Casket of Souls (53 page)

“Could your informer be lying?”

“He hasn’t in the past. The Cat is very generous.”

“My lords?” Runcer called to them from the dining room door. “There is a summons from Prince Korathan. He wishes to speak with you at once.”

Seregil and Alec exchanged an apprehensive glance, then went to dress for court.

It was not a long ride from Wheel Street to the Palace, but by the time they’d reached Silvermoon they’d already seen five costly carriages rattling away toward the Harvest Market with baggage lashed on behind.

Near Ruby Street they encountered a mob of the poor, once again protesting the quarantine and shortages of food.

As Seregil turned his horse to try to ride through the
crowd, he caught sight of Atre down the street, mounted on a glossy bay. The actor waved and rode over to join them.

“Have you come to see the commotion, too, my lords?” he asked.

“No, we have other business,” said Alec.

“There was talk of it at the theater last night. Such a tragedy, this strange plague! But I was actually on my way to see you.”

“A bit of news?” asked Seregil.

“Yes, my lord.” Leaning over in the saddle, he spoke softly in Seregil’s ear. “Earl Kormarin. I saw him at a dinner with Duke Reltheus the day before he was killed. And now he turns up dead!”

“Yes, I know about that.”

“Ah, but I know a bit of what the conversation was. I overheard Duke Reltheus telling Kormarin that all was in place for the queen’s return, my lord.”

“All what?”

“That I don’t know, my lord.”

“Thank you. Are you dining with anyone else interesting tonight?”

“Not tonight, my lord. The theater is dark and I’m going to enjoy a much-needed rest.”

Seregil looked the man over. “You hide it well, my friend. You look fresh as a spring morning.”

Atre laughed, flashing white teeth. “Kind of you to say, my lord. Good day to you!”

They arrived in Korathan’s sitting room to find Thero already there, and looking none too happy. Korathan was still in his robes, but the velvet hat was perched on the head of a nearby statue. Under different circumstances, Seregil might have found that amusing.

“What in Bilairy’s name is going on?” the prince demanded. “My nobles are dying or being murdered and those who are still alive are fleeing! Now this!” He snatched a scroll from the desk and brandished it at the three of them. It still bore the blue ribbon and seal of a royal herald. “Protector General Sarien is dead!”

“Murdered?” asked Alec.

“I don’t know—yet. After reviewing the defenses at Yantis, he dined with the mayor and his family, went to bed, and never woke up. Not a mark on him, just like Laneus and the others. I have had the mayor, his family, and all the servants jailed until the drysians there determine if it was poison.” Korathan leveled a finger at them all. “I have given you time, and you’ve brought me nothing. And people continue to die. Are they all associated with these cabals?”

“Perhaps Kormarin,” said Seregil. “I have it on relatively good authority that he was killed by guild assassins working for Kyrin’s side. The young lady and the page could be spies for one side or the other or not related at all. I’m sorry, Korathan. I wish I had more for you.”

Korathan shook his head. “I didn’t think you three would fail me again.”

The prince’s words stung. Beside him, Alec was blushing in shame.

“If you could just give us a little longer—” Thero began.

“Until how many more die?” Korathan cried. “No, I want the names of every cabal member you know of. Now!” He shoved a parchment across the table at them and set an inkwell and pen next to it. “All who are left, at least. I’m arresting the whole lot tonight.”

Seregil took up the pen and began to write. As much as he hated including Malthus’s name on the list, he knew better than to omit it. The man had brought this on himself, but that didn’t make Seregil feel any better about it.

Korathan took the list and scanned it, scowling. “My truth knower is going to be busy. Is there anything else you haven’t told me about them? Any other names?”

“No, you have it all.”

“What about husbands and wives?” Alec asked softly.

“We have no evidence that any of them are involved,” Seregil put in quickly.

“I’ll take that under consideration. That’s all.”

Dismissed and disgraced, they bowed and took their leave.

* * *

“You might have warned us,” Seregil grumbled as the three of them left the Palace.

Thero rounded on him, pale eyes flashing, and whispered, “I didn’t know until I got there! If you two had paid more attention to the problem at hand, instead of haring off through the slums for Valerius, it might not have come to this. Who knows how many conspirators will escape now?”

“We did all we could! And were we just supposed to abandon Myrhichia and Eirual?” Seregil retorted angrily, but deep down the wizard’s accusation struck home. Had they missed something important, all that time chasing ravens?

Thero glared at him, then turned on his heel and collected his horse from a groom who was goggling at the argument. As he mounted, the wizard looked back and said, “I was going to send word. You should speak with Miya at the House.” With that he urged his horse into a trot and went his way.

“Miya?” asked Alec.

“He mentioned her that day at the Yellow Eel Street temple, when Korathan first began shoving the sick into the Ring. She’s old Teleus’s successor.”

“I think we should go see her now.”

Seregil shrugged. “Oh, I think we’re finished here, don’t you? Come on. Maybe we can be useful to someone.”

Hearing her described as “old Teleus’s successor,” Alec was expecting Miya to be Thero’s age, but the wizardess was three hundred and fifty if she was a day, stooped and slack-breasted in her rose-colored silk robes. A fourth-degree thaumaturgist, she lived on the fourth floor of the Orëska House in a set of rooms much less impressive than Thero’s.

“Ah, Lord Seregil,” she greeted them with more resignation than pleasure. “And this must be Lord Alec. Lord Thero said to expect you.”

Leading them through a small, smelly workroom filled with cages of animals, she settled them in the sitting room beyond, which also smelled of animals. A young dragon the size of a cat sat on a perch overhead and hissed at them as they came in.

Seregil looked up sharply at the sound and Miya chuckled and pointed to the mark of the dragon bite across his left hand. “You’ve had some experience with the young ones, haven’t you, Aurënfaie?”

“Yes.”

Wine and cups stood on the sideboard, but they weren’t offered any. Alec got the distinct impression that their visit was nothing to her but an annoying interruption of her work.

Miya lowered herself into a sagging armchair and motioned them to a pair of wooden chairs. “Thero says you’re investigating the plague in the poorer quarters.”

“Yes. I understand your master was an expert in various death magics,” Seregil replied. “I was hoping you might have heard of something similar to this sleeping death.”

She nodded toward the workroom. “As you can see, my studies have taken me in a different direction, though I daresay I know more about death magic than most under this roof.” She reached over to a side table and carefully picked up a dusty, fragile scroll. “I found this in the cases of my master’s personal library. Do you boys read Red Sun Period Zengati?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Alec glanced sidelong at his friend in surprise; he hadn’t thought there was any language Seregil didn’t have some knowledge of.

She sniffed at that, then gently smoothed out a portion of the scroll. “This was written by a traveler to eastern Zengat some four centuries ago, Teleus thought. I don’t know how it came to him. It’s just a journal, really, and talks about all sorts of different things, but here it mentions what the author calls the falling sickness, which he describes as a kind of trance a person falls into for reasons unknown. And then they die.”

“That’s all?” asked Alec. “It doesn’t say what caused it?”

The old woman spared him a scathing look. “No, it doesn’t. But an intelligent person might gather from this that it’s Zengati magic. Hardly surprising, really, with those folk. Always killing each other off in nasty ways.”

“And there’s no mention of a treatment for it?” asked Seregil.

“No, it just says they die. I told you already, the author was a traveler, not a wizard. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

She showed them unceremoniously to the door and closed it firmly behind them.

“Thero could have told us that much at the Palace!” Alec exclaimed softly as they made their way down to the atrium.

“I don’t think he was in the mood to do us any favors.”

“So this is Zengati magic. I wonder if that’s why Thero couldn’t sense it?”

“Perhaps, but I’m not prepared to take anything for granted. It’s time we caught a raven.”

“I’
M
worried about Danos,” Beka told Nyal as they sat together on a knoll overlooking the latest battlefield. Drysians, camp followers, and carrion crows were moving among the fallen. In the distance, beyond the queen’s tent, funeral pyres were being built. The sound of axes echoed through the forest behind them.

Hardly an hour earlier they’d been fighting one of the bloodiest battles in months against half a regiment of the Plenimarans’ best infantry. Nyal and another scout had brought in news of the enemy just before dawn, and apparently the enemy’s scouts had done the same, for they met a prepared force almost immediately after that and ended up fighting with empty bellies for most of the day before Klia had broken the back of the Plenimaran line. After that it was a rout, but a hard-won victory all the same.

And the Plenimarans were regrouping.

“What about Danos?” asked Nyal. “I heard from the healer that his wounds wouldn’t kill him.”

“It’s not that. It’s how he got them,” Beka replied. “Have you seen how he’s thrown himself in harm’s way since the night Klia questioned him?”

“He’s always been a fierce leader.”

“It’s more than that. He took crazy risks today, and it’s not the first time since word of his father’s arrest came. I saw him outride his squadron today, and head straight into a line of enemy pike men.”

“Ah.” Nyal plucked a strand of wind-sere grass and twirled
it between long fingers. “You think he’s trying to prove his honor through a valiant death?”

“Something like that.”

“Has the commander noticed?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to keep an eye on him.”

“I think you should speak with him, before it’s too late.”

In the past Danos had never been hard to find in camp; he was always at one fire or another with his people, laughing and praising. Tonight, however, Beka had to ask the way to his tent.

He was outside, currying his horse by the light of a lantern. Perhaps that had been Caem’s job. Beka had never taken on a servant, but Danos was a noble, and used to such things. All the same, she doubted that accounted for his morose expression. He didn’t cheer up at the sight of her stepping into the light.

“I suppose you’ve come to tell me to be more careful, too,” he said, facing her across the horse’s back. “Anri was just here.”

“Did it do any good?” Beka smoothed a hand down the bay’s dusty withers. “We can’t afford to lose you, you know. Killing yourself is no different than desertion.”

Danos let out a humorless laugh as he brushed harder at his horse’s side, raising a small cloud of dirt and horsehair. “You certainly don’t honey your words.”

“You’re a good man, Danos, and a good friend. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’ve heard the news about my father. Everyone has. Disgraced. Stripped of his title and lands. Exiled. What is there for me to go back for? What would you have me do? Become a caravan guard, or perhaps a professional gambler? Those are the extent of my marketable skills.”

“Horse shit. You’re intelligent, you have friends and your own fortune and holdings. Those haven’t been taken away, have they?”

Danos shrugged. “So, from the scion of one of the most respected and powerful families in Rhíminee, to a country knight. How would you feel about that, if it were you?”

“My father is a country knight,” Beka reminded him with a smile. “It’s not so bad.”

“Do you really think I care so little for my officers?” asked a familiar voice. Beka and Danos both fell to one knee, fist to heart, as Queen Phoria stepped into the light to join them. She’d taken off her cuirass and crowned helm, but still wore her field uniform with the royal flame and crescent moon insignia on the breast; chain mail glinted at the neck of her tunic. Klia was with her, her uniform stained in dark patches with blood.

“My sister tells me that you have been taking extravagant risks in battle,” Phoria continued.

Danos bowed his head in silence.

Klia started to order him up, but Phoria stopped her, then placed her gloved hand on his head. “The truth knower determined your innocence, Captain Danos. Your father confessed to using you in his machinations, but insisted that you were not a conspirator.”