“It wouldn’t be your fault,” Gyan told her, though he looked troubled. “It’s just what happens around Ixion.”
Kias nodded, resigned. “I’ve been waiting for him to kill us since he showed up on the Isle of Storms with his head back on.”
Their table was near the center of the room, but the acoustics reduced the voices of the other diners to a murmur, and Florian was sure no one could hear them without coming closer and being obvious about it—which was probably the reason Nicholas had chosen this room to meet in. And they were speaking Syrnaic anyway, a fact readily explained by Gyan’s and Kias’s presence. Calit, who didn’t know enough Syrnaic to get one word in three, was occupied with pulling his roll apart and flicking berries across the table. Florian added, “I thought about going to Colonel Averi, but even if he believed me, for Chandre and the Capidarans it would still be my word against Ixion’s.”
Nicholas had absorbed the information with a professional calm Florian found reassuring. “You’re correct. Chandre wants a pet sorcerer too badly to allow anything to get in his way. Especially unpleasant facts about the sorcerer’s behavior.” He nodded to himself and pushed his cup aside, standing. “I’ll take care of this. Just try to act as if nothing has happened. And don’t mention anything to—”
“What, you’re leaving?” Florian almost yelped, then hastily lowered her voice. “No, I want to help!” He looked down at her, lifting a brow. “I know, I know, but I won’t mess it up again, I won’t …waffle.” His expression became even more ironic, and she felt her face reddening. “You’d let Tremaine help,” she added, though she felt like a ten-year-old.
For the first time, Nicholas betrayed some real irritation. He sat back down, steepled his hands and said deliberately, “Tremaine would have kept her mouth shut and let Niles attack so Ixion could retaliate and the sphere could finish the bastard off.”
“That would have been best, Florian,” Kias informed her, though he managed not to sound reproachful.
“I know. That’s a mistake I won’t make again, believe me,” she said firmly. “I know if we fail, we’ll be in trouble—”
Nicholas took a deep breath, shook his head and contemplated the ceiling for a moment in grim silence. “Florian. If you don’t think that’s our predicament now, I’d truly hate to experience your definition of ‘trouble.’ ”
“He’s right, Florian,” Gyan said urgently, leaning forward to lay a hand on her arm. “Killing a wizard, it’s always a dangerous business, but this is Ixion. You can’t risk yourself like that.”
“But I’m already at risk,” Florian protested, frustrated. It frightened her that Ixion had come to her, and she wanted to make that fear go away. She felt that if she was involved in the plot against him, it would give her back some control over the situation. But she couldn’t think of a way to say it that made the least bit of sense. “It’s me he came to.”
“Florian.” Nicholas eyed her. “The more people involved in this, the more difficult it will be. Men like Ixion have to be led to their destruction gently. Tell no one about this, not even Niles.” He pushed to his feet. “And while I appreciate the offer, I don’t need the help.”
Watching him walk away across the big room, Florian said grimly, “I don’t think he appreciated the offer.”
“Don’t take it badly,” Gyan told her. His eyes followed Nicholas thoughtfully. “Some Chosen Vessels work alone.”
“He’s not a Chosen Vessel, he just… thinks he is.” Florian poked at her crusty roll, biting her lip. “I have to help. If— When the others get back, what would Tremaine say if she found out I’d let her father get killed?”
“ ‘Thanks’?” Kias suggested.
Florian and Gyan both glared at him. He winced. “Sorry.”
In the dim light of the grotto room, Tremaine woke stiff and sore, her mouth tasting like sandpaper. Her coat had been rolled up as a pillow and she lay on a folded blanket, but her back wasn’t much appeased by that. Her dreams had been vivid images of Arites’s death, the way he had jolted forward, knocking into her as the bullet had ripped into him from behind, the feel of his already lifeless body as she and Cletia had carried him up the airship’s ramp. It took her a moment to remember why. Right. Meretrisa. She lifted a hand to shove the hair out of her eyes but stopped, peering closely at it in the dim light.
New skin, pale and tender, stretched across her palm and up her fingers and thumb. The dead burned flesh had all been neatly trimmed away; she supposed Gerard had done it while she was asleep. She flexed it and the skin felt tight and stretchy, like a wet glove that had stiffened when left too near the fire. Gritting her teeth at that image, she pushed herself up with a groan.
They had moved into the small grotto room Ilias and Giliead had found and sometime not long after that Tremaine had abruptly decided to lie down on the floor and sleep. She wasn’t sure how long she had been out, but now their collection of packs and bags was piled against one wall, the other blankets folded and neatly stacked. Balin was in the corner asleep, with Cimarus seated nearby, his sword across his lap. Meretrisa lay against the far wall on a pallet of blankets. Tremaine could only see her face, pale as white paper, against the blues and golds of the weaving. As Tremaine sat up, Cimarus asked politely, “Is your hand better now?”
“Yes, actually it is.” She cleared her throat. The muted daylight falling through the louvers in the roof seemed to be tinted more toward late afternoon, but it was hard to tell. She felt disjointed, out of sorts, disconnected from reality. Sleeping during the day usually had an unsettling effect on her, but not this unsettling. “How long was I asleep?”
Cimarus squinted up at the sunlight, thinking. “The night and half the day.”
Damn. That’s almost as long as Aras, and he was burned practically all over. She blinked, trying to wake up. “How is Meretrisa?”
Cimarus craned his neck to check on the Capidaran woman. “They say she should stay asleep, and not move. She has a healing curse on her, and isn’t dying.”
Tremaine nodded slowly. She vaguely remembered Gerard saying something about an injured lung. “Where is everybody else?”
“Searching the big room for the god-sphere wizard’s trail signs, and copying things down.” He shrugged one shoulder, his expression philosophical. “The same as we always do.”
In the middle of the room someone had made a rough sort of square fire pit out of loose stone blocks and the smoke drifted up and out through one of the louvers. Vervane came in through the archway to deposit an armload of sticks and tinder next to it. Seeing Tremaine was conscious, she dipped a cup into the pot steaming on the fire and carried it over. Tremaine accepted it with a muttered thanks, startled to realize she actually was grateful. She was beginning to like this herb stuff almost as much as coffee. After a restorative gulp, she asked Vervane, “How’s your hand?”
“Oh, it’s fine.” The older woman wiggled her fingers as she returned to the fire. “Master Gerard made it as good as new. But poor Meretrisa will take much longer to heal.”
Poor Meretrisa the traitor. Tremaine vaguely remembered telling Gerard about that. “Did Gerard mention about—”
“That she told a spy about your new circle?” Vervane’s expression was pained as she awkwardly took a seat on the floor. “Yes. I’m not sure Aras believes it completely, but…” She gestured helplessly. “The Ministry was warned, over and over again, but it was hard for them to believe it would happen in Capistown.”
Tremaine nodded, feeling bleak. It had been hard for people to believe it in Ile-Rien, too. There wasn’t much else to be said. “Is the fire a good idea? The smoke might tell someone we’re here. Wherever here is.”
Cimarus answered in Syrnaic, “Giliead and Ilias found a way to the outside, and said there’s no one around as far as they could see.”
Of course. That’s where they got the wood, Tremaine thought, nodding to herself. She finished the drink and clambered to her feet, returning the cup to Vervane. “I??
?ll go see if they’ve found anything.”
“Tell Cletia it’s her turn to watch the Gardier,” Cimarus told her, then added plaintively, “And can’t this lady learn to speak Syrnaic the way you did? It would be easier if we could talk.”
Tremaine snorted, finding her new rifle leaning against the wall, carefully segregated from the Syprian’s spare bows and arrows so it wouldn’t contaminate them. She answered in the same language, “You could speak Rienish to her, you know. It wouldn’t kill you.” She had thought Cimarus and Cletia might have absorbed more Rienish than they pretended, and Cimarus had obviously understood the gist of her and Vervane’s conversation. The Syprians seemed to all be quick with new languages, but Tremaine was fairly sure Pasima had made it a moral point not to speak Rienish and expected the others to follow her example.
Checking the rifle, she saw someone had unloaded it. She found the ammunition in a Gardier belt, coiled up nearby. It had a shoulder strap made of a mottled olive green leather with a texture like snake or lizard skin. Her pants didn’t have any pockets and it was too warm to wear her coat, so she attached the brown canvas ammunition pouch to her own belt.
With Cimarus’s parting plea “Remember to tell Cletia,” Tremaine headed for the giant circle chamber, making her way through the long gallery with its fallen balconies and collapsed pillars.
She stopped in the archway, marveling again at the sheer size of the place, the cathedral-like shape of the roof. Buttresses, she wondered. Are there buttresses on the outside? How does it stay up?
Gerard and Aras were at the far end of the room, apparently examining and cataloging the many circles carved into the floor. Tremaine hoped Gerard’s notebook had enough paper. Cletia, with a bow slung over her shoulder, was keeping watch near the center of the room.
Tremaine made her way over, the other woman warily watching her approach. “Cimarus says it’s his turn.”
Cletia took that in with a remote nod, still eyeing Tremaine. Then she said, “He didn’t stay with you while you were ill. Did that surprise you?”
Tremaine, still playing mental catch-up, actually thought she meant Cimarus for a moment. Then she realized who Cletia did mean and went blank. The blankness didn’t last long.
It had never occurred to her that Ilias would do anything except his job, which was to scout this new territory and watch Giliead’s back while the Chosen Vessel looked for dangerous spells. The fact that Cletia saw her as the kind of woman who expected a man to stay at her bedside while she was sleeping off a healing spell instead of being out making sure they weren’t about to be attacked was almost amusing. Amusing in an enraging sort of way. Tremaine’s lips curved in a dangerous approximation of a smile. “Your estimation of my character is incorrect.”
Several different emotions seemed to flicker under Cletia’s calm façade, then she inclined her head in a gesture that reminded Tremaine of Pasima at her most annoying. She started back toward the archway and Tremaine watched her go. Then she gazed in irritation at the ceiling and told herself, Look on it as a challenge.
Gerard spotted her approach and straightened up from a circle, one hand pressed to his back. It might be the light, but he actually looked a little less exhausted. He must have taken time to actually sleep and eat last night. “How are you feeling?” he asked as she went to meet him.
“I’m fine. Find anything yet?”
“No, there’s no sign of any message left by Arisilde. But I am finding more examples of the location symbols in the circles.” He reached her, tucking his notebook into the bag with the sphere and taking her hand to look at the healing burns. “That’s coming along nicely,” he said with satisfaction.
Tremaine reclaimed her hand, flexing it experimentally again. “It feels better than it did when I first woke up. Less tight.”
He nodded. “Working with it should help that, but be sure not to tear the new skin.”
“Right, I’ll work on that.” Tremaine made a face at that image and changed the subject. “Where’re Ilias and Gil? Vervane said they found a way outside?”
“They should be back soon.” Gerard pulled out his pocket watch and squinted at it. “They’ve been exploring the area of the structure immediately around us and reporting in at fairly regular intervals. I can’t persuade them to actually draw a map, but from what I understand…” He dug out the notebook again, flipping past pages of esoteric symbols to show her a rough diagram. “This part of the building is sort of a large oval, tucked in amid a mountain range. From the symbols and what we saw of the stars last night, we’re at the western end of the Syrnai, in the inland territory occupied by people called the Hisians. Depending on where we are, Giliead estimates it would probably take two to three months to walk to Cineth from here.”
“That’s good.” They could, at least, get back to Cineth, even if it took a long time. “So this is where we are in the building?” Tremaine peered at the map, trying to make sense of the little squares and circles and Gerard’s cramped handwriting. “What’s all this around it?”
“Empty rooms that could have been living quarters, lecture halls, meeting rooms.” He shrugged, gesturing around at the huge room. “It’s impossible to tell. This place has been abandoned for hundreds of years, like the city under the Isle of Storms and the Wall Port. The rest of this—” He traced a large amorphous shape that apparently indicated unknown territory. “Giliead says the building appears to go on for some distance, at least from the outside vantage point he and Ilias discovered. There’s another large oval section down here, which is why I believe there’s another circle chamber.” He shook his head, closing the notebook. “They haven’t advanced into that area yet. Giliead hasn’t sensed any etheric activity, except for the circles themselves. But we’ve never been able to determine how well he can sense passive spells.”
Tremaine nodded absently, frowning. They had covered a lot of ground in a day, but then if the rooms were all empty there wasn’t that much searching to do, just making sure there was no evidence of a Gardier occupation. “Something about this…” She looked up at Gerard. “I didn’t get the impression Arisilde had a huge amount of time when he was doing this.”
Gerard’s expression was blank. “When he was doing what?”
Tremaine gestured vaguely, shifting the rifle’s strap on her shoulder. “Looking for whatever he was looking for after he left Nicholas. He was supposed to be taking the message back to Ile-Rien that we were about to be invaded by a foreign power from another world who had magic that we couldn’t fight. I know he could be a little erratic— we never did teach him how to use the telephone—but this place would have taken days to explore, even for him.” Tremaine shrugged helplessly. “He knew he didn’t have days.”
“Yes, yes.” Gerard looked thoughtful. “I see your point. We should have found a signal or sign from him, like the coat button, as soon as we arrived.”
“If we’re in the right place.”
Gerard nodded, his brow creased and his eyes distant as he considered all the implications. “If this isn’t the place where he was… injured.”
“Oh. That’s a thought.” An uncomfortable thought. Tremaine frowned at him. “Watch your back, all right? Don’t do anything that, you know, Arisilde would do.”
Gerard was still staring into the distance. “Yes, I— What?” He gave her an exasperated look. “How would I know—” His expression cleared. “Ah, they’re back again.”
Tremaine looked around, relieved to see Ilias and Giliead walking out from the center archway on the far side of the chamber.
Watching Ilias’s lithe confident stride and the fine line of his jaw as he turned to say something to Giliead, Tremaine became aware that Gerard had been attempting to solicit her attention for some moments. He was now regarding her with a fond but weary expression. “What?” she demanded.
He smiled wryly, stuffing the notebook back into his bag. “Nothing.”
The two men reached them and both had to examine Tremaine’s in
jury before they answered any questions. Ilias took her hand, rubbing his thumb across the new skin on her palm while Giliead looked over his shoulder. “It’s still hard to believe,” Ilias said, glancing up at Giliead. Sorcerous healing had been the beginning of convincing the Syprians, or at least the Andrien Syprians, that not all magic was evil.
“Did your search turn up anything interesting?” Gerard asked hopefully.
Giliead rested his bow on the floor, saying, “There’re no more circles in this wing. We did find a room with water basins big enough to bathe in—some of them are broken and the pipes aren’t bringing the water anymore, but a few are still working.”
Gerard nodded. “That may come in handy if we stay here any length of time. You’re ready to advance into the other part of the building now?”
“Right after we get some food.”
Tremaine saw Cimarus was arriving for his turn at watching the circle chamber and his respite from Balin. Telling herself Cletia’s little sally had nothing to do with it, Tremaine decided it was time to get a private moment with Ilias. She looked at him pointedly, hoping he would get the message. “Gerard said you found the way out. Is it close by?”