Rachel jerked at Cinder’s hand. “Let go of me!”
“You know what he said,” Cinder said in his rumbling voice.
Rachel pulled again and this time Cinder let her go. Rachel rubbed her right hand with her left, glaring at Cinder, but the moment was gone. “That hurt.”
Cinder didn’t answer and Rachel got to her feet. “I’m done talking to you,” she said, then paused and made herself a liar. “You’re wrong. He can’t replace me.”
“Maybe he can’t,” I said. “But you might want to think about what that means. If you can’t be replaced, you can’t be promoted.”
Rachel turned and walked out. I watched her go, checking the futures to make sure she wouldn’t turn and blow up the whole restaurant. I wouldn’t have put it past her.
Beside me, I felt Anne let out a breath. “That was . . . not a fun experience.” She looked at Cinder. “Is she usually like this?”
“No,” Cinder said curtly, and stood. “We’re done. Verus.” He walked out, following Rachel.
I kept checking until I was certain they were both gone, then gave a long sigh and leant my head back, closing my eyes. “Jesus.” I felt as though I’d just gone through a fight.
“You told me she was crazy, but I didn’t think . . .” Anne shook her head. “Do you think she listened?”
“Maybe,” I said. Rachel had given away more than she realised. She might still be Richard’s Chosen, but she wasn’t bound to him so tightly anymore. There were cracks in the wall now, and I had the feeling that there might be a way to split them open, if I could only find it. But that was a problem for another day. I shook my head and rose. “Let’s get out of here.”
chapter 8
APRIL AND MAY
The cold winter turned into a cold spring. Down in London, the days grew warmer, but every morning in the Welsh valleys still dawned icy and sharp.
Rachel didn’t come back. I put out some feelers, trying to talk to her again, but she didn’t respond, which frankly was pretty much what I’d expected. I still remembered what Shireen had told me, but I couldn’t really track her down against her will, and short of some order from Richard bringing us together, we had a stalemate. In any case, I didn’t have time to sit around waiting: between training with Anne and my duties at the War Rooms with Morden, I was busy all spring. What spare time I did have I put into following Arachne’s advice and searching for a dreamstone. It was slow and frustrating work. Arachne hadn’t been exaggerating about how rare they were, and the few rumours I could find suggested that the only dreamstones anyone knew about were in the private collections of master mages, where they were most definitely not for sale. Trying to steal one from said master mages seemed like a bad idea for a variety of reasons, but as the weeks crept by I started to wonder if I was getting desperate enough to try.
In the meantime, life went on. Luna found a new flat to live in, but this time she kept the location a secret from everyone but us, arriving and departing via gate stone. As the spring wore on, she started disappearing, working on some project that she didn’t tell us about. Her spare time she mostly spent with Variam, who’d started training for his journeyman tests; Landis had started the negotiations for a testing date, and Variam was clearly determined to pass first try. As for Anne, when the healer corps continued to refuse to give her shift work, she put in a request to be allowed to treat normals in her own time. The Council said no. Anne ignored them and did it anyway. Given our position, we really couldn’t afford to get caught breaking the rules, but Anne was adamant and I gave in and worked to help her keep it a secret.
The Crusaders stayed quiet for April, then took another shot at me in May, trying to catch me while I was sleeping. The attack was well planned, but I’d been expecting it this time, and managed to give them the slip without having to fight. Unfortunately, the attack also showed up the weaknesses of the Welsh farmhouse. The location just wasn’t defensible, and I’d never had the chance to set up the protections that I’d had at my shop in Camden. It had been meant as a place to hide, but I’d been using it for too long and now too many people knew how to find it. Reluctantly I left the house empty and switched to hotels and temporary accommodation, staying on the move. It threw off the Crusaders, but as the weeks went by it started to wear me down. It’s depressing being a nomad.
Morden kept playing his political games, but more defensively. Rather than pursue active plans, he simply waited, occupying himself by blocking the Crusaders’ and Guardians’ schemes. Instead of taking it at face value, this apparent inactivity seemed to convince his enemies among the Light mages that Morden must be up to something even more secret and nefarious, and they drove themselves crazy trying to figure out what it was. It wouldn’t have been my problem, except that one of the first people they’d go calling upon to find that out was me. By the beginning of the summer, it felt as though everyone on the Council was trying to pump me for information.
One Light mage in particular was especially persistent.
| | | | | | | | |
JUNE
“For the fourth time,” I told Talisid, “I don’t know.”
“What about the apprentice committee?” Talisid asked. “What’s going on with that?”
“Morden’s still trying to get a Dark mage on there.”
“Which one?”
“No names yet.”
“Then what’s his objective?”
“That is his objective.”
“Then what about the debate on South America?” Talisid asked. “Morden’s been siding with the Isolationists.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I was staying at a hotel near Leicester Square. The room was pretty nice, with draped windows and a big comfortable bed on which I was currently lying, my head propped up against the headboard. In my left hand I held Talisid’s communicator, while in my right hand I held a knife. Right at the moment, I was a lot more interested in playing with the knife. “Why not?” I asked.
“Come on, Verus,” Talisid said. The audio quality was good enough that I could pick up the undertone of annoyance in his voice.
I balanced the knife hilt-first on one finger, then flipped it into the air and caught it by the blade. “Don’t know what to tell you.”
“What’s he pushing for?” Talisid asked. “What’s the long game?”
“Make people owe him favours? Foster acceptance of a Dark mage on the Council?”
“That can’t be all of it.”
I sighed. “Look. Ever since Morden was raised, he’s built political capital and increased his influence on the Council. Has it occurred to you that maybe the reason he’s doing that is because that’s what he wants? That the reason it looks like he’s playing nice with the Council and building political influence is because that really is exactly what he’s doing?”
“But to what end?”
I swung the knife hilt-first onto the bed and watched it bounce. “Why do any of the Council mages want what they want? In case it’s escaped your notice, Morden’s acting exactly like any other Light mage. Scramble and manoeuvre until you’re on top of the heap. He’s just somewhat better at it than average.”
“Don’t fall into the trap of assuming that there’s no difference between him and his rivals,” Talisid said sharply. “You have no idea of the things Morden did to get where he is now.”
I rolled my eyes. I like Talisid, more or less, but he’s definitely a Light mage. Council good, Dark mages bad, and anything that doesn’t fit with that is just an individual exception to the rule. “Sure.”