The Fall of Ventaris by Neil McGarry, Daniel Ravipinto, Amy Houser Page B

missteps during the mysteries had angered him.
    “The name I gave you when I saw you wandering in the Hall. An errant mote, moving against the flow, a particle of chaos across the turning of the wheel.”
    So she was being rebuked. “My apologies, Preceptor. I was, ah, unfamiliar with...”
    “Oh, your reasons don’t concern me.” He smiled mirthlessly, which made his strange eyes seem even more unsettling. “All things serve the turning of His wheel. Chaos is part of order. I merely wished to see this bit of chaos up close.”
    Duchess had not spent years playing at words with Minette without learning to recognize coy curiosity, and in a strange way she felt more at ease. It was a game she knew. “And now that you’ve gotten your better look, Preceptor?” She could play as well.
    He smiled, undeterred. “I withhold judgment.” His eyes measured her. “Indeed, judgment, like forgiveness, comes from the gods.”
    “Then I hope Ventaris will forgive me for not introducing myself. They call me — ”
    “Duchess. I know.” Before she could ask, he added, “As I approached I heard young Dorian Eusbius say the name, which is indeed unusual. Almost too unusual to be true.”
    Duchess watched him warily, wondering if he was simply striking in the dark. “I’ve been called many things,” she replied at last.
    “But never overly cautious, I’ll warrant.”
    “And why should I be cautious in the Halls of Dawn, Preceptor?”  
    “Your conversations with two members of House Eusbius today did not go unnoticed. I would think,” he mused, placing a finger on his cheek, “that someone in your position would be capable of more subtlety.”
    Realization stirred. Amabilis might wear a radiant’s whites, but he spoke like one of the Grey. If this wasn’t fruning, she was an alley cat.
    “Well, I’m still new at this,” she tried, “but I’m always pleased to learn from my elders.” The flicker in his eyes gave him away. He was Grey. She’d heard stories of high-hill Rodaasi and even nobles who wore the cloak, but she’d never imagined a radiant might do so. A day for revelations, indeed.
    He inclined his head slightly, as in salute. “We who wear the white and gold strive every day to serve the turning of the great wheel, no matter our position. All things have their place in the pattern.”
    “All things, Preceptor?” She thought suddenly of the boy with the torch and of Manly Pete and Lysander. “Even someone like Adam Whitehall?” Let him chew on that .
    If Amabilis was surprised at her audacity, he did not show it. “ Especially someone like Adam Whitehall.”
    “You say that as if you mean it.”
    “I do mean it.”
    She gave him a long look. “And you know what he’s done?”
    “Of course. His crimes are what led him to the Halls of Dawn,” Amabilis said with a beatific expression. “I pray for the souls of those poor boys every day. But they are gone, and we are here.” He tilted his head. “There was a time when men made tools of iron, torn crudely from the earth and roughly shaped. Iron is brittle and black, but when exposed to fire the ore dries, the impurities removed, and in the end is turned to steel, stronger and more flexible. Forged and tempered into something better.” He looked down at her, eyes unreadable. “Ventaris is fire, child, and Adam Whitehall iron ore. Thus good might be made of bad, if one has but the will and the hands to shape it.”
    She thought of Lysander, and how easily it might have been him in place of Pete. She stepped away from Amabilis, towards the Godswalk, her head full and her stomach sour. She didn’t know what the preceptor wanted, but she’d had her fill for the day. “Then I leave you to your work. I wish you luck with Adam Whitehall.”
    “No fear, child.” Amabilis watched her with his strange eyes. “He has his uses. As do we all.”

Chapter Six: Worth the candle

    When word came from Minette to meet her keeper, Duchess thought she was