The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 49
“Ah, Your Majesty.”
Abrensi smiled at him from the entryway to another room. As ever, his eyes were bright and he appeared amused with something no-one else was privy to. A familiar expression. When the man was younger, it had been the same, only now there were traces of bitterness.
“Abrensi. I am impressed with your collection.”
The Storm Singer sketched a bow. “Before my time in the...finer accommodations of our city, I collected much. I travelled a little to do so.” He shrugged. “But I am hardly telling you anything new, am I? You yourself know the obsessions of a musician and a traveller. Though I understand you no longer play?”
“Regrettably, yes. But today, I’m here on more official business. I know you wish to speak with me and I have questions of my own.”
Abrensi gestured to a pair of chairs, skipping over to remove a small horn from one. He brushed at dust. “I apologise, time is dusty, dusty, dusty.”
“No trouble.” Seto gestured to Abrensi’s robe. It was rumpled, but the silver star had changed. It was now crossed by a golden bolt of lightning. An auspicious alteration – when had Abrensi commissioned it? Seto’s memory of the Storm Singers and their rituals was admittedly hazy. Too much time abroad as a young lad. “That is a fine addition.”
“Ah, thank you. As the elder Singer, I thought a mark to be fitting. It further signifies that I will take a senior role in training Lavinia’s children – and subsequent Singers.”
“Isn’t her brother attending to that now?”
“He is, but Tenefio will bow to my superior knowledge when he returns. It is for the greater good. Which is a good thing, isn’t it?”
Seto offered a sound of agreement. Had the man always been this...scattered? “And have you heard from him?”
“He is due to return in a matter of weeks. I asked him to stay in the mountains, that way he can protect the children if something...dire occurs here during the invasion.”
Seto nodded. A wise choice. “That is in fact related to my purpose here.”
“That and to discuss my requirements?” He paused. “Notch assured me you would be willing to listen.”
“I am, Abrensi.”
“More than can be said of your brother, no?”
“True.”
“And how is he?”
Otonos was in pain, as he ought to be. Checking on the fool was probably a good idea, it had been a good while now. “He clings to life.”
“Hmmm. Again, I felt you would be more receptive to my concerns. I remember you as a fine man – rational. Awfully rational. And if you will forgive me, better than your brother, better than your father.”
“And you must know, Abrensi – that is a bare compliment. I could overturn the nearest rug and find something better than my brother.”
“And your father?”
Seto raised an eyebrow. “You are more forward than I remember.”
“Thank you.”
“Come, let us speak plainly.”
“Very well, my King, though I thought I was.” Abrensi toyed with the horn. “Your father committed a grievous sin against the city. You know of which I speak?”
“Magic.”
“Yes. For my part in it, I am unable to...make amends. But isn’t loyalty a strange beast? How it pulls us into darkness. Promises light. Don’t you think it is so?”
“Sometimes.” Seto suppressed a frown. Father kept his secrets next to his skin – something useful the man passed down – and exactly what happened during his scourge against people who could perform anything even slightly resembling magic, was a dim chapter in Seto’s memory. Where had he been at the time? The Far Islands? Travelling back from Renovar? Even in the aftermath, he’d learned little of the motivations.
But then, he’d had other things on his mind at that point.
“I have learnt that my art, King Oseto, my art is my only true loyalty. And so, I wish to expand upon what we have here. To create a place for developing magic in our city. Storm Singers, Witches – whoever. From any class. To that end, I wish for your support.” He paused, a big grin. “And your money.”
Seto clasped his hands together, placing them in his lap. “Abrensi, I don’t know what to think of you.”
“That pleases me, Your Majesty.”
“Should it?”
He shrugged. “Being predictable is awfully...predictable, Majesty.”
“Indeed,” Seto said. “Tell me then, why did my father put you in that cell? And more importantly, why did you stay there? You are powerful, people love the Storm Singers. Why? Tell me that and we can continue speaking of what I believe may be a noble goal. Tell me that and you take another step toward my full trust.”
Abrensi held his gaze. All trace of mockery was gone from his eyes. “Life is precious, it is not in my nature to cause harm through purpose.”
“A fine philosophy.” Seto waited.
Abrensi gave a long sigh. “I stayed there because it was safer. For everyone.”
“How?”
“Because I would not raise my hand against a fool, because I might have raised many hands in doing so.” Abrensi stood, pacing the room. “Such is a Storm Singer’s draw, My Liege. You are right. The people love us. But that matters not. Both your father and brother are of the past. You and I speak now of tomorrow. Its glories.”
Seto leant forward. How to handle Abrensi? A push, or an open hand? Above all, he needed the man cooperative. Perhaps his secrets could wait a little longer. Lavinia might know more. “Do you know what I wish for, Abrensi?”
He paused. “No. I would like to know.”
“The Anaskar of old. The city I remember my grandfather loving so dearly. Vibrant, open and bustling with people from all over the lands. Renovar Ice-Hands, smiling children from the Far Islands, folk from Holvard back in our shipyards and even a truer peace in the south and west. And I believe your goal will be an important step, but there are threats most immediate.”
“The Sea Beast.”
“That is only one, but yes.”
“An important one. You need its bones.”
Seto nodded. Time to tread lightly again. For if nothing else, life was about the control of information. Who it flowed toward, and who it flowed from. For who it ought to stop. “I need its toxins contained. Bones and all.”
“And because Greatmasks can be made from them.”
Seto arranged a frown. “That seems most unlikely.”
Abrensi laughed. “Come now, Your Majesty. I am no fool. I, we Storm Singers, have long known that about the Sea Beasts.”
“Beasts?”
“Your father never told you?”
Seto shook his head. “He was meagre with details. Especially after I was no longer considered suitable for the throne.”
“He loved to limit those around him, didn’t he?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, only Kings and First Singers share such information typically, though I assumed all Kings would at least have the foresight to share with their family.” Abrensi said, voice hardening. Seto could have laughed – but it would have been a laugh of shame. How close his own thoughts about hiding information had just echoed his father’s actions. “Well, let me tell you now. No-one knows how to Awaken a Greatmask, let alone take bones from the beast, that’s something we’ve never known. Maybe the Carvers did, once. Maybe the Lord Protector knows? But most of what I learnt of the Sea Beasts is about controlling them.”
“Abrensi, there is much for us to discuss it seems.”
“Most certainly, Your Majesty.” He grinned again. “Chief among them, my plans for the future.”
“Let’s call them ‘our plans’ shall we?” He smiled back. “But first the Beast.”
“Very well.”
“I wish for your advice and your skills, if applicable, to help remove the Beast from the wall. The city is at risk from illness.”
“As your men have no doubt discovered, harvesting is dangerous without the proper equipment and magics. It is beyond me, I am sorry to admit.”
Seto let his shoulders slump a little. Of course. Why would there be a simple solution? “And the illness the Beast creates?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You wish for me to ‘sing’ it away?”
“An interesting proposal. Is it possible?”
Abrensi opened his mouth, expression hardly encouraging, but paused. “You know, I have never tried to cure illness with song. Who is to say it is not possible? Lavinia and I will investigate and send word of our progress.”
“Quickly too, Abrensi.”
“As possible, my King.”
Chapter 19
Flir pointed to the plush chair. “Stay seated.”
Alvetti opened his mouth a moment, then sank back down. Luik snorted from across Seto’s sitting room. Heavy curtains kept the night’s chill out, swallowed the lamp light and smothered the very windows. “Why can’t I look around?” the Shield said.
“You’re in debt, right?”
“It’s not my fault, I’m just having a bad run. My luck will change, it always does.”
“Well I don’t trust your pockets.”
His brows drew together. “My pockets?”
“They might take a liking to some of those lovely baubles on the mantle.”
“You think I’d steal from the King?” he spluttered.
“I don’t want to find out.”
He crossed his arms, slumping deeper into the chair. “How much longer will we have to wait? It’s been...I don’t even know how long.”
Luik groaned.
A valid question, but one she’d given up asking years ago. Seto kept his own time. If she could be sure the old Rat wasn’t but moments away, she’d go visit Bel. See how the poor girl was doing. But knowing Seto, he’d swan in the very instant she left. After, she could check on Bel after.
Someone knocked at a door. “Come in,” Flir shouted.
Pevin appeared, trailing a page, who directed him to the chairs. “Palliv ae ishkor, dilar.” I couldn’t find you, dilar. There was no reproach in his voice, only the unending devotion and a hint of apology. As if Pevin were at fault for her efforts to avoid him.
“Who’s this then? He doesn’t look like the King. He’s like you,” Alvetti said.
Pevin glanced at the young soldier, but did not answer. Flir pointed at Alvetti. “Be quiet.” To Pevin. “Can you do something for me, Pevin?”
“I crave such an opportunity.”
“I’m sure you do. I would like a report on a patient named Bel, if Mayla the healer is awake. Can you do this?”
“Of course.” He strode from the room and Flir grinned. At least he was useful for something.
“For someone who complains often, seems like you enjoy ordering him around,” Luik said.
“He’d be upset if he didn’t have something to do.”
“Sad thing is, I think you’re right.”
Finally Seto himself appeared. His orange robes of state were creased from sitting and he went immediately to a decanter on a sideboard. He took a long gulp of Fire-Lemon before nodding to her and Luik. On Alvetti he trained weary eyes as he sat.
“So. You are the traitor who would plunge the entire city into darkness?” The old Rat’s voice was soft.
Alvetti cringed. “My King, no, I am only, I mean, he only has me deliver letters and I didn’t know –”
“Enough!” Seto roared.
Flir blinked. Was Seto actually angry? Alvetti’s face was white. He heaved himself from the chair and fell to his knees. “Please, My Liege. Let me make it right.”
“Ha! What can you offer me?” He stood, towering over the soldier. “I ought to stain my carpet with your very lifeblood.”
“No,” Alvetti screeched. “I will serve you.”
Seto moved back to take another drink. Flir took her cue. Maybe it was just one of the old routines. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course, yes, yes.”
“It will be dangerous.” She stared at him. Had Seto shocked him so much that he’d give in so quickly? Would Alvetti even be able to handle being bait?
“I want to help you.” He twisted back to look over his shoulder at Seto. “Please, Your Majesty. I do.”
Seto frowned down at the Shield. After a long moment he spoke. “Then you will have to grow accustomed to Luik here. He’s going to be spending a lot of time with you. You may not always see him, but he will be nearby.”
“Yes.”
“You will show him the Mask, you will show him this Julas.”
“I can do that.”
“If that is true, your life will remain yours.”
“Thank you, my King.”
“We shall see, Alvetti.” Seto called through the door. Two of the Honour Guard entered, Swordfish on their breastplates. Seto directed them to take Alvetti to be fed and bathed, and then, only once the door had closed behind them, did he smile. “How was my performance?”
“Masterful.”
“Well, I have no more in me tonight.” He collapsed into an armchair. “I could sleep a week.”
Luik crossed his arms. “Maybe you should.”
“If but one of my kingdoms would permit such a luxury.” He gestured with his glass. “Will you take a drink?”
Luik shook his head but Flir pulled herself from the chair and poured a small glass. Nothing like the icy fire of Renovar spirits, but still, the sweetness of the lemon was nice. “Luik and I have been...thinking about how to use Alvetti.” Arguing was more accurate.
“Good.”
“I think we should hit hard. The moment we know where Vinezi is, the moment it’s confirmed, clamp him down. Above ground and below, street level and the rooftops. A coordinated strike of Shield and your men. No mistakes this time.”
“And if we catch only more imposters? Or secondary men like this Julas?”
“It will be more than we have now.”
Seto nodded. “And Luik is afraid to risk all those men, am I right?”
“If that slimy bastard’s triggered another place with acor, we’re all dead,” Luik said.
“That might be true of the palace already,” Flir said. “But I think he’s bluffing.”
“Not much of a gambler myself.”
Seto held up a hand. “Circles, my friends. We risk talking in circles. There are risks, true. Luik, your alternative?”
“Something simpler. I put on the old uniform and spend time with Alvetti. Flir shadows us. Between the two of us, we can handle anything Vinezi’s got.”
Seto pulled himself from the chair. “I wonder.”
“What?”
He paced; stride cutting the carpet. “Are we making the same mistake? Alvetti and Lino were easily picked up, were they not?”
“We’re good at what we do,” Flir said.
Seto’s face was troubled. “But let’s not assume no-one could be smarter than us. Even the letter itself, I wonder. Perhaps it is a familiar ruse to have us swoop in on another Iron Pig?”
Flir pursed her lips. It was exactly Vinezi’s style. “Wouldn’t he love that?”
“So he would.”
“You think Alvetti is not our bait, but in fact Vinezi’s?”
Luik leant forward. “And if we put him back on the streets, he’ll lead us into an even bigger trap?”
“At first I thought that, but no longer. For why would Vinezi attempt the same ploy twice? We would see through it. I fear something worse.” Seto stopped, then swore. He charged for the door. “I fear that a fox has been let loose amongst the hens.”
Flir leapt after him, catching the old man in the hall. No guards. “Which way?”
“Split up and find him,” Seto shouted, dashing down a corridor. Flir sprinted in the opposite direction, Luik’s heavy tread fading. Wait. If Alvetti the runt was up to something, wouldn’t it be assassination? No wonder he’d given-in so easily. She glanced over her shoulder – Luik had followed Seto. Good.
The guards took Alvetti to be fed and bathed. Kitchens first.
She skidded down a side passage. Shapes lay on the stone floor. The honour guard. One man dead, his neck at an angle. The other breathed but a knife protruded from his shoulder and there was a huge dent in his breastplate. Flir scooped him up, ran to the nearest door and thumped on it until a surprised man answered.
“Find a healer.” Flir dumped the wounded soldier in his arms and ran on. A trail of blood led along the corridor. Some luck, Alvetti was wounded. She followed the splashes, which eventually became drops, down narrow passages and once through the ways, snatching a nearby torch before plunging into shadow.
Beyond, the spots stopped at a door to a stairwell. She leapt down, finally bursting onto a landing. Nothing. She crossed the stones to another door – leading to second stairwell. Longer than the first, it opened into a storeroom.
Beneath the palace.
Flir ran from crate to crate, ducking between stacks of fruit and vegetables, the blood trail thinning as Alvetti headed into the next storeroom, this one lined with weapons and armour packed in straw, until finally the trail stopped at a wall. Crates of fire-lemon had been tossed aside, shoved away from the wall to reveal a small pile of spots, as if he’d stopped there a moment.
But it was only a featureless wall. No doors, no keyholes – and she’d combed the storerooms herself while looking for acor. Except, still the blood. Smeared slightly. By feet passing through the wall?
Flir trailed a hand over the stone. Dust drifted down. She stopped. “What’s this?” A pattern was visible beneath the dust. She used both hands, clouds rising, then stood back. Differing stones were arranged in the wall to represent a Mask. How had no-one seen the symbol? Or had they – and left it hidden? The dust, the stacks of Fire-Lemon. Some crates were old, likely from decades past. How had the little whelp known about it?
Because surely it was the door to another passage.
Why else the blood with a smear trailing beneath the wall itself?
But without a key or latch, she wasn’t going anywhere. The pattern of the Mask had no openings. No other crates had been shifted, so there were no latches elsewhere, surely? Only one choice left. She drove her palm into the wall. The brickwork shook and she clicked her tongue before crossing the room where she stretched her legs. “Ready, wall?”
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