The Shadowhand Covenant (15 page)

“Promises cost nothing and reap the key to a mark's vault.”

—The Lymmaris Creed

I
t didn't take much to forget the rigors of the past week. Awaking in my own bed at Redvalor Castle was remarkably restorative. When I went down for breakfast, I found Maloch, Reena, and Holm in fresh, new clothes that the Dowager had sent for in the middle of the night. We ate a massive breakfast, during which I told the Dowager everything that had happened to us once Maloch and I had been kidnapped by the Sarosans.

When I mentioned our encounter with the vessapedes,
she did an admirable job of not gloating that those three months we'd spent underground hadn't been wasted time after all.

Mostly, though, she was concerned about the link between the Sarosans, the Shadowhands, and the thefts that had upset the High Laird. She agreed that the quickest resolution to our problem was to learn who had hired the Shadowhands.

Midmorning, we retired to the garden behind the castle. The Dowager went to retrieve the missives sent by her brother. I relaxed in a padded chair, enjoying a hot cup of singetea under a warm summer sun. Though when I say warm summer sun, I really mean the thawglobe that floated over the garden. A gift from the Palatinate to the royal family, the brilliant yellow orb hovered above the garden, mimicking a summer day. The snow had all melted, and the plants were verdant and thriving once more. You had to look past the globe to see the sickly gray winter skies beyond.

On the lawn nearby, Maloch was teaching Holm the finer points of kioro. The pair wrestled on the grass, trading soft punches as each fought for the upper hand. He wouldn't
admit it, but Maloch felt a debt to Holm for saving him from the bloodreaver. By helping the boy with the warrior part of his intended vocation, he was paying off that debt.

Now we just needed someone to work on Holm's awful poetry to help him with the bard part.

Reena was walking through the greenhouse, where the Dowager kept her collection of rare plants. She'd been quiet most of the day, speaking only to insist that she and Holm be allowed to drink at First Rise and again to request permission to tour the greenhouse. Other than that, she'd barely touched her breakfast and had become oddly distant. I guessed she was still uncomfortable accepting help from the Dowager after her brother had just arrested the last of the Sarosans.

I'd spread the papers I'd rescued from Kolo's tent across a wrought-iron table. Part of me didn't want to read any more than I already had. I wanted to wait until Kolo was finished and then read the new book from cover to cover.

But the part of me that was dying to read his new research won out. Kolo was probably locked up in Umbramore Tower. Who knew when he'd be able to finish writing the book?
Besides, I felt he'd
want
me to read it. It was like we understood each other.

I pored over the parchments, hardly knowing where to start. I selected a page with the heading
Mang Sweat: Experiment Number 010.

Well,
that
was disgusting.

The entry was unfinished, suggesting Kolo had still been searching for other uses for mang sweat. I felt sick, wondering if any of the tea he'd served me had been . . .

I decided to pretend I'd never read that particular passage and set it aside. I chose another parchment.

I was beginning to suspect my hero spent way too much time around sweaty mangs.

I'd read over a few more pages when the Dowager joined me. Her arms were loaded down with papers, which she dropped onto the table with a thud before searching through the stacks.

When she thought I wasn't looking, she sent a rueful gaze my way. “It must have been harrowing,” she said under her breath, tossing unwanted parchments aside. “Can you ever forgive me, Jaxter, for assuming the ransom letter was a joke?”

“It's okay,” I said, assuring her for the fifth time. If she felt this bad now, I couldn't imagine what she'd have been like if she'd opened a parcel and found my little finger inside.

She stopped and tilted her head with a sad smile. “I'm glad to have you back. I admit I was worried that you were
giving up your apprenticeship. I know things have been . . . strained between us. I'd really like to put all that behind us and talk about how we can make things better.”

I focused on the edge of the table, unable to meet her eye. Since we'd left the Sarosan camp, I kept thinking about what things would be like if I could clear the Sarosans, free Kolo, and become his apprentice. The Dowager was smart, but most of her knowledge came from Kolo's
Formulary.
Studying with him would be so much easier.

“Something on your mind?” she asked.

“Hmm?” I asked, looking up sharply from Kolo's papers. “Erm, no. Not really.”

I found myself wishing the Dowager would yell at me for disappearing. Then I wouldn't have felt so guilty that I was thinking about quitting as her apprentice.

The Dowager cried triumphantly and produced a parchment bearing the High Laird's wax seal. She laid it out in front of me.

“This is the most recent report my brother sent, the one I was so upset about when we were in Vengekeep.” She pointed to a paragraph halfway down the page. “A number of relics were stolen from five royal vaults—one in each Province—in
what is being described as a calculated attack.”

I browsed the passage she'd indicated.

Those four items were listed near the top of the page. Set apart, just below, the parchment read:

I read the list over and over, looking for a clue that suggested the relics were unusual in some way. Or maybe had value beyond their apparent worth.

“Was there anything special about these things?” I asked. “Were they family heirlooms?” The vaults must be bursting with riches and wealth, piles and piles of precious coins and gems. “Why steal only these five things? And while we're at it, what is ‘Relic Number Five—the Vanguard'?”

The Dowager shook her head. “Unfortunately, the vault records have no description of the Vanguard. All that's
known for sure is that it's one of the very oldest artifacts in the vaults, stored long before they kept detailed records. In fact, everything that was stolen was kept in the farthest reaches of the vaults. They've been undisturbed for centuries, locked with some of the most powerful enchantments the Palatinate could devise. But somehow, the thieves got past all that.”

I pointed to the list. “They're all made of gold and onyx.” Gold and onyx were the two most magical substances in the Provinces. “If these were magical items, could we be looking for a rogue mage? Only a mage could use a magical item.”

The Dowager considered. “Possibly. Or someone who thought they could sell the relics to a rogue mage.”

“It doesn't make sense,” I said. It would have been easier—and more profitable—to steal chests full of silvernibs. If you tried to sell ancient relics on the black market, they'd attract unwanted attention. I reread the High Laird's missive. “Now that's interesting. . . .”

The Dowager leaned in. “What?”

I pointed to the start of the paragraph. “The Provincial Guard believes that all five vaults were hit simultaneously—the same day and time. All about eight months ago . . .”

“So?”

I looked up. “It was eight months ago when the High Laird quarantined Vengekeep. He sent thousands of troops from all over the Provinces to surround the town-state. And when he did that, he weakened the defenses around the royal vaults.”

The Dowager shook with frustration. “Oh, I told my brother that was a mistake! He should never have listened to his advisers. He's only got himself to blame for these thefts. It's like we left the door wide open for the thieves.”

Yes. It was
exactly
like that. And the Shadowhands had pounced the moment the defenses were down. Almost as if they had known it was going to happen.

Reena returned from her visit to the greenhouse and sat sullenly next to me. I got the impression that she hated herself for enjoying the warmth of the magically created summer day.

The Dowager was oblivious to Reena's distress. “Did you see anything interesting in the greenhouse?” she asked cheerily.

Reena smiled weakly. “Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am.” She turned to me. “Listen, Jaxter, I've been thinking. I
appreciate that you're trying to help. But I think Holm and I should turn ourselves in to the Provincial Guard.”

I started to protest, but she cut me off. “You and Maloch are only in danger because of us. If the High Laird has all the Sarosans, the Palatinate will have to call off the bloodreavers. Maybe they'll send us to Umbramore Tower. We can see our parents again.”

The Dowager straightened her back. Even in her work clothes, she could still project the very essence of regality. “Young lady,” she said firmly, “do you realize that just by allowing you into my home, I am harboring an enemy of the state? An infraction compounded, not eased, by the fact that I am the High Laird's sister. The High Laird has declared that anyone assisting fugitive Sarosans will share in their punishment. And I don't risk going to Umbramore Tower for just anyone.”

I could see Reena fighting not to blow up, as she might have if anyone else had spoken to her like that. She said evenly, “But you won't need to risk going to prison if Holm and I just leave.”

“What the Dowager's trying to say, Reena,” I said softly, “is that she believes the Sarosans are being treated unfairly
and she wants to take a stand. If you surrender, she can't do that.”

Reena's dark skin flushed, and she looked away. “Oh.”

Sweaty and breathing heavily, Maloch and Holm joined us at the table, each grabbing a quaich of water to quench their thirsts. “Your brother's a tough little guy,” Maloch said to Reena, who forgot she was angry and smiled to see Holm so happy.

Maloch looked at the Dowager's paperwork. “Got anything?”

“Not much,” I said. “Five relics, possibly magical, but no idea why they're important.”

“And we have no idea why the Shadowhands are disappearing,” Maloch said, sinking into a chair next to Reena.

“Sure we do.”

We all turned to Reena, who looked as if she didn't realize she was the one who'd spoken. She sat up straight.

“It's obvious. When you hire someone to secretly steal mysterious relics from the depths of the High Laird's vaults, you don't want any witnesses. So you remove the only people who might be able to identify you.”

Reena was right. It
was
obvious. I couldn't believe I
hadn't thought of it. Like my ancestor Lorris Grimjinx once said, “Slashing your own throat and sharing a secret produce the same results.” In other words, it's only really a secret if you're the only one who knows.

But Maloch remained unconvinced. “You're suggesting that whoever hired the Shadowhands is now eliminating them? That's not possible. The Shadowhands work in complete anonymity. There's no way whoever hired them could possibly find out their identities, unless . . .”

Maloch suddenly stopped as reality sank in for all of us. It was the Dowager who finally said it aloud.

“Unless one of the Shadowhands was a traitor.”