Hard Bound, page 11
After a brief stop to see if any letters had arrived from Henrietta and to pen a note updating her on their temporary move to Copper, Fiona headed to the temple district. It was an area of Spine entirely devoted to the Blessed Larrakane. Lush green expanses of lawn with small buildings and shrines for visitors and locals to pay her tribute, enjoy teachings, or just have a bit of lunch in the quiet open air surrounded the investigator. Pages held temples to Larrakane cobbled from the deities they’d worshipped before her appearance; each was unique and slightly apologetic for praising false gods when they discovered there was one true one. But the temple on Spine had no such history.
The square stone streets gave way to lush grass with a circular building rising atop a small hill in the middle. Fiona strode through the grass, ignoring the actual temple to make her way to the other side of the hill and the small library. This singular brick-and-terracotta building was also circular, a symbol of Larrakane, but smaller. Fiona entered the door to see various people—faekin, humans, and more—sitting at the tables pouring over books or talking quietly. All were welcome here, unlike the Travel Guild library, and as such it was one of Fiona’s favorite places to be.
Looking around for her normal sage-robed helper, she saw a different familiar face. Deep-gray wrinkled elephas face, trunk stacking books on a table. Her new friend Fali. Well, a tentative friend, nonetheless.
“Fali,” Fiona said simply as she strode to his table. “It’s nice to see you. How goes things?”
The elephas stopped mid-packing. “Fiona, well met.” He patted her shoulder with his trunk. “And here I thought you’d be lying low. Out in the public without a care in the world. Good for you.”
Fiona stared blankly. “What do you mean?”
“Have you not seen the latest Card?” His trunk pulled it from a nearby table.
Beyond the information about the upcoming nuptials of the Queen’s son in Rise and an advertisement for the Waterfall Palace in the Depths was a statement that caught Fiona’s eye:
FIONA THORNE: “The Guild didn’t save Blaze. I saved Blaze!” The brusque investigator exclaimed to this scribe that the Guild had nothing to do with solving the sputtering of Blaze. But which party is telling the truth, and what else are they hiding? Pick up the Card for an exclusive transcript of my interview with the burgeoning detective.
Next to the pronouncement was a small sketch of Fiona, or what Fiona would look like if she were taller and fuller figured. A facsimile of her scarf was wrapped around her neck and her slippers had been exchanged for Kerus sandals, but there was a good semblance in the face. This must’ve been what Dorin was talking about. Her little moment of fame was starting to get out of control.
Fiona groaned and let the paper slip from her fingers. She noticed that the room had gotten somewhat quiet and that a few people were looking at her. “Excellent. I wanted to note that Blaze fixed their own problem, and now I’m front page against the Guild. Honestly!” She rubbed her forehead. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
“Oh yes, yes.” Fali led the way with his trunk. Through a buffering of tables and around a corner they went. There were small rooms here for private study, and with the curtain drawn, Fali motioned to the chair for Fiona while he leaned against the wall. “Did you come to see me directly?”
“No, but now that I’ve found you, I’d love to know how you’ve gotten on. Were you able to talk to Gilded Evenhell about the Painted Edge?” Fiona had suggested he connect with the regulation leader of the Travel Guild and exchange information. Although she didn’t trust the Travel Guild well enough to rely on them for information, Fali didn’t share her view. She didn’t know if that was his own guidance or the logic of his order within the Church of Larrakane, the Followers. But if they could parley, she’d benefit from any valuable information that came his way.
“Actually, no. The couple of times I’ve gone to visit in the last couple of weeks, she hasn’t been available. The little elephas told me she had gone on a short leave of absence.”
“Oh,” Fiona said, shoulders dropping. She had hoped some movement had been made in the Painted Edge case while she had been running from scribes and recovering from injuries of the previous case. “Well, please don’t give up. Dodger may be able to share information with you as well. Not as much as his leader, but if she’s out, you can turn to him. Tell him I sent you. I think it would behoove us all to know the whereabouts of the Painted Edge at once.” The Painted Edge were known to have stolen an airship from Rise, but no one knew where their mobile headquarters was in the thick, unending forest of Spine. That they had to stay on Spine was certain, as the group was made up of page turners. But if they could move it between Rise and Spine, they could move it between Rise and Mistral. The druids searched on Spine and the jackets in Mistral. So far nothing had turned up.
“We are agreed.” He nodded. “If you didn’t come to see me, is there something I can help you find?”
Fiona smiled wide, perking up at the forthcoming research. “Yes, actually. Otherwise it would take me hours I don’t have. I’m looking for some books. I’m hoping there are copies here so I don’t have to deal with the Travel Guild library.” She handed him the scribbled note. “Sorry. It was a bit dark when I was making it out.”
“It’s alright. Let’s see here.” Fali grabbed the note and glanced at it. He closed one eye and held it closer. “Yes, this one looks familiar. These are most likely in the history area. The Order of Seven’s generosity is well known.”
“What do you mean?”
Fali moved off and toward another room deeper into the temple library. “The Order of Seven was very eager in the years directly preceding the Inking to show support of Larrakane and anything that graced her name. So they donated quite a few newly minted books about their page and work to the temple. As a show of faith. Quite a few covered subjects on the past monarchs, and they made sure to notate them as ‘historical texts.’ I think it’s quite obvious what they were doing, but I’m sure at the time the Church was pleased.”
“So these books are about the Circle of Seasons?”
“Quite right.” He scanned shelves, pulled down a tome similar in looks but much less taken care of, and gave it to Fiona. “You should find the rest in here, I would think. If not, I’m happy to assist further, should you need me.”
“Thank you, Fali. I do appreciate your help.”
He nodded, raised his trunk, and lumbered back to the main room.
The first hour of research passed by rather slowly. Fiona loved books. She loved learning new things and discovering secrets. But much of it was an account of history that more or less matched what Gaili had told her about the various Circle of Seasons and the history of faekin. There were records of each Circle, what they accomplished and, in more fascinating detail than what she thought would be allowed if those monarchs existed now, ways in which they erred. A thin volume, dated several decades after the Inking, was an exploration on the reincarnation of the seasonal spirit and if it was truly a blessing or a curse to the chosen few. Interesting, but why was it worth hiding? It clearly showed that Clara had an interest in the Circle of Seasons. Perhaps she worried having the books would suggest, or alert, that she stole the crowns?
One book was slightly different, and more records logs than anything. There were quite a few pages with lists of the Circles, and Fiona noted that none of the names matched each other. So that meant the seasons weren’t blood relatives. She thought, rather exasperatingly, that the older generation certainly had a penchant for long names. Some were three or four words each making the pages run quite long. With each grouping came points of accomplishments, including items created. She pulled out the list of the Summer Monarch chest items Olea had given her and cross-checked it with the book. While several were there, the majority on Olea’s list weren’t. If they had been gifts given, as Gaili had said, wouldn’t they be included here as well?
Those that matched were initialed to indicate who the original creator was, and they also included a record number to learn more information about them. Fiona scanned the listings, thinking to pick one invention on both lists and dive into it, when her hand stilled at the repeating lines. One set of initials called out to her. She flipped back to the other book with the full names. Circle of Seasons 1372: Marcela Aurica Caragiale, Summer Monarch.
She stacked the books as quickly as she could, mentally apologizing to Fali for not putting them back. Slipping the list back into her scarf, she threw back the velvet curtain and strode out of the library and to the turner district with haste. There she knew she’d find a heavily tattooed old friend to interrogate.
Fiona sauntered into the Thread and made a beeline for Mac. The proprietress was in her customary gauzy flowing azure robe. Her sunglow-gold hair was multiple buns today, like sun clouds that shadowed her face. Fiona could see how she would mistake Mac’s coloring for fae shenanigans. How she had taken her sunny disposition for a naturally charming personality. And the tattoos on her hands as a secret history as an experimentalist of cocktails and concoctions. She felt two parts delighted in her discovery and two parts terrified that Mac would deny her any information. Case-related or otherwise.
Seeming to sense her friend’s focused approach, Mac turned away from a patron at the bar and said slowly, “Fi, you look like you’ve just found Larrakane on your doorstep. Are you alright?”
Fiona, feeling for once like she should try to be patient, just nodded. Instead of taking her customary place at the bar, she inclined her head to the stairs that led to the Thread’s upper floors and kept going. She ignored the heads turning her way and the way chatter stopped as she walked by. Gossip ran faster than water through the aqueducts high above the city. Damnable Card and their sketch. Here in the Thread it seemed all turners read the pamphlet. Pity, she had thought that page turners would be a more discerning bunch with one of their own.
Sighing, she headed up the stairs, trying not to take two at a time in her haste.
“Go all the way to the fourth floor,” Mac said, not far behind her. “I don’t know what bee has stung you, but if we’re going to talk about it, might as well be in private chambers.”
Fiona had never been to the fourth floor of the Thread. It was Mac’s personal quarters, and though she suspected it would suit her proposed conversation nicely, Fiona was nervous. If her conjecture was right and Mac was the Summer Monarch, would she hate Fiona knowing? Would she deny it and stall her out? Shaking her head to dislodge such dramatic thoughts, she stopped on the landing when she met locked double wooden doors.
Mac breezed by her and placed a hand on the door. She stilled her hand for a second and then swung the wooden door open. “After you.”
Fiona walked into the large room but stopped, mesmerized by the trickery of light in play in here. Where outside the Thread the eaves and roof decorations made it seem as if lily-white lace had been draped on the robin’s-egg blue building, inside the lace broke up the warm light of the day and cascaded colors across the walls and a few doors that led off it to places unknown. Like a kaleidoscope. “It’s quite beautiful.”
“Yes, and all mine,” Mac said, smiling. “One of the first things I had built when I got to Spine.” Mac went to a long settee, plumping a pillow before laying on it. There wasn’t a hint of stale, dusty air in here or bubbling noises like downstairs. It was very much a cocoon of sorts away from the wider world.
Fiona felt as if Mac was opening a door, or at least a generous window, and she jumped right out of it. “Were you the Summer Monarch in the Circle of Seasons?”
Mac’s smile dropped. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that, by the look on her face. “Whatever gave you that impression?” Mac turned away and brushed invisible crumbs from her robe.
“I’ve taken a case that has pushed some research my way and…” Fiona eased back and opened her arms. “Look, Mac, you’ve known me since I was a gangly fourteen-year-old with too big a mouth and not enough smarts. I’m no unread turner. You know that I would only ask if I already found something linking you. And you also know that no matter what you say, I won’t repeat your secrets to anyone. My word as your friend, or the dark edge swallow me whole.”
Mac sat up and pursed her lips. She debated for a moment, somewhat uncharacteristic of the forward person Fiona had come to know and love. “You must promise me that you will not reveal to anyone what I’ve said in this room today.” She took a deep breath and held out the palm of her hand. “Place your hand on mine. It’ll bind you to your word and me.”
Fiona jumped up. “I already gave my word.”
“But this will ensure it. I won’t have anyone suffer because of who I am again.” Mac stood holding her hand out to Fiona. “Please, Fi. I don’t ask this lightly.”
Fiona didn’t want to be beholden to any power lest they command her to do something that wasn’t right. But Mac wasn’t a power. She was a friend and had always taken care of her. If she had been a ruler before, that didn’t make her a ruler now. It didn’t change who she was. Fiona placed her palm on Mac’s warm, worn hand.
Lines from Mac’s tattoos spread themselves out, searching, then trailed down Fiona’s fingers. It felt like dipping into a cool lake on a hot day and was quite soothing, if not a bit startling as well. Fiona watched as the tattoos spread across her hand, wrapping lines of crisscrossing indigo like basket weave, and then fade. At once there was a strong, taut feeling in her stomach, as if she was being tugged once hard toward Mac. She glanced up to ask about it but stilled looking at Mac. Her face had changed. The amber coloring was more pronounced on her high cheekbones and faded down to her throat. And swirls of inky tattoos now lay near her ear and by her eye, fresh lines Fiona had never seen before. Where Mac had looked perhaps a bit older with wrinkles was new smooth. The feeling washed away and was gone before she knew it.
Mac withdrew her hand. “There, that binding will hold until we perish, it’s broken, or I release you.”
Fiona rubbed her hand a little shakily. “Let’s hope it’s the latter then.”
Mac nodded, all business now, and moved over to a small work desk. “I am the Summer Monarch of the last Circle of Seasons.” She leaned on the desk and crossed her arms, looking more her normal no-nonsense self. “You have to understand, Fi. I’ve taken pains to mask myself here in the Thread. Though my power isn’t what it once was, it’s enough to be a difficulty. I’m not worried about myself, but if others knew about me or knew someone who could get to me, it would cause a fair bind in the Court of Copper. Trouble I don’t want to start. I like being free.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Were you ever not?” Ruling classes were typically the beginning of power, not the end of it.
“I had a certain amount of freedom, yes,” Mac said, grimacing, “but I was never free to be myself. To do what I wished or even to give power over to someone who would make better use of it. I had no say in being a seasonal spirit. It was a blessing Larrakane yanked us away when she did.”
Of course, it made sense that the Seasons didn’t just disappear but became page turners. To know that Mac was over eight times her age confused her though. Typical fae were longer lived than humans, but only by a hundred years or so. “That would mean that you’re over two hundred years old.”
Mac shrugged. “I was young, and we were some of the first.” She turned, fussing with papers on her desk.
But there was no evidence of them returning or resurfacing in the whole history she knew of the Copper page. No doubt someone would’ve noticed them. “And did you never go back?”
Mac stopped, face clouding over, “We’re getting off topic. I don’t know what good it’ll do you to know however. I don’t know where the artifacts and curiosities you’re looking for are any more than you do.”
“You already knew they are missing?” Fiona took a step back, flustered. Was there any faekin who knew how to give information correctly. “But how?”
“Olea and I have been friends for a few years now. She was infatuated with the Circle of Seasons once she started her archivist training. It took her a while, but she tracked me down after picking up clues and details and piecing them together. I befriended her in exchange for information of life in the Court, and she got to ask me details about the Seasons. It was a fair trade.” She smiled wistfully. “It has been a good relationship, if strained at times. She’s the only one who truly knows me. Her appointment to the Order of Seven has been great for her, but…” Mac seemed reluctant to finish the thought. “In any case, she wanted to donate something from the Seasons to the museum for the public to benefit from. I thought it fine as long as it was clear that she found it and it wasn’t anything I made after I left. I thought it would be easy to spot that it wasn’t pre-Inking. So I told her about the vaults. I had long forgotten what we had there.”
Fiona’s mind was a whirl, taking in the information as Mac spoke. She tried to pull together a coherent thought. “You had hinted you told someone about me. And Olea had heard good things about me. I confess I would’ve never guessed it was you two together. You both have such differing personalities.”
“Yes, she’s quite patient with my audacious behavior.” Mac cracked a smile but turned away. “But yes, she sent a letter when everything went missing.”
Fiona pulled out her list. “These items you journaled about, can you tell me more about them?”
Mac pulled out her glasses, perched them on her nose, and scanned the paper. “Everything I created, even my journals, had bits of information I thought too important to lay out in a common hand. Some things I don’t wish to talk about unless more detailed is needed. But, the air bladder—that was one of the first of its kind and able to contain an object so that it could be submerged under water safely. I actually created a version to be used in the Depths fifty years or so ago. It’s used by a cruise company now. The bottled bridge I created to try and build a crossing from the main continent of Stream to the island of Dew. Of course, some alchemy doesn’t last forever. I’ve tried to get it to work still but…” She waved a hand, azure robe moving gently. “And the crowns you know can control a facsimile of summer, winter, autumn, and spring.”
