The Art of Hunting (11 page)

Granger had gone to Ianthe’s homeland on behalf of a conqueror, to take everything from the Coopers and the Smiths and the Dukas and all the other families his daughter had been raised
among. His daughter had been a child of war – a combination of what had defined Evensraum and what had destroyed it.

‘She’s in her quarters, sir, preparing for Prince Marquetta’s ball.’

‘What ball?’

The servant girl hesitated.‘The ball tonight,’ she said. ‘Don’t you remember? You announced your intention to attend, sir.’

That ball. Granger now recalled his earlier conversation with the young prince. Why hadn’t he been able to recall it a moment ago? Had they drugged him? Or was this merely the aftermath of
severe exhaustion? Now that he thought about it, he remembered some talk of diplomacy. It seemed to him that the fog engulfing his mind was clearing, but not particularly quickly.

Or was the sword taking control of him? He imagined it lying there in the palace armoury, reaching out psychic tendrils that wrapped around his mind, pushing, pushing.

‘I want to see her,’ he said.

‘She’s with the prince and Duke Cyr.’

Granger swung his legs out of bed. A moment of giddiness sent his senses reeling, but it passed quickly. He took a deep breath and then settled his bare feet on the cold stone floor. The pain in
his joints took him by surprise, forcing a gasp from his throat. ‘Where are they?’

‘I don’t know if I should . . .’

‘
Where are they?
’

She flinched. ‘Their Highnesses are taking the Lady Cooper on a tour of the palace dungeons.’

‘The dungeons?’ Granger frowned. ‘Whatever for?’

‘He’s showing her his former quarters.’

‘Where are we going?’ Ianthe said.

The prince continued to follow his uncle Cyr down the stairwell. ‘It is important that
you
understand the scope of my desire to rebuild our empire,’ he said to her.

‘But I do.’

They reached the bottom of the steps, where they came upon a metal door. ‘Nevertheless, I wish to demonstrate my intentions.’ He nodded to Duke Cyr, who drew the door bolt back.
Clang.
The sound resounded around the gloomy subterranean chamber and made Ianthe shiver. She had heard too many of such noises during her time in Awl.

‘Highness?’ the duke said.

Ianthe realized that her prince had halted before the open doorway. Paulus’s face seemed paler than usual, his lips narrow and dry.
He’s more afraid than I am.
She reached
over to take his hand, but then stopped herself. Such a gesture would not be appropriate, she felt, in the presence of his uncle. It might hurt his pride.

Not yet.

The duke coughed. ‘Have we . . . forgotten something?’

‘Forgive me,’ the prince said, turning to Ianthe. ‘This place stirs terrible memories. The Unmer . . .’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘I will not speak of such
things in your presence, Ianthe.’

She gave him a supportive smile.
You have nothing to fear while I am here.

He nodded. ‘If we are to set sail on a new course, we cannot be anchored by past fears. Let us continue.’

They stepped through the doorway and into a low tunnel hewn from the naked rock. They were now deep in the mountain below the palace. It was warm here and the air held a faintly sulphurous odour
that made Ianthe think of dragons. Gem lanterns suspended at ten-pace intervals cast pools of alternating green and yellow light on the levelled stone floor. Black scuffs on the rock underfoot
suggested the passage of many rubber wheels.

Paulus explained. ‘This is one of many service corridors the Haurstaf used to move prisoners around out of sight.’ In this light his eyes were very dark indeed. Despite his fierce
determination, it was clear to Ianthe that he remained haunted by this place. ‘I find it shameful that we know them as intimately as our former captors.’

‘Why should you feel ashamed?’ she asked.

‘We were slaves,’ he said. ‘And yet . . .’ His voice tailed away.

‘We were unharmed,’ Cyr said.

The prince was suddenly angry. ‘Do not . . .’ he said. ‘Do not presume to answer for me.’

If the duke was surprised by this unexpected outburst he didn’t show it. He merely bowed with grave humility. ‘Forgive me, Highness,’ he said. ‘It was not my intention to
offend you.’

The prince regarded him for a moment longer, then turned away.

At the end of the tunnel they reached another metal door, this one inlaid with bone geometries and facets of red glass. It opened into an enormous chamber which Ianthe recognized at once. Near
the centre there stood a wooden chair set atop a scaffold – like a miniature watchtower – from which someone could survey the surrounding floor. This floor alternated between expanses
of marble and great rectangles of clear glass, through which could be seen a series of rooms and corridors constructed below: the very same quarters in which Ianthe had first seen her prince. These
transparent ceilings had allowed a Haurstaf observer to watch him at all times.

Briana Marks had once brought Ianthe here. She had explained that the prince’s quarters were suspended above a deep pit, lest he decide to use his odd talent for matter destruction simply
to obliterate a section of the floor and thus escape. In the end such precautions had been deemed insufficient. The Haurstaf decided it was necessary to observe their captives, either physically or
psychically, at all times. Standing here now, Ianthe felt suddenly afraid.

‘Why are we here?’ she said.

‘To meet a prisoner,’ he said.

Ianthe stopped. ‘Who is it?’

‘Nobody. A girl, a Haurstaf survivor.’

‘Who?’

‘She claims to have had no prior friendship with you.’

‘Then why do I have to meet her?’

The prince’s expression remained grimly serious. ‘If we are to begin to forge new relationships with our former enemies, we must first confront them.’

‘You want to make peace with the Haurstaf?’

He turned to her. ‘The idea offends you?’

‘No,’ she said instinctively. ‘I just . . .’ The truth was she didn’t want to meet any of the survivors, because of the shame she felt for what she had done to
them. She looked between Paulus’s questioning expression and the duke’s earnest face, and it occurred to her that they had both, by coming here, exposed themselves to danger. Walls
would not stop a Haurstaf combat psychic from destroying any Unmer minds in her proximity. They had also, she realized, placed their lives in her hands, for she was the only defence they possessed
against such an attack.

It was an overt display of trust.

Trust in her.

‘Our new allies found her wandering in the woods,’ Paulus said. ‘Quite distressed.’

‘But why bring her here?’

‘It is the most comfortable cell in the palace, bar one other, and I could not bring myself to keep her in
there
.’ A pained look flitted across his face, but then his
expression hardened, as of one determined not to show weakness or grief, and Ianthe could see thoughts racing behind his eyes. After a moment he shook his head dismissively. ‘But then you
never knew Carella.’

Ianthe could not tell him that she’d watched the Unmer princess die in confined quarters much like these. Nor could she tell him that she’d peered out through his eyes and read the
letters he’d written to her. He’d been forced to write in Anean, so that his Haurstaf captors could vet his words before passing them on to the princess. The thought of it now merely
compounded her guilt.

‘There was no reason to keep us apart,’ Paulus said, ‘none but that we should suffer all the more.’ For a moment he seemed sad and distant again, but then his resolve
returned. He straightened and looked squarely at Ianthe. ‘We Unmer believe that compassion is the primary measure of worth,’ he said. ‘Mercy is the second. Please.’ He
beckoned her to follow him.

They walked over to the glass slabs. Duke Cyr, however, chose to linger by the door.

The room beneath the window had not changed since Paulus had been imprisoned here. But now in his place there was a Haurstaf girl. Ianthe’s breath caught in her throat. The girl was a few
years older than her and seemed all elbows and knees and great dark hollows for eyes – a sapling of a girl with skin as white as a winter birch, but mottled by bruises. Even her hair was thin
and pallid, almost translucent. She looked familiar. Ianthe was sure she’d seen her around, but they had never spoken. She had been sitting on the edge of a red plush settee, fidgeting with
her hands, but stood up when Ianthe and Paulus came to stand at the edge of the glass ceiling. She regarded Ianthe with absolute fear.

Paulus looked down at her. ‘I’m told you are a combat psychic.’

Her gaze moved between him and Ianthe. She moistened her lips.

‘Your name?’

‘I don’t want to harm anyone,’ she said.

‘Please,’ the prince said. ‘We merely require your name.’

‘Genevieve Greene.’

He regarded her calmly. ‘You were lucky to survive the uprising, Genevieve.’

Uprising.
That struck Ianthe as an odd choice of words. There had been no uprising as such, merely liberation as an unintended result of her psychic attack. They’d hurt her and
she’d hurt them back a hundredfold. And now the Unmer were free as a result. She could, however, see why Paulus might utilize that particular term for political gain.

Genevieve’s gaze was fixed on Ianthe. ‘Please don’t hurt me,’ she said.

Ianthe felt her face redden with shame.

‘We’re not here to hurt you,’ Paulus said. ‘We’re here to offer you a job.’

Genevieve’s eyes snapped to him, now smouldering with distrust.

‘You are wondering why you should trust me,’ he said. ‘Why, after all your kind has done to mine, should I grant you your freedom? Why would any Unmer risk having an enemy
psychic around? It is, after all, within your power to cripple me here and now. You might, with one thought, inflict unbearable pain on me or reduce me to a . . . gibbering wreck. The fact that you
refrain suggests that you are smart enough to know that such actions would not be in your best interests.’ He glanced at Ianthe, a half-smile on his lips. ‘However, this impasse –
albeit tenuous – nevertheless provides me with an invaluable opportunity.’ Now he paused, perhaps to give weight to the words that followed. ‘The simple truth is,’ he said,
‘I need the Haurstaf.’

She frowned.

‘Our last conflict cost my people dearly,’ Paulus said. ‘We had no defence against your mental weaponry, and no appeal. My father Jonas begged the goddess Duna, daughter of
Fiorel, for assistance, but Argusto Conquillas put an end to that desperate ploy. And all was lost. We could not engineer a way to shield ourselves. Conquillas raised his dragons against us. His
lover, Aria, raised her Haurstaf to war against us. Faced with genocide, my father turned to Fiorel for help. They conceived of one last way to save us.

‘If we couldn’t protect ourselves from you, we would make ourselves invaluable to you.’ Paulus looked again at Ianthe. ‘Fiorel taught my father’s best sorcerers how
to create ichusae. He sent them as far from Haurstaf interference as possible. They worked in secret, in remote camps in the mountains, producing them.’

‘The grave pits,’ Ianthe said. ‘My dream.’

He smiled suddenly. ‘Dear Ianthe, it was not your dream.’ He turned back to Genevieve.‘Your kind always liked to promote the idea that we poisoned the oceans out of spite. But
the truth is that we did it to ensure our own survival. We really had no other option. We seeded the oceans with ichusae to give you a reason to keep us around.’

‘To counter the magic you unleashed?’ Ianthe said.

‘Only we knew the location of every last ichusae,’ Paulus said. ‘The Haurstaf would need us to delay the end of the world. They could not destroy us without dooming
themselves.’ He shrugged. ‘The problem was: as the seas rose, less land became available. Which meant more conflict. And the more conflict there was, the more money and power came to
the Haurstaf. We made them rich beyond imagining. It turned out that ever-rising seas suited the Haurstaf just fine.’

‘But now you’re free . . .’ Ianthe began.

‘Now it’s too late,’ Paulus replied. ‘There are not enough of my people left to accomplish the task ahead. We have no empire, no ships, no resources of any kind, and no
time left to establish them. The Haurstaf have allowed the world to reach the brink of death. And if we’re going to pull it back, we need friends, Ianthe. Even among those who have tortured
and enslaved us.’

Ianthe’s heart filled with love for him. And such admiration. And hope. If Paulus could show such forgiveness and compassion to those who had tortured and murdered his own family, then was
it inconceivable that the Haurstaf might one day forgive her for what she’d done to them? She would have thrown her arms around him had it not been so inappropriate.

‘Will you help me, Genevieve?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation. ‘Thank you.’

Paulus smiled.

Just then a door at the far end of the chamber opened, and a party entered. Three former palace guards, now in Unmer employ, escorted two more Haurstaf prisoners across the chamber. The
telepaths were both young, of an age with Ianthe. Both wore the white cowled robes of recruits. One was snow-blonde and slender, the other dusky and rotund. Ianthe vaguely recognized them, but
– again – had no knowledge of their names. The palace guard commander halted a few steps in front of Paulus and clasped his own shoulder in salute. ‘There are four more in the
north hall,’ he said. ‘Commander Artenso is due to . . .’

‘Tell Artenso to hold off until I’ve had a chance to speak with him,’ Paulus said. ‘In the meantime I’d like to meet the girls myself.’ He turned to indicate
the sunken quarters beneath the glass floor slabs. ‘You may rescue this young lady from the clutches of extreme luxury and add her to your party. See that they are settled quickly.’ He
turned to the two recruits and gave them an amiable smile. ‘You are both invited to tonight’s ball.’

The dumpy girl curtseyed, ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’