My fingertips whitened on my wineglass. I’d never wished I dared drink so much in my life, but even with the jess, I didn’t want to risk impairing my judgment. “The last thing we need right now is a flock of curious athelings descending on Gloamingard in the middle of a delicate negotiation.”
“Well, I might be able to help.” Ardith took a long swig of ale. They let out a satisfied sigh and wiped their mouth. “Do you remember when I came to visit a few months ago? We were having a lovely time in one of the gardens—”
“I caught you turning all our apples blue.”
“Yes, yes.” A fond mistiness entered Ardith’s eyes. “I asked you why I’d seen no less than twelve carvings around the castle imploring me not to open some door. And you gave me such unsatisfying answers that of course I had to know more.”
“I seem to recall you trying to bribe me to open it with a box of Loreician sweets you’d pilfered from our own stores,” I said acidly.
“I couldn’t talk you into it,” they sighed. “I was forced to eat the whole box myself. Still, I had to know what you were hiding behind that door. You know how it is—it’s the thing you can’t have that you want most. So I, ah, may have tried to encourage people to help me find out.”
A sinking certainty settled on me. “You spread rumors about the Black Tower, didn’t you? You’re the reason Lamiel and the Rookery both came poking around it all of a sudden. You set off all this trouble.”
“To be fair, I didn’t mean to start rumors that would get to someone like the Shrike Lord—I was just speculating with friends—and I had no idea what you had in there was so dangerous. I do feel bad about it. Not really about Lamiel, she was an absolute stingroach, but about putting Alevar at odds with Morgrain. Luckily, I’m here to make things right.” Ardith lifted their glass to me. “Or at least more interesting.”
“Luckily.” I let irony drip from my voice. “And how do you propose to do that?”
Their gaze flicked around us. We stood in isolation, since everyone had been warned not to come near me on their arrival at the castle, and I hadn’t spread the word about my jess. Ardith stepped closer, warily narrowing the distance between us to a few feet; a vivomancer without the mark wouldn’t be strong enough to be safe from my power, but they could at least slow and mitigate its effects somewhat, so a brief brush might not be fatal.
“I’m not here just to satisfy my own admittedly boundless curiosity,” they said, their voice low. “I’m here as my father’s eyes and ears. I’m watching the situation for him and his allies. So long as I think you’ve got this situation under control, probably no one will feel the need to call a Conclave.”
“A Conclave!” That would be terrible. If the nineteen Witch Lords convened specially to discuss what to do about Lamiel’s death and the Black Tower, with everyone’s interests and alliances in play, the chances of it ending well for Morgrain dwindled dramatically.
“Right. No one wants that. Too much drama.” Ardith nodded as if we were in complete agreement. “Honestly, your safest bet is to tell me all about this artifact now, so I can allay the concerns of the other Witch Lords and we can all relax.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re threatening me.”
“Am I?” Ardith seemed genuinely surprised. They considered it through another sip of ale. “I suppose you could see it that way. Perhaps I am.”
“The Rookery is investigating the artifact,” I reminded them. “When they’ve drawn their conclusions and made their report, I’m certain the rest of the Witch Lords will be told anything they need to know.”
“Of course I do trust the Rookery to do their job.” Ardith made a sort of grimace, as if acknowledging this pained them. “Advance insider secret information is so much more exciting and satisfying than some dry final report, though.”
“It wouldn’t be insider secret information if half the athelings in Vaskandar come nosing around here,” I pointed out. “If that’s what you want, you’d best do what you can to keep the other Witch Lords away.”
Ardith sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” They finished their ale in one long, head-tipping draft and broke out in a broad grin. “See, Ryx? Aren’t you glad I have your back?”
Before I could even begin to frame a reply to this extraordinary statement, someone behind me said, “Why, there you are, Exalted Ryxander.”
I tensed. I knew that voice. I turned, struggling to compose my face.
Severin watched me, his mage mark gleaming storm-cloud gray between narrowed dark lashes. Elegant gold embroidery of thorns and birds snaked diagonally across his slim-cut black vestcoat; loose locks of black hair brought out his sharp cheekbones. He might be my enemy, but seasons witness he was pretty.
I offered him a shallow bow, my back stiff in my corset. “Exalted Severin.”
“I was just observing to Voreth here what a beautiful hall you have.” He nodded to his second, who hovered scowling at his side. “I suggested we should try to recreate something like it back in Alevar, but he was of the opinion that it would be far better to take possession of the original here in Morgrain. What do you think?”
I forced a false smile onto my face. “I think my grandmother would be disinclined to part with it.”
“Oh?” He arched a brow. “Do you know where she is, then?”
I tried for a knowing smile. “That would be telling. Suffice to say we’re in contact—she’s given me instructions.” Which was close enough to true, if I hadn’t imagined her presence urging me to touch the obelisk yesterday.
“Is that so?” Voreth asked, his tone skeptical. “Forgive me, but I had the distinct impression that no one at Gloamingard Castle had heard from her for two days.”
“And I was under the impression you were an outsider here and have no idea what you’re talking about,” I retorted.
Ardith turned their glass in their hand, catching the afternoon light; I had a feeling they were savoring Voreth’s seething. “Witch Lords don’t simply vanish, Honored Voreth, and there’s more than one kind of communication. As a fellow neighbor of Morgrain, I’m more inclined to wonder what she’s up to than to make assumptions about why she’s not here.”
I wished to the Nine Graces I knew what she was up to, myself. I tried to keep my mysterious smile fixed on my face.
Voreth’s lip curled. “Witch Lords may not vanish, but there are plenty of ways they can become incapacitated, Honored Ardith, especially when they meddle with powers best left to a surer hand.”
“A hand like yours?” Ardith snorted. “I wouldn’t trust you or your Shrike Lord to tie my boots, let alone wield the sort of power I’ve heard came off that artifact.”
Ardith knew far too much. The Fox Lord was renowned for having good information, but this was ridiculous. The only people who’d seen me activate the stone were the Rookery, the Raverran delegation, and Kip; it was hard to imagine any of them sending a message to Ardith, so I had to assume someone had been telling the story to anyone who’d listen. Seasons spare me, I needed to ask Odan to have a stern talk with his nephew.
Severin smirked as if this exchange of barbs amused him, even though it teetered on the brink of offering a true grievance. “It’s a good thing no one in Alevar has much interest in tying your boots, then,” he put in, cutting off whatever angry comments were marshaling on Voreth’s lips.
The first strains of a waltz slid like punctuation across the end of his sentence, reverberating through the hall. Exclamations of delight rose up from the crowd, and there was a general movement toward the dance floor—especially among the Vaskandrans, to whom a waltz was more familiar than the Raverran or Loreician court dances with their intricate steps.
Severin extended a slim, elegant hand toward me.
“Perhaps we could continue this conversation on the dance floor?” he asked. “My brother is not much for throwing festivities, and I rarely get the chance.”
I stared at his hand as if it were a weapon.
I knew hidden places t
o watch from in every hall in Gloamingard that could host a dance. I’d looked down on bright twirling figures from balconies, listened to the music through windows, and lain on my belly in forgotten crawl spaces to watch the intricate movement of dancers’ feet. Sometimes I’d let myself imagine what it might be like if I gained enough control over my power to become one of those dancers, twirling in a skirt made of living blossoms or a vestcoat of fine Loreician silk.
Never once had I thought my first dance would be with a man who wanted me dead.
But he surely couldn’t know that I was the one whose life he’d demanded last night. This was an opportunity, and the Grace of Luck shunned those who let opportunities pass by.
I reached out, with all the care of a woman sticking her hand into a vat of poison, and took his offered fingers.
It had been strange enough taking Aurelio’s hand in friendship. Now the life that pulsed against mine, palm to palm, was that of an enemy.
Severin’s hand was cool and dry, with restrained strength in his long fingers. A strange urge came over me to crush his hand in mine, some idiot impulse of domination, but I resisted it. His grip remained firm but gentle, and I read tension and an inexplicable urgency in the line of his shoulders as we headed for the dance floor.
This was really happening. Hell of Madness.
“I should warn you that I’ve never danced before in my life,” I felt obliged to say.
He flashed me an unexpected smile. “That’s unfortunate. I wasn’t joking about my own lack of experience in the ballroom. Hopefully we can at least fake a waltz well enough not to fall over.”
His whole demeanor changed. The icy control was gone, and a reckless eagerness had taken its place. I stared at him suspiciously as we claimed an uncrowded corner of the dance floor and faced each other.
He glanced at the other couples and grimaced. “All right, let’s do this.”
Everyone else was stepping close to their partner, almost into an embrace. Panic flared up in my chest—I’d known this was coming, but I hadn’t thought it through. I’d only been able to touch people for a few hours; I wasn’t ready.
It was too late to back out. Carefully, gently, Severin laid his free hand on my back. My corset held the warmth of his touch off my skin like armor, thank the Graces.
After a moment of awkward hovering, I copied the others and laid my free hand on his upper arm. The space between us had almost vanished, and I found myself staring directly into his eyes at unnervingly short range. Beneath the mage mark, they were an even darker brown than mine, almost black.
I’d never been this close to someone who wasn’t family. Holy Hells.
“Here we go,” he murmured, and we swung into motion.
At first it was all I could do not to trip on my own skirts. I had plenty of experience being aware of other people’s motions, but my instincts screamed to move away, not to move in concert. Fortunately, Severin seemed more interested in looking like we were dancing than in actually dancing, and it didn’t take long to accomplish a credible sort of rocking turn that likely was entirely wrong.
“I asked you to dance so we could speak privately,” Severin murmured.
“Well, this is certainly private.” We were close enough that my skirts swished against him as we moved, and I could feel the heat coming off him.
“We don’t have long, so let’s skip the niceties.” He dropped his voice even lower. “I know the truth about Lamiel’s death.”
It was all I could do not to freeze on the spot.
“Really?” I managed.
“I know she tried to seize the power your family has been hiding in Gloamingard.” His mouth twisted wryly. “And my brother didn’t exactly try to stop her. He used to be sensible, but I’m afraid he’s turned more than a little reckless where Lamiel’s involved.”
“Reckless. Is that what you call it?” I seized on outrage, the better to hide my fear. Let him think I was rigid in his arms from anger, and not from dread that his next words would be a murder accusation. He could be trying to startle information out of me; I had to keep my thoughts off my face.
“Oh, there are plenty of other words you could use.” Severin’s voice dripped irony. “I assure you, none of this was my idea. I gather that my dear would-be sister Lamiel met the reception one would expect when attempting to steal power from a Witch Lord.”
If he knew I was the one who’d killed her, he certainly was calm about dancing with a murderer. Maybe he was luring me into a clever verbal trap. Maybe he had been jealous of Lamiel, and this was part of some Alevaran power play. Maybe he was merely hoping to rattle me.
If so, it was working. His touch shook me enough even without the dangerous conversation. I had to stay focused on deflecting any admission of guilt away from Morgrain.
“Exalted Lamiel certainly transgressed against our hospitality,” I said coldly. “What is your point, Exalted Atheling?”
He winced, as if either my tone or his title pained him. “My brother let Lamiel try her gambit for a reason. He wanted that relic of yours before he had cause for vengeance,” he said. “And his interest in it hasn’t lessened, even if he now wants Lamiel’s killer more.”
Ah. So that was what he was after. “And you think I can grant you access to its power.”
“I frankly don’t care. My brother would have broken a mountain in half for Lamiel, but I assure you he’ll share no power with me.”
Severin spun me, my skirts swirling. A strange, fierce lightness came into my chest. He didn’t know I’d killed Lamiel; he was playing games. By the Eldest, I could play, too.
“Then why are we having this conversation?” I asked, boldness singing in my blood and seizing my tongue.
“Because I know your aunt can’t turn over Lamiel’s murderer to my brother.” He whispered it almost in my ear, close enough that his breath stirred my hair. “The killer must have been someone in your family, or at least acting on your orders.”
Hells, he was good at this. “If you think my aunt’s promise was empty, why did you accept it?”
“To allow you to buy time to consider other options if you want to keep my brother from declaring war.”
I glared at him. “I see. You’re using this demand for Lamiel’s killer to put pressure on us to surrender the obelisk instead, which is what your brother truly wanted all along.”
“That does appear to be my brother’s strategy,” Severin said, that edge of almost self-mocking irony coming into his voice again. “Though I assure you, he truly would be even happier to get his hands on the murderer.”
I marshaled a reply carefully on my tongue. I couldn’t reject the idea of giving him the obelisk as laughable, much as I wanted to; it might provoke him into action. I had to find some way to draw him out further.
The half-formed words coalescing in my brain shattered as a shadow fell across us, blocking the autumnal light. A harsh grip closed on my forearm, ripping it from Severin’s grasp.
My aunt glared down at me with the fury of an earthquake gathered in the lines of her face. She yanked my captured arm up between us.
The jess gleamed golden on my wrist, red crystals winking in the light like beads of fresh blood.
Karrigan shook my arm at me like a weapon, the jess dangling from my wrist.
“How could you do this?” she hissed. “Have you no shame?”
Severin’s eyes widened, going from my jess to Karrigan to the fury I could feel glowing in my face.
“I can see this is a bad time, Exalted Atheling.” He grimaced, but I couldn’t tell whether it was in contempt or sympathy. “Far be it from Alevar to become involved in a family quarrel. We can continue our conversation later.”
He bowed and retreated, but I could feel his eyes still on me, no doubt calculating what it meant that I was now wearing a jess.
My cheeks burned. “You’re embarrassing me in front of our guests, Aunt Karrigan.”
“I am embarrassing you? You’ve sold yourself to the
Empire and disgraced our family!”
Heads turned in our direction. Lady Celia snapped open a fan in front of her mouth. Ashe rolled her neck and started our way, but Kessa dropped a hand on her shoulder, shaking her head. My aunt hadn’t raised her voice yet, but her aggressive stance was enough; she was on the verge of making a scene.
“I’ve taken steps to ensure the safety of our guests,” I said through my teeth. “Now let go of me. They’re watching us.”
She released me, leaving a white handprint on my arm, but she still stood rigid and glaring with anger.
“It was bad enough that your father married a Raverran woman without a drop of magic in her veins,” she said. “Now you’ve gone and given what dregs of power you do have to our historical enemies. I never thought that even you would stoop so low.”
That was it. I’d had enough. Anger flared up in me like sudden fire; the jess grew hot on my wrist. “It’s not your place to chastise me for my choices,” I snapped. “When Grandmother returns, if she chooses to reprimand me, so be it. I’ll give the jess back if she orders it. In the meantime, I’m an atheling of Morgrain—equal in rank to you, whether you like it or not.” I struggled to bring my rising voice back under control, smoothing the fury out of it, even as Karrigan’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed calculatingly. “We shouldn’t argue in public. I shouldn’t have to tell you Morgrain needs to look united and strong now. Our neighbors are circling us and that stone like carrion birds.”
Karrigan stared at me a long time, her expression unreadable, her brows lowered.
“Fair enough,” she growled at last. “But there will be a reckoning for what you have done.”
“Of that,” I said, “I have no doubt.”
It took a while to shake off my anger at Karrigan, and my shame at having my jess exposed in front of the entire reception like that. I was used to stares and whispers, but that didn’t mean I liked them. I supposed I should have Odan spread the word to the staff and our guests about my jess now, to get ahead of the inevitable rumors; it could never have been a secret, but seasons witness I’d have liked to announce it in a different way.
The Obsidian Tower Page 15