Sword Catcher (Sword Catcher, #1)

Aram was a kingdom ruled by a young Sorcerer-Queen, Adassa. Her father, King Avihal, had been a clever diplomat, negotiating peace with the other sorcerous Kings and Queens that his land might be spared the ravages of battle. When King Avihal died, he gave his daughter the Source-Stone that had been his, but she was a gentle soul and not a seeker of power. Even her own people feared she might not have the strength for queenship. Her one great ally was the captain of her guard, the loyal Judah Makabi. He stood by her side, advising and counseling, as she struggled to learn the ways of the throne. She will be a great Queen, Makabi assured the people. Only wait. She will bring us to greatness.

There was one other who saw the ascension of the young Queen as an opportunity—the Sorcerer-King Suleman.

—Tales of the Sorcerer-Kings, Laocantus Aurus Iovit III





CHAPTER EIGHT


Sitting at her kitchen table, Lin turned Petrov’s stone over in her hands. Books and papers were scattered all about, as always—from heavy bound tomes to thin sheets of vellum covered in delicate illustrations of anatomy from the Book of Remedies. When Josit was here, he made her put them away as he said they gave him nightmares, full of peeled-back skin and lidless eyes. (Lin knew this was partially her fault. As a child, she had enjoyed terrifying him with tales of skinless shedim who carried off troublesome little boys.)

With the shutters closed against the dark night, and the fire lit, the house became a cozy little cave. It was Lin’s favorite time for studying, but tonight she could not keep her mind on her books. She could not forget what Chana had said to her in the garden, that she was treating Mariam as a patient, not a friend. That Mariam needed something to look forward to other than a life of dutifully swallowing the tisanes and powders Lin mixed up for her.

The words had made Lin cold inside. She had treated enough dying people to know they often held on to life through sheer force of will, just long enough to see one last beloved face, or realize one last wish. It was good for Mariam to have something to look forward to, but what if, once the Festival was over, she let go? Stopped holding on? Would she hold on for Lin, or was that unfair to ask? Would she wait for Josit, to see him again? But who knew when Josit would return? All sorts of things could delay a caravan: bad weather, shortages of goods, or problems at the caravansary, the way stations along the Roads.

Ugh. Lin rolled Petrov’s stone into her palm. The firelight caught it at strange angles, picking out shapes in the depth of the rock, like shadowy figures concealed by a screen.

Of course she had buckled to Chana’s pressure, agreed to attend the Festival and help with the preparations. So much for her stubbornness. Chana knew how to bend her will like a broken branch.

Something seemed to rise to the surface of the stone as she turned it and Lin stared. It almost looked like a letter, or a number, some kind of legible shape—

A loud pounding on her front door sent her scrambling to her feet. It was late; she’d heard the Windtower Clock chime midnight some time ago. Only if a patient was in desperate need would someone trouble her at this hour.

Mariam? Heart pounding, she threw her front door open to find her neighbor Oren Kandel standing on her doorstep. “You’re needed at the gate,” he said. “There’s a carriage waiting.”

Lin bit back a sharp comment. Oren had never forgiven her for the fact that he’d offered to marry her, and she’d said no. He was one of the Shomrim now, a gate guard. She saw him often when she came in and out of the Sault, and always greeted him politely. He always glared back with a look that said he wished he could take her medical satchel and toss it over the wall.

He had asked her to dance once, at the Goddess Festival two years past. She’d said no, claiming she was tired. The truth was that there was something about Oren that frightened her. A pinpoint spark of hatred always burning in the depth of his dark-brown eyes. It had only flamed brighter since she’d turned him down that night.

“A carriage?” she echoed. “Is it one of my patients from the city?”

His thin fingers played with the thick metal chain around his neck; it bore the Lady’s Prayer on it in fancifully engraved words. “I can’t say. I was just told to escort you. And that you should bring your satchel.”

“It would help if I knew what the problem was—”

He regarded her sourly. “Don’t know.”

He was enjoying not telling her what she wanted to know, that much was clear. “Wait here,” Lin said, and closed the door in his face. She hurried into her room, where she unfolded her physician’s clothes and dressed carefully in the blue linen tunic and trousers, tucking Petrov’s stone into her pocket. She bound her hair into a single braid, and fastened the chain of her mother’s necklace around her neck. The familiar gold circle felt comforting as it settled into the hollow of her throat. Lastly, she dragged her satchel—always packed and at the ready—out from under her bed.

The moon was high in the sky when she joined Oren outside. He spit a thin stream of brown patoun at the ground when he saw her, before setting off without another glance. His pace was long and quick, making no allowance for her shorter stride; Lin was tempted to tell him she didn’t need an escort and could make her way to the gates on her own. But he would protest, which would only cost her time getting to her patient.

Whoever they might be. Lin pondered the possibilities—Zofia? Larissa, the retired courtesan whose hypochondria meant she thought every slight sneeze heralded a case of plague?—as she traversed the Sault some yards behind Oren, following the curve of the eastern wall.

Night in the Sault was divided into four Watches. The first one began at sunset, the last ending at dawn, when the aubade, the morning bell, rang out from the Windtower Clock, signaling the beginning of the workday. The Ashkar were forbidden to leave the Sault itself during the night hours, save for those physicians whose skills were urgently needed to save a life. Even then, they were required to wear their Ashkari blue or gray, and were often stopped by Vigilants, demanding to know what they were doing outside their walls. Saving the lives of people like you, Lin always wanted to snap, but so far she’d managed to hold her tongue.