I wanted to tell her about my Muscati, but I might only have a few moments, so I stayed focused on what mattered. “How are you? How are Aleki and Foss?”
Some of the glee faded from her face. “They’re fine. We’re … Well, it’s a lot to swallow, realizing Aleki has to become a Falcon. But we’re fine, truly.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “If there’s any way I can help, let me know.”
She shifted the books in her arms and laughed. “Maybe you could help me take these to the library after all. Mostly for the company! I’d love to show them to you.”
The day after tomorrow, the doge might order me to loose Zaira’s fire on this palace, and all Venasha’s beloved books could be destroyed. I swallowed a hard lump.
“I’d love to see them,” I said.
Most of the River Palace’s more public rooms were themed after one of the Graces; the Ducal Library occupied the Hall of Wisdom. Bookshelves covered the bottom two-thirds of the high walls, with statues of noted Ardentine scholars standing on top of them, conferring with each other or examining books or instruments of science. The ceiling fresco depicted the Grace of Wisdom with her scroll, smiling benevolently down on the book-burdened library tables below.
I had barely stepped through the doors at Venasha’s side, however, when I stopped as if I’d hit a wall. “What’s he doing here?”
On the far side of the Hall of Wisdom, I’d recognized one of the library patrons reading at the tables, unmistakable even from behind due to his pale hair and high-collared coat with its jagged violet embroidery. Prince Ruven.
Venasha followed my gaze. “Ugh. He’s been lurking around the library on and off for days. He spent at least two hours there yesterday, in the magic section.” Venasha’s nose scrunched up in distaste. “I keep my distance from him. He orders the librarians around as if he owns us.”
“I can imagine.” I took my lower lip between my teeth a moment, thinking. “Would you be willing to help me figure out what he’s reading? I have a feeling he’s up to no good.”
Venasha’s eyes widened. “Ooh, you want to spy on him?”
“Well, just to see what he’s researching.”
She gave a sort of skip. “Spying! How Raverran! I love it!”
“Ah …” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what Venasha thought we did in Raverra. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”
She glanced around in an exaggerated crafty fashion. “Come with me. Let me put these books away, and we can conspire.”
Venasha and I peered at Prince Ruven from behind a two-story bookshelf near the back wall, breathing in the smell of old pages and leather covers. He sat with a large book spread out on the table before him, pausing sometimes to take notes. Sunlight fell across him in a wide swath from one of the Ducal Library’s high, narrow windows.
“We need to get him away from his book,” I murmured. “I want to see what page he’s looking at so studiously, before he has the chance to shut it.”
“That’s easy.” Venasha bounced on her toes. “He likes a lot of light. Whenever any of us close the drapes, to protect the books from the sun, he gets up and opens them again. But you’ll have only a minute or two to look.”
“That’s all I should need. Thanks, Venasha.”
She saluted me, grinning, and hurried off. Sure enough, within moments the bold bar of light Ruven had chosen to sit in narrowed to nothing as Venasha drew the curtains shut.
Ruven lifted his head, frowning in annoyance, and rose from his reading table.
As soon as his back was turned, I emerged from behind my shelf, trying to remind myself to walk slowly and casually so I wouldn’t draw attention. But suddenly I had no idea what walking normally looked like. To make matters worse, I was still in my elaborate gown from my audience with the duke; I felt ridiculously out of place in the solemn stillness of the library.
I bent over Ruven’s book, first slipping my fingers between the pages to mark his place and checking the title on the embossed leather cover: Interactions of Magic, Volume Two.
He’d mentioned to Domenic he was interested in volume one, so that didn’t tell me much. I opened the book again and scanned the pages Ruven had been studying.
The left-hand page showed a great, impressively detailed artifice circle. Smaller circles marked the points where the inner diagram touched the outer one. I’d only seen nested circles a few times before. Whatever this design was trying to accomplish, it was complicated and ambitious.
I skimmed the accompanying text on the right-hand page. Then skimmed it again, more slowly, a weight like chunks of obsidian settling into my stomach.
The chapter outlined a theoretical way to stimulate a volcanic eruption using artificers and vivomancers in concert.
“Mount Whitecrown,” I whispered. “The Vaskandran troops. Grace of Mercy.”
A hand fell on my shoulder.
Full, golden light shone on the page I stared at. I hadn’t noticed it brightening, in my shock over what I’d read.
“Lady Amalia Cornaro,” Prince Ruven said. “Such a pleasant surprise.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I turned, pulling my shoulder out from under his hand as I straightened. “Prince Ruven.”
Now what? I could pretend I’d only stumbled across the book, and not known he was reading it. I could try to distract him. I could run away like a child caught stealing cakes. Grace of Wisdom, I needed an idea, and fast.
He leveled his violet-ringed eyes at me. “If you wanted to know what I was reading, my lady, you could simply have asked.”
I’d had enough of pretending to be friendly to this shark in human skin. I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Would you have told me you were researching a means to trigger an eruption in Mount Whitecrown?”
Ruven’s eyes widened. “Why, no, Lady Amalia. Whatever could have made you think such a thing? I was researching the eruption of Mount Enthalus.”
“Mount Enthalus. The volcano that erupted a few years ago and altered the course of the River Arden.”
“Yes. That one.” Ruven’s mouth curved in a smile. “Do you know what caused it?”
A deep unease rose up in me, like black water behind a breaking dam. “I’m guessing you don’t mean fires deep in the earth and geological forces.”
“No, no. It was a Witch Lord.”
My fingers curled instinctively around my flare locket. “A Witch Lord.”
“Yes.” Ruven nodded, as if proud of me for understanding at last. “No relation of mine. The Oak Lord, in whose domain Enthalus lay, was quarreling with his neighbor, as is not uncommon in Vaskandar. It is one of the reasons we prefer to focus our aggressions outward when we can. But this time, his opponent was the Lady of Eagles. You know her, perhaps?” His gaze sharpened until it could have cut water, as if the question were particularly important.
“The name is familiar. I fear I am not well versed in the aspects and domains of the seventeen Witch Lords.” I resolved to read up on them as soon as possible.
“Hmm.” Ruven sounded disappointed. “Well, suffice to say the Oak Lord found his forces outmatched. As he prepared for their final battle, near the foot of Mount Enthalus, he sought to awaken the forests on the mountain’s flanks, which lay within his domain. But his power accidentally touched something else instead: the volcano’s fiery heart.”
Hell of Carnage. “He triggered the eruption?”
“Indeed! But the power was too great for him to control. It wiped out his own forces rather than his enemy’s, and destroyed the Oak Lord himself utterly.” He lifted a finger. “But not in vain! We can learn from his experience.”
“That tampering with volcanoes is a terrible idea and you wind up dead if you try?” I suggested.
“No, no. That it can be done.” Ruven’s eyes lit, his mage mark almost glowing violet. “That it is possible to trigger a volcanic eruption. Can you imagine such power? Is it not magnificent?”
“Grace of Mercy.” I could imagine it all too well. “No
. That’s not a power we should unlock. Volcanic eruptions bring nothing but fire and ruin.”
Ruven nodded with delight. “Yes, exactly! Precisely. Like your fire warlock, no?”
I stared at him, my flare locket cold in my hand. Words abandoned me.
“So incredible, that one small human body could contain almost the same destructive force as a volcano.” He crooned it, his eyes half lidded, as if savoring the idea. “I am envious, Lady Amalia. Fire warlocks are surely the pinnacle of all humankind. But you see, we do not have one in Vaskandar, so a volcano is the best we can do.” He smiled. “We are the same, you see? You put the jess on Zaira because you wanted to hold the power of fiery devastation in your hands. So do we. You rule through the threat of unanswerable power; we seek to do the same. We are kindred spirits, my lady. Everything I do, I learned from the Serene Empire.”
I shook my head. It wasn’t the same. The servants with finger marks burned into their flesh, or Ruven’s guardsman staring in frozen horror as his master pushed a knife through his arm—the Empire didn’t do those things.
“I won’t deny the Serene Empire seeks to gather the reins of Eruvia into its own hands,” I said. “But if you can’t see the difference, you’ve never looked into the faces of your own people.”
Ruven tilted his head. “And why would I? They are common, unworthy. They are tools to be used. We who carry true power within us exist to be their masters.” He extended a hand. “Come to Vaskandar, my lady. You will see.”
I stared at his hand. I’d feel safer grabbing the hot end of a lit torch. Then I looked up at his face.
“Perhaps someday I will visit your country,” I said. “But I hope you will understand my reluctance to do so at the invitation of a man who employed a notorious child smuggler.”
Ruven blinked. Calculations passed through his violet-ringed eyes, and he dropped his hand. “Why, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Orthys.” I couldn’t have been mistaken about the handprint-shaped scar on his man. “He worked for you, did he not?”
“Ah, Orthys.” Ruven flipped a dismissive hand. “He wasn’t mine. We had a few trade transactions, perhaps. But you see, this is one more way we are the same! As the Empire seeks to gather up the mage-marked, so do I.”
A few trade transactions. A long history of trading him children for dream poppies, more like it. I couldn’t keep the repugnance entirely from my voice. “I fear, Prince Ruven, I must disagree. We are nothing alike.”
“Ah.” He sighed. For a moment, genuine hurt might have flickered in his eyes; then it was gone. His hand dropped back to his side. “You wound me, Lady Amalia. I had hoped we could become friends, or perhaps more than friends. But by the look on your face, you think me an enemy.”
“Circumstances may place us in conflict,” I said carefully, “if you make yourself an enemy to the Empire.”
Ruven’s face brightened. “Ah, but friendship and enmity are not mutually exclusive! In Vaskandar, often the Witch Lords have close, deep, lasting friendships with their bitterest enemies. If that is what you wish, my lady, I will aspire to this fine example.”
“Ah …” My hairline prickled with sweat. What in the Hells could I say to that?
Ruven leaned closer to me, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Be aware, though: when a Witch Lord chooses an enemy, they use every advantage at their disposal to defeat them. They leave no weak spot unexploited, no vulnerability untargeted. Even if they are also friends.” He beamed, as if this were a lovely and endearing custom, like putting flower crowns on small girls at the May festival. “I look forward to becoming your most cordial opponent, Lady Amalia.”
He bowed with a flourish and departed the library. He left his book open on the table behind him, the great, complicated eye of the artifice circle staring up at me like a challenge.
“I’d bet anything Prince Ruven stole your book,” I told Domenic.
Venasha and I had found Domenic attempting to escape a meeting of the Council of Lords and had pulled him into a back room of the Ducal Library to discuss Ruven’s reading habits. He slouched against the wall, between a stack of bookbinding-supply crates and a shelf full of manuscripts in various stages of repair.
“That bastard.”
Venasha hopped up to sit on a worktable. “I remember the volcano chapter of Interactions of Magic. It didn’t make much sense. Kept referring back to concepts in the first volume without explaining them, and frankly, the artifice design seemed dubious to me.”
“It might make more sense if you had volume one,” Domenic said darkly.
I turned to Venasha. “Hide that book. Don’t let him find it again.”
She nodded vigorously. “I can shelve it in the wrong place. Behind something else. In the erotic-poetry section.”
“Perfect.”
“I never did like that man.” Domenic picked at a loose splinter on the edge of a crate. “No matter how much Gabril insists he’s brilliant and can save Ardence. My brother has terrible judgment sometimes.”
Gabril. With a pang, I remembered his name on Lady Savony’s list of suspects. “Domenic, exactly how bad is Gabril’s judgment?”
Domenic blinked. “Well, he once wore a Loreician periwig with a Vaskandran-style robe …”
Venasha winced. “That’s pretty bad.”
“No, I mean, could he have been involved in the Falconer ambush yesterday? Not that I think he would do something like that,” I quickly added, “but the attackers were wearing Shadow Gentry masks and cloaks.”
Domenic sighed and threw his splinter on the floor. “Gabril says the Shadow Gentry didn’t do it. I asked him as soon as I heard about it. But in all honesty, it could have been a few of the Shadow Gentry acting on their own. Some of them have stooped to such levels in the past, assaulting Raverran merchants and the like. Gabril doesn’t know about everything they do.”
Venasha hugged herself, worry pinching her face. “I heard the Falconers came to bring in a new Falcon, and the Shadow Gentry fought them off to keep them from taking the child.”
“That’s not what happened!” I straightened, indignant. “There was no mage-marked child. The whole thing was a trap—to steal the jess, most likely.”
“There are all kinds of rumors.” Venasha bit her lip. “I’m afraid someone is going to take it as an example, and start a fight over Aleki. His mage mark is showing stronger every day.”
Domenic didn’t look surprised; Venasha must have told him. “You might want to keep Aleki at home for a few days,” he suggested, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.
“I said as much to Foss, but he says children need fresh air. He’s planning to bring him to the gardens again this afternoon.” Venasha turned pleading eyes to me. “He might listen to you, Amalia. Will you talk to him?”
“Of course.” I hated the idea of telling him to hide Aleki, but I hated even more the idea of Aleki getting pulled into this conflict.
If we couldn’t make peace between Ardence and Raverra before the doge’s deadline, Venasha’s family would be in far more danger from me than from the Shadow Gentry.
I plucked a pen from a nearby desk, rolling it between my fingers to keep my hands busy so I wouldn’t rip out my hair. “You should tell Gabril to get out of the Shadow Gentry,” I urged Domenic. “Whether they’re truly involved in this plot or not, your brother could get caught up in this mess and wind up in prison, or worse. He shouldn’t host that party. He needs to quit the Shadow Gentry, for his own safety.”
Domenic sighed miserably. “He won’t.”
“He’s your little brother. He must look up to you. Surely you can convince him.”
“You don’t understand.” Domenic shook his head. “He can’t leave the Shadow Gentry. He’s their leader.”
After my talk with Domenic and Venasha, I took advantage of my presence at the River Palace to intercept more lords of Ardence as they passed through the Hall of Beauty on their business. Though I got a few mur
derous glares, most of them seemed happy enough to talk to Ignazio’s cousin; nearly all of those expressed a wish he were still Serene Envoy. A few proved willing or even eager to discuss a return to normal relations between Raverra and Ardence, but they all agreed on one thing: no concession was possible until the missing heirs were returned to their parents. Whether Raverra had taken them or not, the return of the children had to be the first priority, and the Empire must recognize that. All else could wait.
It was painfully clear the duke hadn’t told them about the doge’s deadline. They spoke of the tensions with Raverra as a serious problem, but not an immediately pressing one. In their minds, the abducted children were the emergency. It made me fit to wear my teeth down to nubs with frustration. Once, I caught Lady Savony looking at me from across the Hall of Beauty as she dispatched pages and footmen to accomplish the tasks in her little notebook; she lifted an eyebrow at me, as if to say, You see what I must contend with?
After several hours, I gave up and collected Venasha from the library so we could go meet Foss and Aleki. We left the River Palace together and crossed the grand Plaza of Six Fountains toward the public gardens. Gray clouds smothered the sky, threatening rain. It was just as well; I’d rather not have to navigate picnickers and dogs on the winding garden paths right now.
“I can’t believe it,” I muttered. “Domenic isn’t an idiot. How could his brother be such a colossal one?”
“I’ve met him.” Venasha sounded worried. “He’s not stupid. He gets swept up in the passion of things, though. And he’s got enough charisma to bring people along with him.”
“That’s not what we need right now. Grace of Mercy, Domenic is never going to forgive me if I get his brother thrown into prison.” Or executed, but I didn’t want to make that possibility real with speech.
“And I’ll never forgive Gabril if his rash movement gets my Aleki hurt.”
The Tethered Mage Page 28
