Successor''s Promise

  CHAPTER 12

  The closer Rielle got to Amelya, the more precautions she took. Instead of hiding her path only as she left and arrived in a world, she erased it all the way to the next. Where possible, she made physical journeys, on sledges, boats, levitating and even arriving in the sky and letting herself fall for several heartbeats before pushing out of a world again.

  Extra effort took extra time, however, and she began to wonder if she was delaying her return deliberately. Delaying having to tell Qall that I couldn’t talk to his family and the girl he loves. Delaying having to admit I was wrong about Tyen. She didn’t have to tell anyone about the latter, however, or that in her pursuit of Valhan’s hand she had revealed herself to Dahli and Tyen. Neither would do more than needlessly worry Timane and Qall.

  Dahli can’t blackmail me if I’m not there, she told herself. His spies watching the Restorers will have learned that I left for my hiding place straight after talking to Baluka.

  They might also report that the Restorers knew Dahli and Tyen were attempting to resurrect the Raen. It depended on how close Dahli’s spies could get to Baluka, or how widely Baluka had allowed that fact to become known. Dahli would have expected her to tell the Restorers anyway. He would be taking extra precautions to hide Valhan’s hand, which would make it harder for Baluka to find it. Yet enemies of Valhan everywhere would be on the watch for Dahli and Tyen now. As well as those who believe that the worlds need Valhan, or who profited from their alliance with the Raen before. They’ll want to help them.

  She could do nothing about any of that. Her task was to protect Qall. Let the Restorers take care of Dahli and his friends. At least this way she didn’t have to speak to Tyen again.

  Coming out of the place between worlds into damp air and near-darkness, she created a spark and looked around. She was in the city drains of Deeme. The rungs of a ladder gleamed invitingly in the light filtering from a drain nearby, but she ignored it. Before she’d left, she’d learned that it was possible to cross the city using these underground waterways. Walking through them, she not only avoided leaving a path to the apartment, she didn’t have to push her way through the crowded streets.

  Taking off her coat, she turned it inside out so that the patched and threadbare side was on the outside, and shrugged it back on. No matter whether she showed the “good” side or the shabby side, she didn’t belong here, but the patchy side was darker and blended with the surroundings. By keeping a watch for the workers’ minds, she should be able to avoid them.

  She soon discovered that her shoes weren’t as waterproof as they’d been when she’d bought them. Blackened from when she had arrived in a burning city of a world at war, they now allowed moisture to seep in. After walking through countless puddles, she couldn’t help but squelch at each step.

  She made it across the city without being seen or heard by drain workers. Reading the minds of the closest people above, she found an alleyway in which she could emerge with no witnesses. A pair of old women in threadbare clothes strode into sight as Rielle closed the hatch, but they concluded she was one of the local young homeless sizing up the drains as possible shelter for the night.

  “Not down there,” one advised as they passed. “Drainies will find you.”

  Rielle nodded and slunk away. She wound through more back alleys until she found a dark, empty corner in which to reverse her coat again. With the finer fabric showing, though with a few stains, rips and a charred hem from the journey marring it, she strode confidently through the main streets, taking a circular route towards the apartment she’d left Qall and Timane in. She sought out familiar minds in the room’s direction, and found none. Ignoring the landlady, she climbed the stairs and pushed through into the room.

  The dividers were gone. One of the beds had been pushed into a corner, but nothing else familiar remained. She froze, her heart suddenly racing, eyes searching for some clue to the reason for their absence. Where are they?

  “They moved,” a voice declared from behind Rielle.

  “Where?” Rielle asked, turning to face the landlady.

  The façade of a theatre Rielle recognised ran through the woman’s mind, but her face creased into a calculating expression. “They didn’t pay their last week’s rent,” she lied.

  “Well, I have no money for you,” Rielle replied. The landlady was eyeing her shoes, noting the dark water oozing from them. Pushing past the woman, Rielle descended the stairs two at a time, and emerged into the alleyway.

  She could not remember the way exactly, only the general direction. Night had pressed in as best it could against the bright lights of the theatre district by the time she reached her destination. Much of the water in her shoes had worked its way out too, leaving her feet merely damp.

  The façade of the theatre was as gaudy and bright as the woman had pictured. Painted wrought-metal vines appeared to climb up the wall. Tendrils twined around brightly coloured glass flowers, each lit by a spark. With no evidence of fuel or flame, Rielle concluded the illumination must be magical.

  Late arrivals for that night’s performance were hurrying into the building. Joining them, Rielle found herself in a crowded foyer. Attendants were selling last-moment tickets and ushering the audience through doors.

  “Ticket?” a voice said at Rielle’s elbow. She turned to find a pretty young woman with a very dark, heart-shaped face and green eyes regarding her.

  “I am here to join my friend, Timane,” Rielle told her. “My name is Elle.”

  “Ah!” the girl exclaimed. “Imani said you would arrive soon.”

  “Imani” was Timane’s new stage name, Rielle read. The girl beckoned and led Rielle through the crowd to a side door that, though ordinary, was being watched expectantly by several men and a few women. Seeking their thoughts, Rielle was amused to see Timane’s image in their minds, romanticised to improbable beauty. They were hoping for a glimpse of her, or a chance to sneak through the door and find her. Some did not know what they would do then; others had detailed plans—a few which Rielle was sure Timane would not like at all.

  The girl produced a key hanging on a chain around her neck, unlocked the door then secured it again when they had passed through, much to the fans’ disappointment. Through the wooden walls, Rielle heard the muffled sound of a bell signalling the beginning of the performance. Looking for minds in the audience, she learned that an act was walking onto the stage. The collective minds in the theatre move into a sympathetic, listening state as they absorbed the performance.

  The girl had taken Rielle up two narrow flights of stairs now. She climbed a third, panting slightly as they reached the top, then strode down a corridor to a door set into a curved wall. As she tapped on the door, Rielle sought minds beyond and found none.

  The door opened. Valhan stared balefully out at them both, but as he saw Rielle his expression brightened and Rielle wondered how she could have ever seen anyone but Qall.

  “Rielle!” he exclaimed, then quickly corrected himself. “Elle.”

  Rielle turned to her guide. The girl’s eyebrows had risen at Qall’s use of the different name, but she suspected nothing more than that “Elle” was a shortened version or a nickname.

  “Thank you,” Rielle told her. “I expect Timane is preparing for her performance.”

  “I’ll tell her you’re here during the first break,” the girl assured her. “Won’t be long.”

  As she walked away, Rielle turned to Qall, who stepped back and held the door open. The room inside was small and round, holding only a few chairs, a table and a shelf built into the curved wall. A circular staircase led up to the next level.

  “Our bedrooms are up there,” he told her. “Mine’s at the top,” he added smugly.

  She couldn’t help smiling. Valhan would have expected to have the highest one too. But Qall could not have inherited that from Valhan, she reminded herself.

  “Is there one for me?” she asked.

  “You’ll have to share with Imani.
I mean Timane.” He grimaced. “When everyone calls and thinks of her by that name, it’s easy to forget to use her real one.”

  Rielle moved to one of the chairs and collapsed into it, then began to peel off her shoes. “Do you have any food?”

  His expression became serious. “Yes. You’ve come a long way—and been gone a long time. Timane doesn’t eat beforehand. She gets too nervous.” He waved towards the shelf on which a few covered bowls were arranged, then moved to the door. “I have to help with the lighting for the show.” He opened the door then paused, bit his lip and drew in a quick breath. “Did you find her?”

  Rielle frowned, then a pang of guilt came as she realised he meant the Traveller girl she had left to find.

  “No,” she said truthfully. “I tried, but it was too dangerous to approach her. I asked Baluka to forward a message, but he could not do so either. In the end, it was a choice between delivering your message and risk bringing harm to them, or leave her ignorant but safe. I chose the latter.”

  “So they are safe?”

  “Yes.”

  She could say so truthfully. Dahli would not destroy what he might use to blackmail her or Qall. If Tyen succeeded in resurrecting Valhan, Dahli would not need to threaten the Travellers at all. At least, until he learns they protected Qall. But he won’t get the chance if Baluka manages to prevent the resurrection, or the Restorers defeat the Raen if he returns.

  Qall frowned then turned away and left the room, the door closing firmly behind him. Rielle paused, then opened the door and called after him.

  “Did you just read my mind?”

  He checked his stride, and didn’t turn. “No.”

  “Look at me.” He didn’t turn, so she started after him. “You did, didn’t you?”

  He stopped and though he turned he did not meet her gaze. “You would, if you were in my position.”

  “Qall …” she began. So much for saving him and Timane from needlessly worrying. She sighed and shook her head. “They are safe,” she insisted. “You can see that I believe it. As long as we don’t return. If Tyen succeeds the Restorers will deal with … the situation. From what I’ve heard, they would have won, previously.”

  He nodded. “I have to go.” Not waiting for an answer, he turned away and hurried down the corridor.

  Returning to their room, Rielle sat quietly, thinking over the whole fruitless journey. No, not entirely fruitless. Better that she knew the truth about Tyen. And Baluka. The Restorers couldn’t prevent another resurrection of Valhan if they didn’t know about it.

  She thought of Baluka’s request that she join them. I’d have agreed, if it wasn’t more important to make sure Qall is safe and becomes strong enough to defend himself. Though if Valhan did return, Qall might be better off remaining in hiding. They might be equal in strength, but Valhan had a thousand more cycles of experience. Together, she and Qall might defeat him. Not that she had any intention of confronting and fighting Valhan, but it was reassuring, at least, to know they could defend themselves if he found them.

  Rising, she went to the shelf and helped herself to some fruit and pastries. Though she’d taken Tarran’s advice, stopping to rest and eat more during her return journey, she had begun it already worn out from travelling and the tension of tracking Dahli to Tyen’s workshop. She ate hungrily.

  Not long after she had finished, muffled steps sounded beyond the door, then it opened and Timane strode in. Rielle rose in time to be wrapped in the sleeves and skirt of a voluminous dress, and received a kiss on her cheek from a head that emerged from beneath a feathered headdress.

  “Elle!” Timane exclaimed. “You’re back at last!”

  “Yes,” Rielle agreed, backing out of the tiers of fabric carefully so as to not tear them. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

  Timane dropped into a chair and began fanning herself. “What happened? Qall has gone monosyllabic again and he nearly mistimed the lights, so I’m assuming you brought news that he isn’t happy about.”

  Rielle grimaced. “I couldn’t reach his family. They were being watched. It was too dangerous to approach them.”

  “Ah.”

  “I learned that Dahli is trying to resurrect the Raen using a new body. Or rather, Tyen is. They’re working together.”

  “Oh! Tyen? But you and he …?”

  “Yes.” Rielle gritted her teeth. “He let me think he agreed with me that the worlds were better off without Valhan. He knows Valhan wanted me dead too.” She shook her head. “I wonder why he bothered to help me rescue Qall when he was a boy, when he was on their side after all.”

  “Perhaps he changed his mind.”

  “Something must have.”

  “We are a long way from the worlds that knew of the Raen,” Timane pointed out. “If they use another body, Qall will be safe, won’t he?”

  Rielle shook her head. “Do you think Valhan would be content knowing a sorcerer as powerful as he, who looks like him, still lives?”

  Timane’s mouth formed an “o.” She shook her head vigorously. The gesture was so uncharacteristically dramatic, Rielle couldn’t help but smile. She thought of the girl’s bouncing steps as she’d entered the room. Life as an actor and singer was shaping her into a more expressive, confident person.

  “What can we do?” Timane asked.

  “Stay far away from the Raen’s worlds,” Rielle told her. “Train Qall so that if Valhan finds us, we can unite to fend him off.”

  “Or kill him.”

  Rielle paused, then nodded. “If he forces us to.”

  Timane looked down at the floor, her gaze far behind the boards.

  “Qall has to start training again.”

  “Yes.” Rielle drummed her fingers on her knee. The sooner Qall can change his appearance, the better. She must put aside her worries that he was too young to become ageless. To the Travellers, he was an adult, ready to be trusted with adult responsibilities. If he did something foolish out of youthful ignorance? She gave a mental shrug. If he did, it was unlikely to kill him. He was strong enough to make mistakes and survive them.

  However, learning to pattern-shift took a long time and required isolation. She’d have to find a world rich in magic with no occupants who would be affected if all magic was used in the process. She’d have to hope no hunters came upon them in the middle of—

  “Rielle?”

  Looking up at Timane, Rielle realised she’d been silent and lost in thought for quite some time. “Yes?”

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. Just … enjoy your new career,” she told the girl.

  Timane’s smile was wide and delighted. “Dell says I’ll probably move on to a bigger theatre in a few years,” she said. “Maybe even tour the local worlds.”

  Rielle smiled. Timane’s fame might eventually draw too much attention, but they would decide what to do about that when, and if, the time came. “If Tyen doesn’t succeed or the Restorers defeat the Raen, then one day you will tour all the worlds, singing to the most powerful leaders and tastemakers everywhere—including Murai.”

  “Oh!” Timane’s eyes widened, and she relaxed back in her seat, her gaze fixed on a distant future full of possibilities. “That would be wonderful!”

  CHAPTER 13

  Rielle was trying not to take it personally. Timane had observed that Qall had, slowly at first, then with growing confidence, become less reticent and more cheerful since Rielle had left. He’d been good company, helpful and even funny at times. Now, however, he was back to his old black moods and sullenness.

  Perhaps it was the training, Rielle reflected. She pushed him constantly. She pushed herself too. It was a challenge to recall Tarran’s lessons when she’d had little reason to use his battle training. She had never taken on the role of instructor of fighting techniques before, except to teach Timane some simple uses of magic for self-defence. If that wasn’t enough, Qall did not respond to lessons the same way she had, and she could not read his mind to help work out h
ow he would best absorb what he needed to learn.

  It also did not help when he didn’t bother telling her that he had already learned a particular point from the Travellers. Or he found the solution to a conundrum immediately, then grew impatient as she paused to consider how to make the exercise more challenging. Sometimes—like now—she made him go through the motions anyway, to prove that he did indeed understand the point of the lesson, as well as, she had to admit, to wipe the superior look from his face.

  “Again,” she said, restarting the sequence of attacks that had just defeated him.

  “Why?” he complained as he repeated the exercise. “I know this.”

  “There’s value in practice,” she replied. “Repetition allows us to act instinctively, without wasting time in analysis. Knowing something isn’t as useful as experiencing it. By running through an exercise several times, you may discover weaknesses or alternatives that you hadn’t foreseen.” She caught and held his gaze. “Dahli may be weaker than you, but he has experience gained over hundreds of cycles.”

  “It’s not always true that experience is better than knowledge,” he told her.

  “No? How so?”

  “It’s better to know of death than experience it.”

  She laughed. “Obviously.” As his defence failed again, he muttered a curse. “Again,” she said. He rolled his eyes.

  “So experiencing isn’t better than knowing,” he said as she started the sequence again.

  “I never said it was better. Just different. Are you smart enough to judge when it is better to know than experience?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it better now, in this lesson?”

  He paused, and a crease appeared between his brows. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know for sure until I needed the knowledge.”