“It will,” Annaig agreed. “May I be alone with him for a moment?”
“Why?”
“To tell him goodbye.”
“He’s already dead. He can’t hear you.”
“Umbriel would understand,” she said.
“Very well,” Rhel yielded. “But only a moment.”
She waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps before she bent down and hugged Glim’s still body. Hoping against hope that no one was watching, she pried open his mouth and took the crystal growing at the base of his tongue. Closing his mouth, she kissed him on the snout. She put the crystal in her pocket, straightened, and wiped her eyes. Then she left to prepare Rhel’s evening meal.
Annaig had endured long nights before, but she had never felt as lost as she did after the work in the kitchen was done that evening. She drank nearly a bottle of wine, remembering drinking with Glim on her father’s balcony as the rains came in Lilmoth.
Eventually she opened her locket.
At first she didn’t know what she was seeing, but then the tangle of limbs and blankets sorted itself out. Attrebus was in profile, asleep. The woman-whoever she was-was facing Coo.
She snapped the locket shut and sat there a moment as the feeling of betrayal settled over her. On the surface of her mind, she knew she shouldn’t feel this way, that Attrebus had never implied that he had romantic feelings for her. And yet, something about the way he spoke to her, as if they had always been friends, as if when this was all over…
But no, of course not. He needed her, that was all. To do this thing, destroy this city. He had to keep her on his good side, motivated, willing to do whatever was required, even murder Glim, for the gods’ sake. This probably wasn’t even the first time, just the first time he’d slipped up and left Coo open.
And who was she anyway? Nobody. A silly girl, worshipping a prince. Probably sillier than the one who lay with him now. What must he actually think of her?
She was really stupid about people, wasn’t she? She’d thought that Slyr was her friend. She’d thought that Attrebus might-
Before she could finish the thought, she hurled the locket at the wall, then finished her wine.
ELEVEN
Colin reached into his pocket, but motion brought the thing’s attention to him, and it came at him, just as the last one had. He withdrew a small metal box-only an inch on each side-flipped open the lid, and held it out.
For an awful moment he didn’t think it would work, that Aronil was either wrong about what he faced or that the Ayleid soul-maze was old beyond functioning, but then the daedra suddenly dwindled, formed a stream that flew into the box, and was gone.
Colin closed the soul-maze and put it back in his pocket, silently thanking Aronil for showing him the book. Then he looked around to see what other wards were waiting to kill him.
What remained was more of the usual sort, and he was able to neutralize them without destroying them. It might take Hierem a while to discover the missing guardian, but if all of his protections were stripped away, the minister would know for certain that someone had been in his rooms.
He knew he should have a few hours-the minister was at court-but it was hard to resist the urge to hurry.
Hierem’s private suite had a bedroom with a dining area, a bath, and a conventional library; Colin noted them and passed on. He also discovered a room that had been converted into a small dungeon with four cells, all currently empty and clean.
More interesting was a spacious room with various workbenches and a large sigil painted on the floor. Avoiding the latter, he looked over the benches, where he found a number of strange objects. Some-like his soul-maze-looked to be of the ancient race of mer known as Ayleids; others appeared more recent and probably of Nibenese origin. He didn’t know what any of them were so he didn’t touch them. There were shelves of powders, liquids, salts, and such, along with a scattering of alchemical equipment.
What most interested him was a large desk, built with several deep drawers. A few papers lay on it, covered with scrawled notes and a few puzzling drawings, but the language wasn’t one he knew. The drawers were locked in both mundane and magical fashion, and it took him a laborious ten minutes or so to deal with that and begin going through them, looking for something-anything-to connect Hierem to the Black Marsh trip or Umbriel. But after a frustrating half hour, he didn’t find anything.
He was feeling for hidden panels when he noticed a long tube propped against the side of the desk. One end was open and a large sheet of paper was rolled inside. He spread it on the desk and regarded it.
It seemed to be plans for a device of some sort, but the conventions of the drawing and an unreadable notation left him with no understanding of what it was. He did recognize bits of it from the notes and sketches on the table, however, which suggested that it was something of present concern to Hierem. So he studied it more carefully, and this time saw one word in the notations he understood.
Umbriel.
It could be anything. For all he knew it was a weapon designed to destroy the city, something the Synod had come up with. But he had the feeling that this was somehow key.
If he actually took it, however, Hierem would instantly know something was wrong.
He toyed with the idea of waiting, of murdering Hierem as Letine had suggested.
Instead, he stole some paper from deep in one of the drawers and began copying, as best he could, the things that seemed most important.
Letine traced her fingers over the lines of Colin’s drawings as he stroked his down her bare spine.
“I’ve no sense of scale,” she said. “It could be the size of a thumb or a siege engine.”
“And it might not be anything at all,” he said, and sighed. “It certainly isn’t the proof the Emperor asked for, at least not in this form. If only I could understand the language.”
“Well, it’s not a language,” she said. “Or not exactly. It looks like Synod encryptions, the sort they use for secret communications. I’ve intercepted a few of them.”
“Can you read it?”
“No, but I recognize some of the symbols,” she said. “Obviously, you can see they use the same letters Tamrielic does, but the words are nonsense. Some of the symbols-these small ones after the passages, that look like funny letters themselves-these contain the key to reading the previous passage. I’m told once you have them memorized properly, it’s almost as effortless as reading. These others, these large ones-they represent whole ideas-usually spells, artifacts, certain sorts of energies-” She broke off.
“How faithfully did you copy this?” she asked.
“As well as I could,” he replied, “without understanding what I was reproducing. The drawing was most difficult-I can’t tell even what the parts are, what holds it together. I mean, this seems to be the bottom,” he added, pointing, “but that doesn’t make sense. It looks like it would just fall over.”
“It’s not a drawing,” Letine said. “Or at least not a blueprint for a device. It’s more like a map.” He could hear the excitement creeping into her voice. “This, for instance-I’ve seen this before where it represented a soul gem-or at least the idea of something that can trap a soul. And here, this represents something that flows in only one direction, like a river.”
“Then it is a plan, of sorts?” he asked.
“Right. It could be a device, or a spell, or a series of spells involving-well, at least two arcane objects, this one and that one.”
Colin drew himself closer. “If that’s the case,” he said, “this one might represent Umbriel.” He leafed through his copies of smaller sketches and notations. “You see? The word ‘Umbriel’ is in the passage next to it.”
“Possibly,” Letine allowed. “But if so, what is this one?”
“You know, if you turn it this way,” he mused, “it looks familiar to me-I’ve seen it before, or something really close. Not in Hierem’s chambers, but when I was studying to enter the Penitus Oculatus.”