Some of the Best From Tor.com, 2013 Edition: A Tor.Com Original

by Various

  Hastily I wrote: Let us be free. However long it takes, whatever course is best for all the lands, dear god and goddess, let us take the best path into our futures.

  I folded the paper in half and held its edge to the fire, until the vellum flared up bright and hot. Only when the flames nipped at my fingers did I drop the paper and push it deeper into the fire with our iron poker.

  Taavi had not yet written a word. He stared at the page, frowning, but I had the impression he did not see the blank sheet before us. Only when Nedda gently touched his shoulder did he start and stare around. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was caught by a dream. I know what to write now.”

  He wrote a single line, in a script I recognized as one from Ournes. Then in one fluid motion he had crumpled the paper into a loose ball and tossed it into the heart of the fire.

  In silence we waited until all our offerings had crumbled to ashes and the gray flecks representing our wishes and desires floated up the chimney shaft, into the night.

  “Well, then,” Nedda said softly. “Let us all wish for one another’s victory in the new year.”

  She took away the tray with its pens and ink pots and returned with four crystal wine cups and a flask. We each received a wine cup, which Nedda filled with clear golden wine.

  “To success,” Klera cried, lifting her cup high before she drank.

  “To victory,” Nedda added.

  “To redemption,” Taavi said. He tossed the wine down his throat.

  “To us,” I said, and drank.

  We each had a second cup, drunk slowly and with introspection. By then, the fire burned low in its grate, and we were like dark ghosts, outlined in its dying light. Taavi lit a branch of candles before he extinguished the fire. Klera gathered the cups, while Nedda collected the rest of the dishes. I glanced toward them as they lingered by the counter inside our pantry. Klera was smiling. Nedda leaned toward her and kissed her sweetly on the lips.

  A new love? Or had I simply overlooked the obvious clues?

  Suddenly I did not wish to know. I did not wish to spy upon my friends. I retreated into my bedroom alone.

  * * *

  That night I dreamed.

  I had not dreamed a life dream since I was a child. My mother said it was because I was too practical, that whimsy came to me only with difficulty, if at all. My grandmother remarked with some asperity that life dreams were the most practical of all, but when I questioned her, she pressed her lips together and refused to discuss the matter.

  But so. That night I dreamed of a mountain rising straight and tall above the snow-swept plains. Magic enveloped it. The thumbprint of the gods marked its surface …

  Almost at once, the mountain vanished, replaced by the endless plains north of Veraene. I was a child, wrapped in furs, and peering through the slit of our tent. Our magic maker, a man so ancient, he was more ghost than living soul, crouched before our fire. He cupped his hand, as though to capture a spark from the fire itself, but as I looked, I saw a splinter open between the worlds. A speck of light drifted close. He snatched it from the void …

  I bolted upright, sweating in terror. Those were the jewels, I thought. The jewels, as they once were, a single entity. And that man—the man I watched—was Leos Dzavek.

  * * *

  I woke late, late, late to a muffled silence and a flood of bright sunlight pouring between the cracks of my shutters. I levered myself upright, puzzled at first by the numbness in my legs. Biss, of course. She had infiltrated my room again and lay draped over my shins, her weight far heavier than nature could explain.

  I shall write a paper about the magical qualities of cats, I vowed.

  I extracted myself from Biss and the covers, and stumbled to the window. A dazzling sea of snow covered the courtyard below, more snow capped the roofs and towers, dusting the windows and shutters and doors. Biss followed and knocked her head against my leg. I bent down and gathered her into my arms.

  That was when I saw the envelope next to my door.

  My pulse beating faster, I set Biss on my bed, ignoring her protests, and took up the envelope. It was a thick packet, wrapped in plain brown paper, with no seal, magical or otherwise. I squeezed the paper between my hands. A dozen sheets or so were inside. Too thick a packet for anyone to slide under my door, but the mystery was easily explained. I had left my door unlatched. Therefore, the sender would be one of my lodging mates. Even so, my hands trembled as I unwrapped the outer cover.

  Inside were six large sheets of drawing paper, folded over several times. I unfolded the first and hissed with surprise. It was Taavi’s map of the Imperial Palace. A copy, actually, but with all the same careful annotations about this wing and that, the faint lines marking the servants’ corridors and the even fainter lines showing the secret passageways. He had even included his mysterious flourishes. I leafed through the pages quickly, comparing my memory to these pages. Everything matched, even the nonsensical flourishes.

  That was when I had my second shock.

  I came to the final page and stared. Here was a list of instructions in plain Veraenen: how to locate every entrance, to every secret passageway in the palace, which stones to press, which words to recite for lighting the lamps, and which words to extinguish them.

  And the final line: Blessings on all your endeavors.

  * * *

  “What catastrophe brings you to me?”

  Afrim Halil regards me with slitted eyes, angry eyes, the color of old copper. I could not blame him entirely. I had visited his shop once the streets were clear of snow, but without any warning, without any of the signals Versterlant’s Council and my grandparents had prepared in case of an emergency.

  I smiled at him. “There is no emergency. That is, no immediate crisis—”

  “None? You were ordered—”

  “—I accepted orders to steal the jewels. All the rest—from you, from the Council—is nothing more than advice. I have made a discovery that requires your assistance.”

  I listed what I required: A pass to admit me to the palace. A uniform that would let me roam the hallways without question. A runner’s uniform. I would need two or three months to make my investigations, another week to accomplish my task.

  Halil blew out a breath. He was angry still—his lip curled and a dark flush edged his cheeks—but I could see the change in his expression as he reviewed my demands.

  “Very well,” he said slowly. “I shall do what your require. Return in three weeks—no sooner—and I shall have the necessary items.”

  * * *

  I returned in exactly three weeks. Halil himself greeted me in the shop and led me into his private office. There he presented me with a paper-wrapped bundle. He was not grinning, not exactly, but I mistrusted him just the same.

  “What have you done?” I demanded.

  “I have acquired work for you.”

  He spoke with such satisfaction, I wanted to smack him. I shut away my rage and unwrapped the bundle. If he had delivered what I asked for, I did not care how he laughed once I had gone.

  The bundle contained a quantity of clothing, neatly folded. Not a runner’s uniform. I picked up a shirt made from dull brown cotton. It was stained, but not badly, and the cloth was whole. There were matching trousers and a pair of boots, patched many times over. Wrapped in a second layer of paper were underlinens—for a boy, not a girl. Interesting.

  “You wanted a disguise to make you invisible,” Halil said. “Runners are nothing like that. Either you report to a member of court, or you are detached for general service. So. I told my agent to find you a position where no one would notice you wandering about the palace. She came back with word that they wanted drudges. It took a bit of negotiation, but the laundry mistress agreed to hire you. She even supplied you with clean clothing, since your own are unfit for the palace.”

  He went on to explain the rest. I would report to the palace the first hour after midnight. My task would be to collect dirty laundry from the servants�
�� wings, and return with baskets of freshly laundered clothing, sheets, and other items. Though I hated Halil’s obvious glee, I had to admit the position was perfectly formed for my purpose.

  Halil handed me my pass into the palace. It was made out in the name of one Lutz, a resident of the lower city.

  Lutz. A boy. A good choice, I admitted reluctantly.

  “Can you do that?” Halil asked me. “The face does not matter, but the sex does.”

  I could tell from his tone that we were beyond any petty amusement, he and I.

  “I can,” I said. “I must.”

  * * *

  One month and three weeks have passed since Long Night.

  For the first ten days, I did nothing except report to work and hurry to accomplish whatever I was told. I labored hard at times, but I was used to that from my childhood. In between, I rested on the bench outside the laundry mistress’s office, waiting for her next order. The only difficulty was keeping this new activity a secret from Nedda and Klera. I made excuses about studying late with my fellow students, but I was not certain they believed me.

  In my third week, I dared to explore this side passage, that hallway. I tested all the doorways from Taavi’s maps. After that I checked the corridors as well, and soon progressed to the second floor and all the rest of the palace.

  Now? Now I sit in my bed, a pillow at my back, and wrapped in a nest of many blankets, as though my body has forgotten its northern birth. I have no pen or paper to inscribe my thoughts. My records are all for memory, to be recalled for my family upon my success, or to be erased with my own self, if I am caught.

  This is what I have learned:

  • My sister was right. The jewels are stored in the Treasury Wing, in the southeast quadrant of the palace.

  • Guards notice little or nothing if I walk with purpose.

  • Servants love to gossip. I know the names of all the Court favorites, one of whom is also the Emperor’s mistress. I also know that the Emperor’s factions have gained control of the Council. They have laid new taxes on all the outer provinces. Once the Emperor gains the necessary funds, he will march north this summer.

  I close my eyes. It is not enough. I want—I need the key to undoing this man’s ambitions. Let him live. Let his empire thrive. Only leave us in peace.

  But prayers are not enough. I must act. In the memory house I have constructed in my mind, I inscribe the remainder of my most important discoveries:

  • None of the corridors, not even the secret ones, extend into the Treasury Wing.

  • None of the guards assigned to the Treasury Wing gossip.

  • This much, however, I know: The jewels are stored in separate rooms, behind doors barred with iron and magic. From time to time, the Emperor requires the chief mage to bring the jewels into his private chambers. There are no witnesses to their conversation, but the common belief among the courtiers and the guards is that the chief mage uses the magic of the jewels to aid the Emperor in all his conquests.

  And one last observation, the one that spurs me on in my quest for the jewels:

  • Three times now, I have encountered Prince Leos Dzavek either going to, or returning from, his brother’s suite of rooms, where they no doubt continue to plot for Károví’s independence. The prince never notices me, at least not openly. I cannot help but notice him. He is beautiful, in a cold and precise way. His eyes are like a bird’s, a raptor’s—bright and dark, like flecks of ebony set in the warm copper brown of his face. And yet, for all his beauty, I have no love for him, certainly no desire. He is dangerous, like the raptor he resembles. I can admire him even as I seek to avoid him.

  Two more weeks passed. Each day I drowsed through my lectures. I snatched a few hours’ sleep in the evening, then woke at midnight and spent the next seven hours roaming the palace, dragging loads of clean or filthy laundry. Nedda was worried—I could tell by how frequently she glanced at me, how often she opened her mouth to speak, only to shake her head and turn her attention to Biss. Klera does much the same. Taavi says nothing, of course.

  As for me? I did what I must, driven by the necessity of country and family and personal honor. I knew what last barrier remained between me and my goal—that damned wall between one attic and the next—but I dared not risk crossing that barrier until I learned where the jewels were hidden.

  Then came a day when I had spent the afternoon in the library for philosophy and magic, searching through the archives for any information about the palace and its treasury. I returned to my desk—I had been absent only a few moments—to discover a paper tucked in the back of my linguistics textbook.

  I closed my eyes a moment to collect myself. Memory told me the paper did not belong to me. A message from a stranger? A friend?

  Whoever it was might watch me for my reaction. I sat down at my desk and made a show of shuffling through my papers and my books. I scanned the note as well and tossed it to one side. One glance and I had the contents memorized, a half dozen lines printed in Fortezzien’s square letters:

  You will find the jewels in a storeroom on the second floor of the Treasury Wing, midway between the east and west towers. By decree of the chief mage, the jewels are kept in separate vaults, but a friend tells me the Emperor has recently ordered a series of interviews with his mage councilor, and so the jewels are temporarily stored together. You must take them tonight if you wish to have success in your endeavors.

  Below the note was a rough sketch of the Treasury Wing, with an X marking where to descend from the attic, and a second where to find the jewels.

  My first thought was of Taavi. Only, what did he know of the Emperor and his doings?

  My next thought, a more sensible one, said that Afrim Halil had discovered this important clue and relayed the information to me secretly. It would be like him, I thought, to have me followed without telling me so.

  I committed the message and drawing to memory, then burnt the paper along with several other scribbled notes from my research. I moved with great deliberation, my emotions held in check, as I gathered my books and headed for home.

  Strange, how strange, I felt. I ought to feel a sense of victory. I did, but my emotions were strangely muted, as though my mask encompassed my heart as well as my outer self. A foolish fancy, I told myself. The late hour and my long weeks of spying had affected my mood. I had spent too many months erasing myself for a better cause.

  I came at last to my lodgings. Though we had left behind the darkest season of the year and stood on the verge of spring, the wind blew cold and damp through the streets, and the sun hung low in the sky, a small white disc against the expanse of gray. Two stories up, I could see the golden squares that marked the windows of our common room.

  One last night here. Then I go home.

  I was sick with longing to end my exile and accomplish my task.

  I longed to stay in Duenne, and earn my degree.

  Two contradictory desires, much like the contradiction of magic, of life followed by death and life again.

  I sighed, shifted my haversack to a more comfortable position, unlocked the door, and climbed the stairs to our rooms.

  Nedda and Klera sat by the hearth, toasting bread and cheese. Taavi sat cross-legged on the floor, teasing Biss with a morsel of bread. At my entrance, Nedda glanced up, her face still alight with laughter from whatever Klera had said.

  “Irene,” she said, with such obvious gladness that I collapsed into tears.

  I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. “I’m tired,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  Before they could reply, I hurried into my room and locked the door.

  * * *

  Twilight fell over the city, the long slow twilight of the central plains. I huddled in my bed, wanting nothing more than to weep—for loneliness, for the lies I had told Nedda and Taavi and the others—but I had locked away grief for duration of my exile. And so I sat in silence, in the cold and dark, with my arms wrapped around my knees, while I consid
ered my future. The future of my people. Small wonder that Léna had gone mad. How could an honest soul subsist on nothing but lies?

  A knock sounded at my door—two swift soft taps that sent my heart racing.

  Nedda or Klera, I told myself. If I ignored them, they would leave me alone.

  But after a brief interval came a second knock, then Taavi saying, “Irene? I know you’re awake. You’re not snoring.”

  I choked back a laugh. He would say such a thing.

  Taavi must have heard me because he rattled the latch. “Irene. Please, talk to me. I brought you a gift.”

  His voice had that stubborn tone, the one that said he certainly would not give up without good reason. And there was that part of me that said, Why not? I will be gone before sunrise. Why not speak to him one last time?

  I left my bed and padded to the door to open it. Taavi loomed over me, a tall thin shadow silhouetted by fire and candlelight from our common room. I stood to one side and gestured for him to enter.

  “You said you had a gift?” I asked.

  “Several. Luckily, one of them is a lamp.”

  Taavi glided past me and set the lamp on my desk, a basket on the floor. He took a blanket from under one arm and unrolled it with a practiced gesture. “Dinner,” he said simply, as he unpacked the contents of the basket. “I hope you like it.”

  It was as though he had read a list of all my favorite dishes from my thoughts. There were pots of lamb stew, broad egg noodles, and roasted mushrooms stuffed with sausage. Tiny cups of sharp condiments. Steaming flatbread. A dish of fresh plums that must have cost a fortune in this winter season. A flask of red wine. He had even borrowed two of Nedda’s precious crystal wine cups.

  He knows. He knows I am leaving them tonight.

  But all he said was, “I thought you might be hungry.”

  I was more than hungry, I was starved. But I contained myself as I ate, tasting every dish and savoring each spoonful, in between sips of the sweet red wine. I was glad to see that Taavi ate as well as I did.