“And you know what to make of this so-called pattern now?”
Lenoir downed the last of his brandy. He had scarcely swallowed before the servant appeared to whisk his empty glass away. Not for the first time, he marveled at the efficiency of Zera’s domestic staff. They were always hovering somewhere nearby, unseen, waiting for a subtle signal to appear. “As I said before, I am convinced that necromancy is involved. The kidnappers were trying to restore a dead child to life. They failed, but now they are attempting something similar. If I’m right, they are trying to channel the soul of the dead boy into a live host. That’s what they wanted with Zach and that other boy, the one who went mad.”
Zera threw herself into her chair. She stared at Lenoir, her eyes smoldering with something unreadable. “You are listening to yourself, aren’t you? Bringing the dead back to life?”
“I have stopped worrying about how crazy it all seems. The evidence is compelling, and in any case, I have no competing theory.”
“What evidence?” Zera scoffed.
She’s right, he admitted inwardly. What he had found did not really qualify as evidence. It was hearsay and speculation, and though it came from multiple sources, that did not necessarily mean it was accurate. He had no doubt that if he had been talking to the chief, instead of Zera, the reaction would have been even more skeptical. Yet for all that, he did not doubt himself. Perhaps that was because his theory had been corroborated by Vincent. Perhaps perversely, Lenoir considered the word of a supernatural creature to be beyond doubt.
“I am convinced of my theory,” he said simply.
Zera’s eyes narrowed. “Suppose you’re right about the necromancy. What makes you so sure it has anything to do with Warrick? His son died, what—ten years ago?”
“That is the thinnest part of my hypothesis. But it fits with the details provided by Vincent.”
“Who?”
“The green-eyed man.”
She let out a sharp, incredulous breath. “You’re on a first-name basis with a demon?”
Lenoir smiled wryly. “I suppose I am, but I would not say that we are friends. In any case, he has explained much that I did not understand, things that I would never have figured out on my own.”
Zera shook her head, her mouth hanging slightly open. She had been completely robbed of her customary poise. “I’m sorry, Nicolas, but I’m still having a difficult time with this. It seems like every time I see you, you bring a story more incredible than the last. How exactly is it that this . . . creature . . . helps you, anyway?”
“He communes with the dead. You must have heard the stories of him—he occupies an important place in Adali myth, I’m told. He has provided me with quite a lot of useful information. One particularly important fact is that the boy the kidnappers are attempting to resurrect has been dead for a long time. He was murdered by his father, who was a wealthy man. In other words, it all fits.”
Zera regarded him thoughtfully. “All right, supposing the duke really was willing to try dark magic to bring his son back to life—how would he go about finding someone to do it? It’s not as though he could just march into an Adali camp and start asking around, is it? Even if he had a servant he trusted with such an outrageous task, the Adali would throw him out on his ear the minute he so much as hinted at magic.”
“Especially the Asis clan.”
Zera snorted softly, her mouth curling into a smirk. “My, my, Nicolas. I am impressed. You really have learned a lot, haven’t you?”
Under other circumstances, Lenoir might have been annoyed at her apparent surprise. Today, however, he was too preoccupied for pride. “Perhaps Warrick didn’t approach the kidnappers at all. Perhaps they approached him.”
“And how would they do that? I doubt the Duke of Warrick would simply open his gates to a random Adal.”
Now it was Lenoir’s turn to snort. “Indeed I think we can rule that out. Perhaps they wrote him a letter.”
“That is no less ridiculous. Do you honestly think the duke would have responded to an unsolicited message promising to restore his dead son through dark magic?”
She had a point. Lenoir tapped his knee in thought.
“Then there is the question of why anyone would risk himself to help the duke,” she continued. “There’s always money, I suppose, but the proscription against dark magic is strong amongst my people. It’s hard to imagine how much money would have to be on offer to make it worthwhile. Especially since, as you’re no doubt aware, coin is only used for trading with southerners. As soon as the clan headed back north, the value of that money would plummet.”
Lenoir had never heard Zera refer to the Adali as her people before. Perhaps it was not so surprising; she had been raised among them, after all. Their ways had once been hers, even if that was virtually impossible to imagine now.
“The circumstances of the death do sound similar, but then again, I suppose Warrick is hardly the first highborn man to strike down his son. Why, that was a favorite political tactic barely a hundred years ago.”
“The objections you raise are perfectly reasonable,” said Lenoir.
“But?”
Lenoir shrugged. “But a man in my business is skeptical of coincidences. Assuming that another wealthy man in the Five Villages murdered his son many years ago, who would be in a better position than Warrick to reward those who were willing to risk everything? You said yourself that the payment would have to be extraordinary. Warrick is the most powerful man in the Five Villages. He has much more than gold to offer.” An idea began to swim up from the depths of his mind, moving slowly toward the light.
Zera clucked her tongue impatiently. “Come, now. You know his political clout is useless to an Adal.”
“Yes.” Lenoir was barely listening now. His gaze grew unfocused, turning within. The idea bumped gently against the frozen surface of his consciousness, its outlines tantalizingly visible. It’s so close. What am I missing?
“Warrick has absolutely nothing to offer a bunch of half-starved nomads who are too afraid even to go home,” Zera concluded.
The ice broke. The idea surfaced.
“You’re wrong,” said Lenoir, his gaze snapping into focus.
She regarded him coldly. “Is that so?”
“Land.”
“I beg your pardon?”
How could it have taken him so long to see it? “The duchy covers hundreds of thousands of acres. The Asis clan is struggling to survive because they don’t have access to pasture to graze their cattle. Something to do with their status amongst the other clans. If they had title over some of the duke’s lands, or at least permission to graze there, it would change everything for them.”
Zera was shaking her head vigorously. “No, no. The Adali are nomadic, Nicolas. You know that. They don’t own land, and they never stay in one place for long.”
“The Asis do. They are always within a few miles of Berryvine. That’s because they have no access to decent migration routes. Their whole way of life has been compromised. But having their own land would fix that forever.”
Zera rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. “Honestly, Nicolas, now you’re grasping. What you say is possible, it’s true, but there are a dozen other explanations that are just as likely. You are desperate to save the boy, so you’re seeing what you want to see.”
Lenoir was baffled. It was so obvious to him now that he was amazed that he had not worked it out before. Yet Zera was determined to discard his theory entirely. “How can you ignore the connection?” he asked incredulously.
She gave a dismissive wave. “Because it’s imaginary, a product of your own construction. Whether it’s a constellation or merely stars depends on who is looking.”