Выбрать главу

A bespectacled gnome shuffled papers at a livewood desk that guarded the door to the Cardinal’s inner sanctum. Branches sprouting from the living green wood of the desk had been coaxed into loose baskets that overflowed with even more papers. A small everbright lantern perched atop one of the desk’s thicker limbs that was growing upwards toward the room’s single high window. Judging from the orange light that leaked in through the glass, early afternoon was giving way to late, with no end to her waiting in sight. Irulan had just resigned herself to another day of camping out on the Cardinal’s plush carpet when his office door banged open and an angry-looking priest stormed out, giving her a disdainful glance as he passed. The gnome glanced up at her from behind violet-tinted lenses.

“The Cardinal will see you now.”

Surprised, Irulan hastily stood, patting the small packet in her pouch, as if trying to reassure herself it was still there. She pushed stray braids behind her ears and vainly tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her pants. There was nothing to be done about the dirt on her sandals. Feeling naked without her weapons-one did not enter a Cathedral armed-she took a deep breath to steady herself and then hurried through the open door before the Cardinal changed his mind about seeing her.

Riathan’s office was a study in organized clutter. Shelves filled with books and scrolls lined two walls, and two of the three chairs facing his oversized desk were piled high with folders. The Cardinal himself sat in an equally oversized chair behind the desk, its dark leather in sharp contrast with his white robes. While the outer office was designed to impress, this room was sparse by comparison, its only ornamentations a single tapestry and a small silver statuette of Tira Miron that was currently being used as a paperweight.

As Irulan entered, Cardinal Riathan waved toward the open chair, not looking up from the scroll he was writing on. She sat on the edge of the seat, feeling like a youngling about to be schooled by the clan elders.

The Cardinal scribbled furiously without speaking for several long moments, and Irulan took the opportunity to examine his office more closely. His desk was set against the northern wall, beneath the room’s lone tapestry, which acted in lieu of a window. The hanging depicted the view from one of the east-facing towers, with the narrow gray spires of Thalingard overshadowing the city of Flamekeep as it spilled down the cliffs toward the docks. An interesting choice, given that most members of the Church’s hierarchy would like to see the ancient seat of Thrane’s former monarchs razed to the ground.

A small door in the eastern wall probably led to a bedchamber and privy. Everbright lanterns floated about the room, more than making up for the absence of natural lighting. Books lined his many shelves, and Irulan found she recognized some of the titles. Her father had owned many of these same tomes, and had required her to read more than a few of them. Thinking of her scholarly father brought a small smile to her lips, but she bit it back and turned her attention to studying the Cardinal.

Riathan was a not a small man, though he was dwarfed by his over-large furniture. No doubt a tactic meant to ensure visitors would underestimate the smiling prelate, but Irulan had no intention of doing so. While the Cardinal was known for his sympathy toward shifters, Irulan knew she couldn’t count on that to guarantee Javi’s release. She would have to convince him of her brother’s innocence, and treating him like the friendly old priest he pretended to be was not the way to do it.

The Cardinal finished writing and set his quill aside. He sat back in his chair and gazed at Irulan with eyes that held no hint of merriment. Under his assessing gaze, she unconsciously straightened her back and raised her chin.

“Irulan Silverclaw, daughter of the learned druid Drego, son of Melak ‘the Broken,’ son of Rave of the Silver Quill, son of Bennin, possibly the greatest shifter hero in the history of Khorvaire. To what do I owe this honor?”

Irulan’s nose twitched. He knew exactly why she was here.

He was baiting her.

What choice did she have? She bit.

“Your Eminence,” Irulan replied, inclining her head slightly. “I’m honored that you know of my humble origins. It is on behalf of my family that I have come.”

A tic was forming at the corner of Riathan’s mouth.

“Continue.”

“Your Eminence, no doubt you are aware of the terrible events that have occurred in Aruldusk over the past months?” At his nod, she continued. “His Excellency, the Most Reverend Bishop Maellas, in his great wisdom, believes that the murderers are shifters.”

She paused then, not for effect, but because the words had congealed on her tongue, like old grease. Or blood.

“One of those shifters is my brother, Javi.”

“Ah,” the Cardinal said, unsurprised. “And, you, naturally, believe your brother is innocent?”

“Of course he’s innocent,” she responded, then caught herself. Giving into her anger would not do her-or Javi-any good. “My brother is incapable of that kind of violence, Your Eminence, let alone the viciousness required for such a heinous act.”

“Ah,” Riathan said again noncommittally. He leaned forward in his chair. “Do you have any proof of your brother’s innocence? An alibi, perhaps?”

Irulan clicked her claws together impatiently. “It was the last day of Brightfest, Your Eminence.”

The Cardinal paused, blue eyes narrowing. Brightfest was one of the most beloved of shifter holidays, and he knew as well as she did that every shifter in Aruldusk would have been outside the city walls, celebrating long into the night. Except Javi, who had apparently started early.

“Yes. Well, as I understand it, your brother was discovered passed out behind a tavern only a few streets away from where the mutilated body of Zodal ir’Marktaros was later found. With blood on his face, and his clothes-”

“He’d been drinking and gotten in a brawl. There’s nothing illegal about that.”

“-and he himself could not remember his whereabouts at the time of the murder.”

“Because he was drunk. Your Eminence, please. He’s being framed!”

Riathan did look surprised at that. He sat back, blinking.

“By the Bishop?” he asked. “For what possible reason?”

Irulan bit back her first response, then said carefully, “Not everyone in the Church looks as kindly on shifters as you do, Your Eminence.”

She’d overplayed her hand. Riathan’s eyes grew icy.

“How dare you? The only reason I even agreed to see you was in deference to your heritage, but your implications are outrageous, and very nearly bordering on heresy. Bishop Maellas has served the Church faithfully for almost two hundred years. He renounced the false teachings of the Undying Court-one of the few elves of Aerenal ever brave enough to do so-and turned his heart to the Flame while Bennin was still a pup. His holiness and wisdom have earned him a place on our highest council many times over, but he refuses the honor out of a deep sense of his own humility. If Maellas believes shifters are to blame for the murders in Aruldusk, the Council of Cardinals will not gainsay him. I’m afraid your trip has been a waste of time.”

He stood, forcing Irulan to stand as well, then held out his ring for her to kiss. The meeting was over.

It was only once she was outside in the corridor, with the gnome locking the door to the suite behind her, that she realized she hadn’t shown him the contents of the packet.

When she’d been brought to Riathan’s office, a young boy in livery had led her through the twisting corridors and up several flights of stairs, but he was long gone. Irulan thought she remembered the path they’d taken well enough, but after three sets of stairs, and twice that many hallways, she appeared to be nowhere near the Cathedral narthex. Apparently few of the Cardinals worked past the third bell, for the halls were remarkably quiet, without even the expected scurry of overworked servants’ feet against the silver-veined black marble. Perhaps there was some religious ceremony occurring elsewhere in the city that had called most of the Cathedral’s inhabitant’s away. Or perhaps they were all off somewhere, observing their evening prayers.