She stood back up, taking off her coat and belt. “What choice do I really have, though? Second day, and I’m . . .” She didn’t let herself finish the sentence. She didn’t want to even think about what she was about to say. She took off the vest and held it in front of him.
“I never wanted to have this role, you know. I just wanted . . . I don’t even know. I want our girls to not have to worry about the things I had to. Have to.” She laughed despite herself. “Maybe I should let Rian run off with that rich boy. Most mothers would leap at the possibility of such an upward pairing. Though I doubt he has noble intentions toward her.”
Loren’s eyes weren’t darting anymore. They held locked and steady on her.
Not on her, no. On the vest.
She threw it down on the bed, and his eyes went lazy again.
“Is that it, Loren?” she snapped, not caring how loud she was being. “Is that what matters most? The vest? The work? Honor to the Green and Red?” That was what she had lost him to. That’s why he was in the state he was in, what he cared most about.
And now she was stuck in it too. No other choice.
She stormed out to the sitting room. She wanted to scream, to hit something. She wanted to be back in that church with that maniac five feet away from her so she could get her hands around his throat and tear him down. She wanted to smash her fists into Idre Hoffer. She wanted to pound the smug look off that rich boy’s face.
She had been going through shelves, rifling through the sitting room, not even sure why. She opened up her old trunk, pulling out clothes and keepsakes that had been buried in there. She realized what she wanted.
“Mama?” Caribet asked. “What are you doing?”
“I have a book,” Satrine said. “A book I want to read.”
She got to the bottom of the trunk. No book.
“What book, Mama?”
“It—it should be here.” She felt around the clothes, thinking that it might be wrapped inside something. Nothing. She tilted the trunk over, dumping its contents on the floor.
“Mama?”
It wasn’t there. “Where is it?”
“What are you looking for?”
“I—I had a poetry book here. I know I had it here. Have you ever seen it?”
“No, Mama,” Caribet said. “I didn’t know you . . .”
“That I what?” Satrine snapped.
“Read poetry,” Caribet said meekly.
Satrine slumped down to the ground. “I don’t. Or I haven’t, not in a long time.”
Caribet came closer, curling up to Satrine, arms around her. “We could get you another book, Mama. I know you’re worried about money, but . . .”
“No, sweetheart,” Satrine said. “That . . . that book was special.”
“I’m sure it’s somewhere,” Caribet said. “Maybe Rian has it.”
Satrine looked over to the shut door. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter.” She glanced at her daughter’s face. “Are you hungry?” Caribet nodded. “Me too.”
Chapter 22
MINOX COULDN’T REMEMBER EATING that much meat in one sitting before. He was hardly the only one. The dining table was covered in dirty plates, with discarded bones picked clean. His uncles and cousins were all pushed away from the table, hands on their stomachs.
“I want to eat another bite, but I just can’t,” Jace said.
Off all the people at the table, only he and Joshea didn’t look like they were stuffed beyond the capacity for movement.
“That was truly excellent, Amalia,” Joshea said, directing the comment to Minox’s mother. He was already comfortable using everyone’s given names. “You have masterful skill in the kitchen.”
“It’s not all me,” Mother said. “Zura is the one with the magic touch.” She quickly bit her lip, a guilty look passing to Minox and back to Joshea.
“The both of you, then,” Joshea said.
“All right,” Aunt Zura said, getting to her feet. “All of you, on your feet. Plenty of washing to do. Let’s be about it.”
“Have at it,” Davis said to his mother. Zura cuffed him across the back of the head.
“Get up, and help out,” she said. “All of you, hear? I’ll excuse Minox and our guest.”
“Hardly fair,” Jace said.
“You ate away your fair,” Zura said. “Everyone, come on.”
“Coming, coming.” There was a general grumbling, but the family got up and started to clear their plates. Only Grandmother stayed in her seat. “He’s a very charming one, isn’t he?” she said, nodding over to Joshea. “And no bracelet. Shame your sister isn’t here to note it.”
“He’s had plenty of note,” Minox said, getting up, with a nervous glance around. “In fact, I think I should rescue him from further note.”
“Hmm?” Joshea asked.
“Let’s step out to the tobacconist,” Minox said. “It’ll be a bit quieter there.”
Joshea nodded. “Everyone, it’s been a pleasure and an honor.” He went over to Grandmother and kissed her hand. “I was born too late, I fear.”
“Very good,” Grandmother said. She waved over to Ferah. “You’re paying attention, aren’t you?”
“Quite,” Ferah said. “Do you need help going back up?”
“Please.” Grandmother got to her feet. “Very charming, indeed.”
Minox tapped Joshea on the arm and led him out to the coatroom. “You weren’t overwhelmed, were you?”
“Not at all,” Joshea said, taking his coat off the hook. He had a leather case hanging under the coat. “They’re all very interesting.”
Minox had his own coat on when there was a hand on his shoulder. Aunt Beliah, her face scowling.
“You didn’t see Evoy yesterday.”
“Yes, I know,” Minox said, lowering his voice. “I will go see him.”
“Tonight, Minox. When you come back.”
“Of course.”
“You were gone all night yesterday.”
“I won’t be this time.”
“Promise!”
“I promise, I will come back tonight and speak to Evoy.”
Her scowl relaxed. “All right.” She put on a large smile and gave a small nod to Joshea. “It was very nice to meet you, Mister Brondar.”
“The honor was mine, Missus Serrick,” he said. He was hiding the case under his coat. Minox wasn’t sure if he was hiding the case from him or Beliah.
Minox got Joshea out the door without further interruption, taking him down the street to the tobacco parlor. It was only a couple blocks away, at the edge of the Little East section of Inemar.
“Can we talk more freely now?” Joshea asked.
“I suppose,” Minox said. “I apologize if I am out of sorts. This case has weighed very heavily on me, especially today.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you look particularly awful.” He smiled wanly. “What was special today?”
“I had . . . several difficult encounters.” Minox hesitated. He wanted to have a greater understanding of things that happened to him, and he had no one else to talk to. “Have you ever . . .”
Joshea nodded. “Understandable. Did something happen to you today, regarding your . . . abilities?”
“Several things. Have you ever had an encounter with something that affected you? Made you lose control?”
Joshea screwed his face. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Minox hesitated again. He knew he probably shouldn’t talk too plainly about an ongoing case with a civilian. Especially a civilian who had ties, however minor, to that case. It was inappropriate. Even still, discussing it could lead to insights on the case that he’d be unable to reach on his own. That, he decided, justified the discussion.
“The murders we’ve been investigating—”
“You s
aid there were now three. And all of them . . .” Joshea gave an awkward nod. “Mages?”
“Yes. Two from one Circle, and one from a different one. A rival one, apparently.”
“Surely that’s significant,” Joshea said.
“It may well be. Though both Circles, I fear, will consider me a mutual enemy. I ended up confronting both in the middle of the street, when they were about to get into each other.”
“Was that the Riot Call this morning? You were in the middle of that?”
“Indeed,” Minox said. “My day only deteriorated from there.”
“But wait,” Joshea said. “You don’t think these murders are some sort of Circle Feud?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Minox said. “Plus it would be impossible for the killer to be a mage.”
“Why is that?”
Minox hesitated. Still, discussing it might bring about the revelation he needed. “The killer used metal spikes that disabled their ability.”
Joshea’s eyes went wide. “Disabled? How?”
With a wave of his hand, Minox halted the conversation for a moment. They were at the entrance to the tobacco parlor. The parlor, despite being a typical Maradaine brickwall shop, had a Fuergan flair to it—much like the buildings farther into the Little East. The entranceway was an open arch, with a high and bulbous curve, and thick cords of colored ropes hung like a curtain in place of a door. Minox navigated his way through the dim, hazy establishment until he found his way to the main counter, giving a cordial nod to Mister Hsethir, the long-mustachioed Fuergan proprietor. “Ushetit sam, sir.”
“Ushetit sam,” Hsethir said. “Your usual pouch, Inspector?”
“We’ll take a table, tonight,” Minox said. He glanced over at Joshea for approval. “Two pipes and a pot of afedhlan?” Joshea nodded in tentative approval.
“Very good, Inspector,” Hsethir said. “Sit over there, and I will bring it to you.”
They took their table in a darkened corner, significantly away from the rest of the patrons. The place was quiet, only a few hushed conversations in Fuergan or Druth Trade. Sitting at the low table, Joshea leaned in. “So spikes that disabled their ability. And yours when you touched them, I presume?”
“I’m not sure how to explain it. When I came in contact with one it felt like . . .” Minox struggled to find an apt description. “Sinking into icy water.”
Joshea shuddered. “I’ve heard some stories about metals that affect . . . it. Rumors, old soldier tales, that sort of thing.”
“I’m more concerned about something else, though.” Minox took a deep breath. Discussing this, even with someone who appeared to understand, was harder than he thought it would be. “At one point we encountered the killer directly.”
“You caught him?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Minox said. “He had . . . he used on me . . . a powder of some sort. A poison. Just coming into contact with it made me lose all control.”
“Control of your magic?”
The word, said blatantly like that, even in the low voice that Joshea used, felt like a blow to the chest. Minox reflexively glanced back to make sure Mister Hsethir or his workers were not in hearing. “Yes, exactly. Like a seizure.”
Joshea sat in silence, drinking it in.
Minox kept going. “I’m worried about what that means, especially facing a criminal—an adversary—who knows what I am, and knows how to use it against me.”
“I can’t imagine what that would be like,” Joshea said. “What happened when you lost control, exactly?”
“A pure burst, out of my body. Not focused, not too strong, thankfully. Else my partner might have been seriously hurt.”
“That’s something to be thankful for.”
“Very little,” Minox said. “It wasn’t even the only loss of control today.”
“Another?”
Mister Hsethir came over, putting a tray down on the table. Two pipes, and a small bowl of Minox’s favorite tobacco, with a candle and tapers. Next to that, the steaming pot of afedhlan and two small mugs. Hsethir poured out the afedhlan for both of them, nodded briefly, and went off.
“Afedhlan?” Joshea asked, picking up the mug.
“It’s kind of a sharp tea,” Minox said. “That’s the best I can describe it.”
Joshea took a sip. “Interesting.”
Minox packed his pipe and lit up. “My partner and I visited an ‘expert’ she knew, to get an opinion on the spikes.”
“By expert, you mean a Circled mage.”
“Exactly,” Minox said. He took a deep draw off the pipe, holding the sweet smoke in for as long as he could bear, then he released it. “My partner thought he would be civilized, but he was anything but.”
“Did he attack you?”
“More like forced me to attack him,” Minox said. “Like he was able to manipulate my magic through me.”
“Can’t trust Circled mages,” Joshea said, shaking his head. “The lot of them, they think they’re so smart.” He lit his own pipe and sat back.
“He did say something interesting, about how all Uncircleds fit into three categories.”
“I’m sure they have opinions about us,” Joshea said. “We don’t fit into their ideas of how we should be.”
“My ability didn’t manifest until I was already in the Constabulary,” Minox said. “I gathered from that man I am an exceedingly rare case.”
“I suppose. How did it happen?”
Minox took another toke off the pipe and steeled himself. He had never really told this story to anyone. “It was when I was on horsepatrol. I was chasing a shop thief down in Inemar, and he was gaining ground. I spurred the horse, and at that moment I felt . . .” He paused, deciding the best way to phrase things. Poetics were unnecessary. “Well, that rush of magic, but I didn’t understand it at the time. My vision blurred, and suddenly I found myself on the Eastwood Highway. And ravenous.”
“Always that part.”
“Over the next few weeks, I started to piece together what had happened, what I . . . had become.”
Joshea nodded. “I was fourteen. I guess that’s typical.”
“So did mages from the Circles come looking for you?”
Joshea took a deep draw. “They looked. My father chased them off with a cleaver, told them they were mistaken. Blazes, I’ve seen that man all kinds of angry over the years, but nothing like that day. I’m amazed those Circle mages got out alive. Days after they were gone, he was still sputtering.”
“So you were hardly about to admit it was true.” Minox wondered how his own father might have been had it happened when he was young. He probably would have been angry—not the ranting, violent angry like Joshea’s father. Silent, resentful anger was always Rennick Welling’s way.
“Not a chance.”
“And he’s never suspected?”
“Not that I’m aware of. And he is not a man who would keep quiet about such things.” Joshea sighed ruefully. “But I’ve learned how to be pretty blasted careful.”
“I thought I had been until today.” Minox took another puff. “Between the major, the powder, and the spikes . . . it’s clear I don’t know anything.”
“Like, why us?”
“Exactly!” Minox said. “Is there history of it in your family?”
“None that I know. Not that my father would admit it.”
“Nor mine, unless there’s some in the Racquin relatives.”
“Racquin?” Joshea asked.
“On my mother’s side.”
“Hmm.” Joshea turned quiet and pensive for a moment, and smoked again. “It’s just . . . a fair amount of my service was on the Kellirac border. There are places in this world where magic works . . . differently. Kellirac is definitely one of them.”
“I hadn’t heard that at all.
”
“Of course you haven’t. Who talks about that? We’ve had to feel around in the dark, you and I. Learn by doing. Learn through failure.”
“Failure is definitely the word for today.”
Joshea leaned in closer. “I don’t know anything about the spikes or that powder. But I have . . .” He paused, biting his lip. “I don’t know if this would interest you.”
“I need to know whatever I can, Joshea. I fear my ignorance will make me a liability.”
Joshea took out his leather case and set it on the table. He looked about, but no one in the shop was paying them any mind. He opened it slowly, revealing small glass jars, powders in each one.
“This is nothing illegal, I hope, Joshea.”
“No, of course not,” Joshea said. “These are spices. All legal, locally made or properly imported, to the best of my knowledge.”
“Spices?”
“A hobby of mine, one of the few things I can connect with the rest of my family over.” He reached into the case and pulled out one jar with a deep orange powder in it. “This is called rijetzh.”
“Poasian?” Minox asked.
Joshea nodded, opening the jar and offering it. “There’s a merchant in North Seleth I get this from.”
Minox took the jar and sniffed at it. The odor was strongly pungent, but not unpleasant. “Interesting. I presume you’re showing it to me for a reason.”
“I only have an idea about it,” Joshea said. “But I’ve been using it in my food, in varying amounts, for some time now.”
“Does it have a property like the poison I encountered?”
“Nothing like that,” Joshea said. “But I believe that, depending on how much I take, it represses my ability.”
Minox put the jar down. “You’ve been using it recently?”
“I actually haven’t,” Joshea said. “I had run out a few weeks before my army unit was decommissioned. I was starting to think I didn’t need it. But after what happened in the alley last night, I thought it would be wise to acquire more. That was part of why I stopped by your home, since it was on my way back.”
“But what’s the advantage of using this rijetzh?”
A Murder of Mages: A Novel of the Maradaine Constabulary Page 26