The woman began to tremble.
“It is not our custom to use such methods except under the most serious circumstances. We have enough evidence to prove that she is involved in a conspiracy that may threaten the whole of Seiiki. If she brought the outsider to Orisima, she must know where he came from in the first place. Therefore, she must either be in league with smugglers, which is punishable by death … or she is protecting someone else, someone who has yet to be revealed.” The Governor selected a brush from his box. “If she has been used, the all-honored Warlord may show mercy. Are you certain you know nothing more about Sulyard’s purpose here, or who might have helped him enter?”
Niclays looked at the woman on the floor. One dark eye stared up from behind her hair.
“I am certain.”
The moment he said it, he felt as if another truncheon had struck the breath from him.
“Take her to the jailhouse,” the Governor said. As the soldiers hauled her up, the woman began to gasp in panic. For the first time, Niclays saw how young she was. No older than Truyde.
Jannart would have been ashamed. He bowed his head, disgusted at the feel of his own skin.
“Thank you, learnèd Doctor Roos,” the Governor said. “I suspected this state of affairs, but I required your confirmation.”
When the footsteps had receded from the corridor outside, the Governor spent several minutes with his head bent over his letter, during which Niclays dared not speak.
“Your Seiikinese is very good. I understand you taught anatomy in Orisima,” the Governor finally remarked, making Niclays start. “How did you find our students?”
It was as if the woman had never existed.
“I learned as much from them as they did from me,” Niclays said truthfully, and the Governor smiled. Seizing the opportunity, Niclays added, “I am, however, very short on ingredients for … other work, which the long-honored High Prince of Mentendon assured me would be provided. I also fear that the honored Chief Officer of Orisima has destroyed my apparatus.”
“The honorable Chief Officer can be … overzealous.” The Governor set down his brush. “You cannot return to Orisima until this matter is closed. It must not be known that a trespasser was able to breach its walls, and we must cleanse the trading post to ensure there is no trace of the red sickness. I’m afraid I must place you under house arrest in Ginura while we conduct our investigation.”
Niclays stared at him.
He could not be this fortunate. Instead of torture, they were giving him freedom.
“Ginura,” he repeated.
“For a few weeks. It is best if we remove you from the situation.”
Niclays sensed the issue was diplomatic. He had sheltered a trespasser. A Seiikinese citizen in his position would be put to death for that crime, but the execution of a Mentish settler would sour the delicate alliance with the House of Lievelyn.
“Yes.” He tried to look contrite. “Yes, honored Governor, of course. I understand.”
“By the time you return, I pray all this will be resolved. To thank you for your information, I will make sure you receive the ingredients you need,” the Governor said, “but you must be silent about all that has occurred.” He dealt Niclays a penetrating look. “Is this acceptable to you, learnèd Doctor Roos?”
“Perfectly. I thank you for your kindness.” Niclays hesitated. “And Sulyard?”
“The trespasser is in the jailhouse. We were waiting for him to display any symptoms of the red sickness,” the Governor said. “If he does not reveal who helped him reach Seiiki, he will also be tortured.”
Niclays wet his lips.
“Perhaps I could help you,” he said, even as he wondered why he was willingly asking for deeper entanglement in this mess. “As a fellow man of Virtudom, I may be able to make Sulyard see the sense in confessing—if you would let me visit him before I go.”
The Governor appeared to consider this.
“I do not like bloodshed where it can be avoided. Perhaps tomorrow,” he conceded. “For now, I must send word of this unfortunate situation to the all-honored Warlord.” He returned his attention to his writing. “Rest well this night, learnèd Doctor Roos.”
13
East
The next trial was with knives. Like the others, it was observed by the Sea General and a group of strangers in blue robes. Other members of Clan Miduchi, who had undergone their own trials fifty years ago. The people whose legacy Tané might share if her body did not fail her.
Her eyes sat like pufferfish in her skull. As she picked up each knife, her hands felt slick and clumsy. She still performed better than all the apprentices but Turosa, whose skill with these blades was what had earned him such great renown at the North House.
Onren strode into the hall just after Turosa had achieved a perfect score. Her hair was loose and uncombed. The Sea General raised his eyebrows, but she only bowed to him and approached the knives.
Kanperu appeared next. The Sea General raised his eyebrows even higher. Onren took hold of a blade, found her stance, and threw it across the hall at the first scarecrow.
Every knife found its mark.
“A perfect score,” the Sea General remarked, “but do not be late again, honorable Onren.”
“Yes, honored Sea General.”
That night, the sea guardians were woken by the servants and escorted, still in their sleep robes, to a line of palanquins. Ensconced in hers, Tané chewed her nails to the quick.
They emerged from their palanquins beside a vast spring-fed lake in the forest. Raindrops pinked its surface.
“Members of the High Sea Guard are often woken in the night to answer threats to Seiiki. They must swim better than fish, for they may be separated at any time from their ship, or from their dragon,” the Sea General said. “Eight dancing pearls have been scattered in this lake. Should you retrieve one, it will encourage me to rank you higher.”
Turosa was already undressing. Slowly, Tané removed her sleep robe and waded in up to her waist.
Six and twenty sea guardians and only eight pearls. They would be hard to find in the darkness.
She closed her eyes and released the thought. When the Sea General gave the order, she sliced into the lake.
Water enfolded her. Clear, sweet water, cool against her skin. Her hair rippled around her like seaweed as she turned, straining for a glimpse of silver-green. Onren entered the lake with barely a splash. She dived, snatched her treasure, and glided upward in one graceful arc. She swam like a dragon.
Determined to be next, Tané ventured deeper. The spring, she reasoned, would waft the pearls west. Turning, she descended smoothly to the lakebed and swam using only her legs, ghosting her hands through the silt as she went.
Her chest was tight by the time her fingers brushed a tiny bead. She surfaced almost in unison with Turosa, who shook back his hair and held his pearl up to inspect it.
“Dancing pearls. Worn by the god-chosen,” he said. “Once these were symbols of heritage, of history.” He bared a knife of a smile. “Now they adorn so many peasants, they might as well be dirt.”
Tané looked him in the eye and said, “You swam well, honorable Turosa.”
That made him chuckle. “Oh, villager. I’m going to make such a fool of you that they’ll never let a peasant soil Clan Miduchi again.” He swam past. “Get ready to fall.”
He struck out for the edge of the lake. Tané followed at a distance.
There was a rumor that in the final trial, each principal apprentice would always fight another. She had already dueled Onren. Her opponent would either be Turosa or Dumusa.
If it was the former, he would do everything in his power to break her.
Niclays spent a restless night in the Governor of Cape Hisan’s mansion. The bedding was far more luxurious than what he had in Orisima, but rain battered the tiled roof and would not give him peace. On top of that, it was insufferably humid, as it always was in the Seiikinese summer.
Sometime in the small hours, he rose from the clammy heap of bedding and moved the window screen aside. The breeze was warm and thick as caudle, but at least he could see the stars. And think.
No educated person could believe in ghosts. Quacks professed that the spirits of the dead lived in an element called ether—pure drivel. Yet there was a whisper in his ear that he knew to be Jannart, telling him that what he had done to that musician was a crime.
Ghosts were the voices the dead left behind. Echoes of a soul taken too soon.
Jannart would have lied to keep the musician safe. Then again, Jannart had been good at lying. Most of his life had been a performance. Thirty years of lying to Truyde. To Oscarde.
And of course, to Aleidine.