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Carolle groaned. Pain splintered deeper behind her temples. Her mouth tasted awful. Someone held her right arm. Her eyes opened and blinked to focus. Grand Diviner Sylvester sat next to her in the glaring morning light. Without his owl. On Rodinger’s poster bed. She tried to pull away from him, but the ache in her side held her fast.
“You have poor timing,” the grand diviner said. “You’re going to wish you had slept through this treatment, too.”
Gbad’Wu appeared on Carolle’s left, her face concerned. “Wait!”
Grand Diviner Sylvester dropped a slimy stone covered in musky ground-herb filth onto her exposed belly. “Lukhuni ngamatye,” he said. The stone burst. Carolle’s bones grew heavy. Her skull, too hefty to hold up, sank into her pillow. She couldn’t inhale! Grand Diviner Sylvester harbored no sympathy in his predatory watch. “Breathe later. Relax and let it work.”
Black flecks speckled Carolle’s vision. The spell released. Carolle gasped. Gbad’Wu picked up Carolle’s left hand in both of hers and skewered the grand diviner with a glare.
“She’s breathing,” he said.
“Am I to applaud?” Gbad’Wu asked. “Does this end your experiment?”
Elanis watched with an intent frown from the foot of the bed. “It’s been days, Gbad’Wu,” she said. “It requires a few weeks at least. We agreed to this.”
“The decision no longer rests with us, Elanis,” the monk replied. Gbad’Wu climbed onto the edge of the down mattresses and rubbed Carolle’s hand with her calloused fingers. “Carolle, how do you feel?”
“Lighter,” Carolle managed. Her headache had eased a bit, letting her focus her vision and her mind. She searched the bedchamber. Only the fire moved. “Where to is Rodinger?”
“Mourn when the luxury of time is yours,” Grand Diviner Sylvester said. “Who attacked you?”
“Mourn?” Carolle repeated, recalling Rodinger’s fate.
“He’s right,” Elanis said distantly, almost coldly, as though the woman couldn’t feel her own emotions. “Rodinger can rest easier in the Glades knowing those who tried to sabotage his cause have been brought to justice. Honor him by helping us find his assassins.”
Carolle’s head swam, though she clearly saw the accusation of betrayal in Rodinger’s eyes. That’s what coin brought her, as much happiness as it had ever brought her mam. Bloody, cockin’ nobles! Gaines had said to keep Rodinger safe! Here! She blinked back her tears and let her anger flare for Gaines. “Well, where to is Madame Davies? She’ll want to know I’m awake.”
The grand diviner answered, “She’s certainly not here. She believes you’re dead.”
“Have you no heart?” Gbad’Wu snapped at the old mage. She stroked Carolle’s forearm and explained. “For your sake, the assassins must believe themselves successful. Queen Ameera announced your passing with Lord Bernard’s.”
Carolle rose to her elbows until her head retaliated with waves of pain. Between stabbing breaths, she asked, “So . . . I’m dead? My troupe thinks I’m dead?”
“Oui,” the monk answered. “There were no alternatives, Carolle. You must understand.” She tried to console Carolle with a smile.
“The monk is right,” the grand diviner said. “The Filii Cinere do not leave witnesses.” At the snap of his fingers, his owl swooped into the room and perched on his shoulder.
Carolle repeated, “Fee-lee chin-air . . .?”
“Filii Cinere,” Gbad’Wu said. “Zealots who seek to restore Merith’s rule over the continent, or something similar. Enslave magic. Enslave the poor. They ignite the bigotry within the people to divide them.”
“Hence the masks of ancient King Vendral,” Elanis added. “The very concept of the Bonded Nations opposes their creed; their interference was expected.”
“Oui. Mais, not like this.”
Elanis went to the fireplace and added some logs.
“If you kill them,” Carolle thought aloud, “can I go back? Can I dance?”
The answer to Carolle’s question came cordially from Gbad’Wu’s face before Sylvester said, “You are better served remaining dead. Their numbers are secret, but your name is known to them. You’d get everyone close to you killed.” Omelet focused on Gbad’Wu’s piercing glare. “The reach of our enemy has been demonstrated, monk.”
To the flames, Elanis said, “It is harsh not to give Rodinger—not to have time to mend your sorrows. To see your own death while you live . . . However, the perpetrators count on us licking our wounds. Three days have already passed since they attacked you.”
Nodding her hesitant agreement, Gbad’Wu said, “Oui. Thackeray did not see his attackers. Did you?”
“Three days?” Carolle asked. “Thackeray is alive?”
“Yes, girl,” the grand diviner said impatiently. “Now answer the question.”
She crushed the cotton quilt with her free hand as she thought. Carolle Ysbryd was dead. Carolle Graean was dead. They knew both of her names. Rodinger was dead. She saw the hurt in his expression just before he died. Her intention had never been to betray him. Now she could only watch her own life from afar. Fury burned through her, charring her, swift and even and stoked by her pain. “There were three,” she answered. Chester and Gaines would die by her hand! “They wore masks and cloaks. I didn’t see their faces.”
The grand diviner arched his thin eyebrow and groaned irritably.
Returning to the bed, Elanis tugged the hem of her silver mantle beneath her chest. Her gaze burrowed through her spectacles. “You saw nothing? A limp? A boot? The particular color of an iris? Try to remember any detail. Give us something to go on. What clothes did they wear beneath their cloaks?”
The owl turned to Carolle, waiting for an answer. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Liar,” Sylvester said.
Carolle’s whole face flushed. “What?”
“You saw it. Whether you remember it is a different matter.”
“Then I don’t remember.”
“Better,” he replied. “But also a lie.” His bony right hand went up his left sleeve as far as his armpit and came back out with a steel butterfly on a ring. A faint golden glow filled the wings until he removed the end of his finger.
“What is this?” Gbad’Wu asked.
Elanis moved around the bed to his side for a better view. “Is that a butterfly of the Oculi?”
Gbad’Wu inclined her head slightly for an explanation.
“The god of insight—or the goddess of spies, depending on their mood.”
Sylvester sighed. “Yes. Never trust a butterfly with a secret. But this shall help her remember.” Sylvester reached for Carolle’s hand. She pulled it back. “Don’t be a coward.”
That got Carolle up on her elbows. “Don’t you call me that!”
The old mage smirked and pressed her shoulder back down. “Settle down. It’s not invasive. The ring takes you back to that moment, so you can observe what you saw without your memory clouding your vision. Believe me; if I could go in there myself, I would.”
Gbad’Wu stalled his second attempt and said in a tone with no room to argue, “She needs rest.”
“No,” Carolle said, extending her hand toward the small butterfly. “It’s all right.” If the others couldn’t see the attack, her secret was safe, her vengeance guarded. “I want to bring Rodinger justice.” And identify the three masked strangers.
Sylvester’s cold hands forced the tight ring onto her forefinger. “There. Close your eyes.”
Gbad’Wu looked uneasy. Carolle did as she was told. She could still see Gbad’Wu—the whole room in a hazy golden glow beneath her eyelids.
“Think of the men who attacked you. And say, ‘Leve-me lá de volta.’”
“Leve-me lá de volta.” Her vision blurred. Kneeling on Rodinger’s rug, Carolle smelled the fire. Rodinger’s head appeared in her hands. A flash flung her back onto her rear. She scooted out of the glowing cloud her form had become, holding Rodinger and the attention of the Filii Cinere. Firelight lit their ghostly masks. Her pulse raced, but the pain of her injuries didn’t reach her here.
With Chester and Gaines, the three strangers were making their exit. “I see them,” Carolle said. Her voice echoed. “And I hear rain, heavy rain.” Loud as a waterfall when she looked Rodinger’s way. “But it wasn’t raining that night.”
Sylvester’s voice came from every direction. “That’s the water tempting you back to the present. Don’t listen to it. Silence your emotions. Taste the air on your tongue.”
She managed a deep inhale against her stiff ribs.
“What can you see?” Gbad’Wu asked.
Chester. He held her focus. Carolle warily tiptoed around him to the masked strangers, half expecting them to surprise her with a swing of their maces. “Pale skin. Hateful eyes. Blue, green, and green.”
Sylvester’s irritated scoff bounced around the walls.
“What about their clothes?” Elanis asked. “In Racine, clothes reveal all. Needlework? Jewelry? Weapons?”
“Maces, all,” Carolle answered. “Gold leaves vine about the shafts.” Braving a step closer to the man nearest her, she swallowed. A shiny splatter darkened the head of his weapon. “This one, the blue-eyed one, killed Rodinger.”
“That’s not very helpful, girl,” Sylvester said. “Give us something we can use.”
Carolle studied the gap in the man’s cloak. “Black jerkin, black breeches, black hose. They’re all wearing it. No jewelry. But . . .” Their shoes differed. “Silver dragon wings.”
“Silver dragon wings?” Elanis asked with a ring of familiarity.
“On his heels, the buckles.”
Gbad’Wu asked, “Isn’t the dragon restricted in Racine?”
“Yes,” Elanis answered. “To Ameera’s relatives. Her siblings are currently in the Warring States—not that I would suspect either. Three of her cousins, however, qualify for silver dragons. Edding departed for Oglelin with Teague last week. Yet Grand Duke Cartwright and his son are back for the winter; I saw them at the gala.”
“Could both be involved?” Gbad’Wu asked.
“We shall see,” Elanis answered. “What else, Carolle? What of the other two?”
Carolle continued her study with the largest of the three. “Spindleshanked, this one. There’s a hole in his hose, blood and that.” That wasn’t much to go on. She bit her lip and bent to examine his hand. “And a large mole on his right hand. That’s all I can see of him.”
“How fat is he?” Sylvester asked. “More than fifty-five inches at his gut?”
“Yes? Maybe.”
“Around six feet tall?” the grand diviner asked.
“Yes,” Carolle answered.
“Red sprigs of a beard?”
Carolle ducked in close to the man’s chest and held her breath, which returned the waterfall to her ears. A scraggly beard led down toward his throat. “I believe so. I can’t see color in the shadow, mind.”
“Lord Wexford,” Sylvester said with certainty.
Elanis replied, “Well done.”
Sylvester dismissed the compliment with a grunt. “That was the easy one. I’ve suspected him for some time.”
Gbad’Wu asked, “What of the other, Carolle?”
Carolle checked on Chester as she went to the smaller assassin near the poster bed. “Purple, his shoes are. Dark, almost black, like.”
Elanis said, “That could be anyone who was in Trône d’Argent five years ago.”
“Shorter than the other two. Long brown hair. Long nails. Wait . . .” Studying the assassin’s shape, Carolle confirmed her suspicion. “It’s a woman! Why for would a woman want to go and bring Merith back? Draff!”
“You’d be surprised,” Elanis said. “People rarely believe corruption will turn on them.”
“Discuss the woman’s stupidity later,” Sylvester said. “Who is she?”
Boldly staring into her green eyes, Carolle squinted and backhanded the mask. Her hand passed through the memorized specter. The woman blinked. Carolle yelped and jumped back.
“What happened?” Sylvester asked.
Carolle’s heart chugged but the woman remained frozen. “She moved! She blinked!”
“Good!” the grand diviner said. “Let time move forward.”
“What? How?”
“Use the fire in your belly, girl! Get angry at them. But don’t overdo it.”
Fixating on Gaines, Carolle clenched her fists. The Filii Cinere blurred. The strangers separated from Gaines and Chester and moved toward the hallway. Carolle relaxed and inhaled deeply to halt them.
“Does she limp?” Elanis asked.
“Do assassins often bring lame partners, in your experience?” Sylvester asked with annoyance. “Less mercenary, more mage, Kimball. Now, girl, do you notice anything else about our mystery murderer?”
The woman had nearly exited the bedchamber fully. “No. Wait—yes!” Letters had been scored into the sole of her shoe. Closer to the floor, she could read the word in the dark smudge. “Yes. SHUFFLEBOTTOM is burned into her sole. Does that help?”
“Quite,” Elanis answered. “It narrows things nicely enough to the Eighth Ring’s cordwainer. Long brown hair. Green eyes.” She sounded farther away when she said, “Shite. They’re all nobles. They didn’t trust their minions with this task. Could the fire have been a diversion and Rodinger’s assassination their true goal?”
As the others discussed the implications, Carolle returned to Gaines. Carolle smiled smugly at the red line streaking down Gaines’s face. She hadn’t realized his mask had cut him when it broke. A brief conflict in Gaines’s eyes vanished when he said, “No loose ends.”
Their fray unfolded until her glowing form lunged. Chester’s mace struck the yellow cloud in the side. They vanished. Gaines cried out. Carolle fell into the darkness, ending the spell.
When Carolle opened her eyes, the sun had gone from the window, pink with early evening light. Gbad’Wu alone remained. Seated at Carolle’s side, she soaked bandages in a bowl of water that smelled distinctly of witch hazel. “Are you able to sit up?” the monk asked.
Bruised muscles protested. But with Gbad’Wu’s help, Carolle managed to recline against the pillows.
Carolle scratched her forefinger. A rash encircled it where the butterfly ring had been. Strange magic.
The monk placed a saucer on Carolle’s lap and offered her a lukewarm cup of tea. Carolle took a sip, then gulped it dry. Sour and bitter, the tea did little for her mood. After refilling the cup with hot tea, Gbad’Wu set it in Carolle’s hands and, when convinced Carolle wouldn’t spill it, returned her attention to the bowl.
Rodinger’s face plagued her every time she closed her eyes. But she and Rodinger weren’t the only casualties from that night. Afraid to ask, Carolle sat with her question for several minutes until she had to know. “What happened to the fire in the docks?”
Straining the bandages through her fingers, Gbad’Wu answered, “The water dragon put it out. Sadly, seven died.”
“Seven?”
“This will be cold,” Gbad’Wu warned. She wrapped the damp bandages about Carolle’s bruised ribs. “Fortunately, our opponents were not as clever as they believe. The fools burned Lord Bernard’s ship.”
“The Nymphony,” Carolle muttered. “Is Master Popplewell all right?”
“The engineer?” Gbad’Wu asked, tying off the final bandage. “He is fine. The Nymphony is fine too, though Queen Ameera believes it’s now useless without Lord Bernard. No, they burned The Lily of the Waves.”
But why? As relieved as Carolle was to hear Master Popplewell had survived, she found little joy in it. “Seven . . . Do they know who started the fire? It happened so fast; it couldn’t have been the ones who attacked us.”
“The Filii Cinere are plentiful. More plentiful than the queen had believed.” Gbad’Wu rested her hand on Carolle’s shoulder. “Do not worry. Lord Wexford and both the grand duke and his son are answering to her now. She expects to know the others involved soon.”
The monk studied Carolle’s unplacated reaction for a moment. She got up and returned the bowl to a cart under the window. Only then did Carolle realize Gbad’Wu wasn’t wearing her usual cheerful silks. Dull black beads filled the necklace over her tightly bound black linens. Through the window, Gbad’Wu studied the sky.
“What’s wrong?” Carolle asked.
“The Filii Cinere I have encountered in the past were simple. Dangerous, oui, yet mere nobles with a thirst for power.” She turned from the window with a bundle of white linen in her arms. “Never mind me. If we have captured a cousin of the queen, we have surely reached the top of their coterie.”
Returning to the bedside with the bundle, Gbad’Wu said, “Elanis and Sylvester hunt for clues to the mystery noblewoman in the Eighth Ring. Now that you are awake, I will join them. Before I go, I want to give you something to think over. A path forward.
“The grand diviner is working to mend your body, but he cannot mend your spirit.” Gbad’Wu’s kind eyes went to the white linen in her hands. “I’m familiar with the danger the Filii Cinere present. However, they are a distraction from Cyr’s true woes. The world needs its balance restored. I welcome you to join the Mount and help in that pursuit.”
Carolle sipped her unsweetened drink as she pondered the strange offer. No, she’d see them dead. Balancing her cup in her fingertips, she inhaled the vapor and began constructing an inoffensive decline.
“Your past life will never be safe,” Gbad’Wu said, unrolling the bundle. “This is one of the weapons you saw, is it not?” Ash smudged the linen wrapped around the scorched and broken remains of a mace.
“How?” Carolle asked.
“Elanis was in a terse mood earlier,” Gbad’Wu said. “One Lord Wexford barely survived.”
Setting her cup on the saucer, Carolle said, “Wish he hadn’t, if I’m honest.”
“As does he. He will not survive Queen Ameera.” That eased Carolle a bit, which tensed the monk. She tilted her head in suspicion, draping her shoulder in black curls. “I beg you to envision the fate of men who hide in shadows and use weapons coated in gilt. Do they require someone else to lead them to the grave?” Her face gave Carolle an answer she didn’t want to hear.
Gbad’Wu rewrapped the weapon. “Taking a life takes from you too, in ways you cannot see. You hurt from your loss now, but that action can only prolong your pain.”
Thackeray entered the room with bread, honey, and what smelled to be chicken broth on a small platter. Bandages encased his right arm to above his elbow and bound it in a sling. “My lady, I heard voices and thought you must be hungry.”
Gbad’Wu rubbed Carolle’s arm and got up to go, leaving the ruined weapon where it lay. “Think on my words, Carolle. I will return in the morning.”
“Your spear has been sharpened and polished,” Thackeray said. “It awaits you by the tunnel entrance in the study.” Gbad’Wu squeezed his good arm in thanks and departed.
Thackeray’s demeanor darkened when he turned back to Carolle. “I overheard what you told the others when you woke.” Silent accusation threatened violence from his wrinkled face. He set the tray down and removed something from his pocket. His hand held a shard of gray porcelain close for Carolle’s examination. “I found this on the floor.”
Carolle folded her arms over her bandaged ribs.
“You threw Lord Bernard’s tome at the man wearing this mask. That’s what broke it. I know, because I found the tome out of place and this while discarding the rug stained with Lord Bernard’s blood.” His nostrils flared. “Whatever your lies, you saw his face. How dare you protect them!”
“What it is, Thackeray; I didn’t reveal him because I do know who two of those five cockin’ murderers are. They took . . .” She felt the sadness welling up inside her, stinging her eyes, but forced it down by sheer force of will. “They’ve taken my life. So what you’re looking at is a hag of the mist, and she’s coming back from the dead to drag them under.” She fixed him with as menacing a stare as she could conjure. “You keep that to yourself, man.”
Thackeray appraised her words without blinking. “Well then, my lady, regard me and the endowment of this estate as at your service.”
