by T L Greylock
Eska wandered back to the public stacks and sank into an aisle between shelves, her thoughts meandering through Albus’s last letter. He had identified the Godforged, then told her about the possibility of finding a second disc in the sunken vault in Lake Delo, but he had said nothing about going on a journey or an absence from the Lordican. For Albus not to be in the one place he loved and to have given no advance notice or indication why—it was disturbing.
She could not have said how long she sat there, searching for clues in what she could remember of the letter, her mind constructing a scenario around his passing mention of the city of Parphea. He had fled there, she was nearly convinced—or at least the harrow root was—chased away by a vengeful lover. No, not Albus. More like in pursuit of a tome inadvertently removed from the Lordican.
An intrusion of voices, perhaps only an aisle or two removed from her own, penetrated her thoughts at last and Eska sat up straighter as she listened.
“What do you mean it’s not available?” The speaker had a cultured voice made ugly by nastiness.
“One of our scholars has reserved the collection for study. As such, it is not available to the public.” The second voice was also a man’s, familiar, older, and hoarse from years of lecturing, but resolute.
“Do you know who I am?”
Eska rolled her eyes.
“Indeed,” came the answer. Far too politely as far as Eska was concerned. “You are Lord Sylvain de Ulyssey.”
Now that was interesting.
“And do you know the de Ulysseys have been funding this institution for generations?”
“Of course, my lord. Your illustrious family has been very generous.” The librarian seemed to be making a pointed effort not to follow de Ulyssey’s line of questioning toward its natural conclusion. Eska could appreciate that.
“Then do you not think it wise to keep your benefactors happy?”
“I wish I could oblige you, my lord, and I am truly sorry to have to disappoint you. The item is unavailable and has been taken from the building for further study. It is, quite literally, out of my hands.”
De Ulyssey said nothing further, but the silence in the other aisle was as loud as if he had been shouting. Eska could picture his silver mane of hair and piercing blue eyes, perhaps a vein throbbing at his temple. Footsteps at last signaled the end of the encounter, but only one set. Eska fancied the steps fairly oozed with perceived superiority—which meant the librarian remained.
Eska waited until de Ulyssey was long gone and then stepped out of her aisle. She made sure to ruffle her dress and make enough noise to alert the poor librarian to her presence, and then she leaned around the stack.
“I bet you wish you’d gone home early today.”
The librarian greeted her with a smile. “No need. I was thinking of the roast waiting for me. While he frothed at the mouth, I was imagining its juices dripping down my chin. Makes for good mental armor.” He patted his ample belly.
Eska laughed. “Master Diomede. It’s good to see you.”
“Indeed, Eska, I think you’ve been avoiding me. You owe me a game of stars, after all.”
“I’ll have to forgo the embarrassment. We both know it’d be a repeat of last time, a thorough demolition.”
The elderly librarian acknowledged the likelihood of this with a chuckle, followed quickly by a sigh. “You’re here about Albus, aren’t you.”
“Do you know where he is?” The question Eska couldn’t ask burned inside her. It wasn’t just Albus she needed to locate. He had a Hand of Fate. She needed to find that disc of bronze—before someone else did.
Master Diomede shook his head. “I wish I could say otherwise, but Albus left without giving word.”
“And the authorities?”
The librarian spread his hands. “Asked the necessary questions. Performed the necessary searches. But there was little to go on. No home to search. No friends to question.”
Eska nodded her understanding, then hesitated, unsure, despite her cordial relationship with the master librarian, if he would divulge anything further given his refusal to do so for de Ulyssey. She took a deep breath and plowed onward. “Was de Ulyssey here for Albus, too? Or something Albus was working on?”
The librarian’s steady expression was answer enough.
“Whatever it was, Albus removed it from the Lordican?”
The slightest of nods and a slow blink.
“Master Diomede, I beg you,” Eska said, stepping close, “please tell me anything you can. I’m afraid for Albus. You know as well as I do that he is not well-suited to taking care of himself in a dangerous situation.”
“How dangerous?”
Eska shook her head. “I don’t know.
Master Diomede heaved out another sigh. “I truly don’t know where he is, Eska. But he removed a scroll before he left—a scroll from a collection that has, by unhappy chance, caught the attention of Lord de Ulyssey.”
“What collection was that?”
Master Diomede studied Eska for a moment, his normally cheerful, immense presence reduced to a crease in his forehead and tight lines around his mouth, then spoke as he turned away. “Come, I’ll show you to his workstation. Perhaps you will glean something from what you find there.”
The worktable at the far end of a cavernous, utilitarian room looked much like it had the last time Eska had visited, though the added novelty of being escorted there—and pretending she didn’t know the way herself—by one of the Lordican’s twenty master librarians made her look at the space with new eyes.
The long table was a haven for a busy mind. Stacks of books on various subjects tottered on high, scrolls in various states of unrolling were scattered here and there, and several spindly-looking contraptions featuring gears and dials and crystal prisms occupied one end of the table, rather like a clan of creatures. Master Diomede followed Eska’s gaze to the devices.
“I learned a long time ago not to attempt to follow the workings of Albus’s mind. I do believe he said something about trying to measure the weight of time.”
“That does sound like Albus.” Eska scanned the rest of the table. There was no bronze disc with black markings to be seen. “These scrolls?”
Master Diomede shook his head and pointed to a crate lost in the shadows under the table. “Those. It’s a collection accumulated by Ardemis the Deceiver. You know her?”
Eska nodded. Ardemis de Vail, a secret admirer of the dead Alescuans. A decade after the execution of Varin II, she had tried to lead a revolt in Vienisi to reestablish monarchical rule, nearly burning the city to the ground.
“She kept the ears of dead men in jars.”
Master Diomede raised an eyebrow. “Not the most common association with her.”
Eska shrugged. “It’s the first thing I remember learning about her. Something about it stuck.”
Master Diomede chuckled and continued. “Each scroll deals with the legends of Ivonia. Given her predilection for power, I’m sure you can understand why she would have been fascinated with those myths.”
Myths. Fabled Ivonia. It was common practice among the learned community to dismiss stories of history so ancient no one could say with certainty any of it was true. Indeed, Eska would once have done the same. But the strange bronze disc sitting in an ivory reliquary in a house across the city from the Lordican—a sibling to the one Albus had been studying before he disappeared—required her to do otherwise. Not that she could say as much to Master Diomede.
Eska pulled the crate out from under the table. “Do you mind if I look these over?”
“I don’t know what the mind of a madwoman might tell you about Albus’s disappearance, but you are welcome to stay.”
The librarian turned to leave her. Eska bit her lip. “And when I’ve finished?”
Master Diomede gave her a tolerant, tired smile. “Don’t try to pretend you don’t know the back passages of the Lordican nearly as well as I do.”
Eska looked down at her fe
et to hide her grin.
“I’m sure Albus would appreciate your attempt at covering for his decision to defy one of our most important rules.”
Eska flushed a little. “The defiance was mine, Master Diomede, I assure you. Though Albus didn’t put up much resistance.”
The crease in between the old librarian’s eyes returned. “I do hope you find him.”
***
Eska worked late into the night, submerging herself in Ardemis the Deceiver’s collection, trying to understand the workings of the mind of a woman who had burned innocent people in her effort to reach and destroy the palace of the Archon, who had conducted strange ceremonies in the ruins of Elysium and worshipped the Alescuans as gods. She had known the woman’s story, but not the fascination for Godforged myths. It did not take Eska long to realize the collection of scrolls was likely the most comprehensive in existence.
The scrolls, most penned by anonymous hands, retold stories of fallen stars, of the island volcano and of the hands that had forged the discs and imbued them with power. The authors drew connections between the god discs, the Hands of Fate, and events throughout the world—wars and famines, plagues and tsunamis. Eska read them all.
The harrow root kept her awake, alert, and when Eska finished the last scroll, she began to pace the length of Albus’s worktable—back and forth and back and forth.
The stories, for all their discrepancies and the frustrating lack of explanation as to how exactly the discs worked, agreed on one thing. One Godforged alone was a formidable thing, capable of sowing destruction. All six wielded by an individual of tremendous power and skill could shatter fate, destroy free will, and alter the very fabric of existence.
Which made Eska very glad she had never had both discs in the same place at the same time.
And yet, despite the dramatic nature of the stories, one thing was missing. There was nothing that might have sent Albus away from Arconia. Nothing that might have indicated he knew where a third disc was. Nothing that suggested immediate danger. Nothing, that is, except the fact that Master Diomede said Albus had removed one of the scrolls—and the second-most powerful man in Arconia, a man who happened to be the Archduke’s closest friend, was looking for it.
“What did you find, Albus?”
The workstation wasn’t going to tell her, that much was clear. But she could think of a place that might.
She went home first. Black silk and sapphires was not the sort of thing one wore when embarking on a midnight escapade. And though the harrow root wanted to convince her otherwise, she really did need to eat something.
The house was quiet when she returned, meaning one or both parents were sleeping or absent, which would not be unusual given their positions. Sorina might be playing host to foreign guests at the Varadome or one of the Archduke’s other properties in the city, and Maximilian could be engaged in a council session that had extended far past a reasonable hour or barricaded in his offices studying up on a vexing or peculiar law.
As for Valentin, there was no sign, which was unsurprising. Though he considered the family home his primary residence, he kept a lavish suite of rooms at the city’s most luxurious hotel. Certainly he would have had no wish to cross paths again with Eska.
Waving away the assistance of two sleepy maids, Eska went to the kitchen and put together an eclectic tray of food—pickles, bread (smothered in mustard), cold eggs, and half an apple and plum tart—then promptly abandoned the tray and ate standing in the middle of the kitchen. When she finished, she hurried to her chambers and traded the silk for slim black trousers, her most comfortable boots, and a loose black shirt. A moment’s hesitation in front of her mirror resulted in the addition of a black waistcoat, which had the added benefit of pockets. Into the pockets went a pocket watch—naturally—and a slim leather case she had used only on rare occasions. On her way out of her rooms, Eska grabbed a slender black walking stick with a silver hawk handle from a rack by the door.
She was halfway down the stairs before she thought to turn back, and she quickly retraced her steps to the guest chamber in which she had situated Perrin. A gentle knock on the door elicited no response and Eska nearly turned away—she would have, in fact, if she had not noticed the small puddle of water trailing under the door.
For the first time since leaving the Varadome that afternoon, she paused, her mind slowing for an instant. And then she was turning the gilt handle and opening the door.
The room was ransacked. Chairs overturned, bed curtains hanging askew, a vase smashed on the floor, broken glass from an unknown source, nearly everything torn from the walls. The washbasin on the pedestal by the door lay in pieces at Eska’s feet, the source of the water fleeing out into the hall.
Eska didn’t bother to call out for Perrin. It was clear the room was empty. Her thoughts flew to her uncle, wondering if he had returned to harm the man with the name he so despised. Eska would not have believed it—and yet the evidence of anger and violence was all too obvious.
Eska rushed downstairs and through the kitchen to the servants’ wing of the house. She hammered on Roscoe’s door and was rewarded by hearing the captain of the de Caraval guards curse his way out of bed. There was no trace of sleep on his face, though, when he opened the door.
“My lady?”
“My friend has gone missing. Violently, it seems,” Eska said. “The room has been overturned and there is no sign of him.” Roscoe’s face creased into a frown. “Question the servants. Surely someone heard or saw something. And then organize a search party.”
“Of course, my lady.” Roscoe retreated into his chambers and stepped into his boots. Grabbing a cloak off a peg, he followed Eska back down the hall. “Where should we begin the search? Where would he have been taken?”
Eska’s stride hitched ever so slightly. She didn’t have an answer. Hadn’t even given it more than a cursory thought. The harrow root had shaped her into a compass capable of pointing in only one direction that night.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Check the Barca house. And you could enquire after my uncle’s whereabouts at the Tamerlane.”
“Your uncle?”
Eska rounded on the captain of the guard. “I don’t know where he is,” she said, the unexpected ire in her voice causing him to slow his steps. “That’s why I’m asking you to look.” She turned and made her way into the entry hall, Roscoe’s footsteps trailing after her.
“My lady, what is this about?”
But Eska was already gone, slipping out of the house and into the dark.
To keep from being seen by any of the grooms, Eska scaled the garden wall—a skill honed as a child—and dropped into the narrow street behind the de Caraval house. She walked the first part of her journey, moving quickly through the wide lanes that ran between the grand houses in that part of the city. Carriages passed here and there, their lanterns swaying, wheels clattering over the cobblestones. A handful of other people on foot kept to themselves and Eska passed more than a few houses brilliantly lit from within, laughter and music streaming from windows open to the warm night air. She tried not to think of black sleeves embroidered with golden daggers.
As she moved into the trade districts, the night grew rowdier. Tavernas bursting with voices, intoxicated men and women calling to their friends, apprentices running late—or early—errands for their masters. Eska moved from street to street, keeping out of the way and out of the light as much as possible until she found herself standing in front of a tall, narrow home surrounded by other tall, narrow homes. This particular tall, narrow home with its flower boxes lining the windows and the porpoise shaped doorknocker belonged to a certain Lysander Montmere, captain of the Argonex.
Eska bypassed the door and its porpoise knocker, bypassed the house entirely, in fact, until she could turn down the nearest alley and approach from the rear. The wooden gate to the small back garden was unlocked.
“Shame on you, Captain,” Eska murmured to the pair of horses sleeping in a two-
stall stable. She chose the black one, admittedly for its appearance, and it stood compliantly as she saddled it. Only when she went for the bridle did the horse stir, staring at her reproachfully.
“You can sleep in the morning,” Eska told it.
Before leading the horse through the gate, Eska took the pocket watch from her waistcoat and hung it on the latch to the now empty stall. It swung gently, revealing the engraved de Caraval hawk, a snake clutched in its talons, every time it touched the moonlight.
The rest of Eska’s journey to the edge of the city passed quickly and it wasn’t long before she was pulling the horse up alongside a tall hedge. The wide green park around her was quiet. The hedge smelled faintly of smoke.
The legality of what she was doing was up for debate.
Technically, the Varadome was both a private and public property. Private in the sense that it was the Archduke’s home, public in that it was the seat of the Arconian government. As a citizen of Arconia, Eska had every right to enter a public property. As an employee of said government via her mother’s position, one could even say it would be expected.
Whether she ought to visit it in the middle of the night, enter through a hedge rather than a door, and pay a discreet visit to the private—and most certainly locked—offices of Lord Sylvain de Ulyssey—well, in the end she had to admit there wasn’t much to debate after all.
She didn’t know what she would find in de Ulyssey’s chambers. She knew only that he had them, granted to him by the Archduke. All she wanted to do was look around.
Eska dismounted and tied the horse’s reins around a sturdy bit of hedge. She patted its nose. “If I come back at a run,” she said, “be prepared to do your part.” As escape plans go, it wasn’t perhaps the most thorough, but better to have four legs at her disposal than her mere two, if it came to that.