do it—how did you pass the inner safeguards and steal the savor itself?”
Annaïg felt her fear melting, then transforming, igniting into triumph.
“I didn’t, Chef,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I only entered the outer corridors of her kitchen, to taint the dress. The ninth taste I invented—or reinvented, I suppose—on my own.”
For perhaps the first time since she had met him, Toel’s mouth moved as if in speech but without producing any sound.
“How?” he asked.
“All I had to do was think about it a bit. Once I understood the principle, making the taste was simple enough. And just now, Phmer confirmed that I was right. Until then I couldn’t be sure.”
“What is it, then? Do you have more?”
“I can make more,” she assured him. “For obvious reasons, I don’t have any with me.”
“But what is it?”
“The ninth savor is the opposite of all other tastes. It is the utter absence of flavor.”
Toel’s pupils constricted, then widened again, reminding her of Glim.
“Like the space between words,” he murmured.
“I thought of music,” she said. “There are many pitches, chords, harmonies, and dissonances—but silence—that, too, is a part of music.”
His smiled broadened a little and he tapped the table with his forefinger.
“I had given up on you, you know,” he said. “I thought all of that talk about showing me what I didn’t know I wanted to see was desperate nonsense, and yet you’ve done it. And Slyr—she never saw it coming. But why did it take you so long?”
“I do things in my own time, for my own reasons,” she said.
His gaze intensified and he placed his hand on hers.
“You’ve pleased me more than you can imagine,” he said. “Come with me now, and let me please you.”
She squeezed his hand, leaned forward—and with a slight hesitation, brought her lips to his. They were amazingly smooth, like slippery glass, and an unexpected tingle fizzed down to her belly, leaving her feeling both excited and somewhat sick. He responded, lightly at first, but as he grew hungrier she pulled away.
“In my own time,” she said softly. “For my own reasons.”
For a breath or two she didn’t think he would relent, but then he laughed. “I will have to kill you one day,” he said. “But for now, I love you. Go now; invent delightful things for Lord Rhel. I will see you tomorrow.”
In the corridor, her knees wobbled.
“Xhuth!” she swore.
She hated Toel,
hated
him, now more than ever. And yet her body didn’t care about that at all. It was disgusting.
Later, in her rooms, she drew out her locket. Maybe tonight Attrebus would answer, finally.
But did she want him to? What would she tell him? How could she explain what she had done to Slyr? Or talk about what had happened with Toel?
She couldn’t. And so she closed the locket and sought sleep, turning so she could not see Slyr’s empty bed.
EIGHT
Colin woke sometime after midnight. At first he thought he was alone, but then he noticed Arese standing at the window. She reminded him of one of the white poplars that grew along streams in the hills outside of Anvil.
She heard him approaching and glanced over her shoulder, but her features were shadowed by the moonlight behind her.
“I shouldn’t still be here,” she said.
“Right,” he replied. “Why are you?”
She shrugged. “I guess I thought we weren’t through.”
She must have seen the expression on his face, because she laughed. “No, I think we’re done with
that
for the night,” she said. “I mean—you came here for something, right? To tell me something?”
“Yes,” he said, surprised at how unimportant it seemed at the moment. But he explained it anyway—about what Hierem did in Black Marsh.
“That only seems to confirm what we already thought,” she said.
“It’s something,” Colin replied. “The journal is proof, isn’t it?”
“It is proof,” she said. “Just not very good proof.”
“How
Annaïg felt her fear melting, then transforming, igniting into triumph.
“I didn’t, Chef,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I only entered the outer corridors of her kitchen, to taint the dress. The ninth taste I invented—or reinvented, I suppose—on my own.”
For perhaps the first time since she had met him, Toel’s mouth moved as if in speech but without producing any sound.
“How?” he asked.
“All I had to do was think about it a bit. Once I understood the principle, making the taste was simple enough. And just now, Phmer confirmed that I was right. Until then I couldn’t be sure.”
“What is it, then? Do you have more?”
“I can make more,” she assured him. “For obvious reasons, I don’t have any with me.”
“But what is it?”
“The ninth savor is the opposite of all other tastes. It is the utter absence of flavor.”
Toel’s pupils constricted, then widened again, reminding her of Glim.
“Like the space between words,” he murmured.
“I thought of music,” she said. “There are many pitches, chords, harmonies, and dissonances—but silence—that, too, is a part of music.”
His smiled broadened a little and he tapped the table with his forefinger.
“I had given up on you, you know,” he said. “I thought all of that talk about showing me what I didn’t know I wanted to see was desperate nonsense, and yet you’ve done it. And Slyr—she never saw it coming. But why did it take you so long?”
“I do things in my own time, for my own reasons,” she said.
His gaze intensified and he placed his hand on hers.
“You’ve pleased me more than you can imagine,” he said. “Come with me now, and let me please you.”
She squeezed his hand, leaned forward—and with a slight hesitation, brought her lips to his. They were amazingly smooth, like slippery glass, and an unexpected tingle fizzed down to her belly, leaving her feeling both excited and somewhat sick. He responded, lightly at first, but as he grew hungrier she pulled away.
“In my own time,” she said softly. “For my own reasons.”
For a breath or two she didn’t think he would relent, but then he laughed. “I will have to kill you one day,” he said. “But for now, I love you. Go now; invent delightful things for Lord Rhel. I will see you tomorrow.”
In the corridor, her knees wobbled.
“Xhuth!” she swore.
She hated Toel,
hated
him, now more than ever. And yet her body didn’t care about that at all. It was disgusting.
Later, in her rooms, she drew out her locket. Maybe tonight Attrebus would answer, finally.
But did she want him to? What would she tell him? How could she explain what she had done to Slyr? Or talk about what had happened with Toel?
She couldn’t. And so she closed the locket and sought sleep, turning so she could not see Slyr’s empty bed.
EIGHT
Colin woke sometime after midnight. At first he thought he was alone, but then he noticed Arese standing at the window. She reminded him of one of the white poplars that grew along streams in the hills outside of Anvil.
She heard him approaching and glanced over her shoulder, but her features were shadowed by the moonlight behind her.
“I shouldn’t still be here,” she said.
“Right,” he replied. “Why are you?”
She shrugged. “I guess I thought we weren’t through.”
She must have seen the expression on his face, because she laughed. “No, I think we’re done with
that
for the night,” she said. “I mean—you came here for something, right? To tell me something?”
“Yes,” he said, surprised at how unimportant it seemed at the moment. But he explained it anyway—about what Hierem did in Black Marsh.
“That only seems to confirm what we already thought,” she said.
“It’s something,” Colin replied. “The journal is proof, isn’t it?”
“It is proof,” she said. “Just not very good proof.”
“How
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