Cascet of souls

CHAPTER 18. Brader

STARVING on the road had been hard on the whole company, but their stunning degree of success here in Rhiminee carried its own burdens. Atre had hired scrim painters and a few servants, but he’d also set up a grueling performance schedule. Brader saw his family more onstage than he did in their quarters. Atre was in great demand among the nobles, too, and often disappeared after the night’s performance to entertain at private parties.

On the days the theater was dark, Brader took his wife and children away to find various amusements about the city-anything to get them away from the crowded house and the demands of the theater. In the markets they found necessities for the company, like pigments and cloth, toys, puppet and mummer’s shows to amuse the children, and dressmakers for Merina. The long months of deprivation had been hard on her, and he was happy to buy her the pretty things that made her so happy. Good food and a proper roof over their heads had put the roses back in her cheeks and the children’s, too. He didn’t ever want them to suffer like that again. If only Atre could be content here, and live quietly. Sometimes Brader wished he could pack up his family and leave the company, setting up somewhere to herd cattle, as he had as a boy, before Atre had lured him away to this traveling life. How many years had it been? He’d lost count. He’d forgotten what his mother’s face looked like.

He’d had other wives and other children, and walked away when he had to, but Merina was different; leaving her and

the children would be like cutting out his own heart. And so he couldn’t leave Atre, either-the man his children called uncle, as others had before.

Returning from such a day out, Brader found Atre in the room with the bucolic murals that might have served as a salon in the past, but was now a practice space. He was helping the twins with their tumbling skills, and laughing with them as they flipped backward and walked on their hands in their loose-fitting leggings and tunics. They were playing mischievous spirits in the play opening the following week. They adored Atre and lived for his praise.

“Excellent! Outstanding!” Atre cried. “You’ll have the audience believing you can float and fly like hummingbirds at this rate. Ah, Brader, back so soon?”

“It’s going to rain,” Merina told him, kissing Teibo and Tanni. “Such hard work, you two! Now, children, I believe it’s your turn to practice with Uncle Atre. Run upstairs and change your clothes.”

Atre kissed her on both cheeks. “They are coming along well, too. They have their mother’s talent.”

“I should hope so!” Merina laughed as she followed her children upstairs.

“Can we go now, Master Atre?” asked Teibo.

“Yes, go have some fun. You’ve earned it. Just be ready for practice tomorrow morning.”

“We will!” Tanni said as she followed her brother from the room, already pulling off her sweat-soaked tunic.

When they were alone, Atre looked closely at Brader. “You’re looking weary, cousin, and I see some lines around your eyes.”

Brader nodded, resigned. “Yes, it’s time.”

“Tonight, then, after the show.”

Atre was changing into fresh clothing when Brader came to his room that night. “You’re going out again?”

Atre went to the mirror and pulled his long auburn hair back with a ribbon that matched his embroidered black coat.

“Yes, Duke Laneus invited me to a drinking party he’s having tonight. Tanni is coming with me. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No.” Brader frowned, not liking the idea of the impressionable girl in such company. “Does her father know?”

“Zell doesn’t mind. Why should you?” Atre replied with a shrug. He appraised Brader’s reflection in the mirror. “You go too long between these days, cousin,” he scolded. “It makes things noticeable.”

“And you do it too often,” Brader said, weary of the perpetual argument. “You’ll start to look like Teibo if you’re not careful. The night of the opening I noticed Lord Seregil and Lady Kylith staring at you all evening.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know what I’m doing. It’s your own choice to starve yourself.” Going to the wardrobe, he moved a few hats aside on the upper shelf and took down a battered leather case. Setting it on the dressing table, he unlocked it and took out two glass phials sealed with cork and wax incised with a circle of tiny symbols. The contents were milky and one of the phials clinked as he handled it, the child’s clay marble he’d used to make the elixir knocking against the glass.

“There you are,” he said, giving it to Brader.

The tall man gazed at it a moment, his expression a mix of regret and revulsion, then broke the seal and quickly downed the contents. The effect was slight, not even eliciting a shudder as some of the stronger ones did, but those were risky. And addictive. Brader had given them up years ago.

Atre inspected him closely. “One more, I think.”

The second phial contained a tiny bow made from faded blue ribbon; it looked a bit like a butterfly. It made Brader think of Ela, and he did shudder as he drank this one, but not because of the magic.

“That’s better. Life was easier before you grew a conscience,” Atre remarked with a smirk.

“When did you lose yours?”

Atre emptied the marble and ribbon into the rubbish basket among the fruit peelings and candle ends, then replaced

the empty phials in the case, and the case in its temporary hiding place, the one Brader knew about.

Brader watched, his face sad and devoid of the old hunger. It made Atre want to slap him. There had been a time when his cousin relished these draughts as much as Atre did. Now he pulled a sour face every time. Just as Brader’s brother Van had, before he’d given up and left them. Perhaps that was when Brader’s regrets began?

“We’re running low, my friend. Time to hunt again. Unless, of course…” Atre went back to the wardrobe and took out the special jewel casket, setting it on the bed between them. Taking the little key from his purse, he opened it and drank in the sight of all those jewels with all their shining threads of life attached. He held up a ring labeled KYLITH. There were so many threads that it looked more like a gently wavering nimbus of light, though Brader could not see it.

“Ah, dear cousin. Think how many precious little ones could be spared with just one draught made from this lovely bauble,” Atre teased.

Lady Kylith was indeed a fine prospect, now that he didn’t need her money anymore-so many years, so many connections. Where a slum child might share the threads with a few family members no more potent than the child was, the nobles were thick with them, part of the great net of life that he and Brader supped from. It was like comparing a moldy crust with a banquet. He ran his finger through the other jewels, admiring the combined glow that issued from the casket. His mouth fairly watered at the thought of all that accrued life force, all that power. And these weren’t even the best ones. Those he kept hidden away even from Brader.

They’d taken a few powerful souls in Mycena-a few too many, as it turned out-but nothing to rival the potential he was reaping here in the Skalan capital, itself a nexus of great power. Even a noblewoman of modest rank like Kylith would be a veritable feast, and so generous with her little gifts, as were so many of her kind, ready to lavish a little something on the lapdog actor.

And he’d captured one of the greatest possible prizes. He smiled as he glanced down at Elani’s ring.

Brader sighed. “Take care, Atre, for all our sakes.”

Atre and Tanni rode in a hired carriage to Duke Laneus’s villa. The house was in Ruby Lane, at the heart of the Noble Quarter. Tanni, looking older in her silken gown and upswept hair, was fidgety and excited. This was her first time entertaining at a noble’s house.

A servant ushered them in and led them to the duke’s opulent salon. Atre had half expected to see Seregil and Alec among the guests, knowing that they were the duke’s friends, but they weren’t there. Laneus, Marquise Lalia, Duke Malthus, Duke Zymir, Duchess Nerian, and a fat, bluff man introduced to him as General Sarien sat on couches set up in a wide circle, drinking wine and eating nuts and fruit. Shells and peelings littered the floor.

“Ah, here they are!” Laneus exclaimed as Atre and Tanni came in. “Master Atre, it’s good of you to come.”

Atre bowed. “We are honored, Your Grace.”

He and Tanni performed scenes from several plays, and were rewarded with small gifts and much applause.

“Wonderful!” Duchess Nerian exclaimed, giving Tanni her silk and ivory fan.

“I told you they are the best in the city,” said Duke Laneus, gifting Atre with a fine gold chain.

“You weren’t exaggerating their skills,” the general said, eyeing Tanni in a rather unpleasant way. “Pity the trials of war have kept me so busy as not to see them in the theater.”

“Are you home from the front, my lord?” asked Atre, interested to meet another powerful personage.

“Oh, no,” the general replied. “I’m the Protector General, second to Prince Korathan himself in the defense of the Palace and city. This is my front in the war.”

“Please, go and refresh yourselves in the kitchen,” Laneus told the actors, as if it were an honor rather than the treatment one would give to a mountebank or tradesman.

Atre covered his annoyance with another smile and allowed a servant to lead them to the back of the house, where

the cook, to her credit, offered them a very fine venison pie and excellent wine. Still-in the kitchen!

While they were eating the cook and her scullion took their leave for the night, leaving them alone. Atre saw a chance and took it.

“You stay here,” he told Tanni, patting her arm. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just to look in on our host and thank him for this fine repast.”

He gave her a wink and retraced his way to the salon. Finding the corridor deserted, he put his ear to the door.

“I don’t mean to offend, Malthus, but I begin to doubt your faith,” the fat general was saying.

“Just because I won’t go along with out-and-out murder?” Malthus replied. His voice was soft, but the actor could still hear the anger that edged his words. “Tell me, my friends: are we seriously contemplating that?”

Atre’s eyes widened. This was not at all the sort of conversation he’d expected. He held his breath and put his eye to the thin opening between the door and frame. Malthus was on his feet, pacing, while the others sipped their wine.

“A quick slice makes for the most successful surgery,” Duchess Nerian noted, swirling the wine in her cup. “We can’t simply ask Phoria to step aside, now can we?”

“And then there’s Elani to be dealt with, after that,” Duke Zymir said. A chill ran up Atre’s spine, thinking of the gracious young girl. If anyone was going to claim her life, it was going to be him! Anything else would be a ridiculous waste.

“Not if she were to have an unfortunate accident or illness,” Zymir replied. “Now that they’ve chosen to attack Klia herself!”

“The message said it was Plenimaran assassins,” said Malthus.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” asked Laneus. “No, I think the battle has been joined.”

“I wonder if an assassin could breach the Palace?” said Marquise Lalia.

“Perhaps that Rhiminee Cat fellow?” Sarien suggested. “By all reports the man can break in anywhere.”

“He’s no assassin, as far as I know.”

“But this is ridiculous!” Malthus objected again.

“You want Klia on the throne as badly as any of us, don’t you?” asked Laneus.

“Yes, of course, but-”

“Then don’t stand in our way.” That sounded like a threat, though the man’s cool smile never faltered. “But we do need someone close to her. Reltheus and Kyrin have Alaya in their snare. Perhaps one of the squires? Or-” He paused and turned to Malthus again. “What about that ’faie friend of yours, Lord Seregil, and his boy? Word is Elani is quite enchanted with them.”

“Seregil?” Lalia sneered. “I wouldn’t trust that wastrel with a half-sester piece. And he’s one of the greatest gossips in Rhiminee.”

“But he has excellent connections to the royal family, and Klia in particular. And you’ve always said there’s more to him than most people see, haven’t you, Malthus?”

Malthus sighed. “I don’t know. He’s on good terms with Korathan, as well, and if word ever got to the vicegerent about any of this-” He shook his head. “Let me think on it. And for the love of Sakor, leave off this talk of killing! I thought our purpose was to protect Klia from Kyrin and his lot.”

Just then Atre heard footsteps approaching from the front hall and hastily retreated to the kitchen before he was seen. Tanni was where he’d left her, bored and fashioning little shapes out of bread.

“Can we go now?” she asked with a yawn.

“Of course, my girl. Come and say your farewells.”

Atre made a point of conversing with her on the way back, to let Laneus and his conspirators know they were coming. He suspected neither of their lives would be worth much if the nobles knew what he’d heard.

Back at the house in Gannet Lane, Atre saw Tanni to the room she shared with her brother. Going up to his own chamber,

he pocketed a few items from the box hidden in the wardrobe, took the battered leather box down from the shelf, and slipped out again, unseen.

The small, plain room smelled of damp earth and contained only the few things Atre needed. He locked the low door behind him and set the lantern on the table in the middle of the room. Its light reflected off dozens of glass phials carefully arranged in tall racks against the far wall. Most of them were empty now. The old clay bottles, inherited from Atre’s mother with her power, had long since been broken or lost in their frequent escapes. The glass ones suited his purposes much better; you could see what was inside.

Atre went to the corner farthest from the door and pried out a loose stone from the wall. In the space behind it was a small iron box. Carrying it to the table, he unlocked it and lifted out the ancient necklace it contained. It was made of human finger bones strung on a rawhide thong made of human skin, or so his mother had told him when she taught him the magic. It was what she believed, and he had no reason to doubt her. Traces of the black designs that had been scratched into the bones still remained, but they were worn smooth at the ends from long use. He hung it around his neck, selected six empty phials, and stood them on the table. He began with the plain box under the table; opening it, he scooped up six items at random: a broken penknife, a carved walnut, a clay marble, a piece of red glass, and two tiny braids of hair. Squinting, he examined the faint glowing threads that emanated from them-no more than a few on any of them. A man could starve to death on such fare, if there weren’t so much of it to be had. These required the full curing time to get the good out of them. He placed each one in an empty phial, then pulled the carefully labeled chain Duke Laneus had given him tonight from his pocket and contemplated it, sorely tempted after the insulting supper in the kitchen.

With a sigh he squatted down and unlocked the larger, fancier casket under the table, adding the chain to the small collection of fine jewelry it contained. He held his hand over it

for a moment, and a shiver went through him at the power there. It took considerable will to lock the box again and push it back under the table. What mischief he could make with these! From what he’d gleaned from his eavesdropping, Reltheus and Kyrin were part of a plot against Princess Klia, one opposed by Duke Laneus and his friends. And were Laneus and the others really planning to kill the queen herself, as well as the princess royal? Another possessive frown creased his brow at the thought.

Rhiminee was certainly one of the more interesting places he’d been. He hadn’t seen this much intrigue since the time he and Brader had spent in Zengat. It could be quite lucrative, if you were cagey and backed the right side.

He wasn’t ready for the so-called plague to manifest itself in the better wards just yet. Not that it had to, of course. The stronger the life force on an object, the less seasoning it took to create the elixir, especially if you were willing to sacrifice some potency for the sake of timing. But timing of another sort had to be considered, as well. It wouldn’t do for their host to die the very night Atre had been with him. That sort of thing could get a man in trouble, as Brader would have been happy to point out if he knew Atre was having these kinds of thoughts again. As if Atre hadn’t learned a thing or two over the years!

Resisting temptation, he set about preparing the poorer items, which needed days to leach out their meager power. He filled the phials from the waterskin and corked them. Then he lit the thick tallow candle on the table from the lantern and used it to melt dark green sealing wax over the top of each bottle, coating the cork and the neck. When they were cool he incised the proper markings with a copper stylus that had been his mother’s-all but one symbol, the central one. Holding a hand over each bottle in turn, he spoke the words of power. Faint light glowed inside each one for an instant as each soul was drawn in. Six more little sleepers in the slums.

He placed the phials carefully into the rack and locked the necklace away. Then he selected a matured elixir from the rack; he could just make out a crude, blue-glazed bead

through the milky liquid. Such beads were supposed to ward off evil, he’d been told. He smiled as he broke the seal and swallowed the contents, careful to leave the bead in the bottle. The elixir tingled across his tongue and down his throat, leaving a bitter, metallic aftertaste like blood in his mouth. The little life force swirled through him, and he sighed at the sensation.

It wasn’t enough.

He drank another, and another, then stopped himself with an effort, hands shaking. Not enough.

Teeth clenched, he selected a dozen of the matured elixirs and slid them into the padded pigeonholes in the leather box, then replaced everything as it had been and took his leave, locking the door carefully after him.