Flamecaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Strangward’s gaze flicked over each person as they were named. Then he turned to look at Lila and Ash, who stood off to one side. “You left out these two,” he said, pointing.

  “Those two are . . . ah . . .” It was clear that Fosnaught had no idea how to describe their role in this meeting.

  Destin Karn came to the rescue. “This is Lila Barrowhill, an expert in weaponry and logistics. Adam Freeman is a member of our Royal Guild of Healers.”

  “Do you anticipate that there will be a need for a healer?” the emissary asked, looking around, as if to spot the afflicted. “Or do you always keep one standing by?”

  “Freeman is here to answer any questions that might come up about the health of the girl,” Karn said.

  The emissary cocked his head, studying Karn. “You are a mage,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

  Karn seemed unusually skittish for some reason. He looked to the king for guidance, received none, then said, “Yes, Lord Strangward, I am.”

  “And so are you,” Strangward said to Ash. “How curious.” He turned back to Montaigne. “I had not expected to see mages made so welcome at court. You see, I had heard that you burn the gifted in Arden. I am so relieved to learn that I was misled.”

  For a long moment, nobody had anything to say. Ash bit his lip to prevent amusement from crawling onto his face.

  Finally, Father Fosnaught cleared his throat. “We are people of faith, Lord Strangward, and well aware of the dangers of demonic influence. In certain situations, in which certain mages violate the tenets of the church, they are examined by the Hand. If found to be corrupted, they are cleansed by the flame.”

  “Cleansed?” Strangward raised an eyebrow.

  “Cleansed,” Fosnaught repeated. When Strangward kept looking at him, as if puzzled, he snapped, “We burn them.”

  “And so then they are dead?”

  “But cleansed. And, therefore, saved.”

  “Fascinating,” Strangward said, rubbing his chin.

  Fosnaught fondled the keys to the kingdom that hung at his belt. “What religion do you practice in the Northern Islands, if I may ask?”

  “In the east, the empress is the religion,” Strangward said. “She is not one to share power, not even with the gods.” He turned back to Ash. “Why is it that you—and these guardsmen—wear metal collars? Is it a mark of rank, or personal fashion, or do you belong to a particular tribe that—?”

  “That’s enough!” Montaigne roared, having reached the end of his patience. “If you would like, Emissary, we can assign one of our clerics to explain to you some of our customs,” he said testily. “My time is limited, however, and I would like to proceed to the main topic of this meeting, that is, an agreement between the empress and ourselves.” He gestured to a grouping of chairs. “You may sit.”

  The emissary sat, thrusting his legs out in front of him, but his companions remained standing. “Forgive me,” he said. “Where I come from, it often takes several days of tay drinking and storytelling to get down to business. I can see that your habits are different, and clearly much more . . . efficient.”

  The emissary had an oddly formal and self-deprecating manner of speaking, and yet hidden in every line was a rather sharp point.

  Fosnaught, Botetort, and Karn sat as well. Lila and Ash remained standing, while Montaigne stayed where he was, on the dais, with his guard of blackbirds around him.

  “I appreciate your seeing me at what must be a busy time, given the events in the north,” Strangward said.

  Montaigne’s eyes narrowed. “What events?”

  “The loss of Delphi must have been a blow, given its importance as a source of iron and steel.”

  “News travels fast, it seems,” Montaigne said, pretending to straighten his cuffs.

  “Bad news, especially. That’s the way of the world, I’m afraid.”

  He’s laying the groundwork for a better deal, Ash thought, with grudging admiration. You need us, is what he’s saying.

  “Delphi is a miserable place to campaign in the winter,” Botetort said. “We’ll clear out the rebels when the weather warms.”

  “Of course,” Strangward nodded politely. “Unfortunately, the northerners do not seem to mind the cold.” He sighed. “So much trouble with the Fells.” The words were delivered carelessly, but the smile had bite.

  “If the witch queen has captured Delphi,” Montaigne said, “she won’t hold it for long. War is a constant series of advances and retreats.”

  “I agree,” Strangward said. “In that sense, warfare is like the course of true love. You’ve been knocking on this queen’s door for a good long time, yet she will not open the gate.”

  Blood and bones, Ash thought. Strangward knows that my mother spurned Montaigne’s offer of marriage a quarter century ago. He’s done his research, and he is not afraid to go for the throat. Poking the king of Arden is a dangerous game.

  But perhaps Strangward was dangerous, too. There was something that lay beneath his calm and undecorated exterior, some elemental power that rippled the surface like a serpent swimming in a quiet pond. Strangward bled confidence, as if he knew that, despite his almost frail appearance, he was the deadliest predator in the room.

  What would that mean for Jenna? If this is the emissary, what must the empress be like?

  “Your point is . . . ?” Montaigne’s voice penetrated the ear like slivers of ice.

  “My point is, perhaps we can help . . . move things along.”

  “We had specifically discussed an army,” Montaigne said. “While your personal guard is no doubt highly skilled, six soldiers will hardly suffice.”

  “The empress worried that the sudden appearance of a foreign army would be poorly received in the absence of an agreement,” Strangward said. “Celestine will want to see the magemarked girl before she makes that kind of commitment. If she is the one the empress is seeking, make no mistake, the army will come.” Strangward leaned forward. “Now. You refer to her as a girl. How old is she?”

  “Perhaps sixteen or seventeen,” Karn said.

  “Ah,” Strangward said, his face unreadable. “Is she gifted?”

  Karn shook his head. “No. At least . . . not in the usual way.”

  “Meaning?”

  “She is not a mage.” And then, as if realizing he should make a better pitch, added, “However, she may have other gifts that have not yet . . . made themselves apparent.”

  Ash frowned. Karn was not his usual smooth self. His face gleamed with sweat, and he kept fingering his amulet and looking from the king to the emissary as if unsure who his audience was.

  The king shifted restlessly in his seat, looking more and more annoyed at Karn’s clumsy attempts to make the sale. “Given that the empress was the one who asked us to find the demon-marked girl, perhaps you should tell us why she is of value,” Montaigne said.

  Evan Strangward sat back in his chair, putting the tips of his fingers together. “The empress does not share her motivations with me. She is, however, a collector of sorts, with an appetite for the arcane and the exotic.” He paused again, tilting his head, so the light caught his golden earring. “Perhaps that’s all it is.”

  Ash struggled to keep the revulsion off his face. Jenna was being discussed like she was a rare piece of art, to be put on display.

  “You expect me to believe that your empress is willing to trade an army for a tavern wench with a blemish?”

  “Before too much time passes you will meet Celestine in person,” Strangward said, and to Ash’s ears, it sounded like a threat. “It is likely that all of your questions will be answered then. In the meantime, when may I see the girl?”

  “Why not now?” Montaigne said. He nodded to Greenberry. “Tell Fleury and DeJardin to fetch her.”

  35

  OFF TO MARKET

  Two servants—Treece and Nettie—came early to ready Jenna for market. They brought a made-to-measure dress in purple silk shot through with silver and gold. They helped he
r into it, which was a good thing, because it fit like a dandy’s breeches. At least the skirt flared enough that she could walk.

  “Purple is a good color for you,” Treece said.

  “The gold matches your eyes, my lady,” Nettie said.

  Jenna didn’t argue. She sat numbly while they fussed with her hair. It took them a long while, and they argued quite a bit. She guessed that they weren’t top-shelf when it came to chambermaids, but good enough for her. Her hair had been mostly under cover for the past four years, so she wasn’t exactly up to the minute on style. In the end, they pinned it up on the top of her head like a princess in a fairy tale.

  “I look like a Solstice cake,” Jenna complained when they were finished.

  “Well,” Treece said, “everybody likes Solstice cakes.”

  Nettie couldn’t figure out why Jenna wasn’t more cheerful, since she was getting all dressed up. “Look at this, my lady,” she said, displaying a necklace of amethyst and pearls. “Lovely, in’t it?” When she went to fasten it around Jenna’s neck, she sucked in her breath and fingered the magemark on the back of her neck. “That’s lovely, too,” she said. “It’s like you’ve got a permanent brooch on.”

  That was one way to think of it.

  When they decided she was ready, an escort of blackbirds took her downstairs. She thought she was going to meet the emissary right then, but instead they took her to a tiny room on the main floor, not much more than a closet with a single bed and a washstand and mirror.

  “This is the gentleman butler’s quarters,” DeJardin said, pausing in the doorway. He was the kindest of the king’s blackbirds. “It’s right next to the king’s suite. We’ll come get you when it’s time.”

  Jenna wondered where the gentleman butler was. There was scarcely room to pace, so it was good she’d brought a book along.

  She opened her book, but it was hard to concentrate. She didn’t even know what to worry about, because she had no idea why an empress would put out a warrant on her.

  Flamecaster!

  Jenna flinched and looked around. The room was as empty as before.

  I starve in the dark.

  “Where are you?” she whispered to the empty room.

  Nothing.

  Don’t be a loon, Jenna thought, refocusing on the page. She’d been seeing visions all her life. Voices—that was new.

  Flamecaster. Help me.

  “Shut up,” she hissed. Maybe that was a long-term effect of the poison. It made you lose your mind.

  The door to the room slammed open, and Jenna jumped. It was DeJardin and Fleury.

  “Who’re you talking to?” Fleury demanded, looking around.

  “Nobody,” Jenna said.

  Fleury scowled, but he couldn’t exactly argue the point.

  DeJardin bowed his head, as if she were a lady, and he was her escort to a party. “It’s time to go, my lady.” He leaned closer. “Take courage.”

  The room, as he’d said, was right next door. As soon as she walked in, she was smacked by a dozen sensations. The scent of food and greenery, sweat and salt water. Her heart stumbled when she spotted Adam against the wall in green velvet, his expression grim, his eyes like twin bruises. Next to him stood a young woman in a blue overdress and dark skirt, someone Jenna didn’t know. Also Destin Karn, a crow of Malthus, a richly dressed thane, and the king.

  The king! She took a second look. The image was still there. In place of the king’s head was a grinning skull.

  Her heart began to thump. What did it mean? Was it because the king was so often the agent of death? Or did it mean that Montaigne was not long for this world? She prayed with everything she had for the latter.

  She struggled to focus on the rest of the room. Facing off with the Ardenines were a half dozen exotically dressed foreigners. All glowed as red as a toper’s nose except for one: a fair-haired mage with a cocky look and a blue-white aura.

  Karn ushered her forward, his sweaty hand between her shoulder blades. “This is Jenna Bandelow,” he said, “the girl with the magemark.”

  Karn didn’t bother to introduce anyone to Jenna, but the fair-haired mage walked toward her, smiling, hands extended, so she guessed he must be the emissary.

  “That’s close enough,” Adam said, planting himself between them. Jenna hadn’t even seen him coming.

  The stranger stopped an arm’s length away, looking amused. “I thought you were the healer,” he said to Adam. “Are you the chaperone, too?”

  “I’m the king’s expert on magical threats,” Adam said.

  “Creating them or preventing them?”

  “Both. You can look, but don’t touch.”

  “Ah,” Strangward said. “Good to know the . . . parameters.” He stepped past Adam until he stood face-to-face with Jenna, two scant feet away. “I am looking, healer,” he called over his shoulder. “Not touching.” He refocused on Jenna. “I’m Evan Strangward, Emissary of Celestine, Empress in the East,” he said.

  Jenna said nothing, just stood, clutching her skirts to either side. Should she say she was pleased to meet him when she wasn’t?

  Strangward nodded gravely, as if acknowledging a greeting from her. “I’m told you have a magemark on the back of your neck. May I see it?”

  Feeling as trapped as a butterfly pinned to a board, Jenna looked around the circle of faces, at grim-faced Adam Wolf, and sweating Destin Karn, the blackbirds with their weapons, the scruffily exotic Carthians, the king and the thane and the mages. Every eye was fixed on her.

  She remembered her conversation with poor Riley on the way to the mines years ago. She’d told him that her magemark meant that she was powerful, and destined for great things. She didn’t feel powerful now. How did a coal miner from Delphi end up here?

  “No,” she said, swallowing hard, claiming the only power she could.

  The king motioned impatiently to his blackbirds, and as they moved toward her, the emissary said, “Please, Jenna.”

  Jenna looked up in surprise. There was something in Strangward’s green eyes—something that might have been sympathy.

  “All right,” she said, swallowing hard, “as long as you say please.” She turned, bowing her head so he could get a good look. She felt the burn of his scrutiny, the slow release of his breath in a sigh, as if this confirmed something. Was that good news or bad news?

  “Thank you,” he said, taking a half step back. “What have you been told about the mark?”

  She turned to look at him. “That I would be hunted and killed for it,” she said.

  The emissary’s lips tightened. “Anything else?” he persisted.

  “No.”

  “Are there any other markings on you?”

  “A few scars is all,” she said. She lifted her chin. “What does the empress want with me?”

  “I don’t know,” Strangward said.

  Jenna studied him, trying and failing to conjure up an image. He wasn’t exactly lying, but— “You’re afraid of her, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Anyone who is not afraid of the Empress Celestine is a fool,” Strangward said. He turned back to the king. “I should like to interview the girl in private,” he said.

  Jenna was afraid to look at Adam. She could scent his rage and frustration from across the room.

  “You can do that after the trade is made,” Montaigne said. “If it is made. We still have not seen this weapon we’ve heard so much about.”

  “Very well,” the emissary said. “Let’s go see it. Who is coming?”

  What was it about this girl that made her important? Lila still didn’t know. True, she was striking, with her brilliant, multihued hair and golden eyes, but her features were not classically beautiful. She’d not had a close look at the marking, but it likely wouldn’t have helped anyway. Lila was no scholar, after all, and even the scholars seemed stumped. From what everyone said, she had an unimpressive, random collection of gifts.

  So what explained this empress’s fixation on her? True, y
ou could never tell what random person or thing a blueblood might obsess about. Or was this some kind of massive hoax? If it was, Lila couldn’t see the point.

  She’d know more after seeing the empress’s weapon. Lila was among a handpicked trio that boarded the emissary’s sailing dinghy to travel out to the main ship for a look—Destin Karn, Botetort, and Lila. She guessed Ash would have liked to come, but he was not invited, and the girl, Jenna, was returned to her cell.

  The king of Arden, of course, remained on shore with his guard. You could call us the expendables, Lila thought.

  Strangward cast off the line and leapt aboard, while the big man, Teza Von, raised the sail. They worked well together, as if they’d done this a thousand times before. This was the oddest team of diplomats that Lila had ever seen.

  The emissary touched his amulet, the sails filled, and off they went, even though they were traveling in the opposite direction than they had before.

  Destin was still jumpy as a cat. Finally, he found a spot on a bench and sat there, knee bouncing, gripping his jinxpiece.

  What’s with you? Lila thought.

  Botetort stood at the rail, staring out at the waves. He showed no inclination to chat with a pirate, so Lila filled the void.

  “You seem to be a skilled sailor,” Lila said, looking up at the taut sails.

  “I was raised on a ship,” Strangward said, squinting his eyes against the spray.

  “You must have been a useful person to have around.”

  Strangward laughed. “To some people, maybe. To others, not so much.”

  “Is this the first time the empress has gone looking for someone with the magemark? Or does she keep an entire stable of such people?”

  Strangward looked away. “No. She does not keep a stable of such people.”

  Lila couldn’t help thinking that the emissary’s words were carefully chosen.

  Then again, he was an emissary.

  They were coming up alongside the vessel. The sails slackened, and Von caught a line tossed down to them from above. A ladder followed, the iron rungs clanking against the side of the ship.

  Here, in the main channel, the wind picked up, and the climb from the waterline to the lowest deck was terrifying. Botetort, especially, seemed relieved to reach the deck.