“Is he likely to inquire?”
“It is better, perhaps, to be prepared for what he can do, rather than rely on whether he is likely to do it.” She glanced at him so quickly he didn’t even see the color of her eyes.
“That’s very good thinking.” He chewed on his upper lip, tapping his fingertips on the arm of his chair. “I suggest we lie.”
“I agree.” She tilted her head to one side. “I wonder if you have considered this, my lord? If we produce a child, there will be no further use for either of us. At least, from the Poppy’s point of view.”
Dern blew out his breath in a silent whistle. “Oh, that had occurred to me, all right, but I’m afraid I hadn’t expected it to occur to you.”
“We women may have no power in Halia, but we live close to power, and we can watch and learn. When I was a child, there were nine people between my brother and the throne of the Emperor, but there he sits.” She paused, and a look of pain passed over her face. Dern wondered what she was thinking about. “But tell me, Dern Firoxi, if we are not to do what is expected of us, what shall we do? For it is certain you must remain here some time.”
“Do you know how to play Seasons?”
TEL Cursar staggered to his feet as Juria Sweetwater, Faro of Bears, entered the portion of tunnel being used as her anteroom. It had taken him eleven days to walk back to the Serpents Teeth from Descoria Hall, and he felt every cold, dirty step of it. His effort to come to prompt attention was ruined by his head ramming against the roof of the tunnel.
“As you were, Third Officer, before you knock yourself out.”
Tel wasn’t sure whether he’d sat down because his Faro had given her permission, or because his legs had given out under him. Faro Sweetwater had already swept by into her office alcove. The Laxtor, Surm Barlot, jerked his head at the swinging curtain, and Tel scrambled to follow them into the room. The Faro, already seated behind her camp desk—much newer and less ornate than the Faro of Panthers’ furniture—had tossed her bearskin cloak over a stool where it dragged on the floor until the Laxtor picked it up and hung it more carefully on hooks embedded in the room’s rock wall.
“You have something for me, Cursar?” She nodded to his left.
Startled, Tel remembered the scroll under his left arm. It had ridden in his pouch all the way and was, therefore, only damp instead of damp and dirty. “Yes, my Faro. From the Faro of Panthers, with her greetings.”
Faro Sweetwater broke the seal on the scroll and unrolled it, her eyes shifting from left to right as she read.
Tel had examined that seal a hundred times as he made his way back to the Serpents Teeth, pretending each time that he wasn’t looking for a way to break it open without getting caught. Now that he stood in his Faro’s presence he was very glad he’d failed. Her eyes lifted above the top of the scroll.
“So, you have misplaced the Talent, Cursar?”
“What?” Tel swallowed. “I mean—no, my Faro. What we did was—” He halted at Juria Sweetwater’s raised hand.
“The Panther has explained it all very satisfactorily,” she said, allowing the scroll to roll closed and handing it to her Laxtor, who immediately opened it and began reading. “So, the last you saw of Kerida Nast, she was disappearing into the sky on the back of the griffin?”
“I would have followed them, my Faro, but I had no way to know which way they’d go.”
“You did not read this message yourself?” She tilted her head toward Surm Barlot, still reading.
Tel felt his face grow hot. Could she tell that he’d tried? “No, my Faro.”
“No.” She nodded, looking off into the distance. “And Tonia Nast did not tell you what it contained.” It wasn’t a question, so Tel didn’t answer it. He wasn’t sure that the Faro would have heard him if he had. She seemed to have stopped listening. In fact, she seemed to have forgotten about him. The Laxtor laid the scroll on her camp desk without disturbing her. Finally, Tel couldn’t wait any longer.
“Your pardon, my Faro, but has anyone had news of Talent Nast?” The Faro brought her gaze back from the distance but didn’t speak. Tel looked from her to the Laxtor and back again. “The Inquisitor, what’s he been doing? Or the Far-thinkers—have they heard from the griffin?”
But the Faro only glanced at the scroll on her table.
“You’re dismissed, Third Officer,” the Laxtor said. “The Talent High Inquisitor has asked for you.”
His lips pressed tightly together, Tel turned around as quickly as he dared and left the room. Outside, he ignored the duty officer’s curious face and turned left, heading toward the quarters he shared with Kerida. Once there, he used a jug of tepid water to wash his face, changed into clean clothing, broke off a piece of the travel cake he detested, and ate on the run. The place to start looking for the Inquisitor was his assigned workroom. Once he reached it, Tel stopped in the doorway, mouth full of food.
The last time he’d seen it, Luca Pa’narion’s workroom had been an empty space about the size of a village school. Now there were a half-dozen tables, and people working at them. People dressed in modified versions of Talents’ clothing. No black tunics, Tel saw, so Luca remained the only Inquisitor. Two of the assembled Talents were Flashing objects, but some were examining people, hands on throats and foreheads, or holding hands across the tables. Tel hoped they were being as careful and as thorough as Kerida would have been.
Luca Pa’narion himself stood looking over the shoulder of a fair-haired Talent with dark brows, the two of them frowning at something Tel couldn’t see on the woman’s tabletop. Before Tel could step forward, Luca looked up and saw him, but the Inquisitor’s smile never got any further than a twitch of the lips. The man excused himself to the other Talent and joined Tel in the doorway, taking him by the arm and turning him back into the tunnel outside the workroom.
“You’re alone? Where’s Kerida?”
Tel filled the older man in on what had happened after they’d parted at the Springs and Pools. “Hasn’t anyone been in contact with them? What about the Far-thinkers? Have they spoken with the griffin?”
“We can ask, of course, but I hardly think they would have heard from their Griffin Girl and not informed me. From what I’ve been told, they can’t speak to the griffin at all unless he speaks to them first.”
“And since Kerida’s with him, why should he give a thought to the rest of us?” Tel rubbed at his face. He glanced at the Inquisitor, but the man didn’t contradict him. “What about Wynn Martan? She still with the Luqs?” If he could get to Jerek, he might get some answers, or at least permission to go looking for some.
But Luca shook his head. “Not for long, She’s getting ready to go to Gaena with Svann.”
“What? Why should she go? Who’ll stay with Jerek?” Tel pulled the Inquisitor to one side even though there was no one else in the tunnel to overhear them.
“However it may look from your perspective, young man, you are not in command here, nor am I, and nor is Kerida Nast, if it comes to that,” Luca pointed out. “We advise, but we don’t decide.”
“The Feelers will do what Kerida wants.” Tel chewed on his upper lip.
“But she’s not here to tell them what she wants.”
“Then who is staying with Jerek?” The boy might be the Luqs, but he was still a boy, and with Wynn going, that left only Tel himself who’d known him before he left home.
“I am.”
Tel jumped and whirled around, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “For the Mother’s sake, Ennick, you almost scared me to death. How can you be so quiet?”
The large man looked stricken. “I’m sorry, Tel Cursar. I don’t mean to scare you, but I can’t tell what you hear and what you don’t.”
“It isn’t just that we don’t hear you coming, my boy.” Luca patted Ennick on the arm. “It’s that we don’t see you either.”
Frowning, Ennick looked from one to the other. “But I’m right here.”
“Of course, you are.” It was Tel’s turn to reassure the large man. At least he could reach Ennick’s shoulder without stretching. “The question is, however, why are you here? Did you need Luca or me?”
“I need you, Tel Cursar. Jerek the Luqs wants to see you and speak to you.” The large man lowered his voice to a confidential murmur. “Sometimes, you know, he just wants to see people, not speak to them.”
“Shall I come now, Ennick?”
“Yes, please.” Now Ennick smiled. “I know a way where no one will see us.”
* * *
Baku sat in the most comfortable of her chairs, Kvena and Narl on low stools at her feet. The two maids were sewing, hard at work on another of the riding costumes Baku was coming to prefer. She had cloth in her own lap, and she held a threaded needle in her hand, but unlike her maids, her thoughts were elsewhere. Specifically, on the strange man who was her husband. He had come several times to play cards with her, each time, she thought, at the direction of the Poppy Shekayrin. It would be better if the man came of his own volition. Surely it would look more natural?
At the sound of a tap at the door, Baku jumped, sticking herself with her needle. Finger in her mouth, she nodded at Narl who rose and went to the door. Dern Firoxi came only in the evening, and it was not the usual time for an audience, so Baku put aside her sewing and let her veil fall over her face. At the door, Narl bowed low and stepped out of the way as the Poppy Shekayrin entered. Baku shivered under her veil and hoped the mage did not see.
In Halia, she had dealt most with Rose or Daisy Shekayrin, who were given to administration and the law. Before Pollik Kvar, she had seen Poppy Shekayrin only in the company of the Emperor. Once the Poppies—best at moving objects—had been of lesser importance than the others, but since the coming of the horsemen and their armies, they had risen in status, accompanying the Emperor everywhere, especially into the field.
Kvar she had not seen since the first public audience, and his expression did not give her hope that this was a courtesy visit. Pray gods he had not come to ask her about the sealing of the marriage.
She stood. Today she had dressed in a Halian gown, with its narrowly confining skirts, and padded jacket. Her indoor veil attached to her headdress, easy to let fall over her face. She wished now she had worn one of her riding outfits, though both were soiled.
“Honored One, I am the Poppy Shekayrin Pollik Kvar, administrator of the Faraman Peninsula.”
It seemed odd that today he would introduce himself, though the belated formality did not reassure her. More particularly since he had not said “the Sky Emperor’s province of Farama.”
“It is unusual for a Poppy Shekayrin to be given an administrative post, is it not?” Baku gestured the man to the chair prepared for guests, with its small table of refreshments to one side. She herself would stand until he had left the room. Women, even a Princess Imperial, did not sit in the presence of men unless given permission. The consort’s throne was the only exception.
“This is still a province at war. The time for Rose Shekayrin has not yet come.” He took a sip of the tea Kvena had poured out and replaced the cup on the table. He looked around the sitting room, his glance coming to rest at the window seat, where Narl bent over her sewing. “I believe I am actually getting accustomed to seeing women’s faces.” His smile made the skin on Baku’s back crawl.
Kvar made a gesture with his hand that had Kvena scurrying to the other end of the sitting room. Narl went also, but more slowly. They could not actually leave her alone—though what use they would be if he menaced her Baku did not know. She wished she had had the foresight to fetch out her mask. To reach it now she would have to turn her back on him. As if he had read her thought, the man’s gaze went past her, to where the mask’s box sat in state on its thick silk pad.
“I have been busy, Honored One. Otherwise, I would have visited you before this.”
“I thank you for your visit.” Baku tried to clear her throat without making any noise. “It is, however, growing late, and I would not keep you from your duties.” That was as close as she could come—or would come—to asking him to make his point.
“Then I shall be brief. I am here to take the Emperor’s mask into my safe custody.”
Baku felt her body turn to stone. For a moment, she could not even draw breath. Finally, she was able to relax enough to speak. “I thank you for your kindness, Shekayrin Kvar, but I have been instructed to keep the Voice of the Emperor always by me.”
Pollik Kvar rose to his feet and took a slow deliberate step toward her. “What did I tell you about your nonsense?”
As if his words freed her, Baku spun around. If she could reach the mask, the man would be forced to acknowledge its magic, and she would be safe.
But she had forgotten the Halian gown. Only a quick grab at the back of a chair prevented her from falling over completely, and before she knew it, a sudden force like a vise closed on her arm, and she was held in place. Pollik Kvar smiled, his right hand slightly raised. She did not know what shocked her more—that he would defy the Emperor’s orders, or that he would use his magic to touch her.
“You are too lively, Honored One.” The last words were said with a sneer that made Baku clench her teeth. Kvar gestured with his finger, and the invisible grip on her arm shook her upright. The mage reached into the small pocket created by the poppy crest on his tunic and took out his soul stone. As chilled as she was, Baku felt a drop of sweat roll down her spine. She fought to loosen the magic’s grip, but it drew her closer to him. She tried to keep her face turned away, but her veil, held tightly in place by the grip closed around her arm, worked against her, and Kvar was able to lift the stone and place it on her forehead.
He will see it. Her heart hammered in her ears. He will see the taint and destroy me as a witch. But no, it appeared that she was safe. She had heard that one mage’s block was not always detectable by another, and apparently what she had heard was true. With what, then, was Pollik Kvar threatening her? Her sight dimmed, and her legs shook under her.
He released her, and she staggered and would have fallen but for the chair behind her. Clinging to its back, she took in a shuddering breath. Her legs—all her muscles, it seemed—trembled with shock and revulsion.
“This lethargy you feel will fade—for a time. But it will return, each time worse, until I remove it.”
The smile that followed these words was something Baku wished never to see again. Behind him, she could see her women. Narl was on her feet, being held back by Kvena’s grip on her elbow. “My brother—” she began.
“Your brother has done what I needed him to do. He has sent me here and given me an army.”
What could he mean? Baku drew herself up, surreptitiously pulling at her skirt. If she could reach the mask, she would have a chance . . . but before she could take even one step, Kvar held up the stone, reaching forward with his other, empty, hand.
It was not empty long.
Before she could even turn to look, the box holding the mask jumped past her and landed in the Shekayrin’s hands. Baku’s hands flew to her mouth, to stifle any sounds she might make.
“I will take charge of this, Honored One, as I said.” His voice was silk. “Consider your position here. Cease this useless defiance. That is, if you wish to permanently regain your strength.”
“The Emperor—” Her voice was no more than a whisper.
“Is not here.” Kvar spoke slowly and clearly, as if she was the foolish girl he thought her to be. “Lulled by my reports, the Horseman who disgraces the Imperial throne of Halia did not even send more troops with you. If the Halians and Shekayrin who met with your great-grandfather had not been fools and cowards, your brother would not be sitting there at all. We should have driven your people into the sea. Your brother may have some sl
ight trace of the magic of the world, but he has no soul stone, and the supply of those will shortly be in my hands. As is Farama. Your brother will have to deal with me or lose the support of all the Halian Shekayrin.”
Without saying more, Kvar turned and left the room, leaving the door to stand open until Kvena went to close it.
As soon as the door was securely shut, Narl ran to her, hands extended. “Honored One, my lady, please, sit down. You’re shaking.”
Fool! Fool! Fool! How did she not see that these Shekayrin were capable of rebelling against her brother? How did he not see the possibility of it? Though perhaps he had. Perhaps that was the real reason he had sent the mask with her. If so, it had no more occurred to him than it had to her that they might take away the Emperor’s Voice along with the protection it gave her.
Before the netting, I would have foreseen this, and taken steps to avoid it. Though she had to wonder what those steps might have been. She was powerless now.
Slowly, her strength returned. But for how long? “Jerek? Jerek Brightwing! Do you hear me? Are you there?”
* * *
• • •
In a room in the opposite wing of the Griffin Palace, Pollik Kvar contemplated the carved box that held the Emperor’s Voice. This mask, and others like it, had come to Halia with the Horsemen who believed that it somehow chose their leaders. Superstitious nonsense, like so many of their beliefs.
The box that held the artifact had been locked, on the other hand, by a Halian Shekayrin—a Daisy, and a powerful one—and it took Kvar a little time to ferret out the secret of opening it. It did not really need the voice of the Princess Imperial to unlock, of course, not if one had a soul stone and was able to see the mechanism and move the—ah, there. Open, and it only took him twenty minutes.
Gift of Griffins Page 17
