“What kind of token?”
“That’s the catch, isn’t it? She didn’t see like we saw-one human was the same as another. She needed something of mine to remind her, something special, something that had some of me in it.”
“What was it?”
“A bracelet-my mother gave it to me when I left Miradin.” This seemed an unwelcome memory, and he offered no further explanation. “I cast it into the void and when it came back to me it hummed with her song, hummed with it, morning through night. It’s what bound us together. She was beautiful and devoted-her love for me was as endless as the black sea she swam in. But she was a jealous mistress and quick to anger. The token connected us.” He smiled grimly. “Without it, she would have been very, very displeased.”
At the time I had thought Adelweid’s refusal to part with his jewelry was sheer vanity. That might also explain Brightfellow’s penchant for jewelry, though bad taste would do the same. “These… things,” I said, “you can summon them, but they can’t stay here?”
“She was too perfect, undiluted by the dross of our reality. It took the strength of my love for her to cross over.”
That jibed with what Adelweid had told me about his creature dissipating after completing its task. “There was another student in the academy with you-Brightfellow, Johnathan Brightfellow.”
Cadamost ground a dirty fingernail against the cracked skin of his scalp. “Yeah, I remember him. He was a few years older than the rest of us, came from some petty province up north.”
“What else you remember?”
“He had a temper. There was this little piece he used to follow-someone said something about her once and he lost it, cracked the boy’s head against a wall before anyone could think to do a working.” Cadamost strained to shake his mind out of its debasement, the simple act of recollection a marathon sprint. “He didn’t have much in the way of talent, maybe because he started learning so late-but he was sharp, sharper than you’d think, sharper than he let on.”
“And he was part of Operation Ingress.”
“Yeah, he was part of it. Most of us were, anyone with any sense and skill-you could tell what it would lead to, everything it promised. To see what came out when you cracked open the cage, to get a look at the bottom, way down at the bottom, the nothing that makes up everything. It wasn’t about the war-we let them think it, but it wasn’t about that at all. They were gods, and they wanted to look at us, talk to us and touch us, love us.”
“What happened to her?” I asked, though I already knew.
“The others were cowards. They didn’t understand; they wouldn’t let themselves understand. I knew what she wanted, knew what she wanted and wanted to give it to her. For that they feared me, and they took her away.” He stroked his wrist and gazed out past the walls, as if his obsession might reveal itself in the distance. “I can feel it out there, somewhere. They have it and they keep it from me!” He coughed this out, along with something that looked very much like blood.
“And the rest of the practitioners? They still have their tokens?”
“I was singled out for my genius. The rest of them were allowed to keep theirs, I suppose. Or at least they still had them when I was stripped of my rank.” His eyes squinted to slits in his rotting face. “Why? What’s all this about anyway?”
“Thanks for your help,” I said, laying another argent on the table.
The sight of more silver was enough to make him forget his concerns. “You’re a good man, to help a fellow veteran. There’s a spot in Chinvat for you, no doubt about that!” He laughed and reached for the bowl.
“Go careful on the next round,” I told him as I buttoned up my coat. “I’d rather mine wasn’t the coin that killed you.” Though on the way out I realized I didn’t care much either way.
I picked Wren up and spent the rest of the morning at a tailor I used to frequent, getting my outfit ready for Brightfellow’s party. The snow was not letting up. I had lived in Rigus for thirty of my thirty-five years, only leaving it to wage war on the Dren, and in all that time I’d never seen anything like this. The streets were deserted, the hum of city life dulled to an almost pastoral quiet, the season’s festivities canceled.
By the time we got to the tower I wished I’d hired a coach, though the inclement weather at least eliminated the first barrier toward entering the Aerie, the snow spreading a low hummock over the maze. Wren stopped at the incline. “I didn’t know we were coming here,” he said.
“I’ll only be a minute. I want to stop in and let Celia know what’s going on.”
“Say hello to the Crane if you see him.”
“You aren’t coming?”
“I’ll wait here.”
Waves of shaved ice came down on us like curtains. I set my hand on his shoulder. “Forget about the horn-I took care of it.”
He pulled away. “I’ll wait here.”
“Your pride’s gonna leave you frozen to death. Swallow it and get in the fucking tower.”
“No,” he said simply and evenly.
And that was the end of my willingness to debate the point. “You lose a digit from frostbite, don’t expect sympathy.” The Aerie’s guardian opened the door without comment. I found myself vaguely nostalgic for its quips.
Celia was waiting for me on the top floor, sipping tea by the fire, steam rising around her bright face. “I hadn’t expected we’d see you today.”
“I thought I’d check in on the two of you. How’s the Master?”
“Better. He was up and about for a while this morning. He ate breakfast and watched the snow.”
“That’s nice to hear,” I said. “I wanted to let you know I got your note. I’m going to pay the Duke of Beaconfield a visit tonight, take a look at what your working turned up. All goes well I’ll pass the information on to Black House sometime tomorrow.”
She wrinkled her face in confusion, or perhaps disappointment. “I thought we agreed this is too important to let the law muck it up. I thought we agreed you’d handle it on your own.”
“Unfortunately it’s still a crime to murder a noble. And anyway it wouldn’t square me with the freeze, not if I can’t show them why I did it. Besides, crossing out the Blade is something I’d just as soon leave to someone whose life isn’t as valuable to me as my own. Black House will handle it. With what I’ll give them, they’ll have enough to put the Question to him-after that it’s just a matter of time.”
“And what if he moves on you first?”
“He’s made his move. I’ll make mine while he’s recovering.” She rubbed her necklace between two fingers and didn’t respond. “When this is over, I’ll bring the boy around, and the four of us can build a snow fort, like when we were kids.”
Her attention snapped back to me. “The boy?”
“Wren.”
There was another long pause, then the smile returned to her face. “Wren,” she said. “Yes of course.” She patted me lightly on the arm. “I can’t wait.”
I headed downstairs in half a hurry. Whatever whim he was indulging, I wouldn’t let Wren wait long in the storm. Adeline would kill me if anything happened to him.
Four hours later I stepped out of a carriage and onto a roll of crushed red velvet. Two guards in speckled livery flanked the doors of Beaconfield’s mansion, stiffly at attention despite the bitter frost. It was my first time entering through the front. I felt very important.
In the parlor a servant with a roll of parchment guarded access to the delights on offer in the main hall. He gave me a deferential nod, but my pose as a member of the upper crust didn’t allow me to return it. I barked out my name and waited as he scanned for the corresponding entry.
It would intrigue the Blade that I’d asked for a spot on the guest list after he had sent men to murder me, and curiosity alone is often enough to get in with a noble, desperate as they are for anything that breaks up the monotony of profligate hedonism. If his instinct for melodrama wasn’t enough, self-interest might be. Though he had pushed us into open warfare, I didn’t figure he had the steel to play at it for long. He would hope that my message signaled a desire for reconciliation, and would leap at any hint of a truce.
That being said, it was one of the several potential hitches within my plan that I had not, in fact, been invited to the Duke of Beaconfield’s Midwinter party. It would be a chilly walk home if I’d played this wrong.
