She was about to say something to the Cardinal when Alexander Denovo’s smooth, familiar voice interrupted her. “Fifty years ago, we never expected that someday we would take Alt Coulumb.”
She had seen Denovo approach, skirting the edge of the circle; had felt him on the perimeter of her mind. Until he spoke, she did not acknowledge his presence.
“No one had ever managed it. This city’s gods were tied to every major civilization in the world. Nothing could touch them. Half a century later,” he mused, “they’re both dead.”
“History is full of reversals.” She rolled up one scroll, stacked it atop two others, and placed all three in her bag. “Alexander, I think you’ve met Cardinal Gustave?”
“Last time you and I were in Alt Coulumb. Forty years back, maybe?”
“Yes,” the Cardinal replied, his words heavy with rage. “I was Technician Gustave when you first came to this city. Wiser and more innocent than the years have left me.” He stood and extended his hand, rigid as a mannequin.
Alexander was much better than the old priest at faking politeness. He gave Gustave a polo player’s handshake, and when their palms touched, his smile widened. “I remember! You helped us in the Seril case. It’s been far too long. How have you been?”
A flicker of pain crossed the Cardinal’s features when Alexander mentioned Seril. His fingers tightened on his staff, as if its haft were Denovo’s throat. “I am as you see me.”
“Well.” Alexander slapped the Cardinal’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Elayne and I are the best there is at this kind of thing. We’ll have Kos up and smiting the unbelievers in a flash. Just like last time.”
“No,” the Cardinal said. “Not like last time.”
Ms. Kevarian hoisted her bag to her shoulder. “Might you excuse us, Cardinal?” The old man nodded. She shot Alexander a significant look. “Professor, accompany me to the street?”
He fell into step with her automatically. Her legs were long, but he had a broad stride. She reached the door out of the courtroom first, held it open for him, and closed it behind them. They walked alone down the long hall to the exit.
“What is it, Elayne?”
“What did you plan to accomplish back there?”
“I think the Church knowingly pledged too much to the Iskari, and as such does not deserve the first and third degrees of protection. I’m acting in my clients’ best interest.”
“I wasn’t talking about that.”
“What, then?”
“You think Gustave doesn’t see right through you? The man spends his days in a confessional. He knows you don’t want to bring back the Kos he knew. You’re rubbing salt in his wound.”
“The Kos he knew, the Kos I knew, what does it matter?” He was keeping his contempt in check at least. “We’re going to make something that works. It’ll do everything old Kos did, but better. This is an opportunity.”
“Let him grieve for his god. He has little enough trust in this process without your snide comments setting him off.”
“A man can’t say what he feels anymore?”
“You never say what you feel,” she observed. “You say what you calculate will have the desired effect.”
“As if you cared about all these gods and their worshipers. Hell, I remember when we were starting out, you were more bloodthirsty than I’d ever been.”
“Forty years ago. I’ve seen a lot in that time, and become much better at serving my clients.”
“As have I,” Alexander said with a grin. “Though I always have been more certain of who my ultimate client was.”
“Yourself?”
“None other.” He bowed, sweeping one arm out behind him. “Come with me to dinner tonight.”
“So forward.”
“That’s not a no.”
“You’re here to no good purpose. You took this case because you thought you could turn it to your advantage, and if you can betray a few people at the same time, so much the better.”
“That,” he said, “is not a no either.”
She quickened her pace.
“I’ll be at the Xiltanda at seven,” he called after her. “Fifth floor, in the dark. You’ll come?”
The hallway ended in a blank wall of gray mist. She strode through it without farewell or backward glance.
“Great!” he called after her as she escaped into the day.
*
After the darkness of the Court of Craft and of astral space, Alt Coulumb’s panoply was overwhelming: towers of chrome and silver against the empty white sky, a street full of deadlocked carriages, a boy in an orange jacket singing the noon news on the corner. Tara found no joy in the light and noise. She felt Denovo’s smile like a splinter in her mind. Your family, he had said. What was the name of that little town?
Damn him.
“I don’t understand,” Abelard said. “Why did you give him the archives?”
She needed a drink and a square meal, not questions. Cat, small mercies, stood apart, scanning the street, the sky, the sidewalk for signs of danger. One conversationalist was bad enough.
She fought to produce an answer despite the throbbing pain in her skull. “I needed the archives to distract him long enough for me to win.” And soon he would use those archives against her. Tara’s victory had been well earned, even Ms. Kevarian said that, but it would not last.
“Why was he winning in the first place?”
“He’s the best Craftsman I’ve ever known. But that’s not why.” A man sold water in glass bottles from a stand near the court gates. She threw him a small coin. He tossed her back a bottle, which she caught with a tendril of Craft, opened, and drank. Cold clear water chilled her throat and calmed her heart, but the headache did not recede. “He cheats.” She took another swig. Had he done something to her, in the circle? No, not likely. The court wards would have kept her safe from his tricks.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she shot back. “Sorry. Shaken, that’s all.”
“I understand,” he said, and placed a hand on her arm. He didn’t understand. Denovo had every advantage. Tara would lose this case if she didn’t find a way to assure her victory. She would lose, and be lost to history, shut off from the world of Craft and consequence.
Breath came short to her lungs, and deep thoughts spiraled within her, but she was not afraid. When you were afraid, you ran from the object of your fear, and Tara did not intend to run.
Ms. Kevarian emerged from the court, saving Tara from further introspection. Her heels sounded staccato on the stone sidewalk. “Tara. Thank you for waiting. I needed to attend to affairs inside.”
Cat, sensing business, drew back farther to preserve their privacy.
“No problem.” Was it Tara’s imagination, or did Ms. Kevarian look flustered? “Boss, if you don’t need me for something else, I’d like to spend the rest of the day in the court library.” She pointed to the pinnacle of the black pyramid behind them. “Denovo has the Church archive data. He’ll decode it soon, and learn that Kos was low on power. I want to find out where that power went before he starts asking. Abelard and I should be able to make a good start before sundown.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You will scour the library next—that’s the correct move. However, I need Abelard for my own work.”
“I’m right here,” Abelard observed.
Ms. Kevarian turned to him. “You will accompany me this afternoon to visit the local representatives of several Deathless Kings. They have a stake in Kos’s resurrection, and we need to be on good terms with them if your Church is to survive unchanged.”
“How can I help?”
“For the most part, by standing in their offices looking like a good young cleric.”