by Brian Farrey
To be fair, I could see why she was angry. Her feathery eyebrows had just been singed off when the scorchcake I’d placed in the oven exploded. But I didn’t do it on purpose. Singe her eyebrows, I mean.
The explosion, though, was very much planned.
Every surface in the kitchen was covered in hot, gooey cake batter. Servants slipped across the floor, trying to put out the oven fire. In the middle of the chaos, Mavra had pinned me up against a wall. Thankfully, the batter on her hands made it hard to get a good grip. I slid from her clutches and ducked under a table.
“Now, Mavra,” I said, scrambling away, “killing me won’t solve anything.”
“Wrong!” She dug her talons into the stone floor. “It will solve the biggest problem I have. You!”
Mavra was only four years older than me but she was as huge as any adult Aviard. Her beak dropped open, emitting a terrible screech, and she lurched at me. She tried to spread her wings and come at me from above, but the cake batter prevented her from flying. I pushed off the table, sliding across the room.
She began hurling everything she could get her talons on: rolling pins, ladles, egg whisks. I did a good job dodging them until a well-aimed wooden spoon hit me right between the eyes and sent me down into the muck on the floor. Before I could recover, Mavra was on top of me.
My fellow servants were not exactly helpful. Once they put the oven fire out, they surrounded us, cheering on whoever they thought was winning. In other words, they were rooting for Mavra.
She slapped at me while I flailed around, pitching handfuls of batter into her eyes. This, of course, made her howl louder and pummel harder.
“Is too loud!”
Mavra froze, just as she grabbed my smock. Gobek tread carefully through the batter on the floor, wincing with every step. He took in the mess and shook his head. “Is not going to be good cake,” he announced. Several of the kitchen staff laughed.
Mavra jumped to her feet and pointed at me. “Tyrius did this, Gobek.”
“It w-was an accident,” I stammered, doing my best to look sorry. “It’s not as bad as you think. You look good with batter in your feathers.”
The Aviard cried out and leaped at me, but Gobek gently pulled her away.
“Is not good being angry, Mavra,” Gobek said. Then, his tiny mouth pursed into what looked like a vertical smile. “Gobek is knowing what is to be making Mavra happy.”
He took a step back and bowed his head. As he did, his greasy flesh began to slide and swirl. His short, fat legs grew long and thin, while talons sprang from his feet. Multicolored feathers popped out all over a torso that had become lean and triangular. His head melted and was replaced with two long and springy necks, each sporting a new, single-eyed head with a beak that curved upward.
Gobek had become a garfluk, widely known as the stupidest bird in all the Five Provinces. One of Gobek’s two heads warbled while the other head laughed. He ran in place, flapping his green-feathered wings and kicking his legs in a bizarre dance.
The other servants laughed as the Gobek garfluk pranced around the kitchen, bumping into tables and behaving like a buffoon. In the past few days, I’d seen Gobek change shape maybe a dozen times. He did it to entertain the servants. It only added to his mystery. In all my studies with the Dowager, I’d never heard of a creature that could change from one thing into another.
While the other servants were enjoying the show, Mavra was not. She shoved a small girl toward a basket filled with vegetables. “Get back to work!”
The laughter died as everyone returned to their tasks. Gobek stopped, his heads dropping. The garfluk folded in on itself. The feathers dissolved and stretched out to become Gobek’s claylike flesh. Soon, the small chubby creature was back to his normal form.
“Gobek is usually making Mavra happy with garfluk. Is maybe happier if Gobek becomes sprybird?”
Mavra’s taloned fingers balled into a pair of nasty-looking fists. “He’s been nothing but trouble since he got here!”
I scrunched my face up in the most repentant look possible. It worked. Gobek took pity on me. “Is new here. Is still learning. Is careful to remember Mavra was new once too.”
Even as Gobek tried to calm her, Mavra continued to rant. I looked past Gobek in time to see Maloch and Callie slip into the kitchen from the hall and blend in with the assembled crowd. They caught my eye and touched their temples. I gave a small nod.
“Let me tell you,” I said loudly, interrupting Mavra, “that I have really learned my lesson. Yes, sir, no more baking for Tyrius, that’s for sure. How about I just clean up this mess and we’ll call it good?”
I didn’t give Mavra a chance to argue. I pushed past her and headed to the supply closet.
“Is seeing?” Gobek asked, patting her hand. “Is cleaning up. Is all better now, yes?”
Mavra spun on the other servants, who gaped from the far side of the kitchen. “What are you all looking at?” she demanded, sending everyone scurrying.
I took my time at the supply closet, selecting just the right mop for the job. Maloch and Callie strolled over, pretending they didn’t know I was there.
“Did you get it?” I asked softly.
Maloch turned his cupped hand toward me. A small tarnished key sat nestled in his palm. “Swiped it the minute Gobek heard the commotion and came here.” He surveyed the batter-spattered kitchen. “Nice diversion.”
“Jaxter, what did you do?” Callie asked, trying to look horrified, but all she could manage was highly amused.
“Bit of baking,” I said. I pulled up the smock that covered my front, revealing my pouches. “For future reference, jellyweed does not bake well. But then, I already knew that.” I touched my temple and nodded at Callie. “You know where to meet us. Midnight.”
Callie touched her temple and walked away.
“Tyrius!” Mavra bellowed.
I grabbed a mop and bucket and shambled over to the Aviard. She began directing me where to mop, as if I couldn’t tell that the batter was literally everywhere. But I didn’t question it. I played my part, the faithful servant, and did as I was told. For now.
It had all worked exactly as planned. The cake explosion, Gobek leaving his quarters in a hurry so Maloch could steal the key.
Tonight, after nearly a week of trying to find Aubrin, we’d finally have some answers.
9
The Purple Prophecy
“Silver gilds the lie that opens the deepest vault.”
—Ancient par-Goblin proverb
As a rule, I don’t go around blowing up cakes or singeing Aviard eyebrows for fun. It was fun, but that’s not why I did it.
I did it because I was desperate. Mavra worked the servants from sunup until long after sundown. We cleaned latrines. We cooked meals. We made beds. But we hardly ever saw the seers we were here to serve. And when we did, Aubrin was never with them.
Once everyone had gone to bed, Maloch and I, candles in hand, sneaked out of the boys’ barracks and made our way to the seer classroom. The seers spent their mornings in this room with Gobek, who taught them how to use their abilities. The room was far enough away from the servant barracks to keep our midnight meetings private.
“Do you think it’s weird?” Maloch asked, while we waited for Callie.
“What?”
“This place. The seers are really valuable to the High Laird. And the staff is made up of criminals. What’s to stop anyone from leaving?”
“I dunno,” I said. “The Overlord, maybe?”
We both chuckled. Since our arrival, the other servants enjoyed telling us stories of the Overlord. Allegedly, Gobek wasn’t the only one in charge of the Creche. Rumor had it that a mysterious figure—the Overlord—resided here as well, keeping an eye on everyone and everything. No one knew who it was or even if he or she really existed. I’d chosen to ignore the stories. Clearly they’d been concocted to keep the servants in line with the threat of an unknown, all-seeing gaoler.
At least, t
hat’s what I hoped.
Callie joined us a moment later, sitting at a round table with a sigh.
“I almost didn’t make it,” Callie said. “Mavra wouldn’t take her eyes off me all night. I think she suspects we’re up to something.”
“I don’t care about Mavra,” I snapped, and immediately regretted it. “Sorry. I’m just . . .”
Callie squeezed my shoulder. “We’ll find Aubrin, Jaxter. I can feel it. We’re getting closer.”
We’d seen seven of the eight seers, a group of children as young as ten and as old as sixteen. They rarely spoke to the servants, or each other for that matter. Honestly, they were all a bit . . . weird. Always gave you a look like they knew something you didn’t.
We quickly figured out that our best chance of finding Aubrin was to learn everything we could about the Creche. But after almost a week of searching, we were no closer to finding her. Time was running out. Ma and Da were waiting for us in Vesta. If we were to meet them on time, we had to leave the Creche in two days.
“Okay,” Callie said, “what have we learned today?”
Mavra kept us so busy during the day, these midnight meetings were our only chance to share what we’d learned. We were always on alert, noting any clues that might lead us to Aubrin.
I cupped my chin in my hand. “Only thing I learned today is that they’re very thorough in collecting all the seers’ prophecies. Why is that, do you think?”
“Ah,” Maloch said, “I know that one. I was cleaning the hall outside the classroom when Gobek was teaching the seers and I overheard the lesson.”
He reached to the center of the table where a glass bowl filled with colored marbles sat. He plucked out a bright purple marble. “Okay, pretend this represents a vision of the future. Let’s say . . . the High Laird chokes on a bone while eating roast gekbeak.” He set the marble down near the table’s edge.
“Now,” Maloch continued, “that event didn’t just happen on its own. Before he ate the gekbeak, it was prepared by his cook.” He pulled a blue marble from the bowl and laid it next to the purple one in a line that pointed to the middle of the table. “Before the cook could prepare it, a servant bought the gekbeak from a butcher.” He pulled a green marble out and laid it next to the blue.
“The butcher bought the gekbeak from a huntsman”—next, a yellow marble—“who killed the gekbeak along a ridge”—an orange marble—“all because the huntsman got up at sunrise because he knows that’s the best time to hunt gekbeaks.” Finally, Maloch placed a dark red marble in the center of the table. All the marbles lined up perfectly, red to purple. Maloch ran his finger along the line. “All of these must happen to get us here,” he said, tapping the purple marble.
“But,” he added quickly, returning his hand to the red marble, “let’s say the huntsman didn’t wake at dawn like he planned.” He flicked the red marble and it rolled away. “Which means the gekbeak got away”—he flicked the orange marble—“so the butcher had no gekbeak to sell that day”—there went the yellow marble—“and, without any gekbeak at the market, the High Laird’s servant decided to buy a cargabeast steak instead”—flick went the green marble—“and the cook prepared a boneless steak”—the blue marble spun off, and Maloch snatched up the purple one—“leaving the High Laird healthy.”
I peered at the scattered marbles. “So,” I said slowly, “a vision is just one possible future. And the more marbles—I mean visions—you can record that lead up to the purple prophecy, the more likely it is to occur.”
Callie nodded. “And that means, if you know everything that leads up to the big event before it happens, you could knock out one of the marbles to make sure the purple prophecy doesn’t happen. You don’t just have to stop the red marble. Affecting any event in the chain disrupts the pattern, right?”
Maloch shrugged. “Maybe. I think that’s why they gather every prediction, no matter how small. You never know what role it might play in future events.”
Another thought occurred to me but I kept it to myself. Gathering all the predictions was also a good way of making sure no one else knew of all the small events that led to a big one.
Callie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “That explains . . . ,” she whispered softly.
“What?” I asked.
“I overheard two seers say that Aubrin is an augur. That’s the most powerful kind of seer. Their visions give the most accurate view of things to come. Maybe that’s why they keep her separate. She can be used to verify the other predictions.”
“Did they say where she’s kept?” I asked.
“We know where she is,” Maloch said. He held up the key he’d stolen. “Your diversion was all about getting this.”
There were three places in the Creche that servants were forbidden to go. The seer dormitory was one. But it didn’t make sense for them to keep Aubrin somewhere so obvious. That left . . .
“This will get us into the Athenaeum?” Callie asked.
The Athenaeum was behind a locked, golden door. The seers spent their afternoons in there, doing who knew what. Servants weren’t even allowed in to clean. Since we knew the seers spent a lot of time behind the door, it made sense we’d find Aubrin there. The only other option was . . .
“Unless you want to see what’s behind the Black Door,” Maloch said gravely.
We knew a little about the Athenaeum. We knew absolutely nothing about the Black Door. It stood at the dead end of a corridor near the seer dormitory. Some servants believed the mysterious Overlord lived there. Others thought it was a place they tortured servants who misbehaved. The only thing all the servants agreed on: it was a place to fear.
Sometimes, late at night, you could hear screaming behind it. Inhuman, pain-filled wailing. If Aubrin was as important as Callie said, chances were she wasn’t back there. Checking behind the Black Door was our very last option.
I snatched the key from Maloch. “All right, then. What are we waiting for? Let’s go to the Athenaeum.”
10
Into the Athenaeum
“Secrets buried in a six-foot hole are seven feet from discovery.”
—The Lymmaris Creed
As we made our way through the shadowy halls of the Creche, I couldn’t stop thinking about the warning in Aubrin’s journal and what Maloch had said about the marbles. If it was true, the future wasn’t set. Things could change. I just had to figure out how to flick away the marbles that led to me dying.
Which sounded right. The more I thought about it all, the more convinced I was that I was losing my marbles anyway.
“Here we are,” Maloch announced as we arrived at the Athenaeum door.
“Okay,” I said, “if we find Aubrin, we leave tonight.” I gave Tree Bag a pat. “I packed some supplies for the trip. Ready?”
Everybody nodded. I turned the key in the lock and slid the door open.
We stepped through and found ourselves in a forest. A huge, dense, moonlit forest.
“Didn’t see this coming,” I admitted.
We padded softly across the grassy ground, ducking under low-hanging branches covered in leaves as big as my body. At the top of the Creche, a glass dome let in light from both moons hovering high overhead.
“I’m just going to ask,” Maloch said, “why is there a forest inside the Creche?”
“I think the Creche was built around the forest,” Callie said. “These trees seem very old. Maybe hundreds of years. Now we know why the building is so big. It could take us hours to search the whole thing. Or days.”
“Fine. Next question: why build the Creche around a forest?”
I ran my fingers across the rough bark of the nearest tree. “They must be special somehow.” Reaching up, I took one of the mammoth leaves in hand and held it up to the moonlight. The leaf appeared to glow, revealing a map of veins under the leaf’s surface. “Maybe the Palatinate wanted to protect—”
I stopped. The dark veins within the leaf began to shift. The leaf wriggled gently between m
y fingers. Within seconds, the veins had repositioned. Instead of reaching out in random directions, they now spelled out near the top of the leaf:
“Whisperoak!”
“Huh?” Maloch asked.
“It’s whisperoak. An entire forest of whisperoak trees. They were supposed to have died out a long time ago. Look . . .” I took another leaf in hand and said softly, “Jaxter was here.”
I held the leaf to the light and the veins read:
“The Dowager told me that Aviards used these centuries ago to record family histories,” I said.
“That doesn’t explain why the Creche is built around an entire forest,” Maloch mumbled.
Carefully, I climbed up to the lowest branch of the nearest tree and grabbed some leaves. Words covered the surface. I checked leaf after leaf—each carried comments more cryptic than the last. Many detailed commonplace events at the Jubilee, which was just a week away.
“This must be how they record prophecies,” I said. “Safer than writing them in books, which could get stolen.”
“Jaxter . . . ,” Callie said softly.
“But if the prophecies are so valuable,” I continued, “you’d think they’d be better protected.”
“Jaxter . . . ,” she said again.
“I mean, building the Creche around the forest was effective but if someone really wanted to get in here—like we did—it wouldn’t take very much. Didn’t Talian’s book say this place was enchanted? Where are the magical protections—?”
Callie reached up and slapped my foot. “Jaxter!”
“What?”
She nodded toward the heart of the forest. Maloch and I followed her fear-stricken gaze. In the distance, a pale blue sphere of light floated between the trees. A moment later, a second and third appeared. Each pulsed and flickered . . . and moved in our direction.
“Ah,” I said, “that would be the protection.”
“What are they?” Maloch asked.
“Gaolglobes,” Callie whispered as she consulted the page she’d stolen from Talian’s library. “Magical sentries. They zero in on movement and sound. Nobody move.”
