by TR Cameron
“That is a reasonable assumption.”
She closed the wardrobe with a sigh and turned to the dresser. The apothecary cabinet with all its separate little square drawers enticed her, but she wanted to save it for dessert. Before she opened the top section, she played a mental guessing game.
Hmm. Maybe shoes or sweaters or something. Or underwear. Please don’t let it be underwear.
It slid open with no problem to reveal an array of belts and straps separated into their own pockets by vertical panels. She lifted one from the right, which had been the side her mother’s formalwear had been on. It looked about the correct size to go around her leg and had a loop on the inside. “So. That looks like a thigh sheath for a hidden weapon.”
“Agreed, Matriarch Caliste.”
She pawed through the remainder but failed to determine what any others were for. “Well, that’s interesting. Let’s try the next one.” She slid it open and found hand-worked belts with the Leblanc seal emblazoned on them, both embossed into the leather and on a bright buckle. Small pouches of the same material with loops for the belt to pass through filled the rest of the space. “Nice.”
“Those have been used by the matriarchs and patriarchs of House Leblanc for generations. I remember seeing them worn.”
With a sigh, she slid the drawer closed without answering. The weight of inheriting the leadership of one of the Nine had suddenly trebled. It’s okay, Cali. You’re up to this. Besides, there are no other options until you free Atreo.
Fyre spoke into the silence. “You’ll have to get married, you know.”
The girl spun to face him. “What did you say, scale-face?”
He laughed. “Married. You. Or at least choose a mate to have children with. The strongest noble claims are the descendants of females.”
“I think I have other problems at the moment, thanks. Talk to me in ten years.” His irritating expression was filled with the knowledge that he was right and that he’d scored a point. She turned to the dresser with a growl of irritation and yanked on the bottom drawer with more force than was strictly necessary.
Her hand slipped and she landed on her rear end when it failed to budge. Her companion snorted once but wisely, didn’t comment. She scooted to it and tried again, but it refused to move and when she released a trickle of magic, she sensed the ward protecting it. With her finger, she drew the rune that appeared in her mind on the surface of the drawer. The deactivation of the protective spell tasted like pineapple but triggered none of her other senses. That’s…weird.
Cali pulled it open and found a variety of blades. The longest was a dagger that reached from the tip of her pinky to her elbow, the shortest barely as long as her hand. Each was held in a sheath marked with the house emblem, and the same image was etched into the weapons’ metal and present on several of the hilts. The knives gleamed in the light, and the edges looked untouched by time or use. “Jenkins, what are these?”
“Ornamental arms, Matriarch Caliste, but no less deadly for it. Gatherings of the Nine permit only small blades, aside from the most formal occasions that allow swords. These, too, have been in the family for generations.”
She replaced them in their container and slid it closed before she queried with her magic for the correct way to reactivate their protection and drew the appropriate rune. Again, she tasted pineapple. With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet and crossed to the apothecary cabinet. Spreading her arms wide, she intoned, “Reveal your secrets,” and pulled open the one on the lower right.
It took half an hour to examine them all, working her way from the outside in. The expected ornamental jewelry rested in some and papers that were too complex for a quick read in others. Empty vials, full vials without markings, stationery—the cabinet was a treasure trove of randomness.
But the two boxes she found made the whole exploration worthwhile. Each was subdivided into smaller compartments, and in each of those was a number of charms.
“Yes,” she crowed as she retrieved one with the same symbol as the shield pendant that had been consumed. After a moment’s thought, she collected two of those and one of each of the others for Emalia to examine. “Finally. Something immediately useful.”
A noise far below sounded like a knock and Jenkins announced, “There is a messenger at the door from House Jehenel.”
She frowned. “How do we feel about them?”
“House Leblanc has never been at odds with House Jehenel, but neither have they been counted among our allies.” His use of the possessive brought a smile.
“All right, then. Let’s see what he wants.”
When she reached the bottom of the ladder, she used the same magic she’d employed earlier to raise it to its secure and closed position. She raced Fyre down the stairs and gained a head start before he knew they were competing. His wings gave him the necessary advantage, though, and he was seated at the front entrance when she arrived. She scowled. “I could have beat you with my magic.”
He shook his head and his tongue lolled. “Hardly. I barely flapped.”
“We’ll have this out one day, short and snarly.”
“Bring it.”
Cali grinned and opened the door. On the porch stood a woman who seemed to be her own age, but that was all they had in common. She could have been a model with her tall, elegant looks and perfectly dressed hair that fell in soft brown waves to her shoulders. Her skin would have looked right on a beach at the end of summer, although her face was slightly more ordinary. The tight dress she wore—a dark purple sheath with pale yellow accents at the neck, cuffs, and down the sleeves—made Cali feel inappropriately informal.
Pushing down her immediate annoyance, she asked, “Yes?”
The visitor studied her with a haughty smile. “You’re the matriarch of House Leblanc?” The way she emphasized the first word confirmed that this wouldn’t be a pleasant interaction.
“Yeah. And you’re a lackey, which on the whole is far less impressive, don’t you think? Deliver your message, messenger.”
Fyre sent amusement and she smothered a smile. The woman frowned and her voice lost any hint of warmth. “The patriarch of House Jehenel requests the pleasure of your company for an afternoon stroll at three o’clock.”
She shrugged. “Sure. Tell him to come pick me up.” With a swing of her foot, she closed the door in the woman’s face.
“Petty,” the Draksa commented around a grin.
“Yeah, whatever. Now, I guess I need afternoon-stroll wear. Jenkins…”
Given that he was coming to her, it seemed only fair that she wait outside to greet him. She had found a decent pair of black pants among her mother’s things and a long tunic, almost a dress, in turquoise with red accents. Elisinia’s boots, which she kept in New Atlantis as a treat for when she visited, completed the outfit.
The man who walked down the sidewalk was even more handsome than the woman had been beautiful. While she’d dressed, Jenkins had given her details about him. The disembodied butler had been ready to provide a full history, but she’d told him to limit it to the recent past. Wymarc had been named patriarch a few years before and she’d now replaced him as the youngest head of a noble house. He had no particular focus but spent his time living well on the proceeds of his family’s existing streams of income.
His walk was direct and confident, and he crossed the space to where she leaned against the doorjamb in short order. He smiled, showing flawless teeth. “Caliste, I presume?”
She nodded. “You presume correctly. And you’re Wymarc.”
“Indeed. Shall we?” He gestured toward the ring street beyond the front fence of her property, and as she started in that direction, her escort fell into step beside her. It felt easy and natural, which made her immediately suspicious.
“So, you woke up this morning and said, ‘Self, I think we need to meet the new girl on the block today. An afternoon walkabout is just the thing.’ Is that it?”
He laughed and it was a decidedl
y attractive sound. “More or less. Have you listened to my internal voice somehow?”
A smile came unbidden to her lips. “Yes, that, definitely.”
“Well, I guess you know all my secrets, then. You owe me some of your own in exchange. It’s only fair.”
Cali shook her head. “I may be dumb but I’m not that dumb.”
They took the turn that would lead them toward the less affluent parts of town. He pointed at the mansion across the street from her own. “House Devaux. They are tricky buggers and not to be trusted.”
She made a mental note to ask Jenkins whether that was accurate or not. With a nod, she replied, “And I suppose you are not tricky and are to be trusted?”
He shrugged. “You wouldn’t be matriarch if you weren’t able to make that decision for yourself. I’m simply here to give you the opportunity to know me better so you don’t have to rely on rumors.”
“And what kind of rumors might those be, Wymarc?”
He raised a finger. “First, that I am a cad and a womanizer. Second, that I am a dilettante who accomplishes what is somewhere in the middle of little and nothing. Finally, that I am exclusively concerned with my own comfortable existence and my family’s interests.”
As they walked, she had focused her gaze more or less ahead but now, she twisted her head to regard him curiously. “Are those rumors true?”
“Like most rumors, they probably contain a trace of truth. I do enjoy the company of women and there are a number who have enjoyed mine as well. I’m not a cad, though. I am fond of my lifestyle, although I also have things to focus on. I merely don’t choose to be public about them all. And I am indeed concerned with comfort and the future of my family but not only that.” He smiled. “And you? What rumors might I hear about you?”
Cali laughed. “Other than those that inspired you to walk with me, you mean?” He nodded. “I’m from New Orleans. There’s a group there causing trouble for me, and the Malniets are my challenge here. My parents died before their time, like yours. There’s not much else to tell.”
He kept any derision out of his voice as he asked, “Is it true that you work at a restaurant?”
“It is, although tavern is a better word—heavy on the drink, light on the food.”
“Well, this would be the perfect place for us to take a break, then.” He gestured at a building on the opposite side of the ring street they’d reached. It had an image of an octopus holding several mugs of beer, and the picture was perfectly hilarious.
“Eight-fisted, huh? It’s a clever name.”
“We call it the eight because—you know, the Nine.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I get it. Lead on.” She followed him through the door and into the bar.
Chapter Twenty-One
The interior was dark and a haze of smoke that wasn’t identifiable as any kind of tobacco she’d been around hung in the air. It was filled with roughly an equal number of men and women, and those with pipes all seemed to be gathered at the rectangular bar. Two bartenders worked rapidly to pull drafts and pour wine. No mixed drinks were visible at all.
Booths were positioned on the outside walls with a walkway between them and the stools at the bar. Wymarc led her down the right-hand side to an empty booth and slid in. Cali peered carefully around the large room, looking for trouble under the guise of curiosity, but found none. She sat across from him.
Almost immediately, a server bustled up. He looked harried and annoyed but not at them in particular. If asked to guess, she would have put his age at a well-preserved fifty. His hair was going gray and it was cut short in a no-nonsense flattop. A raspy voice emerged from his round face. “What’ll ya have?”
“Porter,” Wymarc answered, and the older man nodded and turned to her.
“Uh, cider.” He strode off without a reply. She didn’t know what fruit or level of alcohol she’d be given, but it wasn’t a cause for concern. Her plans didn’t involve anything more than polite sips for flavor. While it might seem like a social occasion, she was as much at work as the server was.
“It was a good choice. They make great ones here.” She attributed his faint smugness to putting her in a situation to choose a drink without knowing the territory. Ah, so the competitiveness sneaks out. Excellent.
She gave him an unassuming smile. “Wonderful. I can take any secrets home to my boss.”
His lips turned down in a slight frown at the mention of her job. Point for me. Your mask is slipping, friend. Still, he’d done nothing to suggest his intentions were bad, only that he wasn’t as pristine as he might have wanted to appear. She’d dealt with worse—Janice came to mind—but the thought vanished when he changed the subject abruptly.
“So, what can I tell you about your new home?” He raised his hands to indicate the surrounding area.
Cali chuckled. “New Atlantis isn’t my home. Not yet, anyway. I’ve spent most of my formative years in New Orleans, and it’s the kind of place that works its way into you. Have you traveled outside the dome much?”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen all that New Atlantis has to offer from the bright locations to the dark ones. Perhaps I should take a trip to the surface, though, one of these days. Maybe you could show me around your town sometime.” He gave her a flirty grin.
“Sure. I’d be happy to. So what can you tell me about this place that I don’t know?”
The server deposited their drinks and left. She took a sip and discovered that it was a highly potent apple-cherry blend.
“Doubtless you already have information on the city as a whole and on House Leblanc,” Wymarc replied, “but maybe not as much about the Nine. Most of them are okay, but you have to watch Cormier and Surette.” She was surprised he hadn’t added the Malniets to the list, if only for the sake of credibility.
“Why is that?”
He scowled and sipped his beer. “Because they have a long history of making alliances, only to break them in moments of crisis. Say what you will about the other houses, they at least tend to be consistent. If they dislike you, they’re clear about it and don’t change that opinion without generations of effort.” He shook his head. “My family has engaged with them both at times, and we’ll never make that particular mistake again. I’m sure they’ll reach out to you too in an attempt to influence your decisions.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You mean like you’re doing today.”
Her companion shrugged. “That’s a possibility for down the road. I’m not one to rush into things, so I’d call this more an introduction than a solicitation.”
Cali laughed. “I’m not sure I like the implication.”
“No offense intended.” He grinned. “It was a poor word choice. My apologies.” She nodded acceptance. “So, anyway, there are several ways to group the Nine, but the one I think is most accurate is pro-Shenni, neutral, and anti-Shenni.”
“The Empress, you mean?”
“Exactly. Although the structure works no matter who holds the throne. The players merely move from cluster to cluster. She was a member of House Rivette before her ascension so obviously, they are in support. Oubre and Cormier as well. Against her—or maybe more accurately, for themselves above all—are Surette, Devaux, and your friends the Malniets. So, you see, your family and mine are likely to find ourselves working together to balance the other factions, along with House Terriau.”
“Doesn’t being neutral actually mean you support the monarch?”
He nodded. “To some degree. But there’s support and there’s support. The true loyalists would ignore an opportunity to remove her and of course, the anti-faction would embrace it. Those in the middle would judge each such situation individually. You might say, then, that we have the most power.”
She smiled thinly, “And we will be the targets of the others every time they wish to swing our disposition one way or the other.”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“So, if you had to guess what will happen in the short-term, what
would it be?”
Wymarc laughed. “After meeting you today, I would imagine the next upheaval New Atlantis will face is the elimination of House Malniet.”
They’d passed another pleasant hour together before Cali had said goodbye at his doorstep, which seemed only fair since she’d made him come to her house earlier. As she walked through the growing darkness, the details he’d given her settled into their proper places in her mind.
Allies, enemies, neutral. Pro-Shenni, anti-Shenni. Those looking to rise, those likely to fall. It was a jumble of concepts she’d never really considered in any other part of her life, and they all felt foreign. Even allies wasn’t a comfortable term as she’d always used friend instead.
She entered the kitchen in search of the coffee that filled the air with its bitter aroma. Fyre headed for what had become his favorite corner, farthest from where her attempts at cooking took place. She poured herself a mug and sat at the table with Zeb and Emalia, who both looked smug. Cali glanced from one to the other and asked, “What?”
Her great aunt said, “Zeb improved all the wards. This place is as secure as can be.”
“And Emalia gave all the outbuildings a quick search,” her boss added. “There’s nothing there that requires your immediate attention. I’ll wander over and improve their protections before we leave.”
There was something more in their attitudes, though. Each of them had played jokes on her enough that she knew the signs. She put her hands on her hips with a frown. “Okay, what aren’t you telling me?”
Zeb broke into a grin and gestured at Emalia. “I’ve decoded part of the book your parents left you. We know where one of the sword shards is.”
Stunned, she sat in silence for a few moments, then uttered a loud whoop. “Awesome! Where is it?”
“It’s hidden on Oriceran.”
“Did they say why?”
“Not yet. I started at the drawing of the sword you marked and worked in both directions from there. I’d only translated a couple of pages before I found the reference but I’ll keep working on it.”
