“But what if they won’t speak to me? It’s you they want to see, the one whose skill their emperor praised. I’m little more than a servant.” She cast her eyes downward.
“If they won’t speak to you, tell them not to return at all.”
“They never listen,” the girl remarked quietly, looking distressed. Those Talmorans who came were ones who cared about what was fashionable; in other words, the wealthy or those who wished to impress. If Liara wanted to be a conduit, she needed to stop being impressed by and afraid of money and position.
Octavia stood. “I’ll go out the side door.” She brushed her hand over her long, dark hair, smoothing it down. “Four people. Four pages. First thing in the morning.”
She left the girl behind and exited the hall. Liara wasn’t particularly good at following instructions to the letter, nor was she a fast learner, but she was all Octavia had. It would be years before she could be called a conduit.
Octavia realized she couldn’t keep trying to do everything on her own. She had to ask for help. Sen Betram in Durjin would be the easiest place to start, but she might also write to the Sennestelle back in Kilovia. With a new kind of tolerance emerging in the empire, perhaps it would be even more attractive to send young students to Vol.
On the other hand, many of their number had been brutally murdered. She’d heard rumors that although the servants of Braetin had gone quiet, they were gathering strength again. How could she convince anyone of this new “tolerance”? How long before consulting a conduit was no longer fashionable and the Red Manus’ influence grew once more? Noblemen were fickle, and what was popular one day might be shunned the next.
After the wars and the persecution of conduits, their official structures were not as strong as they once were, but those who practiced did their best to maintain the old ways. The knowledge of the One must not be allowed to die out. Although the temple of Braetin had been publicly silent since the incidents in the recent winter, people still sought the temple anyway.
A few, Octavia knew to her dismay, were Kilovians. They didn’t care if seeing a conduit was fashionable with Talmoran nobles and they weren’t impressed with the favor she’d found with the emperor. They saw the power and threat the temple represented. Without the support of the community and the willingness of new young people to be trained, over time, the Sennestelle might disappear completely. Without conduits, Octavia feared their traditions and practices might disappear. She should mention this when and if she decided it was time to petition for help.
As she made her way to the small flat she occupied above a weaver’s shop, Octavia felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps she could have stayed and talked Liara through what she expected of her.
In truth, Octavia was tired to her bones. She hadn’t slept well in months, and none of the usual herbal remedies helped. Her dreams were filled with shadows and pain. Seba was gone, imprisoned without access to many of the materials a conduit would need to do harm. Still, he was ruthless and crafty, and it had nearly cost her life to defeat him last time. She couldn’t shake the lurking memories of him or of the shadow goddess she’d encountered through Graiphen. Braetin’s voice still haunted her mind.
Her most persistent nightmare involved twisted images of her sister Trinity, who had died many years before. Thoughts of her sister had once consoled her, but no longer. Octavia pressed her eyes closed and shook her head hard. She closed her front door behind her, willing the terrible images away.
For long moments, she stood in the darkness in the narrow close, her back pressed against the door. The entryway was small and she felt it closing in on her. The air was warm and smelled of sweat. Hers, perhaps. Her fingers trembled.
“I’m so tired,” she whispered. How long could she continue to tend to the needs of every person in the city alone? During the day, she worked herself to the quick. At night, she was chased by Seba, by the Red Manus, and worst of all, by a horrific and distorted version of a sister she’d loved. That her mind would twist that sweet memory into a hellish vision made her feel angry and betrayed.
A sudden pounding on the door behind her startled her and she jumped forward. Her heart raced and she spun around, then stumbled back into the stair.
“Go to the Halden Hall tomorrow,” one of her neighbors, Palo, said from his own front door just a few feet away from her own. “The Senne no longer takes petitions at her home.”
Bless him, Octavia thought. Without the help of those in her nearby community, she never would have been able to manage the petitioners. They were so insistent, so needy. Kilovians understood and respected her wishes. Talmorans often seemed affronted. They thought themselves too important to be kept waiting, and their requests were usually the most tedious and least worthy of her time.
“I’m a friend,” a familiar male voice replied. Korbin.
While her neighbor made another polite but firm refusal, Octavia brushed off the front of her robes. After a moment’s breath, she opened the door.
“It’s all right, Palo. Thank you.”
Palo, a young butcher from the adjoining building, nodded. “As you wish, Senne.” He bowed slightly and withdrew into the door opposite.
“Hello,” Korbin said. She hardly recognized him. His hair was still curly and black, but shorter than before. His fine clothing bore the decorative braiding and ornament that the upper classes wore. He looked every inch a Dul. Although born to the upper class, he’d been an outcast when she’d first met him, the disowned son of a senator, hiding in the slums from his old life. He’d been a rogue and a gambler and had looked the part.
Like many Talmorans, Korbin was tall and his bearing straight. He stood with that peculiar stance only a Dul could affect. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was, but it made him look like no matter where he might be, he had the right to be there. No wonder Palo had taken him for a petitioner.
“It’s been a long time,” she said, giving him a tired smile. Despite her weariness, she was pleased to see him.
“You’ve been busy, I know.” His eyes crinkled and he grinned at her. There was that roguish smile she’d liked so much. “You look well.”
She ignored the lie and conceded that their lack of communication was her fault. She barely had time to do anything these days except work and sleep. “Would you like to come up?”
“If it’s not a bad time.” He came in without waiting for her to answer. He knew her so well. Although their friendship had only been forged in the past year, they’d been through things that induced an intimacy she couldn’t deny.
“Never a bad time for a friend,” she said. “Come in and have some tea.”
“That sounds good.”
She moved to close the door and saw someone else approaching, making a beeline for her door. He wore a cloak and token of an Imperial messenger. Here?
Opening the door all the way, she stepped out and waited. Korbin came up behind her and joined her. “Expecting a message?” he asked quietly.
“No, but some who seek my services can be persistent. It’s probably someone Liara told to come back another day.”
“Liara?” he asked.
“My young apprentice.”
“A new conduit? That’s good news.”
“Perhaps someday,” Octavia said. She would have elaborated, but the messenger interrupted.
“Senne Octavia?” he asked and bowed formally. He was a slight man, as willowy as a dancer. When he straightened again, he glanced around quickly. Octavia doubted he had many deliveries to this area.
“Yes?”
“Token?” he asked politely.
“I’m not a citizen,” she said, her tone cold. It was something any Talmoran citizen or anyone with a trade would have to verify their identity, but she was neither.
Korbin held up his own token. It was a new one, not the bloodied and battered Talmor Rider chip she’d used to perform a blood ritual so many months ago. This one marked him as one of the nobility. “I can vouch for her identity.
”
“Thank you, Dul,” the messenger said with a nod, barely brushing the token with his long fingers.
A flicker of annoyance passed over Octavia. Whoever had sent this man should have known she wouldn’t have a token and given the messenger a suitable means to identify her. She was about to voice her irritation when he pulled out a crimson velvet satchel and handed it to her. She accepted without a word. The fabric was the softest she’d ever touched, like the fur of a baby rabbit.
“The Imperial seal,” Korbin whispered. Sure enough, dangling from a gold cord was a token anyone in the empire would recognize. He glanced at the young man. “This arrived today?”
“Yes, Dul. I was sent urgently as soon as the bird arrived,” the messenger said, his face showing his excitement at being assigned such an important task. “I’m to wait for a reply.”
Something about the beautiful package filled her with dread. “Come back tomorrow,” she said firmly.
“But, Dula—”
She cut him off. “I’m not a Dula, I’m a Senne. You can sit on the step all night, for all I care, but I will not be giving an answer tonight.” Her mind wandered, going over all the things she feared the emperor might wish of her. She’d accepted his hospitality, not that she’d had any choice, and she had dreaded the moment he would demand payment. Curiosity tinged with dread crept over her. Was today that day?
Korbin lowered his voice. “Do as the lady asks. Come back tomorrow.”
The man looked miserable, but he nodded and bowed. “Yes, Dul.”
Korbin closed the door on the forlorn messenger and waited a moment before asking, “Am I still welcome to come in?”
Octavia shook herself sharply and realized she’d been lost in thought. “Of course,” she said, but in truth, she had no desire for company.
Chapter 2
Korbin removed his boots and placed them on the wooden rack by the door before following Octavia up the stairs to her living area. His heart had clutched at the sight of her. She was still as beautiful as he remembered, if a little tired around the eyes. He’d spent time with her when she was convalescing, but once she was strong enough, she wanted to come back here, and she seemed to want some time and distance.
Considering what she’d been through, he suspected she didn’t rest enough and worked too hard, but he would never voice his thoughts. She wasn’t the sort of woman who wanted advice, particularly from the likes of him. Despite being close to the same age, she had a way of making him feel young and inexperienced by comparison.
“How have you been?” she asked, her tone distracted as her gaze lingered on the parcel she’d just received.
“Busy as well,” he said. “I’m sorry I haven’t come sooner.” In truth, he’d been hoping she would come to him, but as the weeks passed, he realized that would never happen. If he wanted to see her, and he very much did, he would have to make the first step to renew their acquaintance. Despite all that they’d been through, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure she’d welcome a continued friendship. They were, as she often reminded him, from different worlds.
Octavia put the package on the rickety wooden table by the window and went to a compact iron stove to light a fire. She took the kettle resting on a side table and peeked inside before placing it over the heat. “Does your new token mean the emperor made good on his threat to make you a senator?” She grinned over her shoulder at him. Her smile made her even more beautiful.
“It hasn’t come up since the last time we spoke.” Korbin turned one of her two upright chairs and sat so he could talk to her while she rummaged through her shelves and muttered about not being able to find a matching pair of cups. His chair tilted on uneven legs, forcing him to lean to the side to keep from constantly wobbling.
She shook her head and laughed softly. “Only Talmorans could be so lax about such a thing.”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of not caring. I think the seven remaining senators are hoping the emperor forgot about me so they can find someone more appropriate to appoint. My guess is they’re afraid my father will use me as a toehold in the Council.”
She finally found two cups she pronounced to be acceptable. The pair didn’t match, one being plain and the other bearing the image of a faded green flower, but they were similar in size and didn’t have any chips. She placed them near the black stovetop before joining Korbin at the table while the water heated up.
“Surely everyone recognizes that you aren’t your father. After everything that happened? He disowned you, after all.”
“Yes, and then I helped him have Seba locked up.” When she looked like she might argue, Korbin shrugged. “I’m just saying what it looks like to people on the outside.”
She nodded reluctantly. “I suppose. So, if not the senate, what is keeping you so busy?” She glanced down at his clothing. “Spending a lot of time with a tailor?”
“No,” he said with a chuckle. The joke startled him, but in a good way. From the moment they’d met, they were one or both running from something, and there had been few moments where they could laugh together. Although things still weren’t what he would describe as normal for either of them, it was good they could relax enough to have a moment of pleasant conversation without someone wanting to kill or destroy them.
“What then?”
“Eliam’s estate,” he said.
All traces of humor left her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “My jest was insensitive.”
“No, no. You couldn’t have known.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “But why does his estate involve you?”
“Eliam left me everything.”
“Left you?” She crinkled her brow in confusion. Her command of the Talmoran language was good but not perfect.
“He bequeathed me all his possessions.” Dul Eliam Kerstone had been Korbin’s closest friend when they were growing up, and after Graiphen disowned Korbin many years ago, Eliam was the only friend who didn’t abandon him.
“Did he have no family?”
“No immediate family. There are an assortment of cousins and an uncle by marriage, and they did come forward to make a claim, but the court awarded them only a nominal amount since they could not prove they had maintained a close connection.”
“You fought with them in the courts?” She blinked, looking confused and disapproving at the same time.
“There’s hardly a single Invocation of Postmortal Intent that isn’t challenged in the courts. The more money someone has, the more relatives who want a piece.”
“And the city court believed they were not entitled to their piece?”
Korbin shrugged. “Eliam mentioned them each specifically in his invocation and said they were to receive nothing. It’s difficult to disinherit someone in Talmor, though. It requires a specific court document to be filed in advance, which is why they received anything at all.”
“Why do you think he gave his possessions to you?”
“We were friends,” Korbin said quietly. He didn’t understand why she was challenging Eliam’s right to give his property to whomever he wanted, but he sensed it was more an effort to take in a part of Talmoran culture she found strange.
“Yes, but you were already rich.”
Korbin smiled. Octavia had a different idea of rich than most Talmorans. “As I said, I was surprised at his bequest.” The small inheritance Korbin had received from his mother was nothing compared to what he’d lost when his father disowned him, a formal status Graiphen had registered with the courts. There would be no challenge for Korbin to make when his father died. He’d lost his right to call himself Dul, and his family fortune. Eliam had said in his Invocation of Postmortal Intent that he wanted to right that wrong by investing his family title and holdings to a man he thought more worthy than most. Korbin, now once again Dul Korbin, had read the letter many times in the past months. It never failed to move him, sometimes to tears.
Octavia stood and went to the stove with a pensive look. She prepa
red the tea and brought him a cup. “You must miss Eliam. I thought he seemed a good man, though I didn’t know him well. He offered us help at great risk to himself and died for it.”
She sat opposite Korbin and sipped her tea. Korbin watched her, noticing the dark cloud that passed over her features when she spoke of Eliam and what they’d gone through. He wondered if he’d made a mistake in coming here, if she considered him a reminder of a time she’d rather forget, not that forgetting would be easy or even possible.
His gaze wandered to the red velvet satchel the messenger had given her. “Are you going to open it?”
She bit her lip, a sign of insecurity that surprised him. She’d always seemed self-assured, even when their troubles were at their worst. “I am afraid of what it might say, what he might want.”
“What makes you think he wants something? Perhaps he wants to bestow a gift or honor of some kind.”
She glanced at him and raised a brow in a way that said she didn’t believe that. “After so many months? No, more likely he wants something.”
With a sigh, she reached for the elegant pouch and placed it between them. She sat and fingered the soft material for a moment before pulling back the top layer. She pulled out two pages, one a letter written on heavy parchment, and a smaller bag. Before reading the letter, she opened the bag and withdrew a shining golden identity token.
She frowned at it, turning it in her hand, then offered the small disc to Korbin as she unfolded the two pages. He examined the token. On one side was engraved the imperial seal. On the other, a branch bearing eight alternating leaves and flowers. The sigil was one he’d never seen, standing for no family he was aware of nor any institution in his memory.
He watched her eyes going back and forth over the page. She put a hand to her mouth and her eyes widened in shock. She read the first a second time, then glanced at the second page before setting both down in front of her, meeting Korbin’s eyes. “He’s made me a citizen.” She showed him the second page: an Investment of Citizenship bearing her name.
Born Of Fire And Darkness (Book 2) Page 2
