Chapter 3 Kasira
KASIRA
AMBASSADOR VERA GAVE HER A NEW IDENTITY.
Eirlana Corynth was heir to a small noble house in the north that had recently run into financial troubles. In exchange for wiping out their debt, her family had agreed to send their only daughter to the Library.
It was a smart move by Vera. There were factions in the Kalish court, beast sympathizers like the Yadoras, that would oppose a strike like this against Amorlin.
To them, it would look like a woman sacrificing herself for the good of her family to fill a role no one wanted.
To the Librarian, she would seem a harmless noblewoman.
What none of them knew, however, was that Eirlana Corynth was dead.
Though Kasira had no proof of it, she suspected the woman’s death had been orchestrated to create this opening. Her family truly had been drowning in debt, and it had been paid for in their daughter’s blood. This was a plan that had been set in motion long before it reached Kasira.
The Paratal and the Ambassador had retired hours ago.
Only Dessen and the palace guards remained, the former slowly working his way through his second carafe of ale as he watched her prepare.
The weight of his gaze was nearly oppressive, and she knew it was only the presence of the guards that kept him from finishing what he had started in the woods.
Her back radiated with a steady ache, though the medic had tended to her wounds hours ago. The numbing agent they had applied had done little to dull the pain, but she didn’t mind. It kept her awake and focused on the tale before her.
The history of Eirlana’s life lay spread across the floor, the blue glow of a balestone the only light to see by.
The pages contained a simple portrait of a woman who bore a decent resemblance to Kasira: the same woodland-green eyes and pointed nose, the same curve to their pale faces, framed in obsidian hair.
The physical was where their similarities ended.
Eirlana had been pampered every day of her life.
Her family had once owned a vylor mine until it dried up, the steel worth more than gold in a kingdom forged on weapons.
Her father, who had been shuffling funds across several interests, could no longer pay his investors.
She was a champion rider before her horses were sold toward his debts.
She was left-handed, favored riding clothes to skirts, had a fondness for cakes from a particular bakery, and was known to be as quick-witted as she was sharp-tongued.
The file Vera had given her on Allaster St. Archer was far thinner, and Kasira had already been through it twice.
The rumors about the Librarian were as vast as they were varied.
People spoke of him in hushed whispers or else made impossible claims: He had wings like a demon and the eyes of a beast; he feasted only on the marrow of bones and could enthrall you with a single glance.
But Kasira knew the sound of a good story, and that was all these were.
“You’re going to fail, you know,” came Dessen’s low voice from across the tent. “Then they’ll give you back to me to do with as I please, and mine will be the last face you see before the doors to Belvar close behind you forever.”
Kasira didn’t reply. There was a high likelihood that Dessen was right. What she was attempting was the most complex, difficult con she had ever embarked on, and it came after seven years of accumulated rust.
It would also be the first time she had run a game without Loraya at her side.
Do not let him inside your head, said her partner’s voice. A con is lost the moment the artist doubts it.
Dessen’s chair scraped against the ground, his heavy footfalls punctuating the silence until he stood at the edge of her ring of papers.
The room had lightened with the rising sun, and his form cast a heavy shadow over her.
He seized her chain, jerking her hand away from the paper she had been reaching for to hold the shackle above her head. The manacle bit sharply into her skin.
“Did you hear me, criminal?” he hissed.
Her gaze slid past him to the guards. Unlike the Malik from earlier, they didn’t look away, but neither did they step in.
They wouldn’t unless Dessen seriously threatened her.
Kasira had dealt with plenty of powerful men in her life.
Boys on the streets who were bigger than her.
The priests in the orphanage who sought to burn her sins from her flesh.
Thane Ryarch, who had given her and Loraya a home, and thought himself entitled to Loraya in return.
She had dismantled every last one of them, and she would do the same to him.
When she met his gaze, she said only, “I told you that you were making a mistake.”
He reared back, dropping her chain just as the tent flap parted to let in the morning light.
Ambassador Vera entered with a Lieutenant at her side and Revna a step behind them.
She looked nervous, but she was here, and that was enough.
Even Kasira had not planned for the Ambassador’s presence.
Without it, her scheme wouldn’t have worked, the Lieutenants too loyal to the Commander.
“Commander Dessen,” Ambassador Vera said. “I’ve been informed of reports of persistent theft in your battalion—”
“A minor nuisance,” Dessen said with a dismissive wave. “I’m handling it.”
Vera’s lips drew thin at the interruption. Dessen must have been drunker than Kasira had realized to speak so brazenly. “It has been suggested that you are responsible.”
“I—what?” Dessen hiccupped, then lashed out a hand to the nearest chair for support.
Revna pointed at an ornate trunk tucked into the corner of the tent. “I think they’re in there, Your Excellency.”
“Nonsense,” Dessen said. “That trunk stores only clothes.”
Which was what made it the perfect hiding place. Dessen was the type of man who lived in his uniform, clinging to the authority it granted him. He hadn’t noticed when the fine layer of dust coating the trunk had been disturbed.
“Lieutenant,” Vera commanded, and the Malik who had entered with them strode forward. Dessen made as if to intercept him, but the palace guards closed ranks before him. One placed a hand on his shoulder, and his knees buckled, dropping him into the chair.
The Lieutenant opened the lid and removed the layers of clothing.
Without the weight of them, the intentionally ill-fitting false bottom Kasira had laid there weeks ago shifted audibly.
As Dessen watched slack-jawed, the Lieutenant removed a thin sheet of wood, followed by a series of items: an engraved flask with a gold cap, the vylor knife Revna’s father had gifted her when she joined up, a silk pouch that jingled with coins, the silver hairpin that amounted to all of Kasira’s worldly possessions.
Item after item gathered at the Lieutenant’s feet, along with a bottle of mylak, when at last Dessen found his voice. “None of that is mine!” he protested. “This is some sort of trick.”
“Seize him,” Ambassador Vera ordered.
The guards obeyed, forcing Dessen to his feet as he struggled. “It’s not true! I am not a thief. I am not—her! She did this. She is responsible!” He jabbed a finger at Kasira, who watched silently from her seat on the floor as he was dragged from the tent.
“Lieutenant, take this soldier’s statement, then see me after the Burning,” Vera ordered.
Revna cast Kasira a sly look as the Lieutenant escorted her from the tent, but Kasira betrayed none of her own satisfaction.
Dessen would be severely reprimanded for being drunk, and he would be demoted for the thefts and possession of magical contraband, but people like him always found their way back. The world was built to lift them up.
Ambassador Vera plucked free her snow-white gloves one finger at a time. “Did you get what you need?”
Kasira gathered up the papers on Eirlana and the Librarian. “I could use several more days to study these.”
“You have five more minutes. Those files will be leaving with me, and we will be departing after the Burning. Will that be a problem?”
It wasn’t the sort of question that wanted an answer, so Kasira didn’t provide one.
One of a con artist’s most important skills was the ability to rapidly absorb and retain large amounts of information.
So often a con came down to how skilled one was at observing, categorizing, and reacting to one’s mark.
Take Vera. She had calloused hands that suggested skill with a blade and a determination in her gaze that promised the will to use it.
More importantly, every element of her appearance was meticulous, from her neatly braided hair to the clean lines of her clothes despite the early hour.
She controlled every aspect of life within her reach.
Which was how Kasira knew that if this went wrong, she would be entirely on her own.
Vera could have no ties to it. A deception of this magnitude was not only a sin of the worst kind, but liable to corrupt her image in the public eye.
It would weaken both her and the Paratal’s positions, and they would have no choice but to disavow her, a move Vera was entirely prepared to make.
Kasira slid Eirlana’s papers back into their file and stacked it upon Allaster’s.
“You still haven’t told me what exactly I’m meant to do with this information.
So I become Eirlana Corynth and arrive at the Library as the new Assistant.
Against all odds, I win over Allaster St. Archer, convince him to grant me magic, and solidify my position there. Then what?”
Vera tucked her gloves into her pocket. “Are you familiar with the Conclave?” At the shake of her head, Vera continued.
“It’s a gathering of the nations’ leaders that occurs when one country has sufficient evidence the Library is misusing its power.
The Conclave has the authority to remove the current Librarian and replace them with their successor. ”