Ren looked at the note. Sure enough, a bill for twenty-seven bits. He smiled at the boy and tousled his hair, grabbing hold of a handful. He pressed two bits into the boy's palm. The boy yelped as Ren tugged a few hairs free. The boy looked about to cry and then ran off. Ren looked at his hand and inspected the hairs. A fine silver one stood out from the dull browns and grays. He put the hairs in a small wax envelope and scratched a note on the outside with his fingernail.
The boy moved through the tavern, sometimes delivering a note, sometimes picking a pocket. He had pleasant features, but what chance did he have without a patron?
Ren could be the boy's patron. With his wealth molding in the vaults, he could use it to bring change to the life of a boy just like his master had done for him.
A movement caught his eye. He turned to the table where the deal was taking place. The seller was on his feet and metal flashed in his hand. In an instant, Ren traveled the distance, shadow curling and coiling about his fingers and hands, enveloping his body. That was how his master moved. It had just happened; no practice needed. The terror of failing had awakened something in him.
His blade caught the seller's throat. Nizaer, his associate, was yelling, but it was at him, not the seller. The tip of the blade nicked the seller's neck and a trickle of blood bubbled out.
Ren snorted out a long-held breath; the tendrils of shadow receded. The seller stepped away, hands up in supplication. A pure silver bar was in his left hand. Half the tavern was staring at them.
Nizaer dragged Ren out the back door into a narrow alley.
“You used my name in a public place!” Ren yelled.
“And you botched a sale,” Nizaer said, clutching his head.
“He was buying from us?”
“Yes. He wants a boy and has a girl to sell.”
“Can't be.” Ren scowled. “Who would sell a girl?”
“Look, I have my orders and was following them. I must tell the Prime Consort what happened. How will it look?”
Ren felt like the shambling gray shapes of servants at the Lor'Hesvin estate who feared to ask about him because they were not important enough to know.
He glanced at Nizaer, a man unlike himself, a proper Mornae, trained of Isilmyr to keep accounts, to speak well. He was the consort of a true priestess, member of a Hosmyr vassal.
A dark thought settled at the back of his skull. Take him out, it said. Right there, in that slim alley. The seller would take the blame. He could spin a yarn about how the seller betrayed them. People died here by the cartload.
Then he could just take the seller's girl by force as repayment for the mess.
“I'm done for,” Nizaer said. “I'm sorry I said your name. What can I do? Surely you know him best.”
Ren's eye twitched and the shadows receded from him.
“Yes, of course,” he said, his thoughts swirling, his compassion for Nizaer clouding his thoughts. “You know where these people live?”
Nizaer nodded.
“And you have the boy nearby?”
Again, a nod.
“Fine, then. We'll go directly and let them keep the silver. I'll make it up. We'll tell them never to mention it or something worse will befall them. Then you take the girl and my silver to our master. Just say the trade happened and add nothing else. Never add more than you need to say. He doesn't care about you. You have to care about you. Understand?”
Nizaer nodded more seriously.
“It's like your ledgers,” Ren said. “The accounts either add up or they don't. The story isn't important.”
“Yes, I see. Thank you.”
Nizaer led him to the place with the boy, held there by two mercenaries. Nizaer paid them their share, and they took the boy, barely two, to make the trade.
Ren wasn't too worried. If there was one thing you could count on with Mornae, it was absolute silence about the details of a deal, especially one that exposed their weakness. Even those that revealed strength remained hidden. There was always someone stronger.
He'd asked for more important work, and here he was in the middle of it, not sure if he liked it much.
SUMMER
Between the first and second accords, as the pressure to rise above other houses increased, the valmasin, a native branch of vanalo, became indispensable to the Mornae. They figured out whether a Mornae baby had the qualities to continue the grand experiment: to achieve ascension as an individual. So important were these seers that they eventually occupied a place in the temple, and their ritual became mandatory for every Mornae child.
After the Fall of Saylassa, sensing the coming chaos, most fled. The handful that remained suffered ignominiously. Mornae of the time counted it a worse thing to know the truth. In their minds, they must silence the valmasin. And so, six houses led by Lor'Hosmyr, took it upon themselves to murder the remaining seers, much to the consternation of my house, which saw the valmasin as a tool to separate and burn the chaff.
Then, begin the experiment again.
FROM MEMORIES BY JEVAN LOR’VAKAYNE, SON OF SAVRA.
17
Eighteen knights guarded the secret chamber beneath one of Hosmyr's warehouses near the east gate, easily accessible by all the high matrons of the secret alliance.
High Matron Zaidra Ilor'Vakayne ordered the fire lit while they waited for Joumina, high matron of Ilor'Zauhune, to arrive. The flames were blue fire, of the Dark, and Gishna's Mornae vision ignited, turning the usual white veil into an undulating shadow. A heavy silence settled under the firelight dome. The fire suppressed all sound beyond where they sat, but it also amplified every sound within. Did Zaidra hear the rattle of her lungs or the creak of her bones?
The pregnant belly was gone, but Zaidra seemed much changed, withered and less menacing. Gishna sympathized but offered no words of comfort. They were allies, not family. Not blood. Not yet. A black steel ring with a massive violet jewel sat prominently on Zaidra's hand, which rested on simple, yet precious eightieth silk, embroidered throughout with the motifs of Ilor'Vakayne and its blood houses. She may not have dominated her bloodhouses as other matrons did theirs, but she'd not let them forget which of them sat in the high council. Blessed Savra, this is what your children have become!
The last time they'd met was two years ago, in the spring, summoned by Joumina. It had been an unexpected meeting, far too early in the schedule, though all the crater was buzzing with talk of the exiled Zauhune's return. What would Joumina have to say now that he had won her so many victories in the goddess-court? Gishna needed to be prepared for whatever the younger matron might offer.
