Jerek really told her everything. Ker nodded. Apparently, when she tore apart the central core of the man’s webbing, she had torn his magic loose as well. She swallowed. She wasn’t sorry; she’d meant to stop him, and she had. A part of her whispered in satisfaction, “Let’s see how he manages without magic.” But another part would have preferred to kill him outright. To strip a man of his magic and leave him alive? Her skin crawled.
Ker Flashed him again. “He came alone,” she said. “With just these three men. They’ve been going door-to-door. He hoped to stay out of trouble by returning Baku to the palace before anyone else knew she was missing. Failing that, he could get the credit of finding her.”
“That’s all very well,” Tel said. “But isn’t he going to be missed?”
“I have a suggestion.” The voice was so calm, so quiet, that all three of them turned toward it without any sense of shock. Elisk Stellan, Ester’s friend and the owner of the inn, stood in the rear doorway. “You can leave this”—he indicated the Shekayrin—“to me. I know a man with hogs a few streets over.” Ker’s stomach heaved, and Baku turned pale. “It’s not like someone could call the Halls of Law and have a Talent come to find out what really happened. But what about these soldiers?”
Ker glanced at Tel and found him looking back at her looking like he’d bitten into a lemon. She knew the military solution. “Let me try something first,” she said. “If it works, I might be able to use it on the gate guards.” Tel’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, but he nodded.
This would just be a variation on the trick of making people not see her, she thought, of making them look away—though not quite so simple. Once, when she was still in the military, she’d watched one of the company surgeons use an old healer’s trick to make a quartet of soldiers think they were asleep, and she’d made them do some very funny things. Ker thought that, with the help of their auras, she might be able to do something similar with this trio. She studied them carefully. They were already, for all intents and purposes, asleep on their feet. That would help.
“You can hear my voice,” she said. “Nothing but my voice. You feel content. Relaxed. Nothing frightens or worries you.” She paused and examined their auras critically. As far as she could see, they were as smooth and restful as any she’d seen when Errinn Mind-healer had worked on troubled people back in the Mines and Tunnels. “You will leave here and return to your barracks. You will not be worried. If you meet anyone, act normally, and say you were sent on patrol by the Rose Shekayrin. You don’t know why,” she added at a signal from Tel. “You don’t know where the Rose Shekayrin is. The last you saw him was in the palace. You won’t remember anything about this inn, you won’t remember coming here at all. Walk out the door now,” she said when they didn’t move. “Go on.”
The soldiers blinked at each other, frowning. Ker tensed, afraid her aura tweaking combined with the suggestions hadn’t worked after all. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tel’s hand move toward the knife he had at the back of his belt.
The shortest of the three men glanced at where Ester still lay on the floor but didn’t react in any way. “All right, then,” he said, in the tone of someone summing up. “If there’s no trouble here, we’ll be on our way.”
Tel opened the door of the inn, and the three men walked out. Ker let out the breath she was holding.
“What of your sister?” Baku said.
“We’ll have to remove the net.” Ker wasn’t going to think about “trying.” She was going to do it. She knocked a knuckle gently on the top of the nearest table.
“Do you wish to try removing mine first?” Baku’s voice, quiet and steady, couldn’t disguise the trembling in her aura.
“I appreciate that,” Ker said. And she did; it told her a great deal about the Princess Imperial that she would make an offer like this.
“Ker, we can’t. Jerek—”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to. I know we can’t take the chance.” Ker looked down at her sister. “But I’m not leaving Ester like this.”
* * *
Seklur Tvak: He spoke freely, but not as coherently as I would’ve liked. I was reluctant to use the soul stone. In his drunken condition, I thought I might lose the very information I wanted. I put together what I could, and the next morning I tricked him into revealing more. One thing seems clear: there are stones to be found in these Serpents Teeth.
Pollik Kvar: Well done. Very well done, indeed. With these weaker Poppies, it was often necessary to give extra praise. Gather what strength you can and make for this Valley of Simcot. Secure Svann and take him with you. Kvar could feel a headache beginning behind his eyes. The Poppy Shekayrin in Gaena made a good subordinate, but his power to communicate was poor. And the boy likely has other information. There must be other openings, other tunnels. Bring him and continue to interrogate him on the road. Before you leave, relay these instructions to the others. Inform me which you cannot reach. At least he wouldn’t have to do all the work himself.
Seklur Tvak: Will there be enough of us? If these tunnels are numerous, perhaps impenetrable . . .
Pollik Kvar: Compose yourself. The chance to crush the resistance is too great to let pass. I will come myself and bring the men who can be spared from the capital. He would take all the Horsemen with him, he decided. Let them spend their lives finding a way into the mines. Go. Communicate your progress at sundown.
Kvar tapped his soul stone on the table in time to a dance tune playing in his head, and the sharp clicks, reminiscent of the tapping of the dancers’ heels, were somehow satisfying. He played through the whole tune, with two refrains at the end, before stopping and enclosing the stone in his right hand. “Leave me.” He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that he was quickly alone. If there was one sound a Poppy learned early, it was the sound of footsteps heading away. He smiled for a moment before rubbing at his eyes. He rose and replaced the soul stone in the pocket created by the crest on his tunic.
Once, there had been enough stones for even those who became ill after only a few hours of use. But that was long ago, when the stones and the dust that stored them were plentiful. Now, such weaklings were weeded out long before they would even reach the status of a first-stage apprentice. Those who failed the first test of power rarely left the examination room alive. The Poppy had strongly supported such practices.
“And I will continue to do so,” he said, tapping the stone in its pocket, “even should stones become plentiful again.”
Plentiful stones to be found at the Serpents Teeth, once he moved the Horsemen there. Perhaps he should pay a visit to the Princess Imperial—perhaps this would be a good time to begin training her in how he wished her to use the Voice of the Emperor.
“I will bring her with me to the mountains,” he said, though he would leave Dern Firoxi behind. The man had no military usefulness. “Whereas the girl’s presence will make the Horsemen easier to control.” Kvar smiled.
The young man standing outside the audience room door fell into step behind Kvar as the door swung shut behind him. He acknowledged no one as he walked through the halls on his way to his own rooms. Otherwise, they would never leave him alone, filling his days with petty inquiries, complaints about the work of their peers, and other such whining.
The door of his room opened in front of him at the flicking of his fingers, closing before his attendant could reach it. The man would station himself against the wall at the right-hand side of the door. His orders were to kill anyone trying to enter uninvited.
Humming, snapping his fingers to the same tune he had played in his head earlier, Kvar headed to his bedroom to fetch the mask from its casket. Another snap of the fingers raised the lid. He froze long enough for a bead of sweat to trickle down his back and for his fingers to cramp. He snatched his hands back, and the lid fell softly, without slamming, exactly the same as always. Exactly as though the mask were stil
l within.
“Impossible.” No one would have dared to enter his chambers. Not even Dern Firoxi, who at least in theory had the right to go anywhere he pleased in his own palace—not even he would have entered here without permission.
Kvar rubbed his palms together until the feeling in his hands was restored. He tore out the silk wrappings and padding that lined the box and threw them on the floor. It was only when he held the last piece in his hands that he realized one was missing. Here were the yellow, blue, and green. But not the red wrapping, the interior wrapping that enclosed the mask itself. Deliberately taken, then. Not a common thief, but someone who knew what they were taking.
Kvar stepped back from the empty casket and inhaled slowly. He needed to regain his calm. Only one person would have known to take the red silk cloth, imbued with dust, as well as the mask. In fact, only one person knew the mask was in his possession. Only one person.
He was several strides down the hall before his aide could even step away from the wall he’d been leaning against. Luckily for him, Kvar had more important people to discipline.
The guard outside the Princess Imperial’s suite snapped to attention, fist over heart, before stepping aside. Kvar gestured and the right-hand door slammed back against the inner wall, cracking. Three strides into the sitting room Kvar halted. Empty. The windows were unshuttered, only the fine mesh blinds softening the sunlight that entered the room. There was plenty of light to see by, and there was no one here.
“Attend me,” he called, but no one came. Even if the servants were in the bedchambers, his summons should draw them out. The rooms were so silent he could hear birds outside. The fluttering of wings, the senseless noises they made.
Unbelieving, Kvar strode to the bedroom door and flung it open. The bed was made, the room tidy. Not so much as a comb out of place or a pair of slippers awaiting the Imperial feet. He wrinkled his nose. There was a faint smell of almond oil.
Another faint smell drew him to the other room, obviously occupied by the two body servants. The edge of a carpet peeked out from under the closest bed. A crooked finger beckoned the rug out into the center of the floor and revealed the body of the Luqs of Farama.
Rage closed eyes and fists. Where is she?
As he rushed back to the entry, furniture and boxes, delicate little tables and glassware leaped out of his way, smashing against walls and floor. His attendant stood outside next to the guard, face impassive.
“Who has entered here? Who has left?”
The guard grew paler. “Since we came on duty, only the two servants have come out,” he said. “The guard before me said the Luqs had gone in. He hasn’t come out yet.” The man ventured what he likely thought was a telling smile.
Kvar knocked him to his knees with a blow from his fist. In the last moment he refrained from exposing the death. One thing at a time. “The room is empty. Go to your commander. Have the palace searched. Have the princess’ women brought to me.”
* * *
• • •
Peklin Svann frowned down at his meager collection of possessions. The black cloak and blue tunic that marked him as a Shekayrin. A pair of gloves with red embroidery on the edges. A book of short tales, for reading in the evenings. A square leather pouch he had hand-tooled himself before his magic came. Svann stood only in his shirt and leggings, his back to a brazier table, so he was not cold. Other Shekayrin owned more, but Sunflowers did not seem to accumulate much. Even their knowledge was not stored in books and scrolls, which could be easily lost or misplaced, but in their own memories. He picked up the pouch. He wished he had thought to give it to Wynn Martan. It could have lived on after him.
Weak though his magic might be in this area, Svann had been able to watch Wynn and Pella make it to the alehouse that was to serve as their meeting point—escaping through the kitchens and over the wall, as he had told Kerida. Endlessly resourceful, these people with no magic. Strange that he had never noticed that before. He had learned so many things since Weimerk the griffin had given him the gift of his friendship. For one, he had seen what friendship was.
He looked around the room, saw that everything was clean, the floor still damp. A page of blank paper lay to his right on the tabletop, next to a handful of aromatic cedar chips he had created with his knife from an old box. His preparations were complete. He had been hearing, and seeing, signs of the household waking up for some little time now. Soon the Poppy Shekayrin would come, and Svann was pleased that all was ready for him.
“You would not have left if I had told you,” he said aloud, his thoughts drifting once again to Wynn Martan. “You would have thought that you could help by staying.” He had told them the other Shekayrin were not strong enough to harm him. But with sufficient help, most Shekayrin could be overcome, even Poppies. They would be harder, since their strength was more physical, but it could be done.
Svann opened his hand, looking at the jewel lying on his palm. If they overcame him, and took his jewel, leaving him sweating, nauseated, shivering and writhing with pain that was no less agonizing because it was not real—then, then he might tell them anything, do anything, to get his jewel back. The noise at the door was almost a relief. Now the waiting would be over. He tucked the jewel into the front of his shirt.
The door swung, creaking on its hinges, and Seklur Tvak stood in the opening. Svann tossed the cedar chips into the brazier, to release their fragrance into the air.
“Svann,” the Poppy said in his quiet voice. “I have heard some disturbing things. About how you have come under the sway of the witches, and the enemy they still delude.”
Svann smiled. “Was that a question?” He picked up the piece of paper, his fingers nervously folding and unfolding, flattening, twisting, and rolling.
“I’m afraid there’s no question, none at all. You see I have brought guards with me. Shall I let them loose, or will you surrender quietly and give over your soul stone for my safekeeping?”
Svann placed his left hand over the spot where his jewel rested. His right hand poked the end of the thin paper tube he had created into the fire, withdrawing it when a feather of flame clung to the end. He studied the tiny flame for a moment before he let it fall, smiling toward the doorway, where neither Seklur Tvak nor his soldiers had seen they were standing at the edge of a floor dampened by oil they could not smell over the odor of cedar. The flaming paper ignited the lamp oil Svann had so carefully prepared.
“Come and take it from me,” he said, as fire engulfed the room. In his final moment, he was sure he heard the voice of the griffin.
* * *
Every muscle in Kerida’s body twitched, and she shivered, hesitating between one stair and the next.
“What is it?” Tel carried Ester in his arms.
“Nothing, just felt shivery for a moment.” Ker set her shoulders and continued up the stairs.
“Well, don’t stop again. Your sister’s no lightweight, you know.”
* * *
• • •
Ker set her jewel down on the small table next to her bed and rubbed between her eyes. “Not getting through,” she said.
“Something happened to Svann, do you think?” Tel sounded like he wasn’t sure what he wanted the answer to be.
“I guess he could be asleep,” she said. “I don’t know enough about how this works.” She drew in a deep breath. If she couldn’t get any help from Svann, she’d have to do it herself.
They had carried Ester upstairs to the attic room Ker shared with her and laid her on her own bed. She breathed evenly, and she had a good color, but no matter what she tried, Ker couldn’t see Ester’s aura. She squeezed Tel’s hand hard to keep from crying. Without much hope for success, Ker tried the griffin.
<
<
Ker shivered. Weimerk’s voice brought with it the space and the cold
she expected, but also, this time, a feeling of calm and rest. Where was he? Did the other griffins know he was talking to her? She shook those questions out of her head.
<
<
Ker told herself to keep her temper. <
<
Look at it with the other eye? How was that helpful? What other eye? Ker gritted her teeth. She could almost see Weimerk with that self-satisfied look on his beaky face, blinking first one eye and then the other. One eye, and then the other. Weimerk’s eyes were far enough apart that if he wanted to, he could easily look through them one at a time. The first time she’d met him, the first time she’d seen the auras, she had a glimpse of what it was like to look at two things at once.
By telling her this, he meant she should look at her problem another way. What was it Svann had told her once about the skewed logic of griffins? She’d tried to find Ester’s aura, and she’d found nothing. And the net that was supposed to be containing her sister’s aura? Not there either. So, what if she tried to put something where there was nothing? Weimerk had given her some of his own colors—why couldn’t she do the same for Ester?
She was Kerida Griffin Girl. She should be able to do for her sister what Weimerk had done for her. A sense of warmth and pleasure swept through her, Weimerk’s way of letting her know she’d come to the right answer.
<
Gift of Griffins Page 27
