t think there is a Quartern any more, not as an entity, let alone one with a cloudmaster. Rule your city as best you can. Work with other cities to keep the roads and caravansaries open. If you want to do something to help me, then continue to keep an eye on Amberlyn. I understand Umber has already informed Taquar that if she is hurt, Scarcleft will get no water from him. And you can tell Taquar from me that if she’s hurt, I’ll hunt him down, no matter where he goes. But I’ll not risk her life by attempting a rescue, especially as—” He halted and blushed. “Terelle is not keen on raising Senya’s child.”
She tried and failed to hide a cynical smile. “I imagine not. That is—wise of you. Doubtless Terelle will have your children in due course.”
“It is my hope.”
“I don’t communicate with Taquar any more, though. You’ll have to send your own messages.”
He snorted, not believing her, then took one last look at Senya. “Nealrith asked me to look after her. In the end, it seems I failed him.”
“I don’t think there could have been any other ending. She was no longer quite… sane.”
Laisa stood and he noted that her silks were faded and patched. Things do change, he thought.
Another knock sounded at the door. “That will be the waterpriests to take her body to the House of the Dead,” she said. She was abnormally pale and her fingers trembled. He couldn’t bring himself to care, or to try to decide if she was grieving, shocked, or just worried about what action he would take.
He said calmly, “I’ll leave now. Please do all that is proper for the taking of her water. I’ll attend, of course.”
“Of course.”
In the doorway, he paused. “My condolences.”