Burning Bright (7 page)

"I see," Dym said softly, but held off saying anything further as they rode off back to the palace. When they reached it, he handed his horse off to the guards in the main pavilion. "I will see you tomorrow, your grace. Shall we gather after breakfast to return to the Cathedral of Ashes?"

"Meet me for breakfast after the morning services," Krasny said. "Sonya will need to know, and I can tell her then. If you're present, she'll have no choice but to resume speaking terms." He winked. "Good night, Holiness."

"Good night, your grace."  Dym waited until Krasny vanished into the palace, and then strode across the courtyard toward his cathedral, going around it to a backdoor that was a faster route to his private chambers.

Once there, Dym closed the door and leaned against it, sighing.

"You're being unreasonable."

"You know nothing about it"

"I know you're angry and hurt. I know you have every reason to lash out, but it is not like you—"

"Do not presume to know me so well! Do not presume to know me at all! I tire of everyone telling me who and what I should be, how I should act. Taking advantage of all that I do and demanding still more. Then you dare come in here and tell me how to feel about it?"

"I meant no disrespect—"

"Get out. Stay out. Your duties lie out there, not in here. Do not presume to tell me what I should be doing when you are neglecting your own duties. Get. Out."

Dym pushed away from the door, running a hand restlessly over his dark hair, wishing his hand would stop trembling. He had not thought that memory would haunt him again; it had remained silent for so long. Not that he would ever forget those words, that terrible moment—how could he? If he had only stayed and done his duty instead of storming off angrily …

But he could not undo what was done. He could only move on.

He moved through his front room and into his bedchamber, not stopping until he reached the changing room. There, he stripped off his robes and hung them up, neatly tucking away the jeweled belt. He pulled on a dark gray dressing robe, tucking his master keys into one pocket as he returned to the bedroom proper.

Sighing softly, he moved to the little stove in the middle of the room and with a thought, lit the fire. Setting a kettle on top to boil the water, he sat in a nearby divan and picked up the book he had left there:  a book of art across the four nations; the ink and woodwork of Kundou, the stained glass and murals of Pozhar, the stone carving of Piedre, and the paintings and silversmiths of Verde.

A pity no knowledge remained of Schatten, for no discussion was truly complete without its inclusion. Dym flipped idly through the book, admiring the drawings that tried so hard to convey the beauty of the works discussed.

His kettle began to rattle, warning him the water was ready, and Dym stood to fix his tea. He picked up a pitcher kept near the stove and poured out a small measure of concentrated tea, always made in large enough batches to last for days. Over the concentrated tea, he poured hot water, and stirred until the tea and water were evenly combined. Settling into his seat again, he relaxed in it, drawing his legs up and propping the book against them, sipping his fragrant rose tea and enjoying the distraction.

It would not keep him from having nightmares when he finally went to bed, but it kept him from thinking about them until he was too tired to fight sleep any longer.

Raz licked honey from his fingers as he walked, humming in pleasure at something other than dubious looking porridge from the poorhouse kitchens. Money was definitely a nice thing to have, and their's would go a long way yet.

He dodged out of the way of a cluster of guards and paused at a public washing fountain to rinse away the remaining traces of stickiness. Wiping his wet hands on his tunic and shoving back the messy strands of his dark, red-brown hair, he pulled up his fallen hood and continued on his way.

The streets were even more crowded than usual, but that was typical for a market day. Everyone was pouring into the cathedral pavilion, setting up stalls or trying to get an early peek at what would be available. The guards already looked more harried than usual, which made Raz grateful that he and Pechal were not so desperate for money that they would have to resort to picking pockets. Easy enough, most days, but market days tended to make people more volatile when something invariably went wrong, and the guards just loved an excuse to take out their frustrations on someone.

Raz paused when the bells of both cathedrals began to ring, signaling the start of the morning prayers. The sun would be up shortly, then, and that was when the real chaos would begin. An hour or so after the morning prayers concluded the market would open and very little else would be done in the Heart that day. It made him grateful all over again that, for once, he could afford to slip away and find a bit of quiet instead of risking life and limb working the crowds.

Though that reminded him that he was out early for a reason:  apparently Ivan's gang had been looking for him. Raz hadn't answered the queries because Pechal was still sick—he refused to believe anything else was wrong. He just ... Pechal was sick, that was all.

Which meant Raz would have to do the job alone, and knowing Ivan, it would not be an easy one. Raz pushed through a throng of men arguing the pricing on Kundou sashes then scurried around a man trying to contain a small herd of goats.

It was another twenty minutes or so before he finally got past the crowd and stumbled into the small street he had been seeking in the first place. Fire and ash, he hated Market Day! Heaving a sigh, Raz quickly made his way up the street and stopped short when he saw the crowd around the Sword & Sorcerer, a profusion of guards in their deep red uniforms.

A man sat on a horse, dressed in the pomp and splendor of the aristocracy and overseeing the proceedings. He was handsome, in a spoiled sort of way. He had black hair, unusual in Pozhar but not unheard of. Likely he had an ancestor who had hailed from Piedre. His eyes were dark gray, cold and sneering as he watched his guards arrest Misha and the others who worked at the Sword & Sorcerer.

He had a pin affixed to his jacket:  a firebird made from gold, silver, and copper with a rubi heart and diamond eyes. Raz's eyes widened when he realized who the man was:  the Minister of Magic. Why was he arresting Misha?

But even as he asked the question, it was answered for him when two guards came out carrying small chests. They presented the chests to the Minister of Magic, opening the lids to display the contents. Raz drew a sharp breath when he saw what could only be fire feathers along with a host of other objects that he would hazard were magic related.

Misha had been a Vessel Protector? He had never realized Misha was a rebel. How had he missed that? That would explain why there had been so many workers on staff the other night:  they'd been preparing for something. Raz's stomach roiled as he watched the guards load Misha and the others into a prison carriage.

He jumped when someone grabbed his arm, one hand coming up and the other going for his knife—and immediately relaxed when he registered it was only Ferapont. "So I guess we're not meeting at the Sword & Sorcerer."

Ferapont rolled his eyes. "Come on, this way. Look sharp, the guards are looking to impress Master Minister on His Horse, there. Looks like someone shoved damp firewood up his ass, don't he?"

Raz snickered as he slipped through the crowd following Ferapont, who led him down a particularly foul-smelling alleyway.  They came out at the end of Bakers' Row, went half-way up, and then cut through a small side street until they spilled out onto Market Street, the bustle of the market for which it was named already causing a racket despite the fact it was not yet open.

They stopped in front of a small teahouse, and Raz pushed the door open, leading the way across the crowded dining room to a large table in the back where Ivan and the rest of his men already sat decimating two pots of tea and a large tray of tea snacks. Raz slid into an empty space beside Gleb and stole his cup of tea. "Long time since I've visited your hearth, Wolves. How is business?"

"Interesting," Ivan drawled, and his eyes went to something just past Raz's shoulder.

Raz turned and whistled. "You're moving up in the world, Vanya. You're a White Beast," he added when the man reached him, more impressed than he would ever admit to actually see one of the nigh-legendary White Beasts of Verde. He really wanted to know what kind of Beast the man could become—and if he would demonstrate, because Raz had never actually seen anyone from Verde shift. But he knew it would be rude to ask, and he did not want to anger Ivan's client. Possibly his own client, since Ivan had a job for him.

"I am," the man said, smiling in amusement.  "Are you the talented thief Ivan has been trying to track down the last few days?"

"I am," Raz replied, smirking. He poured more tea and swiped a bit of warm bread already smeared with fresh butter and honey. "Did you see what's happening at the Sword & Sorcerer?"

Grunting, Ivan said, "We were there waiting for you when they arrived. Barely slipped out the back before they started grabbing people. The Minister of Magic is out for blood, I think, and he's not picky about who bleeds."

Beside him, Isidor grimaced. "They'll have Misha fitted with a noose before the sun sets and word on the street is that the Minister isn't the only fancy coming into the city today. The priests have been aflame since the early mass bells rang."

Raz nearly dropped his teacup as cold fear shot through him. "What do you mean, the priests? Why in the ashes are they upset?"

It was Karp who replied, "Rumor has it the High Priest himself is coming into the Heart to visit Ashes. No one is saying why, exactly, but there's not many reasons for him to show up, are there? They think the latest Vessel is here in the Heart. I'd wager my last copper on it."

Putting his biscuit and tea down, Raz balled his hands into fists, tamping down on his sudden panic. He could not show he was scared. He could not show anything. Everything was fine. Nothing would happen to Pechal. It had been his imagination. "What's the job, then?"

Ivan lifted one brow at him in silent query, but let the matter drop when Raz gave a single, minute shake of his head. "Ailill is searching for this," Ivan said, and he placed a piece of paper on the table.

Raz picked it up and whistled again as he examined the drawing. It was of an ornate comb made of Verde silver, the top portion decorated with jeweled flowers made from rubi, esmeralda, and pearls. "It's beautiful. How old is it?"

"Nine hundred years," Ailill said, and Raz looked at him. "Possibly older, but records only go back to right around the Great Loss and what we call the Tragedy of the Oak."

"A retirement piece, then," Raz said. "Fire and ash." Ailill frowned, puzzled, and Raz explained, "It's the kind of piece that would net enough of a profit we'd never have to steal again. Theoretically, but if it's that rare it would be hard to sell and clearly it already has an owner. But if I was working solo and came upon it, then it would definitely be a retirement job."

Ailill smiled. "I see. I hope what I am paying is a sufficient retirement fund. Of course, we must first find it, which is proving to be remarkably difficult. We are still trying to find even a slight lead on it."

Raz shrugged dismissively. "Only a matter of time. People remember a piece like this. I'll put Pechal on it; he's got connections to a few maids in the palace that might know something. May cost you more—"

"Money is not a concern," Ailill said. "Time is a concern, but not yet a serious one."

"Then I'll put Pechal to work and keep you informed," Raz said. "After that, it should be easy."

Karp rolled his eyes. "He nicks a rubi necklace and suddenly he thinks he's unbeatable."

"I'm the closest you'll get," Raz said lightly. "Sasha thinks I'm worth the money—what better recommendation will you find than that?"

Ivan grunted. "Stay away from Sasha. He'll scorch you before you ever see the flames. No one knows anything about him, and he comes and goes like the wind."

Raz shrugged the words off. "I can handle myself. Unless you've got anything else, I'm off."

From the far end of the table, Maksim pulled away from his tea long enough to say, "Ran into your girls this morning. They asked if you were around."

"What did Shio and Shinju want?" Raz asked, surprised. He hadn't seen them around for ages, had figured they were busy with their own work—not that he really knew what they did. He was never entirely certain why they were in Pozhar at all; they only said they could not return home yet.

"Didn't say, but I told them that if I saw you, I'd send you after them."

Raz nodded. "Fire warm and guide," he said in parting and took off even as they replied, slipping through the crowded streets, taking a long way back to avoid the worst of the market crowds and come out behind the cathedral.

Unfortunately, he hadn't made it very far before everything suddenly went from busy to crazy, people scrambling and shoving to get out of the way—

Then Raz saw them as he climbed onto the edge of a well, bracing himself again the post where buckets were attached to a rope for lowering so no one would knock him down into it.  A dozen figures rode on horseback through the overcrowded square:  ten soldiers escorting and protecting two other figures who could only be, to go by rumors, High Priest Dym and the Duke of Alkaev.

He could not get a good view of the High Priest, but the Duke of Alkaev looked exactly as cold as the rumors said. Raz could easily believe he was never sorry about the Vessels he captured, that he had stood unmoved when his own sister was sacrificed.

It wasn't until they were well past him that he realized he had been holding his breath. Shaking himself, Raz leapt back down into the crowd and began to shove his way through, desperate to get to the Cathedral. By the time he managed it, he was sweaty, irritable, and terrified he had arrived too late. Bolting down the alleyway and looping around the cathedral, he finally reached the section of wall that led up to their room and climbed it as quickly as he could possibly manage.