Yarim pushed back his half-eaten breakfast and rose from the table. Plush carpet sank beneath his feet as he walked down the hall and up the stairs toward his study—the mansion he was renting had been quite austere when he’d first moved in, but Yarim had brought his creature comforts from home, and had quickly embellished it with plush furnishings, colorful drapes, and several priceless pieces of artwork he had managed to carry with him. He had been forced to leave many of his belongings when he had fled the Empire, but he was thankful he could at least surround himself with the illusion ofhome.
Yarim sat behind the large, cedar desk and took in a deep breath. The study was one of his favorite rooms in the house—the scent of parchment and ink mixed with the clear, fragrant combination of the wood always calmed him. The headache hammering at his temples receded a bit, and by the time Sir Jerrold came in, he felt considerablybetter.
“Good morning,” Yarim said, standing. He held out his hand for Sir Jerrold. “Welcome to myhome.”
“Thank you.” Sir Jerrold briefly clasped his hand in an iron grip. He was a mountain of a man, with close-cropped blond hair and harsh features, and he seemed to fill the entire space with a menacing presence even though he didn’t look particularly angry. The lines bracketing the man’s mouth showed something displeased him—Yarim wondered if it was simple frustration with how his witch hunt was going, or if he was unhappy about coming into a foreigner’s home and being surrounded by things he might considersinful.
Barbarians. If wealth is such a sin, then why does their king live in a grand castle rather than a stonehut?
“Please, sit,” Yarim said, gesturing to the chair in front of him. “Would you care for adrink?”
Sir Jerrold waved an armored hand. “No, thank you. I do not imbibe while I am on a hunt. Alcohol makes the mind weak.” His eyes glittered as they rested upon the small liquor cabinet in the room, almost as if he were suggesting Yarim was weak simply because he had spirits in theroom.
Yarim held back a wolfish smile. Let the man think what he wanted. He didn’t mind beingunderestimated.
“I’ll cut straight to the point,” Sir Jerrold said, pinning him with his icy blue gaze. “I spoke with Countess Larkinspur this morning, and she told me that a man was harassing you at her masquerade last night. Is it true that he was trying to hire your ship to take him to theEmpire?”
“Yes,” Yarim said, his skin prickling with awareness. Had there been more to the man’s request than it had seemed? The countess had told him that the man was Lord Poltan of Sansmere, a province far to the north, and that the woman he had flirted with earlier was his wife. Could it be that these two were Sir Jerrold’s targets? He’d heard rumors that the witch was not traveling alone, some of them claiming that she’d bewitched an army of men to protecther.
“His request didn’t seem particularly sinister,” Yarim went on, not liking the direction this conversation was going. He certainly wasn’t inclined to help Sir Jerrold catch a witch, especially if she had real magic. “He said his uncle had run off to the Empire seeking adventure a few years ago, and that he wanted to find him and bring him back toFjordland.”
“I’ll be the judge of what is and isn’t sinister,” Sir Jerrold said. “Was this man accompanied by awoman?”
“I believe he was with one at the party,” Yarim said, “but Lord and Lady Sansmere look nothing like the description your men have been passingaround.”
Sir Jerrold snorted. “For a man from the Empire, you seem woefully ignorant about magic. Witches can disguise themselves, and I have reason to believe I have encountered her posing as both a man and a woman.” His thin lips curled in disgust, as if the idea of a woman daring to pretend to be a man was the highest form of sin. “Besides, I know for a fact that the Sansmeres are at their home, and not here in thecapital.”
Yarim’s pulse jumped, and he curled his hands beneath the desk. So, it was true then—the woman he had met last night was an imposter. The annoyance he had felt toward her last night vanished, replaced by sympathy and concern. Clearly, she had come to the capital seeking the fastest path to the Empire. But what was she doing in Fjordland in the first place? According to her physical description, she was a foreigner, not anative.
“Is it possible you might be wrong about the Sansmeres?” Yarim asked, more to needle the witch hunter than anything else. His morning had suddenly become much more interesting, and he hoped the man might give up moreinformation.
“Impossible.” A muscle flexed in Sir Jerrold’s jaw. “The lady is a Tyrook by marriage, and I was just at Castle Tyrook, where the witch was brought up from infancy.” His eyes narrowed. “If you know anything about the quarry I hunt, it would be best to speak up now. It is a crime to withhold relevant information from a witchhunter.”
Yarim shrugged. “I know no more than what you have just told me,” he said. “The man I spoke to wanted passage to the Empire, but after I told him I was not interested, he disappeared quickly enough. I imagine he and his wife are looking at otheroptions.”
“They will have no choice but to flee the capital,” Sir Jerrold sneered, rising from his chair. He towered over Yarim, who instinctively rose as well, not liking the idea of this man standing over him. He was quite handy with a blade when need be, but the dagger he wore at his waist was not sufficient protection from this giant. “I will double the guard on all entrances, and start widening my search parameters. Clearly, they are smart enough to avoid brothels andinns.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Yarim said blandly, even as his heart raced. How would the witch and her entourage get out of this? “Now, is there anything else I can do foryou?”
“I doubt it.” Sir Jerrold raked him with a sneer. Yarim knew that many of the Fjordland men considered him effeminate with his flamboyant clothing and mannerisms, and he imagined the fanatical witch hunter was no different. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Sir Yarim. I’ll see myselfout.”
He opened the door, then brushed past the butler waiting outside. Yarim gave the man a subtle nod, and the butler followed Sir Jerrold. He did not want the witch hunter prowling about his house without an escort, poking and prodding into his things. He was not a witch, but zealots like him needed very little provocation to arrest and execute someone they did not like. Everyone knew that men could not wield magic, which protected Yarim from his wrath, but if Sir Jerrold found anything of a magical nature in his home, all bets wereoff.
“Good riddance,” he said when the front door shut behind Sir Jerrold. He crossed over to the window to watch the witch hunter stalkaway.
Such an interesting development! He had learned much from Sir Jerrold this morning. This witch…Tariel, he thought her name was, was not a foreigner, but born and raised on Fjordland soil. How could that possibly be? Clearly, she had Maroyan blood in her. He wondered who her parents might have been—perhaps she had a father in the Maroyan Empire who had tangled with a Fjordland woman out of wedlock? It seemed strange, because magical bloodlines were very tightly controlled, and Maroyans did not so carelessly lose track of their talentedchildren.
Either way, Yarim knew he had to help her. His honor demanded it, and he could not stomach the thought of Sir Jerrold getting his claws on a real mage, who deserved to be cherished like a rare treasure. He summoned his secretary and crossed off all engagements from his list. This had just become his toppriority.
24
The next morning,Tariel quietly slipped out of the mansion, disguised as a messenger boy, complete with a tidy little uniform and satchel. Fatigue dragged at her mind, but she tilted her face to the wind, the cool air clearing herhead.
After the abject failure of last night, she, Calrain, and Riann had sat up until the wee hours of the morning, weighing their options. In the end, they had whittled them down to two—steal Itolas’s ship and try to make it to the Empire on their own, or leave Kalsing and race for the Carlissianborder.
The first option was quite out of the question, as none of them had sailing experience, and Tariel doubted her ability to bewitch the entire crew into doing her bidding. It was one thing to make them fall asleep and toss them overboard—another thing entirely to bend their minds to her will. Zolotais had told her very few mages ever fully mastered mind control—most could do it on a weak mind, but to control an entire group of people was very powerful magic indeed, and required an iron will of herown.
The second option did not have a high likelihood of success with Sir Jerrold on high alert, but if they stayed in the capital, they would surely be caught. To that end, Tariel and her men had decided to leave tonight, slipping past the gates under the cover ofdarkness.
