“How do you know?”
Valek gave me a tight, joyless smile. “When you stormed the camp, I stole into the tent, intending to put the Wannabe King out of my misery. I had a few seconds to determine he was gone before the tent collapsed on me.”
I suppressed a chuckle. From the annoyed frown, I knew Valek wouldn’t appreciate it.
“But I found that.” He gestured to the floor. My backpack rested against Kiki’s stall door.
A happy cry escaped my lips and I knelt down to check the contents. Before I dug into the pack, I looked up to thank Valek, but he was gone. I considered finding him to explain, but I wasn’t ready to breach the wall surrounding me. Inside my little cocoon, I could pretend the Fire Warper’s threat to the people I loved didn’t exist.
My pack still held my switchblade, my Sitian clothes, my lock picks, vials of Curare, lumps of Theobroma, jerky, tea and Opal’s glass bat. The glow from the statue seemed brighter.
The intricate swirls of liquid fire drew my gaze. I marveled at Opal’s talent. The whirlpool of light in the core of the bat transformed into a snake. The roar of a kiln beat at my ears. Hands wielded a pair of metal tweezers to shape the thin glass body before it cooled. The thoughts of the glassmaker reached me. Opal’s thoughts.
She dripped water on a groove in the glass near the end of the pole. The snake cracked off. Using thick mittens, she picked up the piece and put it into another oven to cool slowly. This one was not as hot as the first.
Opal, can you hear me? I asked.
No response.
When my awareness returned to the bat in my hand, I knew I had reached Booruby with my mind without expending a lot of energy. Booruby! A six-day ride south of here. I hadn’t been able to reach Bain from Booruby and I had been closer. What would happen if Irys held the snake? Would we be able to communicate over vast distances without sapping our strength? My mind raced with the implications.
The cold air intruded on my excitement. My wet hair felt icy in the breeze, and I remembered Kiki mentioning snow. We were north of the Avibian Plains, but I had no idea if the farmhouse resided in the Moon Clan’s lands or Featherstone’s. Either way, by the time the storm reached us, it would turn to rain and sleet. And by looking at the gray wall of clouds advancing from the west, it wouldn’t be long before the storm hit.
I shouldered my pack and went inside. Valek had lit a small fire in the living room. His soft tread padded on the floor above me. Probably planning to sleep after being up all night.
Hesitating on the threshold of the room, I debated. My cloak was soaked. I needed the fire to dry it and I wanted to warm myself.
In the end, I changed into Sitian clothes, hung my cloak by the hearth and filled a pot for tea. I heated the water, but avoided looking directly into the fire. Feeling uneasy, I chewed a piece of jerky and drank the tea as far away from the flames as I could get. Unable to stay in the room any longer, I wanted to run upstairs to Valek. Instead, I grabbed a blanket off the couch and ran to the stables, joining Kiki.
She snorted in amusement when I made a bed of straw in her stall. I filled two buckets with water and put them next to me.
If I start to smoke, pour these on me, I said to her. I don’t want to set fire to the barn.
Soon after I laid down, an odd melody of sleet drummed on the slate roof. The whistle of wind through the rafters augmented the beat. Lulled to sleep by the storm’s music, I slept without dreams.
The arrival of a strange horse woke me and Kiki the next morning. At least I hoped the weak storm light meant the beginning and not the end of the day.
Valek led in a black horse with white socks. With its long legs and sleek body, the animal was built like a racehorse. Pulling a thread of power, I linked my mind with the new arrival.
He felt uncomfortable in this new barn. Strange smells. Strange horse. He missed his stall and friends.
Smells here are good, I said in his mind. You’ll make new friends. What’s your name?
Onyx.
I introduced him to Kiki.
Valek tied Onyx to a hitch. “We need to leave for the Citadel.” He saddled Onyx. “This weather is good cover.”
My heart twisted with pain. He had gotten his own horse so he didn’t have to sit with me on Kiki. “How far?”
“Two days. I have another safe house about a mile north of the Citadel. We can set up operations there.”
We worked in complete and utter silence.
The next two days felt more like ten. With the nasty weather, Valek’s cold shoulder and my anxiety to hurry, I would have preferred spending the time in the Commander’s dungeon.
Our arrival at the safe house seemed a relief until the necessity of planning our actions made our strained relationship almost unbearable. I remained stubborn, believing the distance between us would make it easier for me to make life-threatening decisions.
After we settled into the cottage, I headed for the Citadel. The weather again promised rain, lending a bleakness to the landscape. Bare trees and brown hills seemed muted and barren of life. I knew if I swept the area with my magic, I would feel the small stirrings of creatures, waiting for the warmth. But the risk of using magic this close to the Keep was too high.
Disguised as a Featherstone clanswoman, I wore a long-sleeved linen dress underneath a plain sand-colored cloak. Although I left my bow behind, I had access to my switchblade. My hair was pulled into a stylish knot favored by the Featherstones and held in place by my lock picks.
Valek had styled my hair. He worked in a cold and efficient manner, making it easier for me not to grasp his hands and pull him close. His deft fingers twisted the strands of my hair expertly, and a strange vision of fire melting his arms to stumps rose in my mind.
I banished the image and put my hood over my head. The north gate of the Citadel wasn’t as busy as I had hoped. In fact, once inside, only a few people walked the streets. They hunched over their packages and stared at the ground. The weather could be a factor, but the rain had ceased. The streets should be teeming with citizens hurrying to the market before the next squall.
Even the beggars were few and far between. Most of them wore expressions of worry as they glanced around, and none approached me.
The Citadel’s white marble walls looked dingy and dull. The green veins resembled streaks of dirt and the whole town felt as if a layer of grime coated it. The grunge had built up in the cracks, and soaked into the foundations. The shine was gone from the town. And it wasn’t due to the weather.
I missed a step when the first Daviian Vermin came into my sight. But soon they were everywhere. Hunching over, I mimicked the citizens’ posture, searching for an alley or side street free of Vermin. Blood throbbed in my ears. The Vermin’s gazes burned into my soul. When I entered a shortcut to the market, my legs wobbled with relief. But I kept out of view until I had studied the center square, watching the people scurrying around the market’s stands. The sense of fear even diluted the usual heady smell of spices and roasting meat.
The concentration of citizens meant more Vermin. I waited until I spotted my target and then joined the shoppers. When I drew beside a young boy of ten, I had to suppress a smile as I listened to him barter with the stand owner.
“Four coppers, take it or leave it,” Fisk said, sounding like an adult.
“I can’t feed my family for that!” the owner countered. “Since you’re my friend, I’ll take seven coppers.”
“Belladoora is selling them for four.”
“But look at this quality. Hand embroidered by my own wife. Look at the detail!” He held up the fabric.
“Five, and not a copper more.”
“Six, and that’s final.”
“Good day, sir.” Fisk walked away.
“Wait,” the stand owner called. “Five then. But you’re stealing the bread out of my children’s mouths.” He grumbled some more while wrapping the fabric in paper, but he smiled when the boy paid him the money.
I followe
d Fisk to his client. The woman paid him six coppers and he handed her the package.
“Excuse me, boy,” I said. “I’m in need of your services.”
“What can I do for you?” he asked. Then his eyes flew wide with shock before worry touched them. He glanced around with small furtive movements. “Follow me.”
He led me to a tight alley and into a dark dwelling. I stood in the blackness while Fisk lit a few lanterns. Thick curtains hung over the windows and only a few chairs decorated the barren room.
“This is where we meet,” Fisk said.
“We?”
He smiled. “The Helpers Guild members. We plan our day, divide up the money, and exchange gossip about our clients.”
“That’s wonderful.” Pride at what Fisk had accomplished filled my heart. The grubby beggar boy I had met on my first Citadel visit had transformed into a productive member of his family.
Fisk’s own pride showed in his light brown eyes. “It’s all because of you, my first client!”
Instead of begging for money, now Fisk and the other beggar children helped shoppers find good deals, carried packages and would do just about anything for a small fee.
His grin dropped from his face. “Lovely Yelena, you shouldn’t be here. There’s a reward for your capture.”
“How much?”
“Five golds!”
“Is that all? I thought it would be more like ten or fifteen,” I teased.
“Five is a lot of money. So much I wouldn’t trust my own cousin not to turn you in. It’s dangerous for you here. For everyone.”
“What’s been going on?”
“These new Daviian Clan members. They have taken over. At first it was just a couple of them, but now the streets are filled. Ugly rumors about their involvement with the Sandseed genocide has everyone frightened. People living in the Citadel have been questioned, and certain beggars have disappeared. Whispers about how the Council members have lost control have spread, yet they are preparing for a war.”
Fisk shook his head. He had wisdom beyond his years. I mourned the loss of his childhood. Being a child of beggars had robbed him of fun, wonder and the ability to make mistakes without fatal consequences.
“How about the Keep?” I asked.
“Locked down. No one enters or leaves except under the Daviians’ armed escort.”
The state of affairs was worse than I had anticipated. “I need you to get a message to one of the Councilors for me.”
“Which one?”
“My kinsman, Bavol Zaltana. But I don’t want you to write anything down. It must be a verbal message. Can you do it?”
Fisk frowned, considering. “It will be difficult. The Councilors all have an escort while out in the Citadel, but perhaps I could set up a distraction…” He rubbed his hands along his arms as he contemplated the task. “I can try. No promises. If it gets too hot, I’m out of there. And it’s—”
“Going to cost me. And you must not repeat the message to anyone.”
“Agreed.”
We shook hands on the deal. I told Fisk my message. He left to recruit a couple helpers. I returned to the market to purchase a few items and to eat, killing time without appearing to be.
My gaze kept returning to the Keep’s towers. Located within the Citadel’s marble walls, the Magician’s Keep occupied the northeastern section. Unable to suppress my desire to see the pink-pillared entrance gates, my path led to the Keep.
Instead of appearing warm and inviting, the cold stone seemed impenetrable and daunting. I longed to make contact with my friends and colleagues inside. Where were Dax and Gelsi? Had they been allowed to continue their studies? I felt blind and cut off, frustrated and lost. As if I had been exiled and would never see them again.
Daviian guards stood next to the Keep’s guards. Feeling too exposed, I returned to Fisk’s meeting room to await the boy’s return. Time crept along in mind-numbing increments. A small tan spider built its elaborate web in the corner of the room. To help the spider, I hunted for an insect to place on the sticky strands.
Fisk arrived as I stood on a chair, attempting to nab a moth. He puffed out his chest and declared the mission a success. “Councilor Zaltana said he would meet with you tonight in his home.” Fisk deflated a bit with his next remark. “He warned his residence is guarded by a Warper. What’s a Warper?”
“A Daviian magician.” I considered the complication. “What time?”
“Anytime, but if you’re out on the streets after midnight, the guards will arrest you. I would suggest after the evening meal. There is usually a flurry of activity as the shops close and everyone heads home.” Fisk sighed. “It used to be a good time to beg. People would feel guilty passing by a child without a home when they had a warm comfortable bed waiting for them.”
“Used to be, Fisk. That’s in the past. I bet you have a nice home, now.”
His posture straightened. “The best! Which reminds me. You had better leave before my helpers come back. We meet in the morning and again in the late afternoon.”
I paid Fisk, thanking him for the help. “If you ever get caught, don’t hesitate to tell them about me. I don’t want you to be hurt because of me.”
Fisk gave me a confused frown. “But you could be taken and killed by the Daviians.”
“Better me than you.”
“No. Things are bad and getting worse. If you’re killed, I have a horrible feeling life wouldn’t be worth living.”
Fisk’s dire comments followed me as I traveled through the Citadel. Keeping to the back alleys, I hid behind buildings until the streets filled with residents hurrying home, just as Fisk had predicted. I joined the flow, blending in as the sky grew dark and the lamplighters began their evening chore. When I passed Bavol’s dwelling, I slowed long enough to determine his house was empty.
I made another loop around the street to make sure, then slipped behind the building. Using my picks, I unlocked the back door and startled a woman.
“Oh my!” She dropped a rake. It clattered on the edge of the stone heath, and the fire she had been stirring to life dimmed.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said, thinking fast. “I have an urgent appointment with Councilman Zaltana.”
“I don’t remember him telling me about a guest. And certainly no guest would come creeping in the back door!” She swept up the iron rake and hefted it in her big hands. She wore a type of loose tunic the Zaltanas preferred, but it was hard to see in the semidarkness.
I chanced it. “We just set the meeting today. It’s regarding clan business.”
“Oh my.” She bent and raked at the coals. When a flame ignited, she used it to light a lantern. She peered at me through the glow. “Goodness, child. Come in then. Shut the door. This is all highly unusual, but I don’t know why I’m surprised. These are unusual times.”
The woman bustled and fussed about the kitchen, claiming the Councilman would soon be home and would want his supper. I helped her by lighting the lanterns in the dining room and living room. Bavol’s home was decorated with jungle art and valmur statues. A pang of homesickness struck me.
When I heard someone at the front door, I hid in the kitchen.
“His guard dog doesn’t come in the house,” the woman said. “The Councilman won’t allow it. The day that dog is allowed in will be the end of the Sitian Council.”
But would the Warper use his magic to scan the interior? Would I feel the power? I hovered by the back door just in case.
The woman said, “Call me Petal, child,” and invited me to join them for supper. She shooed away any protests about my limited time. “Nonsense, child. Let me tell the Councilman you’re here.”
“Ah, Petal,” I said, stopping her. “Perhaps it would be best if you just asked him to come in here? Dogs have very acute hearing.”
She tapped a finger to her forehead and then pointed to me before leaving. Bavol came into the kitchen with Petal on his heels. He greeted me with a tired smile.
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br /> “Smart to come before me,” he said in a soft voice. He rubbed at the dark smudges under his eyes. Worry lines etched his face and he stood as if he strained under a heavy weight. “If you’re discovered…” He sank down to perch on an edge of a stool. “You can’t stay long. If they hear or see anything out of the ordinary, the Warper will barge in and I will tell him everything.”
His matter-of-fact statement about his response to the Warper sent a ripple of fear through my body. What were the Warpers doing to gain information and cooperation?
“I’ll be quick then. Why did the Council allow the Daviians to come?”
Alarm flashed on Bavol’s face and he clamped his hands together in his lap. “Petal, could you please get me a glass of whiskey?”
She eyed him with annoyance. Even though she stirred her stew pot on the other side of the kitchen, she had been leaning toward us, trying to listen to our conversation.
With a huff of indignation, Petal left the kitchen.
Bavol closed his eyes for a moment and grimaced. But when he focused on me, his old confident self returned.
“We should have let them die,” he said.
26
“LET WHO DIE?” I ASKED, but Bavol ignored me.
“At first the Daviians required minor things from us to keep them alive. A vote one way or another. The requests became more frequent and alarming. Visitors grew in numbers and the next thing we knew we had agreed to everything.”
“Keep who alive?”
“We made a mistake, but you’re here now. Perhaps it’s not too late.”
“Bavol, I don’t—”
“The Daviians have our children.”
I stared at him for a moment in stunned silence. “How?”
Bavol shrugged. “Does it matter how? Our families live with our clans most of the year. We’re not home to protect them.”
“Who do they have?”
“My daughter, Jenniqilla. She disappeared from the Illiais Market. I’ve been instructed not to tell anyone. But from the other Councilors’ faces I knew the Daviians had gotten to everyone. Eventually, we talked about it amongst ourselves. All the Councilors with children had one taken. For the others, the Daviians kidnapped Councilor Greenblade’s husband, and Councilor Stormdance’s wife.”
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