Six
A short while later, they arrived at the estate, and Mars was escorted immediately to his room. He took a slow turn about the place he’d be staying until they set out for the Assembly, marveling at the luxury. The bedroom was many times larger than his entire hideout back in the city. The four-poster bed, big enough to fit six of him, loomed atop a stone dais set in the center of the room. A columned fireplace lined one wall, while on the opposite wall, the balcony doors stood open, letting in a teasing breeze of cool, fragrant air.
So many ways to kill him in here, he realized, wishing for a smaller, more secure room. Then again, he thought, as he eyed the palatial private bathing chamber through the open door across the way, what a way to go.
“Is the room to your liking, Mr. Karlsvane?” asked the valet who’d escorted him here.
Mars suppressed a laugh and returned to character. “It could use a fountain and a pair of songbirds to go with it.”
The valet gave a puzzled frown, his mouth opening to voice a question.
Mars waved him off. “I’m kidding. The room is fine.”
“Very good, sir.” The man gestured toward the door with a hand clad in a blindingly white glove. “Shall I see to your trunks?”
“No,” Mars answered with a reluctant sigh. “I’ll take care of them.” He wasn’t sure whether any of the servants, aside from Katrìn, were aware of who he really was, and he didn’t want to explain a case full of small vials of liquid that contained his poisons and antidotes.
“As you wish, sir.” The valet arched an eyebrow as a clacking sound issued from the shuttered birdcage set among the trunks. “Pardon me, but wouldn’t your falcon be better situated in the mews?”
Mars grimaced. He’d forgotten about the damn thing. “No, I prefer it with me.”
The valet’s eyebrow lowered. “Very well, then. You’re to have dinner with the dòttra in an hour. Please see that you are appropriately dressed.” He eyed Mars’s clothing, rumpled from his sparring match with Fura.
“I will.” Mars waved the man out the door.
Alone at last, he made quick work of emptying his trunks, wincing at the ache in his bruised fingers as he locked the more questionable items inside the wardrobe and stowed the key beneath the mattress. The whole time, the thing in the cage kept making noises that sounded convincingly like a bird. Eager to escape the annoyance of it, Mars tossed off his clothes and headed to the bathing chamber.
When he emerged some time later, draped in a towel and with water still beading his hair, the thing in the cage had grown louder, more insistent. With his agitation rising, Mars proceeded with getting dressed, but in moments had reached his limit. Marching over to the cage, he ripped off the cover and glared down at the thing inside.
“What do you want?”
The magic falcon peered up at him with eyes the color of beeswax. It craned its head to the side, falling silent. Mars waited, unsure what to expect, gooseflesh rippling down his arms. The bird was once dead, but it wasn’t like one of Una’s ravens. On the surface it looked entirely real and alive, no knobs or metal hinges, and best of all, no stench of rot. It was an artifact, fueled by Rift magic instead of Ice, which meant it wouldn’t run out of energy.
Which had its benefits and its drawbacks.
Kack-kack-kack, came the rasping sound once more.
“I said be quiet.” Mars snapped his fingers at the bird.
The falcon kacked again.
“Please tell me there’s an off switch.” Mars leaned closer, silently cursing Una for saddling him with such a burden. The falcon was to be his way to send her updates on his progress. Falconry was a regular pastime among the wealthy elite, making it a convenient disguise. But a damn noisy one at the moment. The bird nipped in his direction, and Mars pulled away.
“What if I order you to be silent? What then?” He brandished a finger at it, racking his brain for the instructions Una had given him concerning the bird. According to her, it could be commanded by its name. Worth a try. “Feykir, I command you to be silent.”
The falcon kacked again.
“I mean it, you stupid bird. I’ll send you to the mews and leave you there forever.” Somebody might notice that his pet falcon didn’t eat or shit or do anything remotely normal except make noise, but he was near feeling like it would be worth the risk.
Kack.
A knock sounded on the door, and Mars swore under his breath. He took his time answering it, trying to regain his sense of calm.
Askalon stood in the hallway, his heavy brow furrowed. “Just who are you talking to in there?”
“My bird.”
“Your what?”
Mars enjoyed the confused look on the man’s face as he motioned to the cage behind him. “My bird.”
Askalon stepped into the room, uninvited, and examined the creature with a critical gaze. “It’s a fine-looking falcon,” he said after a moment. “But why not keep it in the mews?”
Mars shrugged. “Emotional support.”
“Right.” Askalon gave a derisive snort. “Are you ready to go? Best not to keep the dòttra waiting.”
Mars donned his surcoat, then, leaving the foul bird uncovered, followed Askalon out into the hallway. As they walked in silence, Mars focused on the path, committing all he could to memory. He would need to learn his way around here if he hoped to search for the Primer formula. If he could uncover any clues before they even departed for the Assembly, it would only make his job easier. But the estate was enormous, full of long corridors and numerous rooms. His was on the third floor, and as they descended to the second, Mars saw that many of the doors they passed stood open. Beyond each were rooms even more lavishly furnished than the one he’d been given.
Reaching the main floor, they crossed through a vast living hall full of sofas, writing desks, bookcases, and lounge chairs—enough distractions for a dozen people or more—yet it was entirely devoid of inhabitants. There was something dreary about a house filled with all that unused furniture, like a once proud ship left to rot in a harbor.
“Is this place always so quiet?” Mars said.
“It didn’t used to be.” Askalon slowed and turned back to face a portrait they’d just passed, which hung askew. He quickly straightened it before moving on. “But access to the estate has been restricted ever since the dòttra’s husband died.”
Since he was assassinated, Mars thought, struck by sudden dizziness, as if the floor had tilted sideways between one step and the next. He should not be here. Una was insane to force him into this situation. He would be found out. He would—
With an effort, Mars halted the train of his thoughts before they derailed him. That was the past, a job completed and nothing more. All that mattered now was this one.
“That reminds me.” Askalon halted once again, facing Mars this time. “There are several rules here at the estate, all of which you’re to abide by for the duration of your stay.” He pointed downward. “You’re free to go where you wish on the ground floor and the second. On the third floor, you should stick to your quarters only, and you’re to stay off the fourth floor entirely.”
Mars glanced at the ceiling. “How many floors are there?”
“Five, if you count the underground floor.”
“I see.” From what Mars knew of estates, the top floor was reserved for the servants’ quarters, not the sort of place guests were likely to go anyway. He didn’t know if the rule about the top floor made it more or less suspicious.
“Tell me,” Mars said, following Askalon, “how was your visit to the Archive?”
“A waste of time.”
Mars started to press him for more but lost his chance as Askalon stopped before a set of double doors and pushed them open, ushering Mars inside.
Mars halted a few steps in, surveying the room and its occupants. His eyes traveled at once to Fura Torvald, standing next to the fireplace on the right-hand wall. No trace of the Rivna Knight armor remained; she was clad in a blue silk bodice with a low-cut neckline and a matching skirt that opened in the front to reveal lacy petticoats of white and sage green billowing out from beneath. Her eyes lit on his, scorn thinly veiled behind her neutral expression.
Ignoring the look, Mars turned his gaze to the person already seated at the head of the long dining table. Elìn Torvald looked like an older, grayer version of her daughter. Like Fura, she wore a fitted bodice and open-front skirt, but hers was black silk trimmed in gold fur. She watched him with a cold gaze that reminded him a little too much of the once dead falcon in his room. Above her left eyebrow was a small tattoo of the Torvald eagle, a symbol of her position as head of the kith. Its faded lines emphasized to Mars just how long this woman had held the rank.
“Madame Torvald,” Askalon said, bowing. “May I introduce Halfur Karlsvane.”
Elìn rose slowly from her chair, as regal as a queen from her throne. “Welcome, Halfur. My daughter and I are pleased to meet you at last.”
Mars pursed his lips, amused at this confirmation of Fura’s deception. For half a moment, he considered exposing the little “test” she’d given him, but he resisted. Fura’s trust could be an asset in his assignment—as Una had suggested—or, at any rate, there was no advantage to being on her bad side. He strode forward and accepted Elìn’s outstretched hand, bowing to kiss it.
“Well met, madame.” He stood, releasing her hand, then turned to Fura. “And you as well, Miss Torvald.” He bowed, the precision of the gesture that of a proper kithsman.
“Good evening, Mr. Karlsvane,” Fura replied. She was a consummate liar as well, it seemed.
Holding back a grin at the irony that a practitioner of Rivna could be so good at deception, Mars placed a hand on his chest. “Please, call me Hal.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “I would prefer to have your real name, sir.”
Elìn’s voice cut through the room like a knife through tissue paper. “As far as you’re concerned, that is his real name, daughter.” Elìn sank back into her chair and motioned to Mars. “Please have a seat, Halfur. Dinner is ready to be served.”
Mars did as the dòttra bid him. Askalon took the opposite chair while Fura sat down next to him, keeping her distance from Mars. The moment they were settled, the door at the back of the room opened and a line of servants walked in, carrying trays laden with various delicacies of Riven. There was smoked lamb and brined salmon, aged cheeses nested in crowberries, sweet rye bread so dense and dark it was almost black, and rare yrsawine, made from southern vines that only blossomed once every seven years.
Elìn made polite conversation as they selected their choices from the servants’ offerings. “How did you find your trip here from the city, Mr. Karlsvane?”
“The train ride was nearly as pleasant as the greeting I received upon arriving,” Mars said. He gave Fura a sly glance, hoping their shared secret would create a sense of camaraderie, but her expression remained neutral.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Elìn made an odd gesture with her hand, motioning toward the back of the room. The servants reacted at once, the entire lot retreating. “Now,” the dòttra said, the cordial facade she’d been wearing falling away, “let’s discuss the business at hand.”
Mars felt the shift in her tone. Here was a woman in full control of the world she inhabited. She reminded him of Una, but with a sharper edge, one that undoubtedly came from her privileged position as head of a kith.
“I believe you’ve been given a basic understanding of the purpose behind the contract you’ve been hired to fulfill,” Elìn continued, “but I need you to be aware of the full extent of the danger. Ten months ago, my husband was assassinated.”
The taste in his mouth turned sour. Mars picked up his wineglass and took a quick sip. “My employer informed me. I’m sorry for your loss.”
The dòttra ignored his perfunctory condolence. “I’m sure she did, but I doubt she was aware of the reason he was targeted.”
Mars held his breath, a strange weightless feeling coming over him, as if he were floating outside his body. He cleared his throat, hoping the subject would turn soon. “And what was it?”
“Retribution.” The dòttra’s fingers clenched and unclenched in an unconscious gesture. “The Skorris were behind it. They believed that we—that is, the Torvalds—were responsible for a tragedy that struck their Ice mine a year ago. They believe I am responsible.”
Are you? Mars wanted to ask, but didn’t. He knew better. Besides, it didn’t matter. She was kith and a dòttra, and there was nothing innocent about either. Still, news about a tragedy at an Ice mine, one harmful enough to invoke a need for retribution, alarmed him. Mining Ice wasn’t like mining coal or precious gems, where the danger lay in the solidity of the mine shafts. Ice was a thing unto itself, like an ocean. One did not need shafts or any other man-made structures to mine it. Just the opposite. Ice came to you. It grew and kept on growing, no matter how much was taken, which was part of both its value and its insidious nature.
“What sort of tragedy was it?” Mars asked.
“I don’t wish to discuss it.” Emotion darkened Elìn’s voice as she went on. “What matters is that the Skorris will stop at nothing until they have satisfaction. Until they have taken everything that matters most to me.”
The sound of her emotion made his stomach clench, the feeling made worse by the raw pain he glimpsed on Fura’s face as her mother talked about her father’s death. All at once he saw Henrik again—the way his eyes had narrowed when he first spotted Mars, there to kill him, while Orri stalked from another direction. Two assassins sent to ensure the kill. Then Mars remembered the way the man had died, screaming in agony as the Rift magic ripped through him, snapping his bones, contorting his body into a hideous, unnatural state.
“Una assures me you are the best,” Elìn said, and the sound of his employer’s name pulled Mars out of the grip of his memories. “I’m risking much in trusting that it’s true.”
Mars nodded, drawing a relieved breath at being back in the present once more. “I am the best.”
Fura made a derisive snort at this, and Elìn snapped her head toward her daughter, her gaze cold enough to freeze air. “Don’t you dare make light of this, Fura.”
“I don’t need his help, Mother,” Fura said through gritted teeth. “I can take care of myself, as you well—”
“Enough.” Elìn slammed her hand against the table hard enough to rock the dishes.
Fura closed her mouth, her teeth clacking as they came together. Mars winced, uncomfortable with the thick tension, made worse by his fear. If they ever found out he was responsible . . .
Elìn returned her attention to Mars. “As I was saying, Fura is surely a target, and I am relying on you to see that she remains safe through the entire Assembly.”
Dozens of questions popped into his mind, none of which he had any business asking, and yet he couldn’t help myself. “If you don’t mind my asking, wouldn’t it be safer for Miss Torvald to simply not attend?”
“Absolutely not,” said Fura, eyes darting at him.
“It most certainly would.” Elìn sighed, the sound of her exasperation clear. “But Fura is right. It’s not really an option. She is of age this year and must be formally acknowledged as my heir, an event which can only occur during the Assembly when all the kith come together. We could delay until next year, but there’s significant risk to the process of succession if anything were to happen to me before then.”
Mars cocked his head, uncertain about the full extent of kith law. Then again, he didn’t spend much time thinking about common laws, either. He only needed to know enough not to break them unless he intended to. “Could someone else be named your heir if that were to happen?”
“There are those who would try. I would prefer not to give them the opportunity.”
“I understand, madam.” Mars tucked his chin in a faint bow. “I will not fail.”
Elìn regarded him coolly. “Success, unfortunately, is not wholly dependent on you. Everyone at the Assembly must believe you are kithborn, or the consequences will be dire. Impersonating a kith is punishable by death, and the Skorris would use just such a discovery to openly attack you—and those with you.”
“They would kill your daughter outright?” Mars found this hard to believe. From what he knew of it, kith law wasn’t much different from Rivna, honor and justice and all that. Last he checked, murdering a bystander was far from honorable.
“No, not outright.” Elìn drummed her fingers on the table, their tips painted gold to match her dress. “But provoked by the outrage of discovering such a deception, there’s no telling what might happen or what excuse they might use to harm her.”
“This is exactly why we shouldn’t bring him.” Fura cut a hand toward Mars.
Elìn shook her head. “You cannot have it both ways, Fura. That was the agreement. You either submit to the deception required to ensure your safety, or you do not go.”
The latter was clearly not an option. Mars saw the truth clear as glass in Fura’s expression. At last, and against her will, it seemed, she gave a nod of consent.
“Very good.” Elìn tented her hands in front of her. “This is the reason I summoned you here early, Halfur. I believe it best that you get to know my daughter and our way of life before we leave for the Assembly. I must be absolutely sure you can pull this off.” She paused, her eyes on her daughter once more. “Both of you.”
Fura nodded again, lips pursed.
“To help facilitate your learning, I have arranged a series of daily activities designed to make you more comfortable posing as a member of our kith, and to allow the two of you the chance to get acquainted with one another.” Elìn gestured toward Askalon, who reached into his surcoat and withdrew two pieces of folded paper. He handed one to Mars, the other to Fura.
Mars glanced at the schedule, unsurprised to see the list of activities, all of them common pursuits for the kith. There was dancing, fencing, horse riding, archery, falconry, and so on. All things he could do in his sleep—the ones that really mattered, that is.
Fura’s eyes darted down the page. “Is all this really necessary, Mother?”
“Quite.” Elìn took a long, satisfied drink of her wine. “Askalon will oversee your progress. You should know, Halfur, that as my truss, there are no secrets I keep from him. When he speaks to you, he speaks for me.”
To his credit, Askalon didn’t gloat at this. “The name you’ve been given,” he said, “comes from my family. Karl was my older brother, though few remember him. He vanished at sea years ago after a trip abroad. We’ve spread the rumor that you are his long-lost son, finally returned to Riven.”
Karlsvane. Son of Karl. Nephew of the truss? That made Mars practically royalty among the kith. “I’m honored,” Mars said, with only a hint of irony.
Askalon bristled, but didn’t comment.
Elìn rose from the table, then leaned her hands against it. “Festivale starts in eight days. The celebration will be your proving ground. If the two of you successfully convince our people—both the commoners and the kith who’ve known you all your life, Fura—that your relationship is real, then we will leave for the Assembly as planned.” She paused, fixing Mars and Fura both with a stern look. “Don’t disappointment me.”
“As you wish, madam.” Mars nodded, trying to hide his pleasure at the turn of the events. Surely after so much time with Fura, he would be able to win her confidence and discover the formula.
Then again, the scowl on Fura’s face as they parted company a few moments later warned him that a thousand hours spent in her presence might not be enough to get close to her.
Despite the early morning before him, Mars remained awake late into the night. He could’ve slept—the falcon having finally quieted—but he couldn’t make himself lie down. His mind spun with all that had happened; witnessing the emotional aftermath of one of his assassinations had been an uncomfortable experience, one that lingered even now, as Henrik’s death played over and over in his mind. What had he gotten himself into? Forget the kith wanting to kill him for being an imposter—the Torvalds would kill him first if they knew the truth.
Don’t be foolish, said that voice in his head. How would they ever know?
It was true. They couldn’t know. Not unless he revealed the truth himself—which he never would.
His mind and body keyed up from the situation, and aware of the short time frame he had, Mars decided to make the most of it with a midnight tour of the estate. While he didn’t expect to find anything related to the Primer sitting out in the open, he suspected that a working knowledge of the layout of the massive home could only help him complete his task. He just needed to wait until everyone else was asleep.
Donning his darkest clothing, he headed for the door, hesitating to make sure all was silent beyond before stepping out. Once satisfied, he left, stepping into a hallway bathed in shadow and strips of moonlight. He flicked his wrists against his cuffs, offering a sacrifice to the Rift. With the magic flowing, he drew the shadows toward him, wrapping them around himself like a cloak. Then he moved down the hallway, confident in his disguise.
But as he rounded the corner to the next hallway, he froze at the sound of footsteps. They were faint, but close. He stared down the corridor, his vision enhanced by the magic still flowing through him. He saw no one, but the footsteps were retreating now, as if the person had just passed him by. Mars followed, determined to find their source, keeping one hand gripped on his sword hilt. Worries of an assassin coming after Fura slid through his mind, her mother’s warnings still fresh in his thoughts.
The footsteps led him to the staircase, and to his surprise, the hidden figure began to ascend, up to the forbidden fourth floor. For a second as he followed, Mars spotted something pale and slender on the steps ahead—a slippered foot. Whoever this was, they hadn’t come from outside. No assassin would be wearing a bed slipper. And no assassin would be so careless, either. The person made no attempt to soften their footsteps as they hurried their pace.
Mars followed, but at a distance, slowing down as they reached the staircase to the fourth floor. Here the moonlight was twice as bright. He drew the shadows tighter around him, offering the Rift a fresh sacrifice. The moonlight worked in his favor though, its presence doing odd things to the air around the disguised person. It seemed to shimmer and distort, like a reflection on water, and Mars guessed the person was wearing an artifact cloth, not unlike the one Una possessed.
Mars followed as the figure ascended the stairs, which opened into a wide room. As they came to a stop before a set of ornate doors, Mars halted, hand tighter on his sword. The sound of keys jingling echoed down the corridor, and the person let out a soft curse, struggling to see the keyhole in the dark. Then they threw back the hood of the artifact cloak, revealing long, pale hair and a familiar profile.
Mars drew a breath and held it. Fura Torvald, what are you up to?
The young woman cast a furtive look over her shoulder, but didn’t see him. A moment later, she slipped through the door, locking it behind her.
Mars stepped closer to the door, his mind racing. And who are you hiding from?