Mistress of the Night Page 24

  He didn’t move. After a moment, Variance released him and stood up. He heard a rustle of clothing and footsteps as she moved away, then returned. A tindertwig scratched on stone and flared bright as Variance lit a candle.

  “Light, Keph,” she said, holding the candle out to him.

  “You were angry,” he rasped. Fear made a hard lump in his stomach.

  “Of course I was angry,” Variance said calmly. “I was worried. When Bolan told me that the Selûnites had captured you, I feared for you. Praise Shar, I was able to reach you before they could start their torture. The werewolves among them—”

  “Torture?”

  The Selûnites hadn’t been going to torture him. And werewolves? The only werewolf among the Selûnites of Moonshadow Hall was Feena, and she had been long gone when he and Julith had been captured.

  Julith … He remembered the young priestess staring as Variance …

  Keph blinked. Variance’s voice was inside his head, seductive and haunting, weaving lies among his memories.

  The cup fell from his hand to splash water across wood and stone as he thrust himself backward, away from the pale woman. If Quick had been at his side, Keph would have drawn her—but the Selûnites still had the blade.

  “Stop it!” he gasped at Variance.

  She narrowed her eyes. Her voice surged back, harsher than before. “I brought you to safety …”

  Keph clenched his teeth and pushed back against the whispers, straining with all the strength of his will.

  “No!” he shouted.

  The force of the denial was shocking, like a slap in the face. In an instant his head was clear and Variance’s eyes were hard in the candlelight. Breathing hard, his heart pounding, Keph tensed and met her gaze.

  “Stay out of my head!” he snarled.

  Variance pressed her lips together. For a moment, she was silent, then she whispered, “My words come back to haunt me. I did say you had remarkable strength of will, didn’t I?” She shrugged. “Very well. Keep your memories.”

  Keph’s breath caught in his throat. He gaped at the priestess.

  “You—”

  “—admit surrender?” Variance’s eyebrows rose. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  Silence dropped. It was all Keph could do to stare. She was giving up? The priestess whose disdain had once made him grovel, the woman who spoke for the Lady of Loss, was admitting defeat? Suddenly, his rage was gone, stolen out from under him so quickly that his head spun in confusion. The fear that had driven him to flee Yhaunn, the sense of purpose he had found in helping Feena … they were gone as well. If Variance was just giving up, what was there to be afraid of? Off balance, he groped desperately for something to help make sense of what was happening.

  “This is some kind of trick,” he said, taking another step away from her.

  Variance gave him a measured look and asked, “How is it a trick?”

  He struggled for an answer. “You … you lied to Bolan. You told him the Selûnites tried to steal me away. You know that’s not what happened.”

  “You want me to tell Bolan the truth?” She opened her free hand as if releasing some captured insect. “That your faith failed? That you tried to flee? That you fell in with Selûnites? That I dragged you back through Shadow by the hair on your head? What purpose would there be in telling Bolan that? He would strike you down on the spot. But so long as he believes the Selûnites snatched you away, you’re Shar’s hero. If I had convinced you of the same thing, no one would have known any different.”

  “But you didn’t convince me.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Variance agreed. “I might have, though. If plans never succeed, why bother making them at all? But I serve the Lady of Loss. One of her harshest lessons is learning to recognize when a plan has failed and there’s no hope of taking it any farther.” She turned away and began walking across the temple. “It’s clear that you’ve turned away from Shar. Drawing you back isn’t worth the effort.”

  Keph stopped, his feet heavy, his heart in his throat. “You’re … you’re letting me go?”

  “If I wanted to harm you, I could do it easily enough.” She glanced back at him and said, “Come with me unless you want to stand in the dark.”

  It wasn’t an answer to his question, but he hesitated, then followed her.

  “You and Jarull,” he said, “you’ve been manipulating me.”

  “More or less,” Variance replied. On the far side of the temple, she turned down a curving tunnel. “It’s regrettable that you fell in with the Selûnites. I’d be curious to know how that happened.”

  “It was coincidence.”

  Variance said, “You’ll find there’s no coincidence where gods take a hand, Keph.”

  “Maybe … maybe Selûne is giving me a chance to redeem myself.”

  “Or perhaps Shar chose to show me that your faith was weak.” She paused and turned to look at him. Her face was placid, but cold. “The Mistress of the Night could have given you many rewards, Keph. I spoke no lie when I said you had the potential to become one of Shar’s priests. It would have been best for both of us if your faith had been stronger—or if your will had been weaker.”

  “It’s a good thing Shar teaches you loss then, isn’t it?” Keph said.

  “Shar teaches the anticipation of loss,” answered Variance. “Even if I prefer to expect that my plans will succeed, I prepare for the possibility of failure.”

  She raised the candle. Stone walls shone with slowly trickling water and slick mineral deposits—then ended abruptly in darkness. Just beyond Variance’s reach lay a shadow that seemed to consume the candle’s feeble glow, resisting its light. Variance held out her hand and spoke a prayer under her breath. Like mist before a wind, the shadow parted.

  Keph stared.

  Chained like a dog to the stone floor, Jarull jerked back from the sudden light, covering his eyes and howling in agony—then clapping his hands to his ears as if the sound of his own voice were painful. Howls dropped into moans and the big man swung his head back and forth like an animal driven to madness.

  With the parting of the shadow, the stench of excrement filled the tunnel as well. The pants that Jarull wore were stained and horribly crusted. His skin was pale, his tall frame gaunt, and his hair, a tangled nest. The fingers that cupped his ears were torn and bloody. When his open mouth swung into the light, Keph could see that his tongue was raw and red as well. The rock walls within reach of the chain had been rubbed clean of mineral deposits. Jarull had been licking the stone for water.

  It was as if his friend had been chained there for days—for tendays. But that wasn’t possible. He’d seen Jarull practically every day—

  But Jarull’s mother hadn’t. Wasn’t that what Strasus had said? And Strasus and Dagnalla hadn’t been able to locate Jarull with magic.

  The chained man wore no amethyst ring. Keph raised his head and stared at Variance. The dark priestess had her hands crossed, but the purple gem of her ring winked between her fingers. Keph clenched his teeth.

  “How long has he been here?” he asked.

  “Only a little more than two tendays,” said Variance. She might have been discussing apples in a barrel for all the emotion in her voice. “But it probably seems much longer to him. The Lady of Loss is a harsh jailer.”

  “Then it was you all along. You took his place to draw me into the cult.”

  Variance just turned away and began walking back to the temple. Keph swung between her and Jarull. As the candlelight faded, the chained man’s moans eased. His mad swinging turned into a gentle rocking. Keph took a step toward him, reaching out his hand.

  “Jarull …”

  His friend looked up. Bruised eyes widened—and he shrieked, scrambling away to press himself frantically against the wall.

  Variance’s voice floated back down the tunnel, “Come away from him, Keph.”

  Keph whirled toward her. “What have you done to him?”

  “I haven’t done anythin
g. Come away.”

  The candlelight moved on. Clenching his teeth, Keph stumbled through the darkness after it. Variance waited for him at the entrance to the tunnel.

  “Why?” he snarled at her.

  “Motivation,” she said calmly, “in case your loyalty proved less than I expected.”

  The elation he had felt, believing he had cast an orison, the joy he’d felt when Variance welcomed him back into Shar’s grace after his encounter with Lyraene … “Ask me anything, Variance,” he had said, “and I would do it. That’s the debt I owe you.”

  He closed his eyes. He had been dancing to Variance’s manipulations like a marionette on strings.

  “What do you want?” he asked her.

  He half-expected her to smile in triumph, but she didn’t.

  “Strasus Thingoleir has in his possession a collection of ancient artifacts recovered from the tunnels of Yhaunn a month ago.” Variance’s words were blunt, the instructions of someone who expected to be obeyed. “Among them is a set of black slate tiles hinged together like a book and inscribed with silver characters that defy translation. I want those tiles.”

  Keph stared at her. “How did you know about—?” He cut himself off. “Beshaba’s arms. They were your goal all along. You’ve used me from the very beginning.”

  “Not the very beginning,” Variance said. “It took me at least a tenday to identify you as the weakness in your father’s House.”

  The weakness … Keph bit his tongue against a bitter laugh. So that’s what he was.

  “Well, this weakness isn’t going to be enough for you,” he told her. “My father has those tiles in his study. No one can get past the wards on it.”

  “You can,” said Variance. “Just as you were able to place the magesbane in your brother’s laboratory. Child of a doting, hopeful parent, the wards of Fourstaves House part for you.” Keph’s eyes narrowed and Variance smiled. “Did you really think the dust was just a whim? It was a test. You told Jarull about the wards and with some persuasion, Jarull told me. I had to be sure that it was true. Your misuse of the dust was a pleasant surprise. Perhaps Shar guided you.”

  “My father’s study isn’t my brother’s laboratory. It’s better protected.”

  “I have no doubt it is.” Her voice hardened. “Retrieve the tiles and Jarull will go free. A simple exchange.”

  His hands curled into fists. “What if I can’t get them?”

  “Jarull will remain Shar’s prisoner and I’ll find another way to get the tiles.”

  Variance moved to one of the braziers that stood around the temple and lifted the lid. The smell of cold charcoal drifted out. A thin scrap of kindling lay beside the brazier. The dark priestess held it in the flame of the candle until it caught fire, then thrust it among the charcoal. She turned back to him. “I have no interest in seeing you fail, of course. I will provide a distraction to cover your theft.”

  “A distraction?” The thought chilled him. “What kind of distraction?”

  “Mother Night?” Bolan’s voice echoed from a tunnel. “Full dark has fallen. The faithful are assembled.”

  Breath hissed between Keph’s teeth. “An attack—”

  Variance’s hand snapped up, holding him to silence. “Summon them to worship, Brother Night,” she called back. “They will receive Shar’s blessing before battle.”

  Keph caught the sound of Bolan’s footsteps retreating up the tunnel. He looked at Variance, and she returned his gaze.

  “Yes,” she said. “An attack on Moonshadow Hall. The age old rivalry of Shar and Selûne is brought into the open once more.”

  Keph’s mouth gaped open for a moment before he swallowed and said, “But the memory you forced on Julith—you made her think I promised an attack. The Selûnites will be expecting this. It’s going to be a massacre.”

  “No, it would be a massacre if the Selûnites were caught unprepared,” said Variance. “Do you really want the distraction to be over so quickly? Don’t think Shar’s faithful so easily brought low. You know what they’re capable of. Stand with me during the ceremony, Keph. The others need to see you.”

  “You want me to help you?”

  Variance tilted her head and replied, “If Shar’s faithful aren’t properly prepared, the distraction will fail. Your supposed capture is the key to their inspiration. You need to be seen—and you need to be seen praising Shar.”

  Rage and disgust swept over Keph—rage at Variance for manipulating him yet again, disgust at himself for allowing it.

  “Do you have a plan for everything?” he spat. He felt like an angry child and just as helpless.

  Variance turned away.

  Moonshadow Hall was in chaos.

  Feena stole through the corridors of the temple, trying to stay unseen and out of the way. It wasn’t easy. Any normal order she could have predicted seemed to have been erased. She had emerged from the archives to discover that the sun had set—her exhausted dreaming had carried through the entire afternoon and much of the evening. Any other night, Moonshadow Hall would be worshiping the moonrise. On a normal new moon night, Selûne’s faithful would be gathered in the refectory, celebrating Dhauna’s New Moon Beneficence. But instead clergy, acolytes, and novices were everywhere. Some were clearly preparing for Dhauna’s funeral. Billowing white drapes were being hung. White wax candles laced with silver dust were being set out. From the temple’s mortuary came the sound of mourning chants as Dhauna’s body was washed and prepared for burial.

  But at the same time, other clerics roamed the corridors like dogs. They always moved in pairs at the very least, and all of them carried maces—most leaving the weapons hanging at their belt, but others clenching them tightly. When she happened to pass a window, Feena caught a glimpse of silhouettes standing up on the old walkways that circled Moonshadow Hall’s round roof.

  It was as if someone were preparing for an attack. Feena remembered the fear in Chandri’s tones when she had asked Velsinore about Keph. Tales told among Selûne’s clergy spoke of Sharran uprisings that could leave shrines and temples in ruins. Was someone concerned that might happen in Yhaunn?

  Feena bit her tongue and hurried on, the book of the New Moon Pact wrapped in a sleeve of her robe and clutched tight. At least chaos set tongues wagging. If nothing else, it had been easy enough to find out where Julith was being held: the winter chapel, a great round chamber that had been built onto the north side of Moonshadow Hall in the distant past as a place for the clergy to worship when bitter weather made the open courtyard unbearable. Julith had been shut inside to await her judgment.

  At an intersection of corridors, Feena peered around a corner—only to duck back as a pair of armed priestesses marched past. She caught her breath and willed herself to total silence until they were gone. They wore crested steel caps. The situation seemed to be escalating and to reach the winter chapel, she would need to pass through the temple’s busiest areas. She wasn’t going to be able to hide much longer.

  A heap of abandoned drapes gave her an idea. Drawing the cowl of her robe over her hair, Feena snatched up the drapes and hefted them up in front of her face, then hunched down like an old woman bent under a burden. It was a pitifully crude disguise, but it would have to do. She picked her way carefully along the corridor, peering out past a fold of white fabric.

  When she first encountered another priestess, she tensed. The other woman just rushed past, however, intent on her own tasks. Feena sighed and started to relax a bit.

  “Elder sister!” Idruth called. Feena’s heart jumped. The cook called her again. “Elder sister! Do you have far to go?”

  Feena picked a destination at random and said, “The northwest hall.”

  She half-turned and peeked at the cook from behind the wrappings. Idruth was lugging a great pot; the savory smell of stew drifted out of it.

  “Come to the kitchen when you’re done,” Idruth ordered. “We have baskets of bread that need to get to the gate. The mob is turning ugly—they want
their feast!”

  She jogged past toward the temple gates. Feena turned to stare after her before darting away. Preparations for a funeral, fear of an attack—and the poor of Yhaunn had still come expecting the New Moon Beneficence. Another mad bend in the path of chaos!

  The hallways grew quiet again as she moved farther back into the temple. Outside the doors of the winter chapel, she dumped her load of drapes. The tall doors had, over time, been covered with beaten silver and exquisitely decorated, but a simple wooden plank had been thrust between the handles to bar them. She lifted it free and swung one door open just wide enough to slip through.

  Julith knelt in prayer before a broad silver font as large as a tub. At the sound of the opening door, she looked up in fright then gasped with relief.

  “Feena!”

  Her eyes were red from weeping. Feena rushed across the chapel and swept her up, setting the book of the New Moon Pact aside to more fully embrace the younger priestess. Julith trembled in her arms.

  “Oh, Feena! It was terrible. What Keph said—did you know he was a Sharran? And to return and find Mother Dhauna …”

  “Be strong, Julith,” Feena urged, rocking her gently. “What happened to you? What’s going on?”

  Words poured out of Julith like wine from a pitcher. Her flight with Keph at her side. The unrelenting pursuit by Velsinore, Mifano, and the clergy of Moonshadow Hall. Keph’s fall, their capture, the discovery of Shar’s disk. Their imprisonment—and Keph’s sudden change. His taunts, his rage, and his threats against Moonshadow Hall. His escape into Shar’s own darkness.

  “I was so afraid, Feena,” Julith moaned. “For the longest time, it seemed like there was nothing I could do—then I just screamed and screamed until Mifano and Velsinore came.” She slid out of Feena’s arms to crouch back down at the base of the font. “They questioned me. Mifano worked out the riddle of Keph’s threat: the moment of Selûne’s weakness is the new moon. Tonight. Velsinore didn’t—doesn’t—believe him, but he forced us all back to Yhaunn anyway. And when we got here, Mother Dhauna …”