by Karen Brooks
I softly closed the door behind me. From inhaling the balmy night air, I was suddenly in a space where my breath curled into white ghosts. It was unbelievably cold. But it wasn't just the chill that made me shiver.
It was what I could sense.
Wrapping my arms around my body, I checked my room, calling quietly for Cane. My hand brushed against the wooden trunk by my bed. I quickly drew it away and stuck my fingers in my mouth. It was freezing. It was as if I'd been burnt. My bed was the same. A thin film of frost coated everything. My blankets, the old sacks in the corner, the window sill.
Someone – or something – had been in my room. Their presence was palpable with every bitter breath I drew. And they'd left a manifest reminder of their frigid touch, the fragile ice-sheet over my room was like a contagion.
Nothing seemed to have been taken. But where was Cane?
I heard a faint sound. Moving cautiously, I approached the vats. 'Cane? Is that you?' I hissed.
As I passed the first barrel, I bent and picked up the handle of an old broom that Quinn had discarded. I slowly raised it above my head.
'Whoever you are, you'd better come out. I'm warning you.' I imagined the jackal man squatting behind the vat, a weapon drawn. Fear made every nerve tingle.
I prepared to strike. In one swift movement, I levered the vat away from the wall with my foot and swung the stick. I paused mid-swing. Cowering in the corner was Cane. His fur was matted and his tail had disappeared between his legs. The stick clattered to the floor. Cane let out a pitiful whimper. I dropped to my knees and flung my arms around him. He was ice-cold. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. 'Oh, Cane,' I said. 'What is it, boy? Who was here? What did they do to you?' My teeth were chattering.
In reply, he just raised his big brown eyes to mine. I scooped him up in my arms and took him down to the kitchen. No-one would, or could, sleep in my room tonight.
I placed Cane gently on the floor. The fire burned low in the grate. I dragged a chair closer to the hearth, wincing as it groaned over the wooden floor. Quinn's door remained shut. Adding some more coal to the fire, I fanned the flames with my breath. Heat radiated from the glow and my body began to thaw. Satisfied, I picked Cane up again and held him in my lap, my arms folded around him for warmth.
My mind raced. First the man in the gondola, and now an unexpected and unnatural visitor. What was going on? What if Dante was right and the man had been following the gondola? But no, it was too much of a coincidence. And, if there was one thing Katina had taught me, when you're an Estrattore in hiding there's no such thing as coincidence.
It was clear I would have to be more vigilant. Either that, or perhaps it was time for me to leave, strike out on my own and search for the remaining Estrattore. Just as the idea formed, I knew I was not ready to explore it further, so I banished it and instead, focused on what had happened upstairs, in my room.
Who or what was it that left such potent reminders of their presence? I held Cane tightly, feeling the cold that had penetrated his bones, gently brushing away the frost that stubbornly clung to his whiskers and fur. He began to shiver. The intruder's imprint was upon Cane. Every time my fingers met his coat, a jolt ran through me. I couldn't make sense of it. It was lifeless, without depth or emotion – like a huge void. There was almost nothing to extract except the memory of their passing.
I quivered as I took Cane's bone-deep chill into me and slowly distilled it. Clearly, whoever they were, they didn't care that I knew they'd been through my things. They didn't care that I knew they'd found out where I lived. And they were indifferent to the pain they caused innocents. Somehow, I knew that they wanted me to know that, too. Why? If they were after me, why didn't they wait and just grab me? Why was I being warned? I didn't have the answers. I wasn't sure I was asking even the right questions.
'I'm so sorry, Cane,' I whispered into his fur. 'I never should have left you.'
But I had, and for what? To go on a wild escapade with Dante – to prove to him that I really was bold and adventurous to maintain the illusion of my masculinity. And look where that had led. Not only had I unintentionally exposed myself but it looked like I'd lost my only friend in the world. Aware of my sorrow, Cane reached up and licked the tears that trailed down my cheeks.
'Only friend, except for you, of course,' I corrected, trying to fight back the sobs that made it hard to speak.
I rested my head against the back of the chair, watching the embers glow and fade. My trembling gradually ceased as Cane's body warmed. My eyelids began to grow heavy. I fought against sleep – I couldn't slumber here – that was irresponsible. But a little nap, a brief respite just until we were warm ... that couldn't do any harm, could it?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In the Great Hall
of Albion
'I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY THERE'S so much confusion.' The Queen of Farrowfare's voice echoed around the chamber, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling and making the group of courtiers standing below her quail. She glared contemptuously at the Mortian, prostrate at her feet. He neither looked at her nor answered. As he'd been instructed by his master, he kept his head down and his face pressed against the flagstones.
From a few feet away, Lord Waterford studied the other creatures in the chamber. Not one of the four accompanying their spokesman responded to Zaralina's wrath. It was as if she hadn't said a word. He found himself admiring their stalwartness.
Aware that her usual tactics didn't work with the Mortians, the queen changed her tone. 'All right. Let's recount what we know so far. You managed to navigate the Limen without difficulty and travel throughout Serenissima for months undetected. Good. And you found a child, a child with demonstrable talent, whom you observed closely for weeks before confirming your suspicions and returning to me,' she said in a measured voice. 'This is excellent news. But explain to me why you're confused. What's the problem you seem unable to articulate?'
Still the Mortians didn't move.
'All right, then,' she continued. 'Just tell me where in Serenissima she is.'
Still there was no response.
She clicked in exasperation, aware that no amount of prompting would draw an answer from these creatures, not without help. She snapped her fingers. 'Shazet!' From behind the throne, her confidant stepped forward.
Standing on the floor immediately below the dais, Lord Waterford started. As close as he was to the throne, he hadn't seen Shazet, whose emaciated grey form blended with the rough-hewn walls. The hair on the back of his neck began to rise. He repressed the urge to thrust his hands under his arms. The throne room was always cold, but whenever the Mortians – particularly Shazet – appeared, the temperature dropped dramatically.
'What does Your Highness wish of me?' whispered Shazet, sliding into place beside the queen and bending towards her.
'This imbecile of yours won't answer my questions. None of them will,' she said, a sweep of her arm taking in the remaining Mortians. 'Presumably, they've already reported to you.' She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. No matter what penalties she inflicted, the Mortians insisted on acknowledging Shazet as their leader, deferring to him in all matters.
Even after all these years and the threats she levelled, as well as her other attempts to suborn them and prove where the real authority in their new kingdom lay, they would neither address nor take orders from her directly. Well, so be it. She would not let her frustration show; to do so was weak.
At least Shazet knew who was in charge. He obeyed her in all things and they obeyed him. That was all that mattered at the moment. She flicked her hands in Shazet's direction. 'So I need you to tell me. Where is the girl?'
Shazet paused. 'There is no girl.'
The courtiers began to murmur. Lord Waterford struggled to keep his face impassive.
Zaralina twisted her head until her face was just inches from Shazet's. Lord Waterford wondered how she could stand it, being so close. 'What do you mean, no girl?' she hissed. 'I know they fou
nd the child.'
'The child they located is not a girl at all. It's male.'
There were gasps from the floor. Lord Waterford reached out and clutched a column for support. A boy!
The queen's eyes widened and her hands gripped the huge arms of her throne. 'What? What are you saying? That's impossible! The legend clearly states the Estrattore will be a girl.' She glared at her chattering council.
'Silence!' she demanded. The voices ceased immediately.
'That may be so, but the child my people located is a definitely a boy. This is why they have taken so long – they wanted to be absolutely sure. He's a candlemaker's apprentice who lives in the Dorsoduro Sestiere. He wears glasses to hide his eyes.'
'I'm not interested in whether he wears glasses or in which sestiere he lives! Your Mortians are fools, Shazet. They've made a mistake. The boy can't be an Estrattore. They've found the wrong person.'
Shazet shook his head. 'I'm afraid that's not possible, Your Highness. The boy is definitely an Estrattore; there is no mistake. My people, at great risk to themselves, finally entered his abode, and they felt his touch everywhere. He is quite adept, it seems.'
The cavernous room grew taut with silence – the only movement the queen's eyes as she searched Shazet's long face.
'That must mean there are two!' exclaimed Zaralina finally. Lord Waterford could see that she hadn't expected that. Rising slowly from the throne, she stepped down from the dais and began to pace the room. The seven remaining members of the Advisory Council scurried out of her way, none more quickly than Lord Waterford. He knew from years of experience what that tone, that look, signified.
The heels of the queen's shoes staccatoed across the stone floor. When she reached the end of the room she turned and paused. A thin stream of light from the narrow windows caught the top of her head, striking sparks from the unremarkable diadem she wore atop her burnished copper hair. 'You're sure? He's definitely an Estrattore?'
'Most definitely,' replied Shazet. While he didn't project his voice, it could be heard in every barren corner. 'It seems he's hiding his talents in the candles he makes. It's very subtle, very well done. No-one is aware of him – yet. It's evident he's had training of some sort.'
'Training?' The queen arched a fine eyebrow. 'How's that possible? We would know if any of the Estrattore had left the Limen.'
Shazet bowed. 'We would, Your Highness. We have sentries posted along its entire length. No Estrattore has left the Limen in over three hundred years.'
The queen nodded. 'So, his training has come from somewhere else. What do we know of those with whom he lives?'
Shazet pointed towards the Mortian lying on the dais. Immediately, the creature rose to its feet and, in the language of its kind, communed with its master. Their sibilations rose and fell. Waterford wanted to rub his arms for warmth, but he knew better than to move.
Finally, Shazet turned to the queen. 'There is, it seems, not much to tell. An old woman, a middle-aged man. Candlemakers by trade. They have no talent. They're mere peasants.'
'And yet, they hide him.'
Shazet inclined his head.
'Why?'
Shazet shrugged. 'They do not know. They are making a lot of money from the candles; perhaps that's the reason. Maybe they keep him as a slave.'
'When they entered his home, did your spies actually see him?'
'No. He was not there. Only the other two were there. Them, and one of those four-legged creatures you call a dog. The dog belongs to the boy.'
'If he possesses property, he is not a slave.' The queen began to pace again, a thoughtful look on her face. 'Ask them. What's it like, this place he lives?'
'It's in the Candlemakers Quartiere,' said Shazet. There was a degree of censure in his tone, a tiny reprimand for her lack of faith in his people. Waterford marvelled at his boldness. 'It's part of a small island in the Dorsoduro Sestiere, the one nearest the mainland. The house is modest. Three levels. Faces onto a narrow canal on one side and a small alley on the other. The lowest level is devoted to business – a tiny shop and a workshop where the candles are made. The first level is a living and sleeping area. The boy has a dedicated room on the topmost floor. It was relatively easy to access – my people entered through the rooftop. When they discovered our Estrattore was a boy, this piece of information was too significant to tarry any longer.'
The queen frowned. 'Yes, yes. They did well. You did well.' She took her time returning to the throne. Resting her elbows on its arms, she steepled her fingers together under her chin in thought. Then something occurred to her. 'If your people didn't see the child, how do they know it was a boy?'
'They've been watching for quite some time, your Highness. They saw his belongings. The man and the old woman were discussing him. The child is male.'
ZARALINA GAZED AT THE CEILING. She didn't see the dark crossbeams, festoons of cobwebs or guttering sconces as she mulled over what she'd been told.
A boy! Something was very wrong. This wasn't how it was meant to happen; this was not how the legend went. And yet ... could it be a ploy to distract her? To focus her attention away from the girl in order that she grow and develop into her full power? The corners of the queen's mouth curled. That had to be it. So, the Estrattore had outdone themselves and produced not one but two of their kind – a decoy and the real one. Only she knew the sex of the real child – the real danger.
Or, was it possible that this boy was an aberration? What if the girl had not been born yet? No, that was ridiculous. All the signs were there: the exodus of the Estrattore into the Limen; the dual pledge of the twin Bond Riders. And yes, the child had been taken – from the Estrattore and out of the Limen. That they knew for sure. The exit had been witnessed.
The girl was out there. All they had to do was find her.
She gazed upon those assembled in her throne room: the whispering Shazet whose very presence unnerved all the others; the four Mortians who had been sent through the Limen to Serenissima; the remnants of her once-powerful human Council; and the one person she trusted above all others – Lord Waterford. A mere laird with no prospects, he'd been elevated beyond his wildest dreams. He was the one man too frightened to do anything but comply with her orders. Fear was a wonderful tool for obedience. She granted him a smile. Waterford jumped then, remembering etiquette, bowed.
'All right,' she said finally. 'Here's what you will do.' She gestured to Shazet. 'I want you to double the number of Mortians you send into Serenissima and I want you to extend the breadth of your search to include the highlands and Jinoa. I want every house searched, every business and every family, noble and peasant, citizen and non-citizen. Listen, watch, feel. The touch of an Estrattore leaves a residue.'
The Mortians in the room flinched. They began whispering, gesturing to Shazet first, and then to the queen. The sound was harsh and discordant; it was clear they were protesting. Shazet silenced them by raising one finger.
'The girl is out there,' continued the queen, ignoring the outburst. 'I know it. I feel her. It may be she has not come into her abilities yet. But she will. Oh, yes, any day now, she will. And we will be there to track her until it is time for us to act.'
'And the boy?' asked Shazet.
'I'm getting to that. While I think the boy is a clever distraction, I also believe he's worth keeping an eye on. I didn't anticipate another player and I want to know the extent of his abilities. He may be useful. Should he prove too dangerous, then we'll deal with him.'
'It shall be as you say, Your Highness,' said Shazet. He clicked his fingers and the Mortians rose to their feet, gliding like wraiths in the wind. In silence, they exited the throne room one after the other, the doors closing behind them with a sigh of relief.
Waterford shivered. Catching him out of the corner of her eye, an idea formed in the queen's mind. 'Lord Waterford!' she said.
