NINE
Angharad
They rode for the rest of the afternoon, and when they stopped they were deep in the mountains. The only sign of civilization was the well-paved road they followed, cutting a clean line through the spruce and firs.
They stopped to rest under an overhanging rock that had been hollowed into a cave by a long-extinct river. The smoke from their fire curled up and hugged the curved ceiling, and Hara walked a short distance away to wash her hands and face in the trickle of a stream that remained.
She could not see Gideon around the bend, but she could hear him gathering more wood some distance away, the crack of branches echoing between the trees.
Hara splashed water over her face and breathed out a long stream.
He had understood immediately. She was worried that she would have to explain and beg him to consider what her alchemy could mean, but he needed none of it. She considered denying it when he guessed the truth, but she had never been a good liar. A fault she would soon have to work on in earnest if this scheme of theirs was to work.
“You shouldn’t have told him,”
said a low voice.
Hara started and looked up, but all she could see were ferns, wet with evening mist.
“Who’s there?”
she said, a chill running down her neck. She was usually perceptive and could sense when she was being watched, but whoever had spoken was apparently invisible.
That is until she saw a long brown body, low to the ground, make its way down the slope and out of the underbrush. It stopped before her on a boulder, drawing itself up to sit on hind legs, and Hara felt some of the tension leave her.
It was an otter.
The chill returned. An otter that could speak. In all her years, she had never encountered an animal who could speak, in common beasts or familiars. There was something very uncanny about this creature. It was not really an otter, this she knew for certain.
“Why do you disguise yourself?”
she said, keeping her voice low. She did not want Gideon to hear.
“Our kind must be careful,”
it said. It had a mellow, male voice.
“Never can trust these new Montagese. You erred.”
“You know nothing about me,”
said Hara.
“I know you are an alchemist,”
said the otter.
“I was there in the clearing. I heard it all.”
“Why have you followed us all this way? To tell me I erred?”
“Yes,”
said the otter.
“You are a transmutator, the most rare of our kind. More precious than the gold you conjure. And you have given up your greatest strength, your secret. For what?”
“He protected me, twice. He can be trusted.”
“I ask again, for what?”
said the otter, almost harshly.
“Why should they know us? It only ever leads to betrayal.”
The bitterness in his voice spoke of past experience. Hara studied the creature. He seemed thin for an otter, his mannerisms that of a human. Clearly, he was some sort of shapeshifter, but she did not know what kind. Some witches could transform into a chosen animal form, others could create potions that were short lived, others could mimic any living creature, not bound by a specific shape.
“What are you?”
she asked.
“I am magic-kind, as you are. That is all you need to know.”
“Why do you care what happens to me?”
“It is imperative that the old magic lives. I cannot let a fellow witch fall so clumsily into traps. We cannot let them win.”
How the witch hunters would love to get their hands on him: a rogue sorcerer with secret designs to stand against the new regime.
“You are exactly what the northerners fear,”
said Hara in a wry voice.
“An observation I am most flattered by,”
said the otter, inclining its head.
“I will watch you closely, child. Now that you are in your rightful place.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You are going to the palace, yes? Wear your disguise. Find whatever it is that you have come to find. Please know that I am a friend, and I want you to succeed.”
“Thank you,”
said Hara, unsure. The chill had left her, but she still felt uneasy. She still knew nothing about who he was or why he followed them. Was it true that he was simply another sorcerer in hiding, preferring this life of secrecy and freedom to a life of servitude in the court?
“Guard yourself, child. Good fortune,”
he said, and with an agile flick of his tail, he disappeared into the underbrush. Hara heard a soft splashing, and realized he must have dove into the stream.
Hara did not mention the encounter with the otter to Gideon as they continued on down the road. The creature’s chastising words surfaced again in her mind. Perhaps she’d been too hasty to trust the man who rode behind her, his hand pressed firmly to her stomach. He knew more about her now than any of her friends in the village, and doubt crept into her, seeping like frigid water.
She so desperately wanted to trust him, but she was ready to admit that her feelings could be clouding her judgment. It might be prudent to keep this secret from him. A sorcerer who may or may not be following their steps and looking out for danger was a comforting thought, even if she did not know his motives.
As they traveled, Hara noticed more and more strange modes of transport passing them. Horses and carriages were common, but every now and then a horseless, puffing vehicle with shining metal sides would speed past them, faster than a galloping horse.
“What are they?”
she asked Gideon.
“Autocars. There is a steam-powered motor that turns the wheels. They do not tire like horses,” he said.
Eventually the forest thinned and then disappeared completely as they came upon a vast grid of brick buildings that seemed to stretch for miles. Hara’s village could fit comfortably inside one of the massive buildings, and each was crammed one after the other. Rows of windows revealed a flood of lights inside each one, brighter than any lantern light. Steam and smoke hovered over the buildings in a thick cloud, and the air had a metallic tang.
Hara gaped. She’d never seen such large structures, and she wondered what they could possibly be for.
“Factories,”
Gideon said as they passed yet another vast structure.
“We’re passing through the industrial district of Perule.”
Hara had heard of factories before, but she imagined a cluster of workshops with tradespeople, like the seamstresses or the blacksmiths who gathered on the tourney grounds at the Norwen castle. It was difficult to imagine the demand that necessitated these structures.
“Factories for what?”
she asked.
“All sorts of things. This block is for weaponry.”
That explained the odd scent in the air. Gunpowder.
Evening was beginning to fall upon them, but it was hardly noticeable. With all the lights from the factories and the giant lamps that lined the road, they may as well have been traveling in daylight. It appeared that these factories were alight and working every hour of the day. Hara swallowed, astounded and slightly repulsed as she imagined how many cannons could be produced with such tireless efficiency.
The road began to widen and more streets branched off of it, snaking between piles of lumber, gravel, and huge mountains of soil that filled the spaces between the buildings.
They crested a hill, and Hara’s breath stopped in her throat. The city glinted below them like a many-faceted jewel.
“There’s Perule,”
said Gideon needlessly.
Hara drank in the sight, her breaths shallow and her heart pounding madly.
The city in her memory had brown-tiled roofs that blended with the natural landscape, clustered like boulders at the foot of the palace. Now, towering glass buildings stuck up like spires in the flaming orange sky. The sheer size of the buildings was unlike anything Hara had ever seen, and every surface was alight.
There were levels to the city that almost appeared to float with expansive balconies and terraces glittering with shopfronts. From this distance, Hara could hear the cacophony of noise from hundreds of moving vehicles, either horse drawn or motorized. A long snakelike cart followed a track, weaving through the air in between buildings.
The palace was the only thing that resembled her memory, built into the rocky cliffside of the mountain. Only now, it was lit with impossibly bright floodlights. In her memory, it had glowed softly with enchanted lanterns.
The last rays of the sun gilded the entire city, and unexpectedly, Hara’s throat began to ache with tears. The place she knew as a child was gone, and this glittering beast was in its place. Somewhere below them in one of those many rooms, there had to be some record of her mother. The brief melancholy melted away, replaced with a wary resolve. Now, the game must begin.
Gideon left Ruteger at a stable on the outskirts of the city, paying a stablehand to deliver the many bags and satchels to the palace. Hara couldn’t help noticing that he tipped the boy handsomely using coins from the ill-gotten strongbox. It only bothered her a little.
He hailed a private autocar that seemed to be summoned by magic. It stopped before them, and Gideon gestured for Hara to climb in. She awkwardly took the three steps up into the carriage portion of the vehicle, finding it upholstered with plush velvet seats. Gideon climbed in after her, and to Hara’s alarm, she realized that there was no driver. He fit what looked like a small round jewel into a groove at the front.
“What is that?”
she asked.
“This is a credit key. Much easier than lugging a sack of coins about,”
he said. Then he turned to the inserted key and spoke loudly and clearly.
“Palatial grounds.”
The vehicle jolted forward, zooming through the city streets. Hara braced her arms on the back of her seat and on the armrest that faced them, her knuckles white and her stomach curling unpleasantly with each whip around a tight corner.
People jammed the pavement outside, and it seemed that everything at eye level pulsed with light. Signs advertising shops and businesses were layered on top of each other in a visual cacophony. Many of them seemed to be alive with movement. Figures made of light showed couples dancing, meat sizzling, and gems sparkling in such an assault of light and color that it made her eyes water. Hara couldn’t tear her gaze away.
Many businesses offered room and board in exchange for work, coins shimmering and dripping endlessly from animated signs. A young woman sat at the shabby entrance of one of these places, her chin resting in her palm. The lights passed over her face, and her tired eyes met Hara’s for only a moment before they were sped away.
The streets were a jumble of horses and autocars, and several times they had to slow to make their way through a congested area.
“Why do people still use horses if these are available?”
she asked Gideon.
“Cost,”
said Gideon, patting the leather bag full of coins at his side.
“A ride in one of these isn’t cheap, and it is hard to transport the fuel outside of the city. But in our case, it’s a matter of appearance, not money. Riding up to the palace sharing a horse is one thing, sharing an auto is another.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am the Commander’s son. There’s a certain . . . image I need to maintain,”
he said, resting his elbow on the window ledge and running his thumb over his lip. An image of wealth, Hara surmised, turning to look out the window again. She thought of the young woman at the entrance of the workhouse. It was clear that money was the lifeblood of this place.
They finally broke free of the neon labyrinth of the city and made their way to the cliffside. When they reached it, Hara was dismayed to learn that they would have to climb into another metal box to ride up the sheer cliff face to the palace entrance.
Liveried footmen opened the door to their vehicle and bowed deeply to Gideon when he stepped down. One of the men offered his gloved hand to Hara, but Gideon turned and held out his instead, brushing the footman aside. Hara took it, her knees slightly shaking from the ride.
He led her to the curious metal contraption that rose on an angled track, and the footmen closed the doors behind them with a snap. Gideon must have noticed Hara’s nervous gaze darting around the interior.
“How did you get into the palace before if you had no funicular?”
asked Gideon. He settled comfortably on the hard seat, his arms splayed to rest on the window ledges. It was obvious he had ridden in this contraption countless times.
“There was a controlled gust of wind that rose in a spiral up the mountain. You simply stepped into the current and it would float you to the top,”
she said, nervously peering over the edge.
Gideon chuckled.
“Don’t know why you’re so anxious in here. Riding a gust of wind sounds terrifying by comparison.”
“This feels creaky. Are we being pulled by ropes? A gust of wind can’t break,”
she said, then lapsed into silence. The wind apparently had broken, because it was no longer there to transport visitors.
When they exited the funicular, a pair of doors opened silently to admit them into the palace. The hall they entered was spacious and circular, and Hara could not help but gasp in recognition. They had entered the royal families’ quarter of the palace, and they stood in the courtyard with the grand staircase that split and wrapped around the upper floors. Stars glinted from the open ceiling high above, and in the center of the floor was the Windsong fountain, water spilling and splashing in white gushes.
Over the thrashing of the water, a faint noise met her ears, and a wave of nostalgia rushed up through her chest. It sounded otherworldly, like a violin string that never ceased its song. It wavered up and down unexpectedly, little playful dips accompanying the splashing of the water.
“It’s still here,”
she whispered.
Gideon grinned at her reaction.
“You recognize it?”
She nodded. It was a tribute to elemental power. There was a charm on the fountain that sensed the weather outside, converting temperature, wind, and sunlight into sound. The sound a snowy day made was her favorite as a child.
How strange that this charm remained while the spiral gust had died away.
“Come, my family’s quarters are this way,”
said Gideon, guiding her down a softly lit corridor. The lamps had a shifting quality to them, illuminating as they approached and dying away after they passed. They seemed to glow without smoke or fuel, and Hara stared at them as they made their way down the halls. Another marvelous invention like the autocars, she thought.
“I suppose it should not come as a surprise that your family has an entire wing of the palace,”
she murmured.
“The rooms in the palace are rather small for my liking. We have two other houses in the city as well,”
said Gideon casually.
Hara’s mouth twisted. What must it be like to have never known want?
They reached double-doors of black wood, and the guards who stood by inclined their heads silently and opened them when they saw Gideon. As he stepped confidently into the rooms beyond without breaking his stride, his plum cloak swirling in his wake, Hara felt for the first time that Gideon matched his surroundings.
The rooms he led her through were stuffed with finery. Every corner boasted smooth polished wood, gleaming decanters of wine, and heavily gilded fireplaces. There were many instruments that she did not recognize; more modern inventions, she supposed.
Finally they reached a room that Hara thought at first was a closet. It was dim and sparsely adorned, and she followed Gideon hesitantly, wondering if he had meant to come this way until she saw a desk and a man sitting behind it. The man had close-cropped gray hair that receded above his brow. The only adornment on his black suit was a tiny crest over his lapel. He appeared to be the Commander’s clerk.
The man’s gaze flicked up from his work, and he gave a surprised smile.
“Welcome home.”
“No peal of trumpets? No welcome feast?”
said Gideon.
“You were late in reporting back, so forgive me for not organizing a more elaborate fanfare,”
said the clerk, setting down his pen and reclining in his seat.
“No matter. I smell like an un-mucked stable,”
said Gideon in that lighthearted voice, but Hara could hear something tense underneath his words.
“You look like you belong in one as well. New look?”
Gideon rubbed the stubble that darkened his jaw.
“Personal grooming will be priority number one as soon as I leave here.”
The clerk chuckled mildly, and his gaze shifted to her.
“And who is your lovely companion?”
“This is Hara of Mortimer. Witch Recruiter and now humble servant to Corvus,”
said Gideon, smoothly giving her a backstory and a new role in the same breath.
“I met her along my travels and she saved my life, undoing some evil spellwork. She is looking for some information on elemental witches, and I offered her the use of our records and library.”
The clerk nodded while Gideon spoke, and his smile warmed as he turned to her. He stood from his seat and came around his desk, reaching out a hand. Hara took it, ignoring the discomfort she felt at having to playact. She trained her expression into something she hoped appeared proud and severe, as though she were not one to be trifled with.
“Glad to have you at court, Mistress Hara. Is this your first time visiting Perule?”
“Yes,”
said Hara. At least this was an easy lie. The city was completely changed from when she had known it last.
“It is a marvel. I’ve never seen such wonders.”
“It is all thanks to our investment in the Experimenter’s Guild. And thanks to hard working magic-kind like yourself,”
he said, nodding to her.
“We have some wonderful people working in our offices, and I’m glad to see another Recruiter joining our ranks.”
“I am honored to be here,”
said Hara. She made a note to herself to become friendly with this man. He was sure to have a wealth of knowledge about the inner workings of Corvus’ court.
“I’ll show Hara to her rooms and wash up. I’ll deliver my reports after,”
said Gideon, placing a hand on Hara’s back.
The clerk nodded as he settled again at his desk, taking up his pen and scratching away at whatever he had been working on before they entered.
After they left the chambers and the guards behind, Gideon showed Hara to a beautiful room. Heavy hangings shrouded the bed, and they stepped around lounging sofas and polished side tables to reach the bathing chamber. Tapestries depicting a forest scene covered every inch of the walls, and Hara felt comforted by the muted greens and browns.
Now that they were away from any prying ears, Hara said.
“That wasn’t so bad.”
Gideon let out a long breath.
“It was as good of an introduction as I could have hoped for.”
“I imagine your father’s secretary has intimate knowledge of all the witches that pass in and out of this city. Perhaps he can show me where to begin.”
“Cauldwell? He’s an idiot. Completely useless,”
said Gideon.
“I’ll find out where to begin looking.”
“Really? I thought he seemed sharp,”
said Hara. He did not seem to be the type of man who suffered fools, and his office looked like it belonged to someone tidy and industrious.
“Oh, you thought . . . Hara, that man was my father. That was Commander Falk.”
Shit.
Gideon
After showing Hara how the amenities of her suite worked, he set off for his own rooms. All was as he had left it more than six months prior, with not a speck of dust on the gleaming furniture and with fresh sheets upon his four-poster bed.
He was almost giddy to be away from the medieval huts that called themselves inns. He bathed, shaved his scruffy face, and almost wept with relief as he slid into a satin shirt and velvet coat, the sumptuous fabrics making him shiver in pleasure. No more hideous disguises and ruffled nighties and layers of smoke sticking to his skin for days on end. He was back where he belonged.
When he entered his father’s study, he found him standing at his bookshelf and referencing a ledger.
“You seem to have made a new friend,”
said his father, his back still turned toward the doorway.
“I take it she’s not here just to work. Unless that work includes being on her back.”
Gideon’s blood heated at the crass way his father spoke of Hara.
“She saved me from a severe poisoning and she nursed my wounds.”
Finally, his father turned.
“Am I about to learn why you were late?”
Gideon sank into the chair before the desk and told him the unpleasant details, leaving out the fact that the poisoning was actually by the hand of the Lenwen princess. He still smarted at how she had tricked him and his men. At the end, his father rubbed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.
“Your foolishness will get you killed. Ransoming the Lenwen king’s sister? I’ve known idiots in my lifetime, but you are in a class of your own.”
“I only told her I was ransoming her for land. That is all she knows,”
said Gideon airily. This was not precisely true; he had also told her the reason was because of the ceasefire. They needed income from somewhere since their weapons were of no use. Either way, the princess would be sure to spread ill-feeling about Montag with her brother.
His father sat heavily in his chair.
“It was an ill move, but I can make something of it. I just need time to think.”
Relief touched Gideon. This was how it had always been. His father could fix anything. Spin around an opponent, make lies become truths, find the luck in an unlucky situation. He was Corvus’ right-hand man for good reason.
“The men were valuable, but it is no great loss. Sometimes sacrifices must be made. I’m more sorry they died for such a foolhardy plan.”
“We’ll have to tell their families,”
said Gideon, tampering down his outrage at his father’s casual dismissal of his men’s lives.
“I’ll leave that happy task to you, Gideon. You’ve earned that.”
So be it. Gideon took out a sheaf of papers containing his notes and sales records from his journey. He had been away for two seasons, so the sheaf was thick.
“My reports,”
he said, setting them on the desk.
“The Lenwen king is traveling south to end his tour along the coast. He will be taking a ship and disembarking soon, if he hasn’t already. It is still unknown where the Norwen Steward is spending his tour. He’s practically disappeared.”
“What was the princess doing in Norwen?”
asked his father, rifling through the papers.
“She disgraced herself at her debut ball. The gossip at the palace is that she was sent to a convent, but she was really sent in disgrace to live as a peasant. She’s living with some bard in a hovel.”
“Hmm. Could this bard have any resemblance to the Steward?”
Gideon scoffed.
“Why would the Steward live as a peasant? A tour is supposed to be a luxurious affair.”
“He’s an odd one. We’ve been observing him for years. He talks the same talk as his warmonger father, but I’ve yet to see actions match words. A word of advice—never be surprised. Expect the most unlikely scenario.”
“Even if he decided to live as a serf for his tour, why would the princess be with him? They are warring nations. The dowager queen would never trust her daughter to his care. It makes no sense.”
“Why, indeed,”
said his father, stroking his upper lip thoughtfully. He picked up the papers again.
“I’ll review these. Anything else?”
The words were almost on Gideon’s lips. Why didn’t you send a search party for me? Instead he said.
“I would advise you to send riders out to recall the search party. There’s no need now.”
His father seemed to be lost in reading the papers, but his eyes were not moving. Finally, he spoke.
“Yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me.”
Gideon stood, made a short bow, and made to leave his father’s chambers with a worrying clench in his gut. A soft voice stilled him.
“I don’t care where you dip your wick, but you can’t be seen consorting with that type.”
Gideon’s spine stiffened. Ignoring his mind screaming at him for his stupidity, he said.
“What type is that?”
After the glowing praise his father had heaped on magic-kind in front of Hara, he needed to hear him say it.
His father looked up with a furrowed brow, coldness etched in every line of his face.
“There’s no need to play the idiot. I can see she’s already worked some enchantment over you, and it ends now. You know I will not hesitate to remove her if she is inconvenient. Remember that.”
Gideon swallowed, believing the threat and thankful that it was within his control. He could be discreet.
“There is nothing to remember. She has only my gratitude, nothing more.”
His father grunted and waved him away, and with that, Gideon was dismissed.