Chapter 36

  “Make way! Make way!”

  They followed the herald as he led them up the processional walk. Cari trailed half a step behind, head bowed, but hidden in the shadow of her hood was an emerald twinkle, searching the hall.

  In the gallery above, curious eyes watched. Lords and Ladies dressed in fine robes of every color and adorned in rare stones and precious metals.

  “His Grace, the Duke Bastion, Keeper of the West, Protector of the Greenfold, and Crown Prince of Myrrenor, shall now receive an envoy from the King.

  The duke sat, raised high on the dais, in an ornate throne of sapphire and gold. His face was carved in faded lines, tricks of the light. At first, he looked weathered by age, frail and ancient. But when she looked again, she saw his youth. A man too inexperienced to be King, but surely too old to be Prince.

  “Kneel!” The herald whispered nervously.

  They sank onto one knee, keeping their heads low as they lifted their eyes, waiting.

  “Your Grace. May I present you with Sorceress Fia of the King’s Magi and her protégé Cari, a rising star in the Academy.”

  Bastion leaned forward, his waxy skin hung heavy, the pallor of a man who drank far more than he ate. His eyes were bloodshot, yellow-tinged, but still sharp.

  “And what,” he growled, waving for his cup, “does my brother want now?”

  “You would be wise,” Fia replied stiffly, rising to her feet, “to refer to our king with the respect his station commands, in my presence.” Perhaps a little bold, but she did have a part to play.

  The duke took to his goblet, lifting it up and drinking deeply. And the hall was silent save for the gulping splash of wine swirling in his mouth and dripping down the side of his face. When he finished, he placed the cup down on the gueridon beside his seat, taking the sleeve of his robe to wipe the stain from his lips.

  “What service may I be to His Majesty?” He slurred.

  She coughed, struggling to find the proper words. “The fighting in the North grows bloody. It is His Majesty's will that the Sword of Winter be relinquished here to his representative, so that it may be used for its true purpose instead of rusting away in the West.”

  A storm gathered in Bastion’s eyes, but he only smiled, turning his attention to the herald.

  “And has this envoy been confirmed?”

  “Yes, yes…Your Grace,” the man stammered. “The child is yet to receive her gift, but I confirmed Sorceress Fia’s veil myself.”

  “Indeed,” the duke muttered, pressing his hands together and staring down upon them. “How very interesting…”

  “His Majesty also adds his hope that old age will have brought greater wisdom to his…” Fia’s voice wavered, “elder brother, and less resistance to his rule.”

  Bastion leaned back in his chair, grimacing, a tempest now raging across his face, then slowly, his lips twisted into a cruel smile.

  “Of course. The King shall have whatever he desires, as is his right. It is quite curious, however, that today, I have received two separate envoys from him, requesting the blade.”

  Gasps, as a chorus of hushed voices rose from the gallery.

  Fia’s heart raced, pounding in her ears. How could this have happened? They had intercepted the messenger. Surely, he could not have recovered in time to beat them here. Cari had wanted him killed, a troubling development, but it would be hard to argue with that logic of it if he had returned to blow their cover.

  “There must be some mistake,” she finally replied.

  “Assuredly.”

  “I can only conclude that they are imposters.”

  “That was my thought exactly.”

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  “My identity has been confirmed. What proof did they carry?”

  The duke stroked his chin, eyes shining as he swirled his goblet in one hand.

  “There was no mage in their party.”

  No mage!?

  “But a lord of a northern house, whose family I am well acquainted with, traveled with them. He carried the same orders as you did, the only difference being he claimed he should be the one to bring it to the front.”

  Who knew of this command? Was this how it had always happened? She needed to think quickly, whoever it was, if they knew to be here, they would also know that Fia was an impostor.

  “I… I would speak with them.” She held out her hand, and the elmwood staff faded into view. It would be good to remind them with whom they were speaking. “I will soon ascertain their true intentions.” Ella poked her head from behind, and her skin crawled. It felt like she was digging, tearing herself out from between Fia’s shoulder blades. Things had not been the same for them, not since… but it still had the desired effect. Voices from the gallery murmured in agreement. One did not ignore a request from the King’s Magi.

  “You are welcome to it.” Bastion rose, and the gallery rose with him. “I did not want to presume, but I hoped you could be of assistance in this matter.”

  There was something strangely dangerous about the duke. Even as he stood, swaying back and forth on the dais, his yellow eyes watched her, unwavering.

  “Come,” he turned, motioning for them to follow.

  They passed out of the great hall and into a narrow walkway.

  “Leave us,” Bastion barked, and his attendants rushed down a side corridor and out of sight.

  “This way,” He held open a chamber door.

  When they were alone, he spoke again. “Fia was it?”

  Cari stepped forward, eyes blazing, and Fia just barely caught hold of her shoulder, giving her a warning squeeze before the girl could open her mouth. She had not yet been able to impart the art of diplomacy to her. Though it was growing higher on her list of things to teach with every passing day. Cari could be quite scathing, especially when she felt disrespected.

  “Yes,” she nodded, “and this is Cari.”

  “Good. Now listen carefully.”

  What had happened to this man? His words were no longer slurred, he had no trouble keeping balance, even the yellow in his eyes was fading. Had it all been an act? But for whom?

  “In a moment, I will leave you. And soon after, my men will bring the imposters into this drawing room. Do not reveal to them who you are or what you are doing here. Neither should you inform them that you are privy to their purpose. There is much we can learn if we catch them unaware.”

  It would have been a good plan. But who could possibly have prepared for two sets of imposters? And one that could prove beyond a doubt that they were not. If they could pull it off, they would be shielded from further scrutiny and the sword would be all but theirs. Deep within her robes, the compass burned.

  “We’ll need to change our clothes if we are meant to blend in.”

  “Of course.” He spoke quickly. “I will have dresses brought to you. We will be throwing a feast to send them off. Make sure not to reveal yourselves until I give the signal.

  And with that, he stepped out the door and vanished.

  “What did I tell you?” Cari exclaimed when he was gone. “We should have taken care of that messenger!”

  “What did I tell you!?” she replied. “We need to handle this with a bit more tact. And besides, this could work in our favor. Two groups of thieves? It sounds ridiculous.”

  “Except that once they are revealed, there will be no reason for them not to reveal us…”

  “That’s a—Oh Gods—that’s a good point…” How had she not thought of that? “Well, why would anyone believe them? We passed the veil check!”

  “All they need to do is cast enough doubt on us. I’m sure the duke has some way of contacting his own brother. Honestly, I’m not sure why he doesn’t just do that anyway.”

  “It’s obvious they hate each other; they probably only talk through these official decrees. I mean, did you read that message? It was pretty awful. I had to tone it down a lot.”

  “Even that could have gotten us caught,” Cari muttered. But before she could say anything else, a handmaiden rushed in with their new garments.

  The shadows were long, and the sun had slipped past the horizon by the time they had changed. The dresses were tolerable. Beautiful and more comfortable than they looked, but not very practical for a heist. Although if they held as disguises, it would be less of a heist and more of an outright gift. A fairly one-sided trade for a night of moderate discomfort.

  There came a knock at the door. A sharp rapping, and in walked the herald.

  He coughed twice, clearing his throat.

  “My ladies,” he eyed them knowingly. “May I present to a company of esteemed guests: The Lord Aalder, styled Viscount of Heaven’s Gate, and heir to the Warden of the North. Accompanied by his honor guard, loyal swords, each and every one. They beg leave to enter your most gracious company.” He bowed deeply.

  They curtsied in response, though it was something of a struggle, and she almost fell into Cari on the way back up. The herald could only wince as he watched in silent horror. But when they were done, he stood back, holding the door as four men entered the room.

  They were dressed in white, silken robes, but beneath the cloth was the glint of steel. Though they donned dinner attire, they still wore their chain, and their swords still hung at their sides. But it was the mark on their chests that caused the most concern. Emblazoned on their robes, a fire burned, a red sun, hallowed in gold and bleeding from its core.

  “And now, the Lord Aalder himself.”

  A golden-haired man entered the room. He was shorter than Fia and well-built. His nose swung ever so slightly to the left. Unlikely to be noticed, but once seen, impossible to unsee. He smiled as he greeted them, a lopsided grin that sent shivers down her spine.

  Everything about him was just as she remembered. The way he stood, off balance, shifting from one leg to the other. The way his eyes sparkled, brimming with earnest curiosity as he watched her. How his voice warmed her heart, even as fear began to creep in. It was all the same, except for one change: the red sun burning upon his chest.

  “Please, don’t call me Lord Aalder,” the young man begged, his cheeks turning red. “My name is Eike.”

  Cycle: Cari 21-1