Arriving on time and almost tidy for
her appointment, she found herself kicking her heels outside the
Rhoi's meeting room with Investigator Verel. She immediately asked
the Guardswoman whether mage-craft always required preparation.
"Yes and no. Any significant casting
requires three steps: draw, shape, and release. Although most mages
carry at least a small reservoir of power, significant casting
usually involves coiling any available environmental power, then
using it to cast. It is possible to hold off the release, so I
could cast a spell in another room, come in here and release it and
to you it would appear immediate. But hold a spell too long and it
will warp. There's very little which can be done absolutely
immediately – crude force responses, usually."
Crude force sounded about right. "How
do you go about training as a mage?"
"In Montmoth? The only options are to
be 'prenticed to a mage...or work from written instruction and try
not to kill yourself. We're the only Rhoimarch that doesn't have a
formal school of some description. I trained in Praxas." The
Guardswoman looked Ash up and down, clear grey eyes assessing.
"You've no mage talent – who are you asking for?"
"You can tell if a person has mage
talent?"
"I tested you."
Ash blinked, then laughed. "We're all
suspects, I suppose." She studied the utterly controlled woman
sitting upright and at attention beside her, and asked impulsively:
"Why did you come back? To Montmoth?"
"My family is here," Verel said,
shortly, but then unbent enough to add: "I'm also considerably
better paid in Montmoth than I would be in a Rhoimarch where mages
are more common. Neither Farpatten nor I are more than the most
minor of mages, and we command enviable salaries for interesting
work. Whether I will continue to raise my daughters here...we will
see."
"You have daughters?"
"Three year-old twins."
Ash didn't know why the idea of the
stern Investigator having twin daughters should be so surprising,
but before she could indulge in prying questions, the door opposite
opened and a grim-faced Farpatten came out.
"Go in," he told Ash, and held the door
until she'd obeyed.
The Rhoi, sitting at a round table next
to a wide window, was bathed in streaming sunlight that picked out
the gold in his hair. It wasn't until Ash followed his gesture to
sit down opposite him that she saw the pallid skin and shadowed
eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept at all in the four days since
his banquet.
"Ash Lenthard." The Rhoi's voice was
hoarse. "My debt to you grows ever larger. I trust you are able to
think of a reward which is suitable to that debt."
Ash, who had been determined to resent
him on Kiri's behalf, was distracted into concern. "Are – I didn't
realise you were ill, Ser Rhoi."
He waved a dismissive hand. "A cold.
Given recent events, I'm avoiding creating any new rumours."
"Is Heran ill as well? He wasn't at
Mern."
"No. Regrettable as it is, until this
is over it seems advisable to limit his exposure to the other
seruilisi." The Rhoi coughed, then added: "Though I've no doubt
Heran's failure to object to this course hinges on a hope of
avoiding you."
"Most likely," Ash agreed, working not
to look entertained. "I'll fix that if I can. As for rewards, I'd
like permission to carry my knives. And to have arranged some kind
of recompense for Arianne Waylan's daughter Sonia, and the other
dependents of the murdered herbalists."
"Granted," the Rhoi said immediately.
"You are, of course, a dependent who will be included in that
outlay." Rhoi Arun produced a charming smile, but as quickly as it
appeared it faded and he looked her up and down. "Ash Lenthard. You
arrived in Luinhall in the spring, nearly nine years ago?"
Blue eyes searched hers, and Ash
realised that she was about to have a very different conversation
to the one she'd anticipated.
"You really did have the Guard
investigate me."
"I had Farpatten arrange for protection
of Thorn's quarters, against the possibility of reprisals. And
learned that Kiri Arpesial has been visiting daily." He paused, and
just the faintest colour touched his cheeks, as if he guessed that
Kiri would have told Ash their history together. "While it's
possible Ki–...Sera Arpesial immediately discerned what so many did
not, and quickly befriended a most inspiring girl, nine years is a
highly significant number."
"Impossible to overlook?"
The Rhoi passed a hand over his face,
perhaps because she had not denied his suspicions. "How glad my
father would have been to know you survived. I can scarcely begin
to–"
"Don't." An absolute command. "It was a
disgusting situation, but I got myself out of it, and found a life
which suits me extremely."
His eyes dropped, but then he raised
them and met hers steadily. "Still, on behalf of my father, I give
you my deepest apologies. More should have been done." He
straightened in his chair, continuing briskly. "Both Thorn and Hawk
have taken the time to point out to me that you would provide an
excellent example when we begin to introduce girls to the Mern. Am
I right to suspect that would be the last thing you want?"
"People would stop seeing Ash Lenthard
and start putting two and two together, and I have no intention of
dealing with that unless I absolutely must. Why do I have the
impression that you want my past brought up even less than I
do?"
"My concern is for Lauren," the Rhoi
told her. "He has spent years caught in the shadow of his father,
unable to allow himself the slightest weakness. And now, because he
had access to my apartments, the full weight of suspicion has been
added to that burden. To learn your identity at this juncture – I
think it would take him past a tipping point."
Carlyon had been crisply professional
during the little Ash had seen of him at the Mern, but she had
expected nothing else of him. Perfect First Seruilis made a more
than useful mask.
"You don't suspect him?"
"No. In terms of motive, of personality
– none of this makes any sense where Lauren is concerned. The whole
Carlyon family spends much of their energy proving they are nothing
like the former Decsel, and I can't believe they would ever involve
themselves in this conspiracy." He laughed sourly. "But then, I
never imagined I would spend days wondering if Hawk was preparing
ground for an invasion. I'm reaching the point where the only
people I trust not to be trying to take my life are those who have
actively preserved it."
The Rhoi stopped abruptly, and poured
himself a glass of water, perhaps having spoken more openly than
he'd planned.
"Have you discussed the Black Carlyon
with Thornaster?"
"Not in detail. Why?"
Frowning, because she hadn't wanted to
discuss it, Ash explained the circumstances of her 'wedding'.
"I thought it a failure on Astenar's
part. But if Karaelsur was active in Montmoth even then, if there
was some tie to the Black Carlyon..."
"So long ago?"
"I don't know if investigating Eward
Carlyon's activities at the time will help at all, but...I always
wondered how anyone could dare to behave as he did. He might be
able to manipulate Montmoth's laws, but eventually we all have to
face Astenar's judgment. And yet, he relished the way he was,
almost flouted it, as if the Sun's judgment meant nothing to him.
As if he thought himself immune."
"That – you make a solid point." The
Rhoi looked far from happy. "I will sound Thorn out, and ask
Investigator Verel to look into the question discreetly."
Duly dismissed, Ash took polite
departure, and wondered if Thornaster would be astonished that she
could summon proper manners when she chose. But Ash had been more
impressed by Arun Nemator than she'd expected, enough to not even
twit him about Kiri, let alone take him to task. Perhaps he'd be
good for Montmoth, after all.
Behind her, just before Verel closed
the door, the Rhoi coughed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In the week that followed, the most Ash
learned was that she'd successfully spooked her street girl away
from the Rogadney's bakery. For whatever reason, the child hadn't
returned for a meal since Ash had spoken to her.
Ash's long cut healed without
infection, so Investigator Verel removed the stitches, passing her
as 'fit enough'. That had led directly to Ash standing irritably on
the Mern's sandy practice ground, facing Carlyon over a sparring
rapier.
"Don't drop the point of your weapon,"
Thornaster advised. "And remember your feet."
"I think my new mission in life will
have to be getting you to stop trying to teach me swordplay."
"But consider the fields of heroics
opening up to you." Her Aremish Visel was in a fine mood, despite a
fruitless morning touring the city. "There's nothing like a really
rousing piece of blade work to win over a crowd."
"A better understanding of the sword
will increase your advantage in the weapons you're more comfortable
with," Hawkmarten put in, with unexpected gravity. "The exercise
here is to familiarise yourself with your opponent's strengths and
weaknesses."
"No need to aim so low." Thornaster
leaned forward on the shaded bench he and Hawkmarten had parked
themselves upon. "Just think of Lauren here's expression if you
manage to disarm him."
Ash doubted that it would change. She
wasn't even certain she'd seen Lauren Carlyon do more than blink
since the banquet, even after new rumours of the Guard
investigating the Carlyons had begun to circulate. Still, it would
tell her something if she pushed him to a reaction, and her goal
today was as much to learn about her opponent as the weapon.
Spotting a fractional tightening of
Carlyon's stance, Ash blocked just in time, then took a step to the
right, looking for some advantage in the sun's direction. The first
seruilis completely outmatched her, but still held himself
contained, alert and ready, not taking her lightly. Following a
shift of her own weight, with a quick movement to suggest that had
only been a feint, she attempted to reach him.
Carlyon met her effortlessly, and Ash
responded with several quick jabs in succession, earning herself a
rap on the arm for her haste. She pressed on, trying to find a way
past his guard until Thornaster finally called a halt.
"Hawk will give you a match, Lauren.
Just till first touch."
Ash handed her weapon over to the
Nyreemian Setsel, and sat down. This was the first time Hawkmarten
had come to a practice session, and she was mildly interested to
see how the Nyreemian, who was closer to her own build and height
than Carlyon or Thornaster, managed the first seruilis' superior
reach. Rubbing her arm, she watched the pair dance around each
other, moving far more freely across the practice area than Ash had
managed. But there were more important issues on her mind.
"Is the Rhoi still sick?"
"Unchanged." Thornaster didn't take his
eyes off the pair before them, but his mouth set. "A minor
persistent cold; certainly not the rapid decline rumour would
suggest."
"I suppose the Guard aren't letting him
eat anything someone else doesn't sample first."
"Eat, touch, breathe. He says he's
begun to believe he's simply having a reaction to an excess of
cotton wool."
"But you're worried?"
"This – it may be a symptom of the
state of Montmoth's Balance." Thornaster scuffed a toe through the
sand at his feet. "This morning, these past few days, I more than
once felt suddenly certain I was near a source of corruption, that
I was in the right area, but just as quickly it was gone. And I
have this increasing, ever-present sense of...wrong. Arun's not the
only one who is ill, you know – there's a spate of minor chills and
fevers. As Rhoi, Arun will both be strengthened by Astenar, and
more vulnerable to illness due to the link to Luin. The Balance is
more complicated than keeping your waste out of your water, or
basic crop rotation. Is it even possible to Balance stolen
souls?"
"How much time? Before it's more than
minor ills?"
"I think we're reaching a tipping
point," Thornaster said, unconsciously echoing the Rhoi. "That we –
nice touch, Lauren!"
"Bah! I'm out of practice," Hawkmarten
said, though he smiled and clapped Carlyon on the back. "Keep it
up, lad, and you might get Thorn up off his rear to truly test your
mettle."
"Isn't he out of practice as well?" Ash
asked, since she'd yet to see Thornaster do more than demonstrate
drills.
"I'm certainly not at competition level
at the moment," Thornaster said easily. "Whipping Ash into shape
gives me an excellent excuse not to shift myself. Up you get, Ash.
Drills for the rest of the afternoon."
Ash rose obediently to her feet, but
gave him a weary look once there. "Seriously, if someone came at me
with a sword, I'd just throw a knife at them."
"So you've said before. And then?"
She looked at him warily, spotting
mischief in dark eyes. "Do you mean if I miss? My aim's not that
shabby. And I carry a spare."
"So you throw your spare. And
then?"
"Are you trying to make some kind of
point?"
"Here, Hawk, give me that." Taking
Hawkmarten's sword, he moved out to the centre of the training
ground. "Go on, then. Throw."
"You haven't given me a reason to put a
knife in you," Ash protested. "Though the urge is rising."
"Throw."
The insufferably smug expression
decided her, though she aimed carefully for his shoulder. Given the
build-up, she wasn't particularly surprised when a deceptively lazy
movement of the rapier sent her knife spinning to the sand.
"Now knife number two."
More than insufferable.