The Wise Man's Fear

stories of that sort regarding the Maer’s family,” he said seriously.

“Oh no no no!” I waved my hands in violent negation. “The Maer is a special case. I wouldn’t dream . . .” I trailed off, swallowing visibly. “I was hoping you might be able to enlighten me regarding the Lackless family. I’m rather in the dark about them.”

“Really?” he said, surprised. “They’ve fallen from what they once were, but they’re a treasure trove of stories.” His eyes focused far away and he tapped his lips with his fingers distractedly. “How about this, I’ll brush up on their history, and you can come back tomorrow for a longer talk. It’s nearly time for the Maer’s medicine, and it shouldn’t be delayed.”

He got to his feet and began to roll up his sleeves. “There’s one thing I can remember off the top of my head, if you don’t mind my rambling while I prepare the Maer’s medicine.”

“I’ve never seen a potion being made,” I said enthusiastically. “If you wouldn’t find it too distracting . . .”

“Not at all. I could prepare it in my sleep.” He moved behind a worktable and lit a pair of blueflame candles. I took care to look suitably impressed even though I knew they were just for show.

Caudicus shook a portion of dried leaf onto a small hand scale and weighed it. “Do you have any trouble accepting rumor into your research?”

“Not if it’s interesting.”

He was silent while he carefully measured a small amount of clear liquid from a glass-stoppered bottle. “From what I understand, the Lackless family has an heirloom. Well, not an heirloom exactly, but an ancient thing that dates back to the beginning of their line.”

“There’s not much odd with that. Old families are rife with heirlooms.”

“Hush,” he said testily. “There’s more to it than that.” He poured the liquid into a flat lead bowl with some crude symbols carved along the outside. It bubbled and hissed, filling the air with a faint, acrid smell.

He decanted the liquid into the pan over the candles. From there he added the dry leaf, a pinch of something, and a measure of white powder. He added a splash of fluid I assumed was simply water, stirred, and poured the result through a filter and into a clear glass vial, stoppering it with a cork.

He held the result up for me to see: a clear amber liquid with a slight greenish tint. “There you go. Remind him to drink it all.”

I took the warm vial. “What was this heirloom?”

Caudicus rinsed his hands in a porcelain bowl and shook them dry. “I’ve heard that on the oldest parts of the Lackless lands, in the oldest part of their ancestral estate, there is a secret door. A door without a handle or hinges.” He watched me to make sure I was paying attention. “There’s no way of opening it. It is locked, but at the same time, lockless. No one knows what’s on the other side.”

He nodded toward the vial in my hand. “Now get that to the Maer. It’ll be best if he drinks it while it’s warm.” He escorted me to the door. “Do come back tomorrow.” He smirked a bit. “I know a story about the Menebras that will turn your red hair white.”

“Oh, I only work on one family at a time,” I said, not wanting to risk getting bogged down in endless court gossip. “Two is the absolute most. Right now I’m working on Alveron and Lackless. I couldn’t bring myself to start a third as well.” I gave an insipid smile. “I’d put myself all in a muddle.”

“That’s a shame,” Caudicus said. “I travel quite a bit, you see. Many of the noble houses are eager to host the Maer’s own arcanist.” He gave me a sly look. “This makes me privy to some rather interesting facts.” He opened the door. “Think on it. And do stop back tomorrow. I’ll have more on the Lacklesses at any rate.”

I was at the doors to the Maer’s rooms before the vial had a chance to cool. Stapes opened the door to my knocking and led me to the Maer’s inner rooms.

The Maer Alveron was sleeping in the same position I had left him in. As Stapes shut the door behind me, one of the Maer’s eyes opened and he beckoned to me feebly. “You took your sweet time.”

“Your grace, I—”

He motioned me forward again, more sharply this time. “Give me my medicine,” he said thickly. “Then leave. I’m tired.”

“I’m afraid it’s rather important, your grace.”

Both eyes opened, and the smoldering anger was there again. “What?” he snapped.

I moved to the side of the bed and leaned close. Before he could protest my impropriety, I whispered, “Your grace, Caudicus is poisoning you.”

CHAPTER SIXTY Wisdom’s Tool

The Maer’s eyes went wide at my words, then narrowed again. Even in the midst of his infirmity, Alveron’s wit was sharp. “You were right to speak that close and soft,” he said. “You are treading dangerous ground. But speak, I will hear you.”

“Your grace, I suspect Threpe did not mention in his letter that I am a student at the University as well as a musician.”

The Maer’s eyes showed no glimmer of recognition. “Which university?” he asked.

“The University, your grace,” I said. “I am a member of the Arcanum.”

Alveron frowned. “You’re far too young to make such a claim. And why would Threpe neglect to mention this?”

“You were not looking for an arcanist, your grace. And there is a certain stigma attached to that sort of study this far east.” It was the closest I could come to speaking the truth: that Vints are superstitious to the point of idiocy.

The Maer blinked slowly, his expression hardening. “Very well,” he said. “Perform some work of magic if you are what you say.”

“I am only an arcanist in training, your grace. But if you would like to see a bit of magic . . .” I looked at the three lamps lining the walls, licked my fingers, concentrated, and pinched the wick of the candle sitting on his bedside table.

The room went dark and I heard his startled intake of breath. I brought out my silver ring, and after a moment it began to shine with a silver-blue light. My hands grew cold, as I had no source of heat other than my own body.

“That will do,” the Maer said. If he was at all unnerved, there was no hint of it in his voice.

I stepped across the room and opened the shuttered windows. Sunlight flooded the room. There was a hint of selas flower, a trill of birdsong. “I’ve always found that taking in some air is good for whatever troubles a body, though others disagree.” I smiled at him.

He didn’t return it. “Yes, yes. You’re very clever. Come here and sit.” I did so, taking a chair near his bedside. “Now explain yourself.”

“I told Caudicus I was compiling a collection of stories from the noble houses,” I said. “A handy excuse, as it also explains why I have been spending time with you.”

The Maer’s expression remained grim. I saw pain blur his eyes like a cloud passing in front of the sun. “Proof that you are a skilled liar hardly gains you my trust.”

A cold knot began to form in my stomach. I had assumed the Maer would accept the truth more easily than this. “Just so, your grace. I lied to him and I am telling you the truth. Since he thought me nothing more than an idle lordling, he let me watch while he made your medicine.” I held up the amber flask. The sunlight broke itself into rainbows on the glass.

Alveron remained unmoved. His normally clear eyes fogged with confusion and pain. “I ask for proof and you tell me a story. Caudicus has been a faithful servant for a dozen years. Nevertheless, I will consider what you’ve said.” His tone implied it would be a short, unkind consideration. He held out his hand for the vial.

I felt a small flame of anger strike up inside me. It helped to ease the cold fear settling in my gut. “Your grace wants proof?”

“I want my medicine!” he snapped. “And I want to sleep. Please do—”