Legacy of Kings (12 page)

Colivar reclined upon a white linen cloth, propped up on one elbow as he casually leafed through the pages of a small illuminated book. He was dressed in finely made garments of black silk and leather, elegant but without any hint of power about them. With the sun shining down upon the pages of the book and the breeze softly stirring his long, black hair, he looked for all the world like some prosperous young lord relaxing within the familiar confines of his own estate.

And then he looked up and his eyes met hers, and for a moment—just a moment—she thought she could sense the vast, dark power behind them. Everything she saw before her was merely an illusion, she realized, crafted for her benefit; his true soul was a shadowy and twisted thing that none would ever ever be allowed to see.

He is more dangerous than all the others,
Ethanus had warned her.
Not because his power is so great—though it is—but because his soul is obscured by so many shadows that I am not sure even he knows what the truth is any more.

Upon seeing her approach, he closed his book and sat upright. “Kamala. So glad you could join me. Please.” He indicated the open space opposite him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

On the cloth were ornate silver trays laid out with fresh fruit, exotic cheeses, and an assortment of candied delicacies. The smell of honey and syrup was strong, and at the edge of the cloth she could see ants milling back and forth, seeking some way to get past the sorcery that was holding them at bay. There was also a covered basket with the neck of a wine bottle peeking out, its amber glass beaded with cold sweat. Colivar removed the bottle from its wrappings with a flourish as she sat down warily, and made a show of presenting it to her. There was some kind of vintner’s mark burned into the cork, but she didn’t have a clue what it meant. She hesitated, wondering if this was really the sort of game she wanted to be playing right now, but she was far too curious to back out at this point, so she simply nodded.

“I hope this is an acceptable vintage,” he said. “If not, please feel free to conjure one of your own.”

The subtle arrogance in his tone almost caused her to do just that . . . which, no doubt, was exactly what he had intended. No real witch would waste her athra on such theatrics. So she simply forced herself to smile pleasantly and no more, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to have a Magister set out a picnic for her. “This will be fine.”

In truth, the wine was delicious, full-bodied and not too dry for her taste. Had he made a lucky guess or managed to sneak a spell past her defenses to divine what she would like? The latter was certainly possible; she hadn’t invested much time or energy in making sure that sorcerers could not detect her food preferences.

She plucked a candied date from the tray but left the rest of the feast untouched. Despite the fact that she’d skipped breakfast and was actually rather hungry, she was not ready to commit herself to this bizarre scene any more than she had to. Not yet. “You said you had information for me?”

He chuckled softly. “Never one for casual social discourse, were you? I do remember that much from Alkali.”

She could not help but stiffen slightly, and she saw his dark eyes flicker with interest as he took note of it. Well, what the hells did he expect? He knew she’d lost a lover in that vile place. “We had other things to worry about in Alkali,” she reminded him.

“Indeed.” He leaned back, his weight supported on one elbow again, a disarmingly languid pose. “Very well, since you prefer to move right on to business . . . tell me, how much do you know about Siderea Aminestas?”

“The one they call the Witch-Queen?” Kamala’s mind raced to work out all the implications of his question. Clearly he was testing her, but to what end? “She’s said to be a powerful witch. And a skilled seductress. Rumor says she’s already lived longer than a single lifetime, though I don’t know if that’s true or not.” And then she dared a test of her own: “I have even heard rumors that she may be a Magister.”

A faint smile flickered across his lips. “She is not a Magister. That much I can guarantee.”

“Because women cannot be Magisters?” she challenged him.

“Because
she
is not one.” He took a date from the tray. “At any rate, you are clearly behind on the news. Aminestas has abdicated. Disappeared, in fact.”

Kamala shrugged. At one point she’d had great interest in the Witch-Queen. In fact, she’d been traveling to Sankara to learn more about the woman when she’d first run into Colivar. But her life had shifted course at a later point, and now she was focused on other things. “And you feel this information would be of interest to me . . . why?”

He bit into his date, shutting his eyes for a moment as he savored its sweetness. His silence was maddening. She wanted to shake him.

“It appears,” he said at last, his gaze settling on her once more, “that she has run off with a Souleater.”

A cold shiver ran down her spine. “What do you mean?”

“Siderea Aminestas appears to have allied herself with one of the creatures. Much as Anukyat did in Alkali. I am sure you remember what came of that relationship.”

The memory stirred a hatred in her that was nigh on overwhelming; it took all her self-control not to let him see how much his words unsettled her. Drawing in a deep breath, she counted five beats of her heart before speaking. “So . . . a woman I’ve never met, from a country I never visited, who ruled over a people that are of no interest to me, has run off somewhere, for reasons I don’t know or care about . . . Souleater or not, what makes this my business? It sounds like you should be talking to the Guardians.”

“And what if I told you that none of the Magisters have been able to locate her?”

She blinked. “None of them?”

“Many have tried. All have failed.”

“Did they have good anchors to work with?”

“I know of one who made the attempt in Siderea’s own palace, surrounded by her possessions, atop sheets stained with her sweat. Her essence was anchored to the place a thousand times over. But he could not connect it to its owner. No one can. As far as our sorcery is concerned, she appears to have disappeared from the face of the earth.”

That’s not possible
, she thought. But she dared not betray how much she understood of the Magisters’ art. “Maybe she’s dead.”

“Death has its own special signature. As I am sure you know. The signs are notably absent in this case. So she is still alive, but somehow hidden from us. Which is . . . .” He shook his head; his expression had become grim. “Unprecedented.”

“Yes,” she murmured. It was difficult to focus sorcery on people without having an item that contained their personal essence; that was one reason she was so careful never to leave her own personal possessions behind her when she traveled. But once you got hold of such an anchor, the connection should be there. A fugitive might mask the trail so that his traces could not be read clearly, or add to them such confusing elements that a Magister would misinterpret them, but
some
kind of connection would be there. All the sorcery in the world could not completely erase such a thing.

How was such a thing possible?

This puzzle put to question the very essence of her power, and she ached to ask him more questions. But until she was ready to admit to him what she was and openly claim her place among the Magisters, such honest discourse was out of the question.

You don’t even know that any of this is true,
she warned herself.
He could just be testing you.

“What part do you imagine I might play in this?” she asked.

“I believe you may be able to find her.”

“Where all the Magisters have failed?”

“Yes.”

She recognized the bait for what it was, but it was too compelling to resist. “Why?”

“Because you are a woman.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “If what you need is a woman’s magic, then there are a thousand and one witches you could ask for help. You don’t need me.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “There are indeed many witches in the world.”

He gazed into his glass in silence for a moment, contemplating the deep red wine. “An ikati queen is able to hide herself from the males of her species,” he said. “It’s similar to the power she uses to guard her nest; that is what makes it so hard for morati to find her eggs. A necessity of survival. A male Souleater will destroy any nest that contains the offspring of his competitors, hence she must be able to hide her eggs—and herself—from him. So if Siderea has truly allied herself with a Souleater queen, then she, too, may be sheltered by such a power. Which means that none of
us
will be able to find her.”

“But you think that I can? Why, because of my sex?” She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “I don’t remember any talk about a gender advantage when we were being briefed in Kierdwyn.”

“A lot of things have been forgotten,” he said quietly. “Even in Kierdwyn.”

“But the Magisters are human beings, not Souleaters. Why would a power designed to affect one species distinguish between the sexes of another? I would think that as far as the Souleaters are concerned, we are all just food, and our gender distinctions are meaningless.”

He shrugged stiffly. “Perhaps my guess is wrong, then. In which case any effort on your part would be wasted.” His mouth twitched slightly. “That would of course be a costly failure . . . for a mere witch.”

For a moment her heart almost stopped beating. But he had turned his attention to the glass in his hand once more, shutting his eyes briefly as he sipped the blood-red wine. Was that for her sake? The gift of a moment’s privacy, in which she might choose her course?

He knows the truth about me already,
she told herself.
He is amused by the sport of getting me to admit I’m a Magister, but that’s all it is to him. A game. If he hasn’t killed me yet to satisfy the Law, it’s for reasons of his own, and a handful of words from me will not change his mind.

“So now we are back to my original question,” she said. “Why should I give a damn about all this?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean, apart from helping to save the world from certain destruction? Doing your part to safeguard human civilization, and all that?”

“Yes,” she said. Knowing that disdain for human welfare was as much an identifying trait of the Magisters as was sorcery. Daring him to make note of it in her. “Aside from all that.”

A faint smile flickered across his lips. She decided that he was enjoying the game too much for her liking.

Heart pounding, she picked up a piece of fruit, then bound enough power to delicately peel back its rind. Perfectly shaped segments of skin parted like lotus petals, revealing the moist fruit inside. It was a subtle but eloquent waste of power that a mere witch would never countenance, and she hoped its message was clear:
I tire of your games. Find someone else to play cat-and-mouse with.
“You promised me information that I would want to hear,” she reminded him. “Thus far I’ve heard only information that you want me to have. Is there something more, or am I wasting my time here?”

The dark eyes gleamed as they took her measure. What emotions were those, flickering in their depths? Most were indecipherable, but one was familiar enough that she could not possibly mistake it. Desire. Her breath quickened, and a sudden rush of confidence surged through her veins. The political machinations of the Magisters might be alien to her at times, but the lust of men was familiar territory. This game was becoming more interesting by the moment.

But his voice remained cool and dispassionate as he said, “Siderea has an item in her possession that would be of great value to you. Find her, and you may be able to get hold of it.” He paused. “ Or deliver me information on where she is, and if I can get hold of the item myself, I will deliver it to you in return for that service.”

“And what is this mystery item?”

He shook his head, making a
tsk-tsk
sound. “Come now, Kamala. Information has its price. Surely you would not respect me if I gave mine away for free. Commit to my service and I will tell you all you need to know.”

“One does not agree to buy merchandise without assessing its value first,” she pointed out.

“Unless the merchandise itself is knowledge, in which case
assessment
and
delivery
amount to the same thing.”

“Yet even a saffron merchant will part with a pinch of his wares to convince potential buyers that the rest of his stock is worth their coin.”

Silently he bound a bit of power to refill his glass. Draining the life from some innocent soul so that he would not have to reach as far as the bottle. “Very well,” he said at last. “I will tell you this much: It is an item many Magisters want to get hold of. They want it enough that if you got to it first, you might be able to . . . shall we say . . . bargain with them for favors.”

She could feel her heart skip a beat. “That is . . . interesting.”

He lifted the glass to his lips, half-masking a smile. ”I thought you might feel that way.”

“You don’t want this item for yourself?”

“Ironically, it has far more value to you than it does to me.” He sipped the wine, his eyes watching her intently over the edge of the glass.

“And what if I do find this woman for you? What happens then?” She looked at him closely, trying to read what was in his soul; his nostrils flared slightly in response to her scrutiny, but he offered her no other insight. “You mean to kill her, don’t you?”

A brief shadow passed over his countenance. For a moment—just a moment—his perfect mask slipped from place, and she caught a glimpse of what was behind it.
They were lovers,
she realized.
And he still desires her.

Was that what was driving him in all this? Could it be that this powerful Magister, among the most ancient of his kind, was jealous of a Souleater? The thought of it was almost too bizarre to fathom.

“The ikati queen must be dealt with,” he said, without a hint of emotion. “I doubt that Siderea will step aside and allow that to happen. So, yes, she will probably die in the process.”