Reyne d’Agarre stood at the foot of the grand staircase as they entered, crystal wineglass in hand, surrounded by a pack of well-dressed guests. His eyes lit up as the two of them were announced in sequence. The crier had been midway through the sequence of Revellion’s introduction when d’Agarre excused himself from his company and moved to intercept them both before either had managed so much as to remove their coats.
“At last,” d’Agarre said, accompanied by a deep bow. “Sarine, I am overjoyed to have your attendance at my humble gathering.” He made another bow toward Lord Revellion. “And to have arrived on the arm of another of my guests—my lord, we are humbled by your presence.”
She managed a more graceful curtsy than she might once have imagined herself capable. “Thank you, Master d’Agarre. Lord Revellion and I are both honored to attend.”
“Indeed,” Lord Revellion said. “Much has been said of your company, Master d’Agarre. I believe I speak for Sarine when I say we are eager to see what may come of this evening’s diversions.”
D’Agarre lowered his head in a gesture of humility. “I can only hope we meet your expectations. I’ve managed to arrange something of a surprise for this evening’s entertainment.” His eyes sparkled. “I believe the both of you will find it quite stimulating.”
“He won’t reveal the surprise, you know, no matter how you ask,” another voice chimed in from behind. D’Agarre turned and smiled at the newcomer, a woman of middle years dressed in what was considered the height of the season’s fashion: all embroidery, color, and volume.
“Allow me to present the Comtesse de Rillefort,” d’Agarre said with a gesture. “Comtesse, the Lord Revellion and Madame Sarine.”
Lord Revellion made a slight bow. “An unexpected pleasure to see you here, my lady.”
Sarine made to echo the sentiment, but found the words dry on her tongue as the comtesse turned to regard her with a hawkish look.
“So you’re Donatien’s secret,” she said, eyeing Sarine up and down. “You set the green ablaze with that dress you wore, you know, and I see you’ve topped it tonight. Sarine, was it? You’re a vision, my dear; I hope you’ll find time for me after Master d’Agarre has revealed his surprise.”
D’Agarre feigned befuddlement, smiling back and forth between Sarine and the comtesse. “It seems the nobles among us are privy to goings-on I myself am not. What was this, about blazes and gardens?”
“Oh, I will tell you everything, my dear,” the Comtesse de Rillefort said. “Let them settle in, while you and I gossip.”
At that moment servants arrived to take their coats, and d’Agarre flashed another grin as he allowed the comtesse to lead him away. “Please, enjoy every comfort on offer,” he said. “And we will speak later, be sure of it.” He gave Sarine a meaningful look as he backed away.
Lord Revellion spoke softly to her as they walked together toward the sitting room, where most of the guests were congregating at the far side of the foyer. “It seems the company of radicals is not so very different from nobility after all. I wouldn’t have thought the comtesse to number among this fold. She and her husband have always been steadfast supporters of Duc-Governor Cherrain.”
“Perhaps d’Agarre’s philosophy is not so open a secret, even in this company? This is a social affair, after all.”
He frowned. “Perhaps.”
As it happened, it was not the case. No sooner had they entered the sitting room than they stumbled onto an impassioned exchange over the rightful place of laborers in an egalitarian society. She eyed him with relief, which he returned tenfold. This was what he had come for, she knew well enough. Revellion’s eyes seemed to glow as they found places among the cushioned chaises and drank in the debate. Not a minute had passed before he was contributing to the discussion, halting one of the men—who had the appearance of one of the moneyed factory owners from Southgate—on a subtle point of the philosophy of rights. His opponents in the debate fired back with heated rhetoric, and so it went for some time.
She followed the lines of logic easily enough on both sides, even if the terms and philosophers they quoted were often outside her frame of reference. More important to her was the feeling that here, for perhaps the first time, she was among people who thought as she did, but were also prepared to act. A frightening thought for a girl alone in the Maw, but here, in this company, an empowering one.
And Zi seemed to revel here, alive as she had rarely seen him.
His scales were alternatively a bright gold fit to adorn the queen and a burnished copper-red that reminded her of the sunrise over the harbor. He’d taken up a position on an empty cushion beside her, luxuriating as the ideas flew back and forth across the salon.
She nestled into the deep cushions and spoke softly to him, in a private whisper. “What do you think of him, Zi?”
Lord Revellion?
She nodded.
Good ideas. Ideas that lead to change, of the sort that accords with the lives to which your kind are best suited.
Almost she laughed in spite of herself. Since when had Zi become a philosopher? She felt a pang of frustration that, given the company, she couldn’t bring herself to strike up a conversation and press Zi further. Even aside Reyne d’Agarre’s revelation of his own … kaas … she could not so easily shake the habits of a lifetime of secrecy where Zi was concerned.
The conversation had progressed to more heated rhetoric when d’Agarre made his entry into the sitting room via a door at the back, the Comtesse de Rillefort on his arm. Their arrival was noticed by more than a few of the guests, but after d’Agarre seemed content to watch and listen, their attention drifted back to the debate. D’Agarre himself joined in after he’d heard enough to understand the basic structure of the arguments.
After a time, the comtesse moved to sit beside her, opposite the cushion Zi had made his own. She welcomed the other woman with a smile, which the comtesse returned in kind as she sipped wine from a crystal glass.
“His surprise is ready, you know,” the comtesse said with a gleam in her eye, leaning forward to speak in quiet tones. “But he can’t help himself from these sorts of exchanges.”
“So he’s revealed his secrets to you after all, then, my lady?”
“Some few of them,” the comtesse replied. “Not least of which was your story. He says … well …” She gestured with her free hand to the cushion where Zi lay. And at once, a second kaas was there, beside Zi, with the same metallic scales and twisted coils of her longtime companion, only different somehow. She’d recognize Zi among a dozen of his kind, and just as surely she knew this new one was different from the one d’Agarre had showed her outside the Sacre-Lin.
She stifled a gasp, and the comtesse patted her arm in a soothing gesture. “It’s all right,” the other woman said. “Only we two can see him. They can be particular about revealing themselves. But Arix agreed with Master d’Agarre that you could be trusted with certain secrets.”
“Arix? Your …?”
“Yes,” the comtesse said. “My kaas. And yours is called?”
“Zi.”
“Zi,” the other woman confirmed, smiling as she cast a look about the room. “The kaas do love these debates, don’t they?”
Sarine nodded. “Is this thing common among Master d’Agarre’s guests? To have …” She swallowed. “A kaas?”
“Oh heavens no!” the comtesse exclaimed under her breath. “Only a bare few of us, which is no small part of his excitement to have met you. He says you came to yours without knowledge of the book—the Codex, I mean.”
“Yes. He mentioned a book, when we spoke before. He made it sound of great import.”
“And is it true you cannot recall having ever possessed such a thing, even as a child?”
She shook her head.
“Very interesting,” the comtesse said behind a veiled smile. “Very interesting indeed. I wonder, do you suppose your Lord Revellion could spare your company for a time? Knowing Reyne, this philosophical d
alliance is like to continue for another hour at least, surprises be damned. I’d as soon turn your attention toward somewhat more instructive, if you’d be favorably disposed.”
Her heart fluttered. She’d lived with Zi for as long as she could remember, and still never come close to unlocking the mystery of her enigmatic companion. Lord Revellion sat beside her on the long chaise, presently intent on following a counterargument posed by one of the merchants in attendance. He met her glance briefly and beamed a smile toward her before returning his focus to the main debate.
“Donatien seems well enough occupied, my lady. I would learn more, if you would lead the way.”
“Excellent,” the comtesse said, setting her wineglass aside on a table situated between the couches. The other woman caught Reyne d’Agarre’s eye, and an understanding seemed to pass between them.
The comtesse rose, gesturing for her to follow toward one of the doors along the back wall. Lord Revellion gave her an inquiring look, which she dismissed with a reassuring smile. It pleased her to see him so engaged, so in his element—not a thing she’d choose to disturb. Yet for her, the pleasures of the salon counted for little against the comtesse’s promised foray into the unknown. It proved to be no short journey—the d’Agarre manse was expansive, to say the least—and they tracked through lavishly decorated hallways, down spiraled staircases of wrought iron until she was sure they must be belowground. The comtesse confirmed it was so when she asked, only demurring that some secrets were best kept well hidden from prying eyes. As if to drive the point home, when they came to a wood-paneled wall at the end of a long corridor, a sharp pull on one of the sconces clicked and swung a door open whose seams had been hidden only moments before. She sucked in a breath, feeling nerves that had built during their descent come in a sudden rush. The comtesse gave her a sympathetic look, then gestured for Sarine to follow her inside.
As she stepped through the once-hidden doorway, her breath caught again.
The chamber was massive, easily as large as the aboveground sitting room and foyer combined, and lined wall-to-wall with bookshelves tall enough to require stepladders distributed throughout the room. Wooden tables extended between the shelves, piled with books, loose parchment, maps, and writing materials of all sorts. She’d never imagined so many volumes gathered in one place; her uncle had told her of the royal libraries at Rasailles, and in the Old World, but she could scarce imagine any of them contained a more thorough collection than this. Yet somehow the splendor of so much accumulated knowledge paled beside the centerpiece of the room: In a circular space between the long rows of tables sat seven columns, waist-high, upon each of which rested an elevated display. Four of the displays were empty, but three of the columns hosted great tomes, books that even from across the chamber seemed to radiate an aura of allure, danger, and power.
“The Codex,” her guide said simply. “Or the Codices, as it were.”
Seven places. “So there are only seven others?” she asked, numbness lingering in her voice. “Others like me, I mean.”
“Oh no. Only seven of us here in the colonies. There are more elsewhere, of course. Even one among the native tribes, since Reyne, brilliant man that he is, correctly interpreted the passage pertaining to the lands outside the Great Barrier.”
She took a deep breath. “How did this come to be?”
“You mean the d’Agarre library, the Codex, the kaas …?” The comtesse’s words trailed off. “You mean all of it, don’t you?”
Sarine nodded weakly.
The comtesse took her arm with a gentle touch, guiding them both toward the heart of the chamber. “It begins with the book. Copies can be made at will, but its pages are no more than garbled nonsense to one without the gift. If a prospective acolyte can read it, it means there is a chance a kaas will manifest. If they do, then we have another member of our fold. The book itself is a guide, a tome of philosophy and mysteries we work to unravel. Not the least of which is where to find new acolytes. Though it is not always so. Arix has been the companion of my family, passed down mother to daughter since we received his Codex from the Gods themselves, when last they walked among the living.”
Sarine’s eyes drifted toward the tomes resting atop the white plinths at the center of the room. “The Gods?” she asked, doubt touching her voice.
The comtesse smiled. “Of course. Reyne mentioned you had been raised by a priest. Many of the priesthood speak of the Gods walking among us as allegories, stories meant to inspire us, myths contorted by the passage of time. I assure you it is not so. The Gods have visited our world, and they will come again.”
She swallowed the dryness in her throat. “You understand that is … difficult to accept.”
“Of course, my dear, but it is the truth nonetheless.” The comtesse gestured to the great library around them. “Part of what we do here is keep the records, collecting the sources of our myths in an effort to prepare ourselves for the time of ascension—a chance for mortals to join the Gods’ ranks, if we can solve the mysteries in time to follow where they lead. That is our dream. Not only to forge a better world for the men and women of Sarresant, but for all men, all women, everywhere. With the kaas and the Codex to guide us we have preserved much, and kept hidden from the eyes of those who might oppose us, whether from malice, or lack of understanding.”
They came to a stop before one of the white columns, one of those where the display held a great tome, lying open there on the stand. So close, she could see the pages were covered in symbols like no lettering she had seen before.
“This one is mine,” the comtesse said.
The words hung between them for a moment.
“May I?” Sarine asked.
The other woman gestured toward the book. “Yes, of course. They are meant to be studied. Reyne has already commissioned a new copy be made for you. Until then, one of ours will suffice.”
She stepped forward to the base of the column and reached up to touch the open book. She expected some surge of energy, some shocking jolt when she made contact, but felt only paper and a thick binding behind, not so different from her uncle’s best copies of the holy books back at the chapel. Now, turning the pages, she could see in detail the symbols covering each face, jagged edges mixed with soft curves amid circular patterns with a pleasing aesthetic but, at a glance, no apparent significance or meaning.
“Comtesse …” she began, ready to confess her lack of understanding.
“Listen to your kaas.”
Zi appeared nestled atop the display, his tail flicking side to side as she turned the pages. She took a deep breath, expecting Zi to tell her what to do. Instead the moment lingered on, and he merely looked up at her, his eyes a dark shade of red as he met her gaze.
“Zi?” she whispered.
What?
“What does it say?”
This book?
“No, the letter I’ve been composing to the Sultan of Sardia. Of course this book!”
He tilted his head as he looked at her, silent.
Well, the comtesse had said the kaas could be difficult. Still, she wouldn’t give up so easily. She glared at Zi, waiting for him to respond.
It’s nonsense, he thought to her finally.
“What do you mean, nonsense?”
It’s nonsense, he repeated. Merely a conduit for Axerian to deliver his messages. He’s corrupted the words.
“Corrupted? And who is Axerian?”
The comtesse stepped forward with a gasp. “Where did you read that name?”
“I—I didn’t read it, Zi said—”
“What page? What page were you looking at when he read it?”
She pointed. “This one. The one it was open to. Comtesse, what is the significance of—?”
“It’s his name, Sarine. The Nameless. The enemy of the Gods.”
A shock ran up her spine.
“It’s one of our oldest secrets. Rarely spoken of even in the Codex. Can you read more? Anything at all?”
“Zi said it was corrupted, that—”
“Please try. Anything you can learn could be critical, especially so now.”
She turned back to the book. Still the same strange symbols, carrying no more meaning than a sheaf of practice exercises with her charcoals.
“Well, Zi?”
It’s nonsense. Corrupted nonsense.
She sighed, turning to the comtesse, prepared to ask her advice. Instead, before she could form the words, Zi thought to her again.
You could remove the corruption, if you want.
She turned back sharply. “What?”
See?
And at once, she could. All around the book, pale blue strands danced like sparks in the dead of night. Without knowing what they were, or why, she knew those strands were wrong. They did not belong here. Reaching up to touch the pages once more, the lines bent themselves toward her, wrapping around her hand, and she recoiled.
“What is it?” the comtesse asked.
Take it in, Zi thought to her. It belongs to you.
“It’s all right,” Sarine said, her voice steady. “Zi is telling me how to read it.” She reached for the book again, feeling the blue strands once more coalesce around her outstretched hand. “He says it is corrupted, that we can remove—”
She gasped as the blue energy snapped into her, all at once, leaving the book sitting as she had seen it at first, free of the strange sparking light. Deep within she felt a stirring sense of power, raw power that infused itself into her bones. A wild, coursing energy unlike any of Zi’s gifts, or the leylines, or the strange blessing of the cat spirit from the gardens. It seemed to cry out in an echo of a long-forgotten song, a distant melody that warmed as it settled over her, leaving her with an abiding sense of finally, at last, coming home.
“Sarine, what have you done? Arix?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Zi, what happened? I didn’t mean …” Her words trailed off as the other woman fell silent, turning her head as if listening to another voice speak. Slowly the comtesse nodded, and tears began to form in her eyes.
Soul of the World Page 28
