Michael Stackpole - Chartomancy

It was so unlike his home that he could not feel homesick. There was not enough of Moriande there to remind him of the south. While Deseirion was hardly as colorful or fecund as his home, it all seemed new and amazing.

Very clearly, had Prince Cyron attempted what Pyrust was doing, Moriande’s streets would have been flooded with people protesting his actions. The whole of the city would have been in an uproar. The inland lords-ever resisting any directive from the capital-would be threatening open revolt. And yet, if put to the question, every citizen would say they loved Cyron as much as the Desei loved Pyrust. If called to it-with the possible exception of the inland lords-they would willingly fight to protect Cyron and his nation.

Keles clearly had misjudged the Desei, and found his reeducation rather harsh and chilling. The Desei were content to move their homes, brick by brick, a couple miles south. He had no doubt they would have moved them as far south as Moriande if so commanded. While many Naleni feared invasion from the north, he doubted any of them understood how complete an invasion that could be.

However, the Naleni were not the only ones who underestimated foreigners. Pyrust clearly underestimated Keles because the renovation designs had problems that would take years to solve.

Problems that will pay them back for Tyressa’s murder a thousand times over. The close-set side streets would let fire rage through the city. The broad main roads would allow for a lot of traffic, and the traffic on those main roads would one day be Naleni troops!

The biggest problem was not one Keles had designed on purpose. While the people were able to bring their homes with them, Pyrust could not allow them to tear down the city’s southern wall. The new city sector would be outside the walls and until Pyrust could get enough stone to build new walls or expand the old, that district would be vulnerable. Granted, the risk of invasion was low, but if Cyron decided to come north, Pyrust would have a huge problem.

And if he moves the factories outside the walls, he loses even more.

To solve such problems, Pyrust needed Keles. The Naleni cartographer had been under no illusion that Pyrust was ever going to let him go. Like his grandfather before him, Keles had too much information ever to be given his freedom. Pyrust would build him a tower and keep him in Felarati, trading privileges for plans. If Keles became uncooperative, Pyrust would have him killed.

Keles didn’t like either one of those alternatives, which meant he had to escape-though an acceptable method eluded him. It was not that slipping away was impossible, but that Pyrust would likely torture those who should have prevented his escape. Until he could find a way either to insulate people from Pyrust’s retribution or steel himself to accept it, Keles was trapped.

It did strike him that his willingness to design a city that would allow a conqueror to slaughter thousands conflicted with his reluctance to expose those Desei he knew to danger. He blamed the Desei for Tyressa’s death, but the people he knew clearly were innocent of that crime. It would make sense to try to reconcile those two points, but if he let his desire for vengeance slip, he would be losing a connection to Tyressa. No matter how much that connection hurt him, he couldn’t let it go.

So thousands of Desei were doomed.

“They are remarkable, aren’t they, Keles Anturasi?”

Surprised, Keles spun and found himself looking at a petite blonde woman with icy blue eyes. He’d have thought she was very young, but there was a wariness in her eyes that was ageless. More like ancient.

“Please, you have the advantage of me.”

“I do. Should I press it?”

“That would be your decision.” Part of him wanted to send her off, telling her he was doing the Prince’s work, but there was something hauntingly familiar about her. “And you are right, the Desei people are remarkable.”

She nodded slightly and moved to the balcony railing beside him. She wore a blue silk robe of a darker and richer hue than her eyes. On the breasts, sleeves, and back, hawks on the wing had been embroidered. Their left wings lacked two feathers-an emblem marking her as part of the Prince’s household. The hawk was less surprising than the robe’s color-most Desei wore bright colors only on very special occasions, since the dyes had to be imported from the south at great expense.

She peered out at the shifting columns of people. “We attempt to belittle and disregard them, and yet they are capable of picking a city apart. As irresistible as the tide, aren’t they?”

“They bend to the will of their master.”

“Do you as well, Master Anturasi?” She faced him, appraising him openly.

“I am his guest. Can I do otherwise?”

She smiled and turned back to look to the south. “I have no doubt you have found many ways to comply in appearance, but resist in substance.”

Keles said nothing.

“Tired of our game already, have you?”

“Is it a game we’re playing? Because I am working.” He pointed back to the library table with drawings scattered on it.

“So am I, Keles.” She turned and caught his arm. “What if I were to tell you that I am tasked with seducing you and seeing to it that you desire to remain here forever?”

Keles shrugged. “I’d say you’re too late for that, or too early. Had the Prince poisoned me to mimic illness and you nursed me back to health, I might have fallen in love with you.”

She smiled. “That’s how your parents met, wasn’t it?”

Keles jolted and she laughed. “You see, Master Anturasi, we knew you would find it suspect. And, as you suggested, I am too early, because the time to find you companionship will be in a month, during the planting festival. You do know that here in Deseirion we will all be in the fields, plowing and planting? It is backbreaking work, and you’ll find yourself in the fields working with a Desei noblewoman. You’ll talk, she will laugh and be punished for it. You’ll feel guilty and try to make amends. She will tell you that you are different, a dream come true for her. She may not even know her part-though I doubt that. Chances are she will be one of the Mother of Shadows’ special operatives. I doubt you’re a virgin, but she will be unlike any woman you’ve ever slept with.”

He frowned. “And what am I to make of you telling me all this? If you’re even halfway truthful, I have to assume the Mother of Shadows has me watched at all times. She will know we have spoken, and probably know what was said.”

“She might, but at the moment she is distracted.” The woman smiled and glanced back at the library door. “And the people tasked with watching you right now are not going to report anything about our meeting. After all, I have leave to consult you.”

“You do?”

“From the Prince himself.”

Keles leaned back on the balcony’s railing. “Now I am tired of this game. I don’t know who you are, and I really don’t care. Leave me be.”

“I can’t, Keles Anturasi.” She studied his face for a moment, then looked down. “Then again, if you are not intelligent enough to figure out who I am, perhaps I waste my time even talking to you.”

He studied her. She clearly wasn’t full-blooded Desei. She’d not referred to them as “my people.” She was in the Prince’s household, had Helosundian coloring and… How could I have missed it? Her voice. She spoke with a Naleni accent-which he’d not noticed because it was so familiar to him. That, combined with her intelligence and arrogance, led to one inescapable conclusion.

“You’re the Prince’s wife.”

“I am Jasai of Helosunde.”

“In Newtown, the rumor is going around that the Prince will have a son before the year is out.”