Twenty-Five
Lord Nicander de Tir, first Grand Duke of Sieuxerr, was described by his contemporaries, variously, as “an admirable leader,” “an eccentric and power-hungry dandy,” and “a hurricane on well-dressed legs.” We know that he was a favourite of Queen Louise I, else the kingdom of Rese would have thrown a much larger tantrum at the creation of a self-governing royal state within its borders when the Potent Council of the Great Eastern Empire, in its last dwindling century, bestowed such powers upon the home of healing.
—From Stone and Song: A History of the Blue City, J. de la Noe
Under normal circumstances, Alys didn’t think most of the fifth-year cohort would have turned up to their last evening self-defence class.
It wasn’t like chorale; they had no feast day concert to prepare for.
The sole instructor who’d bothered to show up had brought a book along, clearly not expecting to have much to do.
But if Ysabel’s death had been an eager murmur two nights ago, Estiene being arrested for killing an artificer was a yell. A sensation.
Two star students of the graduating cohort!
One dead on the eve of the Grand Exam, and one now on the verge of being the first healer-murderer in memory, snatched away from all hope of a normal career!
The hall of the Academie gym was crowded, and the noise and energy were high.
Not to discuss the exam itself—impossible unless everyone stuck to their own exam groups.
But to blow off a very particular kind of steam.
Alys had been one of the first to arrive, wanting something to do with her body that wasn’t resent it for her childhood illness or fear the magic that had come so close to killing her, and a patient, that day.
The breathing exercises and Clement’s magic had done a lot.
She still felt as if she’d been thrown from the Duke’s Bridge and hauled out by her heels after fighting the river for miles.
Fear’s hand stayed poised above her nerves, plucking at them idly every few minutes.
She bobbed on her feet and stretched, ignoring the excited talk nearby from someone who’d had it thirdhand that Estiene Marcelle had been in chains until his father paid a huge bribe to have him released until the end of the week. Then she saw Konrad enter the hall.
Before she could question the urge or listen to the fear, Alys went to intercept him. Konrad greeted her with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
“I wanted to thank you,” Alys said. “That technique you showed Clement really helped. I’m feeling a lot more myself.”
“Right. Good.”
“And I can’t help but feel awful for Clement, this week. It’s such a horrible mystery for them. Do you have any idea what could have happened to Ysabel? Or who could have been in the Rondelle with her, the night before the exam?”
“No doubt she was trying to talk some other poor sod into doing a bizarre new technique with her just to see what would happen, and it was her turn to fuck up and overplay her hand. And whomever it was had enough sense to run away afterward, instead of letting her drag them into trouble. If it were me . . .” Konrad’s scorn flattened into suspicion.
“Right. That’s what this is? If you want to accuse me of something, Tixerrant, you can bloody well do it outright. ”
Alys’s nerves struck up a twanging discord.
While she was struggling to disentangle her voice, Konrad snapped, “Or you could go and harass the person who probably did kill someone, in case you haven’t heard.
But no. Why care about a piddling little arrest when you can blame me?
You posh types do stick together, don’t you? ”
He strode off as if he’d finished a bout and claimed victory. Alys looked after him helplessly. She should stand firm. She should chase him down and demand to know where he’d been that night, and what he’d done after they left him in the library today. She should—
“Alys?”
It was Clement. The wash of relief was immediate.
Alys turned and Clement’s gaze dropped at once to the necklace that she was wearing. A golden rabbit with a garnet for an eye, hanging from a thin golden chain, the jewellery was pointless to wear to self-defence classes. And Alys, unlike Estiene, wasn’t known for adorning herself.
“Hm. Is the joke on me again?” said Clement. A smile arrived from nowhere on their face and made it extraordinary.
Alys was about three hundred times less experienced in flirtation than their cohort believed.
By the time she’d stopped panicking about her recalcitrant magic enough to even remember that she had a sex drive, her reputation had already been set.
People had expectations of her, and that made her uncomfortable, and so .
. . nothing happened. Nothing ever happened.
Comfort and attraction had never before combined in one person to the point where Alys would let them close.
The spirits must have heard her embarrassing wish that Clement be allowed to rearrange her insides, because earlier today, their magic had. It had felt like being lovingly unknotted.
All Alys could think to do in return was give Clement music. And that had been selfish too, because it turned out that the sight of Clement playing the piano, dark head bent and fingers rippling on the keys, had tied some interesting new knots in Alys.
She’d thought she might have the upper hand tonight if she wore the necklace featured in her great-grandmother’s painting.
But Clement’s low, certain tones and that smile made Alys feel like butter in the sun.
Clement could have the upper hand. Clement could have all the hands.
Alys fiddled with the rabbit and felt herself blush.
“The joke might be on me this time,” she admitted.
“You got the note about our exam slot changing?” Clement said.
Alys nodded and waved at Jehan and Moyna, who had entered at the same time and didn’t look pleased about it.
Still angry at one another, then. They weaved between sparring mats to come and join Alys and Clement.
Jehan had a tight line between his brows and was looking around the room in clear search.
“Is Estiene here?” he asked at once.
“Don’t hold your breath,” said Moyna. “He’ll hide at home.”
An argument looked like it wanted to burst out of Jehan’s expression, but unusually for him he didn’t let it escape.
They’d all received the notes in their pigeonholes from Secretary Lefer, informing them that they’d be switching exam slots with one of the last afternoon groups for their final two cases, due to extraordinary circumstances requiring the attention of your examiner.
“I was thinking,” said Alys. “You know who didn’t receive a note? The messenger service delivering Ysabel’s letters. They’ll still be outside the Rondelle, expecting us. Someone should be there to collect it.”
“Of course. Good thinking. And really, the person it’s addressed to should be there,” Clement said. “If we assume we’re each getting one, it’ll be either myself or Moyna.”
“I haven’t had a chance to get to the bodykeeping room,” said Moyna, “what with everything with Estiene. I’ll go tomorrow, but I can be at the Rondelle with you first, Clement.”
They paused to step farther back from the mat, because the instructor had caved to the inevitable and started directing pairs of scholars onto the mats for practice bouts.
“Do you think the artificer’s body is being stored there too?” Jehan asked Moyna. “If the same person killed both him and Ysabel, and magic was involved, they might have died in the same way. So if you’re prepared to touch more than one dead body, the more information you can get us . . .”
“Artificer Decroy wasn’t a healer,” said Moyna. “The Academie doesn’t get to keep his body.”
“No,” said Alys, “but I can’t imagine where else it would be stored until his family chooses a flamehouse. And if you can go over the lunch hour, we should all have time to meet up before our exam case.”
“Hold on,” said Jehan. He lowered his voice.
“Are we going to discuss Ysabel’s letter before the case?
Because so far they’ve all contained the solution.
Our Grand Exam has been fucking bizarre and yes, maybe it’s all pointless because Estiene’s father is bribing the Chancellor, but we haven’t cheated yet.
And if all of this comes out, somehow, or—best case scenario—we have to explain it because we work out how Ysabel’s death ties into it—I really don’t fancy being punished because we suddenly started cheating.
Even if the faculty don’t want to fail anyone, they could still gut our graduation ranks.
Actually, what with Estiene being arrested, it might be a big enough scandal now that they don’t have a choice. ”
That was true. Scandals loved scapegoats, and visible punishment. Before Alys could further digest that prospect, there was a sudden uprising of noise in the room, which resolved into calls of Estiene!
And indeed, Estiene was marching across the practice hall, pushing with outright rudeness past everyone who tried to stop him with questions.
Like Alys, Estiene was wearing jewellery; unlike Alys, his was almost certainly armour.
Atop his practice blacks and within the inky swing of his cropped hair, both his ears gleamed with a full array of studs, all of them gold and blue.
Probably sapphires. It shouted I’m going to fight and I’m going to be myself as I do it.
At least if someone caught their sleeve on a stud and ripped his ear open, he’d be able to heal it.
The noise dulled as it became obvious that Estiene was ignoring it. A hungry quiet followed him as he joined his exam group. His face was the two edges of a wound drawn together.