looked up again. “All I would like is a small favor. Could you … could you tell Carmenere that I’ve agreed to help you? And that I’m thinking of her? Since she took that diplomatic post in High Imaskar, I’ve lost track of her. And I …”
The queen considered a moment, then said. “I will. In the next diplomatic courier package the Court of Majesty sends east, I’ll include a personal letter and make sure Carmenere sees it.”
Riltana smiled shyly. Demascus blinked. He’d seen the windsoul knocked unconscious by a goblin sneak, nearly ripped in two by a rakshasa assassin, and curse a streak so foul that he was certain the gods themselves blushed. This was the first time he’d ever seen Riltana vulnerable.
Demascus cleared his throat and said, “Anything else you can tell us, Your Highness? Even an insignificant hint could help us prepare. In my business, preparation is usually key.” He was glad she didn’t immediately ask him what his business was. She probably wouldn’t like the idea that he could sometimes call on the half-forgotten skills of a master assassin.
Arathane shook her head, then stopped and raised a hand, “You know, there
“And how’s that connected with the mine?” said Riltana.
The queen shrugged and said, “On the same day, the speaking stone on the island went dead for almost an entire bell before we reestablished communication. We never did find out what caused it. Anyway, the phantom conflict in the warehouse and the speaking stone lapse occurred near the same time. Could be just a coincidence. I haven’t given it a moment’s thought until now.”
Demascus said, “We’ll run by the warehouse when we book passage out to the island. Speaking of which- where exactly is the mine?”
She stood and produced a parchment from her belt pouch. “The coordinates. What’s written here is a state secret.”
“It’s safe with us,” said Demascus. He reached for the parchment, but she took his hand before he pulled away.
She said, “Be careful, Demascus. We never did find time to have our chat. When you return, hopefully with news less dire than a Tymanther aggression on Akanul soil, let’s remedy that.”
“Uh, that … that would be good,” he managed to respond.
“Yes,” said the queen. “I suspect it will be.” She released his hand, nodded to him and the windsoul, and departed his house.
Demascus was off balance too much to open the door for the monarch of Akanul, so he just watched her back recede as she walked across his yard. She cut quite a figure …
He slammed the door as Fable slunk up. “I’m too quick for you, cat,” he said. When he finally turned back to Riltana, he saw she was grinning, all signs of vulnerability gone from her face.
“What?” he asked.
“Could you be any more transparent?”
“What’re you talking about? I-”
She shook her head. “Even a half-wit could see it. Damn, for someone so normally put together, you’re like a starving dog in a butcher shop whenever she’s around.”
Demascus chuckled. “It’s
“Yeah. I’m afraid it is.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Riltana flew among the hovering citymotes. The wind caressed her like a lover’s arms. It bore her up when she asked, but only for a breath, before gently letting go.
She paused on a rusting bridge cable to take in the grandeur of the city.
The streets wound switchback paths up the cliffs, and steep stairs cut nearly vertical ascents between buildings. Suspension bridges arced between earthmotes above and below. Titanic pillars of stone rose from the sea, and gleaming elemental spires hung with crystalline clarity throughout the middle air. But today, the normally sunbaked streets and bright cliffs were dim beneath a shroud of clouds. An approaching storm darkened the iron sky, threatening a downpour of torrential strength. Normally she hated the rain, the dark, the sun-concealing clouds.
But not today.
Today, Airspur smelled sweeter than it had in months. The piling thunderheads looked like fairy castles. She wanted to fly up to them and see who lived inside. She wanted to sing. Maybe do a little jig. The queen was going to write to Carmenere on Riltana’s behalf! All Riltana had to do was help Demascus check out some moist piece of rock off the coast and see what kind of idiocy the miners had got up to. Easy. She imagined a gold-foil envelope, stamped with the queen’s seal in red wax. The envelope would be delivered to Carmenere’s rooms in faraway High Imaskar. She could see Carmenere breaking the seal, then reading her royal aunt’s message that pled for the estranged silverstar to make peace with Riltana …
She pumped her fist and grinned at a pigeon roosting on a nearby suspension line. If Arathane put in a word for her, the stubborn silverstar was bound to see reason! Carmenere would never have taken the diplomatic post so far from Akanul if she and Riltana hadn’t quarreled. Probably …
The sooner she and Demascus accomplished Queen Arathane’s little job, the sooner the message would be dispatched. Riltana had volunteered to investigate the warehouse while Demascus chartered a ship in the dock district. Demascus had wanted them to stick together, but she’d insisted they split their efforts to save time. Patience wasn’t one of her strengths. Besides, she wanted to distract herself from thinking about the near disaster of last evening. I was so close! she thought. That damned painting was supposed to have been in the House Norjah gallery. Her black market inquiry, courtesy of Chant’s connections, had finally produced a lead. The odd woman who’d responded had seemed so legitimate, knowledgeable, and convincing. She’d known things only someone familiar with the painting of Queen Cyndra could’ve described. Why had a stranger pretended the missing painting was in that shadowy gallery?
Riltana frowned. Eventually she’d get that painting back, oh yes. And Hells help anyone who stood in her way. Or maybe not. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Having Carmenere’s queenly aunt on Riltana’s side was a surer road to reconciliation than anything Riltana could hope to accomplish on her own. Maybe she didn’t need the royal painting to impress Carmenere …
Frankly, given what’d gone down at Demascus’s apartment the previous evening, it was lucky things had turned out as well as they had. The goddess Tymora must be smiling down on Riltana. So why do I feel so guilty?
She knew why, of course. Because of her own damnable impulsiveness. She couldn’t help herself when certain situations reared their heads. Like finding herself alone with a surfeit of valuable and easily transportable goodies. Riltana smacked a fist into her palm. The pigeon on the suspension cable startled and winged off. She hadn’t been completely honest with Demascus. The Norjah vampires were right to call her a thief. When she’d slipped into their gallery and found no sign of the painting she’d sought, well, she helped herself to one hanging there instead. As compensation, of course; she’d paid a pretty sum to the woman who’d given her the tip. Riltana couldn’t be expected just to eat that coin, right? She’d only realized that she might be diving off a higher cliff than she’d reckoned when she lifted one of the paintings from its hook. The illustrated figure began whispering to her secrets of thievery and concealment-
Reflexively, in the moment of surprise, she transferred the framed canvas to the nonspace her gloves
