I knew what he meant. While Tova was struggling with the srebrec box’s schemata, I’d been devising plan after plan to retrieve Rey’s marriage contract and maybe the Wey Gates schemata from Tivala’s castle. Each one involved sending a Brotherhood assassin to almost certain death, and I wasn’t even sure if they’d know what to look for.
‘Maybe Rey will find something in Wiosna?’ I said, but it didn’t calm him down.
‘Or it’ll find him, and he won’t know how to deal with it.’ The guilt on Tova’s face was heartbreaking. ‘My people made this thing, Sana! My people… Dwarves are creators; we build things.’ He shook his head, tugging at his neatly trimmed beard again so hard that a few strands ripped out. ‘I don’t understand how this went so far, why no one stopped Mlot… Well, it’s down to me, now.’
Tova gave my hand a squeeze, then abruptly headed for the door. He grabbed his winter coat, pausing with a hand on the knob. ‘Don’t wait up for me, Sana. I need to figure this out. I’m sorry.’
I nodded, forcing a smile. ‘I’ll wait anyway, and keep the fire burning.’
With Tova’s departure, I had a free afternoon. Ciesko had cancelled training today as several wounded patients had arrived from the army. The winter winds had hit Truso hard, making it bitterly cold and leaving an icy fog in their wake. The war hadn’t fully started yet, but frostbite and whooping cough were already thinning army ranks.
I wandered around the empty house, stacking firewood as if the fire I kept burning high could warm Reynard’s tent. When the house became as hot as a furnace, I made some ointment for one of Lily’s girls. Aether shimmered at my fingertips when I coaxed the herbs in the mixture to excrete their most potent irritants. My hand was steady, and vivamancy flowed uninterrupted, showing how much my magic had grown.
An overeager client had bruised the courtesan far more than Lily considered acceptable, and was up for a very unpleasant surprise. I felt very generous today, and even a simple peach I added for the scent contributed its delicate fuzz, which turned to steel wool touched by my magic.
An insistent knocking shook the front door, startling me. None of my friends bothered knocking anymore.
‘I’m coming!’ I shouted, wiping my hands on my apron before walking to the door.
A scruffy urchin stood before me, hand raised, a petrified look in his eyes. The moment a frown started furrowing my brow, he whimpered and bent in half, bowing and asking for forgiveness. ‘Mistress Nightshade, puh… please come with me. The Grand Master wishes to see you.’
A whispered curse slipped from my lips when I remembered how Boyan had looked recently. ‘Give me a moment.’
The boy bowed even lower while I fought with my scarf and cloak, hands shaking with worry. My house was close to the Chapter Mansion, but walking still took too long. When we finally arrived, the building was eerily quiet, with only a fewservants whispering in the corners, their eyes following my every step.
Visla accosted me the moment I reached the top of the wide stairs. ‘Roksana, a word, please.’
Whatever had happened in the swamp, the journey left a mark on him. Sunken eyes and the black tip of his little finger were a dead giveaway that it hadn’t been a walk in the park.
As soon as the door closed behind us, he turned to face me. ‘I returned yesterday. The guide lied, or Jagon already moved his storage.’
‘Give me a moment with him, and I’ll discover the truth,’ I said, but he shook his head.
‘I left the remains of his traitorous body in that frozen hell. That’s not why you’ve been called here.’ He paused, looking around as if someone could overhear us in an empty room. ‘The old man’s collapsed; only the gods know how long he has left. Those wankers didn’t even check on him. He’s been asking for you. It’s bad, Nightshade. There was blood everywhere. I thought he was dead.’
Fear tightened my throat, clawing at my chest, and I began to shake. Visla paused, his visage dark and forbidding, before his hand landed on my shoulder. ‘I know you’re both close, so please talk to him. We’re not ready, Roksana. He hasn’t named a successor. They’ll destroy the Brotherhood fighting for control. Make sure he has enough strength for it.’
My lip curled in a vicious sneer. I looked into the shadow’s eyes, and he flinched, pulling his hand back. ‘Don’t act so concerned. You’ll break my heart with all these sentimental emotions.’
The threatening tone of my voice didn’t escape his attention, and he huffed humourlessly. ‘I may not be his favourite, but my loyalty has never wavered. I’ll leave the emotions to you. I’m sure we’d both prefer that.’
‘Are you fucking jealous? Now? I’m not here to take your place,’ I said, but I couldn’t deny that since my arrival, he’d been marginalised, as Boyan leaned more heavily on me. Something shifted in his gaze.
‘I know… but that doesn’t change anything. Just ensure he names his successor before some dimwit uses this as their opportunity.’ As we left the room, his eyes darted to the end of the corridor, where a casual group walked by particularly slowly. ‘I’ll take care of the rest.’
I nodded, rushing to the Grand Master’s suite. The room smelled of blood and medicine, the cloying herbal fumes numbing my senses even more than the overwhelming darkness. Twilight came early in winter. With the room’s windows facing north, I barely recognised the shape lying on the bed.
I waved a hand over a panel, lighting the fae lamps, and my heart tightened at the sight of my father. He was lying motionless, his glassy eyes staring at the ceiling, with a chamber pot full of dark, congealed blood beside him.
I rushed to Boyan’s side and sat next to him, my hand landing on his chest as the breath rattled in and out of what was left of his lungs. He was dying and I didn’t even have the courage to call him my father.
‘You should have sent for me,’ I said, tracing a sigil on his pale, waxy skin. Boyan’s eyes opened, focusing on me. He tried to speak, but I stopped him. ‘No, save your breath. Let me work, then we’ll talk.’
With eyes closed, I focused on my intent. The energy around me shifted, warming my palms as the verdant, aethereal energy trailed down my forearms, forming blazing, painful patterns on my skin. A vivamancer’s healing magic, Ciesko had warned me, was dangerous, but Boyan had to recover, and he needed more than a normal healer could provide.
I let my magic sink into his body. The relief as the heat subsided was immense. I sucked a deep breath in, entwining my power with his aether’s withered strands, nourishing them while I drew sigils on his skin.
‘Your energy transfer is impeccable, but you must not use it. It will make you weak, vulnerable. Worse, it could even inhibit your ability,’ Ciesko told me when I completed an energy transfer for the first time. If he knew I was using it to strengthen the vital force of a dying person, he’d scold me blind.
