by Various
“Taavi,” Klera called out. “Come. Talk to our new friend.”
Nedda’s dilatory cousin had finally arrived. To me he was simply another stranger, in a city with tens of thousands of strangers. I stabbed my fork into my noodles and began to eat steadily, hoping Taavi did not hear Klera above the noise.
The gods evidently decided to ignore my silent prayer, because a moment later, a young man dressed in a shirt and trousers of blue cotton dropped easily to the floor in front of me.
“Taavi, this is Irene. From Fortezzien. Irene…”
The young man held out a hand. “I am Taavi Matlik. You may disregard my presence, if it pleases you. I am merely a student of architecture. Not a very successful one, according to my professors.”
I regarded him with a frown. It was hard to tell his age. He was sharp-featured like his cousin Nedda, with a complexion of dusky brown and long black hair caught back in a ribbon. His eyes were so dark, they were almost black.
“Should I agree with them, your professors?” I asked.
“Only if it pleases you.”
Taavi offered me a brilliant smile, like the skip and dance of sunlight over snow. My heart contracted painfully, swift and unexpected. It took me several moments to recover myself.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had a difficult day.”
“So I see.” He studied me with a more serious expression. “Beginnings can be difficult. I’m sorry if I made this one more so.”
I shook my head. To my relief, he did not bother me with more conversation. He and Klera nattered on about Taavi’s work in the old duchy of Valentain, assisting the master architect in designing a new wing for the duke’s household. I listened a while; then, when Nedda arrived at last, I retired into my solitary room.
Without bothering to light a lamp, I felt my way through the dark to my bed, where Biss was nesting among the blankets. She protested, but gave way with a perfunctory hiss, then settled once more, her purrs vibrating against my ribs. Outside, the celebration continued, muffled by the plaster walls and thick wooden door.
How odd. How … unexpected. Oh, I knew the taste and touch of plain desire—that alone did not trouble me—but I had never been so susceptible to beauty before. If I were back in Versterlant, I would know exactly what to do, the words to speak, to invite him into my bed. We would make our intentions and expectations clear. Only what did I intend? A night of pleasure? A season of love and delight?
It does not matter what I want. I came to Duenne for my people, not my own desires.
* * *
“Who assigned you to my class?”
The ancient instructor appeared far less ancient, here in the nest of papers and scrolls and vials that made up her private office. I sat opposite her, in an unsteady chair surely calculated to rob me of any confidence.
“Vrou Nef and the Masters,” I replied. “They said—”
“Shut up.”
Startled, I expelled the rest of my answer in a soundless breath.
My instructor grinned at me. “Good. You are not entirely without a sense of self-preservation. My sweet young idiot, you clearly do not need an introduction to magic. You know it—well enough I nearly called a halt that first session. You have a lovely signature,” she said in softer tones. “A flower unfolding. I wish I knew its name.”
Starflowers, I thought. I knew my own magical imprint. But I did not say that out loud. Starflowers bloomed in the far north at midsummer, scattered thickly over the gray-green tundra, like a reflection of the stars overhead. The signature alone would not betray me, but my reaction might.
My tutors had prepared me for this eventuality, however.
“I have read books, Vrou,” I said.
She gave sharp laugh. “No doubt. You all do, you insatiable creatures. I am only surprised you do not annihilate yourselves from curiosity. To that end, I have re-assigned you to a more advanced course. You will report to Vrou Miskova and Hêr Grivas next week with a paper outlining the history of the Erythandran language as it relates to magical conjuration. Yes, I know you have begun a philosophy course as well. Do you think we are all blind and ignorant? No, do not answer. I fear to learn how honest you might prove.”
* * *
She dismissed me from the day’s instruction, saying I would only distract the other students. It was a kindness, however little she realized it. I retreated to the nearest public square, and sat with my head resting on both hands. With the next set of classes underway, quiet had settled over the courtyard, leaving only the chirp and warble of doves as they chased down crumbs and seeds.
Grivas was a Fortezzien name. I had studied the language for a decade. I had memorized every detail of its history. I had absorbed its hatreds and its passions and every other conceivable detail from our agents. And yet … this was my second true test. A false word, a mistaken pronunciation, and I would betray myself and my people.
Nonsense. Your parents chose you because of your skill with languages.
And yet, they had done the same with my sister, and she had died.
“Irene.”
A shadow dropped over me. I jerked my head up to see Taavi Matlik hovering nearby. He had a haversack slung over one shoulder, and a flat leather case tucked under his arm. The noonday sun cast shadows over his face.
“Are you ill?” he said. “You sat down so suddenly…”
I shook my head. “Only tired. Thank you.”
The shadows around his mouth deepened into a smile. “You were weary last night as well. Perhaps it’s Duenne’s water. I’ve heard the pipes in our building are several centuries old— Ow!” He leaped backward and rubbed his shin where I had punched him.
“You babble too much,” I said. “And I dislike teasing.”
He tilted his head. “So I noticed. You are short but powerful, and I am a delicate artist. But, Irene,” and his voice dropped to a quieter tone, “what is wrong? You look as though you met a disaster.”
Oh, but he was a perceptive young man. I would have to guard my tongue with this one.
“I’m anxious about my studies,” I said. “My magic docent gave me a difficult assignment. What about you? Why are you here? Nedda told me you had no more lectures.”
He shrugged. “Nothing but my thesis and an architectural project, that’s true. But my adviser gave me a punishment assignment for my late return to the University. I am to map the streets around the University Quarter, and describe every variation of style to be found here. I show little respect for the classical forms, though that was to be expected, my being from the outer provinces, you understand.”
My mouth quirked into a wry smile against my will.
Taavi smiled back. “Do not tell my adviser, but I like these punishments. Last year I mapped all the audience halls in the royal palace, and how they connected to the private interview chambers and residential wings, and even the so-called secret passageways. It taught me a great deal about how a gifted architect designs such a complicated building, and keeping the necessary balance between its public functions and its private ones.”
Secret passageways. It was an unhoped-for clue.
Too soon, I told myself. But I tucked the detail into my memory to explore later.
“Do you know the University Library?” I asked.
Taavi broke off a description of the palace’s guest wing. “I do. Ah, I forgot. You have your assignment. Magic, wasn’t it? Let me take you there and introduce you to the librarians.”
We bought packets of ground lamb wrapped in pastry from a cart, then headed east along a winding boulevard. Duenne’s University had six libraries, he told me, one each for the original six departments. The library for philosophy and magic, newly rebuilt in the last century, had moved from its original location near the University offices, and now stood outside the second ring of city walls, between the palace and the southernmost loop of the Gallenz River.
He also told me more about himself and his first weeks at the University. Nedda had rescued
him from despair. She had intercepted him after his first day of lectures, stuffed him with food, and assured him he would feel less a stranger before the year ended.
“She was right,” Taavi said. “I tried to thank her, but she said our uncle did the same for her, so she had to repay the favor.”
She was a cousin of a second cousin, he added. His family had moved north to Ournes several generations ago. Ournes was a recent acquisition by the Empire. I had read reports of that brief war—most talked about a peaceful transition, but Taavi’s dry tone piqued my curiosity. Before I could ask what he thought about the Empire’s governance, before I could tell myself that asking itself was imprudent, he turned the conversation to me and my professors.
We reached the library by the next hour bell. The buildings in this quarter were square squat structures rising three and four stories, with slanted roofs of dark red tile. From the outside, the library appeared to be a mound of dull gray stone.
“How … ugly,” I said.
Taavi laughed. “You are an honest young woman. Come, do not give up on our library so quickly. The inside is very different.”
The main entrance had a pair of copper doors at least ten feet high, with enormous hinges set into the stone walls, and two iron handles fashioned in the shape of serpents. Taavi ignored those doors and brought me to a smaller entrance around the corner. We passed through a low dark passage, into an octagonal entry hall.
Oh. My. Yes.
The entryway rose up three stories, lit by sunlight pouring through stained windows in the dome overhead. Next came an ornate balcony painted in gold leaf that circled the entire space, and below that a series of painted panels, showing the history of ancient Veraene and the empire that had subsumed it. A lovely, terrible sight.
“I told you,” my companion said in a low, laughing voice.
His whispered comment echoed from the walls and ceiling. I smothered a giggle, which seemed to surprise Taavi more than the library had surprised me. “I have been justly served,” he murmured.
Again I felt a tug of desire. Beauty was one thing. Humor was far more seductive.
“You promised to introduce me to the librarians,” I said quickly.
My voice crashed against the stone walls. I winced. Taavi shook his head. He was smiling, but it was a perfunctory smile, with none of the laughter from before. He beckoned toward an arched doorway marked Historical Documents.
But as I turned to follow, echoes from another voice rippled through the hall. I paused and glanced toward the enormous entry doors. Two men stood there, talking in low tones. One I guessed to be a clerk. He wore plain brown robes without any sleeves, and he carried a writing case tucked under one arm. The other man was a different matter entirely. Rich. Possibly even a courtier, though I wondered why a courtier would visit a University library. He was dressed in a dark blue coat with full sleeves. His face was dark and lean, his features cut in slanted lines. Jewels glittered from his cheek and ear. I listened more closely and heard a distinct accent.
Not a student. A noble. And not a citizen of Veraene.
The stranger glanced in my direction. I dropped my gaze and hurried after Taavi.
* * *
I am tempted to seduce Taavi Matlik. I will not, however beautiful he might be. He has already confessed he knows little except the most public details of the palace. Besides, I cannot seduce a man against his will, and Taavi does not desire me. I am too short, too squat, my nature too sharp-edged. And I refuse to compel anyone with magic, even for my people’s cause.
So I attend my lectures. I spend the remaining daylight hours in the library for magical and philosophical studies, researching ancient scrolls that relate to my assigned report, but using that excuse to explore other floors and other wings. I even gain entrance into the storerooms where they keep the oldest and rarest documents from Veraene’s first kings and mages, before the Erythandran tribes invaded the land.
One or twice, I encounter the foreign nobleman. His name is Leos Dzavek, the librarians tell me. He is a prince of Károví. He and his older brother arrived a month ago to attend Duenne’s Court. Theirs is an influential family, indirectly connected to the line of past kings.
Károví. I know its history without consulting any records. It had once been an independent kingdom, with a history extending six hundred years into the past. Three generations ago, its king, perhaps the grandfather or great-grandfather of these princes, had yielded to the Empire after a century of bloody warfare.
Prince Leos Dzavek. I will remember that name.
* * *
Before the week was over, I had completed my paper and written out two fair copies for Vrou Miskova and Hêr Grivas. In many ways, I had found this assignment a greater challenge than any my tutors at home had set before me. I wanted to prove myself ready for the second practical, but I did not want to betray too much knowledge.
Word came back within a few days. They had no complaints about the paper itself, but each insisted on a private interview before they would approve my promotion to the next class.
“You say you read books,” Miskova said.
I shrugged. “I like to study, to learn.”
“Evidently.” She scribbled a few notes on my paper, then handed it back to me. “Good enough. You understand the elements. Unless my colleague objects, I will see you at next week’s practical.”
Grivas did not object, precisely, but his opinion of my work was low. “Miserable syntax. Weak logic. Yes, you have a grasp of the subject matter, but…”
He frowned at my essay. He was as old as my grandparents. His plum-dark complexion had acquired a silvery dusting over the years, and his hair had thinned to a snowy web over his skull. I hated to be misjudged. But my goal was exactly that, after all—to convince my instructors to advance me, without provoking any suspicion.
“You neglected to mention any magical languages outside Veraene and Erythandra,” he said at last. “However, I won’t fault you for that. Besides,” he added in an undertone, “it’s best if we adhere to tradition. Consider yourself promoted. You know where the secondary practical meets? Good.”
It was only later, when I had collected a stack of books from the library and retired to my room, that I considered the possible implications of his words. Had he meant to give me a signal that he, too, was dissatisfied with the Empire’s rule? Or simply a warning, from one citizen to another of a conquered land?
If I succeed—if I steal the jewels—I might bring trouble to him and his family.
That was not my concern, I told myself as I lay awake that night, staring out the window to the star-speckled skies of autumn.
* * *
In our earliest lessons, our tutors lectured us endlessly about the element of the unexpected, and how it could disrupt even the most meticulous plan. Spies? Lèna had asked, thinking of those who made it their business to watch newly arrived foreigners. Traitors? I said. Vesterlant had a history of wars between households, or even within a single family as each faction battled for control.
Nothing so grand, our tutors said. You might fail for the stupidest reason. Simply because a mule took fright and spilled its master’s cartload, making you late for an appointment. Remember, however, that the unexpected can do you favors as well, though you might not recognize it at the time.
For Lèna, it was a palace guard who had argued with her captain, and was ordered off-duty. She had crossed through a corridor meant to be empty, had sighted Lèna and called the alarm. There were no favors in that. Lèna panicked and fled into the magical plane. She acted too quickly, too precipitously. Though she made the crossing home to Versterlant, she took a mortal fever from an excess of magic.
My own case was much more mundane. I took sick with the same infection that half my classmates had contracted. My eyes itched. An ache lurked at the base of my skull. I abandoned my lecture in rational thought halfway through and stumbled back to my rooms. My last memory of that day was falling into bed and dislodging
an irritated Biss.
I could recall little of the next few days, and what memories I did retain were patchy and unreliable. A few things were clear. Sweating. Oh dear gods, the sweating. The sense that my body was broken, or else why would I ache so much? Nedda’s blurred face close to mine and the light pressure of her fingertips at my throat. A muttered conversation between her and someone else. Klera? A stranger? Whoever it was inserted a long-necked beaker between my teeth, then pinched my nose shut until I swallowed the noxious contents.
A deep and all-encompassing slumber followed, without any hint of dreams from this life or the past. It was such a relief, to forget myself, to let slip all responsibility, and dip deep into the shadows of nothing.
Then one day I woke. Truly woke. I drew a long breath and opened my eyes with no ill effect. Someone had closed the shutters, leaving the room in shadows except for a few bars of yellow sunlight leaking through the slats. Taavi sat in an old wooden chair, which I recognized as Klera’s. He was drawing in his sketchbook by the light of a shaded lamp, while Biss observed from her perch on the chair’s arm. When I stirred, she leapt onto the bed and padded toward me to sniff my nose.
Taavi glanced up from his sketchbook. “Ah, you live.”
“I do?” I whispered. “But which life, and when?”
Klera would have summoned a new healer at my words. Nedda would have frowned.
Taavi merely smiled. “That is a question for a philosophical student, not an architect,” he said. He set his sketchbook on the floor and unfolded himself from the chair. “Time for a new dose of your medicine.”
I shook my head. A mistake. Pain lanced through my skull, and my guts clenched. I flung myself over the side of the bed and retched. Biss vaulted away. Taavi moved swiftly to intervene. He caught me before I tumbled from bed and dragged a bucket under my mouth. He held me fast by both shoulders until I was done spewing, then eased me back into the bed and wiped my face with a wet towel. I was sweating and shivering and too weak to resist. But when he tried to hold a mug to my lips, I batted his hand away.
