Chapter Three
Three
We’d been at the easternmost market, and the Lady’s residence was tucked into the stronghold’s northeastern corner.
It wasn’t a quick walk, but we knew how to move in shadows, and there were plenty of places to hide in the narrow streets.
Most of the residences were behind stone or wooden walls, and with the advent of the curfew, they were already locked up for the night beneath the crescent of one of Terra’s two moons.
My mind was still racing from the attack. Fighting off an assassination attempt probably wasn’t supposed to be fun.
“Are you smiling about the fight or the man?”
“They were both pretty great.”
“What happened to ‘don’t be noticed’?”
“I couldn’t just stand there and let a prince die.”
“He’s the enemy—a man in service to the Lys’Careths. What good have they ever done for us?”
“Technically, he’s a man we don’t know, and we’re talking about murder.
” I held up a hand to stop the coming argument.
“I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it; it was a nice change from mucking stalls and doing strangers’ laundry.
” The Lady wasn’t particular about the work she sent us to do, as long as it led to coin.
“And I can’t believe you’re complaining. You love a good fight.”
“When there’s a chance I can win. I don’t tangle with royals.”
“I wasn’t fighting a Lys’Careth. I was helping one of his soldiers fight an assassin. A very handsome soldier.”
“And you have a thing for beautiful objects.”
“Guilty,” I admitted. “But even I don’t want to steal a prince’s henchman.”
We turned a corner, scaring an owl from its rooftop roost. It made no noise as it flew above us, a shadow slipping across the sky.
“You think the Lady knew the prince was coming?” Wren asked.
“Doubtful,” I said. “She’d have been there, trying to catch a glimpse or get his attention or sell us into his service.” The Lady loved money above all things—except the things she could buy with the coin. She hoarded it like a storybook dragon, never quite satisfied.
Luna appeared in the magic-glittered shadows across the road, and after checking that the road was clear, we ran over to join her.
“Any sign of the Anima that attacked the prince?” I asked.
Luna shook her head. “Not in this world or the Aetheric.”
“It possessed the human?” I asked.
She nodded.
“How, exactly, does that happen?” Wren asked.
“Want to try it?” I asked.
She crossed her arms. “Want to stay away from it.”
“The Anima enters the human body and”—Luna paused as if to search for a word—“sits alongside the human soul.”
“No,” Wren said, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. One of me is more than enough in here.”
“It requires significant Aetheric manipulation, especially if the human is unwilling. First for the joining, and then to ensure the Anima can control the human.”
“I doubt Innis was willing,” I said. “He looked like he was fighting it.”
“Possession has long been a tool of cruelty,” Luna signed.
“Will he heal?” I asked.
“He has suffered a violation,” Luna said, sadness in her eyes. “He can heal, if he is willing. But the magic may leave a mark.”
“Would the Anima willingly agree?” Wren asked.
“I would not,” Luna said. “But an Anima who was angry, or malicious, or had a vendetta against the Lys’Careths, or simply missed their physical form may agree to try. And they would be disappointed; they may control the human, but the practitioner controls the Anima.”
“So the practitioner found Innis,” I said quietly. “Maybe tried to convince him to let an Anima share his body. He says no, and the practitioner forces it.”
“It is difficult and complex magic,” Luna said. “It would take practice.”
“So this probably wasn’t the practitioner’s first working,” I said. “Or first human victim.”
“I doubt he was practicing here,” Wren said. “We’d have heard in the market if someone else had been possessed or attacked near the stronghold.”
“I agree,” Luna said. “But I’ve felt nothing of it. It was well hidden. It would require great power to hide the consequences of Aetheric manipulation this strong.”
I nodded. “The pain was worse than usual.”
She frowned, gazing above my heart. And I wondered if she could see through to the injury beneath. To the bleeding wound, the burning fear.
“The color also seemed wrong.”
She blinked. “Color?”
“Anima look pale green to me—the color of new spring leaves. But the Aether in the market looked wrong. More like plants gone to rot.”
“So a powerful practitioner with strange magic,” Wren said. “Goody.”
“And the assassin kept disappearing,” I said, “and I saw a ripple. The Anima was taking him in and out of the Aetheric?”
Luna nodded.
“Has the Aetheric god come back?” Wren asked.
Luna shook her head. “He is not here.”
So maybe the practitioner had just been born lucky, absorbing enough Aetheric remnants to spark his powers.
“We’ve got someone powerful enough to make a human into a puppet for an Anima—and use that creature as a weapon. And who’s rich enough to hire a dozen assassins to take on a Lys’Careth. Unfortunately, there’s probably a very long list of people who’d like the prince dead.”
Wren nodded. “They didn’t manage to kill him, but they injured his soldiers and made a mess of his procession. If we’d been in a different market, and the Anima had caught them unawares, they might have succeeded.”
“So from their perspective, it almost worked. And given the work they’ve already put into this plan, they won’t give up after one attempt.
They’ll try again. They’ll hurt more humans.
” I looked at Luna. “And if the Anima aren’t willing, they’ll have to force more of them.
If the practitioner is powerful enough to hide his magic from you, he might be able to overpower you, even if you are a Guardian. ”
“He won’t touch me,” Luna assured us, her gaze meeting mine. “But he may be interested in you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because you have sensitivities, and the practitioner showed he isn’t above using people as tools. Don’t get too close to Anima for the time being. Stay aware of your surroundings.” She paused. “You weren’t supposed to be noticed.”
“I know,” I said. “But I couldn’t stand by.”
“And stay away from the Lys’Careths. The prince is not your ally.”
“I know. Wren has already reminded me.”
“She is not wrong. You know the Lys’Careths will do whatever they believe necessary to hold the throne.”
The Emperor Eternal had ruled Carethia for nearly three decades, and the rumors of his cruelty seeped through the pass at Mount Cennet.
Hoarding coin. Controlling commerce. Executing opponents within Carethia, butchering his enemies without mercy.
And in exchange for the rumors, and little else, he taxed the stronghold to the bone.
Little wonder the Western Princes acted as they did.
“The Four Gates are not merely tools to keep the borders safe; they are the arms of the Emperor Eternal. His reach is long, and his claws sharp.”
Like the tiger on the prince’s banners. “I understand.”
“As do I,” Wren said, and gave me a hard look that said I was in for a lecture if I tried my hand at another adventure.
“I must go. I’ll keep searching for the practitioner. Take care.”
With that, Luna disappeared, the glimmer of green fading away like falling stars. And drums began to sound nearby as the curfew patrol neared.
“Let’s go,” Wren said, and her gaze searched the darkness for unfamiliar shadows.
Visitors to the Lady’s manor were greeted by a ten-foot wall with bits of gold here and there. She only allowed outsiders to read the tale she had constructed—of an elegant widow in her prime, connected and resourceful.
Her cook, Nheve, stood in the open side gate, finishing up a purchase of speckled chickens, which she held under each arm.
The seller was walking away, shoulders hunched, clearly unsatisfied with the transaction.
Nheve nodded at us, then followed us into the wide courtyard.
The largest building, the Lady’s residence, was in the middle, and it was flanked by outbuildings, including the one we shared with several other servants.
They mostly kept their distance from us, as if bond servitude was catching and they might accidentally be stuck with the debts we owed.
Something bubbled in a pot on the kitchen fire, and my stomach rumbled with hunger. But there were rules to obey here, too, so Wren and I walked to the Lady’s manor—the long expanse of wood and windows with real glass—and knocked on the wide door.
It was opened after a moment by Besha, one of the Lady’s personal servants, in her homespun dress. The personal servants were the only people in the manor allowed past the front receiving room. She looked us over with a bland expression, then stepped aside to allow us in.
The front room alone was large enough to hold the entire servants’ building.
There was more wood, a floor of gleaming stone, and a hearth at one end.
In between were tall candelabras that forked like tree limbs—and must have cost a small fortune to keep lit.
Chairs and benches and tables stood here and there, with hanging scrolls and tapestries that showed her wealth—if not her taste.
A thief could make a living in this room alone, but we didn’t take from the Lady.
It wasn’t worth the risk to our lives or our freedom.
She sat in front of an embroidery frame, a golden thimble on her finger as she worked at a bit of stretched cloth.
Medium height and slender build, with dark blond hair in a thick and meticulous braid.
A band of pretty ribbon crossed her forehead and was woven into her hair, and she wore an underdress and overrobe of fine fabric with delicate embroidery in shimmering thread.
I placed coins at the edge of the table. Silently, she plucked them up and counted them. She must have found the total satisfactory, as they disappeared into the drawstring purse at her waist.