"I know," she said softly. "I was there."
Stunned, Aeolus sat back in his chair. "You were?"
"Yes."
Aeolus looked hard at her. "Your sanctions are aimed against the prince and his Conclave, aren't they?" he asked. "The only reason you attended that meeting was to look them over."
Satine didn't answer. His eyes wide, Aeolus took her gently by the shoulders.
"What if the prince is telling the truth?" he asked.
"What if he is? That wouldn't change anything for me."
"Don't you see?" he protested. "If the Conclave isn't responsible, then other forces are-forces that want to tear this nation apart. And if that is the case, then the only hope Eutracia has is Tristan and his wizards!"
"And if Tristan is the cause of all this and I kill him, then who is to say that I haven't done the country a great service, eh?" she shot back. "Either way, I won't stop now!"
"Do you really want the fate of the nation in your hands?" Aeolus protested. "All for the sake of blood money that you will no doubt only use up to try to chase down your father's killer? Tell me, is it really worth all that? Where does your allegiance to yourself end and your duty to your nation begin? I taught you better than this! If Tristan is telling the truth, then he has found a way to put the death of his father behind him for the good of the nation. Can't you do the same?"
Satine looked down at the floor. "I didn't come here to debate you," she said. "I have to do what I have to do. But I must know right now. Are you going to turn me in?"
Aeolus shook his head. "I could never do that," he answered. "How could I betray the closest thing to a child I ever had? That would surely kill me as quickly as though someone plunged a dagger into my heart."
Satine let go a long sigh. "I would like to rest now," she said. She touched the sleeve of the old master's martial uniform. "But I want you to know that I will consider your words," she added softly.
Aeolus smiled. "You always were stubborn. I know I ask a great deal, but I also believe that I am right. Rest now, my child." He reached into a pocket and produced the key to the back door of Satine's room. He placed it on the table.
"In a few hours I will bring you some food and hot tea," he said as he walked to the other door. "In the meantime, you are safe here."
Once he was gone, Satine rose from the table and unpacked her things. She was glad to wash up and put on her usual clothes again. She hung the dual holsters that held her daggers over a bedpost so that they would be within easy reach. Then she removed one of the daggers from its sheath and she slid it beneath her pillow. Only then did she lay her tired body down upon the bed and close her eyes.
As sleep began to overtake her, she recalled what Aeolus had said. The more she considered his words, the more she began to wonder. For the first time since the death of her father, the Gray Fox felt uncertain about her chosen path. As sleep came to her in earnest, a lone tear slowly traced its way down one cheek.
CHAPTER LXVI
On the other side of Tammerland, Jessamay walked quickly along the street. It was still morning and the sun's rays were warm against her back. She wore a dark brown robe with its hood pulled up over her head. Her left hand tingled with the spell she had cast yesterday, the same spell that Faegan had granted Shailiha to hide her endowed blood from others of the craft. She flexed her fingers and smiled.
Pulling her robe closer around her, she carefully scanned the busy street ahead. The person she was following still maintained her quick gait, obviously sure of her destination and in a hurry. It was vital that Jessamay not lose sight of her, for the Conclave might never get another such chance.
Jessamay had taken no pleasure in informing the Conclave of her discovery the previous day. She had certainly not wished to intrude upon Tristan and Celeste's happiness. But her news had been so important that she knew it couldn't wait. Despite how impossible it might seem to the others, she was positive that Sister Vivian was a traitor.
She had first realized it just after returning to Eutracia with Wigg, Tristan, and Celeste. She had been stunned by her sumptuous new surroundings; for this had been the first time she had seen the palace and the Redoubt. There had been many new people to meet. So many, in fact, that in some cases she found herself still trying to match the faces with the names.
But the moment she met Sister Vivian was one she would never forget. After more than three hundred years of being experimented on by Failee, Jessamay had finally been able to employ one of Failee's bizarre gifts: The first time she gazed into Vivian's light blue eyes, she knew that the acolyte's blood signature leaned to the left.
When she told the Conclave, everyone was stunned. When Wigg had called the acolytes home upon the River of Thought, he and Faegan had taken great pains to be sure that each graduate of Fledgling House was who she claimed to be and that none of them had in any way been tainted by the Vagaries. Their blood signatures had been matched to their birth documents in the Hall of Blood Records and also closely examined for preexisting Forestallments and the proper degree of lean to the right. Every woman had passed with flying colors.
Just the same, Jessamay had been adamant about what she had seen in Vivian's eyes. There could simply be no mistake. And so two intriguing questions bubbled to the surface. First, when had Vivian's signature been altered? It must have been at some point after she had been admitted to the Redoubt. And, second, who had accomplished this amazing transformation?
Surely no acolyte possessed the abilities to change the lean of a blood signature. Despite their combined skill and knowledge, even Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay remained unable to do such a thing. They suspected that the calculations for the spell resided in Failee's grimoire, but so far none of them had had the time to research it. That left only one other person in the world whom they deemed capable of such a thing-the Enseterat himself.
At first the wizards had considered entering Vivian's mind to learn the truth. But that idea was quickly dismissed. Better to follow her discreetly, they realized, than to reveal their suspicions. More might be learned that way-perhaps even things Vivian herself did not yet know.
So now Jessamay followed her through Tammerland, eager to see where the traitorous acolyte would lead her.
Vivian slowed and came to stop at a street corner that faced a roundabout. A fountain danced and burbled in the roundabout's center. For some time the acolyte stood there looking around warily. Finally she walked to the fountain and sat down upon its edge. Several people sat near her, and three children played noisily in the area just to her left.
Jessamay settled down to wait on a bench before a shoemaker's shop, directly across from the fountain. She pulled the sides of her hood closer to her face.
Once the area cleared, Vivian looked around. Then she slipped a hand into the side pocket of her robe and withdrew something. Narrowing her eyes, Jessamay called upon the craft to augment her eyesight. As she waited and watched, the seconds ticked by. Suddenly, there it was.
For the briefest of moments an azure glow escaped from between Vivian's fingers only to vanish as quickly as it appeared. After looking carefully around again, the acolyte opened her hand. What looked like bits of golden grain drifted down into the water. Then the acolyte stood and walked away.
At first Jessamay was in a quandary about what to do. Vivian had obviously just left a message for someone. The device she had employed was called "the reading of the wheat," and Jessamay was well familiar with it. But was Vivian now going off to meet with someone else? Should Jessamay stay here on this bench before the shoemaker's shop, or leave to follow Vivian?
Taking a deep breath, Jessamay made up her mind to stay. Someone would come to read the message-of that much she was sure. The only question was how long it might take for Vivian's contact to arrive. Settling back against the unforgiving bench, Jessamay prepared for what could be a very long wait.
Hoping against hope that she was doing the right thing, she watched Vivian round the next street corn
er and vanish into the crowd. Taking a deep breath, Jessamay shifted her weight on the bench. Two hours had passed and she was beginning to wonder whether she had made the right decision. But there was little she could do about it now.
She was about to go buy a cool drink from one of the street vendors when she saw a man approach the fountain. Dressed in a peasant shirt, dark trousers, and scuffed knee boots, he was unremarkable. He looked around furtively and sat down on the edge of the fountain in the exact spot that Vivian had vacated.
Her interest piqued, Jessamay took a chance and strolled out into the roundabout. She stopped to stand directly behind the man on the opposite side of the fountain. Unless he turned all the way around, chances were he wouldn't notice her. If she was right about him, he would soon be too engrossed with the craft to bother. And if she wasn't, then it didn't matter.
From where she stood she could just see over the edge of the fountain and into the pool of swirling water. At the moment no one else was around. If he's going to do it, now's the perfect time, she thought.
As if he were cooling himself, the man casually placed one hand down into the water. Jessamay saw no evidence of azure. As if by its own accord, however, the water in the pool quickly stilled. The man looked down for a few moments and then withdrew his hand. Soon the water moved again. The entire procedure had been smooth and silent, but that hadn't fooled the experienced sorceress. She had her man and she knew it.
The fellow stood and walked purposefully across the square. Determined not to lose him, she followed. Suddenly he picked up the pace and rounded the next corner. Lengthening her stride, Jessamay went after him.
As she came around the corner, she nearly panicked when she saw that he had a carriage waiting. After shouting something up to the driver, the man climbed in and closed the door after him. The driver cracked his whip and the carriage-of-four charged up the street.
Frantic, Jessamay looked up and down the thoroughfare. Finally she saw a lone carriage about twenty meters up, its three passengers disembarking. She hiked up her skirts and ran to it as fast as she could.
"Take me up the street!" she shouted. "I'm in a great hurry!"
The grizzled driver looked down at her with distaste.
"That was my last fare for the day. I'm off duty. Find yourself another ride."
"But yours is the only one here!" Jessamay protested. Looking up the street, her heart sank when she saw the other carriage vanishing in the distance.
"I'll pay you anything!" she shouted. "You simply have to take me!"
"What are you, some kind of a crazy woman?" he shouted back at her. But greed and curiosity got the better of him. "How much ya got, anyway?"
Jessamay conjured high denomination kisa in her pockets as quickly as she could and began literally throwing the money up at him. His eyes grew as big as saucers.
"Get in!" he shouted.
"No!" Jessamay shouted back.
Using the craft to augment her strength, she jumped straight from the ground into the seat alongside the driver. His mouth agape, all the stunned man could do was to look at her.
Narrowing her eyes, she looked up the street again. She could just make out the other carriage rounding a far corner. She ripped the reins and whip away from him.
"I'll be the one driving!" she shouted. "I used to be pretty good at this, but it's been a while. I suggest you find something to hang on to!"
Jessamay snapped the whip, and the carriage charged up the street, the bewildered driver holding on for dear life. Keeping a reasonable distance behind the other carriage, Jessamay followed her quarry until it came to an abrupt stop in front of a tavern. When she watched the man jump from his carriage, run across the street, and enter the archery shop there, she knew that this was the place the Conclave had been searching for.
CHAPTER LXVII
Faegan lifted his eyes from the page he was reading and shook his head in wonder. He had been sitting alone in the Archives of the Redoubt for most of last night and all of this morning. The half-eaten remains of the breakfast Shawna had insisted on bringing him rested near one elbow. Nicodemus padded about on the floor, purring and winding his way around the wizard's useless legs.
Faegan took another sip of tea, only to find that it had gone cold. Narrowing his eyes, he called the craft and heated the brew until it steamed again. This time it felt warm going down. Placing the cup down upon its saucer, he turned his attention back to the handwritten pages.
The book he was studying was Failee's grimoire. As he had anticipated, it was fascinating. Failee's elegant script was very stylized and she had written in dark green ink in a handwriting that was difficult to decipher, making the reading slow going. Worse yet, parts of the text were written in a code that Faegan had yet to unravel. But what he had been able to make out so far already had the wheels of his ever-curious mind turning.
The First Wizard, his daughter, and the Jin'Sai would be leaving within the hour. Late last night Faegan had granted Wigg's blood the calculations that would draw the First Wizard to the Well of the Forestallments, but the two wizards had not spoken since.
As he thought about the odds building against the Conclave, Faegan shook his head tiredly. He would have been far more comfortable about all of this if everyone were staying at the palace. Wigg's gifts in the craft were second only to his own, and he was sure that the Minions placed far more confidence in the prince than they did in him. He felt a deep need for Celeste to stay so that he could watch over her. But he also knew that Tristan was right. With Celeste accompanying them, they had a much greater chance of saving her life.
It was imperative that they find the Scroll Master. Absolutely nothing could be allowed to interfere with returning Tristan's blood to normal. Then the Jin'Sai might-somehow-repair the rent in the Orb of the Vigors and, everyone fervently hoped, save Celeste's life. But succeeding in these trials would be nearly impossible and the wizard knew it. As he looked back down at the grimoire, he couldn't help but think back to those days before the Sorceresses' War, when their world was still at peace and their early discoveries in the craft all seemed so wondrous and new.
Wigg and Failee had been married then, and at first they had seemed happy. For a long time Faegan had secretly envied Wigg's relationship with Failee. Not only was she beautiful, but her intelligence and skill in the craft were nearly without equal. That was why he and Wigg were both so stunned when she began to dabble in the Vagaries and to recruit others to follow her in her new cause.
But her imperfect use of the dark side of the craft had driven her mad. The result had been the Sorceresses' War, which had nearly torn both the nation and the craft asunder. Two centuries later, the Directorate learned that each blood signature had a discernible lean, and that Failee's angled far to the left. Such a trait inspired in her not only a desire to practice the Vagaries but a compulsion to do so-probably one beyond her ability to control. Had her crimes not been so heinous, one might even have been compelled to forgive her. We fought hard to survive those dark days, Faegan thought. But how will we survive the ones that lie ahead?
Suddenly he detected the presence of endowed blood. As it approached, he recognized that it belonged to Wigg.
The door swung open to reveal the First Wizard. Like Faegan, he looked tired and drawn. He had been this way ever since learning of Celeste's impending death. It was almost as if their lives and health were linked, one unable to survive without the other.
Wigg sat down heavily at the table. When he saw the grimoire, his brow furrowed.
"Shawna told me that I'd find you in the Archives," he said. "But what I didn't know was that you'd been laboring all night. What on earth are you trying to accomplish down here, all by yourself?"
Not entirely sure where to begin, Faegan spent the next several minutes outlining his plan. Wigg listened politely, but the more Faegan spoke the more skeptical the First Wizard looked. "What do you think of it?" Faegan asked.
Wigg pursed his lips. "A very interes
ting notion, I agree. But the first part of your plan is clearly impossible. I don't know how we could ever accomplish such a thing; we simply don't possess that much raw power. And as for the second part, you mean to dabble in a discipline of the craft that we really know nothing about. That's why you've locked yourself away here in the Archives, isn't it? To research Failee's grimoire and try to discover how she managed to do it. But I needn't remind you that her work in this field was only half completed. To fully implement your plan, you would also have to first complete her calculations. Who knows how long that might take, even if it's possible at all! And I'm afraid, my friend, that time is one luxury we don't have."
Faegan sighed. "I know. But this seems the only way to proceed. If you have a better idea, I'm certainly willing to listen."
Wigg shook his head. "No," he said softly. "Nor will I be able to help you in your work-at least not until Tristan, Celeste, and I return from wherever the River of Thought takes us. There's no telling how far afield we might have to go."
"Have you tried to employ the additional spell that I imparted into your blood last night?" Faegan asked.
"Yes."
"And when you activate it, what does it feel like?"
Wigg thought for a moment. "I almost feel as though part of me has become a living, breathing compass. I am inexorably drawn in a certain direction. And although I cannot say for sure, I suspect that the closer I come to the Well, the stronger the feeling will become. I must also remember what Sister Adrian said. If I try to travel too fast, I will overtake the spell and temporarily lose the sensation. But finding the Well quickly is exactly what must be done. Even though we haven't departed yet, I can't begin to tell you how maddening this restriction already seems!"
Nodding, Faegan put one hand over Wigg's. "I can only imagine," he said. "Tell me. In which direction does the spell bid you?"
"Northwest."
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