Fire Study (37 page)

Booruby with my mind without expending a lot of energy. Booruby! A six-day ride

south of here. I hadn’t been able to reach Bain from Booruby and I had been closer.

What would happen if Irys held the snake? Would we be able to communicate over

vast distances without sapping our strength? My mind raced with the implications.

The cold air intruded on my excitement. My wet hair felt icy in the breeze, and I

remembered Kiki mentioning snow. We were north of the Avibian Plains, but I had

no idea if the farmhouse resided in the Moon Clan’s lands or Featherstone’s. Either

way, by the time the storm reached us, it would turn to rain and sleet. And by

looking at the gray wall of clouds advancing from the west, it wouldn’t be long

before the storm hit.

I shouldered my pack and went inside. Valek had lit a small fire in the living

room. His soft tread padded on the floor above me. Probably planning to sleep after

being up all night.

Hesitating on the threshold of the room, I debated. My cloak was soaked. I

needed the fire to dry it and I wanted to warm myself.

In the end, I changed into Sitian clothes, hung my cloak by the hearth and filled a

pot for tea. I heated the water, but avoided looking directly into the fire. Feeling

uneasy, I chewed a piece of jerky and drank the tea as far away from the flames as I

could get. Unable to stay in the room any longer, I wanted to run upstairs to Valek.

Instead, I grabbed a blanket off the couch and ran to the stables, joining Kiki.

She snorted in amusement when I made a bed of straw in her stall. I filled two

buckets with water and put them next to me.

If I start to smoke, pour these on me, I said to her. I don’t want to set fire to the

barn.

Soon after I laid down, an odd melody of sleet drummed on the slate roof. The

whistle of wind through the rafters augmented the beat. Lulled to sleep by the

storm’s music, I slept without dreams.

The arrival of a strange horse woke me and Kiki the next morning. At least I

hoped the weak storm light meant the beginning and not the end of the day.

Valek led in a black horse with white socks. With its long legs and sleek body,

the animal was built like a racehorse. Pulling a thread of power, I linked my mind

with the new arrival.

He felt uncomfortable in this new barn. Strange smells. Strange horse. He missed

his stall and friends.

Smells here are good, I said in his mind. You’ll make new friends. What’s your

name?

Onyx.

I introduced him to Kiki.

Valek tied Onyx to a hitch. “We need to leave for the Citadel.” He saddled Onyx.

“This weather is good cover.”

My heart twisted with pain. He had gotten his own horse so he didn’t have to sit

with me on Kiki. “How far?”

“Two days. I have another safe house about a mile north of the Citadel. We can

set up operations there.”

We worked in complete and utter silence.

The next two days felt more like ten. With the nasty weather, Valek’s cold

shoulder and my anxiety to hurry, I would have preferred spending the time in the

Commander’s dungeon.

Our arrival at the safe house seemed a relief until the necessity of planning our

actions made our strained relationship almost unbearable. I remained stubborn,

believing the distance between us would make it easier for me to make

life-threatening decisions.

After we settled into the cottage, I headed for the Citadel. The weather again

promised rain, lending a bleakness to the landscape. Bare trees and brown hills

seemed muted and barren of life. I knew if I swept the area with my magic, I would

feel the small stirrings of creatures, waiting for the warmth. But the risk of using

magic this close to the Keep was too high.

Disguised as a Featherstone clanswoman, I wore a long-sleeved linen dress

underneath a plain sand-colored cloak. Although I left my bow behind, I had access

to my switchblade. My hair was pulled into a stylish knot favored by the

Featherstones and held in place by my lock picks.

Valek had styled my hair. He worked in a cold and efficient manner, making it

easier for me not to grasp his hands and pull him close. His deft fingers twisted the

strands of my hair expertly, and a strange vision of fire melting his arms to stumps

rose in my mind.

I banished the image and put my hood over my head. The north gate of the

Citadel wasn’t as busy as I had hoped. In fact, once inside, only a few people

walked the streets. They hunched over their packages and stared at the ground. The

weather could be a factor, but the rain had ceased. The streets should be teeming

with citizens hurrying to the market before the next squall.

Even the beggars were few and far between. Most of them wore expressions of

worry as they glanced around, and none approached me.

The Citadel’s white marble walls looked dingy and dull. The green veins

resembled streaks of dirt and the whole town felt as if a layer of grime coated it. The

grunge had built up in the cracks, and soaked into the foundations. The shine was

gone from the town. And it wasn’t due to the weather.

I missed a step when the first Daviian Vermin came into my sight. But soon they

were everywhere. Hunching over, I mimicked the citizens’ posture, searching for an

alley or side street free of Vermin. Blood throbbed in my ears. The Vermin’s gazes

burned into my soul. When I entered a shortcut to the market, my legs wobbled with

relief. But I kept out of view until I had studied the center square, watching the

people scurrying around the market’s stands. The sense of fear even diluted the

usual heady smell of spices and roasting meat.

The concentration of citizens meant more Vermin. I waited until I spotted my

target and then joined the shoppers. When I drew beside a young boy of ten, I had

to suppress a smile as I listened to him barter with the stand owner.

“Four coppers, take it or leave it,” Fisk said, sounding like an adult.

“I can’t feed my family for that!” the owner countered. “Since you’re my friend,

I’ll take seven coppers.”

“Belladoora is selling them for four.”

“But look at this quality. Hand embroidered by my own wife. Look at the detail!”

He held up the fabric.

“Five, and not a copper more.”

“Six, and that’s final.”

“Good day, sir.” Fisk walked away.

“Wait,” the stand owner called. “Five then. But you’re stealing the bread out of

my children’s mouths.” He grumbled some more while wrapping the fabric in paper,

but he smiled when the boy paid him the money.

I followed Fisk to his client. The woman paid him six coppers and he handed her

the package.

“Excuse me, boy,” I said. “I’m in need of your services.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked. Then his eyes flew wide with shock before

worry touched them. He glanced around with small furtive movements. “Follow

me.”

He led me to a tight alley and into a dark dwelling. I stood in the blackness while

Fisk lit a few lanterns. Thick curtains hung over the windows and only a few chairs

decorated the barren room.

“This is where we meet,” Fisk said.

“We?”

He smiled. “The Helpers Guild members. We plan our day, divide up the money,

and exchange gossip about our clients.”

“That’s wonderful.” Pride at what Fisk had accomplished filled my heart. The

grubby beggar boy I had met on my first Citadel visit had transformed into a

productive member of his family.

Fisk’s own pride showed in his light brown eyes. “It’s all because of you, my

first client!”

Instead of begging for money, now Fisk and the other beggar children helped

shoppers find good deals, carried packages and would do just about anything for a

small fee.

His grin dropped from his face. “Lovely Yelena, you shouldn’t be here. There’s

a reward for your capture.”

“How much?”

“Five golds!”

“Is that all? I thought it would be more like ten or fifteen,” I teased.

“Five is a lot of money. So much I wouldn’t trust my own cousin not to turn you

in. It’s dangerous for you here. For everyone.”

“What’s been going on?”

“These new Daviian Clan members. They have taken over. At first it was just a

couple of them, but now the streets are filled. Ugly rumors about their involvement

with the Sandseed genocide has everyone frightened. People living in the Citadel

have been questioned, and certain beggars have disappeared. Whispers about how

the Council members have lost control have spread, yet they are preparing for a

war.”

Fisk shook his head. He had wisdom beyond his years. I mourned the loss of his

childhood. Being a child of beggars had robbed him of fun, wonder and the ability

to make mistakes without fatal consequences.

“How about the Keep?” I asked.

“Locked down. No one enters or leaves except under the Daviians’ armed

escort.”

The state of affairs was worse than I had anticipated. “I need you to get a

message to one of the Councilors for me.”

“Which one?”

“My kinsman, Bavol Zaltana. But I don’t want you to write anything down. It

must be a verbal message. Can you do it?”

Fisk frowned, considering. “It will be difficult. The Councilors all have an escort

while out in the Citadel, but perhaps I could set up a distraction…” He rubbed his

hands along his arms as he contemplated the task. “I can try. No promises. If it gets

too hot, I’m out of there. And it’s—”

“Going to cost me. And you must not repeat the message to anyone.”

“Agreed.”

We shook hands on the deal. I told Fisk my message. He left to recruit a couple

helpers. I returned to the market to purchase a few items and to eat, killing time

without appearing to be.

My gaze kept returning to the Keep’s towers. Located within the Citadel’s marble

walls, the Magician’s Keep occupied the northeastern section. Unable to suppress

my desire to see the pink-pillared entrance gates, my path led to the Keep.

Instead of appearing warm and inviting, the cold stone seemed impenetrable and

daunting. I longed to make contact with my friends and colleagues inside. Where

were Dax and Gelsi? Had they been allowed to continue their studies? I felt blind and

cut off, frustrated and lost. As if I had been exiled and would never see them again.

Daviian guards stood next to the Keep’s guards. Feeling too exposed, I returned

to Fisk’s meeting room to await the boy’s return. Time crept along in mind-numbing

increments. A small tan spider built its elaborate web in the corner of the room. To

help the spider, I hunted for an insect to place on the sticky strands.

Fisk arrived as I stood on a chair, attempting to nab a moth. He puffed out his

chest and declared the mission a success. “Councilor Zaltana said he would meet

with you tonight in his home.” Fisk deflated a bit with his next remark. “He warned

his residence is guarded by a Warper. What’s a Warper?”

“A Daviian magician.” I considered the complication. “What time?”

“Anytime, but if you’re out on the streets after midnight, the guards will arrest

you. I would suggest after the evening meal. There is usually a flurry of activity as

the shops close and everyone heads home.” Fisk sighed. “It used to be a good time

to beg. People would feel guilty passing by a child without a home when they had a

warm comfortable bed waiting for them.”

“Used to be, Fisk. That’s in the past. I bet you have a nice home, now.”

His posture straightened. “The best! Which reminds me. You had better leave

before my helpers come back. We meet in the morning and again in the late

afternoon.”

I paid Fisk, thanking him for the help. “If you ever get caught, don’t hesitate to

tell them about me. I don’t want you to be hurt because of me.”

Fisk gave me a confused frown. “But you could be taken and killed by the

Daviians.”

“Better me than you.”

“No. Things are bad and getting worse. If you’re killed, I have a horrible feeling

life wouldn’t be worth living.”

Fisk’s dire comments followed me as I traveled through the Citadel. Keeping to

the back alleys, I hid behind buildings until the streets filled with residents hurrying

home, just as Fisk had predicted. I joined the flow, blending in as the sky grew dark

and the lamplighters began their evening chore. When I passed Bavol’s dwelling, I