Agnith's Promise: The Vildecaz Talents, Book 3 Read online

“The Shadowshow?” Kloveon kissed the palm of her hand and held it to his face as he went on. “Yes. It was. Or so I’ve been told.”

  “What was it like?” She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “How was it received?”

  “It was disturbing – that’s my impression anyway. I wasn’t permitted to attend.” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done anything so risky.”

  “Not risky,” she said. “Necessary. Something had to be done. You should be free of suspicion – that’s what matters.” With that she pushed herself up on her elbow and reached out to him. “So long as you’re not mistrusted any longer, the rest is nothing.”

  “I don’t know if I am or not,” said Kloveon, his face showing renewed worry. “There’s a guard at the door, which I’m told is to protect you.”

  “Zlatz,” said Erianthee, pausing to kiss Kloveon’s upper lip. She sucked it into her mouth and flicked it with her tongue. “Very nice,” she approved. “Tell me everything you’ve heard.”

  “It hasn’t been very much to hear. Riast himself is being closed-mouthed about the event,” said Kloveon, pulling her up to him and pressing his face to her hair. “The Emperor ordered that everyone who witnessed your Shadowshow should write down an account of what they saw. Almost no one has said much about it yet. They’ve been busy complying with Riast’s order, but by this afternoon, the whole of the Castle should be abuzz.”

  “How can I find out – “ she began only to have him interrupt her.

  “I was told that Riast expects you to compare all the accounts in order to arrive at an accurate description of the manifestation that took place, and then to meet with him and tell him all you have discerned, including who among his courtiers might have been favoring the rebellion,” said Kloveon.

  “How am I to do that?” she asked, startled by the suggestion.

  “I don’t know, but it’s plain that the Emperor is set on learning who is against him. He hoped to find that out last night.” He paused, then went determinedly on, “Riast and the Dowager Empress were in this room for more than an hour last night, hoping you would return to consciousness. She has given the whole of these apartments up to you for the duration of your stay, and has removed to the old ballroom near the spice-garden. That was done during the Shadowshow – her servants came and took all her things, then set up furniture for you, and a room for me. Godrienee told me that she had decided during all your preparations for the Shadowshow that you needed the place to yourself, and that you wouldn’t be disturbed while you recovered yourself, so I brought you here where there is no noise or confusion. The Dowager Empress, too, left strict instructions. I’ll try to – ” He made a sudden, disquieted gesture. “I must tell the page to let the Emperor know you’re awake.” He stared at her. “You won’t mind, will you, if I tell the page?”

  “If the Emperor requires it, by all means do it. I have no wish to displease him,” she said, at last feeling almost awake and rested. She watched him bolt for the door as she lay back. She had succeeded, she thought. Against all odds, she had managed two different embodiments at the same time. She had found a way to conjure Spirits of the Outer Air and manifest remetrij simultaneously. The only thing keeping her from complete satisfaction was her inability to recall how well the evocation of Zaythomaj, the Retributionist had gone, and what the god had said. “I’ll know when the Emperor gives me the reports,” she said, and heard Rygnee mumble something as she came awake.

  Sitting up, still muzzy from an uncomfortable sleep in the chair, Rygnee shoved herself to her feet saying, “Fine scare you gave me last night, Duzeon, and no doubt of it.”

  “I’m sorry, Rygnee,” said Erianthee.

  “No, you’re not. Look at you. You’re happy as a thimble-pig swimming in cream,” said Rygnee. “Why didn’t you warn me that you might pass out for hours and hours?”

  “I didn’t know I would,” said Erianthee. “I thought I might, but I wasn’t certain. I had to take the chance. The Emperor insisted – ”

  Rygnee wasn’t mollified by this. “No warning. No ‘Rygnee, this might happen, and if it does, this is what you do about it’?”

  “I said I didn’t know,” Erianthee insisted, a bit less accommodating. “I’d never done it in front of an audience before, so – “ She shrugged.

  “Well, I can tell you that you really sent your Kloveon into a state. It was something to see. Oh, he was all calm and collected while the Emperor and his mother were here, but when they’d gone, he paced and he fumed and he cursed and he pleaded, for hours. You just lay there, cool as alabaster, while he willed you to wake up.”

  “And finally succeeded,” said Erianthee.

  “If you think he deserves the credit,” said Rygnee.

  “He does,” said Erianthee. “I think it’s important to stand up for the erroneously accused – don’t you?”

  “Erroneously accused means so many things, Duzeon, that I don’t know how to answer.”

  “That’s precariously close to insolence, Rygnee,” said Erianthee, making a point of giving the warning sweetly.

  “And what you’re doing is close to defiance,” Rygnee countered. “It’s bad enough that after all your practice with conjuring remetrij and filling the energy with phrases to benefit Kloveon, and to shape the remetrij to look and sound like Zaythomaj, the Retributionist, and then end up manifesting something entirely different – “ She broke off, seeing Erianthee’s expression. “You didn’t plan it, did you? You think your Shadowshow went the way you’ve rehearsed it. ”

  Erianthee struggled with this unexpected revelation. “What are they saying happened?”

  Rygnee flicked a dubious look at Erianthee, but answered as clearly as she could. “I’ve been told that the head of some kind of god no one recognized formed over the terrible ruin of your conjured image of Eivenlijee. It spoke about Bozidar and the conspirators around him, suggesting that reconciliation with the Empire was still possible if Riast would make an effort to bring them into the state. One of the guards who was in the Reception Hall was talking late last night, and he said the god provided advice to Riast.”

  “An unknown god – not Zeythomaj, the Retributionist?”

  “So I understand. If it was Zeythomaj, the Retributionist, his appearance was unlike any representation of him has been before.” Rygnee looked over her shoulder. “I can ask for more information, if you’d like.”

  “I don’t think . . . “ Erianthee felt suddenly cold. What had she done? Who had spoken? She sat up again. “Did the manifestation mention Kloveon by name?”

  “I don’t think so. The guard said the god spoke only of Bozidar by name, stating when the Cook-Major asked, that the head had called no other specifically that he could recall.” She fretted as she strove to recall everything the guard had said. “He said the Court was distraught because of it.” She laced her fingers together. “It’s not as if the guard knows everything, or that he remembered everything accurately.”

  “But he didn’t mention Kloveon? He didn’t have anything to say about Kloveon being free from any wrong-doing against the Empire?” It had been the one thing she had practiced most consistently, and now she was filled with foreboding. Had the manifestation been of her making at all, or was it truly a prophetic intrusion? “I have to find out what was said. I need to know what god was speaking – “ She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, one hand on the bed-curtains to steady herself. “I want to find out what happened.”

  “You fainted because of it, whatever it was,” said Rygnee, as if this spared her from any responsibility for the appearance of the unidentified god. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “But what did the god say?” She rubbed her face. “I need a bath. See that one is drawn for me as soon as possible.”

  “Kloveon will return shortly,” Rygnee reminded her.

  “Excellent,” said Erianthee. “He can join me, if he likes.”

  “You’re being impetuous again,” said Rygnee.

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sp; “And Duzeons aren’t supposed to be, are we?” she countered. “I have done all I can to conduct myself properly, but now and again, I need to surrender to my impulses, and to act in ways not set down by courtesy and protocol.” She gave Rygnee a measuring look. “Tell Kloveon to join me in the bath.”

  “You’ll be giving him hope,” Rygnee said.

  “That’s my intention,” she said, aware that she was becoming more attached to him than she had been in the past. “He has been reliable and loyal. And I like him very much.”

  “Are you going to make him your Official Suitor?” Rygnee asked.

  “I may. Let’s see how he does in the bath as a first step.” She gave a reckless little laugh and began to undress, removing her serinel with care. This she handed to Rygnee, and went looking in the wardrobe for her new jalai. “Which compartment is my jalai in?”

  “The third, with all your sleep-wear and bathrobes.” Rygnee had already taken the hanging-rod out of the wardrobe and was fitting in through the sleeves of the serinel.

  Erianthee pulled open the compartment and pulled out her jalai of taupe Fahnine silk. She tugged off her guin and skin-clothes, then pulled the jalai over her head, letting it settle softly. “Why didn’t you undress me last night?” Her voice was a bit muffled by cloth and the wardrobe.

  “With the Emperor and his mother here? And Kloveon hovering over you?” Rygnee countered. “You’d have had my head for such insolence.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Erianthee as she considered the situation. “Well, I’m glad to be out of all that finery now. I’ll be ready for the bath shortly.”

  “I’ll order it at once,” said Rygnee, setting the hanging-rod in its place in the larger wardrobe, then hurrying to the door. “Shall I send the guard away?”

  “If he’ll go, please do.” Erianthee pointed to the window. “They’ll be bringing food in half an hour.”

  “I’ll arrange for you to have your breakfast later, if you like,” Rygnee said.

  “I’d appreciate that,” said Erianthee, then said, “You’re being most unusually accommodating all of a sudden.”

  “It just struck me that you’ve taken on a great deal. What you did last night – whatever it was – exhausted you.”

  “Am I that pale?” Erianthee laughed.

  “It’s not your pallor, it’s your giddiness that worries me,” said Rygnee as she left the room.

  Erianthee stood still, thinking about what Rygnee had said, and only then noticed how flighty her thoughts were, and how readily they flitted from Kloveon to the Emperor to longing for Vildecaz. She guessed she was a bit lightheaded. She recalled being vertiginous just before the manifestation began – apparently this hadn’t entirely worn off. If conjuring remetrij could do that, she would have to be more careful in future. She heard herself say, “If I did conjure remetrij, and did not summon a god.” The words seemed to hang in the air around her, echoing silently, and for an instant her dizziness returned. When it passed she sat down on the edge of her bed, willing now to wait for Rygnee’s return, and for Kloveon.

  * * *

  “So which way do you want to go?” Doms called to Ninianee as they came to the cross-roads at Cazinath-Wanio under a cold-blazing mid-day sun that struck the snow as a hammer strikes hot metal. A tower that was old before The Cataclysm stood on the northeast corner of the roads, impressive even in its ruined state. Its stones were intact, and its high, pointed roof was almost free of snow, revealing overlapping slates, most of them still in place.

  “I’m still not sure.” She looked at the tower. “Does anyone ever go in there?”

  “Not that I know of. It’s said to be haunted,” Doms answered.

  “Anything left empty for fifty years is said to be haunted,” she responded, her attention focused on the ancient gate to the tower.

  “And some of those places are haunted,” he said. “This might be one of them. Some kind of magic must be holding it together.”

  “I want to have a look,” she said firmly.

  Doms made a sign to ward off malefic influences. “It may be risky.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” she said and swung out of the saddle, then handed Jenshaz’s reins and Danliree’s lead to Doms. “I won’t be long.”

  “Old places like this can be dangerous,” he warned. “Not magically only – structurally.”

  “I’ll be careful,” she said as she trudged through the snow toward the ancient gate.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be. “I will if you like.”

  “No. I have my sleeve-wand with me, and my dagger. I should be able to fend for myself. Look at the place – I can hardly get lost in it. If I call to you, then come in, but if I don’t – ” She was almost to the gate. The planks were as weathered and discolored as the stone, but still seeming intact, with great straps of iron holding them in place. She grasped the rusty closing and tried to move it, without success. The metal moaned but the massive latch wouldn’t budge.

  “Would you like me to – “ Doms began.

  “No,” she answered. “One of us needs to stay outside – in case.” She pushed on one of the huge, grey planks that made the door, and stepped back as it fell apart, leaving a hole wide enough for her to get through. The heap of rotted wood that had fallen provided enough sound footing for Ninianee to climb into the tower without also sinking into the snow. She stood on the inside for a short time, taking her bearings, and getting used to the musty odor. The style of the decoration in the large vault of the structure was unfamiliar to her, a reminder of how old the place was, for the entire interior was festooned with webs and dust. She took out her sleeve-wand and made the space a little brighter. There were a few cracks in the roof overhead, and the patches of sunlight they provided weren’t sufficient to make the place easy to see. The extra light she conjured revealed a number of oddities about the tower, including three hanging fixtures that might once have held lamps or places to make offerings to the gods and goddesses of that lost time. She was fascinated by what she saw, inspecting everything that she could reach.

  Off to the side of the oval room she noticed an antechamber, and after a moment of hesitation, she approached it, curious about what it might contain. She pulled open the sagging door, half-expecting it to come apart in her hands. But it was made of some material she didn’t recognize, a smooth, hard surface like glass but dark as Haverartbin tiles, wonderfully intact after the passage of centuries. She felt one of the hinges break, and she proceeded with greater caution than she had shown until now.

  The room was small, with a single, large table set in the middle of it, four stools drawn up around it. The table-top was clean and glossy, nothing marring its surface or dimming its shine. In the center of the table was a diamond-folded parchment, as fresh as the polish on the table. Ninianee stared at it, then went to look more closely. She saw there was writing on it, in an angular, old-fashioned hand, and she leaned over the table so that she could read it. The Researchery of Cynee it read. Baffled, she resisted the urge to open the parchment. What could the great school on Fah have to do with this ancient place, she wondered? Why should this parchment be here, in this abandoned room? Not that the magicians and priests who studied at the Researchery weren’t skilled enough to conjure a message like this one half a world away, but it seemed so unlike them to bother themselves with a puzzle like this – it was like a prank, or an amusement, or, more sinisterly, a trap. Belatedly she realized she had exposed herself to magical influences when she entered this anteroom. A chill went through her and she felt gooseflesh on her arms. She tried to move back from the table but felt herself held by invisible bonds.

  “Bontaj!” she swore as she struggled with the restraints that had seized her, twisting and thrashing as much as she could, and becoming more enmeshed with every effort to be free. “Fool!” she castigated herself. “You shouldn’t have come in here.” That was obvious and useless to say this now, she thou
ght. What was needed was a way to get out. She stopped her purposeful convulsing, for that only served to tighten the trammels that held her, and she put away her sleeve-wand so that she wouldn’t lose any more energy to powering its light. At once the room darkened. Now she tried to relax, to ease out of the invisible shackles. She told herself she wouldn’t call for Doms, since he might also fall into the snare that held her, and that wouldn’t help either of them. This she had to do on her own, and quickly, even though haste was the enemy. Again she forced herself to breathe slowly and stand in her awkward, bent-over posture with as much repose as she could. Gradually she felt the energetic bands begin to loosen. In measured increments she freed herself, first her arms and shoulders, then her torso and legs, being careful not to do anything suddenly. She moved back toward the door unhurriedly, so as not to activate the spell again. As she slid toward the door, she saw the parchment flutter on an invisible draft that set it moving toward her, tantalizing in its nearness.

  “Read the letter,” a voice sighed in the tower, and Ninianee stopped, for the voice sounded like her father’s.

  “Why?” She took out her sleeve-wand again and tried to alleviate the gloom around her, all the while wanting to believe that it was her desire that made the voice sound like Duz Nimuar, not the actual voice itself. “Who are you? What do you want?” she demanded of the shadows. It took all her nerve to keep from bolting from the tower.

  “Read the letter,” the voice repeated.

  Ninianee stood very still, listening as intently as she could. There was the soft moan of wind through the small holes in the roof, a sound of dripping water that might well come from melting snow, and a strange, barely audible clicking, like the scuttling of beetles. A shiver passed through her, and she frowned as she strove to penetrate the shadows, which she realized were not wholly physical. She held her sleeve-wand more tightly. “Who are you?” This time she made the question an accusation. “Why do you speak to me?”

  “Read the letter, Ninianee.” The voice soughed like the unruly wind.