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And a dead man in fine clothing, lying face-first on the floor, blood pooling around him. She jumped back, tossing aside the charcoal, then crumpled up the paper. Shaking, she moved over and sat down on the bed among the pictures. Dropping the crumpled drawing, she raised her fingers to her forehead, feeling the cold sweat there.
Something was wrong with her, with her drawings.
She had to get out. Escape the death, the philosophy and the questions. She stood and hurriedly strode into the main room of Jasnah’s quarters. The princess herself was away researching, as always. She hadn’t demanded that Shallan come to the Veil today. Was that because she realized that her ward needed time to think alone? Or was it because she suspected Shallan of stealing the Soulcaster, and no longer trusted her?
Shallan hurried through the room. It was furnished only with the basics provided by King Taravangian. Shallan pulled open the door to the hallway, and nearly ran into a master-servant who had been reaching up to knock.
The woman started, and Shallan let out a yelp. “Brightness,” the woman said, bowing immediately. “Apologies. But one of your spanreeds is flashing.” The woman held up the reed, affixed on the side with a small blinking ruby.
Shallan breathed in and out, stilling her heart. “Thank you,” she said. She, like Jasnah, left her spanreeds in the care of servants because she was often away from her rooms, and was likely to miss any attempt to contact her.
Still flustered, she was tempted to leave the thing and continue on her way. However, she did need to speak with her brothers, Nan Balat particularly, and he’d been away the last few times she’d contacted home. She took the spanreed and closed the door. She didn’t dare return to her rooms, with all of those sketches accusing her, but there was a desk and a spanreed board in the main room. She sat there, then twisted the ruby.
Shallan? the reed wrote. Are you comfortable? It was a code phrase, meant to indicate to her that it was indeed Nan Balat—or, at least, his betrothed—on the other side.
My back hurts and my wrist itches, she wrote back, giving the other half of the code phrase.
I’m sorry I missed your other communications, Nan Balat sent. I had to attend a feast in Father’s name. It was with Sur Kamar, so it wasn’t really something I could miss, despite the day of traveling each way.
It’s all right, Shallan wrote. She took a deep breath. I have the item. She turned the gem.
The reed was still for a long moment. Finally, a hurried hand wrote, Praise the Heralds. Oh, Shallan. You’ve done it! You are on your way back to us, then? How can you use the spanreed on the ocean? Are you in port?
I haven’t left, Shallan wrote.
What? Why?
Because it would be too suspicious, she wrote. Think about it, Nan Balat. If Jasnah tries the item and finds it broken, she might not immediately decide that she’s been had. That changes if I’ve suddenly and suspiciously left for home.
I have to wait until she’s made the discovery, then see what she does next. If she realizes that her fabrial was replaced with a fake, then I can deflect her toward other culprits. She’s already suspicious of the ardentia. If—on the other hand—she assumes that her fabrial has broken somehow, I’ll know we’re free.
She twisted the gem, setting the spanreed in place.
The question she’d been expecting came next. And if she immediately assumes that you did it? Shallan, what if you can’t deflect her suspicion? What if she orders a search of your chambers and they find the hidden compartment?
She picked up the pen. Then it is still better for me to be here, she wrote. Balat, I have learned much about Jasnah Kholin. She is incredibly focused and determined. She will not let me escape if she thinks I have robbed her. She will hunt me down, and will use all of her resources to exact retribution. We’d have our own king and highprinces on our property in days, demanding that we turn over the fabrial. Stormfather! I’ll bet Jasnah has contacts in Jah Keved that she could reach before I got back. I’d find myself in custody the moment I landed.
Our only hope is to deflect her. If that doesn’t work, better for me to be here and suffer her wrath quickly. Likely she would take the Soulcaster and banish me from her sight. If we make her work and chase after me, though…She can be very ruthless, Balat. It would not go well for us.
The response was long in coming. When did you get so good at logic, small one? he finally sent. I see that you’ve thought this through. Better than I have, at least. But Shallan, our time is running out.
I know, she wrote. You said you could hold things together for a few more months. I ask you to do that. Give me two or three weeks, at least, to see what Jasnah does. Besides, while I am here, I can look into how the thing works. I haven’t found any books that give hints, but there are so many here, maybe I just haven’t found the right one yet.
Very well, he wrote. A few weeks. Be careful, small one. The men who gave Father his fabrial visited again. They asked after you. I’m worried about them. Even more than I worry about our finances. They disturb me in a profound way. Farewell.
Farewell, she wrote back.
So far, there had been no hint of reaction from the princess. She hadn’t even mentioned the Soulcaster. That made Shallan nervous. She wished that Jasnah would just say something. The waiting was excruciating. Each day, while she sat with Jasnah, Shallan’s stomach churned with anxiety until she was nauseated. At least—considering the killings a few days ago—Shallan had a very good excuse for looking disturbed.
Cold, calm logic. Jasnah herself would be proud.
A knock came at the door, and Shallan quickly gathered up the conversation she’d had with Nan Balat and burned it in the hearth. A palace maid entered a moment later, carrying a basket in the crook of her arm. She smiled at Shallan. It was time for the daily cleaning.
Shallan had a strange moment of panic at seeing the woman. She wasn’t one of the maids Shallan recognized. What if Jasnah had sent her or someone else to search Shallan’s room? Had she done so already? Shallan nodded to the woman and then—to assuage her worries—she walked to her room and closed the door. She rushed to the chest and checked the hidden compartment. The fabrial was there. She lifted it out, inspecting it. Would she know if Jasnah somehow reversed the exchange?
You’re being foolish, she told herself. Jasnah’s subtle, but she’s not that subtle. Still, Shallan stuffed the Soulcaster in her safepouch. It just barely fit inside the envelope-like cloth container. She’d feel safer knowing she had it on her while the maid cleaned her room. Besides, the safepouch might be a better hiding place for it than her trunk.
By tradition, a woman’s safepouch was where she kept items of intimate or very precious import. To search one would be like strip-searching her—considering her rank, either would be virtually unthinkable unless she were obviously implicated in a crime. Jasnah could probably force it. But if Jasnah could do that, she could order a search of Shallan’s room, and her trunk would be under particular scrutiny. The truth was, if Jasnah chose to suspect her, there would be little Shallan could do to hide the fabrial. So the safepouch was as good a place as any.
She gathered up the pictures she’d drawn and put them upside-down on the desk, trying not to look at them. She didn’t want those to be seen by the maid. Finally, she left, taking her portfolio. She felt that she needed to get outside and escape for a while. Draw something other than death and murder. The conversation with Nan Balat had only served to upset her more.
