The Fall of Ventaris (21 page)

The facet said nothing, and after a long moment Duchess ventured to speak. “Thank you for meeting with me.” The woman made no reply, but tilted her head at an inquisitive angle. In the mirrored wall another facet followed suit. Unnerved, Duchess nonetheless took the motion for encouragement. “Are you...the same person I spoke with at House Eusbius?” The facet simply looked back with one brown eye and said nothing.

Very well. “I’ve come to...a friend of mine, a good friend, she...” Duchess cast about, uncertain how to proceed in the face of such total silence. She took a deep breath and started again. “I want a prophecy.”

The facet seemed to smile beneath her mask. “So you do not wish to receive wisdom, but to use it?” She sounded the same as Lady Anassa, for whatever that was worth. “There is a word for those who try to use the gods for their own ends.”

“Rodaasi?” Duchess asked, unable to stop herself. The facet, amazingly, laughed like the water bubbling along the channels cut into stone.
 

“A close enough name for
hubris
. If all those who cried for our counsel had such wit, they might find us more willing advisers.” She folded her hands neatly on her lap. “What use do you have for Anassa today?”

Duchess swallowed. “The friend I mentioned is a weaver, but she cannot practice her trade because the guild will not grant her a license.”

The facet watched her, unblinking. “And you think to find such a license here?”

“No. But I think that if Anassa spoke for my friend, the guildmaster — Gloria Tremaine — would listen.” Duchess held her breath. Had she committed blasphemy? It was said that Anassa’s prophecies could be bought for gold, but then again much of what was said up and down the hill was fiction, not fact.

If the facet was offended she gave no sign. “Tremaine is numbered amongst our followers, yes, but as the gods give, so do they take away. What do you offer in exchange for our Lady’s gift?”

Duchess shifted on her awkward seat, feeling a bit more comfortable with this turn of conversation. She was an experienced haggler, and if this simply came down to give and take, she’d be fine. “What would Anassa have of me? I don’t have much gold now, but if this friend receives a license, she and I will — ”

The facet shook her head. “What Our Lady wants shan’t be found in your purse, nor on the looms of your weaver.” She seemed to weigh Duchess with her one-eyed gaze. “When are we most alone?”

Duchess was taken aback; this question sounded familiar. “Is this some riddle?” When the facet did not answer, Duchess ventured, “When we die, I suppose.”

“If the keepers speak truly, at that moment Mayu is beside you with her dark lamp, to light the way.” When she saw Duchess had no response, she went on. “Family, friendship, life and love...all these are experienced in another’s gaze. Only truth finds us when we are alone, stripped of friends, lovers, lives and lies. That moment of knowing is when we are most alone.” Duchess had no reply, but the facet did not seem to need one. “When we name a thing we define what it is and what it is not. It is then set apart, and alone. To name a thing is to know it, and to know it is to have power over it.” She leaned forward, sure in the seat of her strange chair.

Duchess hesitated. “I thought you already knew. Why else admit me to the Sanctum?” The facet said nothing, but her silence was itself a demand. “They call me Duchess. Of the Shallows.”

The facet shook her head. “They call me many things, as well. They call me Lady. They call me Wisdom. They call me bearer of the shard, and facet, and fool and monster. They call me liar when I will not tell them what they think they wish to hear, and they call me destroyer when they know in their hearts I speak the truth. But none of these are my name.”

Old terrors rose up inside her, and every lesson Noam had taught clamored for her to refuse, to keep her silence. She was Duchess and had never been anything else. Her throat felt tight and her skin seemed to tingle with strange power. She must never tell, not anyone...

“Your name.” The facet’s voice was gentle as a whisper and hard as iron.

Duchess bit her lip. Minette knew her name, and had always known, and now Lysander as well. Her House was gone, and those who remembered its passing had long ago ceased to care. There was no threat, and yet all she could think of was Noam’s training...and Jadis’ warning. She sat in that room of reflection and running water with the unasked and unanswered question like a living thing and the single eye of the facet gave no quarter. She could come up with a lie, but to what end? She sighed. Her request had been made and the price set forth. All that remained was to pay it.

“My name... is Marina.”
 

The facet straightened in her chair, suddenly bereft of all grace, and lifted one hand to her throat, where she plucked at the collar of her robe. Looking up, Duchess saw that the facets passing before the doors to the great chamber had all stopped and were looking directly at her. She felt a chill and wondered if she had somehow offended, and if she would ever leave this place alive.

“Marina...
Kell
?” the woman asked.
 

Duchess’ stomach fluttered. “Yes.” In the long silence that followed Duchess had the most curious feeling that she was somehow being discussed, and yet the priestesses made no sound. “How did you know?”

The facet did not reply, and a moment passed in silence, and then another. The only sound was the bubbling of water and the beat of Duchess’ own heart. Then the priestesses at the top of the stairs began to move once more, and the moment passed.
 

The facet folded her hands in her lap once more. “You shall have your prophecy,” she said, her voice as gentle and certain as ever. Then she simply stared as if Duchess were a stranger. When it became clear she would say no more, Duchess rose to her feet, backed away across the landing and up the stairs.
 

When she reached the top she was met by the same facets who had escorted her, or at least she thought it them. She glanced over her shoulder as they left the great chamber and saw Lady Anassa — if that was who she was — sitting motionless near the pool. Her one eye followed Duchess as she passed from sight.
 

They made their slow way back through the Sanctum, but at the doors the facets turned and barred the way. They made no move to restrain her, but stood so that she could not pass. She watched them warily. Perhaps she had seen or heard something that no outsider was allowed to know. When the followers of Anassa died their remains were brought to the Sanctum and never seen again. Was she to suffer the same fate?

There were footsteps behind her, and she turned to see yet another facet approaching, carrying in her hands a silver platter. Upon it were two tightly rolled scrolls, both tied with blue ribbon and one sealed at both ends with white wax. Her prophecy, she realized.
 

The facet held up the platter and said nothing, and when Duchess gathered up the scrolls, she turned and moved off. In a coordinated motion, the four facets stepped aside and pulled open the doors, admitting the late morning sunlight and the shouting of the petitioners on the steps of the Sanctum. The shouting died when the doors opened.
 

Silence lay heavily on the Godswalk as, carrying the scrolls, Duchess descended the stairs, watched by a thousand eyes. The crowd parted as she passed, as if she were a ghost from a play whose stage was all the world.

Chapter Thirteen: A herald of change

“What a pleasant surprise,” Duchess said, only half meaning it. In the week between waking up in Ferroc’s basement and finding his way back to her, Pollux had found new clothes somewhere, and new boots as well. Her florin had probably had something to do with both. She was actually not surprised to see him. One of the nice things about being on the Grey was that when a man unknown in the Shallows asked after your whereabouts, you heard about it long before he actually found you.

Luckily, the same was true of
known
men as well, for Antony had also been looking for her that day. Forewarned was forearmed, and she’d had her story ready. “Good news, Antony,” she’d said, all smiles and confidence. “I’ve talked Julius down to eighteen florin, and I think I can get him down a few more before I’m through.” She handed over two florin, gotten from the sale of Darley’s pendant plus a little from her own purse. “I just need a bit more time to wear him down.” Antony had seemed to accept this tale, but there was a hint of suspicion in his manner as he’d backed out her door. Still, he’d gone, although the grim promise of his return hung in her apartments long after.

She felt slightly safer with Pollux here, no matter how changed his appearance. His long hair had been dyed a rich brown, and with the close shave the keepers had given him, he looked completely unlike the man she’d found in Takkis’ hold.
 

She gestured for him to enter and then crossed the room for cups and the flagon of wine she’d purchased yesterday. “Care for a drink?” Pollux nodded and took a seat across from her, with his back to the wall, she noted as she poured. A warrior’s instincts, indeed.

In all honesty, she was glad of the company. Her time on the Godswalk, within the temples of both Mayu and Anassa, had been unsettling, and it was good to focus on this world rather than the next.

She sipped carefully, but Pollux did not drink, instead staring into his cup. She waited for him to begin, and he did not disappoint her. “You told me, that night in the cellar, you wouldn’t ask for anything I wasn’t willing to give.” Then he met her gaze, cool and perhaps even a bit contemptuous. “I’m not a redcap or some Wharves thug.”

She frowned. Having him take her lightly would not do at all. “Good, because I don’t want one.” She set down her cup. “If I did, I could have waved a handful of sou around on the docks and had a hundred takers, and let you remain comfortably in your cell.” She let that sink in. “But I don’t need a White either.” His eyes narrowed, but she pressed on. “Your days as Pollux are over. If you want to survive down here you need to forget that name and that life. I don’t know how things work up the hill, but in the Shallows everyone watches and everyone talks. Already half the district is wondering why the man with the gray eyes was asking after Duchess. If they hear even a whisper of who you really are, the both of us will be on a gibbet before the leaves fall.”
 

His face was stone, but she could see that the contempt in his eyes had turned to something more speculative. Good and better. She thought of the awful night of the fire, the night she’d come to live with Noam. The old baker had been harsh with her, and perhaps wisely so, and she owed Pollux the same. “You need to not only take a new name but a new life. You are not Pollux. Pollux died in a cell in Temple District. You are not a White. So who are you?”
To name a thing is to know it
, the facet had said. When Noam had put the same question to her, she’d chosen the name of a cat. What would this man select? And what would it mean?

He pondered a long moment. “Castor,” he said at last. She tried not to smirk. Perhaps the facet had been right, for Pollux had indeed chosen a name with meaning. Although it was not a well known tale, she had heard of the twin brothers who’d vied for their imperial father’s affection. In the end Castor had slain Pollux, but even as he’d turned the blade and the blood had run hot and red across his hands he’d wept bitter tears. He himself had not lived to sit his father’s throne, sacrificing himself to save his dead brother’s only son. So although Castor had slain his brother, he had never forgotten him...nor stopped loving him.

“Then I am glad to know you,
Castor
,” she said, trying out the name on her tongue. “You’ll need to make sure to answer to that name. The best way to start is by becoming Castor, in here” – she pointed to his head – “and in here” she pointed at his heart. “Think of who he is, what he likes, where he’s been, and soon enough you’ll forget you were anyone else.”

“Sounds like you’ve done this before,” he said, measuring her with his eyes. She wasn’t used to men looking at her with respect, but she thought she could get used to it.

“Once or twice.” She grinned mirthlessly. “Ask me another time and I’ll tell you about it. Right now, I need your help.”

He nodded. “What can Castor do for you?”

“Do you know Gloria Tremaine?” she asked, pouring herself more wine.

He raised an eyebrow. “Guildmaster for the weavers, if I remember right?” At Duchess’ nod, he went on. “Not noble but skilled at politics. There’s no other way someone of her birth could have risen so high. The Atropi called in every favor they could manage to keep her out of the master’s chair, but Tremaine had connections among the cults that won the day.”

Duchess sipped, chewing this over. She had her prophecy in hand, it was time to make her move. “What kind of person is she?”

“Arrogant as a noble,” Castor replied, fingering his cup. “Fearsome with her servants, or anyone who ranks under her, although with the facets she plays meek as a girl.” Duchess wondered at the truth of the last. Too much depended on it for comfort.

She stood suddenly and headed back towards her bedroom. After a moment, he followed, stopping politely just outside the door, proper as any White. Good to know.

“I need your help today, if you’re up for it.” She slipped off her tunic and tugged at her leggings. “I need...well, a bodyguard, I suppose.”

“Some business in the Shallows?” She could tell by the sound of his voice that he’d turned his back. Castor was not the kind to peek, apparently. Also good to know.

“Hardly. I’ve lived in the Shallows half my life and never needed a guard before.” She pulled out the dress she’d worn to the mysteries of Ventaris. Skirts sat ill on her hips, but today’s errand demanded more than her normal street clothes. She pulled the garment over her head and smoothed it out as best she could. A bit rumpled, but it should serve. “We’re off to see Guildmaster Tremaine.” She glanced at the scroll that lay on her bed. Its twin, wax seals still intact, was secure in the lockbox she’d acquired from Nigel downstairs. Once more she unrolled the paper, magnificent white vellum with ribbons and the official stamp of the Sanctum of Anassa: