CHAPTER 12

12th Day of Sipar’s Waking, Year 618

In the moments after Tache’s death and Droë’s disappearance, masters and mistresses, novitiates, and guards swarmed from the keeps, no doubt drawn by Lenna’s screams and the boy’s final cry. As they converged on Cresten, Lenna, and the corpse, word of the calamity spread, distorted by rumor and the first whiff of blame.

“What is this?” Albon demanded, pushing through the throng. “Who was that screaming bef–” He halted at the sight of the boy’s desiccated corpse. “Blood and bone.” He eyed Lenna, who sobbed still.

Several of her friends tried to comfort her, including Vahn. Cresten stood alone.

“What’s happened here, Mister Padkar?”

“It was… It was a Tirribin, master.”

“A Tirribin? You’re certain?” Before Cresten could answer, he looked down at Tache again. “Of course you are.” He rounded on the nearest guards. “I want these grounds searched. If you find the creature, kill it. From a distance. Arrows. If you have to draw your sword, it’s too late.”

In the dim light of moon-glow and torchfire, Cresten saw the lead guard falter momentarily.

“Yes, sir,” he said. He and his comrades fanned out across the lower courtyard and toward the gate.

“Had you seen the demon before?” Albon asked, facing Cresten again.

“Yes.”

“So you knew what it was, and you treated with it anyway, disregarding the danger.”

Cresten darted a glance at Lenna. Albon followed his gaze, his expression darkening.

“We’ll speak of this tomorrow. All of us, Miss Doen.”

She nodded, too overwrought to speak.

“Take her to the keep,” Albon said to the other girls. “The rest of you, back to your beds. There’s nothing to be done here.”

“What about the time demon?” one of the girls asked.

The weapons master looked a question Cresten’s way. Cresten opened his hands, glanced in the direction Droë had gone.

“It’s gone, and in any case, you’ll be safer in the keeps. Now off with you.”

Lenna’s friends led her to the Windward Keep. The other novitiates retreated as well, in pairs and small groups. Albon signaled to two more soldiers, gesturing subtly at the body. The men lifted Tache and carried him toward the middle courtyard and the infirmary. A few of the masters and mistresses lingered, but they spoke among themselves in low, solemn tones. Before long the weapons master and Cresten stood alone.

“Was this revenge, Padkar? Did you finally get Tache back for the beatings he gave you?”

Cresten gaped, unable at first to muster an answer. “N- no!” he said. “It wasn’t– That’s not what happened! Tache and I were friends. It took time, but we wound up that way. This wasn’t–” He’d intended to say it wasn’t his fault, but his sense that he was to blame silenced him for an instant. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“What did happen? Can you tell me now? It’s just the two of us.” Cresten stared in the direction the guards had taken Tache’s corpse. He wanted to tell Albon everything. Of all the masters and mistresses in the palace, no one had treated him better. But when he opened his mouth to speak, a sob escaped him. Before he knew it, he was weeping as he hadn’t since leaving his home. Losing Lenna, watching Tache die, sensing already that blame for the tragedy would fall on him, fearing that he deserved such a fate – it was too much.

Albon sighed and laid a meaty hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, lad,” he said. “It’s all right.”

Meaningless words. It was far, far from all right. Overwhelmed as he was, Cresten understood this. Still, he accepted the man’s comfort and, when he had cried himself out, allowed Albon to walk him back to the Leeward Keep. Neither of them spoke, not even to say goodnight.

Cresten climbed the stairs to the chamber he shared with the other boys his age. He heard voices as he approached; he was sure every person in the palace was awake. When he entered the room, conversations ceased. Everyone stared at him. He took a full breath, as if preparing to dive into deep waters, and walked to his bed.

Conversations resumed, now in whispers. After a few spirecounts, Vahn crossed to his bed.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“Good.” He lingered, and Cresten thought he would ask him about events in the courtyard. After another fivecount, though, he said, “Well, I wanted to make sure.” He walked away without waiting for Cresten’s reply.

Cresten tugged off his clothes, climbed into bed, and bundled himself in his blankets. The other boys continued to talk, and several times he heard one or another speak his name. He tried to ignore them. It didn’t matter what they said, he told himself. The chancellor, and the masters and mistresses, would decide his fate. He wouldn’t have to wait long for their judgment.

He slept poorly, chased from dream to dream by the goldenhaired Tirribin, and by Tache’s withered form. He was awake before dawn.

A palace herald came to the boys’ dorm with the first daylight bell.

“Cresten Padkar, Chancellor Samorij has instructed me to escort you to his chamber.”

Cresten had already dressed. He stood and followed the herald out of the keep, across the courtyard, and into the chancellor’s tower. He felt like a condemned man.

The herald did not bother to knock, but opened the door and waved Cresten inside. The chancellor stood by his desk, his hands behind his back, his expression more severe than Cresten would have thought possible on such an amiable man. Albon stood near the window, with Qemman Denmys, the master of Time Walking, and a dour woman wearing a uniform of purple and black. Cresten thought her the captain of the guard. Two chairs had been set before the desk. The chancellor indicated one of them now. Cresten sat.

“We will wait for Miss Doen,” the chancellor said, in a voice like slag.

No one uttered a word. For several moments that felt much longer, the only sounds in the chamber were the coos of messenger doves and the rustle of their feathers.

At the click of the door handle, Cresten started, then twisted to peer back.

Lenna swayed on the threshold, her eyes flitting from one of them to the next. She appeared drawn, her eyes puffy and red.

“Come in, Miss Doen,” the chancellor said, his tone more gentle than it had been.

Fear prickled the back of Cresten’s neck.

The chancellor pointed to the chair beside Cresten. Lenna stepped to it, sparing Cresten the most cursory of glances, and sat, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“Does either of you have any notion of how long it’s been since last a novitiate died on these grounds?”

Cresten had no idea. Lenna shook her head.

“I didn’t either,” the chancellor said. “Not until I went back through the records last night. This was the first in nearly half a century. The last was a boy who contracted Herjean pox. The palace healer wasn’t able to attend to the lad in time. Over the years, Belvora have taken a toll, and once, when the palace was still new, an Arrokad took a girl from the Windward Keep. She was never heard from again, and the chancellor at the time never ascertained the truth of her fate.

“As far as I can tell, until last night, no novitiate had ever been killed by a Tirribin.” He paused, his gaze shifting from one of them to the other. “Can one of you explain to me precisely what happened to Mister Tache?”

Neither of them answered.

“I gather that last night was not the first time this particular Tirribin has been in the palace. Is this true?”

Cresten resisted the urge to look at Albon. A part of him was angry with the man for betraying a confidence. A greater part knew Albon would deny that he owed Cresten any allegiance in this matter. Tache was dead. All other considerations paled next to that.

The silence stretched on.

“It is true,” Lenna said, in a voice so soft Chancellor Samorij leaned forward to hear her better. “I spoke with her several times.”

“Tirribin are dangerous creatures, Miss Doen. Why would you do this?”

She glanced up at him. “They’re not dangerous to me. At least Droë isn’t.”

“Droë is its name?”

“Her name,” Lenna said, a bit of steel in her tone. “And she would never hurt me. Tirribin are fascinated by time, and they possess knowledge and wisdom that any Walker would find valuable. Our conversations… they’ve taught me a great deal. And so you know, she wouldn’t hurt Cresten, either. The first night we spoke to her–”

The chancellor turned a flinty eye on Cresten. “You saw it – her – too, Mister Padkar?”

“Yes, Lord Chancellor. And I believe Lenna’s right. Droë wouldn’t hurt either of us. She gave her word that first night.”

“That means nothing to anyone except the two of you. Clearly the creature presents a mortal danger to every other person in this palace.”

“No, she doesn’t!” Lenna said. “She attacked Tache because he offended her, and because he threatened me.”

Samorij scowled. “Is the Tirribin your guardian?”

“She’s my friend.”

“Do you consider her a friend as well, Mister Padkar?”

Cresten took too long to answer.

The chancellor straightened. “I see.”

Lenna sent a glare Cresten’s way.

He hated the Tirribin. He feared her, and he blamed her for the deterioration of his friendship with Lenna. But he would have said anything to make Lenna care for him again, and, as it happened, he couldn’t fault the time demon for attacking Tache. The boy had brought that on himself.

“I don’t think Droë would consider me a friend, Lord Chancellor. I’m not a Walker, and so to her I’m just another human. Still, I agree with Lenna: Droë wouldn’t have hurt Tache if he hadn’t provoked her.”

“You don’t think,” the chancellor repeated, a sneer in his voice. “‘She’s my friend,’ you say. Do you have any idea how naïve you both sound? How foolish? A boy is dead! Killed by your friend, Miss Doen. By this demon who you, Mister Padkar, describe as some benign creature who is not to be feared. You have both been breathtakingly reckless.”

The chancellor crossed to the window and gripped the sill. He remained there for some time, his back to them, his breathing low and harsh. Neither the masters nor the woman in uniform said a word.

“What will you do with her?” Lenna asked after some time.

The chancellor stirred, roused by her question. “Your thoughts should be for yourself and for Mister Padkar, not for the Tirribin.”

“Can’t I spare a thought for all of us?”

Bold words. More bold by far than anything Cresten would have dared say. His esteem for Lenna rose ever more.

The chancellor stepped back to his desk.

“If I could have the creature killed, I would, and I assure you that our guards will be more vigilant than they have been.” His glance at the woman in purple drew a curt nod. “The fact is, your Tirribin is one of the Ancients. Killing them is…” He opened his hands. “Even if we managed it, there would be a price. Any act that risks war with one of the septs has to be considered with utmost care.” A bitter smile flickered across his features. “I expect your ‘friend’ is safe.”

“And us?” Lenna asked.

The chancellor spared Cresten a glance before addressing her. “A more difficult matter. A boy has died, and in time parents will hear of the tragedy. They will worry about their own children. They’ll demand to know what happened, and what we’ve done to prevent a recurrence. Men and women in distant courts will learn of it as well, and my judgment will be questioned.” He eyed Lenna. “Yes, that matters,” he said, perhaps anticipating her next query. “This palace serves a vital function between the oceans. The royals who summon you and your fellow novitiates to be their Walkers, Spanners, and Crossers must have confidence in me, and in the masters and mistresses who train you. It would be easy to assume that we are an enclave unto ourselves, but we’re not. We are part of a vast network whose influence on events throughout Islevale should not be underestimated. The consequences of any damage to our reputation will span kingdoms and seas.”

Cresten heard in the chancellor’s words portents of his own doom. They might punish Lenna in some way, but there were limits to what they could do to her. She was a Walker. Their only Walker.

He was far less valuable to them. He excelled at his studies, but as a Spanner he was mediocre at best. Only his father’s missive to the chancellor held him here – the vague promise of familial history, worth nothing under the circumstances. He wondered if they would send him from the palace empty-handed, or with a few coins on which to live, or with which to return home. He shuddered at the thought. No matter what happened, he would never go back to Qesle.

Cresten decided then that he also would not simply await his fate. If he was expendable, and if the chancellor had made up his mind to send him away, he could at least make himself a hero to Lenna.

“This was my fault, chancellor,” he said, meeting the man’s glower. “Lenna’s conversations with the Tirribin were harmless. She’s a Walker. She should be speaking with Droë. Nothing would have happened if I hadn’t brought Tache to the lower courtyard.”

“You brought him there?”

He resisted the impulse to lower his gaze. “Yes, Lord Chancellor.”

“Why?”

Cresten lifted a shoulder. “Tache wanted to meet the Tirribin. He thought he could learn something of value from her.”

The man frowned. “You’re speaking in circles, Mister Padkar. You say that no harm would have come from Miss Doen’s encounters with the Tirribin, but clearly Mister Tache learned of them.”

“I told him about Droë, sir. I was–” He chanced a look at Lenna. She regarded him with contempt. “The Tirribin said things to Lenna and me one night that… that ruined our friendship. I was upset. I wasn’t thinking, and so I mentioned to Tache that Lenna had spoken with a time demon. After that, he barely talked to me about anything else. He wanted to meet Droë, and he insisted that I take him to see her at the first opportunity. Once Tache made up his mind about something… well, I didn’t have a lot of choice. The point is, this was my doing, and his. Lenna did nothing wrong.”

“I’m not certain I agree with that, Mister Padkar, but I appreciate your candor.”

Cresten glanced at Lenna again. She watched him still, but her expression had softened.

“Miss Doen, do you have anything to add?”

She shifted in her chair. “This wasn’t Cresten’s fault either. Tache was… no one could control him. No one could tell him what to do. I definitely couldn’t, and I shouldn’t be surprised that Cresten couldn’t either. He insulted Droë; it was like he was trying to provoke her. That’s why he died.”

She said this in a low voice, eyes on the floor in front of her. When she finished, she regarded him sidelong again. Her mouth twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile.

“Your defense of each other is heartwarming,” the chancellor said, sounding unmoved, “but the fact remains that both of you have acted irresponsibly. We can’t simply ignore your behavior, and we can’t be seen to condone it.”

He nodded to the woman in uniform. She opened the door to the chamber.

“Please wait in the antechamber. We’ll speak with you again shortly.”

Cresten and Lenna shared a glance, stood in unison, and crossed the chamber to the door. Cresten sensed Albon studying him as he passed, but kept his eyes fixed on Lenna’s back. Once they were in the antechamber, the captain of the guard shut the door again. Lenna stepped to a window. Cresten remained where he was, unsure of what else he ought to do.

After some time, Lenna said, “You didn’t have to say all that.”

“I think I did.”

She faced him. “I keep asking myself why you would have brought Tache to where Droë and I were talking. It hadn’t occurred to me that he wouldn’t have given you any choice. I’m… I’m sorry I blamed you.”

He shook his head. “That’s not… Listen to me: they’re going to punish you. I don’t know what they’ll do, but it will be bad. Probably embarrassing. They’ll want to make an example of you. But you’ll be all right. You’re a Walker. They can’t make you leave.”

Her brow creased. “Well, of course not. Neither of us–”

“I won’t be here tomorrow. I’m expendable. They have no reason to think I’m anything special. I’m a Spanner, and not a particularly good one. My father once thought I could be good at it, but my father… He doesn’t know anything.”

“You’re speaking nonsense. They won’t make you leave. You’re smart, and you’re getting really good with your sword work.”

Not long ago, his heart would have sung to hear her say such things.

“We’re all smart. That’s one of the reasons we’re here. As for my sword work – well, no one paired with me in the lower courtyard has reason to panic.”

She smiled, drawing a smile to his lips as well. “Still–”

“I won’t go far,” he said, speaking over her. “I want you to know that. I won’t go home, and I won’t have enough coin to go anywhere else. I’ll try to find a job in town. I’d be honored if you’d still be my friend.”

“Cresten, you’re not going anywhere. What you said before about our punishments, that was probably true. It’s what they’ll do to both of us. And of course I’m still your friend.”

He knew better than to argue further, just as he knew better than to share her optimism. She had declared her friendship. That was enough.

They lapsed into another silence, Lenna at the window, Cresten on a low, upholstered bench near the door. After perhaps a quarter bell, the door to the chancellor’s chamber opened again revealing Albon, gray-faced and somber.

The last confirmation Cresten needed.

“Miss Doen, would you join us again? Mister Padkar, we will speak with you when we’re done with her.” That was all. He turned away before either of them could answer.

Lenna fixed a smile on her lovely face. “It will be all right,” she said. “For both of us. You’ll see.”

She started away from him.

“Lenna.”

She stopped, waited.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, and even if he had been, he wasn’t brave enough to speak his heart. “I- I hope you’re right. Good luck.”

She left him there. Cresten sat once more.

Not long after, the door opened and Lenna reemerged from the chamber, clearly shaken. All the blood had fled her cheeks and her breaths were deliberate, as if she sought to slow her heart.

“Mister Padkar,” Albon called, “we’ll see you now.”

He stood, but all his attention remained fixed on Lenna.

“What happened?”

She halted before him but wouldn’t look him in the eye. She seemed in a daze. “They intend to inform my parents of what happened. I’m under a strict curfew – no time in the courtyards after evening meal. I’m confined to the keep. And for two turns, I’ll be accompanied by a guard everywhere I go. They say that’s for my protection, to keep Droë from hurting me, but I know better. It’s like you said: they wish to make an example of me, to humiliate me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re stronger than they are, and you’re a Walker. There may be no one in the palace with a future brighter than yours. Remember that.”

She raised her gaze to his. “Yes. Thank you, I will. I’ll see you later.”

No, you won’t. “The Two keep you safe,” he said.

Lenna frowned at this.

“Mister Padkar,” Albon called again.

“I have to go. Remember what I said. I won’t go far. If you need me, have someone search the village.”

The crease in her brow deepened. He didn’t wait for her response, but walked into the chancellor’s chambers, straightbacked, purposeful. If this was the last she would see of him, she would remember him as brave, resolute, confident.

Albon closed the door as he passed. Cresten reclaimed his chair before Chancellor Samorij.

“Mister Padkar,” the man began, “thank you for your patience.”

“Of course.”

“This is a most difficult situation, as I’m sure you understand. The loss of a novitiate is tragedy enough, but under circumstances such as these…” He gave a solemn shake of his head. “We have, all of us, struggled with our consciences and our judgment. These decisions are… excruciating.”

“Really?” Cresten said, amazed by his own audacity, by what he had decided to say and do. “It all seems rather simple to me. Lenna is a Walker. You can’t expel her from the palace. She’s worth too much to you. She’ll bring a good deal of gold when she’s finally summoned to a court. In contrast, I’m of little importance.” He almost said, I’m lint. He thought of Wink, and allowed himself the most fleeting of smiles. “I’m a novitiate with little apparent potential, with Traveling talents that are mundane and poorly developed. Blaming me and removing me from the palace is the simplest solution. Isn’t that so?”

“I resent your implication, Mister Padkar,” the chancellor said, his tone less forceful than his words. “This has nothing to do with gold, and everything–”

“Please,” Cresten said, cutting him off. “I’m not the naif you think I am.”

The chancellor bristled, but fell silent.

Cresten twisted in his chair. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked of Albon and Master Denmys. “It’s your intention to send me away.”

The Walking master refused to look him in the eye, but after the briefest hesitation, Albon nodded.

Cresten should have been crushed, terrified. Instead, he took satisfaction in having anticipated this. He faced the chancellor again. “I’m willing to go, for Lenna’s sake. And I’ll keep silent, which I know you would prefer.”

Samorij made no effort to mask his surprise. “You will? That is most… unexpected. You’re doing a great service to this palace and to all your fellow novitiates.”

“Yes, I am. And I expect a few considerations in return.”

“Considerations.”

“That’s right. Some coin, a Bound sextant, and a weapon, preferably a flintlock. A blade would be acceptable.”

“That is a presumption, Mister Padkar! This is not a negotiation! This is a matter of discipline, of atonement for causing a tragedy. If you believe that we are so desperate to keep you from speaking of this to others that we would buy your silence, you’re gravely mistaken.”

It was bluster, and nothing more. Cresten was certain of it.

“Very well,” he said. “Then on second thought, I would rather not leave, and if forced to, I’ll shout the reason why from the hilltops. Everyone will know that a Tirribin slipped past your guards and killed a novitiate, and everyone will know as well that two of us were deemed responsible, but only one of us was expelled. Shall we ask Master Albon whose actions he deems more reckless, Lenna’s or mine?”

Samorij narrowed his eyes, but shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. We are prepared to offer you transportation back to your home village.”

“I won’t go to Qesle, but whatever you would have paid a captain to take me there you can give to me instead. That leaves the matter of the sextant and the weapon.”

“I will not–”

“I believe we can spare a blade, Lord Chancellor,” Albon said. “We have plenty of old weapons. I wouldn’t feel right sending the lad out into the streets unarmed. There are cutthroats aplenty on this isle, even in Windhome, and we’ve had Belvora here in my memory. The boy has magick; he’d be in danger from that sort of demon.”

Cresten regarded the chancellor and quirked an eyebrow. Samorij’s expression curdled. “Fine.”

“Why do you want a sextant?” Denmys asked, his voice a rasp. Cresten turned. “Because I intend to train myself to be a Spanner.”

“You’ll never be sent to a court,” the chancellor said. “No royal between the oceans would summon an exile from this palace, or, for that matter, a self-trained Traveler.”

“Then you have nothing to fear from giving me what I want.”

Denmys shook his head. “You can’t train yourself. Only the most arrogant of boys would think otherwise.”

Cresten opened his hands in what he believed to be a fair imitation of Samorij. “Guilty as charged. I’ve memorized coordinates, learned all I can about sextants. I know I can train myself. But I need a Bound device.”

“Sextants are quite dear,” the chancellor said. “All Bound objects are.”

“So is my silence. What you’re doing here is unjust and cynical. But I care about Lenna and I don’t want to see her hurt or humiliated, so I’ll go quietly. You get everything you want. You can blame me for Tache’s death, and you can get all the gold you’ve expected for your lone Walker. Under the circumstances you should count yourselves lucky that I’m not demanding more.”

The chancellor eyed him, anger in his expression, but also, Cresten thought, grudging respect. “You’ve come a long way from that first morning so many years ago. I can still see your face, bruised from the beating you’d suffered the night before.”

“From Tache, actually.”

“Can you get him a sextant without anyone being the wiser?” Samorij asked Denmys. “I hope never to expel another novitiate, but if I do, I don’t want to be subject to this sort of extortion again.”

“I’ll have one here by midday, Lord Chancellor.”

“And I’ll have a sword for him,” Albon said.

“Very well. Captain, if you would accompany Mister Padkar to the Leeward Keep so that he might gather his other possessions–”

Albon raised a hand, stopping him. “I’ll take him, Lord Chancellor. That way he can choose a weapon to his liking.”

“Yes, fine. All of you are dismissed.”

Samorij showed Cresten his back and crossed to his window. Cresten levered himself out of his chair and walked to the door.

“Mister Padkar,” the chancellor said, stopping him on the threshold.

Cresten turned.

“Remember your end of this bargain. Only you, Miss Doen, and the masters present for our conversation know what happened in this chamber today. I can keep the others from speaking of our arrangement, but all I have from you is your word.”

“That’s all you need, sir,” Cresten said, pride raising his chin. “Very well. Come back here when you’re ready to leave. I’ll have your coin for you.”

Cresten left the chamber and allowed Albon to lead him out of the keep. They said nothing as they descended the stairway, but once they were in the middle courtyard, the weapons master eyed him sidelong.

“That was the nerviest thing I’ve seen in some time.”

Cresten tried to suppress a grin, failed.

“You care about her that much?”

“I do. I also care about me. There’s nothing for me in Qesle, and if I’m going to make a life for myself here, I need a weapon and a bit of coin.”

“And the sextant?”

“I meant what I said. I’m going to be a Spanner. I can’t train myself without a sextant.”

The master nodded. “I remember you from that first day as well. The chancellor is right: you’re not the same lad Tache bloodied that night.”

Cresten halted and proffered a hand to the master. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. There were times when you were the only person here who I considered a friend. I won’t forget you.”

Albon gripped his hand. “You’ll find your way, lad. You’ve things to learn yet, but you’ll be fine.”

They walked on. After a few steps Albon shook his head and chuckled. “Nervy. That’s the word, all right.”