by T L Greylock
“Don’t shoo me, Albus. But don’t you need to go home? Sleep? The water chimes must be moments away from sounding the third song of the morning.”
“Home?” The librarian got to his feet. “Don’t lecture me. I get far more done when the library is quiet. Why on earth would I waste that time?”
“I’d hardly call socializing, eating, and sleeping a waste of time. But,” Eska said, holding out her hands to express her surrender as the librarian began to argue, “I know you’ll never appreciate the charms of sunlight and friends that aren’t books. But I want to watch you work. I want to be here. I’ll be quiet. Promise. As still as a sail on a windless day. You’ll never even know I’m still here.”
“We both know you can’t sit still for longer than it takes you to invent some hare-brained idea and insist you go galloping after it.” Albus ignored Eska’s scowl and looked nonchalantly at the disc, still dangling from the rock in his hand. “Besides, are you not due in court at an early hour?”
Eska gasped, her stomach plummeting through the floorboards.
“I’d hate to see you lose the Bourdillon-Leveque contract all because you can’t keep track of time.”
Eska rushed to Albus and planted a kiss on his cheek. Hastening to the door and the network of restricted passageways beyond, she called over her shoulder, “I hate you and love you, Albus Courtenay.”
“Likewise, my lady.”
Chapter Two
“Do you enjoy sea bathing, your Honor?”
“As you can see, your Honor, in paragraph five of section two hundred and seventy-three of amendment sixteen,” the man in black paused, frowned, and cleared his throat for what Eska was sure was the two hundred and seventy-third time that morning. “Forgive me, your Honor, I misspoke. It is paragraph six, not five, of section two hundred and seventy-three. Line twelve, just there.”
The man jabbed a long finger at the parchment in his hand. The justice, seated on high in front of Eska and the lawyer, blinked back at him. “I shall read it for you,” the man in black said. He cleared his throat once more and Eska tried to shift imperceptibly on her tall, narrow chair. In vain. Her behind was most certainly going numb.
“The rights of the aforementioned property holder, henceforth known as…”
Eska, feeling like her eyelids were being dragged down by the weight of Albus’ heaviest books, could not tear her gaze away from the careful ringlets of hair cascading down the justice’s shoulders, keeping herself awake by imagining him seated before a vanity, rolling each ringlet before tucking them all beneath a lacy—no, silk, surely—nightcap. Even the slightest movement, a heavier breath, a tilted shoulder, sent the tight curls shuddering. It was mesmerizing. She would die before admitting it to Albus, but her late night was wearing on her and she was in danger of taking a nap in court.
“…held in perpetuity according to the will and testament of the deceased…”
A fly buzzed in front of Eska’s face and she went slightly cross-eyed for a moment before it flew onward, coming to rest on the justice’s lace-trimmed sleeve. She watched it march its way up the velvet landscape before coming to rest near the closest tangle of ringlets, no doubt eyeing the massive obstacle looming in its path with fear and doubt. Or perhaps gumption and reckless resolve. Eska really couldn’t say. Regardless, the fly, either brave, suicidal, or very dim, sallied forth, entering into the vast morass of brown curls.
“…as stated in statute ten of the Varadian Compromise…”
Eska wondered if the fly was finding crumbs, a bit of pastry from the justice’s morning meal, or better yet: fruit filling. Unless, of course, whatever the fly was hunting was a cruel ruse, a clever trap. The poor creature, lured in by irresistible odors and the promise of a rare feast, only to seek and find nothing but waxy pomade scented with strawberries and figs. Then again, Eska supposed it was possible a fly could eat pomade. She would have to ask Albus.
“Lady de Caraval?”
Eska flinched, suddenly aware that the justice’s gaze and that of the man in black had shifted to her. She had the sinking feeling they had been waiting some time. She stood, trying not to wince at the numb sensation in her backside.
“Is it my turn already? How the time flies,” Eska said, smiling pleasantly. She wondered if the insect had buzzed in the justice’s ear yet. She turned to the man in black. “Your arguments are most compelling, sir, and I compliment you on the case you have made.” The faintest of blushes marred the lawyer’s stern countenance as Eska turned her attention to the justice.
“Do you enjoy sea bathing, your Honor?”
The justice frowned. “A frivolous past time.”
A lie. Eska had it on good authority that the honorable justice had spent each of his last six holidays discreetly ensconced in a villa at the seaside, hosting all manner of guests, savory and unsavory, invited and compelled, for all manner of debauched activities. No matter. She hadn’t expected him to admit to it.
She also had it on good authority that he had bribed, threatened, and murdered his way into possession of that coveted villa. And if he had done all that for a bit of sand and sun, well, Eska could only imagine what he might have done to ensure his miraculous election to yet another term—an astonishing four terms in all—as a member of the esteemed Court Beneath the Sun.
Eska smiled again. “My mistake. You look like a man who enjoys the fine things the seaside has to offer. Seaweed wraps.” Eska kept smiling. “Sand baths.” She paused. “Pearl diving.” The justice went pale, the ringlets quivering. “And who could forget the cuisine. The eels are so,” Eska hesitated once more, “ravishing.”
The justice nearly bolted out of his seat. “The contract, Lady de Caraval,” he managed to say. “What have you to say about it?” To Eska’s relief, the man in black had his nose stuck in a thick sheaf of papers and was oblivious to the justice’s consternation.
Eska gave a wave of her hand and assumed a brisk tone. “Only that the site in question must be excavated or we risk losing it forever as the river bed continues to alter and the banks cave in. There is no one more equipped to manage the situation. While I am sensitive to the concerns of my colleague’s client,” she said, nodding to the man in black, “the site is of such importance that we must abandon protocol and precedent and learn what we can before it is too late. It is vital to our understanding of the world and all future archaeological endeavors”—this was perhaps something of an exaggeration—“that we undertake this project with the utmost haste and care.” Eska drew in a breath, prepared to continue.
“Enough.” The justice got to his feet, his face still pale, his hands clasped tight behind his back. “I have reached a decision.” He took a deep breath. The fly emerged and circled the justice’s head. Eska swallowed a smile.
The man in black cleared his throat and stood up straighter, chest puffed against the buttons of his stiff jacket, no doubt prepared to enjoy his moment of victory over the presumptions of Lady de Caraval, who had not even had the sense to bring a trained lawyer to argue her case.
“In the matter of the Bourdillon-Leveque contract, I find in favor of Lady de Caraval. All rights, duties, financial gain or loss associated therein are now the sole responsibility of Lady de Caraval and the Firenzia Company. The Court Beneath the Sun washes its hands of this matter once and for all.”
The man in black gaped. Eska reached over, hand extended. “Well-argued, my friend. My condolences, it’s truly a surprise,” she murmured. The man, his eyes glazing over as he grasped her fingers weakly, let forth a strangled noise that would no doubt have been a lovely compliment if only he weren’t choking on his disbelief. Eska gave his fingers a firm shake, withdrew and approached the justice, prepared to offer him the same meaningless pleasantries.
“Your Honor,” she began, but the justice cut her off.
“I trust you are satisfied?” His voice was tight and low, his brows knitted together in a deep frown.
Eska smiled. “But of course, your Honor. Delighted, in fact
.”
“Then we’ll hear nothing more of pearl diving? Nor the eels?”
“Whatever are you speaking of, your Honor? You yourself said you avoid the seaside.”
The justice rose up on his toes ever so slightly, his heels clicking as they came back down to the polished floor in an attempt to regain his composure. “Just so. Exactly.”
“But if you were to change your mind,” Eska went on, as though heedless of the vein pulsing in the justice’s temple and the crimson creeping into his cheeks, “my father knows a thing or two about property. I’m sure he’d be happy to advise you in your purchase.”
“Good day, Lady de Caraval,” the justice interrupted. Nodding stiffly, he spun away from her, his curls bouncing in retreat. As the double doors swung open to release him, a serving girl slipped through. She clutched Eska’s belongings tight and dipped a curtsey.
“Your cape, my lady.”
Eska smiled at the girl and dropped the cape over her shoulders, its slick fabric still speckled with the rain that had burst from the overcast sky on her way to the Court Beneath the Sun. “And the trunk?”
Another curtsey. “Waiting, as you asked, my lady.”
“Very good. Tell the driver he may proceed and that I’ll follow shortly. The transport will be waiting at the company wharf. He’ll know what to do.” The girl nodded and ran off.
“A vulture, you are,” the man in black said, staring after the girl. As he turned his gaze to her, Eska could see his brain working out the fact that she had arrived at the Court Beneath the Sun with no doubts as to the outcome of the hearing.
Unruffled, Eska met his incredulous hostility with the cold stare her father had taught her from an early age. “Why, sir, if you mean to compare me to a strong, practical creature with a great talent for survival, then I must thank you.”
The lawyer sputtered and shoved his papers into a too-small case, his hand a merciless claw of destruction. “My client will appeal,” he said.
“As is your client’s right, sir.” Eska fastened the rain cape at her collarbone, clipping the green-eyed snake into the gilt beak of the hawk. “In the meantime, the Firenzia Company will begin digging. And I’ll see that your appeal gets so lost and tangled in the courts that even the great Gordinian would be unable to extract it. Good day.”
Interlude 1
“Did you have to slay a fierce two-headed river cat to get to it, Uncle?”
The man with the golden beard laughs and pokes the girl on the tip of her nose. “Kovuntuu river cats only have a single head, my dear.”
The girl frowns, her eyes still on the jade egg balanced upright in her palm. “Just because you haven’t seen one with two heads doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
Her uncle throws up his hands in mock defeat. “I stand corrected. As usual.” He leans in close and their eyes meet, the jade egg between them, man and girl, equally delighted by the intricate carvings despite the years separating them.
“What do the carvings mean?” the girl asks. “Do they tell a story?”
“I’m sure they do, clever one. Here, I see a pair of large birds, and here, a figure kneels. I think it’s a woman.”
The girl turns the egg in her palm and studies the figures her uncle speaks of. “It could be a man.”
“Certainly,” her uncle says, grinning. “It could be whatever you like, my dear.”
“Perhaps the birds have escaped. And he’s sad to lose them.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he worships bird-gods and is praying as they fly overhead.”
The girl frowns again. “I wish you knew and could tell me. I should like to know.” But then she smiles and meets her uncle’s gaze, his nose hidden by the jade. The slightest hint of dust from his journey is smeared across his forehead. “It’s beautiful.”
“Then you like it?”
“Oh, of course, Uncle! It’s perfect.” Her smile flashes out from behind the egg, which she lowers before stepping close to plant a kiss on her uncle’s cheek. “I shall keep it safe, right next to the diadem you brought me at the winter festival. There’s room for it there.”
The man beams. “Is it your favorite, then?”
“My favorite?” The girl looks down at the egg once more. “I couldn’t possibly choose a favorite. All the gifts you bring are very dear to me.”
“How diplomatic of you. Your mother would be proud.” Her uncle straightens, standing tall over his niece once more. “Now, I must present the rest of the temple’s treasures to the Archduke. I’m already late, but I couldn’t resist bringing your gift first.” He turns to collect the box that had once contained the jade egg, but the girl, bobbing up and down on her toes in excitement, stops him.
“May I come, Uncle?”
“To the Varadome?” He makes a show of thinking, his mouth serious, but the glimmer in his eye gives him away. He sweeps low in an elaborate bow. “But of course, my Lady de Caraval, I would be most honored if you would grace me with your delightful company.”
The girl curtseys with practiced formality, then giggles as her uncle offers, and she accepts, his arm.
“And who knows, perhaps we’ll spot a two-headed river cat on the way.”
“Uncle, river cats don’t live north of the Umoria highlands. Everyone knows that.”
The man laughs, a sound as bright and golden as his beard. “I doubt that’s a thing everyone knows, my dear, certainly not most children of nine years. And just because you haven’t seen a river cat north of the Umoria highlands doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Someone very wise taught me that logic.”
He laughs again and this time she joins in as they step outside into the waiting glare of a sun masked by a thin layer of cloud. An open carriage awaits, emblazoned with a pair of hawks fighting over a snake in their talons. Behind it stand three plain wagons drawn by teams of four horses, each wagon covered with a dusty sheet of canvas, the contents straining against the ties binding the canvas to the rails. And just beyond, barely glanced at by the girl, a troop of mounted guards lingers in the courtyard, shadowed by the eastern wing of the house and the tall, wide oak that whispers there.
“Is this all?” the girl asks, a small hand shielding her eyes from the bright light as she contemplates the wagons.
“Hardly,” the man says, laughing once more. “Only the best and most valuable. The rest follows, but these are the pieces worth showing the Archduke immediately.”
“Will you tell me all about your journey on the way, Uncle?” the girl asks as the man opens the carriage door and then lifts her up in his arms and deposits her on the forward-facing seat. “Was it dangerous? Were there bandits?”
He climbs in after her and signals the driver to depart.
The girl leans across the gap between the bench seats, her green eyes alight with excitement. “Did you have to fight a great warrior in single combat? Or answer a series of riddles to unlock the hidden temple? What are the Irgardians like? Do they really not eat meat? Do they ride in tall saddles and use only their feet to steer? Are they really afraid of water?”
Her questions do not diminish as the carriage lurches to life and rumbles along the stone drive. Indeed, they are as continuous as the clip clop of horse hooves that follow.
Chapter Three
“To bring honor to the name of de Caraval.”
Eska closed the door behind her with a long exhale, uncommonly glad to be within the sturdy confines of her family home—and out of the rain, which was persistent in its desire to drench her.
She heard the feet coming, of course. The soft pattering step of Nonetta followed by the heavier tread that signaled Roscoe was with the maid. Breathing in one last moment of silence and stillness, Eska turned and put a pleasant smile on her face just as Nonetta rounded the corner from the servants’ wing into the glass-walled garden entrance. If Eska was honest with herself, she would admit that seeing Roscoe, broad-shouldered, burly-armed Roscoe, captain of the de Caraval house guards, was not unwelcome, despite the man
’s overprotective nature. She had noticed the figure tailing her home from the Court Beneath the Sun fairly quickly. She had not realized there were two until she had reached the Jordiene Bridge, a misstep she chalked up to her sleepless night and the monotony of court—but no less dangerous for that. Not a word to Roscoe, of course, but his presence was welcome.
The tails belonged to the Iron Baron. Most likely. Whether Thibault de Venescu wanted to kidnap her in broad daylight or merely scare her was up for debate. Then again, there were other reasons the daughter of the Vice-Chancelier of Arconia might be followed through the streets of the city. Most of them not innocuous.
“A bath please, Nonetta, and tell Alize to begin packing,” Eska said, as she handed her gloves and rain cape to the maid, who curtseyed and hurried off. She acknowledged Roscoe’s bow with a nod and turned to mount the small iron staircase that would take her to her chambers above the rose garden, then paused when her gaze fell upon an obsidian-tipped walking stick staked unceremoniously into a potted fern by the door she had just entered. Eska turned back to the captain. “Where is he?”
“The kitchen, my lady. In search of pastry.”
Eska smiled. “Naturally.”
Valentin de Caraval was no longer searching, as it turned out. Eska, momentarily unseen as she waited at the kitchen’s threshold, watched as her uncle made exceptionally quick work of a cream-filled bun, nary a crumb of flaky pastry lost to the floor or his beard. He turned next with relish to a chocolate and cinnamon concoction, his mouth conveniently full when Eska chose to speak up.
“You know, Mira would be outraged to see her creations demolished with so little regard for the genius and craftsmanship that went into making them.”
Whatever quick retort Valentin might have fired back was lost somewhere between his molars and he had the grace to look marginally abashed as he chewed and swallowed.
“I would argue, niece, that the speed with which I consume Mira’s work is a testament to that genius—perhaps the greatest testament.”