“Because you have sensitivities, and the practitioner showed he isn’t above using people as tools. Don’t get too close to Anima for the time being. Stay aware of your surroundings.” She paused. “You weren’t supposed to be noticed.”
“I know,” I said. “But I couldn’t stand by.”
“And stay away from the Lys’Careths. The prince is not your ally.”
“I know. Wren has already reminded me.”
“She is not wrong. You know the Lys’Careths will do whatever they believe necessary to hold the throne.”
The Emperor Eternal had ruled Carethia for nearly three decades, and the rumors of his cruelty seeped through the pass at Mount Cennet. Hoarding coin. Controlling commerce. Executing opponents within Carethia, butchering his enemies without mercy. And in exchange for the rumors, and little else, he taxed the stronghold to the bone. Little wonder the Western Princes acted as they did.
“The Four Gates are not merely tools to keep the borders safe; they are the arms of the Emperor Eternal. His reach is long, and his claws sharp.”
Like the tiger on the prince’s banners. “I understand.”
“As do I,” Wren said, and gave me a hard look that said I was in for a lecture if I tried my hand at another adventure.
“I must go. I’ll keep searching for the practitioner. Take care.”
With that, Luna disappeared, the glimmer of green fadingaway like falling stars. And drums began to sound nearby as the curfew patrol neared.
“Let’s go,” Wren said, and her gaze searched the darkness for unfamiliar shadows.
Visitors to the Lady’s manor were greeted by a ten-foot wall with bits of gold here and there. She only allowed outsiders to read the tale she had constructed—of an elegant widow in her prime, connected and resourceful.
Her cook, Nheve, stood in the open side gate, finishing up a purchase of speckled chickens, which she held under each arm. The seller was walking away, shoulders hunched, clearly unsatisfied with the transaction. Nheve nodded at us, then followed us into the wide courtyard. The largest building, the Lady’s residence, was in the middle, and it was flanked by outbuildings, including the one we shared with several other servants. They mostly kept their distance from us, as if bond servitude was catching and they might accidentally be stuck with the debts we owed.
Something bubbled in a pot on the kitchen fire, and my stomach rumbled with hunger. But there were rules to obey here, too, so Wren and I walked to the Lady’s manor—the long expanse of wood and windows with real glass—and knocked on the wide door.
It was opened after a moment by Besha, one of the Lady’s personal servants, in her homespun dress. The personal servants were the only people in the manor allowed past the front receiving room. She looked us over with a bland expression, then stepped aside to allow us in.
The front room alone was large enough to hold the entire servants’ building. There was more wood, a floor of gleamingstone, and a hearth at one end. In between were tall candelabras that forked like tree limbs—and must have cost a small fortune to keep lit. Chairs and benches and tables stood here and there, with hanging scrolls and tapestries that showed her wealth—if not her taste. A thief could make a living in this room alone, but we didn’t take from the Lady. It wasn’t worth the risk to our lives or our freedom.
She sat in front of an embroidery frame, a golden thimble on her finger as she worked at a bit of stretched cloth. Medium height and slender build, with dark blond hair in a thick and meticulous braid. A band of pretty ribbon crossed her forehead and was woven into her hair, and she wore an underdress and overrobe of fine fabric with delicate embroidery in shimmering thread.
I placed coins at the edge of the table. Silently, she plucked them up and counted them. She must have found the total satisfactory, as they disappeared into the drawstring purse at her waist.
“They sounded the drums,” she prompted without looking up, waiting for our report.
“The prince and his army arrived,” I said.
Now she lifted her head, staring at us with shock in her eyes. I guess she hadn’t known he was coming. She poked the needle into the fabric to save her place, pushed the frame away, and gave us her entire attention. “The new prince?”
“So it seems,” I said. “He came in through the eastern market with four carriages and a lot of soldiers. Silver tiger on a black banner.”
“The carriages were attacked by assassins when they entered the gates,” Wren said.
Now her finely sculpted eyebrows shot up. “Assassins?”
“Nearly a dozen,” Wren said. “Fox warned the guards, got a thanks for it afterward.”
“You saved the new Western Prince?” There was speculation in the question; she was probably already calculating how she might get coin out of it.
“The assassins included a human possessed by an Anima.” The Lady knew I could see Anima but didn’t care to dirty herself or her manor with peasant magic.
“That’s not possible,” she said in the same tone she might have used if I’d announced that pigs flew above the carriages.
“The prince’s guards seemed to believe it,” Wren said. “Rill didn’t.”
