Engine of Lies ebook Page 10

  She turned a shocked face to me, then laughed at my joke.

  “No, ma’am. This is as far as I’m going.”

  Few others were in the pool at that late hour: a pair swimming in deeper water, a giggling trio on the edge splashing with their feet, and an earth witch across the pool staring at me. I lifted a hand to wave, but I’d been mistaken; she was watching the swimmers.

  I slid a little farther into the water with a sigh. Making friends is hard when you don’t speak their language. My head throbbed.

  I had slid farther than I had intended. The water was up to my neck. With a prickle of alarm, I tried to push myself further up the ramp, but my feet and hands found no purchase on the smooth tiles.

  “Katie,” I called, “Come here, please.”

  I was sliding faster. A weight on my shoulders, like someone’s hands, pushed me further down. The water rose over my chin. I opened my mouth to yell, and got a mouthful. I thrashed about, but there was nothing within reach to grab.

  Alarm blossomed into terror as I sank beneath the surface. In two feet of water, I was drowning.

  The Honeymoon is Over

  I flailed underwater and blasted out a silent scream for help. Instinct, reinforced by many hours’ training, took control and poured fire at the weight pinning me down.

  The weight vanished, but leaden limbs wouldn’t obey my will, and I couldn’t raise my head. My nose and mouth were full of water; my lungs burned. An eternity later, Katie yanked on my arm, hauling my head and shoulders up into a thick, roiling cloud of steam. Screams echoed around the tiled walls. Jean, the water boiling around his feet, grabbed and dropped us, dripping, on cushions in the guest quarters. He flipped me over and I belched out water while he pounded on my back.

  I lay on my side, gasping, retching, and shaking as a drama I was barely aware of played out around me. Someone wrapped me in a blanket. Katie, engulfed in a man’s robe too big for her, sat beside me, combing my hair, and hissing at anyone who came close. René curled at my feet, coughing and retching in time with me. Jean came and went, dealing with a stream of loud, angry voices. After far too long a wait, a tired and frightened healer appeared to soothe my lungs and still premature labour pains. The baby was unhurt, she reported, then ran away as if we carried contagion. Despite her ministrations, I could not stop shaking. Our entourage milled around, making such a din I couldn’t understand what anyone said. Why couldn’t they go away, so I could bury my face in Jean’s shoulder and cry?

  Mother Janet had been right. Thank God I had a husband powerful enough to protect me even from magical assassins.

  Our host, the Sultan, appeared, and the racket in our quarters died. Neither he nor Jean raised their voices, but the younger fire wizards backed away, wide-eyed, from the white-hot confrontation between the two senior warlocks.

  Our host left, and Jean shooed the awed wizards out of our bedchamber. “Thomas, William, Matthias, post a watch. Everyone else, pack, then sleep if you can. We shall leave in the morning.”

  René, looking much the worse for wear, stopped in the doorway. “Hey, Lucinda, if you ever nearly die again—”

  “I beg your pardon.” Jean reached for René with fire in his eyes.

  The boy ducked the outstretched arm and disappeared. “—don’t drown, okay?”

  Jean sat down beside me, and I threw myself, sobbing, into his arms. He handed me a glass and insisted I drink. I gulped and choked, my throat burning. When, sometime later, I stopped shaking, I took another sip. “Where do you get this? I didn’t think there was anything like it here.”

  “I drew it from Mjöllnir’s cellars. I cannot evade the Fortress’s defences, and I knew he had it because I gave it to him. I will make it up to him later.”

  “Why? That stuff is awful.”

  “This is one of the world’s finest single-malt whiskeys, you heathen.”

  “You’re wasting it on me.”

  He took a pull from the glass. “I did not fetch it for you, my love.”

  “I wasn’t following the argument,” I murmured into his shoulder. “Are we leaving in a huff, or did he kick us out?”

  “It hardly matters, when the result is the same. Our departure is one of the few points we agree upon. I am unsure which he is most angry about—the imagined insult to the women at the pool, the damage I did on breaking in, or his embarrassment over discovering his concubine of fifteen years was a spy for the Europan Empire—”

  “Wait, what? A spy? Who?”

  “The earth witch who tried to murder you. Her existence was not our fault, and he may cease to blame us when he recovers his equilibrium, but the embarrassment of her public exposure will fester for a long time. It will be best for all if we remove ourselves and let him deal with the repercussions alone.

  “Besides,” he added with a growl, “I would find it difficult to maintain a polite façade towards a man who considers the attempted murder of a woman—even a witch of the highest rank—of less consequence than his own embarrassment and inconvenience.”

  “Give him a piece of my mind for me, will you? I don’t want to ever see him again. But Jean, I don’t understand. Why will he be embarrassed? There weren’t many women in the pool, and anyway, they’re all in purdah. Can’t he keep it quiet?”

  He started shaking. Startled, I raised my head. He was laughing quietly. His vivid eyes danced. “My dear, after all the work you have done towards calling down the lightning, you do not know your own strength. Everyone in the city heard your call for help—no, not a call, the demand of a terrified witch being murdered. The inhabitants of the seraglio converged on the pool. The palace’s male inhabitants converged on the gates to the seraglio. Outside, a mob converged on the palace gates, nearly breaking them down. They do not know who you are, but they will not rest until they have heard every detail. This incident is the most exciting event this city has known in decades.”

  “Oh. Oh, no. I can understand why he’s angry. Oh, dear.”

  “Oh, dear, yes, my dear.” He laughed aloud, then sobered. “I should have been angry, too, in his place, but at the Empire and its spies rather than at my guests. I have offered my apologies to him and to his women for the imagined insult of seeing their bared flesh—I assure you I did not waste time ogling his harem—but I will not apologise for breaking in. The damage to his own household would have been much greater had I not.”

  “Jean, the spy—what’s going to happen to her?”

  He turned my face with his hand so I had to look at him. He regarded me with a slight frown, no laughter in his eyes now. “Lucinda, my love, tell me what happened in the pool.”

  “Somebody pushed me underwater. I flamed them, but there wasn’t anyone there. And then you and Katie pulled me out. If you hadn’t rescued me from the earth witch I would have drowned.”

  “And the cloud of steam?”

  “You made the water boil, didn’t you?”

  He shook his head. “No, my dear. You did not need me to rescue you. When you flamed the earth witch holding you underwater, you attacked the real woman across the pool, not a phantom above you.” The corners of his eyes creased into a slight smile. “You justified those hours of drill in the practice room, tracking a threat by magic. Your reactions were automatic and correct, but your attack was that of a warlock with deep reserves, given added force by panic. The steam was your handiwork.”

  “The…the witch?”

  “She is dead, my love. She died before I arrived.”

  “The other women?”

  “Scalded, but healers reached them in time, and they will recover. I dispersed the heat, so no others rushing in were scalded. Only the spy died.”

  The shaking returned full force. “Jean, I didn’t mean to kill her. I didn’t mean to kill anybody. I wasn’t even sure anybody was there.”

  His voice was a caress. “You defended
yourself, my dear. Do not berate yourself for this night’s work. If neither you nor I had killed her at the pool, she would still not have survived. The Sultan would have ordered her execution.”

  I gagged, and buried my face in his shoulder. I had tried to deny I had killed, but instinct would never let me wait for a rescue I could not be sure would come in time.

  “Jean,” I said, after a long time, “you said the damage would have been greater if you hadn’t broken in. You mean, if you hadn’t cooled things off, other people would have died?”

  He drew in a long breath, held it, and released it without answering. I pulled away from him and sat up.

  “Jean, I nearly killed a lot of people tonight, didn’t I?” My voice rose, but I had no control over it. “The stronger I get, the more damage I can do. I don’t want to kill innocent people. Maybe I should have drowned. Maybe I—”

  “Stop this nonsense at once,” he barked, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. “We do not obey God’s will by turning our backs on God-given talents, even dangerous ones. You must—you will—learn to respond to danger with dispatch and necessary force. You will overcome your childish reluctance to attack. You will attack, if necessary, to protect yourself or other Franks. It is your duty as a warlock.”

  I stared at him in mute shock. His expression was stern, his eyes hard. We could have been back in the Fortress, grim Fire Warlock and cowed supplicant rather than loving husband and wife.

  His expression softened. “You did not hear what I said. You did well, remarkably well for someone who has known she is a witch for only two years.”

  I scrubbed at tears with the corner of the blanket. “Why? Why do I have to? I didn’t want to be a warlock. I didn’t even want to be a witch. I didn’t ask for this.”

  “I did not ask to be Fire Warlock at the age of twenty-seven. Do you imagine I wanted to hold the Fire Office for more than a century?”

  I tugged the blanket tighter around my shoulders, though the night was not cold. “No.”

  “I am sorry, my love. I cannot tell you all will be well on the morrow. You are a warlock, and must face the truth. To be a warlock means making life and death decisions. This evening’s decision was simple—your life, or hers. You made the right choice—yours.”

  “But, Jean…”

  “Yes?”

  I couldn’t meet his eyes. “If something like that happens again after the baby’s born, and I react again with as much force, I could kill my own baby. I’d rather die.”

  He pulled me around, facing him. “Look at me, my love. Everyone has the right to defend themselves. Private citizens may decide not to exercise that right, but you are not a private citizen. You are a warlock, and a warlock’s primary responsibility is Frankland’s security. That duty trumps everything else: family, personal comfort, one’s own life. You are one of the few indispensable people in Frankland’s history. If your survival means my death, or our child’s death, so be it.”

  I jerked away from him. “You are a ruthless, cold—”

  “As cold-hearted as any Frost Maiden,” he said. “Why do you think I survived as long as I did?”

  I scowled at the merciless stranger—this man I thought I knew. “You can’t order me to sacrifice my own baby.”

  Jean said, “One warlock cannot order another in matters of personal conduct, that is true. But the Fire Warlock can and does issue orders to other warlocks in matters relating to Frankland’s security. You may recall that, as Fire Warlock, I ordered you to live long enough to unlock the Fire Office. That order still stands.”

  The Summons

  Jean’s severe mood vanished by the morning. He apologised for upsetting me, and I in turn admitted he was right; Frankland needed my talent. That knowledge had coloured my outlook for more than a year. Jean had expected to die for Frankland; it should not have surprised me he would be willing to sacrifice himself to ensure my survival.

  That didn’t mean I had to like it, or his willingness to sacrifice others.

  He reassured me on that score. “You are no more dangerous to children than any other fire witch, and less so than many careless mothers, witches or not. If you were a danger, I would send the child back to the Fortress to be protected and cared for there.”

  I lay on the cushions, letting the warmth of his concern soothe me, and pondering my unasked-for responsibilities. Our staff bustled around me, getting ready to go. In the next room, the Fire Eaters congratulated themselves on having trained me so well in responding to attacks.

  Still drained from the shock and a short night, I felt little emotion other than disgust—with the assassin, the sultan, and our own Fire Eaters—and annoyance with the little brat kicking, rolling, and dancing on my liver. I was almost sorry the healer had stilled my labour pains, but I didn’t want the baby born here. As soon as we settled into our next stop, I planned to evict the little beast.

  We travelled to Agra, and settled in for the winter. Our baby, a lovely little boy we named Edward after my father, duly arrived, and we added a nursemaid to our staff. René turned fifteen, and developed a sudden absorption in pretty girls. Dealing with his attempts to impress his current interest with his expanding powers kept us scrambling for months.

  No longer constrained by pregnancy, I resumed pushing my limits as hard as I could, more than once collapsing from heatstroke. My ability to channel power expanded at the pace of fingernails growing, but sometimes we detected a change. I shouted in triumph the day we stood on a mountain high in the Himalayas, and Jean called down the lightning with my hand in his. I had not flinched. Or only a little.

  René glowered, but did not volunteer to do the same. He was far behind and losing ground. Jean would not let him proceed as quickly, even when he reached level five.

  The Fire Eaters, under Jean’s orders, never went near the nursery, but resumed badgering me as soon as I regained my feet after childbirth. Jean remarked on my continued use of weak blasts in our mock battles, but I dug in my heels, pointing out I had proved I could be forceful when the occasion called for it. He frowned and shook his head, but did not pursue the argument.

  All our staff showed signs at one time or another of homesickness, but I stayed too busy to indulge in it, or to brood over my near drowning. Sometimes, though, unresolved questions percolated through my mind and demanded attention. “Jean, why did that earth witch think she could get away with murder?”

  We were resting between bouts on a snow-covered mountainside. I turned my attention away from the rugged landscape, and watched him consider my question.

  He said, “You had hidden your talents. The assassin might not have understood your qualities as a witch.”

  “Yes, but you said either you or the sultan would have killed her if I hadn’t.”

  “She would not have known I could break through the spells barring men from the seraglio.” Jean smiled. “That was a nasty shock even to the sultan, who should have known better. Also, she had reason to believe the evening’s entertainment would occupy my attention, and I would be slow to respond.

  “As to the sultan…” He shrugged. “Perhaps she thought she could deflect the blame. Perhaps she thought in the turmoil following she could escape notice. Perhaps she seized an opportunity when it presented itself, without thinking it through.” He shrugged again. “As she cannot explain herself, we will never know.”

  René pushed himself up from the boulder he had sprawled on. “What entertainment? The game the sultan talked about? You could’ve watched with half your attention. You do that all the time.”

  Jean gave him a sidelong glance. “Er…”

  René and I exchanged looks. “Now you have to tell us,” I said.

  “Remember you can’t lie to us,” René said.

  “You two are much too impudent,” Jean said. “Disrespectful of your elders.”

  “Elders, bosh,�
�� I said. “You’re so old that if we treated you with the respect due your age you’d be the loneliest man on the planet. Tell us, already.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Very well. The evening’s entertainment was not, as you were led to believe, a game. Rather, he offered me the services of his concubines.”

  I breathed fire. “He did what?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Does that surprise you, my dear? He appeared to feel sorry for me, having a single woman, and one heavy with child at that, to satisfy my licentious needs.”

  “So what did you do?” René asked.

  I glowered. “He remembered his wedding vows, and that he’s married to another warlock.”

  Jean smiled at me with devils in his eyes. “I suggested no other woman could survive my volcanic lust.”

  I flinched. And then snickered.

  He sobered. “That incident lent impetus to our hasty departure. We exchanged angry words even before the murder attempt. I insulted him and his harem as much by declining as he insulted you and me by offering.”

  “Insulted them?” I said. “Rubbish.”

  René said, “I was there when the sultan told Lucinda he was taking you to watch that game. He said I should come along, too, but I was tired, and went to bed.”

  I turned my wrath on René. “I hope you are not suggesting you’re sorry you missed such a sordid opportunity.”

  He grinned. “Would’ve been educational, and a warlock’s got to know all kinds of things, right?” He rolled away from my outstretched fist. “But what I meant was, the sultan lied to us. Both of us. And neither of us noticed.”

  I stopped reaching for René and stared at Jean. “Did he change his mind after you left the guest quarters? He couldn’t have lied to us.”

  There was no humour in Jean’s face now. “He could. He did.”

  René’s jaw dropped. I blinked at Jean. “But that’s impossible. Lying to warlocks…”

  “My dear,” he said, “you want to believe the best of everyone you meet. This is one of your charms, but you are too trusting. You have already encountered conspiracy magic in the Fire Guild secrets. True, no one person can lie to you, bald-faced, without you knowing. But with magical backing drawn from many level five talents, the most outrageous lies will take both of you in.”