Atre’s eyes widened. This was not at all the sort of conversation he’d expected. He held his breath and put his eye to the thin opening between the door and frame. Malthus was on his feet, pacing, while the others sipped their wine.
“A quick slice makes for the most successful surgery,” Duchess Nerian noted, swirling the wine in her cup. “We can’t simply ask Phoria to step aside, now can we?”
“And then there’s Elani to be dealt with, after that,” Duke Zymir said. A chill ran up Atre’s spine, thinking of the gracious young girl. If anyone was going to claim her life, it was going to be him! Anything else would be a ridiculous waste.
“Not if she were to have an unfortunate accident or illness,” Zymir replied. “Now that they’ve chosen to attack Klia herself!”
“The message said it was Plenimaran assassins,” said Malthus.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” asked Laneus. “No, I think the battle has been joined.”
“I wonder if an assassin could breach the Palace?” said Marquise Lalia.
“Perhaps that Rhiminee Cat fellow?” Sarien suggested. “By all reports the man can break in anywhere.”
“He’s no assassin, as far as I know.”
“But this is ridiculous!” Malthus objected again.
“You want Klia on the throne as badly as any of us, don’t you?” asked Laneus.
“Yes, of course, but-”
“Then don’t stand in our way.” That sounded like a threat, though the man’s cool smile never faltered. “But we do need someone close to her. Reltheus and Kyrin have Alaya in their snare. Perhaps one of the squires? Or-” He paused and turned to Malthus again. “What about that ’faie friend of yours, Lord Seregil, and his boy? Word is Elani is quite enchanted with them.”
“Seregil?” Lalia sneered. “I wouldn’t trust that wastrel with a half-sester piece. And he’s one of the greatest gossips in Rhiminee.”
“But he has excellent connections to the royal family, and Klia in particular. And you’ve always said there’s more to him than most people see, haven’t you, Malthus?”
Malthus sighed. “I don’t know. He’s on good terms with Korathan, as well, and if word ever got to the vicegerent about any of this-” He shook his head. “Let me think on it. And for the love of Sakor, leave off this talk of killing! I thought our purpose was to protect Klia from Kyrin and his lot.”
Just then Atre heard footsteps approaching from the front hall and hastily retreated to the kitchen before he was seen. Tanni was where he’d left her, bored and fashioning little shapes out of bread.
“Can we go now?” she asked with a yawn.
“Of course, my girl. Come and say your farewells.”
Atre made a point of conversing with her on the way back, to let Laneus and his conspirators know they were coming. He suspected neither of their lives would be worth much if the nobles knew what he’d heard.
Back at the house in Gannet Lane, Atre saw Tanni to the room she shared with her brother. Going up to his own chamber,
he pocketed a few items from the box hidden in the wardrobe, took the battered leather box down from the shelf, and slipped out again, unseen.
The small, plain room smelled of damp earth and contained only the few things Atre needed. He locked the low door behind him and set the lantern on the table in the middle of the room. Its light reflected off dozens of glass phials carefully arranged in tall racks against the far wall. Most of them were empty now. The old clay bottles, inherited from Atre’s mother with her power, had long since been broken or lost in their frequent escapes. The glass ones suited his purposes much better; you could see what was inside.
Atre went to the corner farthest from the door and pried out a loose stone from the wall. In the space behind it was a small iron box. Carrying it to the table, he unlocked it and lifted out the ancient necklace it contained. It was made of human finger bones strung on a rawhide thong made of human skin, or so his mother had told him when she taught him the magic. It was what she believed, and he had no reason to doubt her. Traces of the black designs that had been scratched into the bones still remained, but they were worn smooth at the ends from long use. He hung it around his neck, selected six empty phials, and stood them on the table. He began with the plain box under the table; opening it, he scooped up six items at random: a broken penknife, a carved walnut, a clay marble, a piece of red glass, and two tiny braids of hair. Squinting, he examined the faint glowing threads that emanated from them-no more than a few on any of them. A man could starve to death on such fare, if there weren’t so much of it to be had. These required the full curing time to get the good out of them. He placed each one in an empty phial, then pulled the carefully labeled chain Duke Laneus had given him tonight from his pocket and contemplated it, sorely tempted after the insulting supper in the kitchen.
With a sigh he squatted down and unlocked the larger, fancier casket under the table, adding the chain to the small collection of fine jewelry it contained. He held his hand over it
for a moment, and a shiver went through him at the power there. It took considerable will to lock the box again and push it back under the table. What mischief he could make with these! From what he’d gleaned from his eavesdropping, Reltheus and Kyrin were part of a plot against Princess Klia, one opposed by Duke Laneus and his friends. And were Laneus and the others really planning to kill the queen herself, as well as the princess royal? Another possessive frown creased his brow at the thought.
Rhiminee was certainly one of the more interesting places he’d been. He hadn’t seen this much intrigue since the time he and Brader had spent in Zengat. It could be quite lucrative, if you were cagey and backed the right side.
He wasn’t ready for the so-called plague to manifest itself in the better wards just yet. Not that it had to, of course. The stronger the life force on an object, the less seasoning it took to create the elixir, especially if you were willing to sacrifice some potency for the sake of timing. But timing of another sort had to be considered, as well. It wouldn’t do for their host to die the very night Atre had been with him. That sort of thing could get a man in trouble, as Brader would have been happy to point out if he knew Atre was having these kinds of thoughts again. As if Atre hadn’t learned a thing or two over the years!
Resisting temptation, he set about preparing the poorer items, which needed days to leach out their meager power. He filled the phials from the waterskin and corked them. Then he lit the thick tallow candle on the table from the lantern and used it to melt dark green sealing wax over the top of each bottle, coating the cork and the neck. When they were cool he incised the proper markings with a copper stylus that had been his mother’s-all but one symbol, the central one. Holding a hand over each bottle in turn, he spoke the words of power. Faint light glowed inside each one for an instant as each soul was drawn in. Six more little sleepers in the slums.
He placed the phials carefully into the rack and locked the necklace away. Then he selected a matured elixir from the rack; he could just make out a crude, blue-glazed bead
through the milky liquid. Such beads were supposed to ward off evil, he’d been told. He smiled as he broke the seal and swallowed the contents, careful to leave the bead in the bottle. The elixir tingled across his tongue and down his throat, leaving a bitter, metallic aftertaste like blood in his mouth. The little life force swirled through him, and he sighed at the sensation.
It wasn’t enough.
He drank another, and another, then stopped himself with an effort, hands shaking. Not enough.
Teeth clenched, he selected a dozen of the matured elixirs and slid them into the padded pigeonholes in the leather box, then replaced everything as it had been and took his leave, locking the door carefully after him.
CHAPTER 19. Picnics and Partisans