The Shadowglass (The Bone Witch, #3)(12)

The man thought for a few moments, stroking at his beard. “I can think of one, yes. Garindor Sverrthiya lives in Farsun and is the preeminent historian when it comes to asha mythology.”

“Garindor? That’s not an Isteran name,” said Kalen.

“It isn’t. Garindor originally came from Drycht. He sought refuge here many years ago.”

“That’s some refuge,” Likh said. “Istera is about the farthest kingdom from Drycht as one can get.”

“It is a disgrace that Drycht do not honor their intellectuals the same way we do in Kion,” Councilor Ludvig agreed. “Drycht has always been a paradise for despots. When King Aadil wrested power from King Adhitaya and the royal house of Narsethi, politics changed drastically. King Adhitaya was not himself a good man, as you might know. When the revolution happened, he was killed, and his son Omid went missing. In his first few years of rule, Aadil showed signs of intelligence, of enlightenment. The kingdom enjoyed a golden age of song and stories. Though that changed soon enough. I shall talk to Rendor and see what he can do to assist us in making contact with Garindor.”

“Your hunch was right all along, little uchenik,” Rahim remarked with a nod toward me, as the Isteran adviser left us. “Even in Tresea, I grew up on tales of Blade that Soars and the villainy of Hollow Knife. It seems inconceivable that this was a lie.”

“But why?” Likh was still shaken. “Why would Vernasha change her story?”

“We don’t know yet, Likh,” Althy said gently. “Let us see what Lord Garindor has to say before passing judgment.”

Likh’s shoulders slumped. “Vernasha of the Roses was a peerless warrior! She was Kion’s first asha!”

“Did you know her well enough to say that, little one?” Rahim asked. “Did she tell you her favorite colors, her favorite dress? It’s easy to look at a hero and deny their human flaws. Many heroes in my childhood were blackguards in their own right, and the only reason they are lauded still is because they are but Tresean.” The large man frowned. “But this too is a question I would like answered.”

“And that doesn’t change what being an asha is all about.” Khalad’s voice was soft, hushed by the cold and tempered in the presence of old books. He put his hand on Likh’s shoulder. “You can’t honor the past if you don’t know what that past is. I would much rather know the truth than live in ignorant bliss, even if it destroys all I’ve come to believe. Tradition isn’t always honorable. If it was, then you’d have been an asha for years, without opposition.”

Likh stared at him. The colors in his heartsglass swirled rapidly, and I thought he would speak. But Khalad’s hand was only a friendly gesture, and the oblivious Heartforger could not hear the wanting in Likh’s silence, his unspoken confession.

The young boy-asha only nodded, bidding his heart to be silent. I exhaled, releasing a quiet breath I had not realized I was holding. It required everything not to intervene. It took Kalen and I years to breathe in the same rhythm. They would find their own pace.

“How are you feeling?” Kalen asked me quietly, so no others could hear.

I closed my eyes briefly. “If Aenah was right about this story, then what if she was right about everything?” The book of powerful runes the Faceless had given me remained in Mykaela’s possession, but I already knew the spells within by heart. The elders knew them too, Aenah had claimed, but had hidden their knowledge. The elders teach you the necessary runes to put down daeva and risk your life for their cause. The woman was long-since dead, but the words she taunted me with remained. Why would they teach you the very runes that would allow you to rise above them?

My heartsglass was silver. How long before Aenah’s other prediction came to pass? When would my heart fade to black and gives itself to darkness?

Kalen smiled. “Whatever the truth, we will find it,” he said simply, confidently, and I believed him.

? ? ?

That Garindor Sverrthiya lived in Farsun was not entirely accurate; he lived in a small house on the outskirts of the city, bordering the Runeswoods. It was at his insistence, Councilor Ludvig explained, and not because of any Isteran enmity.

A pale-faced, sickly-looking lad of about twenty answered our knock. Althy glanced at his heartsglass and rolled up her sleeves. “Off to bed you go, young man.”

The boy stared. “I…I don’t…”

“No back talk. You’re ill with fever, and you shouldn’t be up. Where’s your master?”

“Right here.” A white-haired Drychta came into view, looking fitter and healthier than his assistant. His heartsglass hung from a plain leather cord, pulsing a soft purple. He looked surprised to see us, then focused on Councilor Ludvig. “What is going on, milord?”

“My apologies for the intrusion, Garindor. We have visitors from Kion who require your expertise, and it is a matter of urgency.”

“A matter of urgency, eh?” The man adjusted his spectacles. “And asha too, by the look of some of you. As my expertise lies in the past, which requires no hurrying, it’s a strange petition indeed. I am sorry for my assistant, Yarrod. He has been ill the last few days and should’ve been resting.”

“I will see to that immediately, Lord Garindor,” Althy promised. “You all go ahead while I tend to him.”