"Eva Forge here. Last Paladin of the dead god Morgan." I bounced my sword lightly against the figure's face. "Open up."
"Entrance to this facility-"
"For the love of the Brothers," I swore, then bent at the knee and incanted something from my childhood. A trick we only used when the brothers weren't looking. Mostly strength, but a lot of brute violence, too. I put my shoulder against the pillar, grunted, and pushed. The whole thing creaked and then splintered at the base. I was still smiling to myself when the pillar tore free and went spinning against the smooth marble wall.
"What the hell was that?" Owen asked.
"Morgan used to knock trees over with his shoulder, when he was a kid," I answered. "He wasn't always a god. But he was one hell of a strong kid."
"And you have an invokation for that?"
"Not something they teach you in the sanctuary, but we figure it out." I stretched my back and smiled. "You can only use it for frivolous things. For giggles. You probably don't have anything like that in the Healers."
"Nothing about knocking trees over, no." He squinted up at the quiet wall of the Chanters' tower. "And I'm not sure your trick got us anywhere with our potential hosts."
"Well, yeah. Probably not. But it needed doing. It's not like that conversation was getting us anywhere either."
"New plan. You're not the one doing the talking from here on out."
And, of course, that's when the marble gate cracked open and the Chanters came out to see who had knocked over their pet statue. I turned to Owen and smiled.
"Newer plan. We skip the talking part next time."
"Gods and Brothers above," he said, sighing. "Why do you encourage her?"
"Who did this thing?" the lead Chanter asked. She was wearing a dress of iron plates, sewn onto cloth of steel and rattling like loose shingles as she moved. There was a mask over the lower half of her face, a series of baffles that stole the power from her voice and diffused it into the air like wind chimes. The soft glory of her words did not match the fury in her eyes.
"If you'd been listening," I said, raising my sword to repeat the ritual of forehead knocking, "I am Eva Forge, last Paladin of-"
"Right, right." Owen stepped in. "I am Justicar Owen LaFey, sworn scion of our lord Alexander. I am escorting this Morganite to an appointment with the Amonite, Cassandra. You are holding her here at our will."
"Cassandra," the woman answered. "Yes. She is in ritual right now. You may speak to her when it is complete."
"We'll speak to her now," I said. "I have reason to believe that there are Betrayers among you, working to kill the girl."
"Betrayers? In the House of the Chanter? No, such a thing is impossible."
"Look, I'm pretty much going to insist on seeing the girl, and standing guard over her." I rested the tip of my sword on their nice lawn, threw my arm over the hilt, and smiled. "So you can get over that and just let me in now. Please."
The Chanter glared at me, then at Owen, then at the rest of the world.
"You will see the girl," she said, sharply. "But that is all. The ritual is not to be interrupted."
"It's a good start, but I need to do more than see her. I need to know that she's safe."
The Chanter held a hand up to me, as much a warning as a benediction. "Silence, woman. Walk with me."
We walked. The marble gate closed behind us. Owen's patrol kept close to him, right up until one of the Chanters made a sign and escorted the boys away. Owen gave me a look, then went with them. I was alone with the creepy Chanter girl and her mask of chimes.
"You have been to the Chanter's garden before," the woman said in her breathy, muffled voice.
I shook my head. "No. Never had reason to come around." We entered the inner court of the castle, and even I'll admit it was a beautiful place. Topiaries and pebble-lane mazes that wound around marble fountains and statues that looked like dancing chandeliers… it was eerie. Nightmare in a tactical fight, too. I'd hate to try to hold a line among all the hedgerows and tiled canals. "Nice place, though."
She gave me a strange look, muffled surprise wiped away with a blink.
"Never had reason. I suppose not." She kept her hands in the sleeves of her robe, but I could see her fists bunching under the fabric. "No need for Morgan in a place like this."
Our path led us away from the gardens, then opened onto a shallow lake with a bed of copper. There were rafts on the water. I squinted at them, and could barely make out short, thin men with large heads working the lines.
"Are those Feyr?" I asked.
"They are visitors. Let us call them guests."
I looked beyond the lake and saw marble walls and guards, if Chanters with ornate poles could be called guards.
The woman noticed my attention. "They can leave when they want, whenever they are able. We guard against them, that is all."
"They're that dangerous? Those guys are all around the city."
"What they are is not dangerous. What they are doing… Never mind. It is no matter to the House of Morgan. You are here to see the Amonite, yes?"
"Yeah. You cracked her yet?"
"Cracked, no. But we have begun a conversation that may lead to the story we need." She led me away from the lake and into a building, finally. All these open spaces inside walls felt so unnatural to me. "Is that why you are here? For a progress report?"
I hadn't really thought about that. I was there to pry Cassandra out of the Chanters' creepy little hands and get her back to the Strength. I don't know when my thinking on this had changed. When I had started feeling more in union with the Amonite than the Healer. It wasn't like I didn't trust Owen. Completely.
"I'm here to see her, to make sure she hasn't been mistreated." I adjusted the holster on my belt. We were in a long, arched stone tunnel. The air was cool and wet, and I thought maybe I could smell the lake. "There have been threats."
"We don't threaten, Paladin. That is not our way."
We walked in silence, our boots crunching on the gravel path. She and I meant different things by threat, I think. There was more to the process than physical violence. It was the kind of thing that could be ugliest when it was pretty.
"Eva. My name's Eva Forge."
She glanced over at me, a little surprised, then nodded. "As you say. "
"And I suppose you don't have a name?"
"Names are part of the Song, and should not be given away."
I grimaced and stuffed my fists into my robe. "Now you tell me," I muttered.
She shrugged and gave a light, lilting laugh. "We will each have our advantages in this, Eva. That is the way of these things."
There was no more talking. This tunnel led to another, which led to another. We crossed brackish ponds and moist fern gardens, passed under open skies and stone ceilings until we came to a final dark moat, and a castle at the center. I looked down and saw that this was lakewater, deep and black.
"All these walls and paths and buildings, and your final barrier is open to the lake?" I asked.
"There are other barriers. There is more to this place than walls and gardens, Eva."
"And I still don't know your name, and you're throwing mine around like a shuttle. Harsh."
"Lesea," she said. "This way."
The bridge was narrow and slick, as though it was carved from a single rib of the world's biggest fish. Lesea went first, her hands held slightly out as if for balance. The building that I had mistaken for a castle was really just a dome, spiked with towers like the head of a mace. The door was a disk of iron that rolled aside on geared teeth at the Chanter's signal. Soon as it was open I could feel their damn Song, itching into my blood. The water of the moat rippled away from us. We hurried inside and the door settled shut with a gasp of air pressure. The Song was louder in here, but not in a way that you could hear. The air vibrated with the Chanters' words, pure as honey and sharp, like a broken chime, beaten into a knife. This is why they got their own island, kids. The city folk wouldn't put up with this on their streets.