“Secrets are my trade, Mr. Heath,” Red said proudly.
“Mine too.” He bowed slightly and let himself out of the office.
Sword was buckling his trousers when he came out of Hilta’s room. Heath had been waiting only a couple of minutes, and Red had informed the boys to keep his cup full, but he projected total impatience. His friend was acting more impulsive than usual in his new skin, and Heath was considering giving this vessel an early retirement.
“You fucked her,” Heath stated, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. It was the second time he felt nauseated in as many days.
Sword plopped himself down next to Heath and threw his arm around his shoulder. “Don’t get jealous. There’s plenty of this big hilt to go around. These Fodder bodies have some fucking stamina.”
“I appreciate the irony of
me
lecturing
you
on morality.” Heath sipped some more wine. “But her boyfriend just died. That’s low, Sword.”
“You forget that I’ve spent roughly half my existence as a woman. I was very empathetic and respectful in the manner in which I fucked her,” Sword said solemnly. Heath missed Sword’s last incarnation. Catherine’s voice and mannerisms had a way of making his boorishness seem charming.
“I almost believe you,” Heath said.
Sword grabbed the wine from Heath’s hand and tasted it. He made a disgusted face. “So get this. Her boatman boyfriend, Jerron, who was twenty-two, was a student at the Lyceum a few years back. He had a Hamartia, which is a—”
Heath cut him off. “I know what a fucking Hamartia is.” He knew more about seal magic than he ever wanted to.
“Oh, right. Touchy, touchy!” Sword scooted away. “Anyway he fucked up the Seal of Communication. Made him totally illiterate—like letters would run around on the page like little wriggly worms. Real sad story, because Hilta said he was supposedly the most promising pupil to ever join the college.”
“Or he said he was. Maddox would have dropped the kid’s name if he was even a contender. So he talked a big game and washed out of the Lyceum.” Heath grabbed his wine back from Sword. “Milk Eyes was carrying an Archean shard on him. Did you learn anything that might connect him and the kid?”
“High Wiz, you think?” Sword seemed uncertain.
Heath set the glass down beside him. “Could be. A shard is rare as hell and a lot of money for a deckhand to bring on shore leave, when he can trade prisms. And then to just hand it over to Red—well, if Milk Eyes was a wizard, he might not care. But then what’s the interest in Hilta’s boyfriend?”
“Maybe he just likes pulling the wings off insects. I don’t know much about the Archeans. They typically don’t involve themselves in terrestrial affairs,” Sword said. “But I do know the Harrowers have a favorite snack: unstable magicians. With the right combination of untapped power and cockiness, they could find themselves another Achelon and then…
boom
. All the wizards in Creation go crazy and the world plunges into another Long Night.”
“So far we have six deaths: two nobles, the magic-school dropout, a drug addict, a clerk at the temple, and an Invocari,” Heath mused. “Two out of the six could fit the pattern, but the paper pusher, nobles, and junkie don’t…that we know of.”
“I say we check out the junkie next.” Sword grinned. “I’ve been itching to fill this body with some drugs. He got himself a pretty bad dragonfire habit before I took over.”
Heath massaged his temples. “I can never tell if you’re kidding.”
“You can fix an addiction with a little touch of those glowy fingers, can’t you?”
Heath slapped Sword’s cheek gently. “Come on. We have work to do.”
I
MUST CONFESS
that my most satisfying deceptions over the years came from being underestimated. When I was new to court at Thelassus and presented to the emperor, the other Stormlords thought me a callow ingenue, an act I maintained for several years before I gained my reputation for intrigue.
I can’t in good faith claim that all my initial blunders were intentional, but my reputation as a poor liar eventually led people to trust me as if I were an honest person. And of course being as seemingly clueless as I was made me the perfect “pawn” in the schemes of others.
For a time I was suspected of being in league with Lord Calatax in his bid for the Bleak Atoll shipping contract. I protested to everyone that it wasn’t the case, which only made them more certain of it. Then I started to deny the rumors (which I’d invented) about Lord Calatax’s plans and capabilities in order to convince the armadas to destroy him. And that was just the first of three Upheavals.
I entreat you to consider all those around you: your friends, your enemies, and especially your blood. The next Lord of Lies is already among you, and it’s the person you least suspect. It might even be you.
Enjoy the game. Trust no one.
—
FOREWORD TO
THE SEA OF DECEPTION
, ALLEGEDLY WRITTEN BY LADY ALESSANDRIA, “QUEEN OF LIES,” AND PUBLISHED AFTER HER REPORTED DEATH
J
ESSA’S HUSBAND-TO-BE WASN’T
ugly, but he certainly left much to be desired otherwise. His wavy blond hair sat like a bird’s nest atop his head, somewhat hiding his dark-blue eyes. He was completely shaven on the face, giving his jawline a girlish quality Jessa found distasteful. His build was short and modest. He wore an ill-fitting coat over a wrinkled shirt and a large gold chain with two clunky medallions, along with a pair of leather sandals.
He waited for Jessa at a table on the wine barge under the canopy section. An Invocari hovered behind him, hands folded. Jessa had started to recognize the Silverbrooks’ Invocari bodyguards—this one had a bit of a gut and ginger hair on his knuckles. A few other couples drank and talked at other tables, but they made a good show of not staring as the hostess brought Jessa to his table.
She wore a modest white gown that seemed old-fashioned compared to the other women on the barge, who bared their shoulders.
He stood up sharply and stuck out his hand. “Lord Torin the Fourth.”
Did he really expect her to shake his hand? Clearly he was unschooled in refinements, but then again manners in Rivern were curious when it came to women. She actually had seen the countess sporting a pair of trousers in public.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Jessa awkwardly placed her fingers in Torin’s hand as if they might pinch them off. He squeezed them for a moment then released her.
“Will you sit?” He awkwardly motioned to a chair, suddenly realizing he probably should have pulled it out when he had greeted her. It scooted back a foot or so.
Jessa giggled as she took a seat. “Impressive trick.”
“It’s no trick,” Torin said. “I’m a Master of the Seal of Ardiel. And a Master of the Seal of Veritas, which I’m required by Rivern law to inform you of.” He took a deep breath. “I hope you don’t mind that I started us off with a bottle of Lowland red cuvée from 560.”
Jessa and Torin both took their seats.
“Oh, not at all. I don’t drink,” Jessa said.
Mother does enough of that for the both of us.
“Oh.” Torin’s brow furrowed under that mass of hair. He was so close to her that Jessa could have reached out and quickly brushed it to the side, but she resisted the urge. “I guess this was a bad choice for a first date then. We can go somewhere else—”
“It’s fine. I enjoy being on the water and watching the people.” Jessa looked out across the railing of the wine barge’s deck. All around her small boats and gondolas plied the massive fork of the Trident River while people bustled back and forth between tall stone buildings on its banks. The deck hummed from the vibration of some sort of mechanized propulsion that she felt slicing through the current.
“Oh, right.” He gave a sigh of relief.
The waitress appeared with a bottle in her hand and set it down along with two glasses. “Lowland red cuvée. A blend from Barstea County. The grapes are grown on the north bank on the site of the old city, which is said to be haunted. The wine is aged in Maenmarth timber for twelve years. It’s a personal favorite of mine. Please enjoy.”
Torin smirked and waited till she walked away before saying, “She’s lying. It’s probably terrible.”
“How does that work? Your Veritas Seal?” Jessa asked. She’d never met a mage with a seal, outside of the occasional notary Mother brought in for important affairs of state.
“Lies sound different,” he explained. “When someone says something that’s not true, their voice reverberates. You hear what they’re saying, but you can also barely make out what they aren’t telling you. It’s not intelligible speech, but it’s louder when what they say differs from what they know to be true. And she was practically screaming when she said this was her favorite.”
“It must be horrible,” Jessa gasped.
“It can be.” Torin shrugged. “It’s a little awkward at times to know when people aren’t telling the truth, especially about personal stuff. And it can be lonely when people stop talking to you because they’re afraid you’ll tell their secrets.”
“I meant the wine must be horrible,” Jessa hastily clarified. “I would love nothing more than to know when people are being honest with me. Can you ever turn it off?”
“Once a seal is bound, it never turns off. The arcane force is contained in a perfectly closed construction. That’s why seal magic doesn’t have a limit as to how often it can be used. What about you? Does a Stormlord’s magic draw from a source or is it self-contained?”
Jessa shrugged. “What’s the difference?”
Torin cocked an eyebrow. “Sourced magic requires something to fuel it, so mages might feel tired after casting, or they may run out of power and need time to recharge. But they also can create massive bursts of power. Self-contained magic is inexhaustible, but it never gets weaker or stronger.”
“I never really thought about it,” Jessa said. “I don’t think my magic makes me tired, but I don’t know what the limits are. We measure power based on our blood relation to the Coral Throne. The person next in line for it is always stronger than the one after them.”
“So you never had to study the Principia Arcana
or pass the Trials of Focus?” he said, shaking his head. “You’re so amazingly lucky.”
“When I was a little girl, I always wanted different powers. People don’t really like storms, and you’re always blamed when there’s awful weather. I wanted to be like the witches who lived in the Maenmarth and be able to change my form. I never had any opportunity to study magic anyway. Amhaven has no colleges, which is why we haven’t prospered like Rivern.”
Torin’s wine bottle poured itself into the glass while he pondered.
“Maybe I could start a college.” He blushed and quickly added, “That is…if I decide to become king. It sounds so strange to hear myself say it.”
“Not at all!” Jessa insisted. “We badly need institutions of learning. My people aren’t backward by choice—the empires on both sides have withheld their knowledge from us for centuries. Even with just a few more glyphomancers, we could meet them on even footing.”
Torin added more confidently, “I also think Amhaven needs a parliamentary body where people could have a say in their governance. No leader should have unlimited power simply by the accident of birth. And the fate of a kingdom shouldn’t rest on two total strangers hitting it off.”
Are we hitting it off?
Jessa laughed as she considered it. “It’s not a terrible idea. The Protectorate has prospered under such a system, and you’re right—if the monarchy falls, there needs to be something in place to maintain order. We would need to consider the dukes of course…but I think the people would love it.”
“You know”—as Torin spoke, his wineglass levitated and swirled the liquid against the edges of the crystal, “I wasn’t sure I could go through with this, but you’re nothing like I expected. And forgive me for saying this—you’re beautiful.”
Jessa smiled bashfully. He was full of ideas and maybe a bit idealistic—like her father might have been, if he hadn’t been beholden to centuries of tradition. She giggled. “Since I can’t lie to you, I think you need a haircut, but your virtues outweigh your flaws.”
“Is it that bad?” He peered at his reflection in his floating wineglass. “It’s been insane at the Lyceum. The dean passed away last night. I just—” He cut himself off and sipped his wine. His eyes seemed to darken.
“The wine…is it terrible?” Jessa asked, trying to veer the subject back to something more pleasant.
“It’s quite good. It’s got a fruit-forward flavor with a smoky finish that’s very nicely balanced. There’s even a slight hint of something…vegetal but that balances the berry flavors nicely. In a few years, I think this vintage will be drinking wonderfully. Are you sure you won’t have at least a taste?”
“What the hells? I think this calls for a celebration.” Jessa sighed as she reached for a glass. It slid into her hand, and then the bottle floated and poured a bit into the glass. She raised it delicately and clinked it against Torin’s.
She inhaled the bouquet and tasted the wine. The first drop exploded with bitterness.
One must cultivate a refined palate, Jessa. As queen you’ll be expected to attend state dinners and preside over feasts where all manner of delicacies will be proffered. Food and drink are the perfect vehicles for toxins, so we’ll be tasting them all.