“I think you’d be wasted anywhere else. Do you have anything in particular in mind? Or haven’t you had a chance to look beyond the Monarchists yet?”
Graelent’s smile unsettled her. “No need for that. In fact, I’m delighted that the Monarchists are about to come into their full flower at last. How much more worthy an investment we will seem, now that we have you.”
“You don’t have me, though, do you? And if you tell anyone you do, you’ll get a visit from the king’s guard.”
It was Graelent’s turn to lean forward conspiratorially. “But you see, there is one great advantage to having such a small organization, and being so careful about passwords and code names. We keep our location a secret. That means they don’t know where we are.”
“Nonsense. Any enterprising secret service could have infiltrated you twice over by now. The instant the king has reason to think I’ve fallen into your hands, you’ll find out just how public your location really is.”
“I’m willing to risk that. The Monarchists are about to become a very popular political party. All we have to do is keep you hidden long enough to impress the other parties with our growing support. When the coalition realigns behind us, the success of our coup will be a virtual certainty.”
“There isn’t going to be any coup,” Faris said flatly.
“With enough money from the Austrians, there will be.” Her obvious discomfiture amused Graelent. “Drink your wine and get used to the idea. You’ll enjoy being a queen.”
Faris spoke softly and slowly, as though she were explaining something to a small child. “I am not going to be part of this.”
Graelent leaned back in his chair and gazed around the room. “We’re under the castle here. Did you realize? In the past, when the cisterns were left to overflow, these chambers filled with water. Now they open the sluices much sooner. We seldom get so much as a damp patch these days. A triumph of engineering.”
“So that’s where the mud came from.”
“But if someone opened the wrong sluice, it could be serious. Very serious indeed.”
“If it gets too serious, I won’t be much use to you, will I?”
“I hope you do not suggest that I would ever endanger a lady? No, I promise that I will do everything in my power to protect you from any peril …”
“But?”
“This morning you asked after someone called Tyrian.”
Faris pushed her chair back abruptly. “No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. You have him locked up. If I don’t help you, you’ll kill him.”
He looked uncomfortable. “You put things so bluntly.”
“But accurately.”
“Don’t look down your nose at me. I’ve tried to be friendly with you because I thought it would make matters easier for both of us. If you found it possible to be more than friendly with me, well, that would make it easier still.”
Faris laughed bitterly.
“But I don’t seem to appeal to you in that way, unfortunately. So I must make matters clear. I don’t wish to frighten you. I don’t think I could, in fact, and anyway, I usually leave that sort of thing to the Doorman. He seems to enjoy it. But you simply must understand your position.”
Her fist thumped the table. “No, you must understand yours. You talk about organizing a coup d’etat as if you were about to order a pair of shoes. Stop giving yourself airs. Admit the Monarchists exist only to dupe the Austrians. Or join a real political party, if you’re so intent on your career.”
Graelent’s eyes hardened. “Don’t shout at me. You’ll have the Doorman in here, and I doubt you’d enjoy that.”
“I am not shouting!”
He held his finger to his lips. When she subsided, he continued. “You don’t have a choice. The Monarchists will restore you to your rightful throne whether you assist us or not. Do you understand? But if you do assist us, you have my promise that Tyrian goes unharmed. And if you don’t—” He broke off and glanced at the signs of past flooding. “I’ll let you think it over. Next time I ask, answer carefully.”
Faris spent the rest of that day watching wax melt down the candles. Piers brought her evening meal and cleared away the tray afterward. When the last candle went out, there was nothing left to do but shiver, so she wrapped herself snugly up in the heart of the canopy bed.
Faris dreamed.
She was at Greenlaw, in St. Margaret’s Chapel, where the air was full of time and silence. She was kneeling. The stones beneath her were cold even through the skirts of her Smoke dress. Her feet were starting to tingle, so she stopped trying to pray and stood up slowly.
There was a firm footstep behind her. She turned and saw Jane, drawn with worry, dressed for a ride, and wearing her borrowed boots. “Where have you been?” Faris asked.
“Finally.” Jane looked relieved. “I thought you’d never go to sleep. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. What’s the matter?”
“You’ll remember in a moment.” Jane took Faris by the hand and led her out of the chapel. “Come along and show me where you are.”
They went up steps for a long time, but they were not climbing the steps to the spire above Greenlaw. They were on a staircase of white stone, its spiral as tightly furled as a unicorn’s horn. As she climbed, Faris remembered.
“Your hat exploded.”
“Something came out of the rift. I’ve no notion what. It overbalanced me and I lost all my spells at once.” Jane sounded cross. “Then it drifted on past and wandered off, lonely as a cloud, no doubt.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine now. So is Reed. We’ve been growing fat on the embassy cuisine. How is Tyrian?”
“I don’t know. They claim they’ve locked him up. I haven’t had a chance to look for him yet.”
“I’ll see what I can do when I’m finished here.”
The white staircase brought them up into morning, to a rooftop covered with shattered brick and stone that gave them a panoramic view of Paris.
Faris pointed. “There’s the Tour Eiffel.”
“Ugly thing. Keep climbing.”
Faris realized that the steps had turned from white stone to white glass. She climbed on, careful not to lose her footing on the smooth surface. When she looked up again, the city below was not Paris, but Aravis. “I can see our hotel from here,” she observed happily.
“I should think so. From up here, we ought to be able to see Sevastopol. Now show me where you are so we can come and rescue you.”
Faris looked down. The steps had turned to smoky green glass, the color of sunlight in seawater. “Graelent told me the truth for once. I’m down there. The city cisterns. A triumph of engineering.”
Jane said something but Faris wasn’t listening. She was looking upward, where the steps were made of clear glass. No, Faris realized, not glass. Ice. Very treacherous footing. Yet if she could climb that high, perhaps she could see Galazon. Even from far off, Galazon would be a welcome sight.
At the thought, she could smell dry oak leaves and freshly turned earth. The wind blew her hair into her eyes. She tried to brush it away and failed. She tossed her head, rubbed her eyes, and woke.
Faris was back in the canopy bed, tangled in blankets. For a moment, her eyes stung with tears of disappointment. She blinked stupidly into the darkness. As she woke more fully, she realized what had happened.
Jane had found a way to speak with her and she’d wasted it sightseeing. But if she’d done it once—Faris closed her eyes and tried to will herself back to sleep. She drew a deep breath and shifted in her cocoon of blankets. The mattress rustled beneath her weight. Faris let her breath out slowly.
And went rigid, eyes wide open, straining to see in the dark. There had been another rustle. And she hadn’t made it.
Someone—or something—was sitting at the foot of her bed.
Faris made herself breathe. That discipline rewarded her. For as she drew an unsteady shallow breath, she caught a trace of something she r
ecognized, a scent compounded of coffee and smoke and a spice she didn’t know. “Tyrian?”
“Yes?” He sounded calm. Of course.
She sat up, tearing impatiently at the blankets. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Are you?”
The last blanket gave way and she threw herself toward the foot of the bed. Her arms found him and pulled him down. He uttered a soft grunt of surprise. They fell off the bed together, Faris on top. She felt his jaw and cheek rough under her palm and tried to kiss him. Since he was trying to get up, her forehead hit his nose. He made another soft sound that might have been either surprise or pain. She tried again to kiss him and this time she succeeded.
16
Snow Out of Season
It did not immediately occur to Faris that she had embarrassed them both. At the time, it seemed perfectly natural that she should kiss Tyrian and that he should require a moment to respond.
At the time, she did not spare a thought for Tyrian’s situation, lying on the floor under her entire weight. At the time, she did not spare a thought for anything beyond her immediate senses. She couldn’t see. There was not much to hear. But touch, taste, and smell engaged her entirely.
After what seemed to Faris all too short a space, Tyrian broke the kiss. He sounded as calm as ever, even a little apologetic. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
It took a moment for Faris to gather her wits, so completely had her senses disarranged them. A moment, an endless moment, in which she was so close to him that his breath stirred her hair, and his nearness stirred her entire body.
A moment, and then his careful civility made Faris understand what she had done. Desperate suddenly to release him, she retreated to the bed and huddled in the blankets, mute. Her embarrassment threatened to strangle her.
Tyrian broke the silence, his tone unchanged. “I think I’ve found the warden’s stair.”
Thoroughly distracted, Faris did not immediately absorb the significance of his words. She was quiet for so long that Tyrian asked anxiously, “They didn’t find the key, did they?”
“No. I have it safe.” Her voice was not quite steady. “How can you tell it’s the warden’s stair?
“I found a door with a lock I couldn’t open. If it isn’t the door to the warden’s stair, I’m disappointed in myself.” Tyrian sounded completely matter-of-fact.
Another time, Faris might have resented the bland way he pretended nothing untoward had happened. Now, she could only feel grateful for it. She flung the blankets aside and began to hunt for her slippers by touch. With an effort, she was able to ask almost normally, “What happened to you? Where have you been?”
“I tried to catch you when you slipped on the waterfall stair. I think you must have taken a blow to the head as you fell. You went down without a struggle. Good thing your hair is so long. That’s probably the only reason I caught you.” Tyrian sounded grim. “By the time I had you safe, you were unconscious, and we were both half-drowned.” He hesitated. When he went on, it was with his customary aplomb. “The Doorman took advantage of the situation. He summoned enough help to lock me up. It took me some time to repay him. When I finally did, I took his keys away from him for good measure.”
Faris located her slippers and put them on. Thankful for the capacious woolen robe, she wrapped it tightly over her crumpled dress, pushed her hair back, and rubbed her hot face. “How did you find me?”
“I worked my way along the key ring.” Tyrian rose and started toward the door. “I was looking for you. It was pure chance that I discovered the warden’s stair. When I found a door that neither my tools nor the Doorman’s keys would open, I began to think we were finally getting somewhere.”
“But how did you know I was here? Did you have to search every room by touch?” As if to punctuate her question, Faris barked her shin on a piece of furniture. Through clenched teeth, she added, “Or can you see in the dark?”
“I knew you were here as soon as I opened the door.”
“Oh, really?” Faris reached him at last. “How?”
“For one thing, I could hear a sound—one I recognized from our journey by train from Pontorson to Paris.” Faris thought back, then chortled. “Such a tactful way to tell me I snore.”
Tyrian was reproachful. “I’m not telling you that you snore. I’m taking some pains to avoid telling you anything of the kind. Let me think. No, it’s more of a soft, rasping noise—” He broke off in an unsuccessful attempt to block Faris’s elbow to his ribs. “For another thing—” He hesitated.
“What else?”
“When I’ve spent this long working to keep someone safe from harm, I can tell when she’s asleep near me. Whether it’s dark or not.” His words were very soft, intensely serious. He took a step closer to her. Faris felt his breath stir her hair and flinched a little, despite herself. “Whether she snores or not,” he added more lightly.
Faris managed a bitter chuckle.
“And when I promise to keep someone safe from harm,” he continued, “I mean it. I think you’ll understand when you’re a bit older.”
Faris stiffened. “Of all the patronizing rubbish. What does my age have to do with it? I understand you perfectly.”
“So I thought, until a few moments ago. What do you take me for?”
Faris pulled away.
Tyrian went on, sarcastically. “If love were the only thing, I would follow you—in rags if need be—to the world’s end …”
To her astonishment, she recognized the passage. Tyrian was quoting from one of Jane’s three-volume novels.
His tone lightened. “If love were the only thing. But we both know it isn’t. Love isn’t even in the running. Let’s not discuss it.”
“I don’t want to discuss it. You’re the one who brought it up. I never said a word about—it.”
Her indignation amused him. His amusement annoyed her. Thinking to alarm him, to put a stop to his laughter, she reached out for him, as if to embrace him again. But he did not seem alarmed. Instead he pulled her close, one hand tangled in her hair. And this time he returned her kiss.
For just a moment, Faris wanted to be the one to break the kiss, to be the one to say ever so calmly, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
But in another moment, that thought had floated away for good. Blind in the dark, deafened by the silent thunder of her heart, Faris gave up thinking.
When he released her at last, Tyrian murmured almost spitefully, “There. Now do you believe there might be one or two things you don’t understand yet?”
He had stirred her so, it took Faris a long moment to regain her composure. She had not quite succeeded when the revelation came to her—he was shaken too.
Faris paid very little attention to the route Tyrian chose from Graelent’s chamber to the door he couldn’t open. There was nothing to see, and thanks to Tyrian’s natural bent for stealth, very little to hear. She kept her hand in his and moved as silently as she could.
Tyrian’s response changed everything for Faris. She marveled at all the time she had spent examining her words and deeds, questioning her conclusions, wondering … And now everything was different. Underneath her thoughts there was a firm foundation.
If love were the only thing … The sarcasm belied the words. Yet Tyrian’s voice held music, for her ear at least. His words came back to her, very soft, intensely serious. When I promise to keep someone safe from harm, I mean it … I knew you were here as soon as I opened the door … Now do you believe there might be one or two things you don’t understand yet?
Faris reminded herself sternly that she should be thinking about the rift, or at least the perils that might lie waiting on the warden’s stair. Instead she was mooning over Tyrian.
Her menial paramour, Brinker would call him. Faris smiled fiercely in the dark. Well, let Brinker say what he pleased about paramours. She’d had to make an idiot of herself, but it had been worth the embarrassment. She wished every idiocy she committed could have such a reward
.
Let Brinker say exactly what he pleased. It wouldn’t make any difference. All her life Faris had heard talk about her mother’s behavior. What harm did talk do?
A cold thought touched her. Unless it made a difference to Tyrian. Don’t look ahead, she told herself sternly.
Tyrian found the door. He put his hand over Faris’s and guided her fingers to the lock. Faris produced the glass key. It fit. She turned it gingerly, afraid it might snap if the bolt were stiff. With a sound as swift and neat as a gambler cutting a deck of cards, the key turned. She withdrew it and opened the door.
Faris went first. It was the warden’s stair. And she was the warden, after all. Wasn’t she? She tried to conceal her apprehension. Tyrian closed the door after them.
“Lock it again?” Faris murmured.
“I think not. We might need to leave this way. And if we do, we will probably be in a hurry.”
They went up stairs built in a spiral as tightly furled as a unicorn’s horn. Stairs that had been lost for a long time. The stale air smelled dry and old.
Dust made the footing silent but treacherous. Within a few steps her ankles were coated with it. It was in her slippers. It made her sneeze. The thickness of the dust slowed her down when every instinct she possessed urged her to move quickly, to climb out of that neglected place at once.
After the chill of Graelent’s chamber, the close atmosphere seemed very warm. The walls of the stair were some kind of roughly dressed stone, scarcely wider than Faris’s shoulders. When she brushed her palm across it, the stone seemed dry and soft. She realized that the dust was there too, that it must be clinging to every surface. She shuddered as she rubbed her hands on her skirt.
A College of Magics Page 33
