It was a man with a young girl on his shoulders.
“Thank you.” It was nice of her to remember his fondness for those wooden figurines but she apparently lacked understanding. He was not a collector. The set in the high tower was not an array of pieces purchased from upscale shops. He kept them because of the person who …
Caliph’s heart skipped. He turned the thing over and saw the familiar words carved into the piece’s base.
“For Caliph.” The same that marked each of his other figurines.
He felt elation and confusion at the same time as he pictured how Cameron’s hands must have aged, how whittling a hunk of wood must have grown more difficult with the years—
“You saw him? You went to Nifol?” Caliph interrupted his own thoughts.
Sena nodded.
The dream man had left Stonehold just before the war, heading for the warm south. But this carving pulled him back across the miles. Caliph stroked the wood lovingly with his thumb. Upon closer inspection, the carving seemed to be of Caliph himself. He noticed how Cameron’s knife had picked out the smile of the girl on his shoulders with particular care.
Sena had told him nothing about her trip. Ten months of mystery. The casket-shaped boxes unloaded from the Odalisque had carried books. They were stacked three deep, creating blockages in all the hallways adjacent to the library.
Well, now he knew one more thing.
Seneschal Vicunt knocked on the parlor door. Caliph recognized the two-stroke tap, light-handed and expressly unobtrusive. He slipped the wooden carving into the pocket of his long coat. Sena withdrew her arms from around his neck and walked slowly back to the glass coffee table where she retrieved her cup.
“Pardon me,” said the seneschal as Caliph opened the door. “There’s a diplomatic package here, addressed to the lady of the castle. It’s from the Grand Arbiter that’s been holding rallies in Gas End.”
Caliph glanced over his shoulder to where Sena stood, blowing across her cup, watching him.
“It’s a bit heavy.” Vicunt’s voice communicated strain.
Caliph opened the door and directed him to bring it in.
The seneschal placed it on one end of the coffee table. It was a square wooden box, roughly two feet on a side and eight inches deep. The label bore the diplomatic seal and was clearly addressed to Sena.
A strange aroma surrounded it. It smelled of ointments and spice.
Caliph lifted a butter knife and offered it to Sena, gesturing for her to break the seal.
She sipped her tea and did not respond.
“You’re not going to open it?”
“No. Take it out and bury it.”
“Bury it?” Caliph smiled quizzically. “What’s in it?”
“Nothing good,” she said.
Caliph brandished the knife at the seal but Sena only shrugged. A pavid chill crawled across his back. It was addressed to her. He had no right to open it.
“You know what’s in it?”
“Take it out and put it in the ground,” she said again. “The Church of Kosti Vinish feels threatened by me. If you open it, it’ll be public knowledge … and it will derail our reason for going to the conference.”
Caliph hesitated, still holding the knife. He could not fathom what the box might contain that would prevent him from going to the conference. He looked at Sena’s unreadable blue eyes, hovering an inch above her cup. Finally he put the knife down. “Drown?”
“Yes, your majesty?”
“No one opens it. Take it out to the bogs. Make sure it’s never found.”
Drown bit his lip nervously. He approached the box with brand-new, highly-visible dread, picked it up in both arms and hauled it from the room.
“See,” she said after he had left. Caliph scowled at her. “You do trust me…”
CHAPTER
10
Suspicion nagged Taelin. Her invitation to accompany the High King’s entourage bore the stink of contrivance. Especially since the high-profile conference in Sandren was going to be the first real forum between the Tebesh Plateau and what was
“Thank you.” It was nice of her to remember his fondness for those wooden figurines but she apparently lacked understanding. He was not a collector. The set in the high tower was not an array of pieces purchased from upscale shops. He kept them because of the person who …
Caliph’s heart skipped. He turned the thing over and saw the familiar words carved into the piece’s base.
“For Caliph.” The same that marked each of his other figurines.
He felt elation and confusion at the same time as he pictured how Cameron’s hands must have aged, how whittling a hunk of wood must have grown more difficult with the years—
“You saw him? You went to Nifol?” Caliph interrupted his own thoughts.
Sena nodded.
The dream man had left Stonehold just before the war, heading for the warm south. But this carving pulled him back across the miles. Caliph stroked the wood lovingly with his thumb. Upon closer inspection, the carving seemed to be of Caliph himself. He noticed how Cameron’s knife had picked out the smile of the girl on his shoulders with particular care.
Sena had told him nothing about her trip. Ten months of mystery. The casket-shaped boxes unloaded from the Odalisque had carried books. They were stacked three deep, creating blockages in all the hallways adjacent to the library.
Well, now he knew one more thing.
Seneschal Vicunt knocked on the parlor door. Caliph recognized the two-stroke tap, light-handed and expressly unobtrusive. He slipped the wooden carving into the pocket of his long coat. Sena withdrew her arms from around his neck and walked slowly back to the glass coffee table where she retrieved her cup.
“Pardon me,” said the seneschal as Caliph opened the door. “There’s a diplomatic package here, addressed to the lady of the castle. It’s from the Grand Arbiter that’s been holding rallies in Gas End.”
Caliph glanced over his shoulder to where Sena stood, blowing across her cup, watching him.
“It’s a bit heavy.” Vicunt’s voice communicated strain.
Caliph opened the door and directed him to bring it in.
The seneschal placed it on one end of the coffee table. It was a square wooden box, roughly two feet on a side and eight inches deep. The label bore the diplomatic seal and was clearly addressed to Sena.
A strange aroma surrounded it. It smelled of ointments and spice.
Caliph lifted a butter knife and offered it to Sena, gesturing for her to break the seal.
She sipped her tea and did not respond.
“You’re not going to open it?”
“No. Take it out and bury it.”
“Bury it?” Caliph smiled quizzically. “What’s in it?”
“Nothing good,” she said.
Caliph brandished the knife at the seal but Sena only shrugged. A pavid chill crawled across his back. It was addressed to her. He had no right to open it.
“You know what’s in it?”
“Take it out and put it in the ground,” she said again. “The Church of Kosti Vinish feels threatened by me. If you open it, it’ll be public knowledge … and it will derail our reason for going to the conference.”
Caliph hesitated, still holding the knife. He could not fathom what the box might contain that would prevent him from going to the conference. He looked at Sena’s unreadable blue eyes, hovering an inch above her cup. Finally he put the knife down. “Drown?”
“Yes, your majesty?”
“No one opens it. Take it out to the bogs. Make sure it’s never found.”
Drown bit his lip nervously. He approached the box with brand-new, highly-visible dread, picked it up in both arms and hauled it from the room.
“See,” she said after he had left. Caliph scowled at her. “You do trust me…”
CHAPTER
10
Suspicion nagged Taelin. Her invitation to accompany the High King’s entourage bore the stink of contrivance. Especially since the high-profile conference in Sandren was going to be the first real forum between the Tebesh Plateau and what was
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