White Heart of Justice (31 page)

“So the White Heart could reappear again at any moment?” she asked.

Our gazes locked as we each took the measure of the other. I stared into her taupe-colored eyes, so like Rafe's and yet so different. Her gaze was even more piercing tonight than it had been the first time she'd observed me—during my final Gridiron ranking match. I shrugged, breaking the tension on my end at least.

“I doubt it,” I said. “You know what they say. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“Why are you speaking in riddles, Noon?” Karanos said. “Speak plainly.”

“Remember the ancient Sword of Damocles?” I said. “The one that hung suspended over a lord's throne by a single horse hair?” I could tell from their expressions that they remembered the story. “Do you think whoever ruled that country
saw
the sword hanging above him?”

“I thought that lord's chair was empty,” Valda said.

“Exactly.”

“
That
is your version of speaking plainly?” Karanos said. But instead of looking annoyed or displeased, he looked amused. Valda, of course, looked more than displeased, but Friedrich looked contemplative and friendlier than I'd seen him look toward me since I'd first met him.

I spoke directly to him.

“I know I haven't brought you the prize you asked me to retrieve for you,” I said. “But I'm hoping you'll accept this scabbard as fair reparations for the statue I destroyed last semester. ‘Metatron's Justica' may have been irreplaceable, but it's my hope that the commercial and historical value of this scabbard will in some small way make up for that destruction.”

Friedrich reached for the scabbard, almost as if he were afraid to touch it. His face beamed with reverence. I recognized that look. I'd seen it on Peter's face when he looked at ancient objects. But it didn't mean that Friedrich would commit the sins Peter had. It only meant Friedrich was what he was—an Angel. They revered the past, pure and simple.

“Ms. Onyx, your debt to the Divinity is considered repaid,” Friedrich said, picking up the scabbard and examining it further. Moonlight and firelight sparked from the facets of the embedded spinels, sapphires, and rubies. Gingerly, almost lovingly, Friedrich set the scabbard back on the table. I had a feeling I knew where I'd see it next—enshrined in the center of the House of Metatron over at the Joshua School, the place where the statue of Justica used to reside before I'd accidentally destroyed it.

“You may request the Guardian services of Mr. Sinclair for your residency next semester,” Friedrich said, smiling at me. “And you will be most welcome at the Joshua School anytime you choose to visit.”

I smiled back and then glanced at Rafe.
Had he told Valda of his plans to join the Ophanim? Maybe he'd changed his mind . . .

“My son won't be accompanying Ms. Onyx to her residency position next year,” Valda announced. Her gaze was sharp but not critical. She was too smart to continue a battle she'd lost.

Rafe turned to my father. “I've asked your daughter to release me from my oath so that I can join the Ophanim.”

Karanos glanced at me (to gauge my reaction I suppose, which was bouncing around among grudging acquiesce, rueful resignation, and full-on unhappiness) and then nodded. I had no idea whether his nod meant he agreed with Rafe's decision or if he was just acknowledging that he'd heard him.

Our appearance before the “triumvirate of power” wrapped pretty quickly after that. Both Rafe and I would need to make an appearance before the Demon Council's court martial to make a statement about Brunus. The members of the court would have some questions for us but, considering Brunus' reputation, any “trial” would likely just be a formality convened for the sole purpose of gathering facts for the public record. My father told me he'd speak with me later about my residency assignment and then he encouraged me to pay my respects to Tiberius at the Laureate's tent. As I was turning to go, my father added:

“I imagine, Nouiomo, that
you
might have won this year's Laurel Crown if you'd only gotten to the square a few hours earlier.” He gave me a knowing look.

Huh.
Maybe it really had been Karanos' signature I'd sensed just before leaving to take the sword to Joy in Bradbury.

“Quandoque bonus dormitat discipulus,”
I replied.
Win some; lose some.

“Indeed,” he murmured.

*   *   *

T
iberius Charnockite's Laureate tent was not nearly as opulently furnished as Lord Lawless' tent had been, and the colors were much less garish, but there were just as many students inside of it, in just as many states of inebriation. Immediately upon entering, I heard three people call my name: Fara, Fitz, and Ivy, who were all waiting in line to congratulate the new Laureate. Ivy and Fitz were dressed in typical student garb: canvas pants, sweaters, and cloaks. But Fara, per her usual glamorous style and in keeping with the coronation theme, was dressed in a gown. The top of it was a leopard print bustier with black laces and light pink piping and the bottom was a billowing skirt made of pink, black, and brown ostrich feathers. Fara's usually platinum blond hair was streaked with low lights, piled high, and topped with a tiara. A huge tiger's-eye stone was nestled in the hollow of her throat. Which reminded me . . .

“Where's Virtus?”

“Prowling the alley in front of Marduk's.” But she laughed when she saw my expression. “I left him sleeping in the Joshua School library. Where's Rafe?”

“He wandered off. Toward one of the drink kiosks, but I'm sure he'll be at the fire later.” We both knew Rafe wasn't one for paying respects to false lords.

“I saw you got a dog,” Fara said.

I bristled. “A barghest.”
As if anyone would mistake a barghest for a dog . . .
I knew Fara was teasing though. She loved to try to get a rise out of me and I loved her for it. My mock frown turned into a grin, but quickly disappeared when both Ivy and Fitz started shouting at once. Ivy wanted to make it absolutely clear that she would
not
,
under any circumstances
, sleep next to a
barghest
. She'd just gotten used to
Virtus
, Fara's tiger, and now she was expected to live with a
barghest
?! Besides, no barghest would even
fit
in Room 112 of Megiddo. Where on earth was I going to keep it?

“Her, not it,” I corrected. “Her name's Nova.”

“Nova,” Fara said, amused. “That's cute.” She stepped forward. We were next in line to speak with Tiberius.

Fitz, on the other hand, just wanted to make it absolutely clear that I could
not
,
under any circumstances
, allow anyone else but him to dog sit.

“She's not a dog,” I cried, groaning.

“I wonder how she'll get along with Virtus,” Fitz said. We all looked at each other, eyebrows raised, considering—and then we burst out laughing. Their first meeting wouldn't be dull, that's for sure.

I let Fara, Fitz, and Ivy congratulate Tiberius on their own. I knew it would be quick and it was. Then they too left the Laureate's tent in the direction of drinks. Tiberius was another Maegester-in-Training at Lothario's Law School near Northbrook. His face was round, friendly, and freckled, his hair was so short it was practically nonexistent, and his build was strong and muscled. He called me up and before I could even congratulate him, he said:

“You took my prize!”

I knew I must have looked completely confused, because I felt that way.
I
took
his
prize?

“My top residency choice for next year was going to be working for the new Demon Patron of Rockthorn Gorge, but he said the only MIT he was interested in working with was
you
. Damn you, Onyx,” Tiberius said, laughing as he clapped me hard on the shoulder. “And damn him too, daft loon.” I swear it was only Glashia's training that kept my jaw from dropping at Tiberius' irreverence. I knew he was decent and fearless by reputation, but he must be half-crazy too, and apparently he valued that same trait in others. “The guy's out of his Luck-forsaken mind. A
demon
trying to get an electrohydraulic dam built? In Rockthorn Gorge!” Tiberius hooted and slapped his knee. “That is going to be one
hell
of an assignment.”

He seemed to realize that I hadn't yet said anything and he grinned even wider.

“Never mind,” he said. “Congratulate me and I'll wish you Luck's blessing.” So we exchanged well wishes and he called up the next person in line.

I'd already left the tent before I thought to ask . . . When had Tiberius spoken to the Demon Patron of Rockthorn Gorge?

Was Ari here in New Babylon?

Chapter 29

W
hen I walked over to the bonfire, only Fara, Ivy, and Fitz were there. My heart lurched. I knew Rafe wouldn't be sticking around now that he'd told everyone he was going to train with the Ophanim, but I thought he'd at least say good-bye. I turned in a circle, looking everywhere for him. I finally spotted him, leaning against the brick wall of Rickard Building. His back was to the bricks and one leg was bent, sole resting on the wall. His sandy blond hair fell in disorderly waves to his shoulders, partially obscuring his face. As I neared him, he raised his hand to his mouth and puffed on a cigarette. His silver bracelet caught the firelight, flashing brilliantly a second before the tip of his cigarette turned first fiery red, then grayish black, and then disintegrated completely.

It was like a repeat of one of the first times we ever spoke to one another. And it made me realize, whether I liked it or not, that Rafe and I had come full circle. Whether our lives would ever circle together again remained to be seen. But this chapter of our story was coming to a close and I would soon feel his absence, rather than his presence.

Rafe saw me and took a deep, deliberate puff. When he exhaled he blew the smoke in my direction, but right before it reached me, he turned it into a smoke simulacrum—a drakon. He'd done it once before. On the day he'd stopped smoking.

Light this and it will be the last one I smoke,
he'd said to me.

Ever?

“Ever” is only as long as I'm working with you.

I stepped close to Rafe, but instead of lighting his cigarette, I leached oxygen from around its tip and extinguished it.

Rafe's carefully carefree look was back, but now it was even worse. Now he looked carelessly carefree. Recklessly carefree.

Hurt that he seemed so cavalier about the end of our partnership, I looked down, wondering what to say. A second later, his warm, dry palm cupped my cheek and gently lifted my head. My gaze met his. Reflecting the light of the fire, his taupe-colored eyes looked like flickering candlelight, at once both opaque and reflective. They glowed with an emotion that was both hidden and a mirror of my own. I looked down at his wrist as he twisted his silver bracelet off. I glanced up at him, surprised.

“Here,” he said, his voice rough. “Take this to remember me by.” I looked up at him, surprised. He shrugged.

“Bhereg didn't die, so I don't need to remember his death anymore.”

I slipped the bracelet on.

“You should try to find Ari,” he said.

I nodded slowly, thinking, and then said, “If I find him . . . what should I tell him about you?”

“The truth, firestarter. Tell him everything.”

I moved closer to him.

Had he really only said he loved me because he'd had Ari's memory of falling in love with me? What would our lives have been like if I hadn't rung that bell? Maybe Rafe and I were supposed to have stayed together. Or maybe we were never supposed to have been together in the first place. Magic! There were probably a million different lives for each of us and all of them the “right” one.

I stood on my tiptoes until my face was only inches from his.

“And what should I give
you
to remember
me
?”

His gaze became even more opaque. The hand that had rested against my cheek only moments ago was now buried deep within the hair at the nape of my neck. His other hand gripped my shoulder as if he were just about to pull me toward him. For a moment, he seemed torn. But then he gently pressed me back. “I've got my own memories of you, Noon. I don't need his—or anything else—to remember you by.” Then he kissed my forehead. “I will
miss
you, Nouiomo Onyx.” He cupped my chin for a moment and just as I was raising my hand to hold it there—to hold him there—he was gone. He dropped his hand, turned on his heel, and left.

Later that night, after we were all good and drunk, Fitz asked me—since Rafe and I had just spent nearly a month traveling in Metatron's footsteps and tracking down an artifact he'd allegedly created for his lover—if Metatron really
had
loved Justica.

“Yes,” I said unequivocally, staring into the fire, clutching my cup.

Suddenly I wanted to believe that Metatron had loved Justica . . . madly . . . deeply . . . fiercely . . . and ridiculously.

*   *   *

T
he day after Tiberius' impromptu coronation celebration was another, more formal, celebration—Bryde's Day. It was a major holiday in Halja, honoring Bryde, the most powerful Mederi who'd ever lived. The holiday celebrated life and those who make it. For obvious reasons, it had never been a favorite holiday of mine. In years past, I'd dreaded this day, and with each month, week, and day that it grew closer on the calendar, I'd become more tense, more morose, more unhappy. Not this year. This year I'd nearly forgotten about it.

Last night, after saying good-bye to Rafe and trying unsuccessfully to obliterate him from my mind with good old-fashioned unensorcelled Hyrke beer, I'd stashed Nova in the cavernous lobby of Megiddo and stumbled up to room 112. Technically, my leave of absence from class was over, but I also knew no one would complain if I took one more day off before throwing myself into my studies and campus life once again, so I slept in.

I woke to find a note from Ivy, which made me smile.

Noon—

Went to Corpus Justica to study. If you get up in time for lunch, meet us at the Black Onion. Otherwise, we'll see you later at Lekai for this year's Bryde's Day feast. NO EXCUSES!

Ivy

p.s. Wear something dark and comfortable. There will be tons of food and possibly some ashes in the air after the MITs—that means you!—burn the Yule greens.

Much as I would have liked to have met Ivy and Fitz for lunch at the Black Onion, I had another place in mind for a midday meeting—the Office of the Executive. In all the time I'd been a student at St. Luck's, I'd never wandered over to my father's office, despite the fact that it was only blocks away from St. Luck's. I took a chance my father would be in and dressed conservatively: dark leggings and a velvet bustier worn over a gauzy undershirt that partially concealed my demon mark. Then I rescued Nova from the lobby, fed her, dropped by Marduk's, and ordered P.M. Grab Bags #3 and #6 (warm rarebit ham sandwich and cold turkey, lettuce, and tomato, respectively). After that, Nova and I set out to meet one of the most powerful people in all of Halja—Karanos Onyx.

The Office of the Executive was housed in a fairly nondescript one-story redbrick building to the northwest of the New Babylon train station. Looking at the building I couldn't imagine the Demon Council met inside of it. This building was much less lofty than any building at St. Luck's or the Joshua School. Scattered around the sidewalk outside of the building were a half dozen or so Hyrkes. They all had bicycles and map cases and wore suit jackets, flat caps, and trousers, so I figured they were document deliverers and messengers. Working for the Office of the Executive must have hardened them to seeing all manner of things because they merely stared when I walked up with Nova at my heels. Luckily there was an old horse trough near the entrance so I left her happily slurping as I walked inside.

The interior lobby was much busier than the outside. In here, no one was milling about waiting for orders. There were at least thirty other Maegesters, ranging in age from twenty-two to eighty-two, whose signatures assaulted me at once. It was impossible to process them all at the speed with which they washed over me, so I didn't bother trying. Instead I sent out the briefest ping of magic—my equivalent of a handshake and a shot across the bow—warning them to ratchet down.

Did they always greet new Maegesters that way? Or was everyone just so used to the decibel level that they automatically tuned each other out? Or maybe they all had magic tinnitus from overexposure to one another and they couldn't sense the overload.

Regardless, my ping had its desired effect. Everyone's signatures instinctively closed up. The rest of their senses turned toward me, however, and I suddenly knew how my father felt when he entered the Black Onion and everyone stopped talking and stared instead.

I walked over to the largest, most central desk. The man sitting there looked like he was in his late twenties. He had short straw-colored hair and gray eyes. On the thin side, with a signature that felt bouncy. Like rubber.
Interesting,
I thought.

“I'm Nouiomo Onyx,” I said, warning myself not to feel stupid for holding two paper bags if it turned out that Karanos either wasn't in or couldn't see me.

“I'm Faustus Flint,” the man said, smiling. “I'm your father's intake clerk. It's great to meet you.” Then he lowered his voice and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “You were my pick for Laureate in the office pool.”

I'm quite sure my face registered the surprise I felt. For starters, it felt odd to meet someone who seemed to know me so well when I knew nothing about him, and secondly,
there'd been a betting pool about me
?
Here?
I couldn't help asking:

“Who did my father bet on?”

Then it was Faustus' turn to look surprised and, a second later, peevish. “The executive doesn't bet,” he said rather stiffly.

“Of course not,” I said hastily, and then added, “I'm sorry you lost.”

He nodded and shrugged and told me that Karanos was out. I winced, but then decided to make the best of it. I took one of the sandwiches out of the bag, borrowed a pen, and left a note for my father on Grab Bag #6.

He found us in Timothy's Square not half an hour later. The wind was light, the sun was high, the air was crisp, and the sandwiches were gone. I'd eaten the turkey and Nova had inhaled the rarebit in one bite (who could blame her? It had to be infinitely better than the crow, vole, and lizard parts I'd fed her earlier). My father took a seat beside me.

“So you found the sword after all,” he said without preamble.

It occurred to me to lie. Or to find some way to give him a vague nonanswer. That's what I'd done after my last assignment when Karanos had asked me if Ari had really disappeared in the Shallows. But there was no reason for my father not to know the truth this time. So I told him I'd found the White Heart, but that its magic was gone. He didn't ask me how or when that happened and I didn't elaborate. The only thing he wanted to know was whether I thought the sword that once was
Album Cor Iustitiae
was safe. I thought of the White Heart standing upright in the umbrella stand inside the Carmines' coat closet. I didn't know whether to groan or laugh out loud. Glashia's training saved me from doing either.

“It's safe,” I assured Karanos.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, I told Karanos I was willing to accept whichever residency position he placed me in—that I'd go where he needed me to go. In some respects, it was a silly declaration. Of course I'd go where he told me to go. That's how it worked. I wasn't the Laureate and regular MITs couldn't bow out or decline an assignment. But Karanos seemed to appreciate the sentiment behind my words. He seemed to understand that I wanted to share the burden of managing Halja and its many demons, both
regulare
and
rogare
.

“What about the Jayneses?” Karanos asked.

“I'm helping them interview sentry applicants later this week. Some of the candidates are actually overqualified. The
Alliance
will be in good hands next semester,” I said.

He nodded, looking contemplative, but his gaze had already turned northwest toward the Office of the Executive. I knew his attention would soon return to all the myriad matters waiting for him back there. He pulled an envelope out of his cloak pocket.

“I could use you out at Rockthorn Gorge,” he said. “There've been some . . . incidences there over the past year.” I chuckled inwardly, both at Karanos' understated term and the fact that I'd heard him say something similar previously.
What a difference a year made!
The last time Karanos had spoken of
incidences
at Rockthorn Gorge, I hadn't wanted Ari to go up to deal with it, let alone me. Now Ari was Rockthorn Gorge's patron and my father was suggesting I become his consigliere.

“Two Maegesters and the former patron have been killed in the past year up there,” Karanos continued. “So it's a position with some potential danger. But for an MIT who's been to Tartarus and back—not to mention one that could have been this year's Laureate—I think your skills will be well matched to the challenges you'll be facing. The new patron wants to meet you though. Said his residency offer was conditioned upon your accepting it.” Karanos gave me a piercing look. “So I guess you get to choose after all.”

I peered into his eerie, unreflective eyes.