Hands Like Secrets, page 13
Rafel.
Oh gods, what will Rafel do when he finds out about this? He singled me out specifically because I wasn’t a Silver Mantle.
“No doubt he wants revenge on you, personally, for thwarting his attempt to cut us to the heart.” She nods at me. “But furthermore, by snatching our oldest undedicated student out of the heart of Aschamon itself, he sends a clear message. He will take advantage of any weakness we display.”
The others nod.
“You have become a pawn in a dangerous game, Saeli, and I wish to put an end to it.” The Priestess lays a hand on my shoulder. “Though I believe you have earned this Mantle fairly, I came to my decision in no small part because I fear for the safety of the school. I hope that seeing the Silver on your shoulders will persuade him to leave you and Aschamon alone.”
That’s the real reason they chose to promote me? Because I was a liability that had finally been exploited? I bite my lip while what little elation I’d felt drains away.
This moment isn’t about me at all.
All at once, so clearly it almost makes me gasp, I understand what Rafel had been trying so hard to make me see last night.
The garment on my shoulders will always mean more than the person wearing it.
That’s why my professors had never deemed me worthy of wearing the Mantle of my own accord. Only now, when they think I’ve acted to “defend the Mantle cause,” do they deign to make me one of them.
I let my fingers wander along the edges of my new Mantle, toying absently with a seam. It’s all so logical, so coldly impersonal...because that’s how Silver Mantles are. That’s how they think. The Mantle’s seam refuses to yield to my fingernails, and I drop my hand before they can call me out for fidgeting.
I know then that I must go to the Sari Café.
If anything, Rafel needs to hear about this development from me rather than through rumors; because gods only know how he’ll react. I need to make sure he understands I hadn’t sought this out to thwart whatever scheme he has planned.
I owe him that much for last night.
But also, if Rafel is right about me and my struggle to be worthy, then he might be right about the war, the gods, everything. I would never be able to wear the Silver in good conscience knowing I’d turned down an opportunity to find out the truth.
Even if that truth comes in the form of a mysterious, alluring Cowl.
The Priestess gestures to Matvey, who retrieves the abandoned blue wrappings from the altar.
“Before you leave today, Saeli,” she says, “we must also address the matter of your headaches.”
“Headaches?” I frown.
All the gathered professors grin, which makes me nervous again.
The faint cool tingle of sattva qi brushes my skin, and Matvey lays a thumb on my left temple. Pain slices through my head, making me hiss and duck away. But just like that, it vanishes.
Matvey drops his arm with an inordinately pleased expression on his face.
“Those headaches.” He turns back to the High Priestess and hands her the blue wrappings. “You were right, Milady.”
I touch my head gingerly. It still aches, whatever he’d done.
“I wove a small sattva thread through your seventh node,” Matvey explains.
“Then I shouldn’t have felt anything,” I say slowly. “The seventh should be closed.”
It occurs to me that the pain I’d just experienced is similar to what I’d felt during the assembly when the HP wove a calming pattern over the crowd. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It isn’t often I find myself in the presence of an Anjahel using qi; if my seventh node isn’t closed...if they are implying what I think they might be...
“Nine in ten students feel nothing, on average.” Matvey grins at me. “But those that do...get to dress a bit differently.”
The Priestess slides two more objects from the blue folds. One, she hands to my grinning Theory professor, who passes it into my hands. A tasseled Aschamon cord, much like the purple one that lays folded at my feet. But this one glimmers white in the mid-afternoon light.
Only one Aschamon caste wears the white.
No way.
“Matvey’s test just now was a formality,” the High Priestess explains. “I’ve suspected you harbored Anjahel abilities for some time.” The woman unfolds a dark silver obi and loops it around my waist, tying it with expertise. “Though I admit, it gave me a start to see the gift manifest in an undedicated majahel.”
“I’m...but this is a white cord,” I stammer.
The Priestess chuckles, plucking it from my frozen fingers and tying it around the new obi with a flourish. I touch it again in wonder. It’s stiffer than my old cord, like it was woven with rare marindar-infused thread.
The Silver and the white. Anjahel.
The Priestess introduces the two unfamiliar professors. They teach Anjahel Studies and Anhela Studies, respectively. Donnevan is a solid man with thinning hair, meaty hands, and a surprisingly deep voice, while his spouse Cheralyn has a soft, disarming smile and a pronounced dimple on one cheek.
I realize I’ve seen them sitting with the other Anjahel in this very Temple before; why hadn’t it occurred to me what their presence here today might mean?
Because it’s too tipping unbelievable to be real, that’s why.
Only four or five, out of a typical class of seventy or so, advance to the white in any given year. Sometimes it’s more, sometimes less. Mother’s graduating class had nine, whereas I remembered a year they’d only promoted one.
“Professor Donnevan will be teaching you the basics of managing your gift this summer,” the Priestess says, “and you will begin proper classes with both him and Professor Cheralyn in Fraley Hall next term.”
If her smile gets any wider, her face will crack.
Senior Anjahel teach the entire elementary curriculum at Aschamon, and they just made me into one of them. I the traitor, who even now is planning to meet with the enemy again; this is whom they’ve handed an authority position exceeded only by our professors. My mind feels like an overstuffed pillow, conflicting thoughts like loose feathers spilling everywhere.
Next, they’ll promote me to godhood, I snark to myself, and then I’ll wake up in Ingrid Hall wondering what in shayol Rafel did to my head.
“The Mantle is a required part of your uniform now; like your roommate, demerits will be given if you appear in class or worship without it.”
The High Priestess is still giving instructions. I shake off my incredulity enough to pay attention.
“However, I recognize that this simultaneous transition to the Mantle and the white will likely be awkward. As such, you may wear your old cord and obi until next term, if you wish.” She frowns. “I recommend, however, that you wear your Mantle whenever you can, even when not required. It may give that scheming Cowl pause if he breaks in again.”
I swallow and quickly nod.
“I must also ask you to stay on campus for the time being, where we can protect you,” she adds. “After last night, I do not think it safe for you to venture into Aschera on your own.”
My shoulders stiffen. Oh no, please don’t do that, I beg silently.
The Priestess must see my internal protest because her expression grows stern.
“I have no choice but to insist upon this, Saeli. If you absolutely must go into town, you will need to take a professor with you. The gate will have orders to detain you if necessary.”
My thoughts race.
How am I going to meet Rafel at the Sari if I’m confined to campus? Unless I want a teacher breathing down my neck? I have no way to contact him.
“For how long?” I hedge.
“At least until the Midsummer holiday, and your dedication.” The Priestess’ face twists into a grim smile. “Or until we get our hands on that demon and his Crimson cell. Whichever comes first.”
I bite the inside of my lip. “Yes, ma’am.”
What else can I say?
“You are dismissed, then, Saeli Neyel of Aschera, Tammar’s daughter, Anjahel,” the Priestess intones.
I meet the smiles of my assembled professors and try to look as grateful as I know I should be.
Inside, I seethe with anxiety. With the Silver on my shoulders and the white around my waist, I must find out what Rafel’s plan entails before Aschamon stumbles upon the extent of my involvement with him.
The HP’s cool hand on my shoulder stops me as I turn to go.
“Not many have fought so long for the Silver and white.” Her hand squeezes, just a little. “Nor so valiantly. Bear them well.”
Sure. I make myself bow, collect my old cord and obi, and dart out of the sanctuary as quickly as decorum allows.
For my first act as a white cord, I need to go talk to the most dangerous Cowl in the entire region about a war we both hate. After the High Priestess just forbade me from leaving campus. My Anjahel days are off to a terrific start.
I shake my head and hurry toward Tammar Hall. If finding out the truth means meeting Rafel on his terms, then that’s what I have to do.
Somehow.
The light has mellowed into the cool evening glow of early summer, the sun casting long shadows across campus. I march the long winding route toward my dorm, hoping my roommate hasn’t already gone to dinner. I need to talk to Fien, and no way in the seven strands am I ready to face the entire student body in the dining hall looking like this.
I get lucky. The sound of a scratching quill meets my ears as I open the door. My roommate is hunched over their desk, but their head shoots up at my entrance.
“Saeli! Thank Isasar, you’re okay, I’m so relieved, they wouldn’t let me in to...!” Fien trails off, taking in my appearance. Their green eyes grow comically wide.
“They didn’t,” they say weakly.
My mouth twists in a wry smile. “They did.”
Fien whoops and leaps into my arms. “Isasar be praised! Finally, finally, finally.”
I grunt and awkwardly pat their back. My roommate’s enthusiasm has always tended toward the exuberant.
“See, you were a hero after all! And after getting kidnapped last night, that must have been awful!” They step back, looking me over from head to toe. “And the white, too, wow. They tested you and everything?”
“Matvey did. The HP already suspected.”
“You know that means you outrank me now; how moxed is that?” Fien touches my new Mantle again. “And now you’ll never have to worry about being branded as a sympathizer.”
I hope you’re right.
“So spill, girl.” They nudge me. “What happened?”
I sit down on my bed and relate the events of my promotion. After I’ve finished, Fien blows their bangs off their forehead.
“So, they’re waiting for Midsummer to dedicate you, and you’re pretty much stuck on campus for a half-moon. That stinks. But hey, you’re an Anjahel now!” Their eyes widen again. “Yan will probably squeeze the stuffing out of you when we tell him.”
My heart flip-flops at the unfortunate choice of words. Thanks to Rafel’s little adventure, I never got the chance to fill Fien in on the incident with Yan in the infirmary yesterday. But at the moment, I have more immediate concerns.
“Fien,” I say slowly. “I need you to help me with something.”
“Uh-oh.” They smirk.
“If we get caught, we’ll both be in big trouble.”
A raised eyebrow joins the smirk.
I take a deep breath.
“Can you break me out of Aschamon in two days?”
Chapter 16
“I still cannot believe you’re serious about this,” Fien mutters as we pass behind the south wing of Caerin Ellis Hall, keeping to the shadows.
Tonight’s the full moon. The sun is just beginning to creep behind the west wall tower; in a little over two watches, they’ll close the school gate for the night. I have to get downtown, talk to Rafel, and be back within that time.
My stomach flutters at the thought of seeing him again, though I try to ignore it.
The long northwest walk, which starts at Ingrid Hall and curves past all the dormitories, ends at a small roundabout where we pause. From here, the path widens into the main campus sidewalk. Following it, one would wend past Trian Hall with its massive dome to their left, a few minor administration buildings on the right, before finally proceeding under the main gate and out of the school.
Directly in front of us lays the recreation field, crawling with eleven- and twelve-year-olds at this time of day, but they’re too wrapped up in their games to notice Fien and me.
“You don’t have to do this, Fien.” I adjust the waistband of my skirt for the hundredth time since I’d put it on.
“Stop fidgeting!” Fien smacks my hand away. “You’re gorgeous. Leave it alone.”
I sigh. We decided to go in street clothes, as our uniforms would instantly mark us as students. Word might get around. Fien has even gone binder-less tonight, opting for a sundress and a more feminine look.
When I’d finally persuaded Fien that I was serious about sneaking off campus, they refused to help unless I explained what could possibly be that important. After some consideration, I’d told them the truth.
Sort of.
Fien knows I’d promised to meet someone at the Sari Café. Someone I’d supposedly met over a moon ago, so the timing wouldn’t be suspicious. They know I like this “someone,” and that I don’t want to disappoint him by not showing up.
That is, alas, unsettlingly true.
I told them I had no other way to contact him, and I convinced them that waiting until after Midsummer would be a disaster.
Fien, thankfully, leaped to the conclusion that I have a beau waiting in town, and was so stunned by the idea that they became a willing conspirator with far less persuasion than I’d anticipated. They’d even chosen my outfit: an ankle-length purple skirt that swirls around my legs, and a loose white blouse that they say brings out my dark eyes.
Whatever. I take their word for things like that.
I had, of course, conveniently neglected to mention that my “beau” is none other than Rafel Kailar, infamous Crimson Cowl assassin.
“Time to ward,” I say to Fien, glancing up and down the empty sidewalk. “Last chance to back out.”
“Oh, stop,” Fien grumbles. “You’ve never had a thing for...well, anyone, as far as I know. Yet you’re willing to risk the HP’s wrath over this one.” They give me a sly glance. “I’ve got to make sure he’s, you know, mortal.”
That makes two of us, I comment wryly in my head.
Fien thinks they’re coming with me into town after we get past the gates. Of course, there’s no way in shayol I’m taking them to meet a Cowl, but I haven’t yet figured out how to talk them out of it without making them suspicious.
So again, I say nothing. We have to get out first, anyway.
We both step into high guard position and begin a warding form called Bluefly on the Wall.
Lift arms, circle, thrust, reverse turn, pull, flick wrists, cross hands. Cool sattva energy twines around my body: a loose, trailing, two-tier weave of Push and Flow. The resulting ward, named for its effect rather than the motions used to manifest it, doesn’t confer true invisibility. It messes with perception instead and encourages people to overlook your presence, though you might be waving your arms in front of them.
Thus warded, Fien and I start down the main sidewalk.
If outsmarting the guards was all it took to escape the confines of campus, I wouldn’t have needed Fien’s help. But Aschamon’s history conspires against us; we also have to contend with the Arch.
I remember the welcome speech from my first year: Sattva qi is a difficult discipline to master, and emotional turmoil is the greatest barrier to executing forms correctly. Students can’t afford distractions. Dating, while not explicitly forbidden, is highly discouraged; our student handbook overflows with rules regarding OGA and SGA interactions and “appropriate” displays of affection.
Soon after the school’s founding, however, it was discovered that students were sneaking into the city to visit significant others, away from the school’s watchful eyes. The Arch was created to enforce curfew at night, or in my case, complete confinement to campus.
For the most part, it works.
It’s a series of qi-sensitive marindar glass panels, set into the first section of the archway that cuts through Aschamon’s perimeter wall. If anyone uses sattva qi within a few feet of the Arch, or tries to walk under it already holding a sattva weave, the glass panels light up. If the guards don’t catch the perpetrator on the spot, they report to Professor Lars, and Lars tracks the student down to be disciplined.
It happens maybe two or three times in any given year, and I dearly hope Fien and I aren’t next.
Our plan is simple. Fien and I, warded as we are, will both trigger the Arch. Fien will reveal themself and pretend they are testing the panels, making sure the guards are paying attention. We even have a note from Professor Lars if the guards ask. With the guards distracted, I’ll slip through. To get back in later, we’ll repeat the same trick; luckily for us, such tests are nearly always conducted from both sides of the wall in this manner.
We turn at the junction of the circular sidewalk and the main path and stride toward the gate.
“Here we go,” Fien mutters under their breath. I’m trembling so badly I can’t speak at all, even though Fien’s part in this is far trickier than mine. They’re the one who has to sweet-talk the guards, and worse, they would be in equal trouble if we’re caught.
I feel a bitter stab of resentment toward the Priestess for putting me in this position.
We won’t get caught, I tell myself firmly. And hopefully, I’ll never have to break the rules like this again.
The guards are badly startled when the Arch blazes up like the noonday sun. As such, they are surly and suspicious with Fien, who is made to hand over our note straight away. I don’t wait around to hear the conversation.
I dart past.
Beyond the Arch and within the wall, the path opens up to a short gauntlet, exposed to the sky until it reaches a second and thicker arch, which houses the great silver gates and the mechanism that operates them. The roofless section gives a clear line of sight for the two opposing guard towers that flank the open space. Aschamon’s three perimeter wards cut invisibly across the gauntlet; I feel their gossamer, web-like strands across my skin as they drag against my Bluefly weaves.
