Francesca drew in a sharp breath. Reliable information from that smuggler that would be invaluable. Francesca had thought to end Leandra’s independence, but that might scare away an informant who could help them survive a war with the empire. Francesca focused on Holokai again. “Where is she going to meet this smuggler?”
“The Lesser Sacred Pool at dusk. Four-arms and I will patrol the place before and after.”
Francesca nodded, thinking rapidly. “If she and the smuggler have an arrangement, I had better not interfere or I might spoil the exchange. And … as I told you … I was too heavy-handed with her before. This time, let’s see if she can’t get out of her own trouble. You won’t mention this conversation to her. I will position myself to observe her exchange with the smuggler, so that I can protect her if necessary. No, don’t worry. I can take precautions to make sure that neither the smuggler nor Lea notice me.”
“There’s something else you need to know.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“When she first put on the prophetic godspell, she saw a day forward into the future. She foresaw that sometime early in the coming morning, she is going to have to choose between dying and murdering someone she loves. And so far, her primary suspect—”
“Me.”
Holokai grunted. “Not hard to guess, yeah?”
“Not hard.”
“Any way to avoid the prophecy?”
“She foresaw that if she runs, everyone she knows will die. She talked to a rogue wizard down in the upper Naukaa about a spell that could stop her from loving as a way to escape those possibilities, but I don’t think anyone’s suspecting that will work.”
“Can’t imagine it would.” Francesca nodded absently and then reaffirmed her decision. “All right. We’ll see what Leandra can learn from this smuggler. Where will Lea go after meeting with him?”
“I imagine to the family compound.”
“Good, I will be there as well. After she’s met with the smuggler, you are to slip away. Just get outside of the compound and I’ll find you. Depending on what she discovers, I may talk to her then or see if she can, by some miracle, pull this off on her own. If something unexpected happens and you have to leave the city, I’ll post a messenger on the city docks. He’ll be the one holding a plumeria branch in one hand. Be sure to get news back to me before morning or I’ll assume you’ve broken trust with me. Understood?”
“Yes, but what about my son?”
Francesca looked down at the water. Both Lolo and Tam had returned to the floating pavilion. The boy had lain down in the shade, his head on Kenna’s lap. He seemed to be sleeping while the twins talked. “I will take him to the compound. Keep me informed and my daughter alive until the imperial threat has past and I will return him to you. I will start teaching him now that your duties have kept you away but that you love him and want to take him to his native island.” She smiled. “You see, this doesn’t have to end poorly. I can’t say I was perfect, but I learned a thing or two about raising a child with particular potential.”
The shark god looked her up and down. “Just make sure you’re not kidding yourself, Francesca. That sounds like a pretty story to hide an ugly thing.”
“Then you do the same for yourself, Holokai, when you think about what happened to your son’s mother.”
He rolled his muscular shoulders. “I won’t break trust with you. But I want you to think about all the stories you ever heard about dragons. Every story you ever heard from when you were a little girl to now. You ever hear a story about a dragon who wasn’t destructive or greedy? Because I never have. Maybe you ought to rethink how good your plans are.”
Anger flushed through Francesca. “It turns out that when you are the most powerful dragon around, you don’t have to worry about the past stories because you get to write your own God-of-gods damned story. Now get away from me before I decide to rewrite your ending.”
He stared at her, his face suddenly alive with hatred, eyes darkening. She didn’t move a muscle. Any sign of weakness would be an invitation to him to break their agreement.
At last he scowled and went away.
Her legs feeling weak, Francesca turned back to the lake and put her hands on the railing. “Lea, how are we all going to get out of this alive?”
Most likely, not all of them would.
* * *
The door to Thaddeus’s room had been hastily repaired. When Leandra knocked upon the freshly cut wooden planks, the door swung slightly ajar. Outside the winehouse, the volcano’s shadow was stretching across the city as evening approached.
There was no answer from Thaddeus’s room, so Leandra knocked harder. Her gut still ached and deep breaths still produced chest pain, though less intensely so. Embarrassingly, fatigue had forced her to hire a palanquin to carry her from the Floating Palace to the Naukaa.
She had discovered one consolation: Roughly half an hour previous, she had felt many of her future selves experience surprise and confusion followed by strange euphoria. There were shades of relief and satisfaction in this odd future emotion. Leandra hoped that it heralded a success from Thaddeus.
Ever since she had first sensed this strange euphoria, other possible future emotions had become harder to sense. Perhaps these possible moods were becoming unlikely. Or perhaps something would alter her ability to experience mood in general. Given their goal of casting a spell to prevent her from loving long enough to escape the prophecy, she guessed the latter.
At last Thaddeus called, “Enter.”
Leandra pushed the door the rest of the way open and then stepped inside. Thaddeus had never been neat; during periods of intellectual fascination, he had lived in personal disarray. But the sight before Leandra was a new height in scholastic squalor. Opened books and scrolls flopped across his desk, bed, floor. Reams of paper lay over many books and a half-eaten plate of curry. Even the drawer where he kept his opium paraphernalia was stacked with books.
Sitting at his desk, Thad didn’t bother to look up but gestured. “Give me a moment to finish checking…”
“Thad, I have come—” Leandra started to say.
“Wait, wait.”
Surprised, Leandra closed her mouth. Behind her, Dhrun picked her way among the clutter. Holokai stood by the door.
“Okay … and…” Thad mumbled while running a finger down a blank page.
Suddenly Dhrun froze. The action made Leandra look at her. The goddess pointed to a small codex opened to its back cover. Something was smudged across it. Squinting, Leandra realized that the smudge had come from a boot heel. No one in her party wore boots. She looked to Dhrun, who gave her a four-shrugged shrug.
“Done!” Thaddeus pronounced and stood. His chair scraped against the floor, displacing several books. His expression shone with confident excitement. His collar was open and Leandra saw that he had a new dark patch of skin near his collarbone. A bruise? Thad’s smile fell as he took in the rash on her face. “Lea?”
“I’m fine. Were you able to do it?”
He blinked.
“Thad, your spell?”
“Right … well, I can’t promise anything.” He looked at his papers. “But revisiting the text I saw all the mistakes that I must have gone over a hundred times before.” His smile filled Leandra with memories. She had loved his passion for his work even though she had hated how it made him a single-minded, inconsiderate ass. But that was the past. “So it will work?”
“I think so. At least I’m certain it’s safe. I’ve added several subspells to disengage if anything goes amiss.”
“It’s not like you to be certain about safety, Thad. You love the danger of experimentation.”
“So I do.” He winked. “I don’t have any bad habits, only—”
“Full-blown addictions,” Leandra finished for him. “But this spell is different? It’s safe?”
“I might be reckless with my own head, but I never endanger anyone else. You know that.”
What he said was t
rue.
Thad touched his right hand to his heart and his left to his forehead in a Cloud Culture gesture of prayer. “I swear on my mother’s grave that this spell is safe.”
“Swear on something you care about.”
“All right, I’ll swear on a week’s worth of opium.”
Leandra grunted. “Will it stop me from being able to love?”
“Only one way to find out.” He flashed his handsome grin, dimples pronounced. He looked at the books strewn around his room as if noticing them for the first time. “Why don’t you lie down on the bed?” He began to shift the clutter from his bed to the floor.
When his back was turned, Leandra caught Dhrun’s eye. Quickly she pointed to Thaddeus and then to the spot on his collarbone where he had the discoloration. Holokai noticed the exchange and quietly pushed the door shut behind him.
Thaddeus motioned to the bed, and Leandra again glimpsed the discoloration on his collarbone. It seemed to extend down his chest.
“All right,” Leandra said as she made for the bed. “It was surprisingly humid today.” This was the secret expression for her officers.
“You thought so? I didn’t notice,” Thaddeus murmured while turning back to his desk. Leandra watched as he reached for one particular sheet.
Seeing this sent a thrill through Leandra. She made up her mind. Quickly she held up her hand, balled it into a fist and then splayed out all her fingers—the prearranged gesture for “Begin an infiltration game.” Then she waggled her pinky as if it were injured and pointed to herself in the gesture for “Play a Wounded Bird game. I’m the bird.”
Both of her divinities balled their right hands into fists and then splayed out their fingers to indicate that they understood.
Thaddeus moved his hands in a complex pattern over his desk, pulling a spell from the paper and helping it fold. “I will need you to hold very still. In fact, why don’t you lie down?”
Leandra put her head back on a pillow, which smelled of Thaddeus and pipe smoke. Her heart was racing.
Thaddeus leaned over her, began to extend his hands. Suddenly four muscular female arms spread out behind him. The lower two snaked under his armpits to wrap around his head in a double shoulder lock. The left upper arm held both of Thad’s hands to one side. The right upper hand grasped his throat and squeezed.
Thaddeus’s eyes widened the instant before Dhrun twisted into a hip throw. He struck the floor with a crash.
Leandra sat up fast enough to see Holokai kick the door into the hallway. Outside there were three men. The door struck one, knocked him back. Another raised his hands, and something flashed between them. Holokai thrust his leimako through this blaze and into the man’s chest. There was a gurgled cry and then a crash. A second flash came from farther down the hall. Holokai grunted and a spray of blood erupted from his shoulder. He lunged out of Leandra’s vision. Another flash, a scream.
Leandra struggled onto her feet. There came two more crashes from the hallway. Her knees ached as she hurried across the room.
In the hallway, she found Holokai standing over three bodies, blood spreading around them. He began stalking down the hall, looking for the next threat. The winehouse fell silent for a moment. Then came hushed voices and footsteps from below. A door slammed. Another silent moment. Only Holokai moved.
A simple ambush then. Thaddeus was to knock her out and the three spellwrights would take Holokai and Dhrun unaware. An underpowered attack. By now anyone else connected with the ambush must have fled the winehouse.
Leandra went back into Thaddeus’s room. Dhrun had her former lover pinned, both shoulders locked, facedown, on his bed. So long as she had hold of him, Dhrun’s divine touch could disspell any text he might extemporize.
Leandra drew a knife from her belt. “Turn him so I can see his right hip.”
“They didn’t give me a choice! Lea—”
Dhrun turned him with her lower arms; with her upper right, she landed an overhand punch on his jaw. His head rocked back and he moaned.
“Who?” Leandra asked as she pulled aside his longvest and used her knife to cut off his belt.
“They wouldn’t tell me,” Thaddeus moaned. “They were going to kill me. They cast a Death Sentence on me.”
A death sentence was a spell that wrapped itself around the arteries that supplied the heart with blood. Unless it received continuous signal spells, the Death Sentence would contract, deprive the heart of blood, and kill its victim. Dhrun’s touch would have dispelled that text, but there was no need to tell Thaddeus that.
“Lea! I swear I wasn’t going to cast that spell on y—” Dhrun struck him again in the face.
“Move him more into the window’s light,” Leandra ordered while exposing his hip. A moment later, Dhrun rolled him toward the window. “Fire and hell,” Leandra swore.
On Thaddeus’s hip, the skin red and swollen under the ink, was the Perfect Circle tattoo.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Francesca thought it both ironic and fitting that a goddess of justice should have been incarnated first as a deity of death. Ancient Dhamma—willowy, gray skin, lank white hair, all-white eyes—was just one such goddess.
Justice and death, Francesca thought as she and Nicodemus bowed to Dhamma, wouldn’t it be nice if the two were related? Certainly something worth praying for. In the state the Creator had left the universe, death and justice weren’t simply unrelated, they had never taken tea together. The bastards.
Why should Francesca’s innocent daughter have been burdened with terminal disease, and her noble husband bound to mortality, while she—of demonic origin, angry, fractious, often destructive—had been given such a large dose of immortality?
But no matter, no matter, not right now. That was all philosophy. And Dhamma was not the Creator. She was only the goddess that the ancient Ixonians had prayed to for the wicked to die young, the righteous not at all.
Francesca and Nicodemus finished their bows and straightened. He looked more relaxed since talking to Leandra. The poor fool. Lea must have woven him up in some story. Knowing what her daughter was truly up to weighed on Francesca’s heart.
Dhamma returned their bow. They were all kneeling in a private tearoom at the top of the Floating Palace. Outside, evening shadows had painted the lake water nearly black.
The Trimuril had asked that Francesca and Nicodemus remain for an emergency war council. Surprisingly the whole affair had taken only a few hours. Call the Trimuril whatever you like—and Francesca had several choice names in mind—but you also had to call her an efficient ruler.
“My Lord and Lady Warden,” Dhamma said, “thank you for meeting with me. I will not keep you long. There is not much to do until Lady Warden Leandra returns to us tomorrow.”
“We are happy to assist however we can,” Francesca said with a nod. Nicodemus had already agreed that she should do most of the talking. “Has your investigation into the attacks on lesser deities revealed anything more?”
“I’m afraid the god of the Banyan Districts, who was attacked earlier, has gone missing.”
“Was he attacked again?”
“Possibly, but it might be that he is taking protective measures. I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I informed the Lady Warden Leandra of this before she departed.”
“Very wise,” Francesca said. “Was this the reason you wished to meet with us?”
“No,” the goddess said with a slight bow. “As perhaps you both appreciate, the Trimuril is currently preoccupied with governing the pantheon. The present threats provide many opportunities for divine infighting. Preventing such will occupy nearly all of the Trimuril’s consciousness for days. So she has charged your daughter and me with maintaining law in Chandralu. Before Leandra departed, we agreed that tonight she would keep the peace in the Lower Banyan, the Naukaa, Jacaranda Slope, and Utra Ridge. I should be responsible for the rest of the city. I offered her the assistance of the night watch, which I had intended to double tonight. However,
Leandra declined because her investigations will prevent her from governing the watch. She also feared that they would interfere with her investigation.”
Dhamma paused. “Lady Warden Leandra was adamant about her stance. So I briefly discussed the issue with the Trimuril, who suggested that I ask one of you to coordinate the watch in your daughter’s portion of the city since she is so preoccupied.”
Francesca resisted the urge to sigh. The wheels of politics turn, they always must. Leandra was keeping the city from interfering with her meeting with the smuggler, but the Trimuril was trying to provide Nicodemus with the means to interfere if anything got out of hand. It was a shrewd move; Leandra couldn’t protest the oversight if it came through her father.
Nicodemus frowned. “Goddess, we should be happy to assist. But I am not sure I could direct the watch so they would not interfere with my daughter’s plans.”
Francesca shifted her weight. “Perhaps, husband, I could assist you in that regard?”
The goddess nodded. “We would be most grateful.”
“Before we agree, Goddess,” Francesca said, “we should discuss how we might govern the watch.”
“Either one of you would command the watch in any of the guard stations.”
“That would be kind; however, given the need for delicate control, I wonder if we might move command of the watch to our family compound.”
Both Nicodemus and the goddess looked at her. Nicodemus was doing a fairly good job of keeping his expression unreadable, but Francesca could tell he was annoyed that she was making such a political bid without first discussing it with him.
“In fact,” Francesca continued, “the Wardens might be called upon to keep the peace again. Perhaps we should establish a permanent division of the watch in our family compound.”
“And I suppose,” Dhamma asked, “you should like to appoint and maintain these guards yourself.”
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