Feast of Souls by C. S. Friedman Page A

Magisters in this part of the world, he suspected that only Ramirus had no concourse with Sankara’s ruler. Did the Magister Royal recognize their banter as the misdirection it was, or did he genuinely not know how many of his brothers had ties to Sankara? The latter seemed unlikely. But then, these were unlikely times.
    “Brothers.” Lazaroth’s voice was firm. “We are forgetting the real issue here, are we not?”
    “Are we?” Ramirus said softly. His eyes were fixed on Colivar. “I am not so certain of that.”
    Colivar shrugged again; his face was pointedly devoid of any expression another man might read. “Investigate her if you like. I tell you now I don’t see anything she would stand to gain from the illness of Danton’s third son… he is unlikely to inherit much of anything with Rurick strutting around, but by all means, seek the truth.”
    “Would you care if I did?” Ramirus said softly. “Would you care if that truth were… not favorable to her?”
    Colivar’s eyes were hard and cold, the gaze behind them as black as a moonless night. “Siderea Amines-tas is morati,” he said shortly. “Her lifetime is no more than the blink of an eye compared to ours. The shifting of a vagrant breeze that greater winds will swallow. It matters little when that breeze expires, in the face of greater storms. We who mold the storms know that.”
    “And we don’t yet know she is the one responsible for this,” Kellam pointed out. “Or have any more evidence than the simple fact she is powerful enough among morati to draw our notice.”
    “And she is also a suitable target for Danton’s ambitions,” Fadir reminded them. “Let us not forget that, shall we?” He turned to face Ramirus. “Those of us outside Danton’s domain have taken note of his political ambitions. Sankara would be a jewel in any conqueror’s crown. I for one would take it poorly to be dragged into an investigation whose true purpose was discrediting a morati rival to your wretched royal house.”
    The snowy brows drew together in fury. “Do you accuse me of manipulating this brotherhood for morati politics?”
    “Please!” Lazaroth raised up a hand sharply between them. “We’re not children here, nor are we fools. There’s not a Magister on the face of the earth who has not manipulated his fellow Magisters for the sake of some morati prize at one time or another. Let’s not waste time pretending it is otherwise.”
    “Indeed,” Severil noted. “If the morati didn’t amuse us, if their political games didn’t keep us occupied, why then we would have nothing to concern ourselves with but each other… and I for one would go stark raving mad.”
    A dark amusement glittered in Colivar’s eyes. “Yes, we are piss-poor company for one another, are we not?”
    From a shadowy corner of the room, Suhr-Halim said quietly, “What attempts have been made to seek more information on this mystery woman?”
    “You mean using sorcery?”
    He nodded.
    “Too much danger in that,” Kellam said. “If Andovan suffers from the Wasting, as our host claims, any attempt to trace the cause by sorcery would be a fatal enterprise. As it appears to have been for this witch he consulted.”
    “Witches die,” Colivar pointed out. “Usually in the midst of some magical enterprise, since that is ultimately what kills them. Has anyone confirmed exactly why this one expired? Or are we all just making assumptions?”
    Silence fell over the table.
    “Well then.” He leaned back in his chair. “I think that should be the first order of business.”
    “Are you offering your services?” Ramirus asked him.
    The black eyes glittered in the lamplight. “I would not presume to step forward in a matter you are obviously well qualified to handle. Some Magisters might deem that an insult, yes?” He chuckled softly. “Far be it from me to insult anyone.”
    “There are means that can be applied without undue risk,” Suhr-Halim pointed out. His accent