'Four small ones should be enough.'
'You'll need to show me how to use these brenna things. I'm not familiar with handling relics.'
She leaned forward, her old eyes sparkling. 'Don't worry, lad. I'll help you out.'
'Much appreciated.' Suddenly he felt a little nervous, as if the quality of the conversation had changed. 'I'll need a time delay of a few hours before they explode. Could you work that into the magic?'
She said unexpectedly, 'Down here, it's not often I get to see someone so… handsome.'
Tryst murmured, 'Thanks… Sorry, I don't know your name.'
'Sofen,' she said. 'Not that it means much down here, where so few people ever use it.'
'What order of cultists do you belong to?' Tryst said, keen to change the subject.
'I belong to none. Plenty of cultists prefer to work on their own, lad. Less politics that way and you're not bound to follow any particular creed. How's this sound, lad. You stay and keep me company for a couple of hours, while I get your devices made to your exact requirements.'
'Company?' Tryst said, beginning to comprehend her innuendo.
She's sick… Surely she's kidding? Or is this some test to prove my loyalty to Urtica?
'Don't look so surprised,' Sofen continued. 'You see old men getting the services of young women all the time, so it should work just as easily the other way.'
'Right.' Tryst was beginning to feel desperate. He couldn't hope to get Jeryd and his house destroyed properly if he didn't obtain the relics.
'What's wrong?' Sofen interrupted. 'You don't find me attractive?'
'It's not that,' Tryst blustered. Although, let's face it, hag, not even the tide would take you out. 'No, it's just that I'm a man of principle.'
'Principle,' she said. 'Ha! What kind of principle is there in asking me for the means of killing another?'
'It depends,' Tryst said, 'on why and who you're killing.'
She observed him thoroughly. 'At least you're honest. I like that. Still, my price remains. You pay me and satisfy me.'
Tryst considered his options again, and didn't like what he was being faced with.
'Shall I make it easier for you?' Sofen said.
'How d'you mean?' Tryst said, a little uncertain whether or not this was some form of threat.
'Wait a moment.' Sofen walked over to a doorway leading into darkness beyond. After reaching to lift what appeared to be a metal mirror off the shelf, she stepped into the umbrae.
Purple light spat outwards, no sound with it, only a thin waft of smoke drifting like incense.
Tryst stood tensely alert, reaching for the short sword he carried under his cloak. A strange, almost floral smell caused him to frown.
'Sofen?' he said, and made a step towards the darkness.
A beautiful woman walked out of it.
Tryst was shocked at this apparition and its obvious similarity to how Sofen must have looked when sixty years younger. Her hair was now luxuriant, a glossy black, her eyes still a dazzling blue. Full lips, prominent cheekbones. She removed her outer robe to reveal an elegant white dress, plain but cut to cling to a slender frame, revealing just enough about the body beneath to win his approval.
The new woman spoke, with a smirk. 'You can now pick your jaw up.'
'Who are you?' Tryst said.
'The same woman you were disgusted with moments earlier.' She grunted a laugh. 'Magic: it's all wish- fulfilment really. This is an illusion of how I once was, and you've got me in this state for an hour, more or less, so take your time.'
The transformation was so remarkable, he was truly lost for words. 'I… don't know.' He hesitated.
She leaned in so close he could smell the clean fragrance of her skin, the freshness of her breath. Breasts were pressed up against his chest. All her wrinkles, all the sadness in her expression were gone.
His hand in hers, she steered him towards the darkness.
FORTY-TWO
Randur had to admit he looked devastatingly handsome.
He regularly cut a very fine dash, but now couldn't help but stare at himself in the gold-framed mirror. With his hair tied back, wearing the latest black breeches, a dark blue shirt and matching jacket, a black cloak to finish it off, he looked ready for anything. It was surely what being here in Villjamur was all about.
Eir had even given him some jewellery: a plain silver chain to go around his neck, two rings for his fingers. She had supported him so much that he felt he owed her his very soul, if only he could give it. Eir's biggest gift to him wasn't monetary, but psychological. Perhaps all he'd ever needed was to actually love someone else.
Somehow, the importance of helping his mother to survive had subtly diminished.
'Stop admiring yourself in the mirror.' Eir walked into his chamber. 'You do that far too much.'
Randur turned to gaze at her. 'You look pretty damn fine yourself.'
As she came nearer, her sinuous movements were highlighted by her dazzling new outfit. The striking and revealing dark-red dress that clung to her body made her look so much older, more sophisticated, bringing her curves to his attention. Her hair was adorned with black ribbons while elaborate mock-tattoos adorned each cheekbone.
She approached him with a new walk that was hers and yet also wasn't, and she said, 'Am I to take it, then, that this rare lack of words is a good thing?'
'Yeah,' he said, then blurted, 'Eir, you look incredible.'
'Well, you don't look so bad yourself. We ready to set off?'
He said, 'Yeah, is your sister ready too?'
'She's already on her way down there.'
'Who's to be her partner?'
'She won't have one because as Empress she must remain aloof. No one is deemed suitable, I suppose.'
'Kind of sad, that,' Randur observed, and he meant it.
*
They entered the ballroom to find themselves the happy focus of everyone's gaze. All of the Empire's most powerful were already present, dressed in their finery. Light skimmed off gold and silver and mirrors. A thousand candles, a hundred lanterns.
At the far end of the room, a band played fast-moving rhythms, violins leading the tune, harps providing the framework.
People gave the Sele of Jamur to her and Randur, and she was as polite as she could be whilst Randur maintained his cool aloofness.
Everyone was constantly looking at them and whispering. All the Imperial land- and capital-owners, retired military governors, influential civil servants, members of the Council and their partners. She didn't mind their scrutiny, because tonight she was happier than she'd ever been. With Randur's help, she had learned to dance better than many society ladies. There was, of course, Randur himself, who was the most good-looking man there.
Important people – notably the Council – would most certainly not think Randur suitable, not fitting to be part of the mechanics of the Empire. In her mind, that wasn't an issue, and she didn't care. She'd leave the city if she had to, giving up her rank and privileges.
There she was, Rika, in the centre of a throng of councillors. She had soon settled into the role of Empress, calm but serious in expression, but knowing how to laugh in all the right places.
Though she loved her, things weren't the same between the two girls. It wasn't that her sister had become a different person, but she would never again feel that closeness of their childhood. As Empress, Rika had now inherited a different set of priorities.
'Look at this lot,' Randur murmured dismissively.
Couples moved around the dance floor, segueing between the delicate shapes they made of their postures. Eir
