A mystery for the future.
“Come on,” he whispered to Delmin. “If we’re getting broken into squads, let’s make sure we’re together.”
Amaya Tyrell lay back on Hemmit’s bed, perfectly content, if physically drained.
“So, you have something interesting for me?” Hemmit asked.
“I thought that was rather interesting,” Amaya said. “If not, I’m doing something wrong.”
“Nothing wrong,” Hemmit said, leaning over to kiss her. She was no longer in the mood to have that beard in her face, though, and blocked him with her hand.
“Let’s not dally all day,” she said.
“Right.” He took the cue and moved away. “You did say you had something.”
“I have thoughts,” she said. “Suspicions about this Grand Ten conspiracy that I cannot substantiate.”
“All right,” he said, getting out of the bed. He went across the room, to a large slateboard that Amaya had always found a little odd for him to own. She suspected he had pilfered it from the Royal College of Maradaine when he was expelled. He wiped the random notes off the board and picked up a piece of chalk. “Let’s go over it fresh.”
“Right,” she said. “We’ve got reasonable suspicion that there is a group of conspirators in the city who fashion themselves after the original Grand Ten. So, ten players, using the ten titles.”
He proceeded to write: Parliamentarian, Man of the People, Lord, Lady, Duchess, Priest, Justice, Soldier, Mage, and Warrior. “And from there?”
“The Warrior we suspect is a Tarian. Likely someone at the Master level. Or Grandmaster Orren himself.” She pushed her way through that last sentence, as distasteful as it was. “I don’t want to believe it is him, but . . .”
“It can’t be discounted,” Hemmit said. “It has to be someone with the ability to have Master Denbar sent to Lacanja. Who else can do that?”
“Really just the Grandmaster. But he could be influenced by someone else.”
He wrote the Grandmaster’s name under “Warrior,” followed by “other Masters.”
“And then what?” he asked.
“For the mage, I feel like it’s got to be someone in Intelligence, in the Red Wolf Circle. Those are the most politically powerful mages.”
“You know Lin is in Red Wolf,” he said.
“And can we completely trust her?”
“She’s not in Intelligence,” Hemmit said. “Red Wolf is the largest Mage Circle in the city, and while members do serve in Intelligence, they aren’t a Circle with an agenda. Half the members are like Lin—low skill mages who just need Circling to avoid legal trouble.”
Amaya wasn’t entirely convinced, but said nothing more. Something about Lin Shartien put her on guard. Perhaps it was the her strong Linjari accent, or how easily she dropped it when talking to a source. Lin had a great capacity for deception. Hemmit had told her the whole story of their subterfuge as Wissen and Jala, which led to their infiltration of the Haltom’s Patriots.
“But that’s why my eye was on Colonel Altarn today,” Amaya said. “She’s had an unprecedented rise in the past few months. Hardly anyone knew her name a year ago, and now she’s seen in the halls of power more and more. Today I watched her intently.”
“At the garden?”
“Maybe it’s my own suspicion, but I swear, during the ceremony, she looked like she was waiting for something. When the assassin shot . . . it was almost like she was smiling.”
“You think she was behind it?”
“There’s no way that kid got on the grounds with a crossbow alone.”
“The Altarn Initiatives,” Hemmit said, snapping his fingers.
“What’s that?”
He went to a box behind his desk and thumbed through newsprints, copies of The Veracity Press. Taking out a copy, he handed it to her. “Both the University of Maradaine and RCM have had some upheaval in their magic programs. New faculty this semester, and talk of significant changes to the curriculum. I couldn’t find anyone to speak on the record, but several members of Lord Preston’s Circle expressed concern that these ‘Altarn Initiatives’ were damaging the core purpose of teaching young mages.”
“She’s driving curriculum changes at the universities?” Amaya asked, getting out of the bed as she looked over the story. “Put her down. She’s a primary candidate for the Mage.”
He wrote her name. “What about outside of the realm of political power? There are small Circles that have strong agendas. I’ve dug up some troubling things about the Firewings, Light and Stone, the Blue Hand . . .”
“Write it all down,” she said.
He did, and then under the Parliamentarian, wrote several names. “These are members of Parliament that I definitely have my suspicions about.”
“All Traditionalists?” Amaya asked. She put the newssheet down and started stretching her back and shoulders.
“Maybe that’s my bias,” he said. “But these are the members I have some degree of suspicion about. The kind whose character indicates they’d be involved in something underhanded.” He finished writing the names: Vale, Mills, Pollinglen, Bishop, Pike, Millerson, Tellerson, Calinar, Corvi.
“That’s a decent list.”
“They’re also members whose influence stems from connections to the nobility,” he said, pointing to the Lord, Lady, and Duchess on the board. “So that’s the source.”
“How many Duchesses are in the city?” Amaya asked. “I mean, in the whole country, there’s, what, forty?”
“Fifty-one,” he said. “Four live in Maradaine. But that’s presuming our Grand Ten are being that literal about their titles.”
“Right,” Amaya said. She rotated her neck, and it gave off a few too many pops for her taste.
“Soldier?” he asked.
“Let’s find a list of every major, colonel, and general in the city,” she said. “If we’re being less than literal . . .”
“Naval officers as well,” he said. He then wrote on the bottom half of the slateboard. “WHAT DO THEY WANT?”
“Good question,” she said. “That’s what troubles me.”
“That we don’t know?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about what the name the Grand Ten implies. The original one, at least in terms of legend, protected the integrity of the Line of Maradaine during the Incursion. Protected the city, protected the young prince when the rest of the royal family was captured or slaughtered—”
“And authenticating his claim to the throne afterward,” Hemmit said. “Not to mention building
