A Rose In The Wind: A Saga of the Halmae -- Updated June 19, 2014

[Gideon Jones]

After the last update I went back and read 'Welcome to the Halmae'. I'm done now.

Wow.

This is so much more wonderful now. Congratulations, you guys.

 

[Ilex]

20x03

Trusting that Rose was as safe as she could reasonably be back in Lord Ono's office, Mena felt free to take the lead as the party raced into the depths of the Inquisitorial House, toward the dungeons.

She had time to remind herself of the stakes they were facing: the alarm in the dungeons had undoubtedly been caused by Tidesmen. And those Tidesmen had been sent, no doubt, by the Mother Superior of Cauldron to discover if her nephew, Kawazu, was a prisoner. If they returned to her with information that Kawazu was, indeed, being held here by the Inquisition, the Mother Superior would use her great political power to shut down the Inquisition's investigation into the Tide. Thus, if any intruders so much as catch sight of Kawazu, Mena realized, then we cannot allow them to leave here alive.

Somehow she managed to sigh despite running at breakneck speed, leading the party down yet another staircase.

Just when we're having a glimmer of a good week, her mind whispered. No, just when I've been having more fun visiting Ehktians than I have any right to, the enemy moves. Sedellus moves, thirsty for a blood tribute… and I must oblige her, this time, before our enemies oblige her more…

Mena clattered down the last narrow stone staircase, noting in passing an arrow slit in the left-hand wall that led into the dungeon beyond. Then the staircase turned left abruptly and the dungeon itself opened up below her: from where she stood, the stairs marched down the right-hand wall to the floor of the room. In the far wall was another dark door leading to an even lower level. In the middle of the room were three pits, each containing a cage on a chain that could be raised and lowered by a system of gears on the ceiling and handles on the wall. The tops of the cages were meant to be flush with the floor, but the first cage was already nearly up and rising fast.

Around it stood three men swathed in black, faces covered, who wheeled around to face Mena as she arrived at the top of the stairs. A fourth black-clothed man turned the crank that raised the cage.

Three dead guards lay on the floor nearby, their throats cut.

Mena's gaze took in all this in a heartbeat as her eyes swept the room. In the next heartbeat, enough of the cage became visible for the four intruders and Mena to see that it was empty. Kawazu was in one of the two remaining pits, apparently.

In the third heartbeat, the crank-turner jumped to the handle for the next cage, two of the three figures below spread out warily, raising knives and throwing stars, and the final figure let out a battle cry and raced across the room toward Mena.

Foolhardy boy, Mena thought, noticing him stumble in his enthusiasm. She took one more step, planted herself about halfway down the staircase, and set her feet in a firm stance. You're not getting past me, she resolved, allowing the dispassion of battle-focus to muffle her restless mind. Then Foolhardy Guy was upon her, whirling his knife—and missing her in his excitement. She hadn't even struck yet and he was already off-balance.

Arrows sang down on the two men in the middle of the room, catching one in the arm and nicking the other on the thigh—Nyoko had taken up a position at the arrow slit above and was keeping them pinned down.

"Pardon me, Mena!" called Tavi, and Mena didn't flinch as his whirling, flaming blade flew past her head and sliced a deep gash into poor Foolhardy, setting his clothes on fire, too. Then Arden slipped past Mena, danced past the flaming figure—who didn't even seem to see her—and stabbed him in the back. Foolhardy staggered up the stairs away from her and onto Mena's waiting sword. As he went limp, Mena pulled her blade free and kicked his body off the stairs. Exceedingly poor tactics, young man, she thought after him. You should have paid more attention to your teachers.

Unfortunately, the foolhardy one had not been alone—and his allies were far better at their jobs. The crank-turner continued his work, raising the next cage. A second man watched the cage intently to see what lay inside. A third man hurled a throwing star that took Arden in the neck; Mena saw blood gush as Arden staggered, dazed, fell off the side of the stairs, and hit the stone floor.

The second cage reached the floor's level, revealing a lump of rags—no, it was a human, gaunt, dirty, limp: Kawazu. He raised his face feebly and croaked, "Please, Lord, let me out of this hell." The second intruder peered at him just long enough to confirm his identity, turned, and darted for the stairs. If you get out, we're finished, Mena thought. Therefore, you three have just sentenced yourselves to death.

But the peering man moved with an acrobat's grace, leaping up three stairs in a bound, and coming for Mena low, under her guard, his dagger gleaming. She sidestepped perfectly and the blade missed her, but he was past.

Happily, Tavi was right behind Mena. Tavi spun, swung his flaming blade again, and connected. The man was wily, yes, but now also bleeding and on fire.

Then he met Twiggy, who cast a spell at him that caused him to bat frantically at the air around him as if attacked by an invisible hawk. Even as the effects of the spell faded, his face kept twitching oddly, and that's when Nyoko shot him from the arrow slit above. "Shrivel up and die, dog," Mena advised him. Her armor screamed in agreement as she raised her own sword through the flames and nearly cut his leg off. Wily Guy collapsed, unmoving, and Mena kicked his body to the floor to join Foolhardy's. Two down.

The Crank Guy, his job finished, had joined forces with the other remaining assailant. They were both moving warily toward the stairs, darting and dodging to avoid Nyoko's arrows. As they reached the foot of the stairs, Arden stumbled to her feet—and Cranky slashed her arm and finished with a kick that knocked her back to the ground. Mena winced sympathetically, then braced herself as Cranky weaseled up the stairs toward her. Her eyes tracked the gleam of his dagger and she beat it aside with her sword at the last second. She hadn't yet suffered so much as a scratch. Maybe training with the Ehktians hasn't been contemptible self-indulgence, she thought, suppressing an alarmingly cheerful giggle that suddenly threatened to bubble up.

On the floor below, the final intruder stabbed Arden in the back—to the hilt. It was a particularly bloodthirsty move, given that Arden was already kneeling, her eyes blank and confused. She pitched forward to the stone floor and didn't move. "Savina!" Mena called. She wasn't quite sure where Savina was—only Tavi and Twiggy had been on the stairs above her the last time she'd checked—but she hoped the healer was close enough to help Arden.

So now the last guy had a nickname, too. Hateful Bloodthirsty Guy Who Hits People When They're Down glared up the stairs and moved forward to join Cranky.

A whoosh and a rush of heat came from behind and above Mena, and she saw red flames reflected in the eyes of the two assailants on the steps below her. She knew that Twiggy must have ignited her flaming sphere in the doorway above, making escape even more difficult. Mena grinned, feeling crazier than she'd like but having no time to analyze it. Apparently feeling similar, Bloodthirsty Guy winked at her. Then he turned and raced down the stairs, across the room, and through the dark door at the far end, disappearing down those stairs to the lower levels.

 

[steeldragons]

-snip-

A whoosh and a rush of heat came from behind and above Mena, and she saw red flames reflected in the eyes of the two assailants on the steps below her. She knew that Twiggy must have ignited her flaming sphere in the doorway above, making escape even more difficult. Mena grinned, feeling crazier than she'd like but having no time to analyze it. Apparently feeling similar, Bloodthirsty Guy winked at her. Then he turned and raced down the stairs, across the room, and through the dark door at the far end, disappearing down those stairs to the lower levels.

GET HIM! Get the bahstahd!

Gods I do enjoy this SH. Well done, all of you.

 

[Ilex]

GET HIM! Get the bahstahd!

Your sentiments are a remarkably accurate reflection of our sentiments at the gaming table.

And thank you very much for the kind words!

 

[coyote6]

If you get out, we're finished, Mena thought. Therefore, you three have just sentenced yourselves to death.

See, I was thinking "three dead guards with slit throats" had covered that territory for them already. But then, I was always a fan of old school Kettenek.

 

[Jenber]

See, I was thinking "three dead guards with slit throats" had covered that territory for them already. But then, I was always a fan of old school Kettenek.

There's that. But as a Defier, Mena does generally prefer to avoid actually killing people to death if there's a viable alternative.

For the love of the gods, leave the woman a viable alternative.

 

[Ilex]

20x04

Surely there's not a way out down there... Mena thought, as the intruder she thought of as Bloodthirsty Guy disappeared into the darkness of the lower level.

Suddenly a man-sized shape swished through the air above her. It was Tavi. Lofted by magic, he flew above the stairs, above Cranky (who, although distracted by Nyoko’s arrows, looked suitably awestruck), and across the room to the other doorway. Tavi landed at a run and vanished after Bloodthirsty Guy into the lower levels.

That was something new.

From near the top of the stairs, Savina prayed and cast Consecrated Ground: warm blue light flowed from her hands in ripples and formed a glowing area with Arden at its center. Arden stirred, opened her eyes, took in the blue light around her, and then glared up at Savina. "You never just let me go," she growled. "Godsdammit. Again and again and again."

Wise woman, Mena thought, realizing that Arden's ingratitude was an attempt to keep her cover identity intact just in case Cranky did escape. She trusted that Savina would realize the same thing. To bolster Arden's effort, Mena barked back at her: "Godsdammit yourself, Arden. Get up off the godsdamned floor and pull your godsdamned weight." Arden staggered to her feet and tried a swipe at Cranky, who stepped aside almost disdainfully: it was clear that, while Arden was no longer in immediate danger of death, she was still far from well.

A blaze of flaming green light and some alarming clattering came from down the stairs where Tavi had chased Bloodthirsty.

Cranky seized the distraction to hurl a throwing star at Mena, and for the first time in this fight, Mena was hit. It was only a small poke in the scheme of things, but she felt a very strong, very Ehktian feeling of annoyance. She had been enjoying the idea that she would escape this entire fight unscathed after standing boldly in the thick of it the entire time—if that wasn't some kind of perfect accomplishment she wasn't sure what was. Now Cranky had ruined it, and she felt very, very . . . cranky.

Well, she thought, even if I can't have a perfect fight, I'll still bloody well have one with no loose ends.

"Ladies," she said, "let's end this man."

Twiggy unleashed an illusory ambush, causing Cranky to clap a hand to his head as if in terrible pain. Nyoko shot him in the ribs and the shoulder. Savina sent a lance of faith straight at his eyes, and Mena raised her sword and punctured him in the gut. He turned and staggered through the far doorway, down the stairs to the lower level.

Hmm, thought Mena, preparing to follow him, I hope Tavi's on his guard.

###

Tavi had raced down the stairs after the particularly bloodthirsty man into a room much like the one above, except here the cages were all raised and empty—and there was no door other than the one they'd come in. Tavi felt full of exaltation that his first flight in combat had gone so well: his new magical armor had functioned perfectly. Phoebe, of course, was even more excited, but she contented herself with spinning loops around Tavi's head, humming enthusiastically.

The other man wheeled, at bay, took in the sight of Tavi, his green-flaming sword, and the tiny gem-colored blur circling Tavi's head, and… grinned. A little crazily. Then he charged Tavi, pulling him into a grapple. As they struggled across the floor, bodies locked together, the man's dagger plunged into the shoulder joint of Tavi's armor and deep into the flesh beneath. As Tavi briefly lost his grip, the man dragged him sideways and slung him headlong into the pit beneath the middle cage. Tavi plunged into the darkness and hit hard.

Tavi! Tavi, are you all right?!

Fine. Just a little more bruised than I'd ideally prefer. Tavi glanced up and saw the man peering down at him. Phoebes, give me one second…

Tavi concentrated, cast, and teleported out of the pit, landing just behind the man.

"Hello," Tavi said, and as the man turned, Tavi swung his flaming sword in a perfect arc and cut into the man's side. The man somehow held his ground and slashed at Tavi with his dagger. He missed. His grin faded and he sighed audibly. Then Tavi kicked him into the pit. He hit hard, and the only thing still moving after that was the smoke curling up from his still-smoldering garments.

Behind Tavi came a frantic thumping, and the last remaining intruder came leaping down the stairs. Tavi turned, his blade flickering.

###

Mena watched Cranky vanish into the darkness of the lower level. There was a brief pause. Then: thump thump thump thump thump. Cranky came leaping back up the stairs, eyes wide with terror.

Behind him came the green-flaming blade, spinning of its own accord through the air. It took Cranky's head off.

Behind the sword came Tavi. He caught the sword as it returned to his hand and looked at the corpse before him. "I guess we're done here," he said.

As Savina hurried down the stairs to heal Tavi and Arden, and Twiggy extinguished her fireball from the doorway, a feeble voice asked, "Please, let me out? Please?" It was Kawazu, still in his cage. He was, Mena allowed, a piteous sight: all rags and filth.

Savina stepped closer to him. "I—I would feel sorry for you," she said. "I would. Part of me does. But you have caused so much suffering. A peasant girl died because of the heresy you promoted."

And with that, she turned her back on the cage. "We should lower him back down," she suggested.

Tavi did so. Savina, meanwhile, healed Arden fully. As she helped Arden to her feet, Arden said, "Thank you for that, Blessed Daughter. Sincerely."

They went back up the stairs.

At the arrow slit, they collected Nyoko, and at a landing a few more steps up, they found Kormick slouching against the wall with a couple of guards, all laughing and taking turns pulling on a flask. "Well fought," said Kormick, wiping his lip. "These fine gentlemen and I were lying in wait here in case any of those intruders escaped your clutches. Truly! We were in no way merely loafing around and drinking!"

Mena lifted a skeptical eyebrow, but Kormick smiled in that disarmingly charming way of his. "Dame Mena, Dame Mena, do I lie? I never lie. It was tactics. I was keeping close tabs on the action. Regardless of what these fellows here may or may not have given me a sip of, I would have walloped any of those malefactors had they gotten past the fearsome yet strangely attractive roadblock that was you. Which, I observed with pleasure, they did not."

Mena smiled. "No, Justicar," she agreed at last, "they did not."

 

[ellinor]

21x01

Lord Ono rushed past Twiggy, disturbing the acrid, fetid air on his way down the stairs into the dungeon, now strewn with the bodies of the black-clad intruders. Tidesmen, surely. Beyond that, they knew nothing: Who were the attackers? Whom did they report to? How did they know to break into the Inquisition? What did they know? How did they get in?

“This is not good,” Lord Ono was muttering, “not good at all.” Twiggy couldn’t agree more. Or—well—it could be worse. They had prevented any of the intruders from carrying word of Kawazu’s incarceration and confession back to the Mother Superior. And now there were several fewer Tidesmen in the world. So…maybe a little bit good. Has my study of Go made me stony, unfeeling? Twiggy immediately rebuked herself for thinking that any number of dead people was in any way good.

But . . . it is good, interjected Acorn.

That doesn’t mean I’m supposed to think it is, Twiggy retorted.

Sometimes you don’t make any sense, Chelesta, sighed Acorn, and burrowed deeper into the folds of Twiggy’s robe.

Lord Ono was pacing, examining the bodies, hunching over and then standing again, muttering to himself. “ . . . might be familiar, but no . . . all black . . . nondescript weapons . . . nothing to go on . . . who let them in here . . . how many . . . would try Speak with Dead, but that would mean using Yudai . . .”

“Excuse me,” piped up Savina, “but who or what is a Yudai?”

“Yudai-san is a Prime Inquisitor, and the only Inquisitor I would trust to cast Speak with Dead on any of these perpetrators. That’s the only way we’ll get any real answers. But Yudai-san led the original Inquest into the Hillside District heresy, and I am still not certain whether . . . where his sympathies lie.”

Savina shivered a bit. “Speak with Dead. It sounds . . . gross. But I know of Sisters who can do it, and I might be able to learn.”

Lord Ono perked up. “Truly? And you would be willing to try? That would be a relief . . . or at least it couldn’t hurt . . .” he returned to his reverie and his pacing. “Disposing of bodies. What to do, what to do.”

“Naturally, once young Savina has questioned them, you will throw them into your rat pit,” Kormick responded.

Lord Ono paced, lost in thought.

“You . . . do have a rat pit, don’t you?” Kormick added.

“Or maybe,” Twiggy found herself suggesting, “we should display their bodies publicly, to demonstrate how unwise it is to break into the Inquisition? We wouldn’t need to say anything about what they . . . did or didn’t find when they broke in.”

“Why, Lady Chelesta, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Kormick said, with a mock bow.

Twiggy pictured the dead Tidesmen as little black stones scattered among the white stones of their Inquest, and heard Ahiko-san’s voice in her mind. One must play moves that heighten the value of all previous moves.

###

WEEK FIVE | MONDAY

Nyoko sat crosslegged on the hard floor and watched the dance of Sedellus. Dancers’ heads turned at precise angles; their fingers flicked in an intricate pattern like butterflies set to music. The director, a lithe, taut man in his late 40s named Iwai, clapped in rhythm, stamping to emphasize the heaviest beats. Nyoko had watched the dance at over a dozen Ehkt’s Judgment festivals, and yet now, up close, it seemed almost impossibly complicated. Almost impossibly complicated, Nyoko reminded herself.

Iwai stopped clapping and scowled slightly at the dancers leaving the stage before turning to Nyoko and the beefy young Adept, Shun, who would be dancing the role of Ehkt this year. “You see?” he asked. “Just like that. But cleaner,” he added, with a tiny frown at the woman who had just performed the part Nyoko was to learn. Nyoko recognized the woman—her name was Unsuku. She was three years older than Nyoko, and she had selected dance as her specialty when she was much younger. She had danced the role of Sedellus in the previous year’s festival.

“You must dance with perfection,” Iwai informed Nyoko, with a clap. “Perfection. You must lead the amateurs in the roles of Alirria and Rikitaru, and must also dance your own role. No room for error,” he barked, clapping again for emphasis. “Alirria’s role is easy,” he continued, “and thus easy to lead. Mostly she lays about on a divan. But Rikitaru’s role must be led precisely, and you—” he motioned at Nyoko, “are very green. Let us begin.” He signaled for Nyoko to stand beside him. As Nyoko mimicked Iwai’s slow-motion movements, Unsuku swept out of the studio with a subtle, but unmistakable, jealous glare.

It slowly dawned on Nyoko that perhaps the sloppiness in Unsuku’s example had not been due to carelessness. It had, instead, been an intentionally flawed example. She’s not going to make it easy for me, Nyoko thought.

###

TUESDAY

Kormick stood near the open door of the dance studio, watching Nyoko perform the same leap over and over. He could not tell the difference between the leaps, but he knew that there must be some obscure Sovereign significance to the angle of the head, the curve of the toe . . .

Nyoko, breathing heavily, came to the door. “I would love to join you for a noon meal, Kormick-san, but Iwai-sensai insists that we complete this stanza.” She bent at the waist and leaned on her knees, her breath beginning to return. “He’s right. We have a long way to go, and this is a hard part.”

“Which are the hard parts?” Kormick asked.

“All of them,” Nyoko sighed back. “But you came here for a reason. What do you need?” Nyoko signaled to the dance teacher that she’d be taking a short break, and she and Kormick retreated to a quieter corner.

Kormick leaned in. “I’ve been asking around a bit about finding prostitutes—investigating how one might gain access to one of those Indulgence parties—and all paths lead back to the Adepts. With many favorable reviews, by the way. I gather that some of the Adepts of this city specialize in erotic entertainment, and that a few of those are willing to work outside the confines of this compound here, although it’s not exactly Adept policy.”

Nyoko nodded. “Your information is accurate.”

Kormick crossed his arms. “So how is it, exactly, that I have been in this city for over a month, and no one got around to telling me that I’m living just blocks away from one of the places with the best sex-for-hire in the Halmae?”

“I assumed you knew.”

Kormick left the dance studio with a list of names in his notebook, a veritable catalog of Soveriegn propositioning etiquette in his head, and a smile on his face.

###

WEDNESDAY

Arden gave a furtive glance to the left and right and slipped her hand, softly, under the flap of Kormick’s cloak, drawing out a small leather pouch and pocketing it under her tunic. She glanced again. Did anyone see? There weren’t many patrons at the Inn of Agreeable Company, but it wasn’t the patrons she was worried about. It was the barman—a known Tidesman—who concerned her. He might have seen.

Kormick finished his drink and called the barman to the table to settle the bill. He felt around in his pockets, and then felt around again. “That’s my gold, missing.” He pulled another pouch from another pocket with a conspicuous grumble. “That had better not be you, slave. You don’t want me talking to the authorities about you, do you? …Or the Blessed Daughter?”

Arden gave a sullenly defiant shrug. “I didn't do anything. You don't have anything to tell her.”

“Don't I?”

Arden modulated her voice, adding a touch of fear to the defiance. “Come on, Justicar. Please not her.”

The barkeep smiled.

Outside, Arden tossed the pouch back to Kormick and he clapped her on the back. “We make a good team,” he said. “I think he took the bait.”

Arden's back was still sore, but she didn't care—Kormick's gesture made her smile. Their artifice was working. She was gradually gaining the positive attention of known Tidesmen. But—on a team with a Justicar. Stealing from a Justicar. Wanting to get caught. She was living it, and it still barely made sense.

###

THURSDAY

“And the finals of last year’s Ehkt’s Judgment Trials were played on this very board?” Twiggy mused. She was staring at the white and black pebbles before her, barely conscious of the Adept sitting across the board. This was their second match; the first had been a slim victory for Twiggy that seemed far too much more like luck than skill. Now, the board was beginning to fill up, and too few of those few open spaces were good options for Twiggy.

“Yes. We Adepts study the details of that match to improve our skills. Lady Mochizuki’s understanding of thickness, her positional judgment, her balance between overconcentration and vagueness—are truly harmonic.”

Twiggy marveled that a few weeks ago she had thought those words meant entirely different things. Now she not only knew what each of them meant to Go players, but also why they were important. She also knew that, although she could reliably prevail in most matches at many of the city’s Go parlors, her own skills were . . . less than harmonic. Twiggy read the board before her, playing the next few moves in her head. If her opponent played predictably, the match would be decided in seven, and not in Twiggy’s favor.

“I concede,” Twiggy sighed. “Would you mind running through those moves from last year?”

###

FRIDAY

Tavi stood on a five-foot-square platform raised a foot off the floor, opposite his opponent—a middle-aged Keeper of the Flame wearing loose-fitting pants and no shirt. Tavi concentrated and cast a spell that would push his opponent backward, but he couldn’t hold it. His feet were slipping back, as if the platform were covered in oil. Tavi stumbled, but recovered his footing. With a flick of the wrist, he cast, and flame burst from his arms, licking at his wrists like gauntlets. He lunged forward.

“Whoa!” His opponent yelped, as he jumped back to avoid the flames. “No contact! Remember, this is arcane wrestling.”

The pair hopped off the platform. It was such a relief to spar again—a welcome break from the political intrigue—and he quite enjoyed this “arcane wrestling.”

Tavi’s sparring partner returned and handed Tavi a cup of water. “No contact, but you should do that flame gauntlet thing at the Trials. Lots of guys have distinctive costumes, and flaming wrists would sure make a statement. You . . . will be arcane wrestling at the Trials, won’t you?”

Tavi chuckled. If ever there were a sport made for him, it was arcane wrestling. In fact, as he looked around the room, he observed that the Trials fit his family perfectly. Rose was over by the wall, standing on a narrow ledge as practice for the endurance events; Mena was in the corner, discussing the history of Sovereign physical wrestling with another Keeper as they rested between practice bouts; Twiggy was back at the Adept House, immersing herself in Go.

“Yes—I think I’ll be competing in the arcane wrestling Trial,” he smiled.


SATURDAY

Savina peeked over the edge of the scroll. The body of the leader of the Tide attackers lay at her feet, on a slab of white stone. The room, in a dark corner of the house of the Inquisition, was dark, stone-walled, with no windows. Savina’s throat felt tight against the close air. Over the past several days, she had planned for this: she’d read the scroll over and over; learned the proper inflections and procedures; formulated the three questions that she would ask if the ritual worked. When she read the ritual words, she would make the body speak. “Like healing,” Tavi had said, but Savina knew he didn’t mean it. The ritual would make the body speak, but could not make it live.

This was nothing like healing.

Savina squeezed Rose’s hand for support, and began to chant. Her voice echoed strangely. She was accustomed to singing outdoors, at dawn. But she said the words . . . and nothing happened. It was still just a dead body on the floor. How would she know it worked?

“Go ahead, ask the questions,” said Tavi.

Savina took a deep breath. “Who let you in to the House of the Inquisition?”

The body’s mouth moved, but it spoke without affect or inflection, its face without expression. “A door was left open. I do not know who opened it.”

“Whom were you to report to, when your mission was done?” Savina asked.

“Lord Bunjuru.” A name Savina had never heard before.

“Identify all of the members of the Tide that you are aware of.”

The body began reciting names; Kormick wrote them down. Savina did not even hear them as she backed away, leaned against a wall, and listened to the blood rushing in her ears.

 

[Seonaid]

I love these characters so much.

 

[ellinor]

21x02

WEEK 6 | MONDAY

Arden sat with a few other servants on a narrow bench near the entrance to the kitchen and watched Savina move among the partygoers. Savina had found her niche, it seemed: listening to the daily crises of Cauldron’s gentlepeople. The Blessed Daughter had even become somewhat of a matchmaker; in only a month, Savina had learned enough about the guests at this party to know which of them were single, which would be well-matched, and which would do better standing at opposite ends of a long room. Savina flitted from guest to guest, chatting, listening, and only occasionally meeting anything but a warm response. How many of them, Arden wondered, think she beats her slave, and how many of them don’t mind?

Suddenly, Arden heard a woman’s voice just behind her head. She turned, slightly, but turned back when she saw that the woman was already looking at her: it was Shen, the target of Arden’s subterfuge. Shen was the chief butler of Lady Oroko Yumi, an important Peer. Oroko Yumi was known to be sympathetic to Pantheists; in contrast, Shen was a known member of the Tide. If I've gotten her attention, Arden thought, now I have to hold it..

As Shen joined her, Arden slid to make room on the bench. “You seem to be sitting more comfortably,” Shen began.

“Should I not be sitting comfortably, ma’am?” Arden replied.

“One hears things.”

Arden shifted her tunic. “It is not my place to speak of sitting comfortably.”

Shen looked Arden in the face. “How short is your leash?” she asked. “Would you be able to go out on your own, some evening?”

“It might be possible to get away briefly…” Arden paused. “But why, ma'am?”

“I would like to discuss some matters with you. But some discussions are best had apart from . . . this,” the butler said, gesturing toward the party.

Arden felt a flush of success, but knew she had taken only the first of many steps toward gaining the trust of the Tide. If she has to work a little to persuade me, she'll believe me more. “You have to understand,” Arden objected. “I could get in trouble. I can't just—”

“Some risks are worth the reward,” Shen said, standing up. “Friday night. The Inn of Agreeable Company.”

As they walked back to the Inn of Comfortable Repose, Arden could tell: Savina knew that some of the other gentlepeople thought ill of her—she at least suspected what Arden was up to–and her feelings were hurt. For a moment, Arden felt bad. But the feeling subsided. Arden knew the real reason Savina was so upset: the girl prided herself in taking care of her possessions.

And whatever ill effects Arden’s machinations had on Savina, they didn’t seem to harm the girl’s social status. As Arden and Savina arrived back at the Inn of Comfortable Repose later that afternoon, a small envelope awaited them. Arden peeked over Savina’s shoulder as she opened it. It was the message Savina had been working towards: an invitation from Lady Funaki Chinatsu, the head of the Peerage, to the banquet of the Peerage, to be held after the closing events of Ehkt’s Judgment. It was addressed to “Signora Savina di Infusino and guests.”

###

TUESDAY

Twiggy could walk the path back to the Adepts’ library in her sleep. At least once, she thought, she probably had.

It was afternoon, and the courtyard of the Adept House was the eye of a storm of skilled activity. As Twiggy strolled through, munching a rice ball, she listened. Through rice-paper walls, she heard swordplay from one room, music from another, the rhythmic pounding of pulp into paper from a third. A few doors down, she stopped to watch Nyoko train to dance the dance of Sedellus. Nyoko’s body was covered with bruises, some fresh, some yellowing—but as she danced the same passage again and again, her teacher seemed—as far as Twiggy could tell—pleased.

Twiggy was not alone in watching the dance studio. Another young woman stared, scowled, and strode away. Twiggy looked down and realized her rice ball was finished, and she was holding an empty leaf.

Time to return to the library, to maps of military battles, full of Xs and Os and lines and arrows. It had seemed a good idea at the time, she thought, studying the movements of actual historical military troops to better one’s performance at a game of military simulation—but it was not enough. “You are an excellent tactical player,” her most recent opponent had said, “but you don’t feel the board.” Twiggy sighed. It didn’t make sense. Go is a game of strategy and tactics. Where does feeling come into it?

###

WEDNESDAY

Tavi leaned back on the divan in the common room of the Inn of Comfortable Repose and pressed a cold, damp cloth against his eyelids. His head throbbed. Phoebe hovered over his shoulder. Still too loud, Pheebs, he thought.

What? I’m not saying anything!” His head felt like Phoebe’s voice was trying to escape from his brain, straight through his forehead.

Your hovering, Pheebs. Can you . . . hover quieter?

“Ah, yes, Tavi,” came Kormick’s voice from across the room. Tavi opened an eye, slowly. The room was too bright. Kormick was smiling. “I know just the thing.” He ducked out of the room.

Kormick reappeared a few minutes later carrying a bowl of thick yellow soup topped with chunks of dried seafood. It neither looked nor smelled appealing, but Tavi knew better than to doubt Kormick on the subject of hangover cures.

As Tavi ate, Kormick chatted. “Looked into this Aga Aki character we’re supposed to embarrass. Everyone agrees; he’s your basic upper-class twit. Son of the Governor, puts on airs, and so on. Cares a lot what high society thinks of him.”

Tavi nodded absently. The soup was not as disgusting as it looked, but that was a low bar.

“In any case, the twit should be at that Peerage party on Ehkt’s Judgment, right in view of everyone. That’s our best chance,” Kormick continued. “And you—what did you learn in your night of tavern-hopping with the Ehktians?”

“That they take tavern-hopping as a challenge, too,” groaned Tavi.

“And?”

“And that they have decidedly mixed feelings about Brother Soburu, the leader of the Ehktians in Cauldron,” Tavi replied. Whether it was the soup or the compress, he was starting to feel better. “At the beginning of the night, it was all about how Brother Soburu was an eloquent speaker and competent leader. By the end . . . he was ‘Brother Burnout,’ who cares more about preventing controversy and keeping the Ehktians out of the limelight than about being an Ehktian.”

Kormick paused. “I know I am new to the study of comparative religion, but trying to ‘prevent controversy’ doesn’t seem particularly Ehktian.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Well-done, kid,” Kormick chuckled and clapped Tavi on the back as he turned to leave the room.

Tavi closed his eyes again.

###

THURSDAY

Mena grimaced as a sturdy Ehktian woman pushed her to the mat. “Doesn’t it hurt?” Twiggy had asked, innocently, the last time Mena had described her wrestling training. It hurts, Mena thought, but I can take it. She stood up slowly, gingerly, and when she did, a cheer went up in the room. She pointed to the largest man in the room. “You next.” The cheer continued.

Another man walked into the room—a slight man, too young for the graying strands in his hair. Mena had not seen him before. As she wrestled the behemoth, the man watched, and as the crowd applauded Mena’s ability to stand for more than a few seconds, a frown grew across the man’s face. At the end, Mena pried herself from the mat and approached the man. “I am Brother Spark.”

“Brother Soburu,” he replied. “I have heard of you. I could hardly have avoided doing so. An Ehktian Inquisitor. It is quite . . . noteworthy.”

Finally, Mena thought. This is what we’ve spent all that time mingling with the Ehktians for. A chance to come to the attention of the Ehktian member of the Synod…

“I thank you for the opportunity to challenge myself here and to train for the Trials,” Mena said. Brother Soburu nodded, still frowning. “I hope you are not displeased.”

“Of course not.” He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the scars covering her hands and arms. “It is certainly your right to compete in the Trials. But be aware, there have been troubles in the past. Ehkt is not always so popular around here. It is best not to draw attention.”

Mena looked around. Dozens of eyes were on her. She had, at least among the Ehktians, drawn attention. “I understand,” she said.

Brother Soburu left. Mena took on her next opponent more . . . sedately.

###

FRIDAY

The summer sun set late. Arden crept out of the servants’ entrance to the Inn of Comfortable Repose, unseen. She stuck to the shadows. Soon, she found herself at the Inn of Agreeable Company.

Shen was there, with the barman from the previous week. “Arden. It is good you are here.” They offered her a bowl of meat in a thick, sweet sauce, and she accepted.

After some small talk, Shen became serious, her voice low. “You can speak freely among us. We have a great distaste for your Mistress and her godling. We sense you share our distaste. Were we right to seek you out?”

Arden settled her nerves. “You know my feelings about my mistress. As for the godlings, as you call them, I'll speak frankly. Alirria is a hypocrite, Sedellus is a bitch, and Ehkt is a toy for spoiled rich kids.”

“You do not speak of Kettenek.”

“If it weren’t for snow,” Arden said, “I would think Kettenek had abandoned the Peninsula. A world without justice terrifies me.” It was not a lie—none of it was—although her meaning was different from theirs.

“We seek a world of justice,” the barman said, “one step at a time. We could use someone like you, with eyes in this cadre of saint-worshippers.”

“If I helped you,” Arden asked, “could you protect me?”

“Your position has value to us. We would do all we could.”

“And you really believe there’s hope of justice in the world?” Arden asked, her voice quiet.

“Come with me,” said Shen, and Arden did. They walked to an alley and sat in darkness for a time. Then a door opened. Shen pointed to it. “Inside that door is a den of Sedellus. They call it a temple.” She spat. “They make great profit from gambling.”

A fat man walked out, carrying a fat purse. Shen nudged Arden. Arden knew what Shen wanted: a dead gambler in an alley; a ruined symbol of Sedellus. But Shen didn’t have to know that Arden had figured that out. “You’re asking me to steal his purse?” Arden asked, in her most innocent whisper.

“I am asking you to apply misfortune to the fortunate,” Shen replied, her voice cold.

Arden scanned the fat man’s face carefully and committed it to memory. Then she crept along the wall at a silent run, following the fat man. She darted out, knife at the ready, and lunged forward. Knife met purse-strings, and the bag fell. With a quick hand, Arden grasped it and disappeared again into the shadows. The man was poorer, and none the wiser.

Arden put a proud grin on her face, returned, and held out the purse for Shen to take. The purse was, as Arden suspected, not what Shen had been hoping for. But after a flicker of disappointment, Shen nodded, took the bag, it and tucked it into her robe. “There is more we can do.” Shen reached back into her robe.

Arden held her breath. When Shen withdrew her hand, it did not hold a knife, as Arden feared—it held a few pieces of gold. “Enjoy yourself with that,” Shen said, dropping the coins into Arden’s hand. “Quietly.”