The Baker's Wife--complete

by Amy Keeley

  Still unsure, but trusting someone who obviously knew more of magic than she’d expected, she handed him the sack.

  He gathered the opening up in one hand. Snapping the fingers of his other hand, a flame sparked at the opening. He tossed it away from him, letting it burn against the cave’s wall.

  “We can’t stay here with the smoke,” Krysilla said, helping him up.

  “The opening then.” He staggered to his feet. “I’ll rest a little, and then I’ll—”

  “You said last time if you rested, you’d be down for days.”

  He chuckled again, but this time it was barely more than an exhale. “Caught. You’ll have to help me down the ladder then.” He leaned heavily against her. Terrified he would collapse again if she didn’t get him to a place where he could rest, she walked with him to the entrance.

  Looking down, she saw a platform that appeared to have been attached to the large house under it. As Zhiv had said, there was a ladder, not a set of stairs. “How can I help you down? You can hardly stand.”

  He straightened with great effort. His hand resting on her shoulder with a firm grip that she’d only felt in the past when Lejer was trying to stay conscious after drinking too much, Zhiv swayed. “I was joking,” he said. “I can manage. Hurry down. I’ll meet you on the roof.”

  Perhaps, she thought, I can catch him if he falls. It was a silly thought. She’d never be able to catch a full-grown man, especially given the distance was at least the height of a common horse, if not more. But the smoke from the bag filled the cave behind them, and a house would be a better place to rest than a cave. “All right.” She climbed down the wooden ladder that she now saw was attached to the cave by what must be stone straps, though she’d never seen such a thing.

  Each moment she couldn’t watch Zhiv, she felt panic threaten to take her over. Only when she was standing on the platform and could watch him as he climbed down as well did she feel some of the panic lessen.

  Halfway down, he stopped. She moved forward, unable to keep from watching him for a sign that he was about to turn unconscious. Several moments passed like that, Zhiv unmoving on the ladder, his face hidden, while Krysilla stood below, arms slightly raised, praying he would be able to finish the climb down, yet ready if he couldn’t.

  He raised his head, tried to move his foot to the next step, and slipped. Krysilla rushed forward as his hands slid from the rungs of the ladder. And yet, all she ended up able to do was hold him as he landed with a thud on the platform. She felt his forehead, a silent curse running through her head when she felt the fever once more.

  “We need to get you inside and in bed.”

  “I’ve heard that said,” he whispered, eyes closed, “during much more pleasant times.”

  Ignoring him, Krysilla looked around for something that would show an easier way down. From her current position, she couldn’t see anything. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and moved to leave him.

  He clutched her arm. “Wait. Please.”

  “This isn’t a natural fever. I don’t need to tell you this. Why am I telling you this? I have to get you inside and find some medicine, or make it or—” she stopped before she started crying.

  “It’s happened before,” he said, his hand falling away from her arm. “Don’t go. Not yet. Wait until...until I can rest. I’ll be all right, Krysilla. Daegan will come soon, with Tira and your sister. Just now...” Whatever he was about to say ended. His breathing slowed, and he appeared to drift into a deep sleep.

  She knelt next to him and rubbed her hands on her skirt, rocking a few times as she tried to figure out what to do next. Even though he’d asked her to stay next to him, she decided it would be better to find something to help him inside the house. Walking quietly, she found a small set of stairs that led from the platform to the roof proper. They led alongside what appeared to be a two-floor house, ending before they met the corner of the house. If she looked, she thought she could see a door at the end. She followed them down and tried the keyspell Daegan had given her. With a click, the door not only unlocked, but opened.

  So this is theirs, she thought, and remembered the house she had seen when the King had asked Zhiv to sing for him. I hope the King didn’t see it. The thought made her aware of just how weak her knees were. Her hand trembled as she entered and looked around the neat kitchen.

  He kept the medicine in the room where he kept his locks, she remembered, and hurried through the house, looking through each room for any sign of a place where Daegan kept his materials. Nothing. There wasn’t a sign of any locksmithing anywhere in the house.

  She had finished the downstairs and was about to go up a staircase she had found to examine the upper floors when she felt a hand grab her and yank her against a wall. Rough cords wrapped around her wrists. Krysilla didn’t have time or strength to resist the spell. The strength in her legs gave out. Smaller threads wove her fingers immobile, just tight enough to cause pain. “Who are you?” a woman asked, stepping out of the shadows. “Where’s Zhiv?”

  It took a moment for Krysilla to notice she wasn’t dressed in the Tothsin style she’d grown accustomed to seeing. She wore the plain skirt and blouse of a Tothsin, as well as the blue sash around her waist that marked her as married. But she also wore a large scarf under the sash, over her skirt, woven in a myriad of colors, and her golden hair was braided with ribbons woven through it in as wild an array as the scarf on her hips. It was such a different sight from what Krysilla had seen that she blinked, instead of answering.

  “Where...is...Zhiv?” the woman repeated, enunciating each word perfectly. “And don’t tell me you don’t know because I know he’s here, and that he came through the cave. He never comes here in the summer,” she said with flashing eyes and clipped words. “And he never shows up with a woman, so don’t tell me you’re his lover or even a friend, because only he can tell me that and you’d best pray he’s not enchanted when he does. Now, where. Is. He?”

  The threads tightened around her fingers, cutting into her flesh.

  Her earlier thoughts of the King coincided with her panic. “How do I know you’re not just waiting for him to show up so you can kill him?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m more than willing to kill him. But not for the reasons others might have.” The woman stared at her a few moments longer, then dashed out the door and up the stairs. Afraid of what she might do, Krysilla stood up and closed her eyes, trying to figure out the spell around the thread and rope. But she realized quickly she knew nothing of this kind of magic, even though she had always assumed it would be as easy as lockpicking. Unwilling to remain and wait for whatever the woman had in mind for her, she tried to walk to the kitchen. The door opened and she watched as the woman, pale, threw open a cupboard, then raced back outside, a small vial in hand.

  Krysilla could hardly think, but this much was clear: the woman was terrified, and that vial reminded her of the kind used for medicine. Someone who couldn’t fight back, wouldn’t need poison. The thought relaxed her. Things were going to be all right. She slumped against the wall, only able to make sure her legs were out of the way before she too collapsed.

  ***

  Hyaji set the ancient book on his desk. It probably wasn’t wise to let it touch anything, but then, it wasn’t wise to have it in the first place. It was one of a number of books written in Ornic that should have been destroyed in the bonfire the Disciples had built.

  But he had nothing better to do. His cell, Toth be blessed, had been spared any destruction. No one had bothered to look here when they inspected the damage of last night. With the clock tower gone, his chief responsibility no longer existed. And now...well, no one really cared what he did as long as he stayed out of the way. That’s what he told himself.

  Fire was the last thing he should be near.

  It was out by now, of course. But the smoke lingered, contained only by the Dogs, on orders of the Queen. Mustn’t panic the citizens, the other Disciples said. Lo
sing the ringing of the hour had been bad enough. But that was all he’d heard before the scent of the smoke entranced him and he had begun to follow it, hoping to watch it curl upward into the sky.

  He’d clasped his hands behind his back and, white-knuckled, went back inside the undamaged portion.

  It would take time, he knew, to fix this. Time in which he would find himself wandering the wreckage, looking for remnants of the spell that had been used.

  He tentatively reached out toward the Ornic script in front of him and traced it. None of the books he’d kept contained pictures of fire. It was his promise to himself, a way of rationalizing this. The script is beautiful he’d told himself and Krysilla. And he’d meant it. It was beautiful, like the first time he’d truly seen a pretty girl. He couldn’t stop staring, wanting nothing more than to follow each curve, each tilted line. But what he truly wanted was to read the words, to get lost inside their meaning.

  What good is that, he’d told himself each time he felt tempted, if you can’t actually cast the spells?

  He couldn’t stay here. Too weak to resist, he knew he’d break the promise he’d given his mother to never cast a spell again. And so, he’d decided to pack up a few of his books (Toth be blessed, the others had disintegrated in the flames or else he wouldn’t be sitting quietly in his room) and go back home for a while. Just until the scent of smoke cleared.

  The trouble was knowing which ones to keep, and which ones had to be hidden away.

  A knock on his cell door made him jump. He shoved the book back under the cloth. “Yes?”

  Hon Nirilan opened the door and poked his head in. “You’re wanted at the castle,” he said.

  He’d been slightly nervous before. Those words made that nervousness wrap around his heart, making it pound. “Yes.” He thought of his books, and hoped none had been found in the wreckage after all. “Yes, I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m to escort you.” Hon Nirilan lowered his voice. “Something’s happened.”

  “What?” That sounded more like breathing than speaking, he scolded himself. Speak up next time.

  “Dunno. Dogs are running all over, all of them staring at us as if we were the enemy. Some of the brothers have said they heard a call for masons and carpenters to come to the castle, while others say the biermen were called.”

  “I imagine they would be. The King is dead.”

  “But the Dogs were calm after that announcement. What would get them agitated now?”

  Hyaji thought of Krysilla and that thug minstrel that had been with her when they’d last spoken. When she’d threatened him. Probably due to the minstrel. Bastard lowlife.

  He quickly ran through an abbreviated chant to rid him of such violent thoughts toward a fellow Tothsin, then focused once more on the issue at hand. “Someone such as I can’t hope to guess.” He followed Hon Nirilan out of the Disciples’ library and across the yard. He’d heard rumors that the castle didn’t exist in some far-off place, but remained here in the city. Everyone, he’d decided once he’d been told, must know this, but only somewhat believe it. Though it would make sense for the castle to remain in the city of Hurush, given the wars of the Ornic, it also made sense for the castle to remain far removed from anyone who might be harmed during a coup.

  Therefore, Hyaji was not surprised when he was met by a scarlet-vested Dog, led through the wall and into a spacious, green courtyard, perfectly trimmed. Filthy luxury surrounded him on all sides, a testament to the ways that led to suffering.

  The Dog led them through richly decorated halls and under ornate archways. At one point, they passed a large room filled with sunlight. Entranced by the sunlight’s beauty, he saw a pile of white stone, as white as the stones that made up the castle around him, lying in a broken heap on the floor. Masons and carpenters walked over and around it, some scratching their heads, others talking amongst themselves in a small group, and surrounding them all were the Dogs, silent and watchful.

  He felt a tendril of magic as they passed, its trail etched into the floor. But he had no training in whatever spell had been cast, and could only feel the rage inside it as the spell had fallen apart.

  They turned, and entered a narrow stairway that was too plain to have been used by nobility. They ascended slowly, passing several floors until Hyaji began to wonder when they would stop. Finally, they walked through a door into a landing far above the rubble Hyaji had seen earlier. A large hole that must have once been a doorway almost as large was in the wall to their left. From inside, Hyaji could hear a man speaking.

  “Are you sure the exit is shut?”

  “Yes,” another man said. They were close enough now, Hyaji could view inside the enormous room. Blood spattered one wall, scorch marks another. The whole room felt wrong, so very wrong in a way that Hyaji had never encountered. The man who was listening appeared to be a noble, if his brilliant green, gold-embroidered (and always covered by the pious nobles) vest was any indication, a hastily folded, white handkerchief in its pocket. He sat in an ornate white and gold chair, leaning it back until there were only two legs on the floor, his head keeping it from tilting too far back. The man who had just spoken was much older and wore the scarlet red vest of the Dogs.

  The Dog who’d brought them knocked. The noble glanced at them, lifted his hand to show that he would get to them in a moment, then continued speaking. “And you can’t tell their location?”

  “The Ornic shifted the location as he jumped through. All we can read is the last place entered, not where he arrived.”

  “Impossible.” The noble let the chair fall back onto all four legs, obviously upset by the news. “It is impossible to change the location in a portal spell.”

  A female Dog, leaning against the wall with arms folded, said, “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps?” the noble scoffed. “What, do you have a story of another impossible feat by the Ornic? Perhaps they raised a castle when they landed, too.” Turning to the man, he said, “Have the Dogs seen any spring up lately?”

  The man he’d spoken with chuckled. The female Dog looked away, as if bored by the conversation.

  “Tell me, Dog Ishia,” the noble said, sitting down in a cushioned chair, “what story you heard. Did it describe how the Ornic managed to tell the spell to send him one place while he went to another?”

  The female Dog, who must have been Ishia, looked back at the noble with a gaze that gave no indication of her thoughts. “In the story I heard as a child, the Ornic escaped by making the portal able to access more than one location. When he wanted to give a false location, he would step through, and alter the location of the spell after he’d arrived at the one he’d originally chosen.”

  “Then finding him is just a matter of looking at the locations in the spell. Ah,” his cynical smile blazed to life. “But we cannot. Because the exit portal is burned.” He got up and began to pace. “Burned so thoroughly that only a member of the royal family could trace it in the ashes. And, unfortunately, our Ornic took care of that as well.” He sighed and looked at Hyaji. “And that is where you come in, dear Disciple.” Nodding to both the Dogs, they left, wandering down a corridor to some other unknown part of the castle.

  Hyaji’s escorts also left. The noble gestured for Hyaji to follow him deeper into the room.

  “And your name?” the noble asked.

  “Hon Hyaji.”

  “Lord Vyomsi Teranasin,” the noble said, bowing low. “But you can call me Vyomsi. I despise formalities. Are you aware of what has occurred, Hon Hyaji?”

  He shook his head, no.

  “The Queen and her children are dead.”

  Hyaji’s eyes widened. He’d only seen her once, when her oldest had been declared the heir to the throne. She and her children had looked as he had expected royalty to look. He’d avoided the announcement of the King’s death, afraid he would see Goodwife Gillasin or the thug minstrel who was with her. One of the privileges of being a Disciple: one wasn’t required to attend announcements. �
�And an Ornic killed them?” Hyaji asked.

  “Ah, yes. And not just any. A traitor who lived under the royal roof. Zhiv Mikailsin, the minstrel to the King.”

  Minstrel. Hyaji thought of the man who had been with Krysilla, and shuddered to think of how awful her situation must be now, to be traveling with a murderer.

  But she must have known, the thought occurred to him. He didn’t want to think that of her, though. He wanted to think she’d gone into this blind, and now found herself in a situation she could not leave without help. The idea that she’d known she was assisting a murderer, and an Ornic one at that, was something he refused to consider.

  They passed three rooms as they went deeper into what Hyaji realized were the Queen’s private chambers, each of them appearing to belong to children. One stood empty, with a desk and a quill pen ready for anything the writer might want to record. Hyaji tried to imagine the horror of each death (his mother had always called him heartless) and found he truly was horrified by these events. By the time they had reached what must have been the playroom, sunlight streaming through windows set high in the walls, he truly felt that this Ornic was the lowest of all men.

  “I have heard,” Lord Teranasin said, “that you spoke with Krysilla Gillasin, the woman seen with the Ornic before yesterday’s events. Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  He wanted to be as honest as he could, but he found there were many words in that conversation that would reveal his own sins, or might. And so, he focused on the Ornic instead. “She didn’t say much. The Ornic threatened me with a blade,” he paused as he realized his lack of information would be viewed as being part of their ruthless alliance, “and he knocked me out. I came to when the tower fell.” A necessary lie, he told himself.

  “What did he want you to do?”

  “Let him into the clock tower.”

  “I see.” Lord Teranasin’s eyes watched him carefully. Then, he smiled. “And that’s all you can tell us?”

  Krysilla had wanted the Ornic books he’d kept. She’d understood in a way no one should about his need to look at them, to touch them. “Yes. Everything else was nonsense about why she left her husband.”