She returned the mirror box to the cedar case, and the case to its place on the shelf. Her fears were pointless. Whether Helbin was lost, she certainly was not. She had many resources, her design would go forward. As long as there was breath in her body, she would not give up.
And what of Zala? The half-breed had had plenty of time to find Tol, and perhaps she had succeeded. Valaran could easily imagine Tol, upon learning of his hometown’s fall, rushing there to rally the survivors in the province. It would be a logical step, and an honorable one, just like him. It also would explain both Zala’s tardiness and the unexpected victory over Tokasin’s rampaging tribesmen.
For the first time in weeks, Valaran smiled. Even now Tol might be on his way to her.
She seated herself at a nearby table. Taking a fresh page of vellum and a sharp quill from the small store on the table, she unfastened the pendant from around her neck.
The pendant was a rose, wrought in silver, three finger-widths wide. Hollow, it was actually a tiny flask. Such trinkets were nothing out of the ordinary-two other intricately worked pendants had been made for the empress, to hold the scents she preferred. Valaran had chosen the innocuous silver rose to hold not perfume but a special ink. She’d learned of this unique fluid while reading the private memoirs of the Empress Yetai, chief consort of Emperor Ackal III.
She opened the tiny concealed cap and dipped a nib in the ink. On touching the page, the colorless ink turned pale lavender. Valaran wrote swiftly. As the ink dried, it faded from sight, and would become visible again only when the letter was held in steam containing certain herbs. Empress Yetai had used the vanishing ink to communicate with her lover, Lord Gonz Hellmann, as they plotted the murder of her husband.
Valaran preferred not to dwell upon the final fate of Yetai: betrayed by her lover to save his own life, the long-ago empress had been found guilty of treason and executed by her husband.
The note was addressed to her chief agent in the city. The plan is progressing, she wrote. The Wolves are coming, but do not fear. Proceed as you have been doing. Our reward comes soon.
Even with the concealment of Yetai’s ink, she kept her words vague. After adding some coded details about money and arms, she turned the parchment over and wrote on the other side, in normal ink, an innocent order for writing supplies for the imperial library. The order would be delivered to the Scriveners’ Hall today, where her minion would pass it along to its true recipient, who knew how to uncover the secret message.
Valaran tucked the sealed missive into the sleeve of her gown. In the corridor outside the library she encountered the chief White Robe, Winath.
The wizard greeted her. “Seeking a palimpsest?” Valaran asked.
“No, Majesty, I seek you.”
Valaran offered her chilliest royal smile-lips firmly together, eyes half-closed-as she looked down at the older woman. “Yes?”
At the wizard’s suggestion they moved away from the library entrance. Once they turned the corner into a narrow side passage, Valaran heard the pack of impatient scribes scurrying back into the library.
Satisfied they were alone, Winath said, “Majesty, I have recently come across some writings of my predecessor, Yoralyn. I think they offer insight into the current crisis.”
Valaran could think of numerous crises facing them just now, but she merely waited for the White Robe to continue.
“The inability of our scryers to observe the doings of the bakali has always smacked of interference, Majesty. Now I am sure of it.”
Alarmed but outwardly composed, Valaran prompted her with a nod.
Winath lowered her voice even further. “Has Your Majesty ever heard of a millstone?” Valaran said she had not. “It’s an artifact, made by the ancient Irda race, for protection against magic,” Winath explained. “It works, so the old books say, like a sponge, absorbing all ethereal power it encounters.”
Although an interesting fact to Valaran the scholar, Valaran the empress could see no point to this conversation about a legendary artifact. She allowed her impatience to show.
Winath added quickly, “Majesty, according to Yoralyn’s papers, Lord Tolandruth possessed just such an artifact!”
Not even Valaran’s great self-possession could withstand that revelation. Astonishment bloomed on her face. The old woman’s words explained so much that Valaran instantly believed her claim.
Years ago, Tol and Val had enjoyed trysts in the garden of the wizards’ college, despite the barrier spells that protected it. As long as Valaran was with Tol, she could pass through the spells without hindrance. She’d asked him about his ability, but he would say only that knowing the secret would endanger her. He’d also survived every murder attempt by the rogue wizard Mandes, when others fell like autumn leaves around him. People said Lord Tolandruth possessed the gods’ own luck. Perhaps it was not luck, but the ancient knowledge of the Irda that protected him!
“Majesty,” Winath said loudly, interrupting Valaran’s thoughts. “I feel it must be the millstone that obstructs our efforts to spy upon the bakali. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Valaran did not understand the old wizard’s apology.
“Sorry to be the one who tells you that Lord Tolandruth must be collaborating with the enemy.”
The statement was so absurdly wrong Valaran almost laughed. Poor Winath. Although a notable scholar, she had never really been groomed for leadership. When it came to politics, she was out of her depth.
“Majesty, Lord Tolandruth must have turned against the empire out of hatred for his humiliation and exile.”
Valaran’s slow nod hid her racing thoughts. A chilling realization suddenly came to her. Maintaining her regal mask, she said, “Have you told anyone else about this, Winath?”
“No, Majesty. Yoralyn’s manuscripts are protected by grievous wards. Only the chief of the order has the power to read them.” A dark shadow passed over the wizard’s lined face. “Oropash must have known-may he rest in the arms of Draco Paladine.”
“You have not approached the emperor?”
Winath looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Such a powerful artifact should not fall into the wrong hands,” she replied carefully.
The empress agreed, and Winath relaxed. “Majesty,” she asked, “what should be done about this?”
Valaran linked her arm in the old woman’s. The wizard was startled by the intimate gesture. As Valaran began to walk, the White Robe accompanied her.
“That is indeed the question: what is to be done with this knowledge?” Valaran murmured. After a thoughtful pause, she asked, “You’ve had no success piercing the veil surrounding the bakali?”
Winath admitted they had not. Even attempts to scry ahead and behind the field of obscurity, thereby detecting the direction of the enemy, had yielded contradictory and unhelpful results.
The two women mounted the winding stairs leading to the servants’ quarters. It was midafternoon, and the warren of rooms was empty.
“Is it possible, Winath, that the veil over the bakali is a simple ward, well cast by a powerful magician?”
“It’s possible, Majesty, but there aren’t many who could work so deep and long-lasting a spell.”
“Could you?”
Winath shook her head, looking somewhat regretful. “My specialty is language and conjuration. I was never strong with wards. Yoralyn was a powerful wardmaster, as was Helbin.”
The White Robe glanced at the empress, but she did not seem especially disturbed by mention of the Red Robe, branded a traitor and coward by the emperor.
A whiff of smoke came to them. They were passing a window slit in the circular stairwell. Valaran glanced out and saw plumes of gray smoke rising from various parts of the city.