Soul of the World

by David Mealing

  “Well,” Donatien said, scratching his chin. “Perhaps it’s the presence of the Crown-Prince, and the army. So many soldiers stationed here in the city would make it difficult to act.”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps he’s biding his time. If he has allies in the army, they are well poised to strike, now better than ever.”

  He frowned. “I’m trying to learn what I can, Sarine. I’m only a brigade commander, and new to my post. It will take time.”

  “I know,” she said, holding up a hand to forestall his protest. She couldn’t blame his efforts, even if she hungered for better results. She sighed, sitting on a cushioned bench beside the window. “I only wish we had more. He means to seize power, but that could be a strike at Rasailles, the Gardens, the council halls … we need to know what he intends if we’re going to stop him.”

  “I’ll press the chevalier-general. I have a private meeting with her tomorrow.”

  She nodded, snuffing the flare of jealousy that caught in her throat.

  “Has your uncle reconsidered your request to leave the Sacre-Lin?”

  “No,” she said. She’d begged her uncle again before she left this morning, and gotten the same reception she’d had for the past week. “He knows they’re targeting it, targeting him to get to me. He doesn’t take the threat seriously, only reassures me the Gods will watch out for him.”

  “I’m sorry, Sarine. Would you like me to accompany you next time? We must be able to get him to see reason.”

  “Yes, if you would,” she said. Damn her uncle and his stubbornness. “Anything to get him to listen.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon?”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  He moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, joining her in looking through the window. Whatever her frustrations, it still felt good to sit beside him, to feel the warmth of him, the steadiness of his touch. She would deal with her petty jealousy in her own way. Of course the division commander had no designs on Lord Revellion. And if it turned out she was mistaken, she had plenty of tools at her disposal to deal with that. Even if they did say Erris d’Arrent was a fullbinder.

  Down below, a lone merchant’s wagon trundled up the thoroughfare, flanked by a pair of guardsmen in their long blue cloaks. Otherwise the streets were empty. A quiet presaging the evening’s traffic. Inevitably, when the sun went down, the nobles of the Gardens district set to their fêtes and gatherings, no matter the rationing elsewhere in the city, no matter the army encamped mere leagues away. The man in the warehouse had spoken the same sort of words she’d heard from Reyne d’Agarre, and she remembered the appeal they held, even now. The people of this city hungered. For food, yes, but also for blood, for the prizes bloodshed might purchase. Why did it have to be d’Agarre? The corruption, the strange blue energy she’d siphoned away from their strange book, it had been tied to the madness she saw behind d’Agarre’s eyes, and the eyes of the man she’d fought in the Maw. The man she’d killed. Sickness roiled in her stomach at the memory, a nausea she made no effort to quell. His face still haunted her, though she’d never learned his name. Another feeling, just as sick and twice as sure: He would not be the last man she killed, before all this was through.

  “Will you teach me to fight?” she asked abruptly.

  It earned her a questioning look, though Donatien still held her as they sat together beside the window.

  “Teach you?” he asked. “I expect you’d give me a sound thrashing if we sparred.”

  “I mean without my gifts, or with fewer at least.”

  “What’s bringing this on? The warehouse?”

  “The man there knew how to use a sword. Even with my advantages, I’ve never been trained. If I knew how to fight, even the basics, perhaps it would help.”

  “Of course. I’ll see if I can secure some practice blades from the quartermasters.”

  She nodded, leaning back into his arms. The sun had set, streetlamps casting circles of light on the cobblestone below. A luxury of the Gardens. When the sun set in the Maw, the streets became living shadows, lit by the occasional bonfire dared by the stronger groups of toughs. So it went, subtleties that escaped the notice of the privileged. It was as if they didn’t see the tinder they piled atop the commonfolk, more and more each day. Soon, that first spark would catch.

  “What do you suppose he’s doing now?” Donatien asked, bringing her back to the moment.

  She knew without asking who “he” was. “Sitting in his manse,” she said. “D’Agarre hasn’t left after sundown since the Crown-Prince arrived.”

  “You’d have taken to sleeping on the street in Southgate by now otherwise?”

  “Probably.” She smiled. She’d spent the bulk of her days there as it was, tailing anyone suspicious when they left the manse, without any successes since the night of the warehouse. She still wasn’t sure what she was hoping to uncover, or what she would do if she did find something. But already her efforts had prevented a riot in the Maw, and saved her uncle’s life. If nothing else, she’d learned the pattern of d’Agarre’s days, and his household. Soon she might risk venturing inside. To what precise end, she couldn’t say, only that each passing day she felt more and more certain the answer lay beneath the d’Agarre estate, in the hidden chamber where the Comtesse de Rillefort had begun to reveal their secrets.

  “Sorry to disturb you, m’lord,” a woman’s voice intoned with a sniff from the entrance to the library. Agnes, one of the servants, who had made no secret that she disapproved of her, and of her relationship with the young lord.

  Donatien craned his neck around from where they sat. “What is it, Agnes?”

  “A visitor for you, m’lord. Uninvited.” Another sniff. “Waiting in the sitting room downstairs, if it please your lordship.”

  “Does this visitor have a name, Agnes?”

  “Umm,” Agnes began. “I can’t … well, that’s strange. I can’t recall, m’lord. He seemed important, so I let him in.”

  Sarine leaned forward, rising to her feet as she caught Donatien’s eye.

  “Thank you, Agnes,” he said, dismissing the maidservant and turning his attention back to her.

  “You don’t think—?” she began.

  Donatien stood, offering her a hand. “Either way, I trust you won’t mind accompanying me downstairs?”

  Sure enough, when they walked together arm in arm into the receiving room, they found Reyne d’Agarre reclining on one of the long couches. He rose when they entered, sweeping a formal bow in his waist-length red coat.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  He feigned a wounded look in Donatien’s direction. “Is that how they greet guests in the Revellion household?”

  “What are you doing here?” Donatien repeated, just as firm.

  D’Agarre gave an exaggerated sigh, sitting once more. “A pleasure to see you both again.”

  Neither she nor Donatien budged from the entryway, each fixing cold stares in d’Agarre’s direction.

  “I assumed you’d been hoping for an audience with me, Sarine, given how often my men report your presence in Southgate.” He looked her over, giving every appearance of relaxed comfort. “Quite a trick you have, disappearing from sight. Unknown in even the most arcane circles of binders. I expect they’d be quite interested to learn of its use.”

  Once, it might have been enough to lodge panic in her throat. Coming from d’Agarre it fanned already kindling sparks of anger. “If you’re here to threaten me, I can show you a few more things they don’t know.”

  “Please,” he said. “Once I counted both of you friends, or at least fellow conspirators.” He grinned. “Hear me out. I bear you no ill will.”

  Her glare turned hot. “You tried to incite a riot to burn down the Sacre-Lin, and claim you bear me no ill will?”

  “The very reason I am here,” he said, his tone all penitence and sincerity. “Your provocateur acted without my blessing, against my orders in fact. I swear it by
the strong arm of the Exarch. But for that isolated incident, the city has been quiet of late, has it not? If I meant you harm, could you believe it would be so?”

  She and Donatien exchanged a look.

  “Please, both of you, afford me the chance to speak. I ask nothing more.”

  A long moment passed before she nodded reluctantly. Together, she and Donatien entered the room and sat opposite d’Agarre.

  He gave a satisfied nod. “Thank you.”

  “Say what you will, then,” Donatien said.

  D’Agarre seemed to ignore the chill reception, continuing as if he’d been welcomed with open arms. “Well, then. Let us start with the actions of my fellow. Sarine, I imagine you had already supposed de Merrain had a kaas. I will confirm it for you: He was one of us.”

  De Merrain. The man she’d killed. Having a name to attach to the face did little to settle her conscience, but it was something. She said nothing in reply.

  “You must understand,” d’Agarre continued. “The nature of the kaas is different for each of us, and the nature of the Codex. A lamentable thing that you have yet to study it.”

  Once more her anger flared. “Your book is corrupted, and corrupting you,” she said. “As you well know, seeing as that is the reason you murdered the Comtesse de Rillefort.”

  “You might say otherwise if you would only study its words, Sarine. It is nothing short of a handbook for greatness, of a sort few men, or women, could imagine.”

  “I’ll have nothing to do with it, or with you.”

  He held her gaze, then bowed his head. “Be that as it may, the point stands. De Merrain acted as he did at the urging of his kaas, and not in furtherance of any design of mine.”

  “Why should she believe that?” Revellion said. “And what is to prevent another of your fellows deciding they too have interpreted your Codex as calling for her head?”

  “If I meant either of you harm, I assure you I could have effected it. My organization is formidable, as you both may have an inkling by now. The point I’m making with respect to the kaas is that, whatever grudge you have, it need not be with me. Just as one binder cannot be held responsible for the actions of another binder, so it is with me. Wielding the same power does not qualify me to suffer for their misdeeds. It is not just.”

  “And what of the death of the Comtesse de Rillefort, d’Agarre?” she repeated. “Or your attempt on my life immediately thereafter? Am I to forget these things?”

  “The comtesse had betrayed my organization, a matter that need not concern you. Afterward, what passed between you and I was a misunderstanding I have come here in part to correct. I greatly lament the loss of both of you as fellows in furtherance of our cause.”

  “You mean to foment revolution against the nobility,” she said.

  “I do,” he said. “I make no secret of it. Have you both not heard the arguments against the corruption of the old regime? Have you not made such arguments yourselves?”

  She glared at him. “No argument I’ve made induces me to support the leadership of a madman.”

  He frowned, casting a look toward Revellion as if for help. Donatien sat in silence, regarding him with a cool expression.

  “If you feel that way, then I can only implore you to stay out of my way. You cannot support the Crown-Prince’s plans, can you? I’d believed the two of you to be persons of conscience.”

  “What plans?” Revellion demanded. “What do you speak of, d’Agarre?”

  “You mean word has not reached you?” d’Agarre said with a glimmer in his eye.

  “Say what you mean to say,” Sarine said.

  “Louis-Sallet means to take the army back across the sea, and leave the colonies to burn. I, and others, have lobbied to change his mind, but he will give the order within a fortnight.”

  A stunned silence descended on the room.

  “Inquire with the navy, or the logistics divisions if you don’t believe,” d’Agarre said. “I swear, it’s the truth.”

  “Did we not win a great victory against the Gandsmen, not two months past?” Donatien asked. “Why would the crown take such drastic action?”

  “I cannot speak to their reasons, except to say that word from across the sea is the war goes badly there. All I know of a surety is that I will not allow New Sarresant to fall, not for the glory of a king who has never set foot on our shores.”

  D’Agarre rose to his feet.

  “I’ll leave you to consider my words. Whatever our disagreements, I believe we share a common goal. If you decide to change your minds, you know where to find me.”

  He made another formal bow and exited the room. Silence hung in the air until they heard the servants close the front door behind him.

  “By the Gods themselves.” Donatien slumped back in his chair. “Can it be true? Could the Crown-Prince really … Sarine, where are you going?”

  She’d already risen to her feet, striding toward the door.

  “He’s out and about in the city. What better cover could he ask for than giving me news like this to consider? I mean to follow him.”

  “Sarine—” Revellion began. She didn’t wait for him to finish. No time for deliberation. A quick scan of the streets found her mark: d’Agarre in his red coat, already making his way toward the district boundary.

  38

  SARINE

  Street of the Crown Bridge

  Riverways District, New Sarresant

  Ducking from shadow to shadow through the lamplit streets had proved Reyne d’Agarre had no intention of going directly back to his manse. The first turn he’d taken out of the Gardens gate, leading east toward the Harbor, had been a sweet vindication. Whatever else he was, d’Agarre was crafty enough to do exactly as she’d thought, and screen his activity behind the cover of his revelations to her and Lord Revellion.

  She stayed some distance behind as he walked, trusting to Life bindings to sharpen her sight. She’d expected him to take a carriage or some other means of conveyance, but d’Agarre seemed content to stay afoot, with no sign of stopping to converse, conspire, or plot. Now he was entering the Riverways district across one of the old stone bridges that spanned the Verrain River as it wound through the center of the city. The bridge was a marvel of construction, a monument to the engineering prowess of New Sarresant’s first settlers, some three hundred years past. But it also lacked for foot traffic on this particular evening, and so she waited for d’Agarre to have nearly made the crossing before she dared it herself.

  Lamplight from either shore of the river painted half circles on the flowing waters, with gaps of darkness stretched between. No boats, and no foot traffic in sight. Since the Crown-Prince’s arrival, the city had bustled as if it were the height of summer, with soldiers, sailors, and officers scurrying this way and that, giving even the city’s most venerable quarters the feel of a glorified army camp. And yet tonight there was a lull. Strange. Once she was satisfied d’Agarre was far enough ahead, she ducked her head low and followed, taking the sloping cobblestone at a quick pace, feeling the winds blow cold on her cheeks as she emerged from behind the cover of the Riverways’ shops and storefronts.

  Unbidden, the memory of the scene in Donatien’s parlor played in her mind. Could d’Agarre’s revelation be true, that the Crown-Prince meant to give the order to withdraw the army from the colonies? It would be an unmitigated disaster. The commonfolk had little to lose as it was, without the promise of their city being sacked. The spirit of égalité already stirred rage and bloodthirst dangerously close to a boiling point, and a proclamation of withdrawal at the behest of the crown would be enough to tip the cauldron into the streets. There would be blood, and the peaceful revolution Lord Revellion imagined would be revealed for the childish fantasy she’d always feared it was. She knew the people of this city. She’d lived among them, captured their likenesses in sketches and portraits of every walk of life, from the lowest urchin to the haughtiest courtier. If Prince Louis-Sallet de l’Arraignon gave the order to
withdraw, the only question remaining would be how many binders remained loyal to the crown, and if there weren’t enough, how many pikes and guillotines could be found for the heads of whichever nobles were close at hand.

  Perhaps the prince could change his mind, or perhaps d’Agarre had lied.

  To her and Donatien’s knowledge, no order had yet been given. It was not beyond possibility the Crown-Prince had come intending one course and decided differently after seeing the state of the city, of the colonies. Surely he could see the desperation, the hunger in his people’s eyes. Surely he would not order the soldiers of the colonies to abandon their families to the ravages of their enemy. Hollow sentiments, even as she thought them. She knew the nobles were capable of such callousness. No one raised in the Maw could trust very far in the wisdom of the wealthy. Better if d’Agarre had lied; easier by far to find hope there, however slight.

  As she crested the arch of the bridge, a knot of panic flared as her reverie broke, returning her to the moment. She’d lost him. The street ran straight on into the Riverways before it forked, not nearly far enough for d’Agarre to have disappeared from view if he’d continued at the same pace. Had he noticed her? If he’d broken into a run before she’d started along the bridge he might have slipped away. Gods damn it. She shifted her vision, hoping to find a source of Mind, unlikely as that was in the middle of a bridge on the river. To her surprise it was there, just on the far bank, beneath what appeared to be waterfront houses and empty streets. She tethered it, shifting her senses forward at the extreme edge of her ability. In an instant she could see from a point at the intersection of two streets, up ahead on the far side of the bridge. Swiveling in both directions, she saw no sign of d’Agarre’s red coat. Nothing for her but to sit and wait, if he’d gone inside one of the buildings, though without the promise of at least having seen him enter that seemed a fool’s gambit. Perhaps he had doubled back beneath the bridge, making his way down to the waterfront? There was some hope there, if she was quick. She released the first binding as she ran across the bridge, preparing another tether of Mind, this time positioned along the water’s edge. She completed the binding and instantly her senses shifted, as if she were standing along the embankment.