Like a giant piece of sugar-paste sculpture!
There had been something like that as the centerpiece of Isla and Kordas’s wedding feast, a replica of the Valdemar manor with the banners of both houses hanging from the towers. She had thought it too pretty to eat, but that hadn’t stopped anyone else from snapping off pieces to munch. But then again, pure sugar wasn’t something that appeared on tables very often around here. Sugar was something used sparingly in baking, so people who got a chance to have a bite of the pure stuff generally took full advantage of the opportunity. That wasn’t the case, away in the Capital, at least if the things she’d read were true. The Emperor had a kind of chronicle sent to every noble household in the Empire twice a year that, in addition to informing households of any changes or additions to the laws of the land, detailed all the goings-on of the Capital. She used to read the things avidly, wishing she could be there to see the festivals, taste the amazing things described for the feasts—
Until Kordas had pointed out that the sole purpose of this was to make people like him and his household discontented with what they had, and goad them to attempt the same. All that would be a heavy drain on their income, and that would lead to them trying to exploit more out of their properties, all to the detriment of their homes and the people that depended on them.
“The Emperor wants us all in competition against each other,” Kordas had told her. It all made a twisted sort of sense. If you were in competition with people who were your equals or slightly better, you’d be too busy to pay much attention to what the Emperor was (or was not) doing. And if you were spending your income on frivolities, you wouldn’t be building up your own personal army.
She shook her head to clear it of such uncomfortable thoughts. The Emperor was far away, and paid no attention to places as minor as Valdemar.
An intoxicating scent tickled her nose as she entered the high-ceilinged, pink-hued entrance hall of the manor, and instead of turning right to go to her own rooms, she went left, heading for the tower occupied by the six mages who called themselves “the Circle.” It smelled like—
As she opened the door into the tower, the glorious aroma enveloped her.
Sai was making stuffed bread.
Being mages, the Circle had no difficulty in and no compunction about making minor changes to their tower, and one of those changes had been a big oven next to the hearth, because Sai was a baker, and as good a baker as he was a mage, if not better. His particular specialty was stuffed bread. He insisted on doing everything himself, brandishing a giant knife and threatening to cut pieces off anyone who interfered with his work. So, at unpredictable intervals, he’d order servants to bring him the needful things from the kitchen, and the bottom room of the tower would become a bakery, with the finished loaves lined up on one of the built-in shelves that circled the wall. Those loaves didn’t stay there long. Sai didn’t care who ate the products of his genius, as long as his genius was acknowledged. Anyone was welcome to take what they wanted. And when Sai baked, anyone who could smell the loaves rushed to taste them.
Right now, there was a circle of five mages with contented looks on their faces, and as many pages waiting impatiently for some of the loaves to cool enough to snatch up and devour. Those would probably be the sweet loaves, stuffed with nut paste, chopped fruit, or other similar fillings. The pages tended to ignore the savory loaves, but she knew the ones filled with cheese on sight, and gravitated toward one.
When it was securely in her possession, she sat down on the floor out of the way and unashamedly began to devour it.
Sai took the last of his loaves out of the oven, put the stopper in the door, and turned toward the circle of urchins. “I suppose you want me to cool those loaves down for you?” he said, sounding cross.
The chorus of shameless begging rose to fill the room, and he made an abrupt gesture to silence it.
Then he made another, as if he was gathering something in from the loaves and tossing it up to the ceiling. “There,” he said. “They’re just cool enough to eat without burning yourselves. Shoo, little piggies!”
The little piggies each snatched up a loaf and raced for the door.
“The cheese bread is brilliant, as always, Master Sai,” Delia called around a mouth full of it. “You’re a genius!”
“I know,” said Sai, preening a little as he took his place on his cushion-chair, and Ceri rolled his eyes. “If I ever need to hide from the Emperor’s mage-hunters, look for me in a bakery.”
Dole, who was seated near her, tilted his head to one side at the bread, suggestively. Since she had eaten all she wanted from the loaf, she passed him the rest. “Why are you baking bread today, anyway?” she asked.
“It helps me think,” he said, astounding her by actually answering her question in a sensible fashion. “The more I need to think, the more bread I make. That’s not always the case, mind you. Sometimes I make bread because I very much need to hit someone, and pounding dough is a good substitute for punching a doughy little face, but mostly I bake because I need to think.”
She blinked a little at that statement. “What’s going on?” she asked, carefully. “Why do you need to think?”
“We wonder that all the time,” Ponu replied, snickering. “And when we need him to think? He becomes a baker. Bread or brains! But it is a tasty trade-off, so we have learned to live with it.”
Ceri said, “I mostly like his layered breads. What one layer knows, the second layer over on each side can’t learn,” and his brother Sai nodded sagely.
Sai sucked in his lower lip. “I don’t think I can tell you that, Delia,” the mage said, finally. “Ask your sister; she’ll tell you if she thinks it’s safe for you to know.”
Safe? What on earth is going on?
“Need to know,” Dole said sagely, telling her exactly nothing.
“I’m not a child,” she retorted, feeling irritated.
“You are also not in charge of this Duchy,” Dole reminded her sternly. “We owe you nothing. You are entitled to nothing from us!” he proclaimed, raising a finger for emphasis.
“Oh, don’t be so hard on her,” said Ponu. He might have said something more, but at that moment, the whole tower vibrated for a few moments. It wasn’t long, and it was barely detectable, but she knew she hadn’t imagined it when all of the mages suddenly looked wary. Dole looked at his finger suspiciously, then settled down.
“What was that?” Delia demanded.
Ponu frowned as the others gave him a look that suggested they wanted him to answer her. “Well,” he said finally. “We know what it isn’t. It’s not caused by something in the Duchy. It’s not natural, in the sense that nothing natural like a rockslide is causing it. It’s been going on for years, actually, but most of the time no one notices it. Lately, it’s been getting stronger, and we are fairly sure it comes from the Capital.”
“So . . . something the Emperor’s mages are doing?” she hazarded.
He nodded. “We haven’t investigated it closer, because we don’t want anyone knowing we’re here.” He shrugged. “That’s the cost of being in hiding. There is a lot we can’t do without revealing ourselves. Or others.”
“Is it dangerous?” she demanded.
“It could be. It isn’t yet. And we think it’s related to Elemental magic. Probably Earth Elementals. That’s the best answer we have right now.” Ponu settled back in his seat with the air of someone who was done talking.
“Thank you all for speaking with me,” she said, knowing she wasn’t going to get anything more out of them for now. “And thank you very much for the bread, Sai.”
“Glad you enjoyed it,” the mage said with clear satisfaction, as another couple of people came in, attracted by the aroma. She got up, made a little sketch of a bow, and decided to go see if she could get anything out of Isla. It was clear there was something going on, something extremely impo
rtant, and . . . to be honest, she was a little resentful that she was being kept out of it!
But as soon as she left the Circle’s tower, she almost literally ran into Isla, who took her by the elbow and said, “Delia! I’m running out of some wild herbs. Let’s go hunt for them.”
Now, as far as Delia knew, that was a lie. Isla never ran out of anything; she was fanatical about keeping supplies on hand. But Delia took the basket that Isla gave her, and followed her sister out of the manor, between two meadows full of grazing mares and new foals, and down to the woodlot that was deliberately kept wild to allow the propagation of certain herbs that not even Isla could get to grow in the garden.
Once they were under the cover of the forest, Isla grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along a thread of a path with some urgency, until they reached an odd cluster of boulders that formed a tiny cave. Isla gave her a little push, and squeezed into the cave beside her, then made a couple of motions in the air that Delia thought might be magical gestures.
Her guess was confirmed when her sister said, “There. Warded. Now—you have been very busy this morning asking questions, and not all about horse training.” She folded her legs and sat herself down in the moss and leaf-litter in the cavelet, patting the ground next to her. Gingerly, Delia joined her on the ground.
“Well,” she replied, looking into Isla’s gray eyes, “Something’s going on. How did you know I was asking questions?”
“Because Ceri is a Mindspeaker like me, and he told me,” she replied. “And now I have to make up my mind whether to tell you what’s happening, or ask you to stop asking questions. Either one creates problems, and I’m trying to decide which course is safest.”
“Safest for whom?” Delia retorted, feeling more than a bit impatient with her sister.
“Everyone. Literally almost everyone in this Duchy,” Isla replied sternly. “Including you. This isn’t some bit of gossip, this is something that puts the lives of everyone who knows about it, and plenty who don’t, in danger.”
“All the more reason to tell me,” Delia said, doing her best to sound calm, rational, and above all, trustworthy. “I want to help, and I happen to have a lot of free time. Right now, about the only responsibilities I have are to Star and my pony. I can take on more. A lot more. And I can go places and do things you and Kordas can’t, because I’m just the youngest daughter of a Baron with no Barony anymore, who doesn’t even have a good dower or astonishing good looks to her credit.”
Isla sat silently, looking at Delia as if she was weighing a lot of heavy options.
Although they were sisters, Delia really did not know that much about Isla. After all, they were nearly twelve years apart in age. Isla had been living at Valdemar since the age of thirteen, fostered there—supposedly—to learn the running of a manor from Kordas’s mother. She hadn’t even come home when their brother, a year older than Isla, had died while at the Capital. Delia had seen her only once between that time and when Kordas came to take her away to Valdemar, and that had been at her wedding to the Duke. They had been playing catch-up since then, but not as much as one might think, since Delia wasn’t particularly interested in learning how to run a manor, and had been left more or less to her own devices. Which, to be honest, consisted mostly of shadowing the manor Artificer as much as he would allow, and reading everything in the manor library.
So she had to assume that Isla also didn’t know as much about her as she would have preferred, given what she’d just said.
Finally her older sister spoke. “All right. You are never to talk to anyone about this except for me, Kordas, and Hakkon,” she said fiercely. “And only when we tell you that we’re safely under ward.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Delia replied meekly. This—fierceness—was a side of Isla she had never seen before.
“Not even the Circle,” Isla prompted. “Nor Jonaton, nor any other mage at Valdemar. Not unless they bring it up first.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Delia repeated. “But—they know this? What you’re going to tell me?”
“Yes, they do. But they have ways of knowing when it is safe to talk, and ways to make sure it is safe to talk, and you don’t.”
Not for the first time, Delia regretted her lack of mage-talent.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said for the third time, and followed it with, “I promise.”
“Delia, this is the kind of promise that you’d rather be maimed or exiled for, before giving it up. You need to be certain that you have that kind of strength. There are people in our world who’d treat us all like moths in their web the instant they knew. Are you sure?”
Delia felt Isla’s grip on her hands and knew this was nothing near a joke. She shuddered and responded, “I swear.”
“All right, then.” Isla sighed, leaning back, and her eyes lost focus. “We are escaping Imperial reach. We are taking as many allies and resources as we can with us, and it will probably be within the year.”
“What?” Delia stared at her sister. “But—where—how—why—”
“This was Kordas’s father’s plan,” Isla interrupted her. “He became convinced that no matter how small and insignificant we try to make ourselves look here, eventually the Emperor would give the Duchy to one of his favored underlings, or strip it bare of everything worth having. Valdemar isn’t essential to the Empire, but the Empire consumes all it can reach. Valdemar has hidden away as unimportant, but land is land, and if we aren’t stripped bare by the Empire, we’ll just be given away to someone the Emperor favors the moment he runs out of plums to pass out. This was begun, as a concept, before Kordas was even born.”
“But you’d have to go—” She was reasonably familiar with the maps of the known world, and the Empire was huge. She shook her head. “—you’d have to go far outside the borders of the Empire! And how would you cross all the land between us and there? I mean—” She tried to wrap her head around the idea of packing up thousands of people and all their worldly goods—and travel how? By wagon? That would take an impossible number of horses, mules, and oxen. And who would let such a caravan cross his lands? Could they go by canal? That was more feasible; after all, a Tow-Beast could haul as many as ten barges depending on what they were loaded with. But again, who would let such a caravan cross his lands? And then, once they got past the last of the canals, what would they do? They’d have to find a river or—
“We. You are part of this now. And as for how, by Gate,” said Isla. “Or, to be more specific, by barge and by water-Gate.”
“But that’s—”
“Hard, but not impossible. We needed to assemble trustworthy mages to build and lock Gates, then work out how to assemble a receiving-Gate far away. In the unknown. Last night, one of them not only worked out how to do it in theory, he worked out a link to an actual place.” Isla waited for that to sink in.
Delia’s mouth sagged slightly open with shock. Did this have anything to do with the earth trembling this morning? No, Ponu had said that it was something to do with the Capital, and she didn’t think he’d lie about that, and she was certain he was correct about his guess. But—
“But this is incredibly dangerous,” she protested. “Aside from if the Emperor finds out about it, it’s dangerous to do magic that requires that much power, and—where would we go, anyway?” All the choices seemed fraught. East past the Capital was nothing but ocean. North was cold and inhospitable and full of enemies of the Empire. South was worse; there was an active war going on down there right now. And West—every league that the Empire had moved westward had involved moving into lands where magic was unpredictable, into wilderness where there were monsters and other hazards—
“I told you. Very far west,” Isla said. “West, so far as we can tell, is mostly land that has gone wild. I know you’ve been in the library almost every day since you arrived here. You’ve read about that, surely?”
She nodded numbly. “B
ut—”
“As hungry as the Empire is, if that place is wild, that means it’s too costly for the Empire to expand into. The way things are going, Kordas sees it—and, word has it, the Foreseers, who have ever more distressing visions—it’s either be preyed upon by monsters there, or by the Emperor here,” her sister said, with a clenched jaw. “I’ll take the monsters. At least they’d be honest about destroying us.”
“But—” Delia began, then paused. “You say that Foreseers are making predictions? How would you know that? How would Kordas know what visions Foreseers have?”
Isla answered, “That, neither the Circle, nor Kordas, nor Hakkon will tell me. The most I know is that Kordas said something about salvage.”
Delia snapped her fingers. “‘What one layer knows, the second layer over on each side can’t learn,’ Ceri said earlier. The Circle seem like they’ve always been here, so they must be the mages that Kordas’s father wanted to gather. Now, they are Valdemaran, and nobody questions them being at the manor because—because they’ve always been there, to everyone alive now. And what each of us knows isn’t the same as what every ‘layer’ knows. None of us know the whole plan. Need to know, Dole said.”
“There are three things to do when someone is too close to keep a secret safely hidden. You can tell them nothing, which makes the person resentful or even more curious, and they dig where they shouldn’t. Another way is to tell them everything, which gives them too much knowledge of the whole, which makes it harder for them to maintain the self-control of keeping it all secret. The third option is what we’ve all agreed upon: tell enough that the person knows when to stop asking for details,” Isla confirmed. “Staying away from Court means more than just staying at an inconvenient distance for being stabbed. It means that none of the powerful players in Court recognize Valdemar’s ways as anything but plodding, weird, and harmless. And, since none of them could trust each other enough for a long-term, many-pieced plan to work, they don’t even think to look for one.” She jerked a thumb toward the manor. “Enough so that the Imperial spies think of Valdemar almost as a punishment assignment. Nothing apparently happens here. The highest-ranked spy in all of Valdemar is widely known as the highest-ranked spy in all of Valdemar, and he’s practically retired.”
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