Karalisel closes her eyes, which seems to help. “Shaped?” she asks. “Do you mean…?”
“Many people have crossed through this gateway over the years, and that’s made what we see here relatively stable. Except… those who have a reasonably good sense of direction sometimes believe, to a degree, that they must still be underground. So we’re left with this double effect, caused by the expectations of a few visitors and reinforced by anyone else whose intuition is inclined that way. Breath in and tell yourself: logically we can’t be in exactly the same place we were before. And imagine a late afternoon sky.”
Karalisel breathes in. Logic doesn’t seem particularly applicable, but she does try to imagine a late afternoon sky. And when she opens her eyes again, the stone ceiling is gone, replaced by an ordinary-looking sky that’s just a little darker than she pictured. “So… if we’re not in the same place we were before…?”
“This is the Aetheric Realm,” Avrios replies. “That’s the term we use, anyway. The ground we’re standing on, the air we’re breathing, the inhabitants we may meet… they’re all psychically altered versions of one substance.”
“Inhabitants?”
“They’re beings of pure psyche. But they can create physical forms for themselves out of the aether. Aetheric daemon is the general name for them. It's possible you've already met one. If the information given by our ward-net was correct, there was one present at the Duke’s Palace last night, while you were there. And…” Avrios says, now sounding slightly embarrassed, “I believe you noticed the replacement driver.” He continues talking quickly. “If we wait here quietly, we’ll probably be able to speak with one. Most likely a minor messenger - they’re often in the shape of birds, but all the same they’re usually quite conversational.”
The singer… Karalisel thinks, but doesn’t say anything to Avrios. She stands still, waits and observes, noticing the glittering light on the distant river, the murmur of leaves in the breeze, the smell of the grass, the solidity of the rocky ground beneath her feet. Now that the sky is behaving itself, the only hint of anything unnatural is the taste of the air, which seems pure and yet charged with energy. Paying attention while breathing deeply is like… drinking a thunderstorm? But a thunderstorm that I have complete control over? The thought doesn’t make much sense, but she’s content to keep noticing and breathing while they wait.
Farenthar’s reading is interrupted by footsteps. “Mostly bad news,” says the Duke. “I’m sorry.” He leans against the doorway that leads from his study to the smaller adjoining room where Farenthar has been waiting. “We’ve found the driver asleep in an alley behind a nearby tavern. He hasn’t been able to give a coherent account of how he spent the day. Unless he’s an exceptional liar, I’d say he was drugged… Or something else was done to him,” the Duke adds, glancing directly at Farenthar’s face for just a moment. “The carriage and horses were found in the northern quarter. No damage to the carriage, the horses were calm… but no hint about where the passengers may be. City guards are going door-to-door, looking for witnesses, but…” He shakes his head. “I can’t guess how long it will take to learn anything useful.” He straightens and steps into the room. “Here, I brought you this. A gift, since I assume that damage to your sleeve was done by my guards when they took you to the fortress.” He holds up a blue jacket. “It’s from my brother’s wardrobe - his clothes are going to be a much better fit for you than any of mine. I can’t remember ever seeing him wearing it.”
Farenthar puts the printed book of plays aside - such a luxury to read the parts without needing to decipher the handwriting of a rushed copyist - and glances first at his left sleeve and then at his right. He hadn’t even noticed the gap where the top of the sleeve has been torn out from its seam. Then he stands up and studies the Duke’s expression.
The Duke still looks unhappy and guilty, and so Farenthar takes the jacket without hesitation. “If you’re sure your brother won’t miss it. Thank you, sir. Is there anything I can do to help? If not… maybe I should go.”
“It’s late,” says the Duke, “and there’s a guest room here in the Palace being prepared for you. Also… I brought wine.” He keeps talking as he walks back into his study. “This seems like a… hopelessly inadequate way to apologise, but…” He returns, carrying a silver-plated tray with a pair of wineglasses and a bottle on it. “I’m led to believe that this is an excellent vintage, so that’s something I suppose.” After putting the tray down on a low table between the two armchairs, the Duke takes a corkscrew from his pocket and starts awkwardly uncorking the bottle - this is clearly a task he hasn’t had much practice at. “I’ve already promised you a favour, so… A bigger favour?” He finally gets the cork free, and then leans forward to fill the glasses, shaking his head and smiling as he does so. “Please ignore my gracelessness and lack of imagination. But please do tell me if there’s anything I can do for you.”
Is he overdoing the contrition? Is this an act to trick me into lowering my guard? Or perhaps it’s just that he’s had no more practice at apologising than he’s had at opening wine bottles.
“You’re already doing everything I’d ask for, sir, by sending your men to search for Ivaia and Karalisel.” Farenthar picks up a glass and sits down again in one of the armchairs. “But I do have a question. Earlier…” he says, gesturing towards the Duke’s study, “you reacted quickly. With detailed and precise orders to your guards. As if you’d already thought about how to deal with someone like me. Do you know anything about the sort of… abilities I may have?”
The Duke sits in the other armchair. “Nothing at all. Of course, there are folktales about wicked magicians who can enchant with a glance, but apart from them all I have is one long-held suspicion.” He raises the second glass and takes a sip of the dark wine. “My father, I believe, was an essentially good man. I think I’m qualified to say that, since I’m an essentially bad one. He never seemed to struggle to know the morally right choice or make it, whereas I’m always fighting the temptations of easy, pragmatic, ruthless solutions to anything frustrating. And whenever I start to hope my instincts are improving, I slip. Last night, today…” He shakes his head and drinks considerably more than a single sip of his wine. “And yet, I’ve never had an affair with a married woman or killed the man I’ve wronged in an unfair, unlawful duel. I was ten years old when my father did those things. I knew something of what was happening, and it baffled me. It baffles me now. Doesn’t fit. Apart from anything else, while all that was going on, he was also paying court to the lady who would become my stepmother. Whom he truly loved.”
Farenthar looks down at the wine in his glass. His thoughts briefly go back to that cell in the fortress. “Do you think that…?”
“The sensible explanation is that I was a naive child who grew into a cold-hearted man who doesn’t fully understand human desires and passions. And if there had only been the affair, I think I’d believe the sensible explanation. But that duel… My father was trained for war at the time. His opponent was ill and afflicted by old injuries. No matter how high tempers were or what insults had been spoken, my father should not have drawn his sword. It was murder. And I’ve wondered ever since.”
Farenthar finally tries the wine. He has little to compare the taste against apart from memories of cheap blends served by taverns. But the flavour of this wine is complex and lingering. It takes him another sip and a third to conclude that it's also beguilingly delicious, and he doesn’t want to drink much more in this man’s company.
“Someone who wanted to escalate the feud and weaken the city?” the Duke continues. “Or to get rid of Lord Haldizi in a way that would never be investigated? It’s always seemed far-fetched, and yet… I think it’s the worry that… if someone could turn my father into a craven killer, how much easier would it be to make me do something terrible? Just a little nudge…” The candles on the other side of the small room cast flickering shadows across the Duke’s face. He studies his nearly empty glass for a while, then reaches for the bottle.
“If my room’s ready, I think I should get some sleep. Long day. Thank you for the wine, sir, and the place to stay tonight. I’ll take my glass with me, if that’s all right.”
I could tell him that he’s being too hard on himself. That this city would be a much worse place if he was as villainous as he seems to think he is. But… how to say that without sounding presumptuous? I really don’t want to make him angry again. Best to leave quietly. He’s had a bad day, and he may be telling me more than he’d normally want to…
“Of course,” says the Duke. He puts the wine bottle down again and stands up. “I’ll send for someone to show you to your room. Good night.”
A few minutes later, Farenthar is following a pageboy who holds a candlestick to light their way through the corridors of the Palace. “Here, sir,” says the lad, stopping in front of a door. He unlocks it, then hands the candlestick to Farenthar. “There’s a bell-pull if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” Farenthar stays in the doorway, keeping the candle raised to give the departing pageboy some light as far as the corner of the corridor.
Then Farenthar steps into the room and finds a table where he can put the candle and his wineglass down. The Duke may want to see me tomorrow, to report on the search… What do I want to say to him? Now that I’ve seen him with his guard down - or at least, that’s what I think I’ve seen - do I trust him? He remembers the Duke’s tone as he said good night: weary, with perhaps a trace of disappointment?
I’ll sleep on it… he thinks, and looks for a chair so he can sit down and take off his boots.
On a bed in the opposite corner of the room, a pale-haired figure is lying, hands behind her head. She’s wearing a close-fitting version of the uniform of the fortress guards, but her feet are bare.
“There’s still a you,” the singer says in a low voice. She smiles, and starts to sit up. “I’m glad.”
It seems that almost an hour has passed, but the shadows haven’t lengthened. And there has been no glimpse of a bird, and not a note of birdsong.
Karalisel looks up. The sky is still bright enough for late afternoon, but there’s no sun amid the blue. It should be night by now. She glances at Avrios, who is frowning while he watches the horizon.
“I thought he’d never stop talking,” the singer says. She puts her feet on the floorboards and stands up, stretching her arms back. “But you’re finally here, and we can talk. Or not.”
“This seems… unfair.” I just want some sleep. “Should I bother asking who you are or how you got in here?”
“We were discussing bargains before we were interrupted,” the singer says, walking slowly towards Farenthar. “And his Grace has sent men searching… perhaps I could be of assistance. A clue to the location?”
“In exchange for what?” He takes a few steps back, towards the door.
The singer skips forwards, almost dancing, then stands on tiptoe to kiss Farenthar's lips, just for a moment. She rests the palms of her hands on his chest. “Tell his Grace to look further north. On the road outside the city. The exact place must be warded - I can’t be more precise right now. But perhaps… we could work together and learn more.” She slides her hands up, to the back of Farenthar’s neck.
She really is improbably alluring dressed like that... and with her hair cut like that, thinks Farenthar as he notices that the smell of wood polish and candle smoke has somehow vanished, replaced by no scent at all, just a sense that the air is filled with unfamiliar energy. But…
He takes hold of her forearms as gently as he can and steps back, out of her embrace.
“Who sent you?” he asks quietly. “Do they expect that I’ll be easy to seduce, because of what I do? Who I am? What I look like? I’m not particularly strong-willed, but I’d like to think I’m not that predictable. I could shout at you, call for the guards, throw you out… but that seems like the second most obvious thing for me to do. Why don’t you stay, but in the opposite corner of the room from me? And perhaps, if we talk seriously, without any more games, we could achieve something.”
The singer’s expression becomes blank for a few moments, and then she nods slowly. “Very well,” she says. “Serious talk. Where do you want to begin?”
A small patch of the ground in front of Karalisel blurs and darkens until it begins to look like a tunnel leading into the earth. Soon, the tunnel appears just as real as everything else in this place. It’s a circular shaft going directly downwards, with polished walls that resemble black marble. A figure rises into view from the tunnel - it could be a small, thin human hidden completely by a dark grey veil draped over its head. Dully glowing jagged blood-red lines move across the veil in irregular patterns.
The figure floats upwards until the top of its head is level with Karalisel’s. Then the figure bends forward slowly, as if bowing.
Should I say something? Bow in turn? What’s the etiquette in this place? Karalisel looks around at Avrios, hoping he will provide some hints.
Avrios has taken several steps back from the veiled figure. His eyes are wide. His right hand is gripped tightly around his left wrist, and his left wrist is closed into a fist, but this isn’t enough to hide how much both his hands are shaking.
Chapter Three
Karalisel:
Ivaia:
Farenthar:
The tanned woman stares at Ivaia. She looks as though she wants to speak, but can’t think of any suitable words.
“Don’t even bother trying to lecture me,” says Ivaia. “If you don’t like property damage, don’t kidnap people and lock them up.” She is startled by her own vehemence and impoliteness. But at least all the other people who have controlled and constrained me had some right to do so. “Tell me what’s happened to our driver and I’ll consider being a bit less troublesome. Maybe. I’m also extremely interested in hearing an explanation of what ‘aether’ means. And why you think I have anything to do with it.”
Immediately, Ivaia feels guilty. I should be asking about Zhulina. And making sure that Karalisel is all right. But she decides that guilt, as well as politeness, can wait until she’s received some answers to her first questions.
She remembers how badly dented the goblet looked after she threw it. I need to know that I’m not dangerous…
The tanned woman sighs. “Your driver is unharmed and well. He’s been found by the Duke’s men. You must come with us now - we need to get you out of this house. Please don’t try to resist. I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to realise that will be pointless. I’ll tell you something of what you want to know along the way.”
There’s an implied threat in the woman’s words, and it tempts Ivaia to keep causing trouble, just to be troublesome. Run back to that study and barricade myself inside using the furniture? But she decides there will probably also be opportunities for trouble after she’s heard whether the woman has anything interesting to say. “I don’t think you’ve introduced yourself.”