Spellslinger (Spellslinger #1)(24)
It wasn’t hard to imagine Ra’meth using his new position to punish those who’d failed to support him. He’d been ready to try to murder my father just to improve his chances. Hells, what if he keeps coming after us?
‘You needn’t fear Ra’meth, if that’s what’s creasing your brow. The council has made its decree – no vendettas until the new clan prince has been given the crown.’
‘What happens then?’ I asked, my rising voice betraying my fear. ‘What happens to my family if Shalla and I don’t … if my father isn’t selected?’
‘Exile,’ she replied. ‘Not by the new prince of course – that would be a terrible way to start a reign. No, if Ra’meth becomes prince, the council will banish the House of Ke.’
Exile. A Jan’Tep family wandering the world with no allies, no clan and no access to the oasis. Over the years even my father’s magic would weaken. It was nothing less than a death sentence for all of us.
Mer’esan looked at me for a moment, an expression of sympathy on her face that made me feel even worse. ‘We are a people of magic,’ she said quietly. ‘We cannot afford a mages’ war between houses. Better one quick and brutal injustice than decades, perhaps even centuries, of blood feuds fought with spells and murder and mayhem.’ She reached out and closed my hand over the tiny gold disc. ‘I suggest you find your magic quickly, son of Ke.’
10
The Spy
It was late into the night by the time I left Mer’esan’s little cottage. I still had Ferius’s deck in my pocket, along with the gold disc. I felt weighed down by these tools that were being used to manipulate me. I thought back to all the jokes Ferius had made about Jan’Tep magic. She made my desire for it sound petty and childish. Except that the dowager magus tells me it’s the only thing that will keep my family safe.
I didn’t know who to believe. I knew exactly what my family would think. A Jan’Tep must be strong, my father would tell me. My mother would just look at me, and make that little gesture of hers, drawing a finger around my left eye, assuring me that life was unfolding as it must. Shalla would do what she always did: tell me it was all my fault and I just needed to try harder. For once I just wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t going to judge me or make fun of me.
Nephenia.
Shalla had told me she’d come looking for me. I wondered what she’d looked like, knocking at our door, asking after me. Had her eyes been full of concern and maybe, just maybe, something more? Had she cried when my parents had refused to let her see me?
It was a childish fantasy of course, as was my sudden desire to try to find her. It was late, and for all I knew the dowager magus might have one of her guards following me to see where I went. Besides, I was fairly sure that in the morning Shalla would put on a big show in front of my father, asking whether I’d returned the deck of cards to the ‘Daroman woman’, which was the only justification for not returning the instant my meeting with the dowager had ended. So finding Ferius had to come before any hopes of romance with Nephenia.
Ours isn’t a very big city – it’s barely five miles in diameter with about three thousand inhabitants – but trying to find one person among all those souls would have been almost impossible had I not been fairly sure where to look.
My people drink wine and beer along with an older, more traditional spirit made from apricots and pomegranate called djazil; for the most part, these are imbibed in the home, with family, in a quiet, dignified manner. Since that in no way described Ferius, I headed towards the city’s guest houses. There were only five specifically intended for foreigners, and of those I was fairly sure only three served strong drink.
‘She’s not here,’ the thin-lipped Sha’Tep man behind the counter said, ignoring me while he shifted a pair of small oak barrels onto the deep shelf behind him.
‘But you’re sure you saw her?’
The little belly awkwardly attached to his otherwise bony frame shook as he laughed. ‘A red-haired Daroman woman in a frontiersman hat? How many of those do you think we get around here?’
‘So when did she leave?’
He looked annoyed, or thoughtful. I couldn’t quite tell which. ‘Must have been about two hours ago. She said my beer tasted like cow’s piss and went off in search of something better.’ He pointed towards the door. ‘Try the Night’s Calling. It’s in Veda Square, about a quarter-mile down the street.’
‘Why not the Falcon’s Pride? It’s closer.’
‘She said she’d already been there. Said their beer tasted like cat’s urine, which, evidently, Her Ladyship considers even worse than cow piss.’
I left the guest house and over the next half-hour made the trip through the slums down to Veda Square. I don’t know whether Ferius had been inside the Night’s Calling, nor what particular type of urine she would have compared their house beer to, because by the time I found her, she had more pressing concerns.
The entrance to the square was blocked by the white-shirted backs of a dozen initiates, a few from my own class, making it impossible for me to see inside. It wasn’t hard to tell Ferius was there though.
‘Back off, you sap-faced little rat, before I clip your whiskers and use them to pick my teeth!’ Her shouts were slightly slurred. I don’t think I’d ever heard someone that drunk.