"Yes. The effect of the casting is much like a storm in the Eferum – it places strain on the boundaries between the worlds."
"We must divide our resources. Lamprey, you will have charge of the second and third squads, deployed to the Sentene’s regular duties. Illuma, Faille, the Hand will support your squads in dealing with the major incursions and ensuring the safety of the Montjuste-Surcleres. Fennis, I want you to revisit the Loise investigation, and more generally try to uncover any hint of who was behind the attack. Is there more you can tell us there, Lady Montjuste-Surclere?"
"We abandoned the title. As for Loise – my great-grandparents travelled there together, and arrived late in the night. My great-grandmother had stayed with the horses, and heard a cry, then the sound of someone running. She found her husband and the focus' vessel in pieces. And yet, the focus was still there. The locals camped near the site were attracted by the light she conjured, and so she had to leave him. She became…very determined to find a way to stop the Grand Summoning after that." Rennyn looked down at her bandaged hands, and thought of all the chances she’d had last night to die. "You see where the strategy of keeping ourselves invisible comes from? If we can be found, we can be killed. And the first expression was a place we were certain to be."
"You will be well-guarded here," Lady Weston began, but Rennyn shook her head.
"Guard my brother, by all means. I’ll limit my exposure to the actual periods of the incursions."
For the first time Lady Weston showed a hint of frustration. "That may not be the wisest course," she said.
"But it is the one I will take."
"Having demonstrated how capable you are of hiding yourself," said Captain Faille.
This made Rennyn smile. "A fair point. Still, it makes more sense for Seb and I not to be handily in the same place."
"You don’t trust us." The third of the Sentene captains, Lamprey, was a human man with dark skin. Outrage had broken through the professional mask. "You’re not concerned about our ability to protect you, but our opportunity to attack you."
She hadn’t realised she’d shown that, and said carefully: "I’m tolerably certain that I wouldn’t have survived the night if I’d come close to anyone who wanted to kill me. In this, it is simply as I said: staying here makes me too easy to find. It’s almost a moot point, since I’ll be spending so much time roaming about the countryside. And on that subject – the next incursion is in three days, and not far from Asentyr, but there is a stage of the attunement I must perform immediately after that. The vessel for the focus needs to be constructed, and to do that I must also visit the places Queen Solace summoned her younger focuses. These– " She frowned. "These should not be incursion points. No breach was recorded in the previous iteration, but like the first expression, they are known places that I must visit."
"A place to expect attacks? Where are they?"
"The first is her home. Surclere Manor, or what little remains of it. The second is the palace’s Hall of Summoning, which at least is conveniently close." Rennyn stood up. "I presume you want to establish at the next incursion site well beforehand. I’ll return the day after tomorrow, near midday."
They let her go. She had wondered if they’d consider stopping her, but though they didn’t like it there were no further protests. An escort took her back down to check on Seb, and then showed her the way out of the palace. Rennyn wasted a few minutes losing the person set to follow her, and removing the subtle little traces which had been 'chanted into her clothes, then spent the remainder of the day ensuring there was nothing in the apartment which would reveal too much. If they were persistent, they would find the place eventually.
Then she took the old lady’s advice and slept.
Chapter Eight
"This is becoming intolerable."
As soon as she heard the deliberately raised voice of Lydia Norandar, Kendall snapped her book shut and sat up, straightening her stupid student smock. Just in time. The door was jerked open and three girls clattered in, all braids and exaggerated drama.
"Two hours," fumed Lydia to her companions, thrusting her books back on their shelf. Tall and golden, she’d be pretty but for a nose permanently elevated. "Two hours they keep us sitting around, and then sent back without a word of apology. My father will hear of this."
"Does he rank your education above the defence of the realm?" asked Helena Renton, a droopy blonde following the three into the dormitory they shared. "Surely it must have occurred to you that every competent mage in Tyrland has better things to do right now than prepare you for your Summoning."
Since Helena topped Lydia on the social scale that was Lydia’s be-all and end-all, the girl only tossed her head, then glared at the last student to enter the room.
"If they’re so keen on defence, they’re being very lax," she said, with deep meaning. "If they’re really hunting for supporters of the Black Queen, why are they ignoring the obvious?"
The obvious was the last of the students who shared the room, a tall girl with fine but colourless hair and daggers for nails. She didn’t react to the pointed comment, returning her books to their shelf and leaving the room without so much as glancing at the other occupants.
"Truly, she makes my blood run cold," said plump Elsa, Lydia’s chief crony. "Why are we forced to keep company with a creature like that, particularly when the Black Queen threatens us?"
"It shows a disregard for our safety," said Anaret, the second crony. "If you ask me, they should all be locked away, at least until this crisis is over. I mean, you never can be sure."
"Truly an excellent idea," Helena drawled, propping herself on the mound of pillows which had found their way to her bed. "With Tyrland suddenly plagued by the worst nightmares out of the Eferum, we should throw half the Sentene in prison. Because they’re spooky."
"Because the Kellian were created by Queen Solace," Lydia said sharply. "You can’t escape that. It doesn’t matter what they’ve done in the past, how they’ve served the Montjustes. They were made by Solace Montjuste-Surclere. She’s their creator, their god. Now that we know she’s alive, how can we trust them?"
Helena shrugged. "Well, if you think Sukata Illuma is going to attack you in your bed, feel free to go home. Somehow, I don’t think you’re her type."
"I may well do that." Lydia turned her displeasure abruptly toward Kendall. "First the peasant, and now cancelled lessons every day. What kind of–"
Kendall didn’t bother to stay for the rest. She’d heard more than enough about unlettered peasants being allowed into the Arkathan. Things had turned out much as she’d expected. Lady Weston had handed her over to the Head of the Arkathan, the school which was one of the three branches of the Houses of Magic, and had not been back. Kendall didn’t blame her: a stray potential mage was totally unimportant when people were being killed, and there was all this talk about conspiracies to bring back the Black Queen. Besides, Kendall had made her own choice to try magery, and didn’t want the Grand Magister treating Kendall as her business.
The problem was that the Arkathan was the wrong place to start. It was an advanced school, taking snotty nobles and the very cream of other young mages just when they were getting ready to summon their first focus, and grooming them for the Hand, or the Sentene, or to be scholars of the Art – or just too powerful for their own good. It didn’t matter whether Kendall had potential or not; she hadn’t passed any of the stages required to enter the Arkathan. She hadn’t been learning sigils along with her letters, and could barely sense power, let alone understand how to use it. The Head had given her a couple of books and told her to memorise them, found her a uniform and an empty bed, and left her to kick about on her own.