The suite was massive, long enough to use as an archery range. Quinn stood in what she assumed was the office portion of the chamber, which contained a wall of shelved books, a pair of padded chairs, and a desk covered with papers. Her mind raced as she considered sifting through the notes for information. No. Focus, Quinn, she told herself. Instead, she crossed the room, passing the sitting area before she reached a section of the suite furnished with a copper tub, a mirror, and a vanity. Upon the vanity was a vial filled with dark liquid. She picked it up while removing a similar vial from the pocket of her white smock. When she held them together and compared the color, she found the difference slight, too slight to notice at first glance. After placing the new bottle atop the vanity, Quinn hurried to the door. With her ear against it, she listened.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the wood, fading as the distance increased. She opened the door and peeked out to find the guard’s back facing her again. Moving quietly, she pulled the door shut and eased toward the stairs. Thoughts of her plan ran through her head as she considered what remained. Disposing of the black dye would be simple enough. The receipt she had given to Mavis was far more critical. Once the woman placed it among Jeshica’s clean laundry, a porter would bring it to her room, and the trap would be set.
Quinn stood in line, waiting for her turn. Norden and Wol, two of the porters, were collecting cleaned laundry and other items for council members. Mavis dealt with each methodically as she sorted through the lists provided. As usual, when Jeshica entered the room, she ignored the line, strode past those who were waiting, and leaned against the counter to address Mavis.
“You’ll pay for this,” Jeshica growled.
Mavis narrowed her eyes. “What are you going on about, Jeshica?”
“The Archon’s hair. The dye. You know what I mean.”
“I told you. We will get another shipment next week.”
Jeshica slammed her hand on the counter. “You know what I mean! I know you did it!”
Mavis put her hands on her hips and grimaced. “I have no time for this, woman. Explain yourself or get out.”
“You changed the dye! The Archon…her hair…it’s purple!”
Mavis blinked, her eyes flicking toward Quinn before returning to Jeshica. “I assume she did not intend to have purple hair?”
“Of course she didn’t!” Jeshica shrieked. “She is angry. Heads will roll for this mistake!”
Quinn stepped forward. “Didn’t you procure the dye, Jeshica? I was in here two days ago when you stated you were off to purchase dye yourself because the storeroom had run out.”
“Stay out of this, Glynnis. This is none of your business.”
Mavis said, “She has a point, Jeshica. If you bought the dye, then it would be your mistake.”
“I made no mistake, and I’ll not go down for this!”
“Where is your receipt?”
“What?”
“Did the apothecary provide a receipt when you purchased the dye?”
“Yes, but I don’t have it. I threw it away.”
A voice emerged from behind Quinn. “Odd that you might say that.”
Quinn turned to find a middle-aged woman, a bit shorter than herself. Archon Varius was dressed in white with a gold cloak over her shoulders, her arms crossed over the rune of Issal on her chest – a rune that matched the one on her forehead. The purple in the woman’s hair almost caused Quinn to laugh, but she restrained herself. Even if she wasn’t the Archon, the hard look in Varius’ brown eyes, along with the armed guards standing behind her, gave Quinn cause to remain serious.
The purple-haired Archon held a slip of paper out. “Look what was discovered in your wardrobe. An apothecary receipt for purple dye.”
Jeshica stammered, “But…but….that isn’t mine.”
Varius arched a brow, black in contrast to her purple hair. “Did you not say that you personally visited the apothecary to purchase the dye for me? As I recall, you made it sound as if you had committed a significant sacrifice to ensure I did not have to wait.”
“Yes, but I…”
“I have suffered your impertinence for too long, Jeshica. You treat others with disrespect, as if you are their superior.” Varius crumpled the receipt in her fist, her knuckles turning white. “I have sent an envoy to the apothecary. If the man confirms that a young woman with blond hair and blue eyes purchased purple dye, you will wish you had never met me.” The Archon’s mouth curled up in a smile, an expression that did not touch her eyes. “In the meantime, you will enjoy your new accommodations. The cell won’t be as spacious or well-lit as you might wish, but you’ll have plenty of time to think.”
Quinn picked up her navy maid dress and smelled it, thankful to have one freshly laundered. Larrimor worked her hard, yet she scolded Quinn the moment she began to smell of sweat. Thankfully, Quinn’s training had her muscles toned and her body in excellent condition, so it usually was not until late in a long, grueling day that she reached that point.
She stepped into the dress, pulling it up over her shift and sliding her arms in before tying the sash behind her back. Using a length of navy ribbon, she gathered her hair together and tied it in a tail before securing the button behind her neck. As she reached for her white smock, there was a knock at the door. A glance toward the window revealed a milky fog lit by twilight, the mist not yet touched by the rising sun. It’s early. Who would be here at this hour?
A glance in the mirror revealed a golden-haired serving woman, properly timid in nature. Pure Glynnis. Satisfied, she opened the door and found a small balding man standing in the corridor.
“Master Sheen,” Quinn said with surprise in her voice. “I was just about to head upstairs to wake Magistrate Larrimor.”
He shook his head. “No need. You are to pack up your things. I need you out inside the hour. A new porter is expected this morning, and he is to take your room.”
Anxiety struck Quinn. “But, Sir. I have done everything that woman has asked of me. Please, give me another chance.”
“You misunderstand. You have proven yourself capable and surprisingly patient. Anyone who can satisfy Larrimor should do well in your new position.” Sheen held out a cord with two keys dangling from it. “You are relocating to the fifth floor. Go up the south stairwell and use this to open the fourth door on the right.”
Quinn accepted the key as she turned the news over in her head. Excitement brewed inside her, brought on by hope that seeds carefully planted had now blossomed.
With her face free of expression, Quinn said, “Sir, if I may ask, what is my new role?”
“You will take over Jeshica’s position as handmaid for Archon Varius. I’m sure you are aware of the responsibility that comes with the position, for the Archon is the most important person in the Empire. Do not fail or you will feel her wrath. Worse yet, you may join Jeshica in the dungeon.”
The rap of Quinn’s knuckles striking the door echoed in the corridor. She looked to the side and smiled at the guard. He gave her a nod in response as if to give her encouragement.
A woman’s voice called from within the room. “Come in.”
Quinn turned the knob and slipped inside. When she closed the door, she found the Archon sitting at her desk, her hair now as black as ink. The woman stared at Quinn, who quickly lowered her eyes and clasped her hands together in a demure pose.
“You may come closer. I don’t bite…unless provoked.”
As commanded, Quinn shifted forward to stop two strides from the desk. Varius stood and rounded the desk before circling behind Quinn. When the woman reappeared on her other side, Quinn turned toward her.
“I was told your name is Glynnis.”
“Yes, Archon. Glynnis Mor.”
“Hurn?”
Quinn nodded. “From Port Hurns.”
“Follow me.”
Varius turned, walked past the sofa, and sat the cushioned chair across from it. The woman pointed toward the sofa and Quinn sat, glancing
toward the game board on the table between them.
“Do you play?” Varius asked.
Quinn hesitated as she considered her response. Deciding that her ability to play the game might give them common ground, she took a chance and nodded.
“Interesting. You don’t find many handmaids who play Ratio Bellicus.”
“I…have had an interesting life.”
“I was told that you worked for Baroness Rimini.”
The words sunk in as Quinn realized that Varius had known of Quinn’s background before their conversation. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry that your mistress had to die.” The Archon pressed her lips together. “However, we needed control of the entire east coast if the Empire were to be self-sufficient. In addition, certain tactical advantages were gained by capturing Port Hurns and Cinti Mor.”
Quinn remained still, unsure of how to respond. She considered the tactical advantages of having those cities under Empire control. Of course, they wanted to control the coast. Taking those two cities removed any near port other than Hipoint, a location that is impossible to defend.
“How old are you?”
As instructed by Delvin, she lied, adding years to the truth. “I know I appear young, but this is my twenty-first summer.”
“You are quite fit,” Varius noted. “Your arms don’t look like the arms of a handmaid.”
“Yes. My father was a blacksmith. I spent many hours with him in the smithy.” Quinn paused and realized she needed further explanation. “My last employer, the merchant I worked for after Rimini died, he tasked me with a great deal of physical labor as well, which erased any softness I had earned while working for Rimini.”
For a long moment, one that felt excruciating, the woman stared at Quinn, measuring her. Quinn fought her inclination to stare back defiantly and allowed herself to look down, look to the side…look anywhere but at the woman’s eyes. Until Varius spoke.
“You arrived here three weeks ago?”
Again, Quinn nodded.
“And you served Magistrate Larrimor during that time?”
Hearing the woman’s name evoked a grimace on Quinn’s face before she even realized it.
Varius laughed. “Yes. I suspected that working for that woman might be distasteful. Larrimor is good at her job, but she is unreasonable at best, a bitter old hag at worst.”
While Quinn ached to agree, she knew that Glynnis could not, at least not out loud. “One might say that working for Larrimor is…challenging.”
The woman laughed again. “Well said.” She then put her forefinger and thumb on her chin while staring at Quinn. “I think we will get along fine. You will find me less demanding than Larrimor, but that does not mean I don’t have high expectations. Your tasks will be plentiful and varied in nature. Perform them as expected, in a timely manner, and all will be well.”
She pointed toward the far wall, where a door and a vanity stood beside a four-poster bed.
“That door leads to your room, which provides you direct access to my quarters. This will allow you to be at my call when needed and will enable you to perform your duties with as little resistance as possible. Take heed that you must always remain clear of my desk. I will clean and organize whatever is there, while you are responsible for the rest of the chamber. Break this rule, and you will discover what it means to cross me. Understood?”
“Yes, Archon.”
“When we are alone, please call me Meryl.”
“As you wish,” Quinn smiled and added, “Meryl.”
30
Secret Weapon
A puffy white cloud blocked the sun, darkening the city before it drifted eastward. The sun reappeared, shining upon Quinn as she weaved her way through the busy streets of Sol Polis. She glanced up and saw a familiar shop, the sign on the front with the words Denali’s Apothecary carved into it. A moment of regret struck when she thought of Jeshica being held in the citadel dungeon, but it quickly passed. The mission required Quinn to get close to Varius, and no position could equal the access to information that came with being the woman’s handmaid. You had no choice, Quinn, she told herself. Worse, you could have killed her instead, but that might have created other complications. The mere thought left a sour taste in Quinn’s mouth.
At the next intersection, she turned the corner and dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a horse pulling a small wagon. The wheels squeaked under the weight of its load as it rolled past, the wagon bed filled with bricks. Quinn chose to stop and watch the wagon, an act that allowed her to see if anyone had followed her. After a full minute, she continued on, relieved when nobody had rounded the corner from whence she came.
Another turn at the next intersection led her down a less-trodden street. When she spotted a narrow alley beside an inn, she slid into it and removed the note she carried.
The archon’s seal, an Order symbol encapsulated by flame, was stamped into melted wax. She frowned, considering how to open it without breaking the seal. Her gaze fell on an open window. Inside, the inn’s cook turned a whole jackaroo over an open flame. The man wiped sweat from his forehead, turned, and walked out of her view. Heat melts wax, Quinn thought.
She continued down the alley and opened the back door to the inn. Within, Quinn walked past an open storeroom door and heard the cook inside, rummaging for something. Acting quickly, she pushed the kitchen door open, lifted her skirt, and drew the dagger strapped to her thigh. After holding the blade over the flames for a few seconds, she eased the knife-edge between the wax and the paper, the heated blade slicing through the wax until the seal popped free.
A furtive glance toward the door revealed that she remained alone. She opened the letter and read the contents.
Master Jarlish,
I have reports that the flash cannons have proven a success. One of the armed ships was able to repel that god-forsaken pirate, Red Viper. While she was able to escape, with such a weapon, we may yet see the end of that scourge. Yet, most of our ships remain unprotected.
I am officially placing an order for one hundred more cannons and two thousand projectiles. Increase production as quickly as possible. In addition, continue developing other weapons. We must have something that tips the scales in our favor, for our enemies have Chaos on their side. Focus on weapons of a smaller scale, something a soldier might carry alone. The threat of war looms and our days of peace might be limited.
The Avatar of Issal,
-Archon Varius
Quinn folded the paper with a grimace. The weapon that fired at Razor must have been a flash cannon. A hundred more could sink an entire fleet of ships.
She held the knife in the fire again and then pressed the heated blade against the seal. Although the stamp in the wax was now less visible, the letter was once again sealed. The kitchen door opened and she turned toward it.
Startled eyes from the overweight cook stared at her. He held a pot in his arms, pressed against his ample stomach.
“Who are you and why are you in my kitchen?”
“Oh. Sorry. I took the wrong door.” She slid past the man before turning back to him. “The food smells delicious. I’ll be looking forward to dinner.”
The man stared at her with an open mouth while the door swung shut behind her. She then scurried out the back and hurried along her way to deliver the message to the rider she was to meet at the east gate.
When Quinn returned to the citadel, she chose to head toward the rear entrance rather than travel through the main hall. The route took her through a quiet garden at the west side of the building. The path ran past flowering shrubs, dotted in yellow and purple. Beyond the shrubs were trees, tall compared to the rest, but not even two decades old. Quinn knew that Sol Polis had been devastated when The Horde attacked. The scorch marks remaining on one of the citadel towers were a constant reminder. The tower remained sealed, unsafe for use. Beneath one tree, she found a lonely bench. There, she stopped and thought about the note she had read.
From where she
sat, a gap in the trees provided a clear view of the square before the castle and the wall that bound the citadel proper. She spotted a stark white section of wall, a few shades lighter than the rest. Memories of the attack on Cinti Mor returned as Quinn realized what had happened and what it meant.
When the Empire took Sol Polis, they had used some sort of explosive, just as they had when capturing Cinti Mor. That explosive is what created the green flame when the flash cannon launched its projectile at the Razor. If the Empire intends to create more weapons, I must find a way to stop them. The idea of a war with Chaos on one side and explosives on the other frightened Quinn. Her imagination conjured images of destroyed buildings and piles of dead, burned bodies.
As she considered the situation, a streak of bright orange and blue sailed past her. Her eyes followed it as a starfetch landed on a branch and began to tweet. The lilting song carried with it a sense of peace and happiness – an aria that lifted Quinn’s mood. After a few minutes, the bird flew off and disappeared beyond the citadel walls. Quinn took a breath to gather herself, stood, and resumed her journey. The path emerged into an open area patrolled by an armored man dressed in a white and blue tabard. She fell into character, looking down as she walked past the man.
A firm grip wrapped about her wrist, stopping her abruptly. She turned, ready to scold the guard for stopping her, but the words slipped from her tongue and her mouth dropped open.
“Hi, Doll.” the man said.
“Wyck?”
“What are you doing here?”
She looked around and found them alone before responding in a hushed tone. “I’m on a mission. Why are you here?”
He released her wrist. “Same as you, I guess.”
Quinn moved closer to him, her whisper heated with anger. “You’re not an espion. You should not be here.”
The Arcane Ward (Wardens of Issalia Book 2) Page 22
