by Various
The hour bells struck seven before we laid down our spoons.
“Thank you,” I said. “I was hungry.”
Taavi smiled. “So you seemed. Hungry and tired.”
I shrugged. He would know the reasons behind my weariness, but I also knew a spy and her secret ally could never speak openly of such matters. They would guard their fiction, even between themselves.
“It’s the same reason as before,” I said. “Too many papers. Too many books to read. My professors must think we don’t require any sleep.”
My companion tilted his head, as if gauging his reply. “Perhaps. It depends on the teacher. And the student.”
His words sounded strange and stilted to my ear, nothing like the Taavi Matlik I knew. No doubt he felt the same about me. By necessity, we could not speak about what mattered, and my ability to pretend had run its course.
Once more, Taavi read my mood. He opened a second flask of the red wine and filled both our wine cups. “To us and to victory,” he said.
“To your certificate,” I replied.
We drank slowly and set our wine cups next to one another.
“Irene.”
Taavi’s voice was high and light, edged with an emotion I could not identify.
“What is it?” I asked. “What is wrong?”
He laughed softly. “Nothing. Everything. That is … I would like to tell you something. May I?”
I hesitated. Whatever secret he wished to reveal, I was afraid of it. “No, Taavi. No.” And then, because I thought I had heard tears in his voice, I said, “Never mind what I said just now. Tell me what you wish, what you must. But I cannot promise anything.”
“I would not expect that,” he said, in so soft a whisper, I could barely hear.
He said something more, in that same low voice.
“What did you say?” I asked.
He shook his head.
I waited. His lips moved, his words were more like the susurration of waves upon the shore and not true speech, but still I listened, listened hard, because I knew it mattered to us both. And then, like the sudden apparition of sunlight in spring, I heard him say, “Have I told you how lovely you are?”
I jerked back, angry at the lie. “Do not tease me. I hate that. You should know—”
“I do know,” he said. “I am not teasing. You are— Don’t laugh at me, Irene. You are as lovely as a tree. You have never seen a true silver birch, a stroke of starlight in the dark pine forest. Lovely and secretive and utterly unlike its companions.”
I could not speak. Could not admit I had glimpsed the silver birches on my long journey south from Vesterlant. Had he guessed my true identity? Oh, but then I could no longer concentrate, because he had run his fingertips over my sleeve, and it was as though the cloth had vanished. I dared a glimpse at his face.
“May I?” he whispered.
I cannot. I must not.
But I desire him. It is but one kiss, after all. One last night before I go.
My heart beating hard and fast, I nodded.
Taavi leaned over our meal to brush his lips against mine.
It was like a flame sparking to life. It was like the shock of electricity above a storm-charged sea.
I kissed him back, then drew a sharp breath at my temerity, but his expression was one of grave delight.
“I forgot to ask,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
He touched his fingertips to my cheek. “You may, you may, you may again.”
Three more times I kissed him.
“You may,” he said again, his voice low and rough.
“You may,” I replied.
And so we progressed, kiss by kiss, touch upon touch, throughout the evening and the night, until we lay entangled in each others arms, having taken love and given it in return a hundredfold. Even as I lay drifting into sleep, I knew I would not forget Taavi Matlik, nor this night. He was as tender a lover as I had imagined, and with him, laughter came easily, and passion followed soon after, a quick flame burning hot and bright, until it ebbed to a warmth that eased us back to laughter and then a silence that fell soft and slow. Poised on the edge of sleep, I could only think that he had fitted to me, in body and spirit, so perfectly, it was as though he and I had been fashioned for one another.
* * *
I woke at midnight. By habit. By necessity.
For a long moment I could not bring myself to leave the bed. Taavi slumbered next to me, one arm resting lightly on my hip. His lips were parted in that same familiar smile that brought a hiccup of delight to my soul.
Reluctantly, I slid from underneath the covers. I eased the lid of my trunk open and extracted my drudge’s uniform, such as it was, and dressed in the dark. And because I did not expect to return, I also took all the ribbons my mother and grandmother had woven with magic. Some I might require this night, others not, but I dared not leave any trace of my origin behind.
It was not so easy to leave the rest of myself behind. Shirts and gloves and pretty scarves that Klera and I had shopped for. Books on magic and history that Nedda had gifted to me. Biss—tiny, fluffy, irascible Biss—who even now mewed at me querulously.
And Taavi, who continued to sleep.
My heart broke, as the poets say. My tears ran free.
Then I wiped the tears away and closed my heart, to do what I must.
I exited our house, locked the door behind me, and dropped the key through the slot. Then I sped through Duenne’s shadow-black streets toward the palace. Memory led me without thinking to my hidden courtyard, where I changed my face and form to Lutz the street boy, now employed to haul clothes to and from the scullery. Once my transformation was complete, I continued to the now-familiar side entrance. I presented my pass to the usual guard, who waved it aside and admitted me without comment.
All according to the pattern I had established over the past two months. Patterns make you invisible, our tutors had said. It is when you break the pattern that you betray yourself. Do not do so unless and until you must.
Which I was about to do.
Following my pattern, I turned into the corridor leading to the scullery, padding as softly as possible in my oversized shoes. I passed two intersections without pause, then ducked into a servants’ corridor.
Quiet. Dark. Yes.
I had erased my trail thus far with magic. I waited for a count of a hundred, until I was certain no one had observed this deviance from the ordinary. Then I skimmed along yet another deserted corridor, into the side passageway that offered the first and most important entry into the palace’s secret corridors.
My fingers trailed down the triple border of ornamental bricks, set around an ancient marble carving in the wall. Outside brick, seventh from the top corner. I pressed it lightly, reciting the words from memory.
The great marble square slid backward into the dark. I squeezed around it into the secret corridor. The door closed at once. I lit the lamps with the next set of words. Once more I erased my presence with magic, then my signature itself.
Even with all my precautions, I could not escape the impression that someone watched me. I sped down the corridor, through a maze of intersections, many of them leading to dead ends, until I came to the stairs I wanted. Up, and up, and up, my pulse beating too fast for comfort, I ascended into the dusty attics of the palace. Up another ladder into a long narrow space that led along the crown of the roof. Here I crept slow and soft, not wanting to betray my presence in case any servant came into the attic. I did not expect one, but I had learned to plan for the unexpected.
Soon I came to the wall between the rest of the palace and the Treasury Wing.
And. So. Here is the moment where I succeed or fail.
I was nearly incapacitated with the thought. It took an effort to move beyond memories of Duenne, second thoughts about my mission, and to action itself.
Ei rûf an gôtter. Ei rûf ane strôm. Komen mir de Anderswelt.
The air whipped around me. I had just enough time
to draw a breath before the world turned dark, and the strong scent of magic invaded my lungs. I had the sense of hovering between worlds. My blood had frozen, my flesh had turned transparent, and the shadow of myself had vanished. The only connection between myself and the world I knew was a faint pressure against my skin, the cold imprint of stone against my feet.
I launched myself through the wall. From there I sprinted to the point marked on Halil’s map. Without giving myself time to think, I dove through the attic floor.
Cold seized my heart as I passed through timber and stone. Splinters of wood from a crossbeam dragged at my skin, and for a long terrible moment, I thought I would be trapped between flesh and spirit. Then, as though my spirit had twitched itself free, I dropped through to the corridor below.
It took me a few moments to recover myself. Another few to complete the translation from flesh to spirit and back to flesh entirely. My heart stuttered and my breath came far too shallow for comfort, but I forced myself to stand, one hand pressed against my chest. I badly wanted the use of another ribbon, but I dared not, here within the heart of the Treasury. If by rare chance my activities had not woken Erythandra’s guards, new magic certainly would.
I set off at a stumbling walk. Taavi’s map unfolded in my memory, and as my pace steadied and quickened, I recalled the precise directions Afrim Halil had given in his message. Second floor of the treasury. Midway between the east and west towers. Tonight or never.
He had not worded it precisely that way, but I understood the implications, and so I sped on until I came to the end of the passageway. A high wide corridor arced around from left to right, with tall narrow windows overlooking the city below. All was dark outside. The moon had set. Clouds obscured the stars.
With a quick glance, I estimated the midway point between the two towers. A single door, bolted with iron and magic. Now I knew for certain that any disturbance would summon Erythandra’s mages. I would have to act quickly.
Once more I summoned the magic. Once more my flesh translated to light and less. Once more a jolt shook my heart as I passed through wood and iron, this time to stand within a small airless chamber. It was not as I expected. All the rest of this palace was drenched in unnecessary elegance, but this, this room where they kept the jewels, was little more than a plain closet with boxes stacked up one wall and down the next. That was all the time I could allow myself for wonder. The next I was running my fingers over the locks. Nothing, nothing, nothing …
There.
I dropped to my knees and gently levered the box from its frame. I could sense a maelstrom of magic within. With trembling fingers, I flicked the latch to one side and raised the lid.
An ocean of dark blue silk lined the box. Within its folds lay three dull stones: one dark green, one a ruddy brown, and one so dark a blue I thought it black at first. They were unlike any jewels I had seen. Prince Leos wore gems set in his cheek, and from one ear, brilliant sapphires and rubies that gleamed like miniature suns. The merest guards in the royal palace could claim uniforms decorated with more beautiful jewels than these. And yet, as I gazed upon these three stones, I could sense a loveliness and strength hidden behind the dull colors and ordinary forms. Gently, I scooped up the dark green gem and cradled it in my hands.
She was weeping.
My heart gave a painful leap of surprise. I nearly dropped the emerald. She—he—this creature beyond any ordinary classification of sex or flesh—was alive. Alive and grieving. To be sure, it did not weep human tears, but its sorrow was palpable nonetheless. How was it possible? How—for all the hundreds of reports Halil sent our Council, for all the Council’s own research of the Empire and its jewels—had no one discovered this fact? Or passed it on to me?
Gently I ran a fingertip over the emerald’s surface, which now glinted with magic. Have I hurt you?
No, no, no. Its voice was like a great bell, each syllable ringing inside my skull. No, it was—
It sang to me then, or that is the only way to describe its voice, which soon left all human language behind. The other jewels raised their song in counterpoint, each one climbing higher and higher until I was lost in their music, my senses drowning in images of the magical void, of millennia spent dancing between the stars, one soul, a being not of this world but nevertheless born of that same season of love between Lir and Toc.
Ishya. The name rang deep and low. I felt grief in that name.
What happened? I asked.
A mage trapped me. Set my soul in a stone. My sisters, my brothers, my cousins. I was them and we were one. He divided our souls—
Agony sliced through me, an echo of theirs. It as though magic were a sword that would sunder my soul from my flesh. And still the jewels poured their memories into me. How the mage cast each fragment of Ishya’s soul into three separate jewels. How he named them Daya and Asha and Rana. How they lay almost dead for years until they each found a voice, each found each other.
I cannot make them prisoners. Not for our cause. Not for anyone’s.
It would be enough to steal the jewels and set them free, I told myself. The theft alone would ignite a crisis in Court and Council. It would consume the Emperor’s attention for years. It would rob him of his seeming invincibility.
But first I had to escape the palace.
The jewels were singing, their voices twining together in high pure notes. All around us the magic spun and danced.
Daya, I said. We must go.
Howwhenwherewhy?
Away from here. I will take you into the magic plane.
And then?
I heard the apprehension in her, his voice. They did not trust me entirely.
Wherever you wish, I said.
That was the last I understood. Their voices rose in other languages, from those ancient ones born in Erythandra, which I could almost comprehend, to others so alien, I wondered if they were human. No matter what the words, the magic answered. It rolled into the small chamber in an inexorable tide, lifting us upward and outward, dissolving flesh and stone …
… the cold tide of night, the strong clean scent of magic, like that of the ocean, like that of the pine forests of the north, the glittering of souls above …
I stood on a knife-edge of brilliant light. Below me, the universe of universes wheeled. I glimpsed my homeland, Duenne, other cities, other worlds, all blurred together and yet each a sharp and definite image imprinted on my mind. Small wonder that Lèna had gone mad.
Movement caught my eye. I glanced up and froze.
Prince Leos Dzavek stood opposite me, poised on that same impossible edge. His thin dark face seemed more angular than before, his sharp features illuminated by the unnatural fires of the void. The jewel in his cheek glittered and pulsed, as if in time with my thundering heart.
“You found my note,” he said.
My mouth turned paper dry in an instant.
With a single casual statement, he had undone all my assumptions, uncovered all the mysteries of the past two months. He had connected the student Irene Denk to Lutz the scullion boy. He had divined my purpose and laid a trap. The reasons were unimportant, but I could guess them well enough. He wanted a minion to take the risk, to steal the jewels and carry them away from the palace, where he could take them for himself.
All that passed through my mind in an instant. The next, I dove for the edge of the worlds, calling to the magic current. Home, home, home, I cried.
Too late. Dzavek flicked a hand to one side. Vines of magic sprang up from the nothingness—thick strong vines that imprisoned my arms and squeezed the air from my body. I struggled hard against them, cursing and shouting all the magic I knew, but I could do nothing. Through it all the prince waited, silent and patient, as he must have waited all through these past two months, until I hung spent and weeping in my bonds.
Another whispered word, and a tendril of magic spiraled around my left hand, where I still clutched the box with Lir’s jewels. It was as though my mind occupied a separate ve
ssel from my body, unable to command it, because as the magic tendril unfurled, my arm lifted up as if by its own volition, and my hand opened to present the box to Prince Leos.
He lifted the box from my hand and opened the lid. Stared down at the jewels with an avid eager glance, so unlike his usual self, I nearly thought I had been deceived, and that another, a true spy and thief, had taken over the man’s body. But no. He spoke a word, and I knew that signature. Dark, edged with silver, like a midnight forest in the northern hills.
“Thank you,” he said softly. His voice was cold and soft as falling snow.
I wanted to protest. I did. I could hear the jewels weeping. All I could think was that mankind had betrayed them once again.
Unmoved by our drama, Dzavek made a second gesture, light and precise. The vines disappeared, the stars of the universe went dark, and I was falling, falling, falling through the void.
* * *
When Lèna fell into our world again, she landed in the wilderness on the border between Versterlant and our sister nation of Austerlant. She would have died except for a party of fur trappers who had made an early camp in the region. When they brought her to our house, she was more a shadow than true flesh.
Perhaps my magic was stronger, because I landed in the great stone courtyard before our house. My mother found me at dawn, consumed by fever and cold. I was very ill, almost dead. Fever devoured my flesh and a terrible headache gripped my skull. For days, I could not bear any light, even the faintest glow from a shaded lantern, and the tiniest movement sent me into bouts of retching, until I could do nothing but heave and heave, my guts so cramped I had not the breath to cry out.
* * *
Unlike my sister, I lived.
The months spun past. The black cold winter—so much like the void between worlds—faded before the returning sun. I grew stronger. I spent hours sitting by my beloved window, watching the surging tides, the pattern of foam upon the seething gray waters, until with spring and then summer, the seas turned green and a fresh warm breeze blew steadily over the coast, bringing with it the scent of sea grass, salt tang, and at last the swiftly blooming flowers from the inland plains.
