The Last Page (68 page)

From the road came the faint sound of a single person clapping in applause.

“You’re very good, Sienae. Very good . . .”

A woman’s voice helped pinpoint the noise. Sena stayed hidden in the grass. She could see a blond woman standing on the road, sickle in hand, gazing vaguely in her direction.

“I only came to talk,” said Miriam, slipping into Withil. “Muthiroo fritou uviroo hirou gorloo.
¹⁹
”

Right,
thought Sena cynically,
I’m sure she does.
She scanned the road for others.

As if able to read her thoughts, Miriam called out again in Withil, “I’m alone, Sienae. Megan didn’t send a qloin. As if she ever would. I know the Willin Droul are after you. The Sisterhood can help. Come out and talk to
me. I’m obviously no threat . . . to the Seventh House.” She added Sena’s rank like a reluctant concession, as an afterthought.

She watched the weeds intently. Miriam turned as she spoke, scanning the ditches in every direction.

But Sena wasn’t willing to risk a confrontation—yet.

She pricked her finger deeply for a legerdemain that distorted the air above the road. The Unknown Tongue trickled from her lips.

Miriam must have felt the subtle shift in temperature. Must have guessed that trickery would follow.

Sena’s voice came out from the weeds, speaking in Withil. “I didn’t really like your article in the
Herald
.”

Even though she had been waiting for a response, Sena’s voice obviously startled Miriam, who regained her composure quickly and continued to turn as she spoke, guessing correctly that Sena had holomorphically masked the origin.

“Sienae . . . you saw the hex . . . you know Fallow Down is only the beginning. Leave this place. Come back to Skellum—where it’s safe.”

“I doubt you’re concerned about my well-being, gr
da.
²⁰
You’ve probably poisoned Megan with your suspicions.”

Miriam smiled. “Are you guilty of something?”

Sena scoffed. “I’m the High King’s witch. Don’t you read the papers?”

“That’s pår
n. Megan sent you to Stonehold. No one’s accusing you of får
n. I’m sure you—”

“I’m not using him,” said Sena hotly. Her anger was real. “Go back to Skellum. Send a qloin if you like. I’m not coming back.”

Sena crept forward. By the time Miriam had turned around again, Sena stood in full view at the edge of the untilled field, glaring. The sight forced Miriam to take several steps back.

Sena walked forward. Careless. Unafraid. Miriam stumbled.

“This is my country, now,” said Sena.

Miriam looked surprised, like she had lost her train of thought. There was not enough blood on Sena’s finger for her to use.

“Tell the Sisterhood I am my own witch. Tell them I intend to stay here.”

“The hex—”

“Does it look like my holomorphy is suffering? I
will
break Megan’s hex. I will bind what stones remain. I will patch the holes Gr
-ner Shie is floundering through. I will undo this thing. I am not your Sister anymore.”

Apparently Miriam had nothing to say. Maybe she even believed that Sena wasn’t bluffing, that she was capable of doing all the things she said.

“You have it then . . . ?” Miriam whispered in reverential awe. “You’ve found it?”

Sena gave a crooked smile. “Found what, gr
da?”

Miriam trembled. “The book. The book for binding gods.”

Sena hesitated. There was danger in being overly sure. If she admitted, if she confessed, the Sisterhood would send more than a single qloin. She hadn’t even opened it. Confirming Miriam’s accusation would be folly, so she demurred.

“If I had the
C
srym T
why would I bother hiding from you?”

Miriam’s face revealed an inner struggle with the logic Sena posed. She seemed to hang between two presumptions as Sena backed her down the road.

Sena stopped. She raised her arm and pointed her sickle at the other woman’s heart.

“Leave Stonehold . . . while you can.
.
²¹
”

At the sound of the Unknown Tongue, patterns of darkness rolled over the ground like clouds covering up the sun. Sena had split her finger open again by discreetly tugging her thumb along the tip of her knife.

The limited illusion that she chose was that her body turned into shadows, blending with the patterns on the ground.

A semisolid darkness remained in the place where she had been, holding Miriam’s eyes fixed while Sena darted south into the field by the road.

Miriam was left to catch her breath in the aftermath of the well-wrought glamour. For the first time in her life, she respected Sienae Iilool. Up until today she had never squared off against Megan’s girl. She had never seen firsthand the precision with which Sena wielded the Unknown Tongue.

Any witch could throw a glamour and adjust its output with different numbers in a string. Flaws in the glamour happened when the equation got cluttered with variables that hadn’t been properly reduced. It was the difference between saying something loquaciously and keeping it succinct.

Brevity made a glamour urgent, lucid and exact. Wordy castings added ambiguity and room for doubt.

Sena’s had been exquisitely efficient, pared to the bone, fitted precisely
to flex the muscle of a particular effect. Her illusion preyed on Miriam’s mind. She was held in thrall by the sudden fleeting shadows and Sena’s meteoric evacuation of the road. Like a murder of crows had been wheeling overhead, the shadows on the road wove and flickered. The grasses bent in a sudden gust. A menacing black shape hung for a moment, a Sena-shaped daemon in the air.

After the glamour passed, Miriam realized her heart was pounding in her chest. Yes. She respected Megan’s protégé intractably now. Sena’s voice filled the weeds with threatening whispers.

The day was young. There couldn’t be a better time.