“And a lively one at that,” Nomusa added. She looked tired, but elated. I recognized it as how I’d often felt in the midst of a fine hunt. A glimmer of envy wormed its way inside me.
“How’s that?” I asked lightly.
“Daelya and Berker were at each others’ throats over the organization of the defenses. How much to requisition there, how to organize the supplies, and the like.”
“I thought those details were left to the Stratechons.”
“For the most part, they are,” Jaxas replied. “Which was precisely the Preservist point. But Daelya felt that a more active role might be necessary considering the circumstances.”
I kept my doubts to myself. If any defense Oedija could muster would make a difference, I’d be amazed. But saying so wouldn’t help anyone.
“Archon, if you wouldn’t mind, could I have a private word with Nomusa?”
“Of course.” He gave a brief bow, then turned away. Just before he left through the doors, a hooded man I hadn’t seen standing there turned out to walk next to him. I studied him with skepticism.
“Who’s that with Jaxas?”
Nomusa turned to look. “The new Tribune acting as handler of the Shepherds. What remains of them, anyway. He’s taken it upon himself to be a guard of sorts. But enough about him. What did you want to discuss? Or should it wait until the Aviary?”
I glanced around and saw no one near. But after the Tribune had appeared from nowhere, even whispered words didn’t feel safe. “It can wait.”
We hurried across the Conclave grounds, our cloaks pulled tight about us. The rain hadn’t relented, but only fell harder. By the time we reached the Aviary’s doors, even the oily skin of my cloak couldn’t prevent the rain soaking through. Stepping inside, I shivered and peeled the wet fabric off, then slumped into a seat.
“Tea or coffee?” Nomusa offered, already headed toward the kitchen.
“Is mulled wine on offer?”
She rolled her eyes and disappeared inside the kitchen, reappearing a few minutes later with two mugs of steaming tea. I accepted the cup, folding my hands around it and breathing in the pleasantly spicy scent of cinnamon and cloves.
Nomusa sipped her tea. “So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”
I set the mug down. “The Low Consuls. They have solars within the Conclave, don’t they? Where they compose letters and keep documents?”
She nodded. “The Servants do as well, though they’re often shared rooms.” Her gaze grew sharp. “Why do you ask?”
“Sounds like you’ve already guessed why. I staked out Orhan’s estate this morning and saw nothing. Unless you’d rather Xaron risk a house-break, his Conclave solar is our only option for evidence of corruption.”
She was already shaking her head. “You’re not seeing the whole painting, Airene. We can’t go after Orhan for corruption, period. He has too much power — in the Council, in the Conclave, and from his own money and influence. Even if we find evidence that he’s plotting something, what could we do with it?”
“Act on whatever we learn. Thwart his plans. Anything is better than looking aside from the fact that he might very well be undermining Oedija’s defense for his own gain.”
“And what if you're caught? Orhan would disband the Order in a heartbeat. Verchlesa and Tychon would side with the Preservists for certain — even the Equalists might affirm the decision. No one wants Finches digging up their secrets.”
I’d feared her reacting this way, and had hoped for better. “Then what do you think we should do? Nomusa, unless you have a better path forward, I think we have to do this. We need Orhan and his lackeys out of the way, for Oedija’s sake. And this is the only step I’ve found as to how we might begin unseating him.”
Nomusa cast her gaze down at the table, taking a sip of her tea. After a long minute, she sighed and met my gaze. “I’m just afraid, Aire. Afraid of losing all we’ve gained.”
I reached over and took her hand. “So am I. But as Talan would say, it’s time to throw in the spokes and pray.”
She snorted lightly and squeezed my hand. “You’d do better not to take advice from him.”
The front door burst open. Nomusa and I jumped to our feet, my shins bruising on the table, my hand going to the knife under my tunic. But as the man stepped in and threw off his hood, I let my hand fall away. Xaron grinned at both of our expressions.
“Did I startle you?” he asked innocently.
“Next time, knock,” I said drily as I collapsed back onto the bench. “Now sit.”
“Someone’s in good humor tonight.” He obliged by sitting next to Nomusa and looked around. “So, this is the place. Ruby in the rough indeed.”
“She’ll get there,” Nomusa said reproachfully.
“You can get a tour later,” I said. “We have something else to discuss first.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Do we?”
I shared a look with Nomusa. Despite herself, she obliged me with a small smile.
I looked back to Xaron. “How would you like to do another house-break?”
“It’s late enough,” Xaron insisted for the third time. “The moons are hidden behind clouds. It’s raining. No one will be out, and the guards will be inattentive, if they’re watching inside the grounds at all.”
“Just a little longer.” I took a sip of my second cup of tea, feigning patience. But he was right; the time had come. From where he, Nomusa, and I waited in the dining hall of the Aviary, the night had grown as dark as Oedija ever saw. Even the radiant winds were lost amidst the drizzling gloom. The patter of rain and the distant tide of the ocean muffled any other sounds. The light from the pyr lamps mounted periodically throughout the grounds seemed subdued. It was as good a night for a house-break as we could have hoped for.
Xaron slumped against the table. “No one tells you the end of a nation involves so much waiting.”
“This isn’t the end of Oedija,” I said without heart.
“We used to wait this long for house-breaks all the time before,” Nomusa reminded us.
Xaron looked balefully at each of us. “But then it had been to break in somewhere that would be a challenge. This is a job for a street urchin.”
I hoped he was right. Conclave guards only patrolled the fence around the grounds, not around the Conclave chambers. With Xaron by my side, locked doors would pose no issue. Nomusa had talked us through where Orhan’s solar was located; all that remained was to break in and rifle the messages. We could be done with the whole task in a turn of the sandglass.
“At least you get to wear normal clothes for a change.”
“Normal for you,” he muttered. “A fine wardrobe change you’ve made.”
“They’re practical,” I said stiffly.
“And stylish,” Nomusa added with a smirk.
“As you were.” He suddenly stood. “Let’s go. Nomusa, you said the clerk locks up at the second turn after sundown. That was two turns ago. The only thing that will come of us waiting longer is less sleep.”
I sighed and rose with him. “Fine. But if we get caught because we left too early, I’ll expect you to get us out of it.”
He grinned and opened the door. A chill monsoon wind swept in. “Why don’t you take care of it? After all, you’re like me now.”
“Not quite,” Nomusa said from the table. “She can’t channel.”
Her words prickled me, but I pretended not to notice as I glanced back. “Wish us luck.”
Her expression had grown serious. “‘Thae’s blessings.”
I gave her a tight smile, then followed Xaron out the door.
“You’ll channel soon,” he murmured as he closed it. “Don’t worry.”
I nodded and led the way into the rain. It couldn’t come soon enough.
As we crossed the grounds, I saw no one within sight, as the border fence and the guards that patrolled it was hidden from view by tree groves. Yet as Xaron and I made our way toward the cobblestone road before the Co
nclave doors, we kept a careful watch and both ears open for footsteps in the rain. But for all we heard or saw, the grounds were empty of other travelers.
We reached the Conclave doors. “Alright, house-breaker,” I whispered to Xaron as I scanned the darkness behind us. “Time to show your worth.”
Xaron knelt to the keyhole and peered through it. It was many times the size of a regular keyhole; the key to turn it must have been as big as my hands. Brow creased in concentration, he wiggled his hands inside it and felt around for a moment before drawing them out with a smile.
“Simple. All I will need to do is press in the tumblers with some gentle kinesis.”
I hoped he was right. “Work your magic then.”
Flashing me a wry grin, he put his fingers back inside the keyhole. His brow creased, his smile faded, and his eyes drifted close as his fingers worked inside the lock for a few moments. I looked away and scanned the area again. Though no one had reason to be here so late, I couldn’t shake the feeling we were being watched.
I heard a series of clicks, then a satisfied grunt from Xaron. The doors rumbled as he pulled one open. “There you are,” he said with satisfaction. “Simple, didn’t I say?”
“Gloat inside.” I pushed him in and heaved the door shut behind us.
The thin light that came through the broken shell of the dome did little remit the deeper darkness around us. Yet relief washed over me at the idea of the doors being between us and any unseen watchers.
I could feel Xaron’s eyes on me. “Are you alright? You seem on edge.”
I shook my head. “I can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched. Can you lock the door behind us?”
“Of course. We’ll only be in here a short time though. Is it necessary?”
“Please. For my sanity.”
He shrugged and knelt back to the keyhole. A few moments later, I heard the tumblers shifting, then the click of the lock turning back into place.
“Thank you. Now, a little light would be nice.”
“Channel it yourself,” Xaron complained, but he obliged with a large flame flaring up from his fingertips. “Would you like me to lead the way?”
“Please. Quiet now. Our voices carry too much for talking.”
We ghosted along the edge of the chamber toward the hallway that held the Servants’ solars. From Nomusa’s directions, I knew they were situated along a corridor that curved around one side of the Conclave. The Low Consuls’ solars were at the far end, positioning them closer to the small chamber at the back of the building where they most often congregated. As the doors were unlabeled and the darkness conspired to confound us, we had to backtrack twice before I was sure we stood before Orhan’s door.
“You sure you don’t want to check again?” Xaron teased softly as he knelt before the door. Even his slender fingers could fit no more than one at a time in this keyhole, and he seemed to be having an issue with it.
“You can open it, right?”
“Give me a moment.”
I glanced up and down the corridor. The feeling of being watched had returned, though I still saw nothing, particular as Xaron had extinguished his flame.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I need to concentrate.”
I knelt next to him, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. Blood pounded in my ears. “Hurry,” I breathed. “I think someone else is here.”
A puff of air caught my cheek as the door clicked. “Aha!” Xaron announced too loudly for comfort. “There we are.”
The flame reappeared, showing that Xaron now stood. As light again shown down the hallway, I thought I saw a shadow fleeing into the gloom. A trick of the light, I told myself, as chills crept up my spine.
“Inside, quickly,” I urged him, following my own advice and slipping inside the solar. “And lock the door behind.”
“Again?” he complained. But he shut us in the room and bent to comply. As his flame disappeared, the faint glow of covered pyr lamps cast the room in pallid light.
I tried to use Eltris’ practice to relax my nerves as he worked on the lock, but it was no use. “Is it me, or are Eltris’ exercises worthless?” I griped.
“They’re worthless,” Xaron readily agreed. “You should try the Shifting Sands meditation.”
“The what?”
“Something Isi showed me,” he said absently. “You imagine yourself walking through a desert. It focuses me every time.”
I stared at where I knew he crouched in the darkness. “Isi,” I muttered.
The lock clicked, then a flame flared back to life to reveal his shame-faced look. “What?” he demanded at my smirk.
“Nothing. We have searching to do, don’t we?”
Locating two of the covered pyr lamps, we began to roam Orhan’s solar, which turned out to be a series of three rooms. One hosted nothing more than a washing basin and clean chamberpot. The other, I guessed, was for the use of the clerks and honors within Orhan’s employ from the scattering of quills and small desks. Returning to the main room, which I hoped was Orhan’s own workspace, I began to peruse the parchments scattered across the much larger desk. I’d assumed Orhan would be a neat and organized person from the way he conducted himself, but found myself sorely mistaken. Papers were in disorderly stacks all across the dresser and piled into cubby holes with seemingly no rhyme or reason. I wondered bitterly if he’d done so just to make searching his papers difficult as I scanned one document after another.
I quickly abandoned the larger papers in favor for the smaller finch scrolls. The sort of evidence I sought wouldn’t be in formal documentation, but communications between the Preservist leader and any entity in opposition to the Council’s stated goals. Yet even his missives contained little of import. One was from a proprietor giving a brief account of the losses to Orhan’s estate this past harvest. His lands, like the others around Oedija, seemed to have been sorely affected by the droughts. Another was a letter from his daughter, who was apparently lodging in his manor outside the city. Perhaps it was significant that he didn’t wish her to be in the city. But with the Avvadin Imperium marching from the south, anyone with the means to do so might do the same. My own family was on a Wreath estate in the countryside, after all.
“Airene,” Xaron hissed from next to me. He, too, had been rifling through finch messages, and he offered one to me. “Read this one. It’s in the ash-tongue.”
With skepticism born of the weary slog, I accepted it from him. I was just proficient in the Avvadin script and had to struggle to decipher the words:
You grow heretical as the end draws near, Sakin. Take care you do not discard your only friends at the turning of the tide. You will have your reward, in this life and the next. So long as you do not displease either of your masters.
More arks pass through the gates everyday. Soon will come our time to rise.
Be sure you rise with us.
My chest fluttered, though if it was with excitement or fear, I couldn’t tell. The missive was unsigned, but it didn’t need to be. This came from a Valemish priest, a Kul, from the language used.
I told Xaron what it said. “Good work,” I whispered to him. “This is exactly what we need.”
He nodded, but his brow was creased with concern. “But what does it mean? ‘Soon will come our time to rise’ — Will the Valemish attack from within Oedija’s walls? And what is within the arks they’re smuggling in?”
“Weapons? Money?” I shrugged. “We suspected the Valemish conspired against Oedija. Now we have proof of it, and against Orhan as well.”
“Proof, yes. But will it be enough to remove him from power? I doubt it. The rest of his faction would never turn on him. And even if the other five and Jaxas voted to remove him, would he defer to their decision? Or would it just rouse rebellion sooner rather than later?” Xaron shook his head. “This is why I’ve stayed away from politics. It becomes too muddled too fast.”
“It’s a bit late to stay out of politics now. You’ve stepped right into them.
”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Xaron muttered. “Its stink is all I can smell. Come on. We can at least tell Nomusa what we found and see what she says.”
After we’d put Orhan’s solar back together as much the way we remembered it, we returned to the door and Xaron set once more to unlocking it. I neatly rolled up the scroll and tucked it into a subtle pocket in my cloak. Only then did my thoughts turn back to the watcher I’d imagined outside the door. I hoped it was just my imagination getting the better of me. Either way, we had no choice now but to leave as quickly as we could.
The door clicked open, and I followed after Xaron as we exited back into the hall. As he channeled radiance, the hall flared into light.
A silhouette fled down the hall away from us.
This time, I knew I wasn’t mistaken. “There!” I yelled as I pointed. “After him!”
Xaron needed no prodding, but charged forward. I hurried behind, endeavoring to keep up, if only to remain in the light. The figure fled before us, footsteps echoing in the empty hall. Who were they? What had they heard? And worst of all, who might they report back to? Breath hissed in my throat as I sprinted faster.
Reaching the end of the corridor, the figure didn’t turn toward the door, but into the main chamber. I stuttered to a halt near the doors, but didn’t stare in confusion for long as they leaped impossibly high to grab hold of the jagged edge of a broken wall and haul themselves up.
“They’re a warden!” I cried to Xaron. “Be careful!”
With typical rashness, Xaron followed, leaping dozens of feet into the air to land on the same broken wall. The figure leaped outside, and as my friend gave chase, I lost sight of them both. Meaning to give chase, I ran to the great double doors when a terrible realization occurred to me. Our watcher was a warden. Xaron had locked the doors. As I tried to push them open, my suspicion was confirmed. I was locked inside.
I stepped back, trying to think of a way out, as fear and frustration clouded my thoughts. I stared into the darkness behind me, trying desperately to detect any movement. The watcher might not have been alone. Perhaps even now I was being stalked by his companions. I ground my teeth and pressed my back against the solid door. There was nothing I could do but wait and hope it was Xaron who returned for me.
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