Chapter Twenty-Three #2
Curious (of course), I opened it. The book was made of separate documents bound together into a historical record.
There were weather logs, palace inventories—including the thirteen boars served at a dinner held for an Eonian delegation—and issues discussed with the emperor during sessions with his counselors.
I flipped carefully through the yellowing pages but found nothing about Aetheric practitioners or possessions or visits from Anima.
But why would there have been? There’d been no Luminae since the Aetheric god had disappeared.
I had to go back. Not last year, or even five years ago.
But back to the beginning of the end. Before the Aether dissipated, and royals could safely ignore peasant magic.
Back when Aether mattered. Because it certainly mattered again.
By midday, my hands were dirty with dust, my eyes were watering, and my stomach was growling.
Damn the former palace staff who hadn’t even stacked the archives chronologically, so an impatient thief had to flip through hundreds of reports just to find one that mentioned the Aetheric at all.
“Aetheric activity remains minimal,” was all it said.
But that absence had been important enough to be noted in the official archive, so I knew I was on the right track.
“Bellywort,” Wren murmured, sitting on the floor nearby, as I worked my way through another stack. She’d been whispering the names of plants or seeds or concoctions since she grabbed her first book, apparently having a much easier go than me at finding what she needed.
Finally, I found a book dated a year before the god had disappeared. I sat down in a shaft of sunlight and perused it until I reached the chronicle of the emperor’s council sessions, and two words I’d never seen together: Aetheric curate.
A curate, from what I gathered, was some kind of Carethian official tasked with monitoring Aetheric happenings.
He reported to the emperor about “verified” Anima activity and sightings of the Aetheric god.
“The god is said to appear as a handsome man,” the report read.
“Tall and distinguished, with silver hair and eyes that spin with magic. He arrives in a haze of silver-white magic, and his nature is gentle but firm. He guides the Luminae and they look upon him as a protector.”
“A protector who managed to get himself captured,” I muttered. It was odd to read a physical description of an Aetheric god. Weren’t they supposed to be above “handsome” and “distinguished”? Especially the god of a spirit realm.
There were discussions of his comings and goings, much of it rumor and nonsense. I doubted the Aetheric god had really “married a lass of ten and seven with a ring of pure Aether.”
When the gossip was recorded, the reporting seemed to turn serious: “Local magistrates continue cataloging local practitioners and skills.”
Cataloging. The emperor’s officials were looking for those who could manipulate Aether and, what, making a register of their skills?
The archive didn’t say why, but it was easy enough to guess: because the Emperor Eternal believed their skills could be useful—or because he feared their skills could be used against him.
Then were was chatter about the magistrates, and the document ended with a single sentence: “Allies within shrines continue work on defenses.”
Enshrined Monks were the only people who lived in shrines.
If they were the emperor’s allies, someone else had to be his enemies.
Other nations? Other Carethians who wanted the throne?
And what defenses could Enshrined Monks create?
The Enshrined Monk at the stronghold’s Aetheric shrine had told me they were nonviolent and didn’t manipulate Aether.
Maybe that was the truth now, but it hadn’t been when the god was still around.
And maybe I’d found the reason Tommen’s drawing had religious symbols.
Maybe it wasn’t the first time someone had tried to make a weapon with Aether.
I knew this was the beginning. And I knew I wouldn’t like learning the rest of it.
Wren rose, rolled her shoulders and neck.
“The Emperor Eternal was tracking who had Aetheric power, had a counselor for Aetheric matters, and was possibly trying to get monks to develop an Aetheric weapon.”
She looked at me, pursed her lips as she considered. “I can’t say any of that is surprising.”
She had a point. Of course the emperor would try to use the Aetheric—and the Enshrined Monks, who were supposed to be loyal to their gods—to his advantage. He was the emperor. He was a Lys’Careth.
I wondered how much the prince knew of this, and I dreaded that answer, too.
Wren looked toward the window. Outside, the day had turned gray and the glass was spattered with rain. “I should get back. I only came for the food and to find out if you’d successfully seduced the prince.”
“There was no effort, so no success. Are you working this afternoon?”
“It was going to be laundry, but no point with the rain. I’m sure she’ll find something for me to do, but I’ll be thinking about bellywort and astasia.”
“What’s astasia?”
“Dried seed pod. Good for aching head.”
I managed to lead her back to the front of the palace, where Galen chatted with other guards at the giant copper doors. “Get the carriage,” he told one of them. “I’ll escort her back to the manor.”
“Don’t bother,” Wren said, pulling up the hood of her cloak. “Rain never killed anyone. And even if it did, it’s still preferable to riding with you.”
“Devastating,” I murmured as his lips twitched with unspoken insults.
“Later,” she told me. And when another guard pulled open one of the doors, she trotted outside and down the steps.
“I’ve never met anyone so damned stubborn,” Galen said when he was sure she was out of earshot.
“Really,” I said, voice dry as week-old flatbread.
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“Take it however you want.”
I needed a break from books and dust, and I wanted to discuss what I’d found with the prince—and hope he took that chance to be a better man than his father. And that was the only reason, I told myself, that I would seek him out.
I found my way back to the throne room, but it took two wrong turns and passing delicious scents (probably kitchen) and clanking sounds (probably armory) before I found the corridor Talia had first led me down.
I passed several unfamiliar people along the way.
I could feel them staring behind me, and I wondered if they, like the Lady, thought I was here to seduce the prince.
Yet another reason to find the practitioner and earn my way out.
The palace guards outside the throne room doors, on the other hand, simply stared ahead when I reached them. I didn’t even merit a glance. Surely word had spread that I was a thief, and it wasn’t especially flattering that they didn’t consider me much of a threat.
One of the doors was slightly ajar, so a faint line of golden light shone into the hallway. I peeked through the gap, but couldn’t see all the way down to the dais. Maybe another of the builder’s plans—to make it harder for spies to watch the prince’s moves.
I heard quick, efficient footsteps.
“Hello, Talia,” I said before she came around the corner. She nearly jumped, which had the objects on the tray she carried shaking.
I stepped forward to steady the jar of wine before it could tumble off. “Sorry to surprise you.”
“I didn’t expect anyone to be standing there,” she said. “Much less call out my name.”
“I recognized the sound of your footsteps.”
“That’s…a unique skill.” She nodded toward the doors. “Did you go in?”
“Not yet. I wasn’t sure if it would bother him.”
“He does have a lot of work—including fixing every problem left behind by his predecessor.” She didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in her voice. “But I’ve brought him a tray, as he’s due for a break.”
“I can take it in, if you’d like. I have questions for him.”
There was a twinkle in her eye, but she shook her head. “It’s my duty.”
“I’m living here for free. It’s the least I can do.” I held out my hands.
She frowned, but passed over the tray. “If you don’t mind, it would be helpful. There are market deliveries shortly, and I need to assist the cook.”
“It’s no problem.” I nodded toward the doors. “Do I just put it on his lap, or…?”
She grinned. “The table in the workroom behind the dais would probably be better.”
Where I’d seen documents stacked on my first visit to the throne room. “Right.”
A servant in a white cap and apron walked toward us. “Ma’am.”
“I’ll be just a moment,” Talia said, then glanced back at me.
“Thank you,” she said, then nodded at the guard and pushed open the throne room door.
I slipped inside, moving through the dappled light of candelabras and trying very hard not to tip over the wine jar.
Even with a thief’s hands, it wasn’t easy.
The throne was empty, so I walked to the workroom’s threshold. He stood behind his table, his gaze on an unrolled parchment. He’d discarded his formal jacket and wore a loose linen shirt over trousers and boots. His hair was furrowed into waves, as if he’d been running his fingers through it.
He looked more pirate than prince, at least as far as the pictures in the storybooks went. And I didn’t like the effect that had on my heartbeat—or the warmth it put in my cheeks. Had his thighs always looked so…formidable?
His gaze shot up. He looked at me, then the tray. “Fox?”
“I had some questions, and I found Talia hurrying around outside. I told her I’d bring in the tray.” I glanced down at the table.
“Right,” he said, and pushed aside papers. I put the tray into the space he’d made, relieved when it was finally out of my hands.
“She said you were working.” I peered over the table at the top paper on one of the stacks. “On irrigation?”