quarter of the way around the mansion brought her to the balcony of Agria’s private suite. Caina threw the grapnel and scrambled up the line. After securing the rope to her belt once more, she pushed open the doors and entered Agria’s bedroom.
The room had a palatial opulence that put both the White Road Inn and Zorgi’s establishment to shame. Her boots sank into thick carpets from Istarinmul, the threads woven into elaborate geometric designs. The wardrobe was the size of a small house. The bed, layered with blankets, could have accommodated ten people with room to spare. A massive oak table held an astonishing array of bottled cosmetics, with a huge mirror reflecting the room. Caina wondered how much time Lady Agria spent with that mirror and those bottles.
A mirror was also set in the ceiling, above the bed.
Caina decided not to think about that.
She took a step towards the table and felt the familiar crawling tingle against her skin.
Sorcery.
For a moment she froze, half-expecting to see Agria appear from the shadows, blue light flickering around her fingertips. But the tingling remained steady, subdued. After a moment Caina realized it came from the table.
She drew closer, her reflection shadowed and blurred in the mirror, and looked over the bottles. There were powders, perfumes, salves, brushes, combs, pins…
There.
A silver dagger and a heavy silver chalice sat side by side. Rubies encircled the chalice, and glittered in the dagger’s hilt. Caina lifted her gloved hand and held it an inch from the objects. The tingling grew stronger, so strong that it was almost painful. Both the dagger and the chalice were enspelled, powerfully so. Caina wondered who had enspelled them, and to what purpose.
Something dark and cylindrical lay behind the chalice. Caina leaned forward to take a better look, careful not to touch the chalice, and her breath caught in her throat.
Leather bracers, gleaming and oiled, their surfaces carved with sigils.
Identical to the ones she had seen on Icaraeus and Tigrane.
She waved her hand over the bracers and felt the same crawling tingle. So. Icaraeus and Agria had gotten their bracers from the same source. Was Agria skilled enough to create such a potent object by herself? Or had the bracers come from some other sorcerer?
Caina didn’t know, but she intended to find out.
She took a step towards the door and froze.
The handle was moving.
She had a half-second to react. Caina dove to the floor and rolled under the bed. Her cloak blurred with the darkness, concealing her. A moment later the door swung open, and Caina saw booted feet enter, accompanied by the rattle of armor and the swish of a red cloak.
She inched forward and peered up.
Hiram Palaegus stood over Agria’s table, rummaging through the bottles. Caina considered the odd sight of a military tribune searching a lady’s cosmetics for a moment. She doubted that Hiram had come here to steal perfume. He was looking for something. But what?
Caina watched as he searched the bedroom, digging through the bottles and rummaging in the wardrobe. He turned towards the bed. Caina sucked in a quick breath, pulled her cowl low, and pressed her face into the carpet. Hiram looked under the bed, but her shadowed cloak must have concealed her, because he straightened up and walked into the next room. Caina looked up, heard him searching through drawers and chests. Perhaps a quarter hour passed before he returned to the bedroom, and Caina risked a glance at him.
He looked angry. No, furious. And grieving. He looked as if he wanted to weep, or to smash things. Maybe both.
“Damn you, Agria,” he muttered. “Damn you to hell. And damn you too, Jadriga. Damn both of you.”
Jadriga?
Hiram left the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Caina started to count, her mind working. Hiram hated his former sister-in-law, that much was plain. But what had he been looking for? Blackmail, perhaps? Or maybe he knew of her
The room had a palatial opulence that put both the White Road Inn and Zorgi’s establishment to shame. Her boots sank into thick carpets from Istarinmul, the threads woven into elaborate geometric designs. The wardrobe was the size of a small house. The bed, layered with blankets, could have accommodated ten people with room to spare. A massive oak table held an astonishing array of bottled cosmetics, with a huge mirror reflecting the room. Caina wondered how much time Lady Agria spent with that mirror and those bottles.
A mirror was also set in the ceiling, above the bed.
Caina decided not to think about that.
She took a step towards the table and felt the familiar crawling tingle against her skin.
Sorcery.
For a moment she froze, half-expecting to see Agria appear from the shadows, blue light flickering around her fingertips. But the tingling remained steady, subdued. After a moment Caina realized it came from the table.
She drew closer, her reflection shadowed and blurred in the mirror, and looked over the bottles. There were powders, perfumes, salves, brushes, combs, pins…
There.
A silver dagger and a heavy silver chalice sat side by side. Rubies encircled the chalice, and glittered in the dagger’s hilt. Caina lifted her gloved hand and held it an inch from the objects. The tingling grew stronger, so strong that it was almost painful. Both the dagger and the chalice were enspelled, powerfully so. Caina wondered who had enspelled them, and to what purpose.
Something dark and cylindrical lay behind the chalice. Caina leaned forward to take a better look, careful not to touch the chalice, and her breath caught in her throat.
Leather bracers, gleaming and oiled, their surfaces carved with sigils.
Identical to the ones she had seen on Icaraeus and Tigrane.
She waved her hand over the bracers and felt the same crawling tingle. So. Icaraeus and Agria had gotten their bracers from the same source. Was Agria skilled enough to create such a potent object by herself? Or had the bracers come from some other sorcerer?
Caina didn’t know, but she intended to find out.
She took a step towards the door and froze.
The handle was moving.
She had a half-second to react. Caina dove to the floor and rolled under the bed. Her cloak blurred with the darkness, concealing her. A moment later the door swung open, and Caina saw booted feet enter, accompanied by the rattle of armor and the swish of a red cloak.
She inched forward and peered up.
Hiram Palaegus stood over Agria’s table, rummaging through the bottles. Caina considered the odd sight of a military tribune searching a lady’s cosmetics for a moment. She doubted that Hiram had come here to steal perfume. He was looking for something. But what?
Caina watched as he searched the bedroom, digging through the bottles and rummaging in the wardrobe. He turned towards the bed. Caina sucked in a quick breath, pulled her cowl low, and pressed her face into the carpet. Hiram looked under the bed, but her shadowed cloak must have concealed her, because he straightened up and walked into the next room. Caina looked up, heard him searching through drawers and chests. Perhaps a quarter hour passed before he returned to the bedroom, and Caina risked a glance at him.
He looked angry. No, furious. And grieving. He looked as if he wanted to weep, or to smash things. Maybe both.
“Damn you, Agria,” he muttered. “Damn you to hell. And damn you too, Jadriga. Damn both of you.”
Jadriga?
Hiram left the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Caina started to count, her mind working. Hiram hated his former sister-in-law, that much was plain. But what had he been looking for? Blackmail, perhaps? Or maybe he knew of her
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