Feast of Fates (Four Feasts Till Darkness Book 1) (42 page)

II

“And he cannot be found? Nowhere in Eod?” exclaimed Queen Lila.

“Our earthspeakers have cleared the rubble and examined the scorched ruins of his tower, to where the fire from the witchpowder spread. We found neither bone nor flesh that could be his, Your Majesty,” reported Rowena.

“How many casualties?” asked the queen with sorrow.

“Forty-six at last count, many of whom cannot be identified in their state. We can add a few more to that tally come dawn, I am sure.”

Queen Lila turned and delicately leaned on the great yew in the Hall of Echoes as if it were whispering its consolations to her. The star-netting on the chamber above had a moonlike whiteness to its hue, and with her back to the company, the airy queen could have been a ghost. After speaking, Rowena stepped back in line with the four silver-armored masters of the Watch—North, South, East, and West—who had been summoned for this council. Among the stern older warriors, battle-scarred and broad as war chiefs of Alabion, was an epicene lad. With his flushed, freckled, and fair countenance, his golden ringlets, and hardly a shadow of stubble to call his own, one might question what such a green youth was doing in the company of his grizzled superiors. But the lad held his body taut as a shaft of iron, and his brown eyes peered with an acuteness seen in the sharpest swordsmen.
He bowed on one knee as he addressed the queen, and the timbre of his voice was clear across the rumbling music of the Hall of Echoes.

“My Queen, I think that if we look at the evidence, it is clear that we have been the victims of terrorism, deception, or some measure of both. What we need to decide now is how swiftly and to where the sword of retribution will strike.”

“Galivad,” sighed the queen, and it was a while before she indulged him further with a response. She was fantastically tired and seemingly alone to resolve whatever strife had shaken Eod. Whether it was a side effect of the spell that Magnus had used to stifle Brutus or there was another factor in play, her mindwhispering with the king had become like a broken farspeaking stone. A few words, faint breaths of his winter, no real dialogue over the past few days, and the degradation appeared to be worsening. She knew her share of magik theory and she suspected that you couldn’t bind one body, when it was only half a man, without binding the other. Inadvertently, in shutting Brutus out, Magnus had damaged his second union. In this moment of crisis, she was truly by herself, and she would have to make decisions by her own prudence. Hard decisions, such as what must be done about Thackery and the young witch.

“Thackery would not betray us. Certainly not after fleeing to Eod and crafting the Nine Laws. I shall not rot my ear with any whispers that he is a traitor,” stated the queen, and faced about to see the Watchmen cowed by her sternness.

“Not Thackery, Your Majesty,” said Galivad, who was quite unshaken. “The girl. Or the smith. Either of them could be threats to our nation.”

“Those are strong accusations to make,” Rowena said, frowning.

“I would not make such accusations without forethought,” replied Galivad. He stood and puffed out his chest. “While the destruction in King’s Crown was being investigated this afternoon, I was tending to other affairs—”

“Yes, you were
missed
,” interrupted Rowena with a tone that did not imply fondness. Much as she tried, Rowena was never sure what aspect of the master of the East Watch got under her skin. He wasn’t arrogant, though he was sure of himself. He was as talented as he was young, and all his men spoke naught but the highest praises of him. As far as any would see him, the man was as polished in looks and virtue as a Watchman’s medal of honor.
He seemed too polished, perhaps, for no man could be so flawless. She had seen the hideous bruises and scars on her mistress before they were healed, and if even the Everfair King was imperfect, then what hope was there for lesser men?

“I was absent with good reason, Rowena. I sent the men of the East Watch in my stead. There were many conversations to be had in order for us to unravel this mystery.”

“Conversations were not needed. Hands to move rubble and tie tourniquets were.”

“Who did you speak to?” urged the queen, ignoring their bickering.

“An interesting question, Your Highness,” said Galivad, and threw a sideways glance at Rowena. “I regret that I was not there to aid in the efforts at King’s Crown. However, a trail can grow cold rather quickly, and a man must hunt before the path is lost. In the hourglasses since the attack, I have met with the Watchers, as well as conducted my own investigation. This afternoon, I interviewed some of those who saw the explosion, and many of their stories corroborate one another, and speak of a ranting woman who set off the explosion. I propose that she was nothing more than the device, and one of dastardly Menosian design. The sort that only one of their black nekromancers could achieve. If I was to guess who, I would say Sorren, son of the Iron Queen.”

The masters of the Silver Watch gasped, and the queen held up a hand for silence.

“How have you come to this conclusion?”

“From the use of witchpowder, which is impossible to find even in the darkest armories of the Faire of Fates. From the confusion among the eye witnesses about how, exactly, the bomb went off. I spoke to one such witness in the infirmary set up in King’s Crown—a sharp young page who was quite lucid despite the shock. He was quite sure that he had seen a Mistress Perriette Hattersham—the explosive—eat something and then run toward Sage Thackery. Or Sage
Thule
, as all of Eod now knows him. I don’t know who the leak is in our palace, but it is wide enough to sink the ship. That is neither here nor there. Point is, right after she ate whatever she ate, she went—” Galivad flared his fingers.

A few of the masters of the Silver Watch made sour faces.

“That is hardly the end of the intrigue,” continued Galivad. “When Miss Hattersham’s estate was searched by the Watch, it turned up a dead handmaiden who might as well have been savaged by an animal. As well, elsewhere in Eod, in what might seem an unrelated atrocity, a blood-soaked mattress was found in an inn rented by eight Arhad. Two of these men, I believe, are the corpses found in Sage Thackery’s tower, and among the gruesome relics that they left behind in the inn was a collection of organs: kidney, liver, intestines. Everything but the heart and lungs. Was there much of Miss Hattersham remaining, I would bet that our fleshbinders would confirm that those organs belonged to her.”

“Are you saying she was hollowed out? How would she still walk and talk? Is that possible?” asked Rowena.

“I propose that it is. Hardly a difference between that and the corpse bombs that Menosians rig at one another’s passages, where the death of one master can lead to the fortuitous passing of several more gathered in the pretense of grieving. In this case, the corpse walked. Or I pray to our Immortal Kings that Miss Hattersham was a corpse, for if she was instead kept in some sorry state of life for her remaking…” With a shake of his head, Galivad dismissed the thought. “A walking corpse would not be beyond the gifts of Sorren to animate, or to project a voice through, as she was heard to rant before her death, though no one seems to recall much of what she said, other than announcing a Thule to all of King’s Crown. An old name, as you know, and long forgotten in the East or West until today. One that he never threw around, as far as I understand from his stay here as Sage Thackery. While the rumor mill is only idling at the moment, it will not be long before the people make the leap between the Thule lineage and the since-adopted surname of the Iron Queen.”

“How can you be so certain that it was the Iron Queen’s child who caused this mayhem?” asked Queen Lila.

“My meeting with a Voice confirmed this,” replied Galivad. “Not precisely, as pinning loyalty on a Voice is like catching smoke, but in his cagey way, he let it slip that Sorren was in Menos no longer, but would not say where he was. I have drawn the appropriate lines. I believe he was here to set the explosive, to sow unrest, and possibly to claim the sage, who remains uncounted for in the dead or living, and whom I have been instructed not to
consider a defector. A question for you, my Queen. Now that his identity is known, or will be shortly, how will you contain this? There will be outrage that a man of Menos has set the laws that rule us. And how was it that you kept his identity a secret for so long?”

Sinuously as a snake, the queen slunk closer to the master of the East Watch. Rowena, who knew her mistress’s moods, predicted a measure of menace in her golden eyes.

“
How
was it kept a secret?” hissed Queen Lila. “Secrets are merely secrets when people try too hard to contain them. A truth that goes unnoticed is
not
a lie. When Thackery came to sit in these halls, he revealed himself as no different from the common scholars who roam the palace. He saw himself as no better, and oftentimes a little worse—I suspect—than those living here. He was quiet. He worked, he ate, he slept. He conferred with the king. Most people of that age are so faded in time and memory, and he never made the smallest impact on their lives or minds. At least not with his presence. His actions, grand and selfless as that list is, are legend. When living down in Eod, he maintained the same humility, the same reclusiveness. And back then, the Thule name was not one to be feared, for it was a house of ignoble birth. A house fallen from glory. Not until the Iron Queen’s rule, many decades and a marriage to hide this lineage later, would that name spark curiosity again, and certainly not with our politics. As you can see, he hid nothing. If anything, he was too candid with the stain of his past.”

Close to Galivad’s face, Queen Lila inspected him, and he managed not to flinch. “You are brave and quite clever for your years, but you have not yet learned the temperance that accompanies greater wisdom. If the people make the tie between Thule and the Iron Queen, I shall deal with the matter the same way that I have done with you. I shall tell the truth. We have more important matters that concern our nation at this time, such as the sage’s whereabouts. For if we have not found bones, then I cannot see how so resourceful a man could be dead. Which leads me to believe that he is in danger or has been taken. By Sorren, if what you say is true. He needs our help and not our mistrust.”

“A mistrust that was never given, and I apologize for the affront,” Galivad said, bowing. “The sage’s unfortunate lineage aside, I am more concerned with the company he keeps. This smith and witch. A farseer, I hear?”

“You hear much,” said Queen Lila.

“I do. Though to briefly revisit my earlier concerns over the security of the palace, a man can hear every whistle when his house is full of holes. No matter. I asked the Voice for the histories and whereabouts of these two, and while the girl’s past was relatively banal, suspiciously bare of supernatural events for a
witch
, I’d say, the smith’s was almost barren. Not even a bloodline to claim. I was the second person to inquire about this Caenith recently, and the information I was given was vague and nonsensical, aside from references to an old pit-fighter in Menos named the Blood King.”

“Menos?” spat the queen. Thackery had said nothing of the sort.

“Yes. An interesting thread, you see? Since the attack, neither the smith nor his bride have been seen at their homes or around the city. Under my command, I ordered a search of their premises, and nothing of direct interest was found, though if you haven’t seen the Armsman, Caenith’s place of business, it is a wonder in the City of Wonders. The man is a savant with his craft. He can create items of greater delicacy than the most talented earth-speakers I know. Miracles of
engineering
.”

“Stop prancing about your words. What are you insinuating?” demanded Dorvain, master of the North Watch: a bald, bush-bearded warrior as scarred and pitted as a training block, his skin tempered by the cold harsh sun of the peaks of Kor’Keth, where his watch surveyed Eod and the winter realms to beyond the mountains. When he laughed or spoke, he bellowed like a horn, though his laughter was reserved for only after a bout of drinking that would kill a man. While he wasn’t an angry man, his once handsome nose had been broken several times in brawls begun when fools simply wouldn’t quiet themselves—or prattled on, as Galivad was often guilty of doing.

Galivad turned to his fellow watch master. “If you know anything about exotic compounds, like witchpowder, you would know that magik alone is not enough to make it. It is crafted from shavings of truefire—crystallized elementum—from the Sun King’s mines, and it requires a forge and exceptional delicacy to smelt the substance to a point where it can be cooled and scraped to powder. Chip too slowly and the truefire hardens again into a larger, more unmanageable mess than before. Chip too hard or fast, and sparks will ignite the truefire. You can imagine how that would end. You need to be a master
of the forge to know the perfect tune that the ore has when it is ready to be worked or plied.”

Glancing to Rowena, Galivad gave the woman a queer, penetrating look that she couldn’t interpret. “You need to know when to stop and when to apply the gentle heat of a lover’s touch. Not enough to bring the ore to a climax, shall we say, but enough to keep things hot and wet.”

“For fuk’s sake!” grunted Dorvain, bullish, as was his way. “And pardon that, my Queen! But I can’t take his rambling floweriness any longer! What are you getting at, man? Do you mean to say that you think this smith has done the work for Sorren?”

“I am saying it is certainly a possibility. One worth investigating.”

“The smith…he is a dangerous man,” added Rowena. Her encounter with Caenith outside the skycarriage still shadowed her in fear.

Long sighs and longer stares were passed round as Eod’s war council deliberated its quandary. Perhaps Galivad was right to suspect the smith of treason, considered Queen Lila; there was a darkness and savagery to his soul that she remembered all too well; an inkling of the brutality of Brutus. She debated what his strategy was, then. To seduce Thackery’s handmaiden, so that he could make off with them? To disrupt Eod’s peace? Far too many motives existed and the atmosphere for speculation was ripened on account of fear, so she would need to be wary before exercising any judgment.