Cesira had no idea what her true voice sounded like. Mute from birth, she did not know why she could touch animals with her thoughts but not her voice, nor did she understand how Silvanus granted her speech when in animal shape, or heard her spells when she chanted in silence. She had simply accepted long ago that the gods must know the hearts and minds of their followers, and answer accordingly.
Forgive me, she repeated.
When all was quiet, Cesira strode briskly to the door of the tower, which led to a steep flight of stairs. On the landing, she put on the long brown cloak she'd left hanging on a peg earlier that morning. Time to become mistress of the house, she thought, blowing a stray feather out of her tresses.
A servant met her at the base of the stairs—the cook, if Cesira remembered correctly. "My lady," the woman said, curtseying quickly. "I've a message for Lord Morel."
Lord Morel, Cesira thought. Gods help her. She looked the woman over, noting with some relief that she bore the new symbol of Morel woven with ribbon into the collar of her frock: an emerald joined by an elaborate setting to a rather plain-looking stone. The official story was that Lord Morel meant the symbol as a tribute to Keczulla's roots, its rise from nothing to become the backbone of the Morel jewel business. Conveniently, it also bore the enchantment that allowed Cesira to converse with people, making the plain stone in essence more valuable than the emerald. Cesira did not miss the irony. What is it? she asked.
"It's from Master Dantane," the cook said, a little uneasily. "He again requests an audience. He wants to know when Lord Morel will be deciding whether he is to stay or go from the house." The woman's tone left little doubt of her feelings on the matter. If the rest of Amn was in the dark about Dantane's profession, it was certainly no secret to the house. "He'd like to speak with Lord Morel as soon as possible."
I'm sure he would, Cesira said. Please tell him Lord Morel will speak to him just as soon as he returns.
The woman curtseyed again and hurried away. Cesira's gaze strayed across the hall, in the direction of the other tower. The spire had formerly housed Morel's private offices. At some point it became the wizard's living quarters.
Must they all flock to towers and high places, Cesira wondered. She didn't see the appeal. Then again, she knew nothing of Syrek Dantane or his tastes. That worried her, more than she liked to admit.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Keczulla, Amn
2 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Aazen approached the Contrall Estate from the rear, nodding to Isslun as she strode forward to bar his path. "I need to see him."
"He's waiting for you. We've already heard from the buyer"—she cast a quick glance around the deserted patio—"and the Cowl. We were set up."
"I was set up," Aazen corrected her sharply. "And two Gem Guards are dead for it."
Isslun shrugged, unconcerned. "If they cannot identify us, what's the worry?"
"I see your sister took the lion's share of the wits between you," Aazen sneered. "We're starting to attract attention. If this incident draws concern anywhere near the Council's hearing, how long do you believe the Shadow Thieves will continue to support this operation?"
The Council of Six, Amn's anonymous body of rulers, saw to the needs of the land primarily by keeping business running as smoothly as possible between the merchant families—business which would not include an influx of black market magical items, not with two Gem Guards dead in the Harbor Moon Ward.
Isslun comprehended none of that. She pouted, catching her lower lip between her teeth. "If you place so high a value on my sister's wits, perhaps she will welcome you to her bed when you grow cold tonight."
"She already has," Aazen said, closing the door on the twin's shocked face.
His father waited in the library. The few books remaining in the tall, narrow room had gathered a thick blanket of dust. For as long as they'd dwelled here, his father had shown no interest in them.
"Are you all right?" Balram asked as Aazen closed the library door.
Aazen felt the abrasions at his wrists where one of the guards had briefly put him in manacles. "Minor wounds. We have a problem."
"I'm aware," Balram said grimly. "A watch commander, Aazen?"
"It was the only way I could see to escape. I took him as hostage. His own men fired the bolts."
Balram nodded, letting it pass. "Jubair was here before you. It seems a member of the Chadossa family approached a contact within the Cowled Wizards concerning a rumor he'd heard about black market magic."
"A rumor including the location of the exchanges and the contents of the latest shipment?" Aazen asked.
His father nodded. "So it was Chadossa."
"No doubt the family is having second thoughts about dealing with the Shadow Thieves," Aazen guessed.
"But their son is not."
"What do you mean?"
"Chadossa broke off all contact with us just before their betrayal, all except the boy, the youngest son," said Balram. "He's still buying. There's an exchange tonight. I've left the location up to you. I trust you will be discreet."
Aazen shrugged. "Perhaps he was not privy to his family's intentions. Or they were not aware he was also our client and so failed to warn him. What do you propose to do?"
"I intend to send a message. Chadossa's son will bear it for me, and his sire will learn the price of betrayal."
"You risk the wrath of a powerful family," Aazen warned, but he already knew what his father would say.
"My own family's resources far outstrip any the Chadossas could gather," Balram said confidently.
"And will your family support such a bold action?" Aazen dared to ask.
Uncharacteristically, his father waved it off with a chuckle. "Even Daen could not argue with the profit already amassed in this venture. And if Chadossa acts anything like I expect him to, the authorities will never trace the message back to us." His father's expression changed as he looked on his son. "You'll have to deliver the item to him, Aazen." Aazen kept his face neutral.
"Is there no one else?"
"None of the others will touch the broken items," Balram said. "They're afraid."
So was his father, though the man would never admit it. He should be afraid, Aazen thought. Any rational person would be.
"I'll take care of it, Father," he said. "There is another issue."
"What is it?"
"When we retrieved the items, we encountered a woman in the Delve—a Harper."
Balram's lip curled. "They turn up in the most inconvenient places. Did you deal with her?"
"I left her to bleed out, but perhaps I shouldn't have. She knew the wizard. She may have been his apprentice. If so, we could have used her."
Balram shook his head. "Too risky. Secrecy is our best advantage in this, and it's possible she knows another way out. Your only mistake was in not making sure she was dead. We'll take care of that tomorrow."
Aazen nodded. If he had had his way, they would never have returned to the Delve at all. The memories it held for him were not pleasant ones. He still felt it—the distant menace, the sensation of being trapped—whenever he went down there. "What if more apprentices unexpectedly turn up?" he asked.
"As with the woman, they'll find the Delve a place much changed from what it was before," Balram said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Howling Delve
3 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Meisha opened her eyes to a blurry world of smoke and stink—the full, cloying smell of sweat and unwashed bodies, broken only by the pungent odor of some kind of herb.