Wesson knelt in front of the trunk to examine the spell and had to grab onto the handle for support as the ship suddenly slammed into the trough of a wave.
“Be careful, Journeyman. It was warded by an assassin. It may contain a trap.”
Wesson glanced at Xa and then back to the trunk. “I see the ward. Did you bend it like this? How did you get it to stay?”
“I am holding it,” Rezkin said.
“You are able to hold it? Like a curtain?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“That is so very strange,” Wesson mused as he plucked at the illusion to see the underlying spell. He continued muttering as he worked. “A ward is a spell, not an object to be handled. To modify or manipulate one, you must change the spell itself.”
“What do you mean?”
Wesson fell onto his rear as the ship swayed, and Rezkin braced him before he tumbled over backward. Regaining his feet, Wesson said, “Imagine that a ward is like a painting of an apple on a table. The apple is not real. It is composed of lines painted in the shape of an apple as seen from one point of view. If you want the apple in a different location, you must paint over the lines and paint them again somewhere else. You somehow reach into the painting, grab the apple off the table, and move it to another spot.”
Having no patience for a discussion of his supposed powers, Rezkin said, “The illusion?”
“It is crude and unstable, a beginner’s attempt. That would account for the fact that we all see something different. It is well considered, though, since the sounds made by the respective animals are covering the sounds of the creature inside.”
Rezkin said, “It is alive, then? Whatever is inside?”
“Yes, that is why all the images we see are animals. It is more difficult to mask living things as non-living and vice versa. I would say, with something this crude, the spell is dependent on your unconscious mind for the image. Whatever you are seeing is a rough representation of how you would see the creature if it were another animal—like a metaphor.”
“You can break the illusion?”
Wesson nodded. “Oh, yes, easily. I wanted to make a thorough examination of the spell before I destroy it. Give me one second, and I will be able to see through … oh dear.”
The illusion snapped away, and Rezkin’s racing heart nearly stalled. He knew, in that instant, that he would have to kill Xa.
Rezkin reached a hand toward the quivering, petrified woman, and she squealed in terror. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to back further into the box. He stepped away and then rounded the trunk so that he stood out of her sight and between the Jeng’ri and the doorway. Before he killed the Jeng’ri, he needed questions answered, and his first was not the one Xa expected.
“To whom did you swear the mage oath?”
Xa looked over as the woman flung herself into Wesson’s arms while crying hysterically. With a nod, he said, “To her.”
“How did she convince you to swear a mage oath?”
“It was the only way she would get into the box.”
Rezkin glanced over to catch a glimpse of dark brown, watery eyes before they were once again hidden in Wesson’s robes. He felt a rising heat in his chest as he turned back to Xa. “So, you kidnapped Frisha by promising to keep her presence a secret from me?”
“That would be a strange kidnapping,” Xa mused. “I did not ask her to come. I merely assisted.”
“What was in it for you?”
Xa smiled graciously. “It was a request from the future queen.” Then, his smile turned to a smirk as he said, “I wanted to see what would happen.”
Rezkin’s chest burned hotter, and the stone hidden beneath his shirt began to heat as well. “The experience seems inadequate to have cost you your life.” Rezkin drew Bladesunder and advanced on the Jeng’ri just as the ship rocked, throwing both of them to the side. The assassin backpedaled over a pile of sacks and lashed out with a whip-like tendril of power. Rezkin grabbed the streaming tendril and yanked, causing Xa to stumble toward him, narrowly deflecting Rezkin’s slash with a dirk. The ship rocked in the other direction just as the steel clashed, and a screech broke through the heat that had filled Rezkin’s body and mind.
“Wait, Rezkin! Please! Don’t kill him. It was my fault! I asked him to help me.”
Unleashing a torrent of speed, he kicked the Jeng’ri hard enough to send him flying into the wall.
“Stay down,” he said, and then he rounded on Frisha.
Farson had moved to block the woman from flying weapons, and Wesson had raised a ward. Rezkin walked through the ward and then barked at Farson to keep an eye on the downed assassin. He towered over Frisha as she looked up at him with a fear-filled gaze. He huffed and then backed away a pace. He sheathed his sword and stood tense as he kept an eye on Farson and Xa in his peripheral vision.
“You permitted an assassin to lock you in a warded trunk hidden by an illusion. How could you possibly think it was a good idea to make yourself so vulnerable?”
“Well, I didn’t know he was an assassin—”
“No, you did not know. You did not know who he is, and you let him put you in a locked box!”
“I thought he was a royal guard—Princess Ilanet’s trusted, honorable guard! You told us so!”
“I never said he was honorable, and I certainly never said he was to be trusted.”
“No,” she screamed. “What would you know about trust and honor? You—you killed all those people. You put their bodies along the riverbanks.” Her chest rose and fell with every heaving gasp. “You are the monster Uncle Marcum was trying to keep away from us! All that time, we were with you! While we were sleeping and shopping and spending time together, you were out slaughtering dozens, maybe hundreds of people. And then—what?—you just return like nothing happened? Now that I know, will you kill me? By the Maker, you’re going to kill me!”
She pushed away from Wesson and continued until she hit the wall. The ship lurched, and she was tossed back into the mage. “Oh, did Wesson know? Wait, he didn’t know, did he? Now he’s going to die, too, and it’s my fault. No! It’s your fault. You’re the murderer! And him”—she motioned to Xa and then Farson—“and him! You’re all murderers, and now we’re going to die.”
Wesson glanced from Frisha to Rezkin. He scratched his head and said, “What exactly am I to die for knowing?”
Rezkin shook his head and held his hands in front of him in a manner he thought might be placating to the panicky woman. “I have no intention of killing either of you. He, however”—Rezkin nodded toward Xa—“is about to die.”
Frisha balled her fists and stepped forward. “Why? Because he exposed your secret?”
Rezkin was fascinated with her strange behavior. She clung crying to the mage or cowered in the corner when faced with her own death, but she stood strong whenever he threatened the assassin.
“Why do you stand for him?” he said. “You obviously heard our conversation. He is the Jeng’ri, the second highest assassin in the Order. It is the equivalent of Ashai’s Black Hall.”
“Which you took over!” The light of knowledge glinted in her eyes as new truths dawned. “You were taking over the Black Hall while I was begging my uncle to let me marry you! And Tam! Tam told me you killed a lot of people. Tam knows, too?”
“No,” Rezkin said firmly. “Tam does not know about this. You will not tell him. You will not tell anyone.” He paused to make sure the message had been received and then said, “You did not explain why you stand for Xa.”
“Because it wasn’t his fault.”