Cascet of souls

“No, she’s just the same,” Micum told him.

Seregil sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. “We’ll search the house tonight while they’re onstage.”

“And if it’s not there?” asked Thero.

Seregil snorted. “Then I’ll personally torture Atre until he tells us where it is.”

“I’ll help you.” Thero poured the tea and handed the cups around.

“So we burgle Atre’s house tonight,” said Micum.

“Yes,” Seregil replied. “If we don’t find what we’re looking for, we drive our prey, and pray to Illior that Atre or Brader leads us to the right bottle, and Elani’s things.”

Micum rested his forehead in his hand. “Why are they doing this?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Seregil, sipping his tea. “The way that old man and his daughter described

seeing the raven woman up in the northlands? She could be a twin for the one we’ve seen. We know from Atre himself that he and Brader are from the north. What if both old women are Atre?”

“That was thirty years ago,” said Micum. “Atre is a young man.”

“Consuming the life of another to prolong one’s own,” mused Thero. “The cases I know of have all involved eating the flesh or drinking the blood of a victim. And for the most part, it was just superstition and cannibalism. But if what you suggest is true, then this magic works.”

“The soul-stealing part certainly does,” said Micum, casting a pained look in the direction of the bedroom.

Seregil was quiet for a moment, tapping his lip with one long finger, a sure sign that an idea was taking form. “Atre doesn’t always look the same. You haven’t seen enough of him to notice, Micum, but sometimes he looks younger, handsomer than others. I put it down to cosmetics, but maybe that’s the effect of the elixir. At Kylith’s wake Atre was positively glowing. I thought at the time it was odd, given the circumstances.”

Alec snorted. “He was there to gloat!”

“Yes. Now, let’s find Mika,” said Seregil, then yawned again.

“I can guide Thero,” said Micum. “You two should rest while you can.”

“We have to watch Atre’s house today. None of us have been there. We don’t know what the servant situation is or their daily routine.”

“I’ll take first watch,” said Alec. “Micum, you can take the next, when you get back. Seregil, get some sleep.”

As Thero followed Alec and Micum downstairs, he sent up a silent prayer to Illior that the child had survived, and not only for Illia’s sake.

CHAPTER 41. Mika

YEW Street was a small, well-kept lane. People were already out about their morning business, and bread sellers and milk vendors were calling their wares. Dawn was breaking and the clouds overhead were pink against the pale blue of the sky.

“Mika said a green-and-yellow door,” said Thero, looking around.

The house in question stood at the far end of the street. It was a tidy little place, with late-summer flowers growing on either side of the stone doorsill. The upper windows were still shuttered, but they could hear a woman sobbing.

“Oh, Illior!” murmured Micum.

“We need to know for certain.” Thero went to the door and knocked.

An instant later the shutters were thrown open overhead and a youngish-looking man in a nightshirt leaned out and gave them a puzzled look. “Who are you?”

“Are you the father of a boy named Mika?” Thero asked.

“I am, if that’s anything to you.”

“Please, sir, if you would, how is the boy?”

The man broke into a broad grin that belied the sounds of weeping still coming from the room behind him. “He’s awake! But how did you know?”

“Forgive us for bothering you at such an hour,” said Micum. “This is Lord Thero of the Oreska House. He’s been working with the high priest of Dalna to find a cure for the sleeping death. I think he may have helped your boy tonight.”

“I must examine him,” Thero told him. “It’s of vital importance to all Rhiminee.”

The man goggled down at Thero. “Of course, my lord! By the Maker, wait there!” He slammed the shutters closed and a moment later flung the front door open and wrung Thero’s hand with tears in his eyes. “Come in! Oh, my lord, how can I ever repay you?”

“No need for that. Just take me to the boy.”

The happy father, who introduced himself as Aman, didn’t appear to be much older than Thero. He led the three of them upstairs to a low-ceilinged bedchamber under the eaves. A plain bedstead covered in bright quilts stood in the center of the room, and beyond it, by the far wall, a young woman knelt on the floor by a little trundle bed, rocking a child in her arms and weeping with what they could now see was joy. The boy looked over her shoulder as they came in, and Thero recognized him at once. It was Mika, sandy-haired and skinny. His eyes, which had been colorless in the mist, were the same clear grey as Seregil’s, Thero saw with an inward thrill.

“There he is, Mama, the wizard I dreamed of!” Mika cried, struggling out of his mother’s arms and coming to stand before Thero. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then Mika threw his thin arms around the wizard’s waist. “Thank you, sir, for sending me home!”

Thero stroked the child’s hair. “You’re very welcome, Mika.” The sense of magic was much stronger. Two hours ago he hadn’t known the boy existed; now he felt a sense of excitement and recognition he’d never experienced before.

You will know, Nysander’s voice whispered from his memory. Just as I knew with you.

He gently loosened the boy’s grip on his waist and drew his crystal wand, looking for any residual magics. Behind him, Micum and the parents were talking in low voices.

Casting the spell, he drew the sigil over Mika and watched as waves of soft pale light cascaded over the boy, then settled

like a veil and turned silvery white. He touched his wand’s tip to it and felt a tingle of that same familiar magic go up his arm, but with it a jolt of the foul spell that had captured the boy’s soul. For a fleeting instant he saw Atre’s face. The man was laughing with someone as he raised a phial to his lips and drank.

Thero suddenly couldn’t breathe. Hastily jerking the wand back, he cast a sign of warding, then dispelled the sigil. The boy would need cleansing.

Micum hunkered down and held out what appeared to be a cat’s eyetooth. “Mika, you traded with a beggar for this, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” the child replied politely.

Thero took it, but as with the yellow crystal, there was nothing magical about it, nor any trace that there ever had been. But he had a clear vision of the dead yellow tom it had come from, and, more faintly, of Atre having handled it. These objects were not the key, just the bait.

“What did the beggar look like?” he asked.

“She was an old woman, sir, and though she was dirty, she was very kind. She said that was a baby dragon’s tooth.” He looked at his mother’s tear-streaked face. “Did I do wrong?”

His mother fell to her knees beside him and clutched him to her breast again. “No, lovey, no! She was an evil woman, this man says.” She looked gratefully up at Micum. “And he says he and his friends are going to catch her and make her stop hurting children like you. What do you say, child?”

Mika gave them both a solemn little bow. “Thank you, kind sirs.”

Thero smiled. “You’re most welcome, Mika. Can you tell us more about what this old woman looked like?”

“She had a long nose and whiskers on her chin, sir. And things hanging from her belt, skulls and stones and