She stayed quiet during the meal, not feeling much like talking. Nobody seemed to notice, since their meals at Master Tersus’s house were excellent and not the kind of thing that encouraged conversation over eating. Dianthe finished first and cleared her plate. “Tell Denys I’ll be right down if he arrives soon,” she said, and vanished out the door.
“I know,” Sienne said. “You still don’t know what she sees in him.”
“He’s so law-abiding you could use him as a plumb line,” Alaric said.
“So is Dianthe. Just because she knows how to pick locks—”
“It’s not that. Dianthe is flexible. She obeys laws because they make sense, not because laws are intrinsically worth following. Renaldi never met a law he wouldn’t follow, no matter the circumstances.” Alaric sighed. “I’m just afraid it will hurt her someday.”
A knock sounded at the back door. Sienne swiveled in her seat to watch Leofus leave the kitchen. A few moments later, he returned with Denys Renaldi following him. Tall and dark-haired like a typical Rafellish, Denys had a pleasant smile and hazel eyes that crinkled at the corners. Tonight he wore, not his customary guard lieutenant’s uniform, but nice suede trousers and a fine linen shirt under an embroidered vest, more expensive than Sienne would have thought someone on a guardsman’s salary could afford. He turned his smile on Sienne and nodded a greeting.
Alaric stood when Denys entered, prompting Sienne to hide her smile behind her hand. If Denys knew Alaric was trying to intimidate him, he showed no sign of it. “Alaric,” Denys said politely.
“Renaldi,” Alaric said in his deepest voice. “Going dancing?”
“That is the plan, yes.” Denys nodded at Perrin and Kalanath, who were still eating. “How are things? Still engaged in finding artifacts for those with too much money and not enough sense?”
“We are. You still busy hunting down petty criminals and treading them underfoot?”
“More or less. You haven’t heard the latest scandal?”
Alaric raised his eyebrows. “Apparently not.”
“I was sure you’d know about it, scrapper and all that.”
“We’ve been busy.”
Silence fell. Alaric studied his nails. Denys clasped his hands behind his back and examined the ceiling. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sienne exclaimed. “I don’t mind showing my ignorance. What’s going on, Denys?”
Denys’s lips quirked in a wry smile. “Funny you should ask, Sienne,” he said. “There have been ghoul sightings at some of the larger cemeteries, both inside Fioretti and outside the city walls.”
“Ghoul?” Kalanath said. “What is a ghoul?”
“Masterless undead,” Perrin said. “Corpses raised to unlife by necromancers who then lose control of them. Without a link to their master, they must consume human flesh to avoid a second death. Hence their haunting of graveyards—they prefer to eat corpses—”
Sienne dropped her chicken leg and pushed her plate away.
“My apologies. This is not the conversation for the supper table,” Perrin said.
“You’re right, though,” Denys said. “But ghouls will attack living people if they can’t get their, um, preferred food. Sorry, Sienne. At any rate, the guard presence has been increased near the cemeteries, just in case. The ghoul sightings haven’t been confirmed, and nobody’s been attacked, but after what happened three years ago, the king has ordered us not to take chances.”
“What happened three years ago? Or is that another conversation not fit for the dinner table?” Sienne asked.
“Three years ago a coven of necromancers—”
“I believe the collective noun is ‘blight’,” Perrin said.
“I can’t believe you know that,” Alaric said.
“I can,” Sienne said. “Anyway, there was a blight of necromancers three years ago?”
“They tried to raise an army of undead to destroy the Duchess of Marisse,” Denys went on. “The plan, as it came out at their trial, was to take advantage of the many cemeteries here in Fioretti and march the undead across country to Marisse. Stupid, given how far away Marisse is, but nobody said you had to be smart to be a necromancer. They didn’t get very far before they started losing control of their creatures. Once that happened, and the ghouls began attacking people here in the city, the guard easily tracked them down and put an end to the plot. But some people were killed, and the king came under attack for not doing enough to prevent it. As if there were more he could have done.”
“Like hunting down necromancers more diligently?” Alaric said.
“It’s not illegal to study necromancy, just to perform it,” Denys said icily. “And even then necromancers are entitled to a fair trial. The king’s laws are just without being unfairly punitive.”
“He’s not my king,” Alaric said. “But it doesn’t matter. You say you haven’t seen any actual ghouls?”
“Not one. But I have a feeling about this. I think it’s legitimate.”
“What is?” Dianthe said. She took Denys’s arm and kissed his cheek. She’d changed into a full-skirted calf-length dress of sapphire blue that would swirl nicely while she danced. Sienne, who didn’t like dresses, felt a pang of envy she immediately suppressed. It wasn’t as if she was fond of dancing, anyway. Much.
“Rumors of ghoul attacks,” Alaric said. “Nothing for us to worry about.”
“I should think not,” Dianthe said. “And nothing for you to worry about either, Denys. For tonight, anyway.” She squeezed his arm. “Don’t anyone wait up.”
3
When Dianthe and a rather starry-eyed Denys were gone, Sienne picked up her plate. She still felt weary, but her mind was alert and sleep was far from it. “I think I’ll make a start on that journal before I go to bed.”
“And I’ll see if I can organize those letters,” Alaric said.
“As I can provide no assistance with those tasks, I intend to go for a walk,” Perrin said. “Good evening, all.”
Sienne cleared her place and retrieved her pack from the corner where she’d left it. “Good night, Perrin.”
The back door had barely closed behind Perrin when Kalanath said, “I do not like it.”
“Like what?” Alaric scraped the bones off his plate into the scraps bucket.
“He walks frequently in the evenings.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Kalanath shook his head. “I fear he goes to taverns.”
Sienne paused in the kitchen doorway. “No. He wouldn’t. Do you have some reason to believe it?”
“No reason. But he returns late and avoids us when he does. I cannot think of some other thing he might do on these long walks.”
A shiver of dread ran down Sienne’s spine. Perrin’s drinking had become such a problem that he’d come under chastisement of his avatar Averran, with the result that he’d sworn to Averran he wouldn’t drink at all. As far as Sienne knew, he’d kept that vow, but Kalanath was right; Perrin had gone off by himself frequently these last few weeks. She remembered how he’d looked, those days when Averran refused to speak to him. Falling back into those habits would be devastating not only to him personally, but to all of them. “He doesn’t smell of liquor.”
“Unless he’s avoiding us until the smell wears off.” Alaric looked grim.
“No. I don’t believe it. Besides, what could we do if it were true?” Sienne shook her head. “And if it is true, don’t you think Averran would chastise him again? We’d certainly know about that.”
“I did not think of this.” Kalanath looked more cheerful. “Then it is something else.”
“You’re right, though. Perrin has been going off on his own a lot lately,” Alaric said. “But that’s none of our business.”
“If there’s something bothering him, he’ll tell us when he’s ready. If he wants to talk about it at all,” Sienne said. “Will you join us?”
“My reading in Fellic is slow. I think I will not be much help,” Kalanath said. “I will
practice and then go to sleep.” He retrieved his staff, saluted them with it, and went out the back door.
“I guess it’s just us,” Sienne said with a smile. The idea made her tiredness and lingering aches fade.
Alaric smiled back. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all day.”
They walked down the back hall to a flimsy wooden door that separated the kitchen and bath house from what Sienne thought of as the public areas of Master Tersus’s house. Stairs just past the door led up to Master Tersus’s bedroom, his private study, and the second bedroom he used as a showcase for part of his art collection. Beyond the stairs on the ground floor were the formal sitting room, the library—devoid of books and full, again, of art—the dining room, and a small room overlooking the side garden that Master Tersus had no use for.
It had a sofa and armchair that didn’t match, a short oval table too low for the comfort of anyone sitting in the sofa or armchair, a bookcase of some exotic hardwood that was too big for the room, and a gaudy floral rug woven in blue and pink that remained vibrant and unfaded despite its being about twenty years old. Sienne’s theory was that it was so ugly it would never wear out. Sienne and her friends rented the room from Master Tersus along with their own bedrooms and use of the bath house. Since Master Tersus received the benefit of the team’s presence as a theft deterrent for free, Sienne thought he was getting a tremendous bargain.
She dropped her pack next to the sofa and squeaked as Alaric put his arms around her and drew her down to sit beside him. “Shouldn’t we—” she said.
“It can wait,” Alaric said, and kissed her, a long, slow kiss that made the room spin. She put her arms around his neck and returned his kiss. She never felt so safe and happy as when she was in his arms, and not just because he had arms nearly as big around as her waist. It was because he was the man he was, the man she loved, and if he loved her too, everything would be perfect. There had to be some way to figure out how Alaric felt, short of being the first to say those three little words. She hated herself for her cowardice.
“Something wrong?” Alaric murmured, tucking her under one arm in a gesture that never failed to make her feel warm all over.
“Just remembering the ghoul story,” she lied. “It’s horrible and disgusting. I hate that we have even the most academic connection to necromancy. I know it’s foolish, but I can’t help feeling…complicit, maybe.”
“I understand. The idea that the potion we’re looking for might be necromantic worries me. If the ritual we want is tainted, should we really pursue it?”
“But it can’t be. Don’t you think you would know if the Sassaven ritual, the one the wizard uses to bind your people, was necromantic? Given all the searching you’ve done? This has to be a coincidence.” Sienne sighed. “My hope is that we’ll stumble on other rituals hidden among these necromancy books, and one of them will be the one we need.”
“I like that hope. I’ll borrow it.” Alaric kissed her forehead and released her. “Let’s see if we can make some progress.”
Sienne reached into her pack and brought out the book-box, handing it to Alaric. “I’m going to go through the other book first. The one with the rituals. I can mark the ones that call for varnwort—that shouldn’t take long.”
Alaric nodded. He popped open the box and stirred through its contents. “I wonder how necromancers ever find other necromancers. They can’t possibly advertise their profession to the world.”
“I suppose they start by pretending they’re only interested in the theory, and dance around the question of practice.”
Sienne opened the book of rituals and tore out the last page. Alaric made a startled noise. “It’s blank. I need something for marking the pages. The only other paper I have is cut to exactly fit my spellbook, and I’m not sacrificing that.”
“You could turn the corners of the pages down.”
“Only savages do that.” Sienne tore the paper into narrow strips and put them on the cushion next to her.
Alaric unfolded the letters one by one and put them in piles on the table. “So far I see three—no, wait, there’s a fourth handwriting—four correspondences. Too bad they’re so old. I imagine at least some of the writers are dead by now.”
“It’s still worth looking into.” Sienne turned the pages of the book, scanning the elegant writing. “Have you noticed none of the necromancy books, the practical ones I mean, are printed?”
“That makes sense. I can’t imagine a publishing house being willing to print a book on practical necromancy. There’s a fifth letter writer.” Alaric started a new pile.
“Here’s a recipe including varnwort,” Sienne said, marking her place. “Do you suppose Dianthe will spend the night with Denys? Why doesn’t she ever bring him here?”
“What, and have sex surrounded by her family? Renaldi lives alone in a very nice house he inherited from his grandmother. Much more congenial.”
“That makes sense.” She’d thought about sex with Alaric—of course she had—and had come to the conclusion that even if she was ready for sex, which she wasn’t sure she was, knowing Dianthe slept next door and had very good hearing had thrown cold water on that nascent plan. “You do like Denys, really, don’t you?”
Alaric sighed. “He’s not who I’d choose for her, but even if she were really my sister, my opinion wouldn’t be any more relevant. And yes, I can admit he’s a good man, even if I wish the stick weren’t quite so firmly embedded in his ass. He’s never held it against Dianthe that she’s a scrapper, and I know he knows she has some…extra-legal talents, and that doesn’t bother him either.”
“I’m glad. I like him. Dianthe is so happy with him.” She marked another spot.
They worked in silence for a while, until Sienne reached the end of her book and set it aside. “I found six references to varnwort. I’ll examine them more thoroughly tomorrow.”
“You’re not going to bed already, are you?”
“No. I want to read Penthea’s journal. Well, ‘want’ is the wrong word. I have a feeling it will be disturbing. But I’d like to get it over with.”
“Someone else can do it, Sienne.”
“There’s no reason I can’t. ‘Disturbing’ isn’t justification for chickening out.”
Alaric chuckled. “I might have guessed you’d say that.”
Sienne opened the journal, thought about leaning on Alaric, decided that would impede his work, and started reading. “Do you want to hear any of this?”
“Only if it’s relevant. Are there blank pages in that? I want to take notes.”
Sienne tore out a few of the pages from the back of the journal. “It’s only about two-thirds written in. I should have used these instead of the ritual book’s end pages.” She rummaged in her pack and pulled out a stick of charcoal, which she offered to him. “Sorry I don’t have a pencil.”
“That’s fine.”
They settled into silence. Penthea’s handwriting was clear and well-rounded, not what Sienne expected from a necromancer. Though she didn’t know why she thought that, since it wasn’t like there was some handwriting requirement for becoming a necromancer. It was probably because as a wizard, she was familiar with the four spell languages, whose script reflected the sound of the words: hard and staccato for the curt, short words of a summoning, for example, or flowing gracefulness for the sweet peace of a transform. Necromancy didn’t have any such conditions.
7 Vipoletze 384
The star anise is useless. Nevalainin was either lying or deluded. I suspect the former. She never did like to see others succeed. I will have to remember this when I refer to her work again.
9 Vipoletze 384
Acacia, bladderwrack, rose hips + new beer = failure
Acacia, bladderwrack, rose hips + red wine = failure
Acacia, bladderwrack, rose hips + white wine = failure
Acacia, bladderwrack, rose hips + brandy = failure
Acacia, bladderwrack, rose hips + moon spirits = sedative,
but not strong enough
Increase proportions of bladderwrack?
10 Vipoletze 384
The latest summoning lasted longer than the one previous by two minutes. Unfortunately, the ghost refused to answer my questions. It pretended no knowledge of the subject, but I know better. Ghosts are privy to secrets beyond what they knew in life, and I will prove it.
“I’m starting to get a feel for the kind of woman Penthea was,” Sienne said. “Focused, driven, and impervious to the evidence of her own eyes.”
“If she was focused and driven to the extent of finding the ritual we need, then I say good luck to her,” Alaric said. He scribbled something on his paper and added, “In the abstract, anyway. As far as performing necromancy goes, I hope she failed.”
“She succeeded in summoning ghosts occasionally. But most of her experiments were failures.” Sienne turned a few more pages. Seeing Penthea’s foul experiments laid out with such precision made her feel dirty. She’d collected body parts, dug up graves in secret—how could she bear to condemn herself in writing like this? Or did she think herself so far above common morality that she didn’t care if people knew what she did?
24 Vipoletze 384
The potion works. My trial on Triumph was successful beyond my greatest hopes, though the dog’s ghost provided no useful information, naturally. I will proceed with my experiment tonight. Philippus is an ideal candidate, and I do not know why using a child never occurred to anyone. My sons are young enough that any information Philippus provides must necessarily prove my theory, since he lacks the experience that would otherwise justify him knowing those facts. He will feel no pain—Triumph is evidence of that. Just a short sleep, and then a blessed death, and my child will vindicate me. If not, I have Stefen as well.
Sienne sucked in a sharp breath. Blessed death. A child. The lines on the page blurred together, preventing her from reading further.
“Something wrong?” Alaric said. He dropped the letter he held. “You’re crying.”
“We guessed it,” Sienne said, her voice shaking. “The phantasm was her own child—she poisoned him with one of her foul potions, some experiment—Alaric—”
Mortal Rites Page 3
