by Lisa Shearin
The three of us crossed the Arbor Bridge into the mainly commercial section of the Sorcerers District. The sun was just rising over the lagoon, and the streets were still hidden in shadow. Those who were up and about were either too sleepy or too intent on their own business to notice us.
I’ve lived in Mermeia for ten of my thirty years, and for most of that time, I’ve called the Sorcerers District home. Being an elf, you’d think I’d be more comfortable among my own kind, but to tell you the truth, we don’t have all that much in common. I think my family might have had something to do with that. They’re thieves—whether from the deck of a ship or the back of a horse, it’s the same profession. Highborn elven families have galleries of ancestral portraits. Phaelan has a collection of framed wanted posters, and he’s just as proud of them as if they had been rendered in oil by a fussy, overpriced court artist.
Many of the old blood made their old money much the same way as my uncle’s family, but they’ve swept it under the nearest hand-knotted Nebian rug. My relatives flaunt it. They may be thieves, but at least they’re honest about it. As a result, my family isn’t exactly accepted by most members of polite elven society. But considering what I know about most polite elven society, that arrangement suits me just fine.
My stomach growled. Loudly. When the sun came up, my stomach had certain expectations. Like being fed. Those expectations hadn’t been met, and my stomach was making its displeasure known. Maira’s bakery was on the way home, and I saw no reason why we shouldn’t stop for sugar knots. I knew Tarsilia wouldn’t mind in the least if we brought some home, and it would go a long way toward improving how Garadin and I felt. Nothing like hot, deep-fried knots of sugar-dusted dough to start the morning right. Maira’s it was.
Maira Takis had started out her career as a Conclave mage, but had traded it all in for the more peaceful existence of a baker. Everyone who lived on our street was grateful for her choice. The smell of Maira’s sugar knots in the early dawn hours made waking up worthwhile. Maira’s bakery was also popular with the city watch. Fortunately, there were no watchers in Maira’s at the moment. I’d have a hard time explaining the goblin blood.
Piaras went in while Garadin and I waited outside. I smiled and waved at Maira through the window. She smiled and waved back, then her smile froze. I looked down at myself and pulled my cloak tighter. I definitely needed to change clothes. I looked back in the shop. Piaras was laughing at something Maira’s assistant had said. To see him now, you’d never suspect that a few hours before, he was conjuring perfectly imaged werehounds with just the power of his voice.
“Have you or Tarsilia spoken to his parents yet?” I asked Garadin. Piaras’s parents lived in Rina, but they had sent him to Mermeia to apprentice with his grandmother and to study spellsinging.
Garadin shook his head.
“Tarsilia said he’s starting to get restless,” I said. “I’ve seen it, too. You need a plan before that happens.”
“I know.” A tiny smile creased his lips. “I’m recommending that he study with Ronan Cayle on Mid.”
I was shocked and impressed and didn’t hide either. It was common knowledge that Maestro Ronan Cayle considered himself a legend who only taught future legends. It was also common knowledge that he turned out the finest spellsingers the Isle of Mid and the Conclave had to offer.
“Piaras is that good?”
Garadin’s smile broadened, and there was pride in it. “He’s that good.”
“Maestro Cayle hasn’t taken a new student in three years.”
“Five,” Garadin corrected.
“You’ve asked him?”
“I sent a messenger two weeks ago. I know Ronan from my Conclave days. My recommendation should at least get the boy an audition before classes start next term. Though I’m not worried. Once Ronan hears Piaras, he’ll accept him. But I wanted to wait until I’d heard back before I wrote to his parents—or got the boy’s hopes up.”
An audition was more than most got. Garadin once told me that Ronan Cayle thought nothing of keeping hopeful students cooling their heels at the base of his tower for a year or more. Since most of those students had ambitions to match their egos, they tolerated the wait. I couldn’t see Piaras in that kind of company. I knew talent like his didn’t belong behind the counter at an apothecary shop, and I certainly couldn’t see him working for a noble family singing lullabies to spoiled children, or for a pock-faced lord, singing love songs beneath some noble lady’s window in his stead. Yeesh. It wasn’t like I’d never see Piaras again. The Isle of Mid wasn’t far, and my family had plenty of ships—some of which could still venture into Mid’s harbor without inviting cannon fire.
Piaras came out of the shop carrying a bag in one hand and a half-eaten sugar knot in the other. My stomach growled in response to the sweet, buttery smell. Piaras heard and grinned crookedly.
“Me, too.” He popped another knot into his mouth. “Sorry I didn’t wait,” he said around a mouthful. He opened the bag. “As long as we leave a couple for Grandma, I don’t see why we shouldn’t have some.”
Garadin and I fell to without further encouragement.
Mintha Row, where Tarsilia’s apothecary shop was located, was off the beaten path enough that for the most part, the only people who see me are those I trusted to see me. But this morning I wasn’t going to take any chances. Like Garadin, I valued my privacy. Also like Garadin, I tended to attract undesirable elements who didn’t care that I’d rather not have anyone lying in wait for me when I got home.
We slipped off Casin Street, quickly crossed a footbridge across a sluggish back canal and ducked into the alley that ran behind Mintha Row. When I’m not feeling particularly sociable, I’ve found this is the best way to get home. At least it lessens the opportunity for ambush. The alley was narrow and Tarsilia kept it completely clear. If you had to fight your way home, the fewer obstacles in your way, the better. What few windows looked out over the alley lacked the proper angle to get a crossbow bolt or thrown knife into a target. Perfect for a girl just wanting to get home after a long night out.
Or for your mage landlady to wait for you.
Tarsilia Rivalin stood just inside the open back door to her shop, my black and white cat Boris cradled comfortably in her arms. Boris liked Tarsilia more than he did me, but then he saw Tarsilia more, and to my knowledge, she’d never almost set him on fire. The elven mage and my cat looked at me with similar expressions in their leaf green eyes. I don’t think anything I do shocks either one of them. But then it would take a lot to shock them both. Tarsilia was like a lot of people I knew in the Sorcerers District—people who had a past, and just preferred it stayed there.
Piaras gave his grandmother a light kiss on the cheek and darted past her into the shop before she could stop him. I knew I wouldn’t escape questioning so easily, but then neither would he. Tarsilia would corner him later.
Tarsilia was older than Garadin. How much older, I didn’t know, and I’d never seen the need to ask. I did know that I’d be happy if I aged half as well. Slender, fine boned, with barely any wrinkles visible in a still-flawless complexion, Tarsilia must have been drop-dead gorgeous in her younger days. She still turned heads of all ages. Must be a Rivalin family trait.
She took note of my blood-stained clothing. “Busy night?”
“You could say that. Piaras said you had visitors.”
“I didn’t have visitors,” she said. “You did. No one got in, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.”
What my visitors had wanted wasn’t in my rooms, but that didn’t keep me from not wanting them there. On the rare occasion an intruder has been more persistent than my wards were powerful, nothing and no one has ever gotten past Tarsilia. She may be small, she may be old, but I wouldn’t cross her.
“Are Alix and Parry still here?” Garadin asked.
“They just left,” Tarsilia told him, turning to go inside. Her silvery hair swung in a practical braid down the length of her back. “Alix has
to open her shop in a few hours, and since she’s been on shaman watch all night, she wanted to get some rest.”
Garadin and I followed her. I closed the door, latched it, and passed a hand over the lock to reactivate Tarsilia’s wards. Someone who trusts you enough to have you know their wards trusts you a lot. My movement wasn’t lost on her.
“Feeling a little skittish?” She took a not so delicate sniff. “I guess goblin blood does that to a person.”
“And goblin shamans on your doorstep.”
“Open your cloak. Let’s see how bad it is.”
I did as told.
“Any of that yours?” she asked.
“No.”
Tarsilia dumped Boris on a nearby chair and pulled a burlap sack from under her worktable. She tossed it to me. “When you go upstairs to clean up, put any clothes you can’t salvage in that. My last shipment of newtwort came in it. The stink from that will cover up anything. Tom’s coming by this afternoon to pick up some things I need for him to burn. He’ll dispose of it.”
I just loved her. “Thank you, Tarsilia.”
She shrugged off my sentiment. “Can’t have you leaving evidence lying around for the next goblins who pay us a visit to find.”
“Hopefully there won’t be any more.”
“You holding your breath on that?”
“Not really.”
“Good. I’d hate to see you disappointed.”
She shut the door leading into the shop. She needn’t have bothered. Piaras already had a pretty good idea of what was going on.
Her green eyes leveled on me. “Now what are Khrynsani shamans doing visiting you at nearly two in the morning?”
“I have something they want.”
“Is it in your rooms?”
“No.”
“Do you have it on you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to give it to them?”
“I can’t.”
“Then you have a problem.”
I had to agree with her on that one. “Yes, I do.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
I thought for a moment. The last thing I wanted to do was drag everyone I cared about into the mess I found myself in. The fewer people who were in this with me, the better. Piaras knew some of it, but not enough to get him into trouble. But what little Piaras knew, Tarsilia would soon know. A Conclave inquisitor was nothing compared to Tarsilia when she felt she ought to know something. She was relentless. On the other hand, she might be able to help. Like most mages in the District, Tarsilia had a Conclave background and had spent more than her share of time on the Isle of Mid in her younger days. She didn’t talk about it much, but I know she didn’t learn to fight dirty behind an apothecary’s counter.
“Don’t worry about me getting myself hurt,” Tarsilia told me, as if reading my mind. She probably had. “I’ve survived a long time stepping in things I should’ve stayed away from. I’ve just made more enemies tonight. Those Khrynsani know where I live. If they want me, they know where to find me.”
That statement would concern me coming from almost anyone else. But Tarsilia wasn’t anyone else. If the shamans were smart, they wouldn’t come back.
“And if I’m lucky, they’ll give me another chance,” she said with an evil little smirk.
Or if they were suicidal.
“She’s just not a good tenant to have, Tarsilia,” Garadin said. He grinned and draped an arm around my shoulders. “You should have evicted her long ago. Better yet, you should have never let her in to begin with.” He planted a light kiss on the top of my head. I detected pride in his voice. “She’s bad to know and worse to be around.”
“Of course she is,” my landlady retorted. “Why do you think I like the girl? When you get to be my age, you take your excitement any way you can get it. Having Raine around keeps me from getting slow.” She turned back to me. “You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s going on?”
I sighed and pulled the amulet out of my shirt. The metal was warm and smooth beneath my fingers, almost as if it were trying to make up for its behavior last night. I dropped it against my shirt. I wasn’t buying.
Tarsilia reached for the amulet. I pulled back.
“You don’t want to do that,” Garadin warned her.
“Why not?”
Garadin and I held up our bandaged hands.
Tarsilia lowered her own hand. “Good reason.”
She settled for a close study. I turned it so she could see both sides. It behaved itself perfectly.
“Not much to look at, is it?” she finally said.
“It’s not my usual taste in jewelry.”
“How did you come by it?”
I gave her the short version of last evening’s events. I was getting better at it with each retelling.
“If they’re after this, they’ll definitely be back,” Tarsilia said when I’d finished.
I felt a small surge of hope. “You know what it is?”
“Not a clue.”
Hopes dashed. “Thanks.”
“It was obviously made to do something,” she said. “It certainly isn’t attractive enough to wear for any other reason. Considering the lengths those who want it are willing to go to get it, I’d say it has a more practical purpose. You’re sure you can’t take it off?”
“Not if I want to continue breathing. Meaning if anyone takes the amulet, they have to take me along with it. And I don’t plan on going anywhere with anyone I ran into last night.”
Tarsilia thought silently for a few moments. “If the Guardians are involved, it stands to reason that the Seat of Twelve is involved.”
That sounded reasonable enough to me. Not good, but reasonable. The Seat of Twelve was the name given to the twelve most powerful mages who made up the governing Conclave council. Not exactly people I wanted to notice me. I looked to Garadin. He nodded in agreement. Great.
“Well, I know a man who should know what this thing is and what it does,” Tarsilia said, “but it’s been over twenty years since I last saw him.”
“Who?” Garadin asked.
“Justinius Valerian.”
My godfather looked stunned. It was a look I didn’t get to see on him very often.
“You were a student of the Archmagus?” he asked, clearly impressed.
“No, we were business partners for a time. That, and I slept with him.”
I didn’t even try to stop my jaw from dropping. One man had absolute authority over the Isle of Mid and everyone on it. The Archmagus. And Tarsilia had slept with him.
“For about five years,” Tarsilia added. “The sex part, that is. The business partnership dissolved long before that. We just couldn’t seem to agree with each other.”
“Sounds like you agreed with each other just fine,” I said.
Tarsilia winked. “That’s a different kind of agreement, dear.”
Garadin recovered quicker than I did. “Think he would remember you?”
She gave him a flat look. “I can guarantee it.”
That was more than I’d ever wanted to know about my landlady.
“As nice as getting information about this necklace would be,” I told her as diplomatically as I could, “there’s the small matter of time. I don’t have any. Not to mention, the Guardians take their orders from Justinius Valerian. If he wants the amulet, he’d just have the Guardians drag me back to Mid along with it. Let’s see what we can do to avoid me surrendering to the Guardians, shall we?”
Tarsilia shrugged. “Suit yourself. But until you get rid of that trinket, things are going to be busy around here.”
“They’re not going to be busy, because I’m not going to be here,” I told her. “The Khrynsani will be watching my rooms. When I make it obvious that I’m moving out, I should take my trouble with me.”
Tarsilia bristled. “You’re not letting goblin shamans run you out of your home.”
“It’s just temporary,” I assured her. “I can’t have Khrynsani vi
sits becoming a nightly event around here. I won’t endanger you or Piaras. Don’t worry, I’ll be going somewhere safe.”
Tarsilia didn’t look convinced, but she decided to let it drop. I knew it wouldn’t stay that way.
My rooms above Tarsilia’s shop were small, which I preferred to think of as cozy. Cozy also had the added benefit of less to clean. I’ve never been one for clutter, so what furnishings and possessions I had were there because I either needed or simply wanted them. Less clutter also made it obvious from the moment I opened the door whether anyone had been there while I was gone. Everything I owned had a purpose and a place, and if it had been moved, I’d know about it.
Nothing had been moved.
As a Benares, I had an eye for the finer things in life, and I saw no reason why I shouldn’t have a few of them. Nothing too terribly expensive, just nice. I liked warm feet, so why shouldn’t I keep them toasty on a Nebian rug or two? I bought one; Phaelan gave me the other. I knew where mine had come from; I couldn’t say the same for Phaelan’s gift. As to furniture, I had a preference for warm-colored fabrics and dark wood. And on one occasion, Markus Sevelien had paid me with a particularly beautiful painting I had often admired in his office. It was of a fog-shrouded landscape with the ruins of a temple. Not the most cheerful subject, but I liked it.
These rooms were my home. I was being forced to leave, and that made me angry. Now all I wanted was someone to take it out on.
Tarsilia had come upstairs with me, my self-appointed bodyguard for the morning. Piaras was downstairs opening the shop. Garadin had left once I promised him that I would get myself to one of Markus’s safehouses. It wasn’t a lie. At some point during the day I was sure I’d find my way to a safehouse. I needed answers, and answers were difficult to come by when you were hiding. By no stretch of the imagination was I that good a sorceress even on my best day, strange amulet or not.
