A Stone's Throw, page 13
part #2 of The Petralist Series
“Good work today, Connor,” Professor Bran said after class. “I think your participation will add an interesting dimension to class this year.”
“Thank you, sir.” It was impossible to express how grateful he felt that the professor talked with him like a person instead of looking down at him like a servant, a living piece of property. He hated to think the professor would be disappointed in him when he didn’t show up for any more practices, but Shona’s presence at the Carraig changed everything.
“Have a care though,” the professor continued. “The princess means to do you harm.”
“You heard about that?”
Professor Bran chuckled. “My boy, the entire school’s heard about it, along with her oath to kill you.”
“What can I do?” he dared ask. If he hadn’t been planning to run that very night, the threat from the princess would be one of his primary concerns.
That the death threat of a member of the royal house only ranked third on his worry list reinforced the fact that it was past time to leave.
“Try not to die,” the professor said. “That would prove an inconvenience.”
“Thank you, sir.”
That advice was about as useful as not hitting himself in the head with a hammer because a crushed skull might drip something nasty onto his clothes. He should have known better. The professor showed unusual kindness to talk with him at all, but he couldn’t be expected to waste the energy needed to try and intervene.
As soon as class ended, Connor ran for the Sculpture House and Ailsa’s counsel.
Chapter 20
Ailsa took the news of Shona’s presence at the Carraig better than Connor expected. She leaned back in her padded chair, her expression thoughtful. “I had hoped you could remain unseen longer.”
“She didn’t see me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. It’s hard to spot individuals in a crowd, and I was pretty well concealed. Besides, if she had, do you think she’d just ignore me?”
“That’s a pivotal question, my boy. Would she indeed?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Connor said, annoyed by her lack of reaction. The more he thought about Shona at the Carraig, about the chance of running into her while moving about the castle or when delivering the rounds, the more he felt like panicking. “She’s here so I can’t be.”
“You mean to run?”
“What else can I do?”
He meant it as a rhetorical question, like when his mother asked if he wanted another helping of her pot roast, or if Hamish had washed whatever thing he had just extracted from his pockets and offered them to eat. The answer should be that obvious.
Instead, Ailsa considered for a long moment. “There are a limited number of possible scenarios. First, no one knows you’re here.”
Connor shook his head. They both knew that could not be true. Someone had brought Jean to the Carraig. That couldn’t be coincidence.
Ailsa continued. “Second, there’s a chance someone outside of Dougal’s realm learned you survived Alasdair and arranged to bring you here.”
“Who?”
“Perhaps High Lord Goban, who rules over my home in Raineach. Perhaps someone else entirely.” Her voice trailed off and her gaze became distant, a tiny crease forming between her brows as she considered the idea.
“Why?”
“We may never know the why of this geall,” she said. “But we must understand its parameters so we can make our move.”
“My move seems pretty obvious,” he said. “Get out of here.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But I doubt you’ll find leaving the Carraig as easy as entering.”
“You heard about the Sentries?”
“Indeed.”
“You think they’re connected to whatever game we’re involved in?”
“Perhaps. Again, we need more information.” She looked a bit frustrated, but forced calm on her features.
“The other possibility,” she said, “is that High Lord Dougal or Shona knows you live and brought you here. This is the most likely, and the most dangerous possibility.”
She looked concerned, and that magnified Connor’s desire to leave at once. He had never met the high lord, but he still doubted Shona had arranged to bring him to the Carraig. She possessed a cunning mind, but had she learned he still lived, she would have personally led the force that showed up at Ailsa’s door with a fresh hangman’s noose.
“I don’t care who might be trying to play with us from the shadows,” he said as he dropped onto the hard, wooden chair in front of her desk. “I won’t play the game any longer. I have to run.”
“And where would you go?”
The question hung between them. Ailsa regarded him with one eyebrow raised, but he couldn’t answer. Dare he cross into Granadure and seek Verena? He longed to see her again and prove that the feelings he’d developed for her were real. Could he trust that she’d been telling the truth? She’d used him as much as Shona had, tricked him into carrying the listening stone that had granted General Wolfram so much intelligence. His heart told him she really had cared, but if he took the chance and left Obrion, he’d be branded a traitor. He’d never get to visit his family again.
Maybe there was another solution? Perhaps he could escape to Dagmanson in Althing or take the Great West Road into Ravinder, perhaps all the way to Maninder? The thought of daring such a journey filled him with a mixture of exhilaration and terror.
No matter where he went, he couldn’t get anywhere until he left the Carraig.
He stood, “All I know right now is I can’t let Shona see me. I can’t believe she wouldn’t have arrested me by now if she knew I was here.”
“If you run now, you may be casting away our best chance to set our position,” Ailsa said. “This geall--”
“Forget the geall,” Connor snapped. “This isn’t a game. It’s my life.”
“What makes you think the two are not one and the same? At the Carraig, it’s all about the game, and every life within these walls is tied together in layer upon layer of geall, all wrapped into the Tir-raon. Don’t assume you’re the only one facing high stakes.”
“I’m the one with no other choice,” Connor said, frustrated by her calm logic. What would she have him do, sit around and talk about it until someone came to take him?
If they tried, he would fight and, by the Tallan’s cursed name, he would not be the only one buried on this mountain.
“Before you go, I think you should seek out Jean,” Ailsa said.
“You’re right, I need to warn her.”
“About Shona?”
Connor hesitated. “Yes, but there’s more, and there’s something else you need to know.” He glanced at his hands, not wanting to talk about it, but unable to keep such a huge secret from her.
“What’s wrong?”
“The sandstone pendant you gave me. Well, one of the Boulder students took it today.”
Ailsa gasped and rocked back in her chair, her face draining of color. After the calm manner she accepted Shona’s presence, the reaction drove home how much danger the loss of the pendant represented. “How?”
“He was trying to force me to tell him about Jean.”
“What’s his connection to her?”
“Nothing,” Connor shrugged. “At least nothing tied to everything else, I don’t think. He fancies her and wants to find her so he can … ” His voice trailed off and he clenched his fists against a surging rage that left him shaking with the need to smash something.
“This complicates things.” Ailsa again looked composed, but the tight line of her mouth belied her outward calm. “Which student?”
“His name is Jok.”
Ailsa slumped. “Oh, Connor. Nothing’s simple with you, is it?”
“He’s Lord Dail’s son.”
She nodded. “Worse, he’s captain of Hector’s class.”
“Professor Hector didn’t seem happy to see me there today.”
Ailsa managed a weak laugh. “No, he wouldn’t be.”
“What’s the story with him?”
She sighed and wiped her forehead. “He is a brilliant Guardian and used to be a gifted teacher.”
“Wait,” Connor interrupted, leaning forward. “Hector isn’t a Petralist?”
“No. He was an extremely gifted Boulder, however. I’m not sure if he ever established a secondary affinity, but he distinguished himself as a Boulder. I don’t know the specifics of exactly how he gained the position as teacher, but he gained great respect in the post and served with distinction for years.”
“So what happened?”
“He’s still considered a great teacher,” she said. “However, it is clear to me that he’s fallen to a subtle, insidious addiction.”
“To what?”
“To granite.”
Connor frowned. “How can you get addicted to granite?”
“You’ll find it’s possible to become addicted to almost anything,” Ailsa said. “Particularly something that provides so much power, so much stimulation as granite.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He can’t stop himself,” Ailsa said. “He taps it constantly.”
“I’ve noticed.” Connor thought of Professor Hector’s posing to show off his granite-enhanced physique. “I just thought he was vain.”
“That’s probably how it started,” she said. “But once a Petralist or a Guardian succumbs to a powder addiction, it begins to twist their mind. His need for more powder gnaws at him and will drive him to ever more desperate measures to get more.”
“He already gets so much,” Connor protested.
“That was probably enough for a while,” Ailsa said. “But he’s beyond that now. When one succumbs to a powder addiction and over-taps their powers for too long, those powers begin to deteriorate. For him to achieve the same level of effect, the same feeling of exhilaration, he must tap ever more powder.”
“That’s why he looked so mad when I gave him the correct measure,” Connor said.
“Indeed. No doubt he leveraged a geall with the previous resident sculptor and found a way to force them to secretly deliver more powder than he was rightfully allocated.”
“You didn’t agree to give him more powder just so I could listen to his class?” Connor asked, horrified by the idea.
“Of course not,” she said, and the flash of steel in her eyes comforted him. “He tried to maneuver me into granting him more powder, not unlike how Lord Kane tried to find advantage yesterday. He failed. I determined the truth of his condition and I flipped the geall back against him. I threatened to expose his addiction to the board of chancellors, or even Lord Dail himself, unless he started treatment with the Healers.”
“Can they help him reverse it?” Connor asked.
“Possibly, but only if he committed every ounce of willpower to restoring his self-discipline. I doubted he would follow through on the agreement, despite his assurances to do so. I told him I would send you to the class to observe.”
Connor grimaced. It was a clever ploy to grant him access to the knowledge he so desperately needed. If he didn’t need to flee the Carraig, he could have learned much from Professor Hector, even though the man would surely hate him. “He wasn’t even trying to control it.”
“As I feared. The fool is going to hurt himself or some of his students if he doesn’t regain control. Worse, he could lose patronage over a dishonor like this.”
To think of an experienced Guardian, a respected professor, fallen out of favor and becoming unclaimed left Connor cold with dread. “Don’t you think someone else would claim him?”
“Most likely,” Ailsa agreed. “But only if he committed to change. I doubt he’ll do it voluntarily at this point.”
“So you’re going to denounce him?” That seemed straight-forward enough.
“That is the next logical step,” Ailsa agreed. “However, now Jok has the pendant.”
Her meaning hit him like a rock hammer, and the loss of the pendant took on a whole new dimension. “If he learns what it is, what you did … ”
“He could use it against me,” Ailsa said. “Threaten to denounce me to the chancellors and Lord Dail unless I provide the powder he needs to support his addiction.”
“Jok didn’t look like he had any idea what it was,” Connor said. “I have to get it back before I leave.”
“Indeed,” Ailsa said. “That would be wise.” She rose, squeezed through the tiny space around her desk, and paced across the office. “It is of secondary importance to our real purpose, though.”
“The watchers,” Connor said.
“And the one who sent them,” Ailsa agreed. “These secrets must be ferreted out.”
He remembered what she’d tried to warn him during their ride through the Carraig the first day. “There’s always another secret.”
“Always. The Carraig holds secrets like your mountain lochs hold water.”
Connor decided not to remind her that he had shattered Loch Sholto and flooded the valley with its water.
“I’ll search for Jean after the afternoon rounds,” he promised. “Tonight I need to leave.”
“I still mean to glean something we can use to turn Catriona’s wrath, just in case,” Ailsa said.
She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry things have gotten so crazy, Connor. We’ll find a way to set things right.”
“I don’t see how we can.” He rose, thinking about all the things he needed to complete prior to fleeing from Shona, and his fear turned to anger.
“I don’t have time to play games any more. Whoever stands in my way is going to get a taste of how I played the game of Alasdair.”
“You must stay in control,” she warned, tapping his chest, then his head. “Feel the passion of what’s right, but govern that passion with intellect.”
“I’ll do my best,” he promised. “But just in case, I’m going to need some powder.”
“I happen to know where to find some,” she said, her lips smiling, but her eyes glittering with the same resolve he felt.
“Find Jean,” Ailsa urged again. “You must learn everything she knows. Please don’t make any decisions until then.”
Connor tried to force the same calm she projected, but his thoughts were racing. The urge to flee was nearly overwhelming, but he could risk the afternoon to find Jean and say good-bye. He’d pass a message to his family, learn what he could from her, and warn her to beware of Jok.
“I don’t know if I can find her,” he admitted.
“The castle is enormous,” Ailsa admitted. “But the linn workers are housed in central areas. Chances are she’d be in one of those.”
“No,” Connor said, remembering Jok’s comment. “She’s not in the castle. Jok said he’s had his people search there.”
“That means she’s probably housed in one of the palaces on the Carraig grounds,” Ailsa said. “Which would mean she’s in the employ of one of the high lord representatives.”
“She could be in the town,” Connor suggested.
Ailsa shook her head. “Probably not. There’s no reason she should be here unless someone brought her. If she’s important to their geall, they’ll keep her close. No, she’s in one of the palaces.”
“Does Shona live in a palace?” Connor asked.
“She does.”
He drew a slow breath, fighting the feeling of invisible bands closing around him. Had Shona brought Jean to the Carraig? Why would she bother? If not Shona, who else would even know about her?
“That gives me a place to start,” he said, turning toward the door.
“Be careful.”
He slipped out of the Sculpture House and headed toward the castle, filled with worry and determination in equal measure.
The risk of running into Shona dragged on him, and he couldn’t bring himself to walk along the central avenue around the Carraig. So he jogged instead toward the formal gardens. He could skirt them on his way to Professor Todhar’s class, and slip inside if the need required.
As he neared the open entryway to the garden, a woman who had been sitting in the shadows on a bench off to his right, stood and approached. He glanced at her to nod a polite hello, then looked again, shocked beyond words.
The tall, shapely figure of Anika, the Grandurian Petralist, stood barely ten feet away, her long blond hair tied in a braid that hung over her shoulder. Her blue eyes sparkled with mirth.
She winked. “Hello, Connor boy. You want we wrestle?”
Chapter 21
“Wrestling will have to wait.”
That sounded like Captain Ilse.
Connor turned, struggling to believe. He recognized the voice, recognized her face as she emerged from behind shrubbery trimmed in the shape of a Boulder holding aloft a hammer. And of course the hulking form of Erich, Anika’s Rumbler brother, trailed behind her.
He had to be dreaming. Maybe Catriona had hit him from behind with a rock and he was hallucinating. It was as bad as the one time during his long journey to Raineach when he stopped to work a few days at an eoin bird farm to earn some food. How could he possibly have known that eating a couple handfuls of waffel berries the same day he ate a big breakfast of eoin eggs would trigger severe hallucinations?
The farmer never did pay him the promised food wages before running him off the farm. Then again, Connor escaped without having to pay for the ten eoin birds he plucked clean while caught up in the hallucinations.
“You don’t look so good.” Ilse spoke softly, and Erich scanned the area, slowly clenching his hands. They looked nervous.
“Last time we met, we weren’t exactly friends.”
“That doesn’t mean this time we have to be enemies,” she said.
As crazy as it seemed, they had to be real. Ilse had led the small band of Grandurians who had captured Shona, then got lost on their way back to Granadure. They’d tricked Connor into agreeing to show them the way over the mountain. So many things would have been different had they never met.
