by Martha Wells
Seated at the table Giles was using as a stage were the grizzled knife-grinder who worked in the innyard, a toothless grandmother that might have been a hundred years old, and a farmer in the village to sell pigs. Giles nodded toward the new arrivals and asked softly, “And who is that?”
The knife-grinder snorted into his tankard. “The big one is Hugh Warrender, the land owner. Some distant kin of the Duke of Marais.”
“Fifth cousin, twice removed,” the piping voice of the old woman added.
The farmer said, “Fifth cousin...? Quiet, you daft old--”
“The boy is Fortune Devereux,” the knife-grinder continued, oblivious to his companions’ comments. “He’s Warrender’s brother from the wrong side of the bed, come up from Marleyton.”
“From Banesford,” the old woman put in, almost shouting over the farmer’s attempts to keep her quiet.
“He first came here two years ago.” The grinder shrugged. “Warrender’s not well thought of, but Devereux’s not so bad.”
“Wrong!” The old woman glanced suspiciously around the room and lowered her voice to a shriek. “He’s worse, far worse!”
* * *
Kade watched as a table was cleared for Warrender and his men near her seat beside the hearth, a process which involved a good deal of shouting, jostling, and imprecations. As the group argued with the landlord, her eyes fell on the blond Devereux. He was an attractive man, but she wasn’t sure that was what had drawn her eye. There was something else about him, something in his eyes, the way he moved his hands as he made a placating gesture to the ruffled landlord. Whatever the something was, it made the back of her neck prickle in warning. She was so occupied by it that she was caught completely unawares when Warrender turned with a growl and backhanded a grubby potboy into the fire.
No time for thought or spell, her stool clattered as Kade launched herself forward. She landed hard on her knees, catching the boy around the waist before he stumbled into the flames.
Thwarted, Warrender snarled and lifted a hand to strike both of them. Kade knelt in the ashes, the fearful boy clutching a double handful of her hair. “Yes, it would hurt me,” she said quietly to the madness in Warrender’s face. “But it would also make me very, very angry.”
Something in her face froze Warrender. He stared at her, breathing hard, but didn’t drop his arm. The moment dragged on.
Then Fortune Devereux stepped forward, catching his brother by the shoulder. Past Warrender’s bulky form, Kade met the younger man’s gaze. Though his expression was sober, his eyes danced with laughter. Yes, she thought, her grip on the boy unconsciously tightening, Oh yes. And now I know.
The tension held as Warrender hesitated, like a confused and angry bull, then he laughed abruptly and let Devereux lead him away.
Kade felt the potboy shiver in relief and released him. He scrambled up and darted away through the crowd. She was aware that across the room Giles was on his feet, that an older man had him by the wrist, trying to pry a heavy wooden stool out of his hand. As Warrender and the others moved away, Giles forced himself to relax and let the man take the makeshift club. He retrieved the viola from the table where he had dropped it and sat down heavily on the bench. She saw his hands were shaking as he rubbed at an imperfection on the instrument’s smooth surface.
As the rest of his party took their seats, Devereux strolled over to the balladeer’s table. He spoke, smiling, and tipped his hat. Giles looked up at him warily, gave him a grudging nod.
Kade looked away, to keep from betraying any uneasiness. Devereux had marked Giles’ reaction, had seen him ready to leap to her defense. That, she thought, cannot mean anything good.
* * *
“What did he say to you?” Kade’s voice floated down from the cavernous darkness of the stable’s loft.
“Nothing.” Giles had finished wrapping the viola d’amore in its oiled leather case. He was not sure when Kade had gotten into the loft or how. The stable, the traditional sleeping place of itinerant musicians and entertainers, was warm and dark except for the faint glow of moonlight through the cracks in the boards. The horses and mules penned or stalled along the walls made a continuous soft undercurrent of quiet snorts and stamping as they jostled one another. Straw dust floated down from above and into Giles’ hair. He stretched slowly, trying to ease the knots out of his aching back. This had not been one of his better nights.
He knew he was a fool, but he would rather no one else know it; when Warrender had been a breath away from knocking Kade into the fire, he had come dangerously close to exposing his feelings. She’s the most dangerous woman in Ile-Rien, he told himself ruefully, she doesn’t need your defense. Except in his songs maybe, that spoke the truth about her when others lied.
“I know he said something to you, I saw his lips move,” she persisted impatiently.
“Nothing that meant anything. Only gloating, I think. He said he was sorry for the disturbance.” Giles hesitated. “What would you have done?”
“When?”
Irritated, he replied more sharply than he meant to. “When that hulking bastard was about to push you into the fire, when do you think?”
“I wouldn’t turn to dust at the first lick of flame, you know.” There was a pause. “I did have in mind a certain charm for the spontaneous ignition of gunpowder. And considering where he carried his pistol--” She added, “Devereux made his brother do it, you know.”
Giles turned to look up at the dark loft, startled. “What?”
“Warrender’s under a binding spell. You could see it in his eyes.”
“Devereux is a sorcerer?” Giles frowned.
Her voice was lightly ironic. “Since he can do a binding spell, it’s the logical conclusion.”
“But why would he do that? Did he kill the potter?”
“Assuredly.”
Giles gestured helplessly. “But why?”
She sounded exasperated. “I’m only an evil fay, ballad-maker, I don’t have all the answers to all the questions in the world.”
Giles drew a deep breath, summoning patience. Then he smiled faintly to himself. “My lady Kade, the playwright Thario always said that it was how we behave in a moment of impulse that told the true tale of our souls. And you, in your moment of impulse, kept a boy from being pushed into a fire. What do you say to that?”
An apple sailed upward out of the loft, reached the peak of its ascent, then dropped to graze his left ear. There was a faint scrabble and a brief glint of moonlight from above as a trap door opened somewhere in the roof. “My mother was the queen of air and darkness, Giles,” her voice floated down as if from a great height. “And darkness...”
* * *
Giles rolled over, scratching sleepily at the fleas that had migrated from his straw-filled pallet. The stable had become uncomfortably warm and the summer night was humid. The sound of a woman sobbing softly woke him immediately. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he sat up and listened. It was coming from the stableyard, the side away from the inn.
He pushed to his feet and pulled his shirt on. Moonlight flickered down through the cracks in the high roof. As he crossed the hay-strewn floor, a horse stretched a long neck over a stall door and tried to bite him.
The sobbing was slightly louder. It seemed to blend with the whisper of the breeze outside, forming an ethereal lament. Giles stopped, one hand on the latch of the narrow portal next to the large wagon door, some instinct making him wary.
Even through tears, the voice was silvery, bell-like. Odd. If the woman was under attack by whatever had killed the potter, she wouldn’t be merely crying quietly.
On the chance that this was some private lover’s quarrel and that interruptions, no matter how well meant, would be unwelcome, he groped for the rickety ladder in the darkness and climbed to the loft. The window shutters were open to the breeze and the big space was awash in moonlight. The hay-strewn boards creaked softly as Giles crossed it and crouched in front of the window.
A woman was pacing on the hard-packed earth in front of the stable, apparently alone. Her hair was colorless in the moonlight, and she wore a long shapeless robe of green embroidered with metallic threads. She swayed as the wind touched her, like a willow, like tall grass. Behind her the empty field stretched out and down toward the trees shadowing the dark expanse of the river.
The woman tilted her head back and the tears streamed down her face, into her hair. Giles had one leg out the window when Kade caught the collar of his shirt and jerked him back. He sat down hard and looked up to see her standing over him.
He shook his head, dizzy and a little ill, suddenly aware his mind had not been his own for a moment. His gut turning cold, he looked out at the weeping woman again, but this time saw her gliding progress as strange and unnatural. “What is it?” he whispered, prickles creeping up his spine.
Kade knelt in the window, matter-of-factly knotting her hair behind her head and tucking it into her kerchief. “A glaistig. Under that dress, it’s more goat than human and it’s overly fond of the taste of male blood. They usually frequent deep running water. Someone must have called her up from the river.”
Giles looked down at the creature again, warily fascinated.
Kade said grimly, “Mark it well for your next ballad, that’s your killer.”
“Devereux controls it?” Giles guessed, thinking of the red ruin of the potter’s house. “He made it kill the potter?”
“He must have. It wouldn’t attack an old woman unless it was forced.”
“But why send it here?”
Kade threw him an enigmatic look. “There’s been too much happenstance already tonight. She’s not trying to seduce a pack mule. She’s after you.”
“Me?” he said, startled, but Kade was already gone.
* * *
Kade closed her eyes and pulled glamour out of the night air and the dew, drawing it over herself. It was a hasty job, and it wouldn’t have fooled anyone in daylight, but the creature below was not intelligent and the dark would lend its own magic.
She grabbed the tackle that hung from the loft and swung down, the heavy rope rough against her hands and bare feet.
The glaistig turned toward her, smiling and stretching out its arms. It would see a young man, in shirt and breeches, barefoot, details of feature and form hidden by the barn’s shadow. Kade moved toward it, dragging her feet slightly, as if half-asleep. She was thinking through the rote words of a binding spell, to tie the glaistig to her and let her call it whenever she chose. The difficulty was that she had to touch the creature for the binding to take effect.
Within touching distance, the glaistig hesitated, staring at her. Its eyes threw back the moonlight like the glassy surface of a pool, but Kade could read confusion and suspicion there.
Before it could flee, Kade leapt forward and grabbed its hands. It shrieked in surprise, the shrill piercing cry turning into a growl. It tried to jerk free and only succeeded in dragging Kade across the dusty yard.
Kade stumbled, the gravel tearing into her feet. The glaistig was a head taller than she and heavier. She dug her heels in and gasped, “Just tell me why he sent you after my new favorite musician and we’ll call this done.”
“Let go!” Far gone in rage, the creature’s voice was less alluringly female, but far more human.
Straining to stay on her feet, Kade hoped it didn’t get the idea to slam her up against the barn or the stone wall of the innyard, but the creature seemed just as bad at advance planning as she was. “I’m giving my word. Tell me why he sent you and I’ll let you go!”
The glamour had dissolved in the struggle, and the residue of it lay glittering on the earth like solid dewdrops. The glaistig abruptly stopped struggling to peer at her, confused. “What are you?”
“I’ve power over all the fay and if you don’t tell me what I want to know now I’ll bind you to the bottom of the village well in a barrel with staves and lid of cold iron. Does that tell you who I am?” Kade snarled. She had no idea if that would tell the glaistig who she was or not. And with her spell trembling like sinew stretched to the breaking point she couldn’t have bound a compass needle to true north.
The glaistig shivered. “He didn’t tell me.”
“Oh, come now, you can do better than that.” Sweat was dripping into Kade’s eyes.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” it wept, sounding like a human woman again. “I swear, he told me to come here after the music-maker, he didn’t tell me why. Do you think he would tell me why? Let me go.”
Kade released the spell in relief and the glaistig flung away from her. It stumbled, then fled towards the river in an awkward loping run. Kade sat down heavily on the dirt. She realized Giles was standing beside her, that he had been outside watching nearly the entire time.
He said, “You could have been killed.”
She got to her feet, legs trembling with strain. “No, only nibbled on a little.” She shook the dust out of her hair. “I can call that glaistig back whenever I want it. Though I’m not sure why I would. This all started out in a very promising way, but Devereux hasn’t tried to fight me, or set me any puzzles to solve.”
There was a moment of silence, then Giles said, “What do you mean?”
Something in his voice made Kade reluctant to answer. She watched the glaistig disappear among the trees near the river. Beautiful as it was, it was still just as empty-headed and perverse as the rest of the fay. It might guide a child out of the forest or care for elderly fishermen, but it would certainly kill any young man it could catch.
Giles asked, “Did he have any reason at all to kill the potter?”
“No.” She could all but hear him drawing that last conclusion. If Giles Verney, balladeer, knew enough about Kade Carrion to realize that killing the village potter would bring her here, than surely the local sorcerer would realize it as well.
“The potter did nothing to him, knew nothing about him?”
Kade looked at him, his face a white mask in the moonlight. “What did you think this was?” she asked quietly.
“I didn’t think it was a game. I didn’t think he did it just to get your attention.” He didn’t sound shocked, only resigned.
With a snort of irony, Kade said, “It’s what we do, Giles.” She drew the fallen, scattered glamour around her to cloak herself in moonlight and shadow, and walked away.
* * *
Later in the night, when the moon was dimmed by clouds, Kade walked up the cart track to the gates of the Warrender manor house. The walls were crumbling like those around the village, too low to attract royal attention and be torn down. The house was small by city standards, but it was better than anything anyone else in Riversee had. It was two stories, with high, narrow windows shuttered against the darkness.
It had never mattered before what anyone else thought of her. The fay disliked each other as a matter of course, and Kade had never regarded her relatives on either side of the family with anything but anger or contempt. Having Giles’ idealistic vision of her shattered shouldn’t twist in her heart. But she hadn’t chosen this game, Devereux had; she would find out what he wanted and end it tonight, one way or another.
Two servants were sleeping in a shabby outbuilding that housed the dovecote; she heard one cough and stir sleepily as she passed the door but neither wakened.
As she had hoped, there was a doorway near the back of the house, open and spilling lamplight. A postern door here would make a convenient exit for someone who wanted to leave or enter late at night without drawing attention.
The dry grass caught at her skirt as she stepped up to the open door. The room inside was low-ceilinged and cluttered with the debris of sorcery. Two long tables held heavy books, clouded glass vessels, curiously shaped and colored rocks or fragments of crystal. Wax had collected at the bases of the candles, their wan light revealing bare stone walls and soot-stained rafters. Fortune Devereux stood at the far end of the room, his back to her, leaning over an open book
.
Kade held out a hand, took a slow breath, and tasted the aether carefully. There was nothing, no wards that would set off nasty spells if she touched the doorsill. She took the last step forward and leaned in the doorway saying, “Now what do you need this mess for?”
Devereux turned, his smile slow and triumphant. His doublet and shirt were open across his chest and she saw again that he was a very attractive man. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
She added that smile to what she knew of sorcerers and thought so this room is warded. She tested the aether again and felt the tug of the spell this time. Damn. She hadn’t felt it outside because it wasn’t set to stop her from entering the room; it was set to stop her from leaving. Idiot. Overconfidence and impatience will kill you without any help from Devereux. She didn’t like stepping into his trap, but she still thought her power was more than equal to this mortal sorcerer’s. If he struck at her directly, he would find that out. She smiled back, making it look easy. “I’ve only just gotten here and you’re lying already.”
His expression stiffened.
“You bound a glaistig and killed an old potter in the village you know by tradition I consider my property. Simply to get my attention. But you expected me not to take the bait and appear? Really, that makes you something of a fool, doesn’t it?”
Devereux lifted a brow. “I misspoke. I didn’t think you would come tonight, since you were occupied with your musician.”
“I see.” She nodded mock-complacently. “Jealousy, and we’ve only just met. Did it ever occur to you that all I had to do was point you out to the villagers, explain how you used the glaistig to kill the old potter, and this house would be burning down around your ears now?”
He laughed. “And I thought your loyalty to these people was as fickle as that of the rest of the fay. I didn’t realize you were so virtuous.”
Kade lifted a cool brow, though for some reason the jibe about loyalty had hit home. “My loyalty is fickle, but at least they gave me fruit and flowers. What did you ever do for me?”
