The Vengekeep Prophecies (21 page)

She smiled warmly. “Of course. It's a big decision, I understand.”

We said good night and when I returned to my room, my head spinning from all that she'd said, I found Callie and Edilman waiting for me.

“Look, Edilman,” Callie said with a playful smirk, “he remembered we exist!”

“And he wants to talk to us,” Edilman said, playing along. “I can only hope we're worthy.”

“Very funny,” I said, and they laughed. If nothing else, all my time with the Dowager had allowed the two of them to bond. I wasn't sure I liked that.

After making sure the door was secure, I told them everything the Dowager had said.

“Intellectual heir?” Callie asked. “What's that?”

“She wants me to carry on her research,” I said. “I'd become her apprentice.”

Edilman cleared his throat. “I think we've enjoyed the Dowager's hospitality for long enough. It's time we do what we came here to do. Tomorrow night, we strike.”

We reviewed our plan. Callie would get the plants from the greenhouse. Edilman would pillage the vaults. And I'd keep the Dowager busy.

They left. I changed into my nightshirt and lay awake for much of the night. I focused on everything my parents had ever told me about pulling off a successful con. For years, I'd lived these lessons and, my clumsiness aside, helped them complete some of the greatest scams imaginable. That night, surrounded by the warmth of the down-stuffed blankets, I found it harder than ever to ignore perhaps the smartest par-Goblin saying I knew.

Think twice about the con, not the mark.

“Proof should be as solid as a ripple in a pond.”

—
The Lymmaris Creed

T
he first sign that the day would end in disaster came at breakfast. As Callie, Edilman, and I sat at the dining room table, we couldn't help but notice the Dowager's absence. The grumbling mushrooms brought us plates of eggs and singebacon as Oxric entered.

“The Dowager sends her regrets and will not be joining you today,” he announced. “She invites you to enjoy her continued hospitality and hopes that she'll be able to rejoin you tomorrow.”

We nodded respectfully and hunched over our food once he left.

“What do you suppose that's all about?” I asked, shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth.

“You don't suppose she's onto us?” Callie asked. “Maybe she's sending word to the High Laird so he can arrest us.”

Edilman shook his head. “She's got plenty of Provincial Guards staked out around the manor. If she wanted us arrested, she'd have them do it. She's probably just under the weather. Focus on what's good. We've got free rein today. Callie, I suggest you check out the greenhouse and find where all the plants you need are located. Will save you time searching for them later tonight.”

I handed Callie the parchment with our list of ingredients. “Everything in the greenhouse is clearly labeled. Be careful near the wraithweed.”

Edilman turned to me. “I'll watch the grounds, figure out the guards' patrol schedule. Jaxter, you've got the most important job. Keep an eye out, in case the Dowager decides to put in an appearance.”

And that's how we spent the day. Callie took a walk through the greenhouse, locating the position of each plant on our list. Edilman tracked the Provincial Guards, noting when they patrolled the perimeter. I spent my time wandering the halls, hoping for a sign of the Dowager.

But by sundown, we still hadn't seen her. After dinner, Callie, Edilman, and I met in my room. Edilman paced, clearly upset.

“We have to know where she is,” he muttered. “We can't make a move unless we're sure her attention is elsewhere.”

I balanced an unlit candle on the terrace railing outside my window. I looked down and found a perfect line of sight to the greenhouse. My lighting the candle later that night would signal Callie to leave the greenhouse and sneak over to our meeting place near the perimeter wall.

“I'll go find her,” I said, turning to them. “I'll make sure things are clear for you to do your jobs.”

Callie left for the greenhouse and Edilman made his way to the vaults. I ventured upstairs to the third floor and the Dowager's bedroom chambers. Taking a deep breath, I rapped on the door.

“Dowager?” I called softly. “Dowager Soranna? It's Ja—Tyrius. I wanted to see if you were all right. We're all worried about you. Are you in there, Dowager?”

Silence. Just as I was about to descend the stairs, I heard the faint sound of music coming from the ballroom. I arrived to find the ballroom door ajar. Stepping inside, I spotted the Dowager sitting at a small table next to a mound of sludge. A large music box on the table, its lid open, played a haunting waltz. A glass and a half-empty bottle of ashwine sat near the Dowager. Her right hand swayed gently in time to the music, and as I got closer I noticed her face was stained with tears.

“Dowager?” I approached gingerly.

She made no sign that she'd seen me, just kept listening to the sad music. I knelt at her side and took her limp left hand in my own.

“We used to come here in the summer,” she croaked in a voice much heavier than her usual airy tone. “My father—the
real
High Laird—brought us here. He taught me to dance in this room. I stood on his feet as a little girl. This music box would play and we'd dance.”

As the crank on the music box slowed, so did the music. The notes sounded far and few between. It was eerie. “I was meant to be High Laird, you know,” she said, looking at me finally. This was the first time since our arrival that her usually manic eyes, glancing scattershot across the room, stayed focused on a single point. “I was the eldest child, and Father spent most of his life grooming me to succeed him. He indulged my need to know about the world, believing it would help me be a better High Laird, but he never took my studies seriously.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

She reached over and closed the music box. “Oh, I thought about it. I thought about succeeding my father and starting a benevolent new regime, dedicated to education and inspiring others to learn. But then I realized that I'd be bogged down in the administration of it all. Others would be doing the research. Not me. I couldn't let that happen.

“So I went to my father on my eighteenth birthday and said, ‘This isn't something that I
want
to do, but it's something I
have
to do.' He argued with me, right up until the day he died. And when that happened, I stepped aside and allowed my brother to become High Laird. To this day, I wonder how disappointed my father was. That I didn't follow in his footsteps.”

That's when it hit me. The
real
reason I couldn't accept the Dowager's offer. It wasn't because I was a thief. It hurt to admit, but I was a
terrible
thief. I couldn't become the Dowager's apprentice because I was
sure
it would disappoint my family.

The Dowager squeezed my hand. “I don't regret it, Tyrius. I still believe there are things that you
have
to do, even if you don't
want
to. I didn't think I'd find someone like you. Other professors brought their students. I suspected some of them were frauds, merely posing as professors and students to gain the stipend I promised for a qualifying school.”

I bit my lip.

“But you're the real thing,” she said with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “I hope you'll consider my offer, Tyrius. We're a rare breed, you and I. We're so much alike.”

In that moment, I almost told her everything. My real name, the truth about why we were there. Everything. I reasoned she'd forgive our intent to rob her because she'd be more excited about the challenge of defeating the fateskein. I imagined us working side by side in Vengekeep, experimenting to find the precise combination of ingredients for the solvent. I could picture us celebrating our success. And I
would
have told her everything—I'd even opened my mouth to speak—if it hadn't been for the howling.

The noise started low and ominous, like sick cattle. Then it rose in pitch to a mighty bellow that echoed down the corridors and across the foyer. The howling warbled, and I clenched my teeth to ward off the painful noise. In an instant, I knew what it was. A warncharm. Very powerful magic that acted as an alarm. Its tremulous volume could incapacitate would-be prowlers until help arrived.

I knew that Edilman had failed.

The Dowager was on her feet, her eyes going wild as she went to the door. “The warncharm. That's—that's coming from my vaults.”

I stood as she turned to me. Looking past her at the mirrored wall, I saw the concern on my face, the doubt, the guilt. The Dowager took one look at me and instantly knew what was going on. Her face hardened, lined with betrayal. She backed away from me.

“Dowager,” I pleaded, “I can explain—”

“Guards!” she screamed, running from the room. “Guards!” Once the door opened, the howls of the warncharm swallowed the Dowager's screams.

“Zoc!” I cried, bolting from the room. The Dowager had already disappeared down the stairs. I ran to my room on the second floor. Grabbing my pack, I paused only to light the candle in the window, and then went off in search of Edilman.

Dashing as fast as I could, I arrived at the entrance to the vault corridor. A wave of nausea came over me and I shoved my fingers in my ears to ward off the sound. The dim corridor lanterns flickered. I peered down and saw the vault door wide-open. A moment later, Edilman, his arms wrapped around a small wooden box pressed to his chest, charged from the vault.

As he passed the first pair of stone statues, an incandescent flash filled the corridor. Slowly, the statues moved, their heads turning to watch Edilman run away. Granite swords in hand, the statues stepped down from their plinths and lumbered after him.

Flash!
Edilman passed the next pair of statues and they, too, stirred from their slumber, leaping to the ground, weapons raised. As Edilman passed each statue, another flash brought it to life until he had a small stone army in pursuit, silent except for the scraping of rock on marble.

As Edilman emerged from the corridor, a stone arrow whizzed past his head and sank deep into the banister along the landing. “Move!” he ordered, and we took off for the stairs. Down in the foyer, the front doors to the mansion flew open and a half-dozen members of the Provincial Guard stormed in, swords at the ready. We paused. To our right, the statues were closing in. The guards looked up, spotted us, and charged the stairs.

“Come on!” I shouted over the howling, tugging Edilman's arm and pulling him into my bedroom. Slamming the door, we threw our shoulders into moving the enormous bureau so it blocked the entry. A moment later, wood splintered as a mighty stone fist slammed into our barricade.

Edilman thrust the box he'd stolen into my arms and pulled two ropes and a large metal hook from his pack. Hastily, he wove one rope around me, tying the heavy box to my back. As a combination of living and stone warriors chopped at the door and bureau, he lashed the other rope and hook to the terrace railing and dropped it to the ground below.

I looked down. “Are you naff-nut? Edilman, I can't take two steps without tripping. You expect me to—”

A stone ax broke through the bureau, creating a hole through which stone arrows zipped. I ducked as Edilman grabbed the rope and jumped over the side. “It's do or die, Jaxter,” he called, scaling down the side of the mansion.

“Why can't it ever be ‘do and live'?” I muttered.

Certain I was about to die, I grabbed the rope, stepped over the terrace, and followed Edilman down. I teetered with the weight of the box pulling at my back. I slipped, the rope burning into my palms. Concentrating, I closed my eyes and continued down, hand over hand. I heard Edilman touch down, then cry, “Jaxter, look out!”

I looked up to see a stone archer statue on the balcony, taking aim at my head. I tried wiggling but couldn't fling myself out of the way. Just then, the statue with the stone ax brought his weapon down on the rope, severing it.