“Svegraen.” She forced her attention away, turning to Miach. “Would it be possible to restore the stasis over this area?” She took her bag back with a nod of thanks.
“Of course,” Miach nodded to the leader of the second third, then turned back to them, “I will take you to the lady’s remains.”
CHAPTER 6
The Erith had a long history of fighting, with the shifkin and amongst themselves, so Arrow was not surprised to find that the Palace had an entire suite of rooms devoted to laying out the dead in preparation for the final rites. As a happier counterpoint, she knew that the vast complex of buildings also contained a large, purpose-built infirmary that would treat any Erith citizen who came to the door.
The rooms for the dead were underground, entrance a short distance from the main building. The doorway was a small, stone building that contained nothing more on the surface than stone steps going down. A cool breeze, the temperature underground more or less constant because of the vast earth around them, brushed Arrow’s face as she followed Kester and Miach’s shoulders down the plain steps. The rest of Miach’s third stayed above ground, keeping watch.
The walls were lined with unadorned white stone, niches in the walls holding fat, bright candles that provided light and a gentle fragrance to counter the sweet scent of death. Preparation rooms for the dead opened from a central, wide corridor, and none of the rooms had doors. Through the doorways Arrow glimpsed empty stone beds, raised to waist height, and one or two occupied beds, the dead covered by large sheets of cloth that had been dyed deep purple. Physician’s apprentices, their status clear from their pale robes, moved on noiseless feet, one greeting Miach with a slight bow and guiding them to the appropriate door in silence before returning to another room along the way. There was another body there, Arrow knew, the scent of death carrying even to her blunt nose, waiting for the apprentices to prepare it for the rites.
Hot tears burned her eyes at the scent, an automatic reaction she did not think any amount of time, or death, would cure her of. There was something about that unique scent of Erith death that twisted her being, sorrow rising in its wake.
She paused at the doorway, Miach waiting with her, allowing Kester to pay his respects before she violated the lady’s corpse.
Kester’s face did not show any emotion as he looked down at one of his last few blood relatives. A kin woman of the House he had held before Juinis vo Halsfeld had wed Kester’s sister and appropriated their House.
Frozen in death, Arrow could not tell anything about the lady’s character. The lady had been laid out for her death rites, an elaborate headdress covering the wound, her features still and calm, hands folded across her stomach.
Movement from the corridor drew all their attention, the apprentice bowing slightly, skin paling as he was faced with the Queen’s first guard and a high-status lord. His eyes skipped over Arrow, dismissing her.
“Your pardon, svegraen. The master had asked me to set the lady’s clothing aside, in case it was needed.” He bowed again, a package in plain linen cloth offered on his flat palms.
“Has the clothing been cleaned?”
“No, svegraen. The master was very clear about that.” The apprentice, eyes downcast, folded his hands in his sleeves as Kester took the bundle. Arrow wondered what the Palace’s master physician, in charge of the dead as well as the living, had seen that caused him to take such precautions, or if he was just naturally cautious.
“Convey my thanks to the master, and I would speak with him later,” Kester told the apprentice, who bowed and left. “Arrow, do what you need to do.”
He left the room, clothing still in hand, back stiff.
Arrow waited until he was out of sight before she moved to the lady’s side, the scent of death overwhelming. The lady was covered with a purple cloth, her folded hands resting on the fabric, which bore not a single crease, her head and neck bare to viewing. Seen more closely, her face was serene in death, pale skin bearing the faint trace of lines that Arrow guessed would have been laughter in life, evidence of her long life. A subtle gloss of cosmetics had been applied, covering the unique pallor of death. Thanks to the headdress there were no wounds visible. If she was not so still, she might be sleeping. Arrow hesitated, hands clenching slightly at her sides.
“The apprentices will be able to restore her appearance, if you need to remove the cosmetics and headdress,” Miach offered from his post by the door. She glanced up, silver in her eyes catching the light. His mouth twisted, “This is not the first suspicious death I have investigated.”
“I am sorry,” she said sincerely. “Do you wish to observe?”
“Yes. My lady requires a thorough report.” The warrior took a step to the side, back to the wall, and stood at parade rest.
It was hardly the first time she had worked under scrutiny. Arrow turned her attention back to the lady, pulling on a pair of fine gloves. The gloves were human-made, of pure silk, and woven through with the finest magic she could make to avoid leaving any mark on whatever she touched. The Erith did not like her touching things where it could be avoided, and using natural materials should be less offensive to the Erith than the latex gloves humans would use for such tasks.
A clean cloth, coated with a small spell, removed the lady’s cosmetics, revealing nothing new. The faint lines were clearer, that was all. And definitely put there by laughter. Arrow breathed through a moment of sorrow that such obvious joy in life was gone. Few of the Erith she knew had laughter lines.
The headdress came away more easily than she expected, light in her hands, revealing a terrible wound, somehow all the worse for the fact it had been cleaned, leaving it pale and bloodless, the lady’s abundant, dark hair clipped away around the edges. She put the headdress down.
Forcing herself to concentrate she took stock of the placing and shape of the wound, realising two things. Firstly, that the lady would have died almost at once, and secondly, “This was not caused by the bookshelf.”
“What?” Miach came forward rapidly.
“It is the wrong shape entirely for the corner, or even shelf. See.” Arrow called a spark of power, providing a more powerful light, and they bent over the lady’s misshapen head.
“That was a heavy blow.” Miach’s voice had deepened. “So she was struck first.”
“And then the shelves pulled down on top of her.” Arrow glanced down the length of the lady’s body. Now she was looking for it, even with the sheet covering the lady it was clear there were bones broken, her limbs not quite straight.
“And a second person was involved.”
“A second person was certainly wounded,” Arrow agreed.
“No body or soul stone was found.” The head of the Queen’s personal guard was grim. “If you will excuse me, lady mage, I need to ensure a search is begun. Quickly and quietly.”
“Of course, svegraen.” Arrow was almost too distracted by the wound in front of her to notice the address he gave her, frowning a moment after his back when her mind caught up with her ears.
Left alone in the cool, dim space with the lady’s body, Arrow took a moment to send a silent prayer to the lady’s spirit, still trapped on this plane as her body was not yet gone, before opening her second sight and all her senses.
The lady’s essence was vivid even in death, the sharp, lemon scent of a mind honed over centuries together with the warm, burned amber smell Arrow associated with powerful Erith mages. Miach had said that the lady had been a reader. He had not mentioned how powerful a mage she had been. Powerful enough to match at least Lady Seivella, and perhaps even Evellan.
Arrow stood with her hands on the lady’s shoulders, feeling the cool of death even through the gloves, gathering in the impression of the lady’s essence, for long moments until she was quite satisfied that the job was done. Sending another silent prayer for the lady she drew back into the first world and opened her eyes, startled a moment to find Kester standing inside the door, his hands still full of the la
dy’s clothing. He was just outside her personal wards so she had not heard or felt him come into the room. She wondered briefly how he had known to stand there. He was watching her with an intent look she could not read. Or, rather, watching her hands, the white of the gloves a sharp contrast to her dark clothing.
“Do you have what you need?”
“Yes, svegraen.” She put the lady’s headdress more or less back in place, thankful that the warrior could not see the full extent of the wound from where he stood, and took a step back from the body. “Lord Miach is organising a search for a possible second body,” she added, when he remained silent.
“I see.” He took a step forward, bringing himself to the edge of her personal wards and lifted the clothing slightly. “I thought you should examine this.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Nothing of note, but my spell work is quite blunt.”
“Perhaps if we could lay the clothing out?”
“There is an empty room next door.” He indicated direction with a tilt of his head, heading out, expecting her to follow which she did, frowning again, wondering what had changed. Despite Teresea’s death he seemed relaxed, the sharp edge to his movements gone. She followed his straight back into the corridor, seeing the apprentice watchful nearby, satisfied that the lady would remain undisturbed until Kester was ready to perform the final rite.
Without prompting, Kester laid the clothing out on an empty stone bed. The lady’s clothing was finely made, as suited her station in life, full of the scent she favoured and her essence, and something foreign that tugged at Arrow’s senses. She slid back into the second world, puzzling over the unexpected traces.
“What have you found?”
“Someone else.” With her sight enhanced by magic, Arrow examined the faintest shadows on the lady’s clothing. “She held a book here,” she used a gloved finger to outline the shadow, “and was held by the arm here, in a firm grip. Some of the threads in the sleeve are broken. It was close to her death. There was no bruising on her body.” The lady’s arms, pale and bare, had not shown any marks.
“A book?” Kester was sceptical.
“The missing one from the shelves?” Arrow speculated. “And the one gripping her arm was not the same one who brought the shelves down.”
“More than one person involved.” Miach’s voice cut through the room, grim. “Do you have the lady’s trace?”
“Yes. We should go back to the library,” Arrow agreed, coming back into the first world and stripping off her gloves, tucking them back into the satchel, noticing Kester’s eyes following the movement.
~
Kester took his leave of Miach, saying he wanted to speak with the head physician. Miach and his third escorted Arrow back to the library, approaching its main entrance this time. They found a crowd gathered, every one finely dressed in the bright colours favoured by the Erith. Palace courtiers and the highest nobility, Arrow realised, from the quality of the clothing and the way they were confidently seeking entry despite the entire cadre of White Guard barring the door. The White Guard seemed unimpressed, holding their ground with implacable courtesy despite the darkening tone of some of the gathered nobility and several pieces of parchment being waved in their faces, perilously close to giving them paper cuts in a few cases. Arrow took in the scene with curiosity, wondering if she would recognise any of the names of those gathered from overheard Taellan reports and discussions over the years.
The gathered crowd paid very little attention to Miach and his third, though there were resentful mutters as the cadre on watch parted without question to let them through, and a few sharp looks sent in Arrow’s direction, another set of muttering rising up. News of her presence in the Palace would be spread quickly. Assuming that any of the Erith there knew who she was, she reminded herself, hearing puzzlement in some of the murmurs. Her presence had been a continuous sore for the Erith within the Taellaneth. However, it was possible that Erith within the heartland had no knowledge of her at all. It was a curious thought and one she wished she had more time to explore, this idea of being anonymous, just one face in a crowd, rather than an unwelcome presence.
Miach exchanged words with the cadre leader as he passed, lips tightening into a thin line as his third opened the library doors, surrounded Arrow and escorted her back into the library.
“Some sort of game,” Miach said, letting out a weary breath as the doors closed behind them, “and the next clue is in here. Apparently.”
It made as little sense to her as many things the Erith nobility did, so she ignored it, turning her attention instead to this new perspective of the library, now completely empty apart from White Guard, with the floating bookcases serene high above. It felt different and for a moment she thought it was the different view of the interior. She paused, realising that was not the change, drawing the immediate attention of the warriors.
“Someone else has been in here,” she told them. An almost-familiar trace in the air. Not a magician she knew. “I think they are gone. But there is so much magic here it is hard to tell.” An understatement. The entire library blazed in second sight, the hum of the heartland’s magic fizzing against her skin, a distraction she could ill afford.
“Search,” Miach commanded. The two thirds of his cadre who had remain in the library moved, Erith steel hissing out of scabbards, the sound lost in the vast room, faint shimmer of ward spells rising and forming a net between them as they spread out.
Miach and his third continued on their way back to the scene, Arrow nearly tripping over a discarded book as they approached. Ears burning at her clumsy feet, she looked down and stilled. The book had fallen, perhaps by accident, so that its title was clearly visible. On the Capture of Mages. A fanciful work, the Preceptor had often claimed, but with a small following of people who believed that things like iron bars and certain herbs would hinder a mage’s power.
“That is new,” Miach observed, amber points rising in his eyes. He was more powerful a mage than most warriors, Arrow noted absently, most of her attention still on the book.
“Someone having a joke?” his second asked.
“Doubtful.” Arrow knelt by the book. “There are only supposed to be a dozen of these in existence, and none in this library. The Archives have two copies.”
“Does it work?” Miach asked, crouching nearby, eyes direct as he looked at her. She lifted a brow. “Or does someone believe it works?”
“Apparently there are those who believe it works.” Arrow put on the gloves again, checking second sight to make sure there were no spells on the book before picking it up carefully and opening its front leaf finding a handwritten inscription, ink slightly faded from time. Property of Alisemea vel Regersfel. Her face tightened. The partly shadowed face from the portrait rose in her mind’s eye. Was that painted stranger someone to believe in the capture of mages?
“The lady was not a powerful mage but she was a keen scholar,” Miach observed, face and voice tight, doubtless not believing in coincidence any more than Arrow did.
Arrow’s mouth was in a flat line, unease twisting her inside. Years of little to no mention of her mother and in the space of one day she had seen a portrait of her for the first time, and held an item the lady had owned. If she wanted, she could take her gloves off and see if she could feel the lady’s presence. It was possible, even after all the years since Alisemea’s death, and even though Arrow was no reader.
Arrow handed the book to Miach. “I am sure this belongs elsewhere.”
She rose to her feet and, not wanting to discuss it further, trusting the warriors to search the rest of the room, went on to the scene, looking again at the spread of blood. Too much blood for one person, yet even with her blunt senses the death scent was not strong enough for two.
Stripping off the gloves, she set her bag aside and sank to her knees next to the blood pool, parchment crackling under her weight, steadying her wards and personal defences, swallowing her instinctive revulsion, bef
ore she reached forward and put her bare hand onto the blood pool, sliding into second sight.
With the lady’s essence clear in her mind it was a matter of moments to separate out the two different pools of blood. The lady had lost most of her lifeblood on this floor, her heart pumping even as her head was split open. Arrow sent a tiny pulse of power through the lady’s blood, marking it in second sight, and focused on the other blood. Much smaller in volume. A grave wound, which would weaken any Erith enough that they would require a healer’s urgent attention. The blood was smeared, as though the person had struggled to gain their feet and leave, the trace unfamiliar. They had got up, though, and leant against one of the fallen bookcases for a moment before leaving.
Arrow murmured a cleansing spell as she took her hand out of the blood, magic cleaning her skin far more thoroughly than soap and water, then rose, still in the second world, careful to step around the blood, and went to the edge of the bookcase, seeing the handprint there and, more, a tiny scrap of cloth.
“What have you found?” Miach was impatient, she thought. And worried. A violent, deliberate death in the Palace had dangerous repercussions.
“The second person slid as they got to their feet, and put their hand here.” She demonstrated, holding her own skin carefully away from the surface. “They snagged their sleeve. A bit of cloth.”
“Too small to be useful,” Miach said, disappointed.
“Vivid colours,” Arrow disagreed.
“It looks plain.”
“Second sight.” She came back to the first world to find that the little scrap of cloth was indeed plain in first sight. Miach was focused on the cloth with single-minded intensity.
“Imbued with magic.”
“Possibly. Or it is possible the wearer was cast with a spell.” Arrow tilted her head, considering the spellwork she could see in second sight. “Glamour or concealment.”
“Would you know them again?”
Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set Page 62
