Gram and Matthew both stood, but Karen caught Matt’s sleeve. “Eat your soup. Going hungry won’t help. Whatever happened was likely days ago.”
Cyhan agreed, “Besides, if you step through that portal in a rush, you’re likely to lose your head. They’ll probably have it heavily guarded, and Sir Harold is sometimes a little too quick with his sword.”
“What if it was Moira?” offered Irene. “Suppose she lost and had to escape. Maybe Tyrion had the Queen issue an order for her arrest.”
“That might explain propping the door to the portal open, but not damaging the teleportation circles,” Matthew pointed out. “Tyrion doesn’t know the keys to the circles here. I’m not even sure he knows how to create a teleportation circle at all. The enchantment was devised long after his time.”
“He knows,” said Lynaralla. “Mordecai taught him.”
Angry, Elaine stood up, nearly knocking her chair over. “Why would he do that? He hated the man! Lynn, are you sure that’s true?” When the She’Har woman nodded, Elaine sat back down. “How stupid could he be?” she muttered, before adding more loudly, “Do you think Tyrion could have learned the keys here?”
“Possibly,” answered Lynaralla. “He checked on Moira while she was staying here at least once. It’s possible he could have looked at them during that time.”
“So we can’t be sure who came here,” said Irene, summing things up. “Or who they were running from.”
“Don’t forget about Gareth Gaelyn,” reminded Sir Cyhan. “He’s made no secret of his stance on Moira’s right to keep breathing.”
Matthew shook his head. “That’s true, but he’s respected Father’s decision this long. I don’t think he’d try to do something to her on his own.”
“Your father is gone,” said Cyhan. “Gareth is capable of worse than that if he believes in his cause.”
As though he had suddenly remembered his hunger, Matthew began eating. “Fine,” he mumbled around a mouthful of soup.
“What does that mean?” asked Karen, her exasperation showing on her face.
Swallowing, he answered quickly before shoveling another spoonful in. “We’ll have to go to Albamarl. Speculating will prove nothing.”
Everyone else had already finished their bowls, but they were forced to wait while Matthew ate, for he refused to say more. To make matters worse, his idea of eating quickly was infuriatingly slow. So much so that Cyhan began to laugh quietly to himself, while the others argued among themselves.
Ten minutes later, Matt carefully placed his spoon on the table and raised his head to stare at them. The conversation stilled as they saw his eyes fade from silver back to blue again. “I was using my time productively,” said Matthew. “We’ll rest tonight. Tomorrow morning Karen will take Cyhan, Zephyr, and me with her to the capital. The portal would probably be safe, but there’s a slightly higher risk taking that path.”
“And me,” announced Irene.
Matthew blinked to keep his eyes from going damp. She looks so much like Mom when she’s being stubborn, he thought silently. Then he nodded. “And you, Rennie.”
His sister seemed surprised by his quick acceptance, then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You already knew I was going to argue about it.”
Matt fought to conceal a smirk. “I lost the argument. It’s easier to skip the fight.”
Irene stood, her mouth making a wide ‘o’ that combined both shock and irritation. “Oh, oh, oh! No, we’re having the fight! I have as much right to go as you do. She’s my sister, and Conall’s there too.”
Her brother bowed his head in acknowledgment. “You’re right.”
“But you’d prefer to keep me here, since it might be dangerous,” Irene insisted. “How is that fair?”
“It isn’t,” he agreed.
Irene glared at him. “You should at least be honest! Why can’t you say what you’re feeling?”
Matthew sighed. “Obviously, you already know exactly what I’m feeling, and I already know you won’t be dissuaded. Can’t we leave it at that?”
Cyhan, Gram, and Alyssa were already laughing at the argument that wasn’t, but Irene was incensed. She started toward her brother, until Elaine grabbed her by the shoulders. “Let me go,” said Irene half-heartedly. “I want to wipe that smug look off of his face.”
Sir Cyhan leaned over to Gram and told him, “Be ready to leave with them tomorrow.”
Confused, Gram replied, “I thought he said you were going.”
The veteran warrior only chuckled. “I was thinking of telling him you’d be a better choice, younger, faster, better armor.” He glanced at Matt and winked. “But he already knows that.”
They separated after that, with each attending to their own needs. Irene headed for the workshop, and when asked, her only response was, “I have something to finish. Something I started before everything went crazy.”
Chapter 24
In a place that wasn’t a place, I sat and pondered. How long I had been there, I had no idea. Time was too vague. Sometimes it passed in a blur, and at others the world would slow to a creep so sluggish that I could only stare in wonder at raindrops hanging in the air. It obeyed my will when I focused on it, but my mind was occupied by many things, too many to keep a close watch on time.
Brigid. That was the thought that plagued me now. Was she real? I had watched my ancestor’s escape from Albamarl, and while I had been tempted to destroy the man after Harold’s death, at some point I had been moved by pity.
Seeing Tyrion so close to death as he pitifully made his way down the mountain had reminded me too much of my own past. How often was I like that, alone, friendless, and dying?
It had only been an impulse, a thought that came to me from my ancestor’s memories, Brigid, the raven-haired warrior daughter. And yet, she had appeared. This must be a dream, I decided.
“It is,” said the stranger who appeared suddenly beside me. This time she wore a different face, but I recognized her anyway, or him. It was the self-named god of reality.
The god frowned as if sensing my thoughts. “I told you, I prefer ‘author’ or ‘dreamer.’ ‘God’ implies too much control.”
I ignored the woman’s mild rebuke, focusing instead on her previous statement. “Is this your dream or mine?”
There was a twinkle in the dreamer’s eye. “They’re the same.”
“What does that mean?”
“I am waning, dwindling—while you are growing, but until it’s over we’re connected. You began as part of my dream, now I am becoming a part of yours,” explained the god.
Frustrated, I asked her directly, “Was that you? Did you bring her back from the dead?”
The woman smiled, her face was aging even as she stared back at me. “Brigid is still dead, but for a while she was alive. That was your doing, not mine.”
“But I didn’t want that,” I protested.
The dreamer laughed, growing young again, her grey hair shifting to a soft brown. “It isn’t a matter of wanting. It’s a matter of whim, not conscious decision. Right now, you may still be able to do things of your own volition, but as your power grows it will change. Your conscious desires will only last as long as you keep them in mind, but your subconscious thoughts will begin to gain permanent substance.”
I thought about that for a while before responding. “So my thoughts can affect reality? I can change the dream?”
“This is still my dream,” said the woman, her skin darkening until it was a deep brown. “Your conscious thoughts and whims can have some effect, but only to a certain degree. Eventually, when your power surpasses my own, you’ll fall asleep and your newborn dream will rip mine to shreds.”
“Sleep? I’m going to sleep?” I asked. “That’s not quite how I pictured it.”
“I’m slumbering,” said the dreamer, “as I have for all of eternity. All of this is a dream, but dreams aren’t so bad.”
I wasn’t buying it. “If that’s true, why do you want to die?
You could halt this. I’ve figured that out already. You could take the power from me, if you wanted it.”
The author’s eyes showed a hint of hidden pain, but it disappeared as quickly as I spotted it, replaced by a smiling face. “I’ve seen too much,” answered the god. “I’m tired and I want to forget. Only you can give me that.”
***
The sun dipped low in the west, making the haze from the ocean seem to catch fire. Sunsets were one of Rose’s favorite things about Iverly, and she sighed as she sipped from a porcelain cup. “The tea could be better, though,” she intoned dryly. “Still, it’s improved since last I was here.”
She had visited frequently on summer trips when she was much younger. Back then the only thing she had found to complain about was the poor quality of Iverly’s tea, but Mordecai’s World Road had drastically improved trade. She made a mental note to thank him if she ever saw him again. Her jaw clenched at the thought. “When,” she said firmly. “I will see him again.”
Pushing her dark thoughts aside, she stretched languorously, extending her legs the full length of the cushioned divan. It was positioned outside on the veranda, which made her feel absolutely decadent, and slightly guilty.
The past week had given her a chance to recover from her ordeals while traveling alone. Her aches and pains were gone, though she could still feel her ribs a little too clearly through the fabric of her gown. Not that she wanted to become plump, but near starvation had caused her wrinkles to deepen. I’m at an age where a little extra is better than not enough, she thought ruefully.
A bell rang inside the small house, loud enough to be heard even where Rose reclined. After a moment, a young woman with a rather sharp, almost pinched nose appeared, wearing a stiff cotton dress. It was Mary, the house maid she had hired.
“Who is it?” asked Rose.
Mary’s face showed her distaste clearly. “It’s him again, mistress.”
Rose fought to conceal a smile. She knew who the young woman was referring to, but she asked anyway, “Him?”
“The vermin,” answered Mary as though she might spit before saying the man’s name.
“Let him in,” ordered Rose, “and bring him out here. Be polite.” He’s paying the bills after all, she thought to herself.
A minute or so later a slender man appeared, dressed in dark leather and wearing a black velvet cap. He gave a perfunctory bow that was just barely passable. “I see you’re enjoying yourself,” observed the Roach.
Rose gave him a sharp look. “And I see your fashion sense is just as stunted as your height. Didn’t I tell you to dress better before visiting? You look like a cross between an assassin and a dandy.”
Irritation flashed across the Roach’s features before disappearing. “I am what I am,” he replied. “None of your new neighbors saw me approach your door in any case.”
The rogue sighed. “Ahh, I never get tired of your sharp words. I suppose the old adage about roses and their thorns is true, Lady Angela.”
Her eyes narrowed at the indirect threat to her identity. “Careful with your words. I may decide to rethink the nature of our arrangement.” She waited until his face blanched slightly before asking, “Do you have news, or is Tom wanting me for another of his parlor games?”
The Roach recovered his composure quickly, smiling as he replied, “I believe you’ve poisoned that well. You won too much at the last game. I have news.”
Rose waved her hand at him, encouraging him to speak.
“One of your suggestions may be bearing fruit,” said the rogue, “though it’s too early to say for sure.”
“Which one?” asked Rose, arching one brow.
“The dressmaker. My men spoke to several over the past week and one seemed to have a possible lead, although she refused to divulge her information. We’ve been watching her over the last few days.”
“And?”
“We had planned to follow her clients, but today a rather interesting fellow showed up at her shop. One of my men followed him but wound up being ambushed instead,” explained the master thief.
Rose frowned. “I thought your men were skilled,” she noted disparagingly.
“This one wasn’t one of my best, but he was good,” said the Roach. “He was caught, and the stranger tried to interrogate him. He tried to escape and nearly died. I don’t think he gave away any information. The city guard caught wind of their scuffle before the man could finish him off. They’re still hunting the fellow, but I suspect they won’t find him.”
Intrigued, Rose sat up straight. “How does this help us?”
The Roach held up two fingers. “Two ways. First, while the city watch probably won’t find him, my people will spot him sooner or later. I have eyes on every street and corner. When he emerges from his hole, we’ll know it. Second, we found this.” With his other hand, he held up a small scrap of paper, then offered it to her.
Rose scanned it quickly, her eyes lighting up. “An address? You think this might be it?”
The thief nodded. “The man was carrying a bundle. We think he somehow convinced the dressmaker to give him her information and allow him to deliver her products to the customer. He likely lost it while he was fighting.”
“It’s not far from here,” observed Rose. “We need to confirm this quickly. The man you met was almost certainly a bounty hunter or mercenary of some sort.” Overtaken by nervous energy, she rose from her seat. “Let me change. We can go now.”
The Roach held up one hand. “No need to rush. You’ll only give yourself away if you move with too much haste. I’ve set men to watch the house, my best men. They’ll take care of the bounty hunter if he’s foolish enough to show himself. Once they’ve confirmed that two women are living there, we can make contact with them.”
Frustrated, Rose found herself pacing. That’s my daughter! she wanted to yell, but she wasn’t foolish enough to give away her precise relation to Carissa in front of the Roach. He might just decide the target was valuable enough to use as a hostage against her. Only fear kept him under control. If the assassin thought he had leverage strong enough to protect him against even a presumed mage, his allegiance would become uncertain. “Very well,” she said at last.
“You seem impatient,” observed the rogue slyly, his eyes watching her carefully.
She forced herself to relax. “A little,” she admitted. “It’s almost time to eat and I’m feeling peckish.”
“Shall I stay and dine with you?” asked the Roach.
The look in Rose’s eyes perfectly communicated her opinion on that subject. I’d sooner dine with a snake. “I’d rather eat alone,” she responded coolly. “Send me a report in the morning. I want regular updates until you know who is living there.”
“As you wish,” said the rogue, bowing once more.
“And send Roger next time,” she added. “He blends in with the neighborhood better. I’d rather have you watching that address.”
The Roach looked surprised. “Personally? I told you my best men were there,” he replied, sounding as though the task was beneath him.
Rose showed her teeth in an expression that was nothing like a true smile. “Obviously they weren’t good enough to deal with the mercenary the first time.”
Chapter 25
Chad lay on top of yet another roof, looking down on the house that he thought might hold Rose and Carissa. It was in the merchants’ district, a place where those with money but no title made their homes.
The house in question was a modest affair for the area, being only two stories tall, the lower floor of stone while the upper floor was wattle and daub, with a fresh coat of plaster and paint over it. The houses nearest it crowded close by, such that the alleys were narrow while the upper floors nearly touched. That had been important for his purposes, since he had done most of his traveling via rooftop. The streets were full of watchful eyes.
He had left his bundle tied to a chimney not far from his most recent violent encounter. It simply hadn’t
been practical hauling it around while trying to avoid being seen. Thankfully he remembered the address, since the written address had been pinned to it and he had forgotten to bring it with him.
Peeking over the edge of the roof once more, he made a new count of the men loitering in the area. Most of them had perfectly respectable reasons for being there. One was cleaning the windows of a nearby house, another was sweeping the street, and one enterprising fellow was pretending to be sleeping off his drink in an alley.
The street sweeper might have been believable, if he hadn’t already finished the job and started over twice in the hour that Chad had been watching. The window cleaner was also polishing a perfectly clean piece of glass, while the drunk was completely out of place. The people of the merchants’ district didn’t put up with such conduct.
And those were the ones in plain sight. The others hid in alleys and were only visible when they occasionally moved. Chad had to thank his dragon-bond for the ease with which he spotted them, for his vision worked much better these days at showing him details hidden within shadows.
Not that he needed it. He knew his work; that was part of the reason he had waited so long. Waiting an hour gave him plenty of time to spot those who were too well hidden, since they’d had to move eventually. Eleven, he noted mentally.
It was the same number he had come up with fifteen minutes ago, which gave him some confidence that he hadn’t missed any. He found his hand once again unconsciously reaching for his bow stave. That would’ve been the easiest solution. In a minute or less he could have eliminated all of them. He was still debating with himself whether he should go back and recover his bow.
Then again, killing eleven men in broad daylight would draw an awful lot of attention, he told himself. Even if he went for non-lethal shots, some of them would wind up maimed or crippled for life. An’ I don’t have any particular grudge against these fellows—yet.
Still, he couldn’t think of any reasonable explanation for so many obvious rogues and thugs to be congregating near Rose’s possible hideout. The only reasons he could come up with were dark indeed, and he was growing anxious at the thought that she might leave the house unaware and be ambushed.
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