The Daylight War
Page 95

Rojer beamed at Leesha as she approached, and she embraced him, ignoring Amanvah’s hiss. ‘Rojer, that was incredible. Amazing.’
Rojer’s boyish smile threatened to take in his ears. ‘I couldn’t have done it without Amanvah and Sikvah.’
‘Indeed.’ Leesha nodded to the women. ‘You sounded like the Creator’s own seraphs.’ Both women’s eyes widened at the compliment, and Leesha turned her attention back to Rojer before they could recover.
‘Did Amanvah ward your fiddle?’
Rojer nodded. ‘Just the chinrest. The wards let me play loud enough to break the barn. And using it makes me feel …’
‘Energized?’ Leesha asked. ‘You should be half deaf after that.’
Rojer started, wiggling a finger in his ear. ‘Huh. Not even a ring.’
‘May I see?’ Leesha asked, her tone casual. Rojer unclipped the piece and handed it to her without a thought. Amanvah moved to stop him – too late. Leesha snatched it and took a quick step back. She unbuttoned a special pocket on her apron, slipping out the pair of gold-rimmed spectacles Arlen had made for her.
The lenses were not corrective, but wards in the frame and glass granted her the same wardsight Arlen used, letting her see the flow of magic. The chinrest was bright with power, its wards shining as if carved from lightning. She recognized almost all of them, wards of siphoning and linking, along with projection and … resonance.
‘There’s more here than just amplification, Rojer,’ she said. ‘There are resonance wards.’
Rojer looked at her blankly. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means anything said near this fiddle will resonate somewhere else.’ Leesha turned to Amanvah. Several of the many piercings in her ear glowed bright with magic. ‘With an earring, perhaps?’
Amanvah kept her expression calm, but her hesitation betrayed her nevertheless. Rojer looked at his wife and his joyous expression fell into a stung look. ‘Is that how you knew what we said in the taproom?’
‘You were conspiring—’ Amanvah began.
‘Don’t hand me that demonshit!’ Rojer snapped. ‘You spent weeks making that chinrest. This wasn’t a reaction to anything I did on the road, it was your plan all along to spy on me.’
‘You are my husband,’ Amanvah said. ‘It is my duty to support you and keep you from trouble, sending aid when you are in need.’
‘Always lies with you!’ Rojer shouted. The Sharum stiffened at that – shouting at a dama’ting was an unthinkable crime, but they did not move to intercept as they might have before, still awestruck at Rojer’s power. Even Enkido hung back, waiting for a signal from his mistress.
‘You are so fast to quote the Evejah when it suits you,’ Rojer went on, ‘but does it not command truthfulness?’
‘Actually,’ Leesha cut in, ‘the book expressly states that oaths and promises to chin are meaningless if they in any way hinder service to Everam.’ Amanvah glared at her, but Leesha only smiled, daring her to contradict.
‘The Core with this,’ Rojer said, snatching the chinrest back from Leesha and lifting it high to hurl it down at the cobbles.
‘No!’ Amanvah and Leesha shouted at once, both reaching to grab his arm and forestall him. Amanvah looked at her curiously.
‘You saw the power it gave you,’ Leesha said. ‘Don’t throw that away in your anger.’
‘The mistress speaks truth, husband,’ Amanvah said. ‘It would be a month and more to make a new one, if we could even find a piece so fine to work with.’
Rojer looked at her coldly. ‘When you first gave me the box, I wondered if it might be a pair of golden shackles. Seems I wasn’t far off. I won’t be your slave, Amanvah.’
‘Are we slaves to fire because it can burn us?’ Leesha asked. ‘You are wise to its power now, Rojer. I can paint wards of silence on a box for it. Put it away when you want your privacy, but don’t destroy it.’
‘Throwing it to the stones would do little in any event,’ Amanvah added. ‘The magic strengthens the metal and wood. You will find it hard to destroy, and there is none other worthy of its power.’
Rojer seemed to deflate. He looked at the object sadly, then shoved it into a pocket and turned back to the inn. ‘I’m going to bed.’ He headed off without waiting to see if anyone followed. Amanvah and Sikvah heeled him like dogs, Enkido with them.
A few villagers had wandered out into the square to look in fascinated horror at the demon corpses, but a wind demon cry cut the night and sent them scurrying back inside. Leesha moved to do the same, though the wards on her shawl were enough to turn any coreling attention from her.
Before she went inside, she took one last look down the way to the Messenger road, where even now one of the Sharum raced back towards Everam’s Bounty.
Alone in her room, Leesha wept.
She did not fully understand the demon dice, their secrets of foretelling closely guarded by the dama’ting. The Evejah spoke of a ward of prophecy, but it was not shown, and Leesha did not think she would ever persuade a Bride of Everam to willingly let her examine a set.
But from what she gathered, the dice did not provide specific predictions, only facts that hinted at what the future might hold. Odds were Amanvah had not guessed the poison Leesha had given the Sharum, and its cure was tricky and time-consuming to prepare. Given the speed with which the warrior left, Leesha doubted she had done anything to aid him. In a day, he would weaken. In two, he would be dead.
There had been no choice. She didn’t know how Ahmann would take the news she meant to militarize the Hollow as a bulwark against him. She couldn’t keep it from him forever, but she needed time. Time to warn the Laktonians and Duchess Araine. Time to fill the Hollow and prepare, both for the coming Waning and for Sharak Sun. But that made her feel no less wretched as she crawled into bed, throwing the coverlet over her head.
For the first time, Leesha wished she’d never gone to Everam’s Bounty. Night, she wished she had never left Cutter’s Hollow, never gone to Hag Bruna’s hut and learned Herb Gathering. She’d have been a wonderful papermaker, and it would have made her father so happy.
But much as she would have liked to shift the blame, Leesha knew that was too easy, and a lie.
‘Why must I learn poison?’ she had asked, all those years ago.
‘So you can cure it, girl,’ Bruna told her. ‘Learning the mixtures and signs won’t turn you into some stinkhearted Weed Gatherer.’
‘Weed Gatherer?’ Leesha asked.
Bruna spat. ‘Failed Herb Gatherers. They sell weak cures and poison the enemies of nobles for coin.’
Leesha was aghast. ‘Women actually do that?’
Bruna grunted. ‘Not everyone is as sweet and moral as you, dearie. I had one of my own apprentices turn that way. Corespawn me if I let it happen again, but you need to know what you’re up against.’
I’m up against myself, Leesha thought. Killing men for my convenience. Am I any better than a Weed Gatherer?
She sobbed again, her body racked until exhaustion took her and she passed into slumber. Even there she found no peace, her dreams haunted with violence. Inevera, turning purple under her choking hands. Ahmann, standing by as his warriors killed Rizonan men and raped the women. Gared, his throat slashed by the blade of Abban’s crutch. Rojer, strangled in his bed by his own wives. Kaval, beating Wonda to death and calling it ‘training’. The Cutters and Sharum locked in a bloody storm of spear and axe as Arlen and Ahmann pointed them at each other.