by Chad Huskins
Daedron made his next move, then looked up at her, intrigued. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s that way with all such board games. The truth is in the math. Sixty-four squares, ten pieces to each opponent. And for every move I could possibly make on my first turn, you can make seven or eight countermoves. And for every countermove you make, I’ve got seven or eight responses.”
“Very interesting.”
“It’s called exponential growth, and the numbers get out of hand very quickly,” she said. “Which is why there are more possible variations of the game than can be calculated.”
Daedron leaned back in his seat. “I spoke with Taja Osween. She said you were good with numbers, and knowledgeable about more than you should be.”
“It must’ve been difficult for you to get that out of her.”
“Like pulling teeth. But I eventually got her to give me her full and honest opinion of you.”
“Goodness, I wonder what I’ve done to intrigue you so.”
“You know exactly what you’ve done, Drea. You’ve been doing it since you set foot in these halls.”
Drea looked at him. “I’m sure I don’t know what you—”
“I lost this game before I sat down,” he interrupted her.
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
For a long time, he gazed at her. The fell-lightning flashed hot outside, and yet the snow kept coming down in heavy waves. Daedron’s smile became…strange. Drea couldn’t read its full intent.
Finally, he said, “You’ve heard the stories about me. Daedron the Diviner. A man who communes with vehl in order to see the future, and to see things happening far away.”
There was no use in denying it. “Yes,” Drea said. “I’ve heard the rumors.”
“They’re true,” Daedron said. “To some extent, at least. I can see just what’s head.
“You…you can see…the future?”
“It’s like being in a road at night with a lantern,” he said. “I can just make out a few shapes, the curve of the road, perhaps if there’s a large horse and carriage coming right at me. But I cannot see the other end of the street.”
Drea said nothing. She moved one of her seshqii pieces.
“Does that shock you?” he said, leaning forward to capture one of her pieces. “To know that I’ve peeked into your future, and that I’m playing a game I’ve already seen you win?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. It’s more than likely—”
“—just a flirtatious prank I seek to play on an innocent girl?”
Drea looked up at him, her mouth agape. He’d stolen the words right out of her mouth. The exact words.
Daedron smiled. “A vehl has been whispering all your comments into my ear an instant before you say them, though it won’t actually reveal your movements on the seshqii board here.” He chuckled. “Vehl can be fickle about what they reveal to a Diviner.”
“You’re actually in contact with a vehl…right now?” she whispered, feeling cold chills all over her body. “Demonic spirits from Underrealm?”
“Most fell-sorcerers have their favorite pets. My uncle has one called Ziir, a powerful vehl that’s been with him for ages.”
Drea watched him, wondering if he was just having fun with her. “And what does this Ziir do?”
“His powers are varied. He’s mostly an advisor, a kind of confidante to my uncle, one that occasionally kills for him.” Daedron tilted his head curiously. “Do you find all this shocking?”
She nodded. “I’m a little astonished, yes. But I’m more surprised that you’re confessing this to me, of all people.”
“But you’re a smart girl, I’m told. One who couples logic with philosophy, or so I’m told. So tell me, Drea, why am I sitting here being so reckless, confessing to you a dark secret, one that if it got out would surely have me persecuted as a fell-sorcerer?”
Drea calmly moved another piece, capturing one of his. He was close to losing the game. “Because you want something. And since we’re here alone I can only assume it involves an issue against your uncle.”
“Very good,” he said, moving a piece. “Keep going.”
“You either seek to test me, to see if I will enter into your confidence and betray your uncle,” she said, moving a piece and taking another of his. “Or else you want to enlist me for some service.”
“And so, how do we deduce which one I’m doing?” he said, moving another piece.
“By using logic. If it was the first, and you truly can see the future, you would already know where my loyalties lie. But if it’s the second, then you’re simply waiting for me to finish this deduction to figure out if I’m as smart as you’ve come to believe.”
At that moment, Drea reached forward to take Daedron’s second-to-last piece, and she had already put his last piece in check by surrounding it with white tiles.
Daedron gave her a hard look. “As I said, I see many things, but I cannot see everything.”
“For instance?” Drea said.
“I couldn’t see just how you would win this game, nor if you would even accept my invitation tonight. I also couldn’t see whether or not my uncle’s assassination attempt on Fedarus would succeed. It was too far beyond me, and vehl occasionally lie.”
“So why confide in me?”
Another peel of thunder shook the windows. Ice and snow caked heavily on them.
“Because the closer I am to you, the brighter my lantern becomes, and the farther down your street I can see.”
“If you can see any of my past or future, you know that I don’t—”
“Have any romantic inclinations towards me? Yes, I know. Your heart lies…with someone else.” He smirked. “But I don’t care. That’s not why I’m talking to you. Love doesn’t interest me, I only care about one thing. And you know what that is, don’t you?”
Drea shook her head. “I could be a myriad of things—”
“It’s only one thing,” Daedron said, leaning forward. “And you know what it is. Go ahead, use that logic. Why would I have solicited an audience with you three times, and why would I want you alone tonight to confess all this to you?”
Drea considered it. It only took a moment. “Because you don’t want your sisters or your uncle to hear, which means you don’t want them involved.”
“Go on,” he encouraged. “Finish the thought.”
“You’re…you’re conspiring against them.”
“Go on. Why would I do that?”
Drea thought about it for a moment. She remembered that an ancestor of House Syphen had written The Way, a book on strategy, a treatise on how to manipulate others and achieve power. And she knew that Daedron and his sisters were all well-versed in its text.
“You want what your uncle has. You want the power he wields.”
Daedron nodded. “Very good.”
“But your uncle is a fell-sorcerer, too, and he commands vehl. He’ll know you’re coming—or, at least, he will be difficult to deal with, thanks to this Ziir.”
“Yes,” he said. “And the same goes for my sisters.”
This was perhaps the most shocking thing Drea had heard all night. “Your sisters? Vaedris and the others also practice the Arcana?”
“Yes, though they are not as devoted to the craft as my uncle and I, and he’s never urged them to be. Arcana, you see, is another kind of masculine art. Like logic and philosophy, it’s best for women to know little of it, if any.”
Drea didn’t know how she felt about that. Gods below, I barely know how I feel about anything that’s transpired. Now I must contend with this? A conspiracy with the nephew of my adoptive father?
“What is it you want from me?” she asked.
“Your hand in marriage,” he said simply. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
Drea nodded.
“Don’t worry, you may love whomever you want—honestly, I don’t really feel any great affection for you, just as you have none for me—but our unio
n would give me access to your wealth. You can’t use it right now, for you’re both young and female, but once I’m in power I can use that money to secure certain, ah, favors from senators loyal to my family.”
“And how would you use those favors?”
“To take my uncle’s place as a Triumvir without having to go through military service or entering the Trials of Honor, all of which would take years.”
“You want to bribe your way into a seat of power that your uncle has already prepared.”
“Yes.”
Drea considered him. She maintained her composure, though her heart was beginning to beat faster. “Well, I must say, this is a most unusual proposal. And not what I expected when I accepted your invitation to the gameroom.”
“I understand it’s a lot to take it.”
“To say the least.” Drea chewed on it a moment. “And what would be in it for me?”
Daedron snorted. “Do I even have to say it? You would be married to one of the most powerful men in all of Drith, with access to this house and any other of our businesses and estates. And there would, of course, be gifts. Wedding gifts from every Major House in the city. You know that it isn’t proper to refuse a bride of a Major House on her wedding day—anything that she asks, she may have.”
That put a notion in Drea’s mind. An idea. But she kept it to herself. Third Precept, she thought. Conceal your true intentions, even from your friends.
“You wouldn’t have to listen to Osween or Vaedris or anyone else again,” Daedron continued. “You would have some small degree of influence over matters of House Syphen.
Influence, Drea thought, thinking of The Way again. Through my influence, I am granted power.
“And whatever loves you wish to pursue, those would be your business,” Daedron went on. “I ask only that you bear me at least one child. A son.”
“And how am I supposed to guarantee that our child is a boy?”
“I practice Arcana,” Daedron said, scratching at his beard casually. “There are ways to ensure the sex of a child before it’s conceived.”
That sentence made Drea’s blood freeze in her veins, and they both sat there for a time, considering the silence.
Finally, Daedron said, “Well, Drea? Have I done my job in converting you?”
“I hardly know what to think,” she said. “Too many tragedies have befallen men, and now the shock of this news…it has all left me with insufficient wits. I would like to acquaint myself better with the truth of your character—”
“But we do not have the luxury of the time that would afford such an acquaintance,” Daedron said. “I require an answer soon, Drea.”
She looked out the window, and saw the fog building on it, obfuscating her view of the outside world. She rather thought a similar fog was on the windows of her mind, keeping so many truths from being revealed outright.
“Why would you come to me with this?” Drea said. “If you truly can’t see very far into the future, then you must know it’s possible for me to go to Lord Syphen with your betrayal.”
Daedron smiled again. “I’m so glad to hear you ask that. It lets me know I chose you correctly.”
“Why would you choose me?”
“It’s been said around this house that you are a morose, depressed girl. But I don’t see depression, I see melancholy. And philosophers tell us that melancholy is a source of great creativity, thoughtfulness, even cunning.”
“You think you know me so well.”
“I know you well enough. The many tragedies you’ve suffered would have broken most people, but they’ve only kindled something inside you. You don’t have many special powers or qualities, only the ones that matter.”
“And which are those?”
“Ambition,” Daedron said. “And an instinct to push back at others who push you. Sometimes with words, sometimes with a blade.”
Drea looked at him. “Taja Osween told you about the incident with me and the boy on the Street of Wares.”
“She did.”
“And you think my history reveals a willingness to go along with you?”
“A willingness to change your destiny, when presented with an opportunity.”
Drea considered him for a moment. “And how would you…remove your uncle from the Triumverate?” she asked delicately. “That is, hypothetically, if he is indeed a fell-sorcerer who can see you coming, then how would you secure his removal?”
“You’re going to see someone later tonight,” Daedron said.
Drea stiffened. Careful what you admit to, Drea girl, she told herself. Careful here.
“I can’t say for certain who that person is,” Daedron said. “The vehl don’t permit me to see her, for I believe she is cloaked in magical wards, making her invisible to my Divination skills. But I can guess who she is. And when you meet her tonight, I want you to pass along a message.”
“What message?”
As Daedron told her, Drea listened. An hour later, they had finished up another game, and he escorted her back to her cottage. The storm had intensified greatly. Snow covered the ground an inch deep and the sky bloomed with fire.
Drea took a seat by the window, and took out her quill to begin sketching the fellstorm. Daedron left her there, but before he closed the door, he paused and looked at her. “Remember to tell Lady Blackveil what I said.”
Once he was gone, Drea sat there thinking. She thought about his proposal, and the control she would have if she married such a man and went ahead with his scheme.
He told me I could love anyone I wanted. Our marriage would be a sham, a façade to keep his House going, but I wouldn’t have to love him.
As she sketched out the fellstorm—the clouds, the churning flames, the red fell-lightning—Drea’s mind returned to Thryis, and to her family, who had suffered dearly.
We would have power through money and influence. And don’t forget the gifts on the wedding day. I can ask for anything I want, and, being from a Major House, I cannot be refused by anyone in attendance.
Drea thought about her upcoming rendezvous with Lady Blackveil. Was she actually going to go? And if she did, was she going to give her Daedron’s message? Was she seriously contemplating marrying him, having his son, just so she could have some semblance of control over her life and who she loved?
Or, ought she go and tell Lord Syphen what his nephew was planning? Could this still be a test of her loyalty to House Syphen? Had Daedron and his uncle arranged all of this to trick her?
And what if Daedron’s offer was sincere, and she told Lord Syphen and he punished his nephew for his treachery? Drea could miss her one chance to have the control she so desired.
It’s like the game of seshqii, she wrote in her journal that night. No matter which strategy I choose, there are a million variations of this game, more possible outcomes than there are sands in all the oceans.
It was time to make a choice, and Drea knew that no matter which choice she made, it would come with a degree of risk.
Drea suddenly recalled Halorax’s words to her the day of Fedarus’s death: “Once you’re away, you will make new friends, new acquaintances. You must learn to discern which can be trusted and which cannot. And you must use those loyal to you to ensure your survival. You have good instincts. Use them.”
And, on the heels of that memory, was the dream she’d had the morning of Fedarus’s death. The dream of the Man in the Charred Temple, and Drea’s mother urging her to use her instincts. “Trust your own instincts, they’ve always been good.”
Drea considered the wisdom of those words.
“So, Drea girl,” she said aloud to herself, “what are your instincts telling you now?”
Drea picked up The Way, and read through the introduction to the Twelfth Precept, which read, Be prepared for the loss of innocent lives. It is to be expected. You must ask yourself, is the outcome of your goal more desirable than the outcome of doing nothing?
She closed the book again. The text dist
urbed her more than she could say.
Outside, the wind grew stronger, pushing the trees around like some bully. In the eaves outside her window, the sparrows chirped louder, fearful of the fellstorm’s arrival.
The reading, the sound of trees hissing, the sound of the sparrows chirping, it all proved meditative. Her mind began to drift over many new vistas of thought, combining what she’d learned from her parents with what she’d learned from her time among the Syphenus, her observations of the family, her lessons from Osween, her lessons from The Way…
And eventually, without realizing it, she started dozing off at the easel. And soon, she saw the Man in the Charred Temple. He was up in his window, his shabby brown robe fluttering in a sourceless breeze, one hand lightly stroking his beard. He was smiling.
He opened his mouth, and started to say something—
Suddenly, a rock smacked against her window. Drea sat straight up in bed, afraid for a moment, until she saw a shape standing outside in the light of Janus and Hirgus.
Thryis was standing there, waving at her.
Drea opened the window, and whispered, “Thryis, what are you doing here?”
“I know what you’re thinking—”
“You could be killed by house guards just for trespassing!”
“I know you’re going to meet with Lady Blackveil tonight.”
Drea shook her head. “I haven’t decided—”
“Smack your bottom! Yes, you have. You’re just trying to keep me out of harm’s way. Well, let me tell you something. If you think I’m going to let you go off and face a murderess, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Thryis—”
“Not another word. Now gather what you need to keep warm. And bring the Old Man with you, the Lady may wish to have it back. Let’s not upset her by leaving it behind.”
Drea took her hand, and when they slipped out into the darkness, clouds had already gathered thickly overhead.
: Dark Rendezvous:
The softness of her hands. That’s what Drea would always remember of her first impressions of Thryis Ardenk. Her soft hands, which had reached out like a lady to take Drea’s hands in hers, helping her off the ground after those boys from the Bunch had shoved her down.
