by Neil McGarry
She suppressed a shudder. It would have been one thing to have killed this man in that mad melee in the Narrows, but what Morel hinted at was different. It was cold, calculated, and she wished no part of it.
Morel rose once more and with a touch on her shoulder guided her away from the Silent and back towards the Gardens. “Jadis is in dire need of repentance. The whole of Rodaas knows he attained his position by murdering his rival. Did you know Keeper Malachar?” When she shook her head, Morel sighed. “A good man, open and trusting. That trust was his undoing. I do not intend to be so undone.” His hand on her shoulder had become unwelcome, but she did not shrug him off. “You have gone to Mayu in prayer,” he said, pointing to the small scars on her palms and fingers. “You seek her blessed assurance. Jadis, for all his talk of uncertainty, seeks the same, though he shall never find it. He kneels before the tree and feeds the soil, but his heart is empty.” They stepped into the open air, and she saw that the shrouded sun was westering. “Your heart is not empty,” he said earnestly. “Do not let the First Keeper steal what lies there. It is far too rare and far too valuable.”
And he’d rather steal it for himself, she thought. “Your warning is heard, keeper, though it strikes me that perhaps you would not be sad to see the Evangelism continue.” He looked at her, confused, but she gestured towards the villagers standing guard or tending plants. “The pressures from above drive the people of the Deeps to seek help from any quarter. And not all beggars end up with the likes of the Silent, do they?” She stepped away from his touch. “Thank you for your time, Keeper Morel. I’ll tell Jadis all you’ve said and leave you to tend your garden.”
When Morel spoke, his voice was calm and measured. He never narrowed an eye nor clenched a fist, but Duchess read his rage all the same. “Things will not always be so,” he said, his eyes alight. “The Evangelism will not go on forever, and after one change often comes another.” The smile he made was hard, without welcome. “And then you and Jadis may learn—as others did, during the War of the Quills—that, in Rodaas, the fog is not all that rises.”
* * *
They moved as quickly as they dared. The day was swiftly passing, and even with Adori and seven of the Moon Flowers beside them, she wanted to be safely back in the Shallows by sunset. Castor was silent as always, but Lysander, too, seemed unusually taciturn, and the Moon Flowers neither spoke nor sang.
She wished she’d never come on this mission, never seen Morel or his True Gardens. She’d had to face the brutality that passed for life in the Narrows and had ended up with nothing to show for it. She thought of Amabilis and Eusbius’ dagger, of Finn and Adam Whitehall, of steel weapons and gangs like the Silent, of her father’s diaries and Uncle Cornelius, of the War of the Quills, and her mouth felt full of acid.
Perhaps it was better that she had not succeeded. She wondered if anyone could have convinced Morel to join the First Keeper’s cause; the man held Jadis in obvious contempt. Morel could work magic with his words, and she wondered what Jadis would do with a talent like that. The First Keeper was dangerous enough as he was.
She noticed Lysander walking next to Castor, leaning close. She braced for another argument, but what she overheard sounded anything but heated.
“—has a way of finding your sore spots, doesn’t he?” Lysander was saying. “I felt strange admitting fear to a priest. Growing up down here...well, you learn to hide that kind of thing.”
Castor was silent for a long time. “There’s no shame in fear,” he said at last, watching the way ahead. “A man who cannot admit his fears is no man at all. Were you afraid when the Silent came?” Lysander nodded warily. “As was I, yet I defended myself—as did you.” He favored Lysander with a rare half-smile. “And left one of the Silent missing quite a few teeth. You’re good with that staff; perhaps one day you can teach me how.” He paused. “Perhaps Far, as well.”
Lysander simply nodded, obviously pleased, and Duchess, her throat tight, shot Castor a look of pure gratitude. If that terrible fight with the Deeps gang could bring those two closer, then perhaps it had not all been bad.
Rather than intrude on their moment, she dropped back to walk beside Adori, who was carrying her club over one shoulder. “Aren’t you worried about going all the way back by yourselves?”
Adori snorted. “We thumped the Silent once today, and we’re pleased to do it again.”
“Well I remember.” She smiled, trying to seem casual. “The gardens—the True Gardens, as you say—were amazing. I’d never have expected something like that in the Deeps.” Adori nodded, and even in the fading light, Duchess could again see the uneasiness in the older woman’s eyes. She was not like her sisters. “Did all of that come with Morel?”
Adori seemed to consider the question. “Morel came to us in the spring, and by summer we’d cleared away the rocks, dug up the stones and were planting seeds.”
“Hard to believe all of that happened so quickly.”
“Don’t think it was easy. The early days were hard—fights with the gangs, folks giving up and going home when they got tired or someone died in an attack.” She glanced away from Duchess, seeming to choose her words carefully. “The real miracle came by the end of summer. Suddenly things just...changed.” She did not smile. “Mayu’s hand, I suppose.”
Mayu’s something, Duchess was certain. She’d stolen Eusbius’ dagger in early spring, soon after receiving P’s coin. The Uncle had returned it to Eusbius soon after. Amabilis had then had Tyford steal it once more and had sent it to Morel, via Finn. She calculated the dates in her head; yes, Morel could have received the blade by the time the True Gardens were being planted.
Jadis had called the dagger, which so clearly bore the circle-snake symbol of P, the Key of Mayu. The same dagger that had felt so very strange as she had carried it through the tunnels beneath the hill, certain that the rising mists from below would swallow her whole.
She shuddered. Whatever door Morel had managed to unlock in the Deeps, she wondered if the Key had burned as cold in his hands as it had in her own.
Chapter Nineteen: Trouble before and behind
A celebration was clearly in order.
Castor and Far commandeered anything that could be used as a surface and dragged it into the front room, while Lysander and Mikkos fetched several chairs from Lysander’s apartments, plus several others whose provenance Duchess decided it was better not to know. Jana and Duchess gathered up every plate and piece of cutlery they could lay their hands on, but in the end it still wasn’t enough. Duchess had ended up volunteering her own daggers, a proposal which horrified Jana and resulted in a demand that they be cleaned several times over before they were to be put to use.
Each of them brought something to eat. Mikkos made arrangements to use the kitchen of a nearby restaurant, and he and Jana presented several of their favorite Domae dishes, including the bataya that Duchess so loved. Lysander made use of the hearths of the shop and his garret to roast skewers of beef and chicken, spiced with fresh ground pepper, and Castor produced bottles of wine and ale, as well as fresh milk so that Far would not be left out of their toasts. Duchess herself set about making pies, apple and cherry and blueberry, and was pleased to find she’d lost none of her skills for being out of a bakery for nearly a year. Such fruit was not easy to come by so close to winter, but as of today the cost wouldn’t trouble her one bit.
Finally, they all gathered at their makeshift table, around a splendid array of food, and before they ate everyone looked expectantly to Duchess. She blushed, realizing they were waiting for her to signal the start of the feast. She lifted her glass. “To good friends,” she began, feeling as if more needed to be said. She looked around at the faces of people to whom she was not related. Except for Lysander, she’d known them for less than a year. And yet...
“And to family,” she added, her cheeks burning.
“To very successful sisters,” Lysander quipped. “May their purses always be open to their brothers!” Far l
et out a cheer, and Jana, caught mid-sip, nearly choked with laughter.
There was reason enough to toast their success. Yesterday afternoon, Duchess and Jana had accompanied Ferroc to a scholar's stall in Market Square and signed the necessary papers. Their entire output of cloth would henceforth be sold only to Ferroc and Nieces, in exchange for the generous lump sum Ferroc had already provided plus a per-yard price stipulated in the contract. If by some miracle they made more cloth than Ferroc was interested in buying, the contract also specified that the excess could be sold to other members of the guild for any price they could negotiate. Since there was no longer a need to staff a shop or to keep complicated accounts, with the stroke of a pen Duchess’ life had become infinitely easier–and infinitely richer.
As she ate, Duchess reflected how strange it was to think she was now a wealthy woman. Even though she’d been born to means, she’d been in the Shallows so long she’d forgotten what it was like not to worry that a life in the Deeps was one mistake away.
Lysander was juggling chunks of bread for Far’s benefit, and after that nothing would do but that the boy try it for himself. Castor, seated by his side, smiled indulgently, and Duchess shook her head, still amazed at how quickly things had changed between them. Castor had clearly discovered a new respect for Lysander.
Once more, she wished she had more to show for their journey into the Deeps than good feelings. Jadis had taken the news of her failure well enough, but she’d sensed the tension he was trying to hide. The statues on the Godswalk were still chained, indicating that the truce among the faiths still held, but for how much longer? When things in Rodaas went bad they went bad quickly, and she didn’t want to know just how bad the Evangelism could get.
Jana and Mikkos were singing a Domae song, and the more they drank the more Jana giggled, which made the performance ragged. That naturally required more wine, and so the circle turned. Jana’s delight at her reunion with Mikkos was wonderful to see. Though Duchess still suspected the boy of being a spy for Minette, Duchess thought him too devoted to his sister to ever work against her. And if it ever came to choosing sides, well, Lysander could be very persuasive.
As usual, he could tell when she was thinking of him. “You’re worrying about something,” he said, leaning in close to the end of the table where she’d been brooding.
“It’s not over, is all. I can’t help remembering that.” Nigel’s problem with Hadron and Lepta remained, after all, and she hadn’t the faintest idea how to deal with that. Her reputation on the Grey was still in tatters, thanks to P’s rumormongering and the price she’d paid in taking responsibility for the Coast Road debacle.
Lysander put down his glass and grasped her by both shoulders. “Tomorrow will find you whether you worry it on its way or not. Leave it be.”
She hoped he was right; after all, on the Highway, there were always new falls to follow and more failures to frune.
Mikkos called across to Lysander for a new song, one they could all sing. Lysander knew every tune from Garden to Broken Gate, and he launched into one about the blacksmith and his dog. Neither Jana nor Far knew the words to that one, but there weren’t many to learn and soon all six were shouting the refrain loudly enough for the empress to hear.
After that came the pies, which turned out just as Duchess had hoped. She had a slice of blueberry, and stole a few bites of cherry from Lysander’s plate. “Where did you learn that song, Lysander?” Far asked, attacking his slice of pie as if it might suddenly vanish. Blueberries stained his chin and the front of his laced shirt.
“The Tenth Bell Boys used to sing it all the time. You remember the lightboys I showed you the other night?”
“They had the sticks and the lamps,” Far said. “Father, they take the nobles down the hill at night, Lysander says. I’d like to do that, too.”
“Half your pie is on your face,” Castor said, taking a napkin Jana handed him, “and that’s one thing lightboys don’t have.” He said this with mock severity, but around those gray eyes Duchess saw only affection as he dabbed and wiped at his son’s chin.
“Lysander has pie on his face, too!” Far protested.
“Well, then your father has my permission to wipe it—or anything else, for that matter.” The corners of Castor’s mouth twitched slightly, and Duchess and Jana screamed approval.
“What’s that mean?” Far asked, frowning.
“It means the time has come to clear this away,” Duchess said quickly, rising. “Who’s going to help me clean up?”
“No one!” shouted Far, Lysander and, surprisingly, Mikkos.
Lysander poked Mikkos in the ribs while Far continued shouting, “No one!” over and over, much to his father’s consternation. “You know that game, too?” Lysander gestured at Far. “Here I thought this one made it up.”
Mikkos and Jana shared a smile. “We did learn it from an edunae,” said Mikkos. Jana frowned and he quickly corrected himself. “Sorry—Rodaasi.”
“Kanenas,” Duchess said, remembering Jana’s story.
Mikkos looked at Jana. “You told her that as well?” He shook his head. “It’s one thing for you to have no secrets, but don’t I get any of my own?”
“It seems not,” replied Jana primly, stacking plates. Then she ruined it by giggling again. “I did not tell her you used to follow him about like a puppy.”
“Oho!” Lysander guffawed. “I think I need to hear this.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking!” Mikkos protested. “He and my aunt Adelpha used to stay up late, talking, and I used to eavesdrop on them.” If he harbored any feelings about Adelpha and her “change,” he hid them well. “I thought I’d hear stories about great adventures and secret treasures and all that, but it was mostly boring talk of old tales and revenants. I fell asleep once or twice, I’ll admit.” His eyes lit up with mischief. “Still, I heard Adelpha say his name once. His real one and not the one we gave him.”
“And you never told me?” Jana feigned a slap in his direction, which he avoided with a grin.
“I was afraid you’d slip in front of Adelpha, and then I’d be in for it. No more stories.” Jana nodded. “I can barely remember most of it, anyway, even his name. It was...something like Yustin? Jostin?”
Duchess felt as if she’d been punched in the gut and the hand that was reaching for an empty cup stopped in mid-air. “How long ago was this?” she asked Mikkos.
He shrugged. “I was young then, not even ten, I think, so maybe eight or nine years ago. Isn’t that right, Jana?”
“Yes. I was twelve when he came to the camp and I am nearly twenty now. So eight years.” But her eyes were on Duchess, as if she sensed her inner turmoil.
“You look a little pale,” Lysander said, sitting up straighter. “I think you’ve had too much wine.” Even Castor was looking at her curiously, and his hand moved to a sword hilt that was not there.
She swayed and would have fallen if Lysander hadn’t guided her back to her chair. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
Everyone in the room was staring at her. “Justin,” she said at last, feeling her blood turn to ice water. “His name was Justin.”
Mikkos nodded. “Yes, that was it.”
Jana was at her side. “What is happening? Did you know this man?”
Duchess put her face into her hands as if to ward off the waves of dizziness that swept over her. “Yes,” she said at last through her fingers. “He was my brother.”
* * *
Gloria Tremaine's face was so still it might have been made of glass. “I did not hear you say that.”
Duchess had seen Tremaine in the thick of battle with Rodaasi society—haughty, aloof, and cruel. She had seen her a casual giant amongst her underlings—careless with her power and heedless of her harm. She herself had been the object of the Guildmaster’s scorn, and while she had lived to tell the tale, it was not something she wished to ever repeat.
Standing in the workroom of Gloria Tremaine’s shop, Duches
s saw something far more terrifying: the guildmaster utterly calm, a statue made of ice.
She didn’t have the energy for this, not after last night. Justin, her father’s heir and the new Lord Kell, had vanished the night her family’s estate had burned, and as far as anyone knew he was dead. She now knew he’d been alive at least long enough to leave the city and encounter the Domae, though Jana and Mikkos could tell her little more than that. Justin had stayed with their people for a time, and then had headed west. They had never seen him again.
She still didn’t know why he had left his inheritance, why he had left her, behind. Justin had run, fleeing through the Westerlands without a single look back. He’d abandoned her, there in her burning bedroom, the worst of her fears made real. Her father had died and Marguerite had been lost to the facets, but Justin had left her.
Knowing a little, she was realizing, was far worse than knowing nothing at all.
“Do I need to say it again?” she replied, more sharply than she intended. “We received a better offer. We accepted it. Thus we must say no, thank you.”
“A better offer?” Tremaine replied lightly. “Interesting.” Duchess could swear the room was becoming colder by the moment. “There are very few who could do such a thing, fewer still who could manage it without my knowing.” She smiled slightly. “Ah. Of course. Ferroc.” The guildmaster raised an imperious hand when Duchess opened her mouth to respond. “No, don’t protest your innocence. I can read the truth on your face.”
Duchess hesitated, then inclined her head; the news would soon be all over the guild. There was no point in denying it now. “You know this isn't personal, guildmaster,” she pointed out, only half meaning it. “It's just good business.”
Tremaine raised an eyebrow. “For it to be good business, Ferroc must have made you an offer at least as good as my own.” She tapped her lip with a perfectly manicured finger. “That would require a great deal of money. And where would Ferroc get such a sum?” She glanced about the room as if Duchess did not even exist. “Not from her business, of that I’m certain. A guildmaster knows many things about her sisters in trade.” She finally deigned to glance in Duchess’ direction. “I can see the shape of it. You moved against the Atropi with my help, and now you move against me with Ferroc’s. Perhaps your new partner was behind the business at the Fall of Ventaris?”
