Authors: Carol Berg
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Fantasy fiction
The Soul Mirror (62 page)
“Pognole paid in kind for his crimes, which involved many prisoners besides your noble kinsman.” Disdain frosted the air. “Most such crimes involve other than aristo families. Yet after all, it was the
noble
king of Sabria who put his own goodson in the Spindle with no care for who watched out for him. Do not believe that because I’ve come to treat with you, because I have . . . opened . . . myself to you in ways I never—Do not imagine I believe the wrongs done your family somehow worse than those afflicting others in this world.”
noble
king of Sabria who put his own goodson in the Spindle with no care for who watched out for him. Do not believe that because I’ve come to treat with you, because I have . . . opened . . . myself to you in ways I never—Do not imagine I believe the wrongs done your family somehow worse than those afflicting others in this world.”
I had heard Dante’s tragic story of his teacher. But I had also heard this argument before. Too often it served as an excuse for further cruelty. “Injustice to
any
person should breed a deeper determination to justice, not indifference.”
any
person should breed a deeper determination to justice, not indifference.”
“Pssh.”
I’d heard that before, too. My father had called it the inarguable riposte, the tool of an empty-handed debater.
Water sluiced from the roof in a steady fall, reminiscent more of winter than autumn. The morning would not lighten much from this. The last bells had called out the change to the morning watch—sixth hour. I had only one hour to decide whether to reclaim my packet from Heurot.
It had been so easy to fall into this conversation, seduced by answers, craving hints of what I wanted to believe—that the person I had opened my soul to was no fiend, but an intelligent, brave, and immensely talented man caught up in a diabolical plot, a generous soul who could demonstrate that I was mistaken about the worst things he had done.
Dante was not that paragon. Nor was he misunderstood. My mother, my father, my brother, and likely others were bound in torment this hour because he would not risk his purpose by breaking his silence. Nor had he apologized, save in offering these grudging hints of the reasoning behind his deeds. That his work wore on him, savaged him, scarred him, was no absolution. He was what I saw, not what girlish imagining might invent.
But he had claimed, albeit reluctantly, that I might help him undo the Aspirant’s plan and save Duplais . . . and by implication Eugenie and Philippe and the myriad souls this chaos might consume. It was time we came to some resolution.
“Is Kajetan the Aspirant? Even Duplais suspects him.”
“No. Kajetan is worse.” Dante near spat the prefect’s name. “The Aspirant freely admits he wishes to do this because it amuses him. He says he finds the exercise
stimulating
. Kajetan pretends he is on a divine mission to protect the glories of magic. He spews fatherly affection for both gifted and ungifted, while
using
Portier . . . his student . . . his charge . . . his worshiper. When Portier took him on as his mentor, he gave Kajetan implicit consent for whatever he did, and then Kajetan gave him over to the Aspirant to do
experiments
on him. Gods, he came near getting Portier killed, revived him from the brink, then let him believe for nine years that he had slain his own father, whom he rightly despised, but nonetheless . . . That sort of thing bothers Portier. Then the holy prefect installs this mind block that destroys Portier’s ability to work magic. I tried to break it. Thought I had, but evidently not.”
stimulating
. Kajetan pretends he is on a divine mission to protect the glories of magic. He spews fatherly affection for both gifted and ungifted, while
using
Portier . . . his student . . . his charge . . . his worshiper. When Portier took him on as his mentor, he gave Kajetan implicit consent for whatever he did, and then Kajetan gave him over to the Aspirant to do
experiments
on him. Gods, he came near getting Portier killed, revived him from the brink, then let him believe for nine years that he had slain his own father, whom he rightly despised, but nonetheless . . . That sort of thing bothers Portier. Then the holy prefect installs this mind block that destroys Portier’s ability to work magic. I tried to break it. Thought I had, but evidently not.”
He shrugged as if his failure were no matter, but his vehemence had already put the lie to that. It was not my place to reveal Duplais’ secret. And we had many important things yet to discuss.
“I don’t think the Aspirant’s motives are entirely whimsical,” I said. “A visitor was staying with Kajetan at Seravain when my sister died. . . .” I told him then about the man wearing Delourre colors and Duplais’ belief that the man had visited him frequently during his recovery.
By the time I had done, Dante was outside the summerhouse yet again, his unscarred thumb and forefingers squeezing his temples. Moments ticked away. Only with difficulty did I hold patience. Seventh hour was approaching.
“Gah!” He returned to the steps, shoving the dripping hair from his face with the back of his scarred hand. “Had you asked me straight out who was sharing Kajetan’s house when I arrived, I’d have said no one. Charlot, the vice chancellor, popped in and out; the toady does what Kajetan says with as little thought as possible. But when Kajetan sent for me to clean up their blunder, I was already halfway along the road, as I needed to do some reading in their vault, so I arrived a day earlier than expected. Until this moment, I’d forgotten that. And someone else
was
there. Damnation, why can I not remember?”
was
there. Damnation, why can I not remember?”
He ripped a broken lath from the latticework and launched it into the soggy garden. “I saw the devil without his mask, and he’s gone and cut it out of me.”
“Duplais sent an inquiry to a servant who worked at Seravain,” I said. “We might yet hear something of worth. And someone here at court must have Delourre connections. I could inquire. . . .” The prospect of something to do besides letting doom fall around me was exhilarating.
“Gods, no!” Dante’s refocused attention knocked me backward a step or two. “Do nothing that puts you at risk! Don’t you understand even yet? Your gift—You’ve truly no idea. The tangle curse is a predictor of talent for magic. I am
very
good at what I do—but the strength of your voice tells me you could be even better. Tonight when I realized it was
you
with all this raw talent, and I knew we had this connection that we could use, that no one could suspect—” He swung around abruptly. “Damn and blast, you’ve not told Portier about it—our conversations?”
very
good at what I do—but the strength of your voice tells me you could be even better. Tonight when I realized it was
you
with all this raw talent, and I knew we had this connection that we could use, that no one could suspect—” He swung around abruptly. “Damn and blast, you’ve not told Portier about it—our conversations?”
Portier, who was destined to die in this wretched game. Who had not wanted to know my secrets, lest they be forced from him. My chest constricted. “I’ve not told anyone.”
He expelled a tight breath. “Good. If this plays out to the end, and I attempt to subvert their devilish rites and fail, I will have lost the biggest gamble this world has ever known. But together—if you allow me to draw on your power—we can snarl them in their own horrors and cast them all into the Souleater’s pit.”
Draw on my power? My gorge rose. “You think to
bleed
me?”
bleed
me?”
“No, no. As long as you’re close by, I believe it can be done through the aether . . . as if we were speaking. I’ll make up some reason I need you there—to bring the conspiracy full circle, to punish you for daring interfere, for exciting Jacard’s panic and disgrace and thus causing me more trouble and more work. I’ll throw a tantrum and sizzle their hair—”
“But the Aspirant knows my blood
will
unlock the book.”
will
unlock the book.”
“As it happens, he doesn’t. The sample I passed them—your blood taken in the Bastionne, so they believe—would
not
unlock the Mondragon ciphers.” His hand gripped the arched wood as if to tear the supports from under the summerhouse, yet he held his voice steady. “Maybe it needn’t come to this, but the time is ripe. The Aspirant is edgy. The king’s movements unsettle him. And, after everything, I—” He had to force it out. “I judge I am not enough to do this alone. So I must know. Will you work with me?”
not
unlock the Mondragon ciphers.” His hand gripped the arched wood as if to tear the supports from under the summerhouse, yet he held his voice steady. “Maybe it needn’t come to this, but the time is ripe. The Aspirant is edgy. The king’s movements unsettle him. And, after everything, I—” He had to force it out. “I judge I am not enough to do this alone. So I must know. Will you work with me?”
Bathed in the searing green of his gaze, rational thought was impossible. I crossed the summerhouse to the eastern arch and let the damp morning cool my heated skin. Dante had immersed himself in lies. He had cooperated in loathsome acts. He admitted his own corruption, his fascination with wicked magic, his lack of moral scruple. All this could be a ploy to make naive Anne yield the Mondragon book, to induce me to walk calmly up the gallows steps so he could drop the noose about my neck.
But the tapestry of events had woven itself into a pattern, and not a single strand belied the story it told. I had felt the fire in my veins on Merona’s ridge. I lived in the mindstorm, and I knew the truth of my father’s blood. Dante said he wanted to stop what was to come and ensure it could not happen again, and had confessed he needed my help—the last ploy a proud, ruthless man would choose for deception. Beyond logic, reason, and caution, I believed him.
I retraced my steps across the summerhouse. Papa had once said that no matter the weather, he could never get warm on the night after a battle. Body, mind, and soul had been stretched to their limits, leaving nothing for the ordinary functions of life. I knew exactly what he meant. No matter how tightly I wrapped my shawl, I could not stop shivering.
Dante, drenched to the skin, awaited me on the steps.
“One more thing I should tell you about Duplais,” I said. “It’s possible Kajetan, at the least, believes him a Saint Reborn—unable to die until he consents to it. Legends of such strength often have roots in truth. You and I may even have touched on that topic in one of our . . . exchanges. That’s one reason they’ve chosen Mont Voilline for the rite. That
is
the place, yes?”
is
the place, yes?”
“Night’s daughters . . .” Dante said this almost prayerfully. A quiet, desperate prayer. “Yes. Voilline.”
“As for the book . . . I’ve some others need returning to the royal library,” I said. “You’ll recognize them. By ninth hour, I’ll have the
Book of Greater Rites
shelved beside
Divine Harmonies and Discords of the Air
.”
Book of Greater Rites
shelved beside
Divine Harmonies and Discords of the Air
.”
“You’ll—? Well, good. That’s good.” It came out something less than his usual bluster. “It would be most excellent not to end up dead the next time the Aspirant summons me. I never know when that might be from one time to the next, and he always wants to see the book.”
“Then it’s as well I’m not planning to give you the missing page until—”
“You have it?” He sagged against the arch, weariness and astonishment escaping his control.
“You?”
“You?”
“Yes. But I’ll not give it until we meet again. Then I’ll prick my finger and we’ll read what the cursed book says. Together.” He was truly crazed if he thought I would go into this without knowing what I was getting into.
“No!” His relief vanished as quickly as it had come. “This is just as well. I mustn’t know the complete rite—the exact binding words, the keys, the focus—before the day. That’s how I hold him back. While our Aspirant is not the world’s most talented sorcerer, we cannot underestimate him, especially not now, hearing how he’s played games with Portier’s mind and mine. The Aspirant must not know; therefore I must not know. All the more reason to have you there.”
“All right. We keep you ignorant.” I was pleased we were speaking with voices, where intent could not flavor my agreement with untruth. My determination to read the cursed book was unchanged. Perhaps it was only my imagination that his head lifted in suspicion.
“Duplais believes you Fallen,” I said. “I heard it, clear as sunrise, whenever he spoke of you.”
“Good.” The clipped answer came very quickly. “That’s what I wanted.”
“Were you ever going to tell him otherwise?”
This answer came slowly. “I was tempted fairly often at first. Whenever I learned something new. But as time went on and I went deeper . . . It doesn’t matter. He’ll never trust me.”
I wasn’t so sure of that. “So answer me one more thing. Why did you trust
me
with all this? I could cheerfully see you dead for what you’ve done to my family. You could have forced me to the rite without me knowing anything more. And yet you chose to do it this way. To ask. To tell me all and trust me to keep your secrets.”
me
with all this? I could cheerfully see you dead for what you’ve done to my family. You could have forced me to the rite without me knowing anything more. And yet you chose to do it this way. To ask. To tell me all and trust me to keep your secrets.”
“Great gods of the universe, I’ve told you. We
cannot
lie in the aether.” He threw his hands up. It was all I could do not to look up to ensure that the roof was ready to crash down on us.
cannot
lie in the aether.” He threw his hands up. It was all I could do not to look up to ensure that the roof was ready to crash down on us.
But he reimposed discipline as quickly as he’d lost it, and the words flowed onward with the quiet intensity of my friend. “Everything that went on between us was truth. To use you, to take your power without consent . . . I
know
you, Anne de Vernase. The world would fall to ruin before you would permit it.”
know
you, Anne de Vernase. The world would fall to ruin before you would permit it.”
CHAPTER 36
26 OCET, MORNING
I
left the maze first, his pronunciation of my name graven in my bones. Never had I heard it pronounced with such . . . fervor . . . such intimacy . . . such understanding. I wasn’t even sure he knew how he said it or that I’d heard. I would have liked to linger, to spend the next hours hidden from the frantic business of the day, reconsidering the most extraordinary conversation I’d ever had in my life. To decide if
I
had become the lunatic by agreeing to ally with the man I despised and feared most in the world.
left the maze first, his pronunciation of my name graven in my bones. Never had I heard it pronounced with such . . . fervor . . . such intimacy . . . such understanding. I wasn’t even sure he knew how he said it or that I’d heard. I would have liked to linger, to spend the next hours hidden from the frantic business of the day, reconsidering the most extraordinary conversation I’d ever had in my life. To decide if
I
had become the lunatic by agreeing to ally with the man I despised and feared most in the world.
But the three-quarter hour bells had rung, forcing me to hurry straight across the sodden grass and onto the carriage road instead of taking the circuitous gravel path through the rose gardens. Which was why I emerged from behind the stable and walked straight into some twenty of the Guard Royale, massed before the east doors of the palace.
Instinct pulled me back, but not before an alert young guardsman challenged me: “Identify yourself.”
“Damoselle Anne de Vernase, Her Majesty’s maid of the bedchamber.”
I wouldn’t have believed me, either—a woman haggard from lack of sleep, dressed in common woad-dyed wool soggy to the knees, and whose hair had long responded to the wind and damp by escaping any semblance of restraint. There was no use yelling or asserting my authority. They’d been sent to guard the palace doors. They must—“Please forgive our commander’s requirement, honorable damoselle”—verify the identity of any who lacked a badge of office.
And so seventh hour came and went before Lady Patrice appeared on the east steps, rolled her eyes, and confessed in high dudgeon that, yes, I was exactly who I claimed to be. With only a raised eyebrow for the young guardsman, she plucked my sleeve and swept under the portico and into the east atrium.
Other books
Black Teeth by Zane Lovitt
Melody (THE LOGAN FAMILY) by Stacy-Deanne
Darkness Descending by Harry Turtledove
Daemon by Daniel Suarez
South of Capricorn by Anne Hampson
A Boy and His Tank by Leo Frankowski
Atlas Cloud And The Amulet of Thieves by L.M.J. Rayner
Under His Control (For His Pleasure, Book 18) by Favor, Kelly
Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls by Jessica Woodard
Little Sister by Patricia MacDonald