Lorelei returned Bothymus to the eyrie and spoke with Stromm about Bothymus’s ill temper. Still holding Blythe’s rucksack, she trekked up to Highreach and asked to speak with Skylar. A servant led her to the solarium, where Skylar was sharing a carafe of wine with a sultry woman in a fine blue dress and a bodice that looked uncomfortably tight. Her breasts were practically spilling from it.
“Ah, Lorelei.” Skylar stood and motioned to the other woman with her wine glass. “I’d like you to meet Princess Resada, daughter of Quintarch Zabrienne, a woman with an eye for art and a nose for wine.”
Lorelei bowed politely. “Pleased.”
“Lorelei,” Skylar said, “is one of our sharpest inquisitors.”
Resada glared at Lorelei’s dirty clothes and the beaten old rucksack over her shoulder. “The one who got into trouble in Glaeyand, yes?”
Feeling her cheeks flush, Lorelei was glad that the only light in the solarium was a dim wisplight on the table.
“Lorelei didn’t get into trouble,” Skylar said.
The princess smirked. “That’s not what the Domina told my mother.”
“Well perhaps a bit of trouble,” Skylar said, “but she may have uncovered a plot against the empire.”
“What else did the Domina say?” Lorelei asked.
The question seemed to irk Resada. “That you embarrassed the Imperator, that you defied his authority, that your lack of judgment nearly got an indurium killed. She said Damika should have taken your badge, and I can’t say I disagree.”
Lorelei peered over at the veranda where Tyrinia sat with Quintarch Zabrienne at a long granite table. Like her daughter, Zabrienne was an intensely beautiful woman with dark, arching eyebrows. Beside them was none other than Quintarch Lucran.
“Your father’s back . . .” Lorelei said it to recompose herself.
“Yes, isn’t it grand?” Skylar beamed. “He arrived just before cant.”
“The rebellion’s been put down, then?” Lorelei asked.
“We certainly hope so,” Skylar said. “It would be rather embarrassing if we lost it after building a bloody triumphal arch to commemorate our victory.”
Unable to stand the weight of Resada’s stare any longer, Lorelei leaned toward Skylar and whispered, “Can I speak to you alone?”
“Of course,” Skylar said, just as quietly. She squeezed Resada’s hand. “Sit. Drink. I’ll be right back.”
Lorelei led her away, then stopped and turned when they were out of earshot. “Your mother wants my badge taken?”
“Oh, she didn’t mean it.”
“Didn’t she?”
Skylar waved the complaint away. “She and Marstan have always been close. It struck a nerve is all.”
“I’m always striking a nerve with her, it seems. She probably blames me for the Tortoise Peak debacle.”
“Not at all. And she barely cared in the first place.”
“Oh, really? Then why did she insist on calling it off?”
“Illustra Azariah demanded it.”
Lorelei paused. She’d suspected that was the case, but it was good to have it confirmed. And it made sense. Illustra Azariah was under pressure to finally finish the damned renovations. “Well, I won’t keep you. I only wanted to mention how bad it’s gotten with Bothymus.” She told Skylar briefly about the encounter with Velox. “He’s acting like he did in Glaeyand.”
Skylar chewed on that for a moment. “Perhaps a bit of help can be arranged.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shortly after you came back from the Holt, one Rylan Holbrooke sent a nice letter, asking after Bothymus’s health. He offered to come help take care of him should I feel it necessary. I declined, thinking Bothymus would get better, but now . . .”
Lorelei shouldn’t have been surprised. Rylan had been kind in Glaeyand, and it only made sense that he’d ask after Bothymus’s health. “A visit might be in order.”
Skylar nodded. “I’ve met him a few times.” She leaned in and spoke in a lower voice. “He can help take care of me any time.”
“Stop it.”
“Or maybe you need taking care of . . .”
Lorelei felt her cheeks flush. “I said stop.”
Skylar laughed. “I’ll speak to Father tonight, see if he won’t put his seal on a request.”
Despite Skylar’s ribbing, it was a relief. She didn’t want Bothymus getting any worse.
“Skylar?” called a woman’s deep voice behind them. They turned to find Tyrinia standing beside the door to the solarium. “We’re to play whist. Come join us.”
Skylar gave Lorelei a peck on the cheek and left, but Tyrinia lingered. “Word is you were off to catch a Knife.”
Lorelei supposed she shouldn’t have been shocked that Tyrinia knew, but she was. She hadn’t even told Skylar what she was up to. Creed knew, of course, as did Damika, but like all things in the Crag, secrets didn’t stay secret for long.
“Yes, Domina.”
“Did you manage it?”
She patted the rucksack. “Not completely, but I’ve found clues.”
“Clues . . .” Tyrinia shrugged. “I guess that’s better than your ill-advised foray in Glaeyand, yes?”
Lorelei didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.
“You took Bothymus on this little excursion, did you not?”
“I did.”
“Risking my daughter’s indurium.”
“The work of an imperial inquisitor is not without its dangers.”
“Yes, well, perhaps we should rethink whether Bothymus should be lent to the Department of Inquisitors at all.”
Again Lorelei was caught flat-footed. “I hope not,” she said. “He’s been invaluable.”
Tyrinia made a noncommittal grunt. “Good night, Lorelei.”
“Good night, Domina,” Lorelei said, but Tyrinia was already lost to the solarium.
Lorelei headed to the palace entrance, requested a coach, and told the driver to bring her to the Crag. She was stilled rattled by Tyrinia’s threat, and wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep, but first she needed to check on Creed, who would likely be in the Pit.
As it turned out, he’d managed to wade into a flat on the river and apprehend the lanky Knife, but he’d learned little. “He’s a bloody trapper out to earn a few stags,” Creed said when she found him at his desk. “He was probably hired just to take the stuff downriver.”
“Think he’s lying?”
“Could be, but even if he is a Knife, he seemed too scared to have been with them for long.” He touched her shoulder and turned her toward the exit. “Get some sleep. I’m going to try one more time before I head home. Barlo must be wondering where I am.” Barlo was Creed’s adorable mastiff.
Lorelei felt her pillow calling, too. She headed toward the exit, but stopped when Creed called her name.
“I was a bit harsh at Shepherd’s Crook,” he said. “It’s the business in Glaeyand. I was annoyed, but it’s not your fault. You did good.”
“Then why doesn’t it feel that way?”
“Because we live in a cruel world. Now go home. Tell your mother she can fix everything with cheesy biscuits.”
Lorelei chuckled. “I’m eating my share before you get near them.”
Creed smiled. “Fair enough.”
She trekked home and fairly crashed into bed, slept all the way past high sun. When she finally managed to get up, she bathed, dressed, and headed downstairs. After a quick meal of goat cheese, currants, and honey over crackers, she was preparing to leave when her mother stopped her.
“And where are you off to today?” She was wearing her oversized trousers and a threadbare shirt that she’d kept after her husband died.
“To the shrine to talk to Ash,” Lorelei said, “then back to the Crag.” She gave her mother the high points of the previous night. Creed sometimes questioned whether it was wise to share so much with her mother, but Lorelei had always shared everything with her, and she wasn’t about to stop now.
Adelia wrung a pair of old leather gloves. “You’re being careful?”
Lorelei had been young when her father died, but she remembered her mother asking the very same question of him when she was worried about his work. The creases beside her eyes and mouth might have gotten deeper, but the look she gave Lorelei was the same one she’d given him.
“Of course I’m being careful.”
Adelia nodded. “It’s just this business with Aarik, and now Blythe.”
Lorelei took her in her arms and hugged her. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
“We both know that isn’t true.” Adelia hugged her back, then stepped away. “This isn’t like rounding up ordinary dealers—which is dangerous enough, mind you. It feels bigger, somehow, like ravens have started to circle the city.”
Lorelei clutched her mother’s hands to stop her wringing her gloves, then showed her the wooden case she’d taken from Blythe and the block of peat. “I need Ash to test a soil sample. That’s all. And Damika’s taken me off the business in Glaeyand anyway.”
It wasn’t the whole truth, and the look on her mother’s face made clear she knew or at least suspected that, but she squeezed Lorelei’s hand anyway and said, “Take extra care, okay? For me?”
“I will. I promise.”
With that, Lorelei grabbed her tricorn hat, slipped into her swallowtail coat, and headed outside. After taking a moment to calm herself, she moved from refuge to refuge, those streets and squares with the least amount of traffic, and arrived at the gates to Alra’s shrine. Several hundred pilgrims prayed on blankets or mats in the courtyard beyond. One of them, a heavyset man with a scar in the shape of Alra’s eight-pointed star on his forehead, was standing and staring at the frieze above the fluted columns. His arms spread wide, he mumbled prayers to Alra. At the top of the broad steps, shepherds in white tabards and gleaming, brightsteel armor controlled the flow of traffic at the entrance. Milling near the doors were a dozen or so workmen in boots and overalls, part of the crews helping to repair the shrine.
Lips pressed tight, Lorelei held the wooden case to her chest and headed toward the stairs. A shepherd with a cleft palate sat at the table by the entrance. She climbed the stairs and stood before him.
He broke from his conversation with a worker in dusty overalls and gave Lorelei a cursory inspection. He paused on seeing her inquisitor’s badge. “What business, Inquisitor?”
“She’s here to see me.” Lorelei and the shepherd both turned their heads to find Ash standing in the entryway. “At least, I hope that’s the reason.” He winked at Lorelei. “I’d be offended if it wasn’t.”
The shepherd regarded Lorelei. “That so?”
“Yes.” She pointed at his journal. “Inquisitor Lorelei Aurelius here to see Ash Torentada.”
He made a note in his journal. “Move along . . .”
Lorelei and Ash entered the shrine’s broad antechamber. Many alchemysts and laborers were moving about their work. The cavernous space looked much the same as the last time Lorelei had seen it, except a scaffolding had been erected. Above the tunnel that led to the shrine proper, a crew of women were cleaning another frieze that showed Alra’s death at the cant, the transference of her power to her five paragons, and the battle they’d waged in her name at the reckoning.
“So,” Ash said, “is it really inquisitor business?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Ash sighed. “All they want is the mind, never the—oh, forget it.”
“You missed your calling. You should’ve been an actor.”
“What”—he waved to the worktables and carts of white blocks—“and miss all this?”
At the center of the far wall, beneath a runic arch, was the tunnel that led to the inner chamber, the shrine proper. Two guards stood at the entrance, and for good reason, Lorelei supposed. The shrine contained two of the empire’s most treasured artifacts: a piece of the Heartstone and the remains of the paragon, Strages. In all her years, Lorelei had never set foot in it.
“The offer still stands, you know.” Ash jutted his chin toward the tunnel. “Come with me one night and I’ll give you a tour.”
“You said it’s busy at all hours.”
“It is, but I know everyone who works in the wee hours before reckoning. They don’t squawk about a quick visit.”
She would have loved to, truth be told, but she already felt guilty for trying to circumvent Damika’s orders. She didn’t want to get caught making an unauthorized visit. “Some day.”
“Let me know.”
“Will do.”
They arrived at a workbench with a white stone block, a magnifying glass, and some jars and paintbrushes on it. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Lorelei pointed to the white block. “You never told me precisely what you do with them.”
“Oh, it’s very exciting, my love!” He ran a finger along the block’s surface. “You see the cracks here?”
Lorelei bent over it and squinted. “No.” Ash handed her the magnifying glass, and she peered through it. The cracks were thin as gossamer. “That’s what all the fuss is about?”
“It’s serious stuff. The cracks might be narrow but they weren’t there twenty years ago when the shrine was last inspected. They need to be fixed now, before it becomes a real problem.”
Lorelei shrugged. “If you say so, but how?”
“With this.” He pulled a paintbrush from a large earthenware jug and allowed the thick, clear liquid to drip from it. “It’s a distillation of night hazel. It seeps into the cracks and bonds the material and should hold it for centuries to come.”
Lorelei scanned the room. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just use blocks that aren’t cracked?”
Ash gawked at her. “You sound like a bloody outlander sometimes, Lorelei. Do you even know the Church?” He patted the stone. “This is holy. The people who laid it in the shrine were alive to see Alra walk the earth. The day they toss it aside for stone mined from some nearby quarry is the day they burn their habits and denounce Alra herself.”
“It just seems like a lot of trouble.”
“It’s worth it. The shrine deserves to be protected, now and into the future. But enough about that. I’m busy”—he motioned to the wooden case in her hands—“and you came for a reason.”
“I did.” She handed him the case. “I need to know what this is.”
He slid the top open and stared at the dark block of earth. “It’s dirt, Lorelei. You’ve brought me dirt.”
“Not dirt. Peat. Smell it.”
Ash did. “Very well, you’ve brought me peat.”
Lorelei glanced at a pock-face woman who was using a brush to clean dirt from a piece of cracked white stone. The woman glanced back at her and left. Then Lorelei whispered to Ash. “I need to know what’s special about it.”
Ash poked a finger into the peat, then smelled his finger with a wrinkled nose.
“Ash!” came a booming voice from the shrine tunnel.
The pock-faced woman was standing beside Master Renato, the portly alchemyst. As he had every other time Lorelei had seen him, Master Renato wore a green smock over yellow shirt and trousers. He looked rather like an oddly shaped gourd.
“Back to work!” he yelled.
“Yes, Master Renato!” Ash placed the wooden case on a shelf under his worktable. “What makes you think there’s anything special about it?”
She was tempted to tell him about the powder that Brother Mayhew had tested in the mines, the Hissing Man’s demand for a sample of his own in return, but there was no time, and she didn’t want to predispose Ash to anything. “Just test it, okay?”
Ash shrugged. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”
She waved and left, unsure whether to hope Ash wouldn’t find anything in the peat or that he would.