by Dima Zales
“Oh, of course.” Maya didn’t seem surprised. “Sorcerers always look younger than their true age. Our Blaise doesn’t look a day older than twenty-five, although he’s already in his thirties.”
Gala smiled, glad to learn yet another tidbit about her creator. Then, taking the dress Maya was holding out to her, she studied it critically. “Do you think it will make me look plain?” she asked, hoping that the piece of clothing would enable her to walk around unnoticed.
Esther chuckled. “Making you look plain is something that would require high sorcery, child.”
“It won’t make you look plain,” Maya chimed in, “but it will make you look less like a lady, especially since you’ll be in the company of two old crones like ourselves.”
“If anyone asks, you’re our apprentice,” instructed Esther. “We’re what you’d call village healers, so we do a bit of midwifery, take care of minor injuries, and occasionally look after young ones.”
Gala nodded thoughtfully. She remembered Blaise mentioning that he got his Life Captures from Maya and Esther. Their profession explained how they were able to get so many droplets—and why those had been primarily from women.
Thinking about the Life Captures reminded her of her purpose for coming here. “I would like to go explore the village,” she told them, eager to get started on her plan to see the world.
Esther frowned. “Not so fast. When was the last time you ate? You look like a stick,” she said disapprovingly.
Gala felt insulted. A stick? That didn’t sound good. She had seen sticks; they looked fine to her, but she didn’t think it was a compliment to call a human being that. “I am not hungry,” she said, trying to keep the hurt note out of her voice.
“Ah, so she is a sorceress,” said Maya knowingly. “They can live on the sun, like the trees.”
Esther snorted. “Oh, they can still eat. Even Blaise eats sometimes. Maybe real food will put some meat on those bones of hers.” And without waiting for Gala to say something, she walked determinedly toward the kitchen.
“Do I really resemble a dead piece of wood?” Gala asked Maya, still thinking about the ‘stick’ comment.
“What?” Maya looked shocked. “No, of course not, my lady! You’re beautiful. Esther wants to feed everyone—hell, she thinks I’m too skinny!”
Gala immediately felt better. Maya was much rounder than Gala herself, although she also didn’t have Esther’s plush curves.
“Eat something, my lady,” Maya urged, smiling. “It’ll make that old woman happy.”
“Of course, I would love to eat something,” Gala said honestly. It was yet another new thing for her to try.
A few minutes later, the three of them sat down at the kitchen table.
Gala quickly discovered that the sensation of eating was highly enjoyable. She hadn’t had a single Life Capture experience of it and thus had no idea what to expect. Eating was probably the second most pleasurable thing she’d experienced, Gala decided—the first being those kisses with Blaise.
“Look at her wolfing down that stew,” Esther said with satisfaction. “Not hungry, my foot. That magical sustenance is not food, I tell you.”
“You should teach our young apprentice how to cook, so she can make this stew for Blaise,” Maya told Esther, barely containing her laughter, and winked at Gala.
“I just might do that,” Esther said seriously, giving Maya a frown. “And I’ll show her how to bake bread. His mother used to make food for Blaise sometimes, and I have seen him eat it.”
Gala noticed that the two women paradoxically liked and disliked one another. It was very strange.
“If you are going to teach the lady to cook for Blaise, you should teach her something fancier than this slop,” Maya said derisively, apparently continuing their bickering.
“Oh, I don’t mind learning how to make this wonderful stew,” Gala protested. She loved the rich flavor of the soup on her tongue.
Both women started laughing.
“I think she really means it,” Maya said between bouts of laughter.
Gala was utterly confused. “I would like to learn how to make it,” she insisted.
Maya grinned at her. “Just take onions, garlic, cabbage, potatoes, and some chicken, and put it all in a pot for a couple hours. Oh, and be sure to forget to put enough salt and be too busy to stir it properly—”
“Hey, at least my cooking is better than yours, you old crone,” Esther said, and the two women laughed again, reinforcing Gala’s impression of the strangeness of their relationship.
Chapter 20: Barson
Pouring a pitcher of cold water on Siur’s face, Barson watched calmly as the traitor regained consciousness, coughing and sputtering.
“Welcome back,” he said, observing with amusement as the man realized that he was in Barson’s room, securely tied to the wooden column that supported the tall, domed ceiling.
“Are you going to torture me now?” Siur sounded bitter. “Is that your plan?”
Barson slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t have to do anything as barbaric as that,” he said, gesturing toward the large, diamond-like sphere sitting in the middle of the chamber.
Siur’s eyes went wide. “Where did you get that?”
“I see you know what it is. That’s good,” Barson said, giving the man a cold smile. Getting up, he took the Life Capture Sphere and rubbed it against Siur’s still-bleeding shoulder before placing it back. “Now every thought—every memory that comes to your mind—will be mine to know.”
Siur stared at him, his face nearly bloodless.
“People will say anything under torture,” Barson explained calmly. “I’ve found this to be a much better way to get real answers. You might as well talk, you know. If I have to pry the information out of your mind, I will make sure you’re known to everyone as the treacherous rat that you are.”
“So if I talk—?” There was a tiny ray of hope on Siur’s broad face.
“Then I will say you died in battle, as an honorable soldier should.”
Siur swallowed, looking mildly relieved. He obviously knew this was the best he could hope for at this point. Dying in battle meant that his family would be taken care of and his name respected. “What do you want to know?” he asked, lifting his eyes to meet Barson’s gaze.
Barson suppressed a satisfied smile. There was a reason he’d studied psychological warfare so thoroughly; now this ordeal would be over with quickly. “Who bought the information from you?” he asked, watching the man carefully. He already knew the answer, but he still wanted to hear it said out loud.
“Ganir,” Siur replied without hesitation.
“Good.” Barson had suspected the old sorcerer was the one behind the disappearances. The irony of using Ganir’s own invention against his spy didn’t escape Barson. “And how long have you been reporting to him?”
“Not long,” Siur answered. “Only for the past few months.”
Barson’s eyes narrowed. “And who reported to him before you?”
“Jule.”
That made sense. Barson remembered the young guard who had been killed in battle less than six months ago. It was far more understandable for Jule to get tempted by Ganir’s coin; to a low-ranking soldier, the money must’ve seemed quite attractive. Siur’s betrayal was much worse; he had been in Barson’s inner circle and thus could’ve done some real damage with his spying.
“How much did you tell Ganir?”
Siur shrugged. “I told him what I knew. That you’d met with those two sorcerers.”
Two? Barson exhaled, trying to conceal his relief. When two of the five sorcerers he’d spoken with disappeared, he had been deeply alarmed, expecting the worst. He had also realized then that there had to be a spy in their midst—someone close to him who could’ve seen or known something.
The fact that Siur didn’t know about the other visitors was a tremendous stroke of luck, as was the fact that none of these sorcerers knew much of value. They had just he
ld preliminary discussions, and Barson had been careful not to show his hand fully. If Ganir succeeded in questioning them, he wouldn’t have come across anything particularly damning. In fact, losing two potential allies was a small price to pay for discovering Siur’s treachery.
“Did Ganir kill them?” Barson asked softly.
“I don’t know,” Siur admitted. “I just know they disappeared.”
Barson gave a short laugh. “Yes, I noticed that much. Went to explore the ocean storms, Ganir said. So tell me, Siur, why did you stay behind on this mission?”
“Ganir told me to.”
“So you knew about the three thousand men instead of three hundred?”
“What?” Siur appeared genuinely shocked. “No, I didn’t. There were three thousand peasants?”
“Yes,” Barson said, unsure if he believed the man.
“I didn’t know,” Siur said. “Captain, I didn’t know, I swear it! I would’ve warned you if I knew.”
Barson looked at him. Perhaps he would have; there was a big difference between selling information and sending all your comrades to their deaths.
Siur held his gaze, his face pale and sweating. “Are you going to kill me now? I told you everything I know.”
Barson didn’t respond. Walking over the Sphere, he brought it back and pressed it against Siur’s wound again, concluding the recording. He had to watch it now, to make sure Siur’s thoughts matched his words. Picking up the droplet that had formed inside the Sphere’s indentation, he gingerly put it under his tongue and let it take over his mind.
When Barson regained his sense of self, he gave Siur a somber look. “You told the truth. Since I’m a man of my word, your good name is safe.”
“Thank you.” Visibly shaking, Siur squeezed his eyes shut.
A swish of Barson’s sword, and the traitor was no more.
* * *
Wiping the blood off his sword, Barson walked toward Augusta’s quarters. He’d found it suspicious that Ganir wanted to talk to her. He doubted the old sorcerer could’ve learned about Augusta’s involvement in the battle so quickly, which left only two possibilities.
Ganir was either using her to spy on Barson as well—or he was suspicious of her, just as he had been of the two sorcerers who’d gone ‘exploring the storms.’
Barson considered the first possibility—a thought that had occurred to him in the past. But somehow he couldn’t see Augusta being a spy. She was fairly open in her dislike for Ganir, and she had far too much pride to let herself be used in such manner. If it came down to it, she’d be the one plotting something, instead of being someone’s pawn.
That left the other option—that of Ganir learning that Augusta was Barson’s lover and taking action against her. Even this seemed unlikely. She was a member of the Council and quite powerful in her own right. Making her disappear would be a significant challenge. In fact, if Ganir did try to take on Augusta, there was a chance that she would make the problem of Ganir disappear instead.
So what had Ganir wanted with Augusta? To his frustration, Barson was no closer to figuring that out.
Entering Augusta’s room, he was relieved to find her there, changing her clothes. And to his surprise, he realized that a small part of him had been worried for her safety. Rationally, he knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but the primitive side of him couldn’t help thinking of her as a delicate woman who needed his protection.
“Are you going somewhere?” he asked, noticing that she was putting on one of her special-occasion dresses. Made of a deep red silk, it made her golden complexion glow.
“I just need to run an errand,” she said—somewhat evasively, he thought.
Barson suppressed a flare of anger. He wasn’t stupid; the last time he’d seen her wear a dress like this was at one of the spring celebrations. Was she dressing up for something—or someone? And did this have anything to do with her earlier conversation?
There was only one way to find out.
Coming up to her, Barson wrapped his arms around her narrow waist and bent his head to nuzzle her soft cheek. “What did Ganir want?” he murmured, kissing the outer shell of her ear.
“I don’t have time to discuss it now,” she said, slipping out of his embrace in an uncharacteristic gesture of rejection. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
And in a whirl of silk skirts and jasmine perfume, she walked out of the room, leaving Barson angry and confused.
Chapter 21: Augusta
Exiting the Tower, Augusta got on her chaise and headed toward Blaise’s house, mentally steeling herself for the upcoming encounter. She could feel her heart beating faster and her palms sweating at the thought of seeing Blaise again—the man who had rejected her, the man whom she still couldn’t forget. Even now that she had found some measure of happiness with Barson, memories of her time with Blaise were like a poorly healed wound—hurting at the least provocation.
Closing her eyes, she let the wind blow through her long dark hair. She loved the sensation of flying, of being high up in the air, above the mundane concerns and small lives of people on the ground. Of all the magic objects, the chaise was her favorite because no commoner could ever operate it. Flying required knowing some basic verbal magic, and non-sorcerers would not be able to do more than slowly float away to their deaths.
Passing by the Town Square, she made an impulsive decision to land in front of one of the merchant shops. Out here among the noise and bustle of the marketplace, on this beautiful day in late spring, it was hard to remain negative. Perhaps there was a good explanation for Blaise’s obsession with Life Capture droplets, she thought hopefully. Perhaps he was running an experiment of some kind. After all, she knew he had always been interested in matters of the human mind.
Walking over to one of the open-air stalls, she bought some plump-looking dates. They were Blaise’s favorite snack, when he deigned to stimulate his taste buds with some sweets. They would make a good peace offering, assuming that Blaise would agree to see her at all. Happy with her purchase—and fully cognizant of the futility of it all—she got back into the air.
Her former fiancé’s house was not far, a walkable distance from the Town Square, in fact. Blaise was one of the few sorcerers who had always maintained a separate residence in Turingrad, as opposed to spending all of his time in the Tower. He had inherited that house from his parents and found it soothing to go there in the evenings instead of remaining in the Tower to socialize with the others. When she and Blaise had been together, she’d spent a lot of time at his house as well—so much, in fact, that she’d even had a room of her own there.
Thinking about his house again brought back those bittersweet memories. They’d taken occasional walks together from his house to this very Town Square, and she remembered how they’d always talked about their latest projects, discussing them with each other in great detail. It was one of the things she missed the most these days—those intellectual conversations, the back-and-forth exchange of ideas. Though Barson was an interesting person in his own right, he would never be able to give her that. Only another sorcerer of Blaise’s caliber could do that—and there were none, as far as Augusta was concerned.
Finally, she was there, in front of Blaise’s house. Despite its location in the center of Turingrad, it looked like a country house—a stately ivory stone mansion surrounded by beautiful gardens.
Approaching cautiously, Augusta came up the steps and politely knocked on the door. Then she held her breath, waiting for a response.
There was none.
She knocked louder.
Still no effect.
Her anxiety starting to grow, Augusta waited another couple of minutes, hoping that Blaise was simply on the top floor and unable to hear her knock.
Still nothing. It was time for more drastic measures.
Recalling a verbal spell she had handy, Augusta began to recite the words, substituting a few variables to avoid scaring the entire town. This particul
ar spell was designed to produce an extremely loud sound—except, with the changes she introduced, it would only be heard inside Blaise’s house. Thankfully, the code for vibrating the air randomly at the right amplitude was relatively easy. Following the simple logic chains with the Interpreter litany, she put her hands against her ears to block out the noise coming from inside the building.
The sound was so powerful, she could practically feel the walls of the house vibrating. There was no way Blaise could ignore this. In fact, if he was anywhere in the house, he would likely be half-deaf from that spell—and quite furious. It was probably not the best way to start their conversation, but it was the only way she could think of to get his attention. She would much rather deal with furious Blaise than the addict she was beginning to be afraid she would find.
The fact that he didn’t respond to the noise spoke volumes. Only someone absorbed in a Life Capture would have been immune to the spell she’d just cast. The alternative—that he’d finally left his house after months of being a hermit—was an unlikely possibility, though Augusta couldn’t help but cling to that small hope.
The scary thing about Life Captures was that people addicted to them sometimes died. They would get so absorbed in living the lives of others, they would neglect their health, forgetting to eat, sleep, and even drink. Although sorcerers could sustain their bodies with magic, they had to do spells in order to keep up their energy levels. A sorcerer Life Capture addict would be nearly as vulnerable as a regular person if he or she forgot to do the appropriate spell.
Standing there in front of the door, Augusta realized that she had a decision to make. She could either report this lack of response to Ganir or she could risk going in.
If this had been a commoner’s house, it would’ve been easy. However, most sorcerers had magical defenses in place against unauthorized entry. In the Tower, they frequently did spells to prevent their locks from being tampered with. From what she could recall, however, Blaise rarely bothered to do that. Trying to unlock his door using sorcery was likely her best bet.
