When they were finished, she dispatched him to her brother’s room carrying a knife sharp enough to do the job. And while her brother lay sleeping, her cousin gutted him from neck to groin. Her brother’s death cries aroused the family. Her father rushed to his son’s room, found the other boy standing over him with the knife, and killed him on the spot.
After that, things improved in Edinja’s life. Her father, never having had much interest in her anyway, found her presence a cause for irritation. Evidently, he had never been keen on her as heir to his fortune. Her stepmother, who openly disliked her, sent her to live with an aunt, but what neither knew was that the aunt, who had no children of her own, was a far more accomplished magic user than her niece. Thus, she quickly developed a friendship with the secretive thirteen-year-old and began teaching her the secrets behind her own formidable skills. Edinja arranged for a permanent change of residence when both had agreed it would be better if they lived together so Edinja could spend more time developing her skills. The planting of a subtle suggestion in her stepmother’s treacherous mind—one that seemed to provide a simple solution to the problem of what to do with her now that her father no longer wanted her around—was all it took.
All that was a long time ago, but it had set her on the path she followed now.
She left the building and walked back to her residence. A few of those passing nodded or spoke a word of greeting, but most simply crossed the street as if their business lay on the other side. She barely noticed. With the speech to the Coalition Council behind her, she had turned her attention to more immediate concerns.
When she reached her black tower, her fortress home and sanctuary, she took a moment to try the door without releasing the locks. When the latch gave easily, she smiled. All well and good. Everything was going as planned. She went inside, removed her cloak, and climbed the broad winding stairs to the second floor. She stopped there to look around, to glance down the hallway, to test the air, to smell and taste it. Then she continued on to the third and finally the fourth story and down the hall to the girl’s bedroom.
The door was closed, but when she turned the handle it gave easily. No locks in place. She entered and found the makeshift dummy in the bed and the serving woman still unconscious on the floor on the other side of the bed. She brought the woman awake and helped her to her feet. When the woman went into hysterics and started screaming, clearly believing her failure would result in a terrible retribution, Edinja was quick to calm her, reassuring her that she had done nothing wrong.
Then the woman explained through continued sobs and shudders how she had been fooled by the dummy in the bed and had been struck from behind when she entered with the pitcher of treated water.
All of it exactly as Edinja had planned.
She patted the serving woman gently on her flushed and tear-streaked cheeks and sent her off to get some rest. Then she took one more look around and left the room, satisfied that things were proceeding as they should.
Arlingfant Elessedil was clever, but she was not nearly so clever or experienced as her captor when it came to deception. Edinja had known all along that she was not the weak and frightened girl she pretended to be. She was the sister of a Druid and one of the Chosen, and no one with that background would give way to her fears so easily. More to the point, she would not lie around waiting for the worst to happen. She would want to get word to her sister—or better yet find a way to reach her.
She would try to escape.
So Edinja had let her.
But not before she had planted a marker under the skin behind her neck and beneath her hair where it wouldn’t be noticed. Not before assuring herself that the girl could be found quickly when it was time to do so.
She had done the same thing with Stoon before sending him off in search of Aphenglow—a necessary precaution against the assassin deciding not to follow through as she had instructed. A tiny sliver of glass, a crystal imbued with magic, slipped under his skin, a marker that would have let her track him, as well, if he hadn’t gotten himself killed.
It was always better to expect the worst when dealing with unpredictable people.
In a dingier part of the city, not too far from where the Federation Prime Minister was congratulating herself on her ability to anticipate the actions of others, Aphenglow and Cymrian were sitting in the back of the locksmith shop with the Rover thief Rushlin, listening to his explanation about the difficulties of breaking into Edinja Orle’s home. Impatient, they had arrived somewhat earlier than instructed, but still Rushlin had answers—albeit not encouraging ones.
“The locks are manageable, but then I knew they would be. The problem is with the wards she’s set to back them up. Dozens on every floor, all of them dangerous, even to a skilled magic user like yourself.”
“How do you know about these wards?” Aphen asked.
He shrugged. “I’ve learned to sense them. There are ways. I can tell when they’re in place. But you can test them out for yourself if you like.”