Wandering Star (The Quintana Trilogy Book 1)

by Michael Wallace

  “It must be,” Naila said. “Nothing from the Third could turn away the creatures of the underworld. And it is indestructible. No fire can melt it or knife cut it. You know why I showed you, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Naila sighed. “Maybe I made a mistake. I thought you were clever—that’s what they say. They say you passed Carbón’s mathematical examination without a single error. But I suppose there is no substitute for common sense. And you apparently have no more of it than that silly widow we left below.”

  The insult goaded Iliana. “Are you trying to recruit me? Is that what this is?”

  “I’m making you an offer. Join me in the Luminoso. I will initiate you, and you will become one of my acolytes.”

  “I’m not particularly devout.”

  “You think this has anything to do with being devout? Let the temple cabalists worry about that. A man like Salvatore—he’ll study the ancient texts and pray to the Elders for the arrival of the Fourth Plenty of Mankind. I’m talking about knowledge, Iliana. Power. The kind the Quinta can only dream about.”

  “Who killed my brother?”

  “How would I know that?” The frown was manifest in Naila’s tone of voice. “I had nothing to do with it, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “I didn’t say that you were personally involved. But cabalists were out that night. Mercado insisted that you help. And someone must have heard something, if it wasn’t your doing in the first place. You, meaning the Luminoso. Someone followed me down, and that someone killed my brother.”

  “I don’t think so. But . . . I don’t know the others. Not all of them. It might have been. Join me—I’ll teach you how to search.”

  “What else are you offering?”

  “What else am I offering? To you? I’m giving you a chance to be my acolyte. Why wouldn’t you want that? Why wouldn’t you be begging me?”

  “Money, is that it? A way to save my family?”

  “That is up to you.” Naila sounded a sly note. “But when you are in the Luminoso, there are ways to make it pay.”

  Iliana didn’t like the way that sounded. For one thing, she’d never cared much for the cabalists, for the temples and their money, supposedly spent scouring the earth for artifacts, buying them from distant traders—the plenties had encompassed many other lands, after all, not just this special corner. And their trade was secrets, the ability to bend a man or woman to their will. It was rumored, but never proven, that they had even overthrown members of the Quinta who had stood in their way.

  Iliana had other ambitions: a position of power within the Forty, maintained by her connections with the Quinta as Lord Alan Carbón’s chancellor. If only she could be patient, if only she could find a way to hold things together until she earned her proper wages.

  You could protect your family. Here, now.

  “It’s a big decision,” she said. “I need some time.”

  “You need time,” Naila scoffed. “You’ve been offered a gift, and you want to think about it.”

  “I don’t make hasty decisions.” Iliana frowned. “And I don’t believe it’s a gift. There’s something you need from me, a cost of entering the Luminoso, isn’t there?”

  “Of course there is a cost. You need to bring me something. A piece of information.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you, now would I? Something I wouldn’t know, something that would be important. You’ll know it when you find it.”

  “What would you do with it?”

  “Probably nothing. I collect information, is all. And doing this for me proves your worth and commitment. You do that,” Naila continued, “and I’ll initiate you into the Luminoso as my acolyte.”

  “I’m not sure. I need time.”

  “So you told me already. Fine, you have two days, and then the offer is rescinded.”

  A scream came from somewhere in the Forty, like a woman’s high-pitched wail, but carrying in a way no human voice ever did. That was a lemure, a vengeful spirit of the dead. The witherers may be gone, but there were still other threats about.

  Naila, for all her boasting, seemed to lose her desire to stand and talk about the Luminoso. She urged Iliana to get moving, and the two women hurried back up the alleyway and to the stairs leading up to the Quinta and safety.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Naila abandoned Iliana at the gates to Carbón’s estates, where the young woman waited impatiently for the terrified guards to emerge from their garlic-and-lead-shielded guardhouse to let the lord’s chancellor in. Naila left alone. No false bravado now—she was practically running, her cloak flapping around her shoulders as she fled for the Torre estate.

  Iliana. Stupid girl. How could she have turned down such an offer?

  And she had turned it down, let there be no mistake. Naila had expected a note of eagerness in her cousin’s voice. The other woman had seen the power of the artifact. Smelled it, sensed it. Then had it save her life. And still she had balked.

  Naila had committed her own error of judgment.

  She’d followed Iliana and the porters to the Diamante household with the vague idea of listening in on their grief. Did they really not know who had killed Rafael? But Naila hadn’t guessed that Iliana and Patricia would open up about this other issue, the looming insolvency of the Diamante clan and the family’s imminent dismissal from the Forty.

  The whole predicament seemed laughable. The code be damned—Carbón would surely keep his chancellor’s family afloat until her wages came in. And if not, Iliana had her fingers on the man’s coffers. So much coin in an operation of that size—he wouldn’t notice a few escudos missing here or there.

  But Naila had been thinking about the big secret in Carbón’s mine. An artifact, and not just any, but something big, something never before discovered, that had awakened witherers. She lusted for it, wondered how she could get hold of it before Salvatore found out. Or the Master of Whispers. Most likely it would find its way into those hands.

  Iliana could help. Would have, had she taken Naila’s offer. Instead, she’d declined in the guise of giving the offer some thought. Naila never should have made that offer in the first place. Now the woman had connected Naila to the Luminoso, information she’d jealously guarded from all but a few.

  Shrieks came from behind, and shadows that were too dark to be natural. Naila’s heart gave a sudden leap, and she broke into a sprint. The alley curved up and to her right, becoming stairs on the steepest part, then flattening somewhat, and then dipping again, toward the Torre estate.

  She had the underworld bracelet on her right wrist, and her left hand moved to her pocket to grip the illusion egg. That artifact was unlikely to help her, but its cool, smooth surface was a calming presence, and she forced herself to slow, to look around.

  No lemures. No witherers. The shrieks were below her now.

  Naila had almost taken control of herself by the time she approached the Torre estate. She unlocked the gate herself, quietly, so as not to alarm the guards. Garlic hung from every surface, together with coin-like lead discs on strings, which waved in the wind and clinked dully together.

  She shut the gate, bent over, and took deep breaths. It took several moments before she felt ready to go inside and confront her husband.

  She found Daniel in his study in the north wing. Whereas the elder Torre took refuge in his library, with its two-story-high bookshelves and a pair of balconies that opened onto a glorious view of the gardens, the Rift, and the terraces of the city stretching down the mountainside from the Quinta, his son’s preferred space was a monument to his hunting prowess. The head of a stag and wild boar flanked the fireplace, and a tapestry of a duck hunt with a man and a dog, the former carrying a fowling piece, hung on the stone wall to the right. A massive chandelier made of deer antlers dominated the center of the room, and it flickered with candles.

  A roaring wood fire filled the hearth, and Daniel
sat in a high-backed chair with a glass in hand and a half-empty bottle of brandy on the small table next to him. Naila crept up from behind and watched as he sighed, took a sip of his brandy, and slid his chair closer to the fire.

  Daniel was a strong, handsome man. Intelligence gleamed in his eyes, even drunk, the same look that his father still carried. He looked every bit a young lord of the Quinta, and so Naila had thought when she allowed him to court her. So why was he so weak?

  One of Daniel’s dogs—too old now to hunt, and allowed indoors to sleep away her final days—lay dozing on the edge of the rug, close to the fire. The dog lifted her grizzled head and glanced around, perhaps smelling Naila, who held the illusion egg in her palm, then lay back down with a sigh. Daniel still gave no sign of noticing his wife, though she now stood less than three feet away, and had moved within his line of sight.

  Naila released the egg into her pocket. “We’re not even midway through sack and ash, and you’re already drinking.”

  He gave a violent start that sloshed brandy onto his hand. “Oh, it’s you. How did you come up on me like that?”

  “I walked right in. It’s not my fault you’re drunk and lost in your thoughts.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  No, he wasn’t, she thought, studying him. But why did he have such a low, stuporous look on his face? It was almost as if he were thinking profound thoughts, though that was unlikely. Intelligent or not, Daniel simply wasn’t that introspective. More likely he was afraid.

  Something stirred in his other arm. Their daughter, Mara, half-dozing. Naila hadn’t noticed her at first. The girl opened her eyes.

  “Mama. There are evil spirits.”

  Mara was eight years old, her head a mass of dark curls, currently loose and wild. She had her father’s large, pouting lips and her grandfather’s eyes. Only a slight upturn to her nose seemed to come from Naila.

  “It’s late. Why are you still up?”

  “Something scratched on my window, Mama.”

  Mara was prone to night terrors under the best of circumstances, and perhaps she had heard noises, but no doubt the servants had been talking and putting unpleasant ideas into her head.

  Naila patted the girl’s head absentmindedly, still caught up in her own troubles, and not wanting to talk in front of their daughter.

  “Why is she in here? Where is her nanny?”

  Daniel gave a disapproving look. “Probably upstairs with the rest of the servants, shivering in bed. You think I should have turned my daughter away on a night like this?”

  “Your father, then . . . where is Lord Torre?”

  “He’s in his study, brooding. Probably can’t sleep anyway, with his aching bones.”

  That gave Naila the excuse she was looking for. She pulled Mara off her father’s lap, the girl coming reluctantly, not wanting to release her grasp around his neck. A few soothing words settled the child.

  “Good, now go down to the kitchen and fetch Papa Torre his black apple tea. That will help his aches, and you’ll both be ready to sleep.”

  “There’s nobody down in the kitchen,” Mara protested. “I’ll be alone.”

  “Be a big girl—you’re safe indoors. The big kettle will still have hot water. Measure out the ground seeds like I showed you and put in one cube of sugar. Then be careful not to slosh it when you carry it up to Papa.”

  “It’s dark.”

  “The gaslights are on. There’s more than enough light to see by.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Stop that,” Naila said firmly. Daniel was still looking at her with disapproval, but she avoided meeting his gaze. “You are a Roja and a Torre, and there’s absolutely nothing in the house to hurt you. Quickly, now, before you get your ears twisted. You can stay with your grandfather if you’re still scared.”

  Mara gave one final look at her father, as if she wanted to throw herself into his arms and bury her head against his chest. Sensibly, he did nothing to encourage her. The girl backed her way slowly out of the room, and her feet pattered quickly down the hallway.

  Naila turned to Daniel. “You coddle that child, you and your father both. You’ll ruin her.”

  He took a long sip of his brandy. “On a night like tonight, do you blame me?”

  She sat on the edge of the chair and put a hand on the back of his neck. “The house is covered with garlic and lead. The creatures won’t come inside. In fact, I would imagine they’re already draining back into the Rift.”

  Daniel turned and looked at her. “It’s not that. Not only that. It’s my father.”

  Ah, so he was thinking. He must have caught the look on the old man’s face when Mercado had the boy thrown over the cliff. Seen Torre’s clear doubt.

  Naila chose her words carefully. “What are you worried about?”

  “He’s getting old. Who knows how much longer he’ll last?”

  “True.”

  “And he might step down before then. Decide he wants to retire to his chambers to read and sleep and dream of the old days. That would give someone else the ring. Make him responsible for it all.”

  “Yes, that is the way of old men. They lose their ambition and pass their responsibilities to others.” Naila was getting impatient. She’d mentioned these things to Daniel before, but he was acting as though they were original thoughts that had popped into his head. “It’s what has me worried, too.”

  “You are?”

  “Specifically, about your cousin,” she said.

  “Pedro? Why are you worried about him? He’s happy to sit around carving his silly little birds.”

  “He won’t be whittling forever. Your father has been training him. He took Pedro out on the bridge, he showed him the vault, he explained how the watchtowers on the Quintana Way are maintained. He taught Pedro how to use a counting frame to run sums and figures. His chancellor took Pedro to Dalph to meet with de Armas and Puerto.”

  “That’s good, though. Someone has to understand all these things.”

  “That someone is you. Pay attention. Show that you’re serious. That’s the only reason Torre is working with Pedro instead of you. Where were you last week when it came time to calculate the city taxes and the temple donation?”

  “Who can keep all those sums in his head?”

  “You can, dammit, if you try.” She was growing angry now. “What do you do every time he tries to show you? You go hunting. You go whoring.”

  “I do not,” he said sullenly. “Whoring, I mean.”

  “Shut your mouth. The whole city knows about it—do you think I wouldn’t?” Naila clenched her teeth and took a deep breath before speaking again. “I don’t care about that. What I do care about is your cousin. I don’t want Pedro to be given the ring. Don’t you understand that? That’s what’s going to happen. Pedro is going to be the next Lord Torre, not you.”

  Daniel rose violently and went to the hearth, where he tossed in three more logs. They spit flames as the dry, curling bark caught fire. Reflected light flickered off his face, which twisted with an ugly expression.

  “And what am I supposed to do about it?”

  Naila moved to his side and turned him around. “What are you supposed to do? You’re supposed to stand up and claim the ring for yourself.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  Naila drew a sharp breath and took a step back. “What?”

  “You heard me. Let Pedro have it. Let him be the next Lord Torre. I don’t want it, I never did.”

  “And what, you’ll spend your life hunting on the moors? That’s your plan?”

  “Why not? It’s what I love.” He glanced down at the old dog, who was snoring. “My dogs, my horse. The clean air up on the plateau. I didn’t ask for any of the rest of it.”

  “Pedro will get the ring, and you’ll be sent down.”

  “He wouldn’t do that. He’s a good kid.”

  “Good or bad has nothing to do with it. He’ll need to send you down to consolidate his hold. He’s youn
g now, maybe he doesn’t understand that yet, but he will. And what would you offer him, anyway? You’d be nothing but a threat to his power. You certainly have no discernible skills to run the estate or manage the bridge.”

  “You could advise Pedro for me.”

  “You fool.” Naila let out a bitter laugh. “You’ll be sent to the Forty. Then, six months later, unable to maintain your status, you’ll drop to the Thousand. What will you do there? You have no skills, no trade.”

  “I can shoot a musket. I’ll join the watch. Or maybe the army if de Armas will have me.”

  “He’d never take you, and neither would the watch. Born and raised in the Quinta—you wouldn’t take orders. You’ll fall from the Thousand to the dumbre, and then you’ll die. That’s your fate. You’ll be alone, too—I won’t die with you.”

  No, she wouldn’t die. She’d thrive, in fact, with three artifacts in her possession: the illusion egg, the underworld bracelet Salvatore had given her, and the artifact recovered from the lower terraces on the night of Rafael Diamante’s disappearance, untested yet, but its powers evident.

  But neither would she have everything she deserved. Everything she’d earned.

  “It wouldn’t come to that,” he said.

  “It would, and it will. You need to stop your father before he makes it official.”

  “How?”

  “By any means necessary. Go to him, apologize. Tell him you’ve given up the hunt—”

  “Given up the hunt!”

  The dog lifted her head at Daniel’s raised voice and thumped her tail twice.

  “For a time. You can take it up later, when you’ve regained Torre’s trust. Show him he doesn’t need Pedro, that his own son is good for something.”

  “I might . . . I could possibly do that. It’s just so tedious, all of it. Numbers and names and signed orders.” He nodded. “But I could, for a time.”

  Naila studied him. She didn’t believe him. He lacked energy and willpower. Even if she prodded him hard, he might not carry through.

  “It might be too late, anyway,” she said. “I’ve heard things, seen things. You might need something else to secure your position. Yes, I think you do.”