The circular room had a conical roof and was forty feet in diameter. A solid moonbeam shone through two of the six arched windows, the silvery light glimmering off the symbol inlaid in the floor tiles. Books filled shelves between the windows. In the center of the room, a pen, a capped inkwell, and a scattering of papers rested on a massive table.
Godwin’s arm swept out. “This is my father’s study.”
“Where he practices magic?”
“Of course. Sometimes he even invites me to train with him.”
“Sometimes? Who teaches you magic then?”
Godwin frowned. Rhoa realized her mistake.
She hurriedly blurted, “I mean to say that my instructors are helpful, but my father never shares his work with me.”
“Well, my tutors are only licensed to teach two basic constructs. My father, however… He is ingenious and has even devised construct variations previously undiscovered.”
Feed his ego, Rhoa. Men appreciate such things. “You must be very proud.”
“Yes, of him and of my own progress. In fact, I intend to apply for entry to the University at Tiadd during the next recruiter visit.”
“At just fifteen?”
“It has been done before, but they rarely accept anyone younger than seventeen.”
She crooned, “Very impressive.”
Rhoa wished to turn the subject away from magic lest she be exposed. Her gaze shifted toward the moonlight and her eyes widened. “Is that the Enchanters’ Tower?” she asked as she strode toward the window.
“Yes.” He followed, settling a step behind her and just to the side.
He extended his palms in front of him, his brow furrowing. One hand twisted. The window latch wiggled, then snapped downward. The window swung open. Rhoa stared at it, wondering if she had made a bad choice.
What if he is more skilled with magic than I thought?
His hand gripped her hip. She prayed it would not move any lower.
“Among my father’s duties is to watch the enchanters,” Godwin whispered, “to ensure they remain out of Farrowen affairs.”
Five stories below, a wall separated the rear of Forca Manor from the street where a carriage was parked. Across that street, the tower loomed. Rhoa peered up toward the top, which was many stories above where she now stood. Despite being of a substantial diameter, the Enchanters’ Tower stretched over many stories, which made it appear ready to topple. Rhoa knew that would never happen. Like the rest of Marquithe, the tower was a Maker-built structure and had endured for millennia. It would likely remain intact after mankind was gone and forgotten.
In her research, Rhoa had also discovered a trick the Makers used when building towers like the one before her. Each row of blocks was inset slightly from the row below. This made the base of the tower larger than the uppermost floors. The difference was difficult to discern from a distance, and most people thought the narrowing at the top was nothing but their perception.
To the north, she spotted an even taller structure, a building large enough to house thousands. With tall spires and built upon the highest point, Marquithe Palace loomed over the great city, like a god itself. As always, a blue flame lit the top of the Tower of Devotion, the tallest building in the city.
Godwin leaned closer. His lips brushed her neck as his hand slipped around her waist. Rhoa stiffened, not wishing the boy to advance any further.
A bell tolled, and the fires in the palace tower grew into a furious, azure inferno. From the flame, beams of blue light shot out at various angles, connecting to similar towers in distant Farrowen cities. Bells rang across the city in response – a retreating echo relaying outward until the bells at the city gates chimed.
“Ugh,” Godwin groaned. “It seems we have been interrupted.” He released his arm from around her and beckoned as he stepped away from the window. “Come. Join me in Devotion.”
She turned toward him as he dropped to his knees, facing the palace tower to the north, and held his hands high in the air.
Blue light flickered on Godwin’s face as he chanted. “Bless us, Farrow. Guide us in your wisdom, protect us from harm, and grant Lord Malvorian with your power so he might lead us to a better tomorrow.”
He bowed low, prostrating himself, his hands and face touching the floor. Rhoa saw her chance, grabbed a thick book from the shelf, and lifted it high over her head. With all her might, she smashed the tome onto Godwin’s head as he rose from the floor. The impact jarred her shoulders, and the boy fell, face-first, to the tiles with a thud. When he didn’t move, Rhoa tossed the book onto the table and sighed.
Staring down at the prone teen, she muttered, “Why do I always attract the young, arrogant ones?”
2
Infiltrate
Rushing, Rhoa pulled her skirts down and kicked them off. She slipped her shoes off, happy to be free of their weight. The lead in the thick heels had made walking difficult and dancing nearly impossible. Still, the boy hadn’t noticed. Better yet, he had led her to the exact room she had hoped to locate.
She untied the rope secured about her waist, the coil of which had been hidden beneath the back of her skirts. With the ruffles, nobody would have noticed without touching her backside, something she suspected Godwin was close to attempting.
With the rope freed, she secured both weighted shoes to one end and tied the other to a leg of the heavy oak table. Then Rhoa pushed the table across the room until it settled beside the open window, having to circle the unconscious teen in the process. She leaned out the window with the coil of rope in one hand, the end with the shoes tied to it in the other. A whirring sound arose as she spun the rope and released it. The shoes went flying with the rope trailing, arcing over the wall to land on the street behind the carriage parked there. A bulky shadow slipped from the carriage and hurried to where the shoes had landed, squatting. Two tugs on the rope signaled Rhoa to reel it in.
She towed the rope into the room as quickly as possible. Devotion lasted only ten minutes, a small window of opportunity with little room for a misstep. Outside, the familiar rhythm of the chant hummed, the entire city in sync. Until Devotion was finished, everyone would be focused on the flaming tower – a welcome, albeit brief distraction.
When Rhoa reached the end of the rope, she pulled a pack with a crossbow attached to it into the room. Opening the pack, she dumped the contents onto the floor. She removed her tiara and stored it in the pack, replacing it with her Black Sparrow mask. The black mask covered the top of her head and the upper half of her face, leaving only holes for eyes. Gone were her cape and dress in favor of a tight, black vest and matching breeches. She put on the slippers of her trade – light and flexible, yet with excellent grip and could be worn on all but the roughest of surfaces. On each leg, she strapped a sheath, a protruding hilt covered by silvery symbols. Those sheaths held Rhoa’s most prized possessions.
Last, Rhoa unhooked the crossbow from her pack. With the weapon against the floor, she stepped on the two crosspieces and gripped the string. A grunt slipped out as she drew the bowstring back and latched it onto the release mechanism. She then tied the rope to the eyelet of a grappling hook and placed the shaft of the hook into the channel of the crossbow. Moving to the window, she set the coil of rope on the sill and took aim.
The tower across the street was windowless until the fifth floor, which was twenty feet below her position since the tower was downhill from Forca Manor. She took a calming breath and focused, knowing she only had time for one shot. The window she targeted was tall and narrow, a dark spot amidst stone that appeared pale gray in the moonlight. With little wind to disturb her shot, she aimed above the open window and hoped the hook would not fall farther than expected.
She squeezed the trigger and the projectile launched forward, the recoil sending her stumbling backward. The hook and rope sailed across the street and dropped toward the window. It struck the ledge with a clang and bounced once before dropping in. Relieved, Rhoa pulled the rope until it gre
w taut. The hook caught on the ledge and snapped tight.
Rhoa tightened the rope around a table leg, scooped up her pack, and climbed onto the windowsill. She glanced down at a drop that could kill her, likely leaving quite a mess. Some people feared heights and precarious positions such as this. Rhoa had been raised to embrace them.
She looped the leather strap attached to her pack over the rope, gripped one end in each hand, and leapt outward. The thrill of falling lasted for less than a breath as she sailed toward the wall below. When the strap caught on the rope, she swung her legs forward, boosting her momentum. She slid down the rope, the tower racing toward her. She passed over the carriage where Juliam stood, watching. The street below raced by, and she lifted her legs, bracing herself for a collision. Her feet struck the wall, and she bent her knees with the impact. Still, the stop was jarring, and her feet slipped, leaving her dangling by her pack five stories up.
She gathered both ends of the strap into one hand and reached down for the hilt on her right thigh. The fulgur blade came free, the hilt at a forty-five-degree angle from the blade, the blade itself rounded down the shaft and pointed at the tip. With an overhand swing and her arm extended as far as possible, she drove the blade into the stone in a splash of blue sparks. She pulled herself up, released the pack, and reached her other hand toward the window ledge. The pack fell toward the street while Rhoa pulled herself up. One arm draped over the windowsill, she pressed her thumb against the pommel of her knife and pulled it free. She then drove it into the top of the ledge and hauled herself inside.
Panting from exertion, she yanked her blade from the ledge and sheathed it. A few kicks freed the grappling hook, which flipped out the window and dropped to the street with a clatter. She turned toward the dark interior and listened.
Above the thumping of her own heart was the rumble of men’s voices. Pale, amber light of an enchanted wall sconce illuminated the landing where she stood. A curved stairwell ran in both directions, a closed door in front of her. Ascending, she crept up the stairs, her slippered steps silent.
The stairwell continued upward, past other landings with closed doors, ending at a door stained dark green, silver bolts lining the boards between each panel. Rhoa tested the handle. It turned, but the door would not budge. She drew her blade and jammed it into the lock in a spray of sparks, destroying it. A second thrust between the lock and the frame severed the bolt, and she pushed the door open.
The room inside was lit by globes of blue light dangling from the ceiling. Workbenches, chairs, bookshelves, and various hand tools filled the space. On the far wall was a large fireplace with black metal pots, crucibles, and a stack of silver bars. Rhoa crossed the room, staring at the silver with longing.
One bar would be worth more than I earn in a year. However, she wasn’t here for anything so mundane. Focus, Rhoa.
After forcing herself to look elsewhere, she noticed a necklace with a large ruby. The parchment beside it included a series of symbols and lines she didn’t understand. The Hassakani heading on the paper was a different story.
Enchantment of Beguiling. She snorted. Someone paid dearly for that one.
Her gaze lifted from the table, and she noticed another door, hidden in shadow. She approached it. Locked. A few thrusts with her blade left holes where the lock had been, and the door popped open. She put her palm on it and drew back when a flicker of red light danced along the surface. She reached for the door again. Another flicker, but she felt nothing. It opened to a dark stairwell leading upward. She followed it, one hand trailing along the curved wall as she ascended in silence.
On the next level, she came upon a landing beside an unlocked door. Inside was a storage room filled with shelves, crates, and various devices. The man who had informed her of the amulet also told her where the enchanted items were stored – most rooms holding items waiting for the right buyer, one special room for those too dangerous to be allowed loose on the world. The item she sought would be in that special room at the top of the tower.
She pulled the door closed and continued her ascent.
3
A Job of a Different Sort
When Devotion ended, Jerrell “Jace” Landish exited the kitchen in the Enchanters’ Tower. He balanced a tray of steaming plates on one hand while ascending the curved stairwell, careful not to trip on the hem of his skirts. He neither enjoyed wearing a dress nor appreciated the itchy wig. However, a job was a job, and this one required him to play a woman, which he had done before.
He had worked as a maid for a full week before he earned the trust of Headmistress Harriett Mikan and was allowed access to the fifth level of the tower. The frustrating woman ran the all-female staff with an iron fist. During his first six days, Jace had been relegated to the tower’s lower levels, serving the guards, smiths, apprentices, and the few master enchanters who visited those floors. He wasn’t overly patient by nature, and some jobs tested his limits. This one had already pushed his patience and restraint close to the edge, reaching the pinnacle during his first visit to the masters’ common room on the fifth floor earlier that day.
Enchanters, Jace thought. The whole lot of them can leap from the top floor for all I care.
Quick hands and a deft ability to dodge had saved him from numerous situations that could have evolved from uncomfortable to downright awkward.
Who knew the men here were so lecherous? Jace’s buttock was bruised because of a lewd old man who had pinched him while he was serving lunch. Perhaps it’s because they are trapped in this building.
Jace wasn’t the only servant who suffered the attention of the dirty old men in the tower. The women he worked with whispered similar complaints. Earning the headmistress’s trust had offered him the chance to serve on the fifth floor, but he now knew why the other girls avoided the upper floors and why the job paid so well. However, Jace was here to fulfill a job of a different sort.
Still climbing the stairs, he reached the fifth level and paused to glance out the window. The manor across the street was lit brightly, the low hum of a party audible. He shook his head.
The royalty have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. I bet I could walk into that place, steal as much as I could carry, and nobody would know the difference.
He sighed inwardly, turned toward the door, and knocked.
A man’s voice called out. “Come in.”
Opening the door, Jace stepped in and announced in a high voice, “Dinner is ready, Masters.”
“Ah, you’ve returned with another meal,” said an old man with bushy gray eyebrows and a beard to match. His eyes traveled the length of Jace’s body, his lecherous grin betraying his thoughts.
“Yes. Dinner. You may have heard of it,” Jace replied in a high voice, wincing when he realized his mistake. Remember, you are a servant.
The man grinned. “My, you are a feisty one. What was your name again?”
“It’s Janice, Master.”
“Call me Olberon.” He gestured for Jace to walk in farther. “Please, set the food on the table.”
Nine men sat around the table, which was covered with papers scrawled in Hassakani, a language unknown to Jace.
“Yes, Master Olberon,” Jace replied in his woman’s voice.
Jace approached the table, his eyes continuously flicking to Olberon. The man was known to be the worst of the bunch, a significant achievement. When Jace leaned forward to set the tray down, he felt Olberon’s hand against the back of his thigh and sliding upward. Jace shrieked and swatted at the man weakly as he danced away.
“Master! What are you doing?”
Olberon chuckled. “Just a bit of fun. No harm in it, Janice.”
The other men grinned, one of them patting his lap and saying, “Please, sit with us for a while.”
Jace noticed the man’s eyes focused on his chest as he spoke, which left him regretting his choice of fruit he used to fill out his bust. I should have used oranges instead of grapefruit. Another thought occurre
d to him. At least I avoided melons…
“We don’t see many pretty women in this place,” said Master Penda. At fifty-something, he was one of the younger masters.
“I appreciate the offer,” Jace said, covering his face shyly, “but I must be going. Mistress Mikan has much for me to do.”
Jace hurried to the door while the men at the table laughed. Once on the landing, he rushed up the stairs before anyone saw him. He only hoped nobody was in the upper floors at this time of night. It had taken days for him to discover what was located on each floor and where his target might be stored.
The basement was where the blacksmiths worked, forging items from metal according to drawings supplied by the enchanters. The retail shop located above it displayed common enchanted items for purchase. It was also where special orders were placed. Behind the shop were the barracks, housing the guards who protected the tower. The kitchen and food stores occupied the second floor. The servants, like himself, also slept on that level. Although his room was tiny, barely larger than a closet, Jace had slept in much worse. The fourth floor was where the eighteen apprentice enchanters lived. The entirety of the fifth floor was the masters’ common room, where they met to discuss theories on enchantments and to share discoveries…when they weren’t harassing the female staff. Those same masters lived in apartments on floors six through nine, each floor housing three masters. Olberon, the man in charge of the tower, lived in an apartment occupying the entire tenth floor.
Running past the door to Olberon’s apartment, Jace continued to the next level and slowed. The door to the workshop stood open a crack, soft light from within seeping through. The lock was damaged, a hole punched through it, the edges charred and blackened. Upon closer examination, he noticed a similar hole in the frame and the remains of a broken bolt still inside it.
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