“And where is the ring now?”

  He averted his gaze when he replied. “I have no idea of its whereabouts, Your Grace. No one does.”

  I summoned the last question.

  “Master Gileon, is there a way of finding out if someone is a Ka'tan when I meet them?”

  “No, Your Grace,” he replied, “unless they want to reveal it to you themselves.”

  He paid by two simple health regeneration spells, nodded slightly to me, and we parted our ways.

  Later that night, when I meditated in my bed before sleep took overtook me, I had a strange feeling about his last claims.

  I didn't know why, but it seemed to me he had not been sincere.

  Well, I was almost certain about it.

  He had lied to me.

  But why?

  CHAPTER 3

  THE Gatherings Palace is located near the center of Averot'h and overlooks the meandering river some thirty feet beneath its massive sandstone walls. A continuation of a tradition spanning centuries, the palace became a place where important city noble houses met regularly to discuss and solve pressing matters regarding humans.

  Before the city’s destruction, the title 'Gatherings' was reserved for an assembly of one hundred deputies from the then noble Houses.

  Today, executive power is handled differently. Each year, noble Houses select one man or woman from their ranks, called a Minister, to represent humans in meetings with the opposite power in the city, wizards, and to oversee human matters in general. Since it’s a task beyond the capabilities of a single person, a Minister chooses from eight to twelve deputies who are in control of trade, defense, or education.

  I approached the entrance to the Palace, eyeing the two guards in blue and grey uniforms. The stocky man on my left gripped an axe and stared at me with cold eyes. The wiry man to my right held a crossbow and appeared disinterested. I spotted a quiver full of iron-tipped arrows across his left shoulder.

  I could handle the first guard with a snap of my fingers. Still, the one with the crossbow could be dangerous, even for a wizard. Yet, the pair of warriors were only for show. Tens or even hundreds of battle-ready soldiers occupied rooms and training grounds inside the palace, which could be turned into a fortress in a few minutes.

  When the guards spotted me, they stepped aside and allowed me entrance. As always, I almost burst out laughing watching their incredulous stares.

  I must admit my appearance is pretty striking. I have long, ginger hair, and my eyes are usually deep-ocean blue. I'm rather slim, but curvy, and moderately tall. Men, humans or wizards, tend to admire my bosom and backside when they think I'm looking elsewhere.

  Sometimes, it's quite entertaining.

  Today, I’m wearing a tight, sleeveless white dress to my knees with a sapphire decorated necklace casually resting at my low-cut neckline.

  Oh, and did I mention I'm a wizard as well? All in all, the guards had every reason to gaze at me.

  I'm definitely an atypical visitor to the Gatherings.

  ~

  The Minister Ammes of House Riverre sat behind a robust wooden desk. His office was spacious with one large window, a worn carpet, and a large colored map of the city spanning the wall behind his desk.

  The Minister was a clean shaven, bald man in his fifties endowed with piercing brown eyes and decent intellect. We had met several times before, but I was not sure he would remember me.

  I crossed the threshold and took two steps into his office.

  “Sir,” I said.

  Finally, he lifted his gaze from papers on the table, and after a moment, I saw the surprise on his face.

  “Your Grace!” He got up and nodded toward a chair across the desk. “Please, sit down.”

  I acknowledged he didn't try to shake hands with me. I respect human habits, but shaking hands is an exception. No wizard would touch the fingers of someone else unless he or she was in a close relationship.

  We both took a seat.

  “Tea?” the Minister offered. “Or coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  His stare tried to pierce me through. “May I ask what brings you here, Your Grace?”

  “I discovered something disturbing at Unity Square, sir, near the Thumb.”

  The Minister's forehead winced. “Disturbing?”

  “A pool of human blood,” I replied. “Or, at least, I think so. Judging from its quantity, I dare say someone was murdered there.”

  “Murdered?” Ammes frowned. “There have been no murders since the illegal-bets gang riots five years ago.”

  I recalled the clashes were dispersed mercilessly by Martell.

  “I know, sir,” I acknowledged.

  The Minister went silent for a while. “I will assign someone to investigate the case,” he said. “Someone clever, competent, and discreet.”

  I nodded and got up. “I appreciate it, sir.”

  “You are welcome, Your Grace,” the Minister replied. “I can assure you the common good of my people is my highest priority. If you don't mind, would you wait a moment and personally accompany the investigator to the scene of the crime?”

  I weighed the proposal.

  Why not?

  I nodded approvingly.

  ~

  I watched on as a pimple-faced, nineteen-year-old boy with a mop of black hair strutted into the Minister's office. He reminded me of a scarecrow with his black trousers ripped at the knees and oversized shirt.

  I swore the moment we were introduced. In my thoughts only, of course. The poor boy could not be held responsible for this farce.

  Next time, dear Minister, I will roll your head right to the water below your window!

  As soon as we left the Palace, I took off at my fastest pace, and the boy had a difficult time keeping up with me. I liked walking. Actually, I couldn't remember the last time I used my tephir, a habit inherited from my father, I guess.

  I concealed my wizard identity, hoping to escape unwanted attention. We formed a truly unusual pair; a ragged boy and a pretty girl…

  “So,” I said, looking over my right shoulder. He was several steps behind me. “You are an expert in investigation, eh?”

  “Affirmative,” he gasped. “Your Grace.”

  I grinned. He could barely speak.

  “What is your name?” I asked. “Is it Clecod?”

  “Who is Clecod?” Posing the question, he almost suffocated himself.

  I felt a surge of wicked gratification.

  “Clever, competent, and discreet, in short,” I replied. “Exact words of your Minister. Regarding you personally.”

  The boy frowned but did not comment until we reached the crossing of Wind and Diagonal Streets, some ten minutes walk from Unity Square.

  Once there, I decided to grant him a moment of rest. Well, my aching feet were the true reason behind the pause; never run a race in high heeled shoes.

  I watched people strolling down Diagonal, a street famous for its abundance of small shops and taverns. High above our heads, wizards cruised the sky on their magnificent tephirs.

  “My name's Rohan,” the boy said after he caught his breath again. “I don't know what the Minister told you, but I will do my best to figure out what happened there, Your Grace. I have training in such things.”

  I seriously doubted he would be of any use at all, but I nodded slightly.

  I'll give you a chance.

  ~

  At Unity Square, it became apparent the boy was truly well-trained. In less than five minutes, he partially identified the victim based on a single hair he found at the blood spill.

  “It's human. And male,” he said, inspecting the hair closely.

  “How can you possibly know?” I wondered.

  He pointed to my hair. “Could you, please, give me a strand of your hair?”

  Surprised, I handed him what he asked for.

  “See,” he said, lining the strands parallel to each other. “The texture is different. Human hair is smooth. Wizard hair is coarse. Men have thicker hair than women,” he went on. “Which means this,” he lifted the evidence, “belonged to a human man. Also, I can estimate when the murder happened.”

  I crossed my arms on my chest in disbelief, frowning. “You can?”

  “Affirmative, Your Grace. Blood is drying out with time. I can say it has been here no longer than twelve hours, meaning the murder, if it was a murder, of course, took place around midnight.”

  I won't lie, I was taken by surprise.

  He is really good!

  “What else can you say, Mister Clever?”

  He shot me a confounded glance and lowered his head to the ground. “Not much, Your Grace. I may look for another trail, for example tephir scales, to confirm if a wizard was involved.”

  Suddenly, a feeling of guilt flooded my mind. The boy kneeling in the dirt before me was most certainly clever and competent at his task, and I shouldn't have humiliated him. He was not the useless rookie I believed him to be.

  And, after all, he is also two years older than me.

  “Get up, Rohan,” I ordered.

  He looked confused but obeyed without complaint. “Your Grace?” He straightened up. With his pimples hidden behind his hair, he seemed almost handsome.

  I sighed. “Stop calling me Your Grace, Rohan. My name's Leisha. And, please, do not use the word ‘affirmative’ again. Is there something else you can find out?”

  “Perhaps. There might be witnesses. We can ask people who visit this place regularly, particularly at night.”

  “Good idea.”

  Rohan smiled. “I will return here at sunset and ask people if somebody saw anything suspicious last night.”

  I nodded. “Right. I have an appointment today, so let's meet tomorrow before the Palace, at nine.”

  ~

  My mom lives next to Water Gardens in a small house surrounded by fruit trees and greenery at the periphery of the city, perhaps an hour walk from my apartment. She opted to live in seclusion since my dad's sudden departure.

  I opened a wrought-iron gate, rounded a brick wall, and found my mother in the middle of a fantastically colorful seedbed.

  People say there isn’t a single soul in the city that’s never used her herbs.

  And they might be right.

  “Hi, mom.”

  A slim woman turned to lock her hazy eyes with mine for a moment. She brushed her once dark-honey hair, now graying at the tips, from her face with the back of a hand

  Then without a word, she turned back to her herbs.

  I watched her thin fingers caress the soil, weeding out the unwanted with feather-light spells. No one would achieve a mastery comparable to hers.

  Standing above her, I felt pain and sorrow.

  Once, she was a different person, I recalled. A strong and determined one, not afraid to fight evil forces.

  I remembered the days when her eyes were bright, her appearance always flawless and breathtaking, and her laughter ringing and light-hearted.

  But my dad's leaving broke her. Unexpectedly, she was left alone with two small kids in times of turmoil that erupted after the Just, her husband, exited the city for good. If not for Martell, the city would have been consumed in a total chaos.

  Her wounds never healed. Sometimes, I wondered if she remembered who I was.

  I cleared my throat. “Mom, I need your help.”

  She lifted her head finally and smiled shyly at me. “What help, my little girl?” she asked.

  I felt a surge of joy. “Mom, I fear a new evil has emerged in the city.”

  I told her briefly what I knew.

  She listened carefully, but when I finished, she gave me an answer I did not expect.

  “I am not interested in politics, my child, you know that,” she said softly and turned to her herbs again.

  I was dumbfounded. “But, mom! You risked your life to fight the Ka'tans along with my father! Someone has to stop them!”

  Elisa closed her eyes. “Honey, I remember those days as if it were yesterday. We almost lost our lives. We suffered in ways I cannot even describe. We did our duty then. But now, my strength is gone. I'm afraid I cannot help you.” She waved her arm above the seedbed. “This is my battlefield, honey. I do what I can.”

  She bent over the nearest patch of three-inch-high plants with tiny, purple blossoms.

  Her words whirled in my head.

  My strength is gone...

  All of a sudden, I realized I knew the answer to a mystery that often came to my mind.

  How could it be that two wizards so different from one another, the Just and the Burned, created a city so perfect and balanced?

  “Mom,” I ventured. “Was it you? Was it you who made this city into its final form? Have you used up all your magic on it?”

  Her shoulders sank an inch.

  Yes, she did.

  “Mom, Averot'h is your creation! It's amazing! Why didn't you tell me?”

  She slowly got on her feet, avoiding my stare. “Because I didn't want you to know I'm a wreck, honey.”

  Tears welled in my eyes. I hugged her tightly. She hesitated a moment, and then returned my hug.

  “You are the best mom in the world,” I sobbed.

  For the next hour, we worked in the garden side by side. We weeded, planted a row of chamomile, two rows of plantain, and a row of valerian. I helped her water patches of vegetables and rake dead leaves under apple trees.

  Then we reaped apples into several crates destined for tomorrow's farmer’s market. I carried the crates to the wicket.

  When I turned inside, a harsh voice crackled behind me.

  “Oh, what a surprise visit!”

  I turned swiftly.

  Wilt's black long-coat flew around him like a pair of dragon wings. I always wondered how the two of us could be so different.

  We are twins, after all!

  He is a foot taller than me, making him the biggest wizard in Averot'h and the object of admiration of female wizards. His hair turned blue-violet recently, and he wears it loose. His face is symmetrical and similar to mine, though his eyes are usually narrowed, even when there is no sun.

  He lives in our former house, occupying our father's old study on top of that. I don't know how he manages not to go mad there.

  Seeing and touching father's belongings every day, I would go insane in a few days.

  I crossed my arms on my chest. “Wilt, what are you doing here?”

  He made a face. “I could ask you the same question, little sister. But, actually, I'm visiting our mother twice a week. Unlike you.”

  That hurt. A lot.

  Suddenly, I felt embarrassed. I visited my mom once or twice a month. I had no idea he attended her so frequently!

  Our differences do not stop at our appearances. He is stubborn and reckless, enjoying his time with friends. His affection for young female wizards is more than well-known; he is surrounded by beauties, not that I would know whom he is dating this week. He never introduces his new girlfriends, but I don't care. Oh, and I shouldn't forget his fondness for alcohol as well.

  But he cared about my mom more than I did.

  Nothing could insult me more.

  “Mom,” I growled, “why didn't you tell me?”

  She shrugged a little, her glance apologetic.

  “Mom! I would come here more often if you just said the word!”

  “I know, darling,” she replied. “But I didn't want to bother you.”

  I exhaled deeply.

  “Are you feeling well?” Wilt asked. His eyes penetrated me. “It seems you are worried, little sister.”

  “I'm not little anymore, brother,” I put my arms on my hips. “It seems you fail to recall I'm exactly the same age as you.”

  His eyebrows went up a little. “I just want to be sure you are all right. That's all.”

  “Come on, you are not trying to be over protective, are you? I'm not that little girl who needs her big brother's protection anymore.”

  He blinked twice. “No, you are clearly not,” he conceded with his low-pitched melodic voice.

  His consent took me off guard for a moment. We used to quarrel for hours before someone gave up.

  I turned back to my mother. “Mom, I will come next Monday.”

  She gave me a quick look and nodded, then resumed her work.

  I shifted my weight uneasily, feeling completely useless, and left reluctantly.

  Once home, I checked for any messages in the form of small globules floating in the air called specks, but there was only one waiting. A guild of healers asked me for a favor.

  I sat on my bed, tired and depressed, listening to raindrops drumming the rooftops.

  I'm going to visit my mom more often, I promise.

  CHAPTER 4

  AT nine in the morning, I picked up Rohan at Gatherings palace.

  “What's new?” I asked instead of 'Hello.’

  “Nil,” he puffed. “I asked thirty-seven people at the square after the dusk. No witness to the crime, I'm afraid.”

  I patted his elbow encouragingly. “Good job, nevertheless.”

  When we were passing the baker's store on Chapel Street, Rohan stopped. “Wait a moment, please,” he said, and slipped inside.

  I watched Rohan through the window as he approached a bulky man with a flour-covered apron tied around his waist.

  They talked for a minute, the baker nodded, and Rohan left the shop.

  Back on the street Rohan explained, “I only needed to pass my father a message from one of his customers.”

  I shot him a stare of disbelief. “That man is your father? Your father is a baker?”

  He frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Well, I thought you were from House Riverre. You are an assistant to the Minister, aren't you?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, how did it happen that lord Ammes chose you, a baker's son, to be his assistant?”

  “He selected me from a handful of other candidates upon a trial.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes. We were assigned several tasks, such as writing, memorizing, or computing.”

 

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