Because a Traveler Bard was hardly likely to worry about the lives of a bunch of solsenti thugs-in-the-making, thought Tier, but he didn’t say anything.
The Master waited politely, but when Tier didn’t respond he shrugged. “At any rate, I, personally, am most distressed at a few other things you’ve cost us,” he got to his feet and strolled to the screen, “Come, Bard. And maybe you will be sorry as well.”
For want of a better thing to do while surrounded by five mages, Tier got slowly to his feet and followed the Master’s beckoning. The others got up silently and followed.
A woman was tied naked to a chair, and someone had obviously been testing, in the time-honored fashion, how well flesh fared against knives and other things. Her face was so battered that it was unrecognizable—but Tier knew the hair.
“Myrceria,” he said.
She stiffened when he spoke, and he realized that her eyes were so swollen that she must not be able to see at all.
“Myrceria has been telling us things,” said Telleridge. “Haven’t you, my dear?” He patted the top of her head, then took out a dagger and cut off the gag.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her face turned blindly toward Tier. “I’msorrysorry.”
“Shh,” said Tier, putting some force behind the words. “It doesn’t matter. Shh.”
She kept shaking, but she quit apologizing. Either his words worked, or Seraph was right about the unraveling of the Master’s spells and she’d felt the magic push he’d given them.
“I was angry about the Passerines,” said Telleridge. “Angrier still when I questioned Myrceria this morning and realized that instead of keeping an eye on you as she was supposed to—you had taken her from us, too. She has been a valuable tool for years, and you’ve ruined her.”
His movement was so quick, so unexpected that before Tier realized what the Master had done, Myrceria’s blood showered him from chest to knee.
Telleridge pulled up her head and held it through the throes of death. “She’s been so useful over the years. Where am I going to find another wizard who is so good at getting close to our Traveler guests? I have no more daughters.” He dropped her head and wiped his hands on his robes. Black robes hid the blood much better than Tier’s light-colored clothing.
It wasn’t, thought Tier, that he hadn’t believed they were evil. He had just forgotten how sudden death could be, and how final. He’d liked Myrceria.
Tier still had his sword from practice, but this was too well-orchestrated. If his sword would have done him any good, they’d never have let him keep it.
Had Myrceria betrayed their plans? She hadn’t known it all—but she’d known enough.
“But you know the thing that bothers me the most?” asked Telleridge, intruding on Tier’s grief and anger. “How did you get to the Emperor? Do you know how long it took us to come by a harmless ruler? How many people gave their lives so that I could mold the proper emperor? Then suddenly, he is making an effective grasp for power. It wasn’t until I spoke with you the other day that I drew a parallel between what you’ve done to the Passerines and what happened to the Emperor.”
Telleridge shook his head. “And what have you left us to rule in his place? Avar is next for the throne; but although he is an idiot, he is a well-meaning idiot. You’ve ruined Toarsen.” He heaved a theatrical sigh. “Not that it will matter to you how much trouble you’ve caused, but I thought you might enjoy sharing the stage tonight. I’ll leave you for last so you can watch your little projects die.”
Tier stared silently at Myrceria’s corpse.
“Ah, no words for me, Bard?” taunted the Master.
Yes, thought Tier, it was time to see just how much control they had over his Order.
“Only cowards torture women,” he said, not bothering to dodge the staff that took him across the cheekbone.
Toarsen rubbed his hair dry with a towel as he walked down the secret ways that would lead him back to the rest of the palace. Alone, he allowed himself to smile with remembered satisfaction at Avar’s face when Toarsen had burst into his rooms and demanded to be taken to the Emperor.
Firmly convinced that it was some stupid wager, Avar had almost refused him. But he hadn’t.
Toarsen was surprised about that. His brother had seldom paid any attention to him at all, except to order him about.
When he’d sworn on his honor that he carried an urgent message to the Emperor, Avar had heaved a martyred sigh, rolled out of bed, dressed, and done as Toarsen asked. On the way back to their rooms after they’d spent the night in councils of war, Avar had patted him on the back, an affectionate, respectful gesture he’d never given Toarsen before.
The passage Toarsen had taken opened not far from his rooms in an obscure storage room. He glanced cautiously out of the room, but there was no one in the hall to see him as he slipped out of the storage room and into his own.
He’d changed into the uncomfortable clothes of court and was halfway to the door before he realized that there was a vellum envelope on the cherrywood table near his bed.
His pulse picked up as he slit it opened and read the invitation.
“Now?” he said.
Seraph curled up, enfolded in the bedding that smelled of Tier. She’d left him while the sun was only a faint hint in the sky. It had been even easier than she expected to talk Benroln and his clan into serving as the Emperor’s foot soldiers. She’d left Lehr and Jes sleeping and left the sheep farm just outside of Taela where they’d been staying to come back here.
Tier hadn’t been here when she’d returned to tell him of her success, but she’d known that he would have to continue his normal habits or risk alerting someone. So she’d climbed into his bed and reminded herself that he was alive. If someone came in, they’d not see her unless she wanted them to.
Someone knocked at the door.
“Tier? It’s Toarsen. Are you back?”
Reluctantly, she got out of the bed and pulled the covers flat. She opened the door and motioned the young man in.
“He’s not here,” she said.
“I can’t find him anywhere,” Toarsen said, sounding a little frantic. “The Disciplining is set for early this evening, and I can’t find Tier.”
“It’s all right,” said Seraph, his anxiety lending her calm. “He’ll want to know, but it’s Phoran, your brother, and my people who really need to know right now. Go to your brother and tell him to get word to Phoran and to get his men and meet my people in the passages we discussed. I’ll get the Travelers, and after you’ve told Avar, you go about your day as if nothing were wrong. Avar can get word to Phoran. Just make sure you are armed when you go to the Disciplining.”
He nodded and left the room. Seraph set out at a dead run through the labyrinth of passages—there was no time to waste. She needed to get Benroln. Tier had survived a long time here without her to watch over him. She had to believe he’d be all right.
Avar and his men waited for them as he’d promised, in a long, dark corridor large enough to have held twice as many people. Relief crossed his face when he saw Seraph and the Librarian’s clan.
“I don’t like this,” he said without waiting for introductions. “Toarsen said he couldn’t find Tier anywhere. He looked for Myrceria to give her a message for him, but he couldn’t find her either, and none of the other whores knew where she was. He said that he’d last seen Tier at sword practice, but that one of the Masters called him to a meeting. Then I couldn’t find Phoran in any of his usual haunts, though his horse is still in the stable.”
Seraph pushed her anxiety aside and forced herself to think clearly. The Path were upset with Tier for taking control of the Passerines… so they took him and… Her thoughts stuck there. Would they simply have killed him?
“I don’t see anything to do except follow the plans we laid out last night,” she said at last.