Inkspice (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 2)

by Kaitlin Bellamy

  “Quite the array,” said Darby. He appeared at Fox’s side, following his gaze to the group on the platform.

  “Do you know them?” asked Fox, remembering that Darby had been to Calibas before. He also recalled Darby’s disdain of the “spoiled little lordling” Gilvard.

  “You’ve pegged the fearless town leader, I expect,” said Darby. “The redheaded woman our poor Neil has fallen for is Gwendolyn Gilvard. His half sister. She wasn’t around much when I last visited, though she definitely seems to have blossomed, hasn’t she?” This part, he said slightly louder, for Neil’s benefit. But Neil either didn’t hear him, or chose to ignore the bait. He simply continued to stare, entranced by the young woman he’d called “Gully.”

  “What about the others?” asked Fox.

  “The man at her side I don’t know by name,” Darby admitted, “although, if I’m right, I do know him by reputation. A military leader from Fernaphia, to the south.”

  “Peace talks?” suggested Fox. In his brief experiences with the world outside of Sovesta, he hadn’t learned much about politics. But he knew enough to be wary of militaries crossing their borders.

  Darby, however, shook his head ever so slightly. “Their countries aren’t at war,” he said. “At least, not openly. As far as we know, neither country is. With anyone.”

  “Just a friendly visit, then?” said Fox hopefully.

  “Normally, I’d be inclined to think so,” said Darby, dropping his voice even lower now, so only Fox could hear him beneath the music and laughter. “But, considering your friend, and his placement in this city ...”

  A pair of arms draped themselves companionably around Darby and Fox as a jovial figure inserted himself between them. “Talking of anyone I may know, old chaps?”

  As if summoned to them by the very hint of his name, Bartrum Bookmonger stood there, grinning like a half-drunk idiot, appearing for all the world to just be saying hello to some long-lost friends. But there was a tightness in his jaw, and Fox had a sneaking suspicion that the spymaster had been watching them from the moment they arrived.

  Before Fox could apologize, Bartrum had tightened his grip, and begun steering boy and dwarf expertly through the crowd. “Come, come now!” he said gleefully. “It’s not every day we get a show like this one, you’ll have a much better view up here. Come on!” He led them through the back of the hall, and up a small series of staircases to a second level balcony. At the top of the stairs, Bartum nodded wordlessly at the well-armed guard standing watch. The man returned the gesture and allowed them to pass into the far emptier upstairs hall. Here, the floors were plush and absorbed their footsteps, in contrast to the polished marble below. The music and chatter of the Shavid performance still reached them up here, but with no immediate crowds, talking was far easier.

  Bartrum leaned against the railing, looking for all the world as though he were simply enjoying the show. He kept his smile intact as Fox and Darby joined him at the railing, but when he spoke it was with all seriousness.

  “I won’t always be able to intervene and stop you from spilling my secrets,” Bartrum said. Before either could apologize, he pressed on. “But you are correct: they are not peace talks, and neither are they friendly.”

  “What looming disaster has Gilvard gotten himself into?” asked Darby.

  Bartrum’s gaze flitted ever so gently over the militant gentleman in black. “They call him Vol Tyrr – The Black Wolf. He’s the commander of an elite and deadly infantry in Fernaphia.”

  “But their country has been at peace for generations,” said Fox, suddenly remembering something he’d read in one of Neil’s history books. “There’ve been no wars, and no need to defend themselves.”

  “There was a war,” Darby said, “long ago. And it nearly destroyed them. Decimated their lands, and cut their population nearly in half. Ever since, they’ve been sure to keep the strongest military possible, in case it ever happens again.”

  “It re-shaped their entire economy,” said Bartrum. “For centuries now, they’ve been developing some of the finest weaponry in all the Central Kingdom. They’ve been hired out as mercenaries and private units in their neighbors’ wars. And their specialists are nigh unmatched in talent. Every chance they get, their finest archers and swordsmen show off at contests around the Known World, just to remind everyone that Fernaphia is not to be trifled with.”

  Below, the Shavid finished another incredible performance, and the musicians and dancers stepped aside, making room for the actors to begin their short play.

  “What’s their game, then?” asked Fox. “Why bother allying with anyone, if they’ve done so well for themselves?”

  Bartrum glanced at Fox with a slightly raised brow, and Darby smirked with pride as Fox continued. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? If they’re not at war, and they’re not just visiting for friendship’s sake, they must be forming some sort of alliance. Only it doesn’t make sense. Calibas doesn’t seem to have anything they need.”

  “Clever boy,” conceded Bartrum. “But you’re forgetting what brought me here in the first place. That key piece of the puzzle.”

  “The new magic,” said Darby. “It’s powerful enough to tempt them?”

  “We’re not sure,” admitted Bartrum. “But it’s no coincidence that Fernaphia only began taking an interest once Calibas had something particularly mysterious on their side. My sources tell me Lord Gilvard has been reaching out to Vol Tyrr for years, with no luck. Only now has he finally deigned to visit. And he seems more than a little enthusiastic about the alliance.”

  Darby shook his head and shifted his weight, adjusting his stance at the railing. He was scanning the floor below, seemingly taking it all in as he tried to think. And then, suddenly, he asked, “Are you sure it’s the magic that’s got him interested?”

  “Calibas’s military has grown quite a bit in the last few years,” Bartrum conceded. “But they’re nowhere near as trained as Fernaphia’s, and they’re practically a joke compared to Vol Tyrr’s personal army.”

  “And this magic,” continued Darby, “whatever it is ... it would be alluring enough to motivate some sort of legal alliance between Fernaphia and Calibas? I’ve seen often enough in my times that city-specific treaties are complex and difficult to coordinate. And this doesn’t seem to be the nation of Mirius allying with its neighbor, but rather its neighbor taking a special interest in one particular city. In one noble house. Not even a prince, just a high-ranking lord, nowhere near the capital city.”

  Bartrum frowned at this, his face briefly slipping from its practiced joviality. “It would be complicated, on paper,” he said. “You can’t write in a public manifesto that you’ve allied your military with an unannounced power, it would incite a panic in both nations. There are certain protocols, official treaties that need to be observed. But — ” And then he stopped, and turned his gaze to match Darby’s. “But they wouldn’t be admitting that. They wouldn’t have to, if it was an alliance of the houses themselves.”

  Applause erupted from below as the Shavid players took a bow, and Radda took to the center of the room. He addressed the five on the dais, announcing that his company would now like to invite the rest of the assembled courtiers and visitors to dance with them. The ballroom began to fill with color and sparks of light dancing off jewelry, and the Shavid began to play. On the dais, Lord Gilvard had already leapt to his feet, dragging his mistress into the throng without a moment’s hesitation. The young blind girl remained in her chair, where a lady-in-waiting immediately came to keep her company. And Vol Tyrr stood, offering his hand to Gully. From the look on her face, Fox could see that she was not eager to take it. When she finally did, the general guided her to the floor a bit too firmly, his hands wandering more than they should have. And, with a sinking heart and a sudden pang for Neil’s sake, Fox understood.

  “They’re marrying her off,” he said. “To the general?”

  “To the prince,” said Bartrum. By now, he seemed to h
ave put it all together. “Vol Tyrr’s army is his personal guard, and strongest in the land. But the prince ... he’s not interested in anything Lady Gilvard would offer him, nor any woman. She would be nothing but a figurehead. If I had to guess, Vol Tyrr plans to make use of her availability for himself. And no one in the kingdom would so much as bat an eye.”

  “An age-old royal tradition,” said Darby dryly. “Sell off your marriages, and then bed whomever you like.”

  “And nobody would question such an alliance,” continued Bartrum. “The only single prince in Fernaphia is a younger son, so there’d be no scandal with him marrying below his station. With the marriage keeping everything above-board, the general and Lord Gilvard would be free to privately build whatever intrigue they’re planning.”

  “But you’re going to stop them?” asked Fox.

  “I’ve told you,” said Bartrum, “it’s never that simple. But I’ll do what I can. My job is to find out what wickedness is brewing here, and put an end to it at the source. Either way, I would hope you and your tribe will be long gone before it comes to that. If a power struggle is about to erupt, you’ve no place getting mixed up in it.”

  “For whatever it’s worth,” said Darby, “a part of me does wish we could stay and help. Yours is a lonely job, I’d imagine.”

  With a too-large smile and an exaggerated giggle, Bartrum hitched his old persona back into place. “Lonely, me? Just look at all the lovely people I have to mix and mingle with every day.” He gestured down to the floor below, filled with dancing courtiers and nobles and Shavid alike. “It’s almost too much company!”

  Darby started to respond, but Fox wasn’t listening anymore. His eye had been drawn to the ballroom floor once again, and it was with a jolt of panic that he saw Neil wading into the choreographed chaos. He was making straight for Gully and Vol Tyrr. “That poor fool is about to get his heart broken again,” said Fox, already moving toward the stairs. The men let him go, but remained on the balcony, deep in conversation.

  The main hall was crowded with color and movement, but Fox wove through it expertly, the wind whispering where each gap in the bodies was. He was looking for a specific scent, training his senses on the mass of humans, until he found her. Grabbing Mindi’s hand, he pulled her deeper into the dance, until they inserted themselves into a line near Neil, Vol Tyrr, and Gully.

  “Sorry,” Fox apologized to Mindi, but she grinned and shook her head.

  “I always knew you secretly longed to dance with me at one of these,” she teased.

  Fox rolled his eyes, waiting until the timed choreography of the dance brought them closer before whispering, “I just needed an excuse to get closer to Neil, please don’t make this into anything more.”

  Mindi smirked, but mercifully didn’t push the issue.

  Fox had positioned them just within earshot of Neil, who seemed to have done much the same with Gully. The dance was familiar, and common in the Central Kingdoms. Based on the music, and the metered steps, it was only a matter of moments before partners switched. With an almost tactical precision, Neil caught Gully’s hand during the change, pulling her in to dance with him. Her eyes went wide, and for a moment she seemed as though she wanted to pull away. But she let Neil lead her around the floor, and Fox held tight to Mindi. He needed to know his partner for this. As unnerving as Mindi could be, Fox knew she never meant him any harm. Quickly, Fox whispered, “You lead. I have to listen.” And, trusting her enough without waiting for a response, he closed his eyes, and let the air around Neil and Gully fill his senses. Every word, every touch, every glance.

  Gully was watching for Vol Tyrr. Once she seemed sure that he was out of earshot for the moment, she said quietly, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “What do I call you, then?” asked Neil. He sounded neither angry nor upset, merely curious. But Fox could feel his heartbeat quickening.

  “Still Gully,” said the girl. “I’ve always preferred it to my ... my title.”

  “Let me guess,” said Neil. “The Lady Gilvard?”

  Gully nodded slightly, and the dance broke them apart. When they came back together, she said, “His Lordship is my half-brother. It’s ... complicated. And more than I care to deal with.” She glanced over her shoulder again, apparently measuring the pace of the dance. It wouldn’t be long before the partners changed again, and she would be returned to Vol Tyrr. “My offer still stands,” she said quickly. “The Lamplighters Lament. If ... if you’re still ...”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” said Neil. They broke apart once more, but this time they did not join together again. Vol Tyrr had reappeared at her side, wrapping a protective arm around her waist and pulling her tightly to him. He grabbed her chin and forced her face up to look in his eyes, and Fox felt a surge of emotion that nearly overwhelmed him. Rage pounding in Neil’s ears. Fear making Gully flush. And a sickening lust tainting the very air around the general.

  “Was this common-born bothering you, my lady?” he asked. His voice sounded smooth, and almost caring. But Fox could sense the truth, so strong that he came back to himself with a gasp. His knees began to give out beneath him as his own senses returned, and his stomach threatened to rebel. Without a word, Mindi quickly began escorting him from the floor.

  Darby met them at the staircase, where Fox collapsed and held his head in his hands. Everything was pounding. He’d never tried that before, and he realized too late that a crowded hall full of tension and emotions had probably not been the ideal first run.

  “What in Spirit’s name was that?” asked Darby. On Fox’s other side, Mindi had used her own magic to cool her fingertips. She pressed them to his temples, providing a welcome relief from the headache.

  “I was using the wind in the room to eavesdrop on Neil’s conversation,” said Fox. “Only, I tried it with a bit of a different approach ... I’ve done it before, but this time I thought I’d let my own senses disappear, and only focus on his. It’s easier when I’m close to somebody, but I thought ...” He trailed off. Talking made him queasy.

  “Stupid,” said Darby simply.

  “Genius,” countered Bartrum, almost in the same breath. “You’d have to condition your body, of course, but the practical applications of that sort of control over the wind —”

  “Don’t you have your own job to do?” growled Darby pointedly. “Fox’s cartomancy is not a toy for you to play with, Bookmonger.”

  Bartrum snorted. “You think it better that he just teach himself, and try these sorts of things on his own?” Fox felt rather than saw Bartrum gesture down at him. “He’ll kill himself at that rate, running around with untethered gifts.”

  Something was burning at Fox’s chest. He opened his eyes, his hand rubbing the area gingerly. It wasn’t until his fingertips brushed hard metal that he remembered: Farran’s amulet. Pulling it from beneath his shirt, he examined it. It was hot, and the eyes of the fox-like creature hanging from its chain were glowing. Whatever he’d done, it had attracted the strange magic in Calibas. And the amulet, as promised, seemed to have absorbed it. For now, Fox was safe. Quickly, tucking his necklace back into its hiding place, he stood and faced his mentors. The headache was subsiding now, and his body was returning to normal. “I’ll be more careful,” he insisted, looking at Darby. “But please, let me keep on with my lessons? It’s only for a few days, just until we head out again. And Bartrum can teach me so much! I just ... I won’t go off script anymore.”

  Darby looked him up and down, brow furrowed. “I’ve warned you,” he said quietly. “There are reasons the cartomancers were forgotten. Lost.”

  “But even you don’t know what they are, do you?” said Fox. When Darby didn’t answer, he pressed on quickly, “I know everything I’m doing is new, and different. And it’s honestly terrifying. But if I don’t learn, it might consume me. Learning to control it is different than learning to use it. You have to let me try.”

  “New and different could be dangerous here,” growled Darby. “Lo
rd Gilvard has gone power mad, and by all accounts he’s looking for anything strange and mystical to keep on his side. New magic, old magic ... if he finds out what you are —”

  “He won’t,” insisted Fox. “I’ll only study in private from now on, as long as we’re here.”

  “Fine!” conceded Darby irritably. “You’ve got until we leave, which gods willing will be soon.”

  Applause filled the room around them as the dance ended. Darby, it seemed, had said all he needed to, and disappeared into the crowd. “I just don’t know why he doesn’t want me learning,” Fox said irritably toward his mentor’s retreating back. “It’s his job to teach me, isn’t it? All he’s ever done is help me learn techniques to master Shavid magic as a whole, never anything specific to my gift.”

  “He fears for you,” said Bartrum. “It’s clear he cares, and he’s right. Forgotten powers can be dangerous. Unstable. The world itself may not know how to react to you, Foxglove.” And, with a slight bow, Bartrum faded back into the crowd himself, playing the excitable courtier once more.

  Mindi and Fox were left alone at the stairs as a new song began. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Fox said, “Thank you. For having my back, out there. And getting me out when —”

  “When you started to flood?” supplied Mindi helpfully.

  “Sorry, when I what?”

  “Flood,” explained Mindi with a smile. “It’s what I call it when magic starts to overwhelm you. It happened to me a lot, back when I was younger, especially when I would try something new. But, since I have a varied and sometimes unpredictable Blessing with practical magics, ‘something new’ came around a lot.”

  “But you grew out of it?” asked Fox.

  “I trained out of it,” Mindi corrected. “Well ... mostly.” She shrugged, a bit of embarrassment creeping into her voice now. “Flooding happens to everyone who has magic, I think. When we try to use too much, or let our emotions get in the way of how we use them. And I’ve had a ... problem, separating my emotions from my powers.”