Taelin’s heart pounded in her skull. She closed her eyes and began to pray. “Sweet Mother of Light, I have been deceived. Your warmth and glory come around me. Protect me and—”
Taelin felt her thoughts lose traction. Her fist was numb from clenching her necklace.
Sena’s cool husky voice penetrated the sanctum of her prayer. “You told me your goddess loved me.”
Taelin did not dare open her eyes. “Y-yes”—she bit her lip—”she loves you—”
“Of course she does.” Sena’s voice was right next to her temple, bouncing off her blood vessels. “All the gods love me. You saw their love poems—written on my skin.”
Taelin opened her eyes. The doors were still shut but the room was empty. The thermal crank had stopped ticking.
Taelin sank down on her knees and cried.
CHAPTER
8
“If I’s there, I’d a smacked her,” said Palmer. “She got no business treatin’ people like that.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” said Taelin.
“Yes, I woulda and you couldn’t a stopped me. She’s nothin, she’s less than nothin. Got her face all over town like it’s somethin special—but it ain’t. What you do is special, Lady Rae. What you done is special. Helpin us.”
Taelin smiled but the horror of her visit still haunted her. When that awful tangible darkness had surrounded Sena, Taelin had felt it. More than a change in light. It had been a power, a sign, a bellwether. The experience still tingled in her pores.
For the next few days, Taelin shook off her fear by serving meals and handing out blankets; delivering evening services and passing around flyers. Every day, without fail, she got the questions.
“You from Pandragor?”
“Why you come up here?”
“Must be crazy. Trade that warm sand for snow!”
She took pride in being from the south and enjoyed the attention. But her escape was short-lived. On the eleventh, a stooped, vile-looking bird planed in through the dreamhole in St. Remora’s steeple where Palmer had been stationed to operate the volucroria. When Palmer rang the bell Taelin darted upstairs, giddy at hearing the signal that meant correspondence had arrived and that Palmer had determined it was important.
Perhaps it was from the mayor. Or maybe Travis Whittle had decided to support her with a grant.
She entered the volucroria and boggled at the three pigeons she had purchased from a local duffer. They churned through a series of conniptions inside their cage. The fits looked and sounded more like feathery explosions than anything real birds could accomplish. Taelin marched across the room and wrenched a heavy quilt over the volery.
“Palmer! You have to cover them when they do that.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Palmer was looking quietly at the sinister bird. Taelin saw it now that the commotion had ended and it gave her pause. The four-foot creature stood on a wooden perch near the dreamhole, shaking out a black ruff with tiny irisated markings. It glared at her. Eyes, dark as blood; the curve of its long ibis-like beak, white—softening into blue near the skull. The creature seemed to know to stand quietly so that she could use an extractor to pull the cruestone from its skull.
Taelin swallowed and picked up the tool. She approached slowly, wary of the sharp beak that resembled one half of a pair of ice tongs. The thing shrieked at her, revealing the pale pink interior of its mouth, urging her to hurry.
Taelin steeled herself and untied the bundle from its leg: a message and a hood. She secured the hood first. An eyelet at the top of the skull allowed her to pluck the cruestone out. Freed from the fire, the creature shook its head again.
Taelin’s heart was pounding, not from the ferocity of the messenger but from the seal on the golden tube.
Palmer’s voice trembled. “Is that … is it uh…?” He was pointing toward the seal.
“Yes.” She felt breathless.
It was the seal of the High King.
“Fuckin’ ticky,” Palmer mewled.
She opened the golden tube and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Affixed to the bottom was a gem that would undoubtedly send the bird back whence it had come. Taelin read the few words on the page and felt her entire body flush with a mixture of pride … and fear.
Madam,
His Majesty, High King Caliph Howl, welcomes you to the Duchy of Stonehold. It would please the crown to acknowledge your recent charitable efforts here in Isca City with a token of his gratitude this evening at St. Remora at thirteen o’clock.
Please feel free to use the enclosed cruestone in order to confirm or decline at your earliest convenience.
Drown Vicunt,
High Seneschal, Isca Castle
Taelin’s knees, despite the reason for her coming to Stonehold, promptly gave out. She sat down in a wooden chair, clenching the note as if it had been delivered by Nenuln herself.
She worried that Sena was behind this but Palmer interrupted her thoughts.
“Lady Rae?” he whispered. “Lady Rae? Is they shuttin us down? Is that what it says?”
Taelin made the hand sign for no.
“He’s coming,” she said, looking at Palmer’s pale, wasted face, which hung in astonished folds like a wet sock back in the shadows of the volucroria. “He’s coming here. Tonight.”
* * *
“YOU’LL want an engineer,” said Alani.
“Sig.”
“Sigmund Dulgensen?” Alani clarified.
“There’s only one Sig. He’ll come. He owes me. He owes me for the rest of his natural life.”
Alani wrote the name on his ledger. “Anyone else?”
Caliph tugged his lower lip. “I don’t think so.”
“I suggest we bring Lady Rae,” said Alani, “from the Church of Nenuln.” Dappled, snowy light danced through the office windows and played across the spymaster’s unsmiling features.
Caliph chuckled. “Why? And why would she agree to come with us?”
“Because I have it on good authority that her reason for being in Stonehold isn’t to assist the poor.”
“She’s a spy then?”
“Worse. An idealist.”
“I’m an idealist.”
“Hardly.” Alani’s scoff was brusque. His sharp features peered against the light, out into the city. “Lady Rae isn’t fond of Sena or the fact that there’s a temple in her name.”
Caliph steered his thoughts away from Sena. “So this Lady Rae is here because she’s upset over some crazies worshiping my—?” He wondered why the daughter of an attorney general had nothing better to do with her life.
“Precisely,” Alani cut in. “Did you know she had an audience with Sena last Day of Charms?”
“Sena does a lot I don’t know about.”
“The priestess left the castle looking flushed. What intrigues me is why Sena granted her the appointment.”
“I don’t know,” said Caliph. “But if she’s here because she hates Sena, why would we want to invite her—”
“We don’t care about her on that level,” said Alani. “We care about how we appear to the south and what they print. I’m sure if you make a donation to her church tonight … she’ll see you in person of course in the best possible light … and then I’ll invite her to accompany us tomorrow. Not only will she feel obligated, but I’m sure she’ll also view it as an opportunity to go another round with Sena and perhaps this time get the upper hand.”
“Not very subtle.”
“Subtle enough. Did you know she spent time in a mental ward?”
Caliph raised his eyebrows. “How do you know she’s free for a visit tonight?”
“I’ve already made arrangements.”
Caliph grunted. “You know I don’t like it when you—”