The Queen of Lies (14 page)

“I’m not certain how I’m doing,” Jessa confided, “or how I’m expected to be doing under the circumstances. I knew Torin very briefly, but he was…I would have been happy with the match.”

“I must admit I was concerned for his safety,” Turnbull said. “The war with the Dominance has raged off and on for centuries. There are closed-minded fanatics in Rivern who view your mere presence as an insult. People in this corner of the Protectorate tend to think with their fists.”

“It may surprise you to hear that I harbor no great affection for the empire or my grandmother. And it’s refreshing to say that to someone and know he’ll believe me.” Jessa grinned.

Turnbull raised his eyebrow. “Honesty is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea.” Jessa sighed with relief.

“I think Torin would have considered himself fortunate.” Turnbull smiled. “If there’s ever anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. People may not equate the dean of the College of Seals with a position of citywide authority, but I also oversee the licenses for the Burners Guild, and I can easily cut off the city’s hot water with the stroke of a pen.”

Jessa took his hand in hers. “I’m grateful for your offer of friendship. I may call upon you.”

Turnbull removed a square of silk from his pocket and dabbed his eye. “Come by and see me anytime, Lady.”

Jessa grinned to herself as she left Turnbull’s company. He seemed genuinely gentle and good-hearted. In fact everyone in Rivern had been nothing but kind and helpful. Her mother had warned her to mistrust the charity of strangers, but these people exuded a sense of friendliness and sincerity that seemed almost alien.

Jessa stopped short. A tearful woman under a black veil stood trembling in her path. Makeup ran from her eyes, and her mouth was twisted with grief. “I don’t care what they say…
You murdered my son, you fucking imperial cunt!
” Torin’s mother slapped Jessa across the face.

Jessa turned and pressed her hand against her stinging cheek as attendees at the wake swarmed the women. She felt hands guiding her away as others restrained Torin’s mother. Shouting and panic ensued as Jessa’s cousins rushed her out of the chamber.

F
OR STUDENTS SEEKING
a value in arcane education, the Lyceum at Rivern has much to offer. While not as prestigious as Bamor College, it once was regarded nearly as highly. Its engineering program is still the most prominent in all Creation, and nearly all recent advances in automata can be credited in part to their faculty research. They also offer curricula in glyphology, blood magic, and alchemy.

It is unfortunately the only school in the Protectorate not to offer classes in necromancy, owing to the infamous indiscretions of Dean Pytheria. The scandal of her administration led to the formal revocation of their charter in that discipline, and fifty years later, the reputation has remained somewhat tarnished.

For nontraditional education the Twin Magisteriums of the Mirrored City offer a much more varied selection of arcane modalities. But for traditional mages uninterested in necromancy, the Rivern Lyceum offers comparable education to Bamor at a fraction of the cost.

—
NOLAN HARDING’S ANNUAL UNIVERSITY RATINGS, 565 A.N.

T
HE INSCRIPTION PROBABLY
was meant to say,
THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN SIGNS
, but the High Archean writing above the battered doorframe used some of the modern alphabet so
SIGNS
became
SIGHS
. It was about what you’d expect from a condemned house in the Backwash: a weathered structure suspended above the rushing water by barnacle-encrusted footing made from young, tall oak.

A scarlet wax seal bound a piece of official parchment to the door, which had been kicked in then propped back in place. The inside was dark, with candles set on shelves to augment the illumination from the boarded-up windows. The floor was covered in ragged bedding and the detritus of squatters. A few shitty chairs were scattered around, along with a table in moderately good repair. A stack of books and a small makeshift alchemy station sat on one end of the table.

Riley motioned Maddox inside. He had recovered somewhat on the walk over. Enough to be properly disgusted by his surroundings. It was messy and foul, with a haze of smoke that smelled like dragonfire and other noxious substances. His incredibly keen sense of smell gave him pungent bursts of information, none of it good.

A girl with multicolored but naturally blond hair sat at the table, her hand splayed in front of her as she quickly and methodically jabbed an expensive-looking knife into the space between each finger. She looked up. Her vividly blue eyes were lined with deep black. “Who the fuck is this?”

Riley beamed. “This is Maddox!”

“Heard a lot about you,” she said casually. Her voice was unusually high and pretty. In fact she was actually quite attractive for a girl. She didn’t stop doing that thing with the knife, whatever you called it.

“This is Esme,” Riley said, nudging him. “She’s my girl. So hands off.”

“How old is she?” Maddox asked. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen.

“Older than I look,” Esme sneered. “I’ve killed people.”

Riley laughed. “She’s feisty. Come on! The others are upstairs…”

Riley led Maddox up a set of rickety steps to the upper level. He glanced at Esme as he passed. Her eyes regarded him warily, with a glimmer of murderousness. He knew the routine and returned the glare. He’d been coming downriver since before she was born. She wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. If it ever came to that.

Upstairs wasn’t any better. The others were sitting on the floor in a circle around a smoldering hookah. In no particular order was an old lady who looked like she had one foot in the grave, a stout man with tremendous arms, a trembling skinny guy, a Fodder, and a black wolf with yellow eyes.

“This is Gran.” Riley indicated the old woman. “We call her that ’cuz sometimes she thinks I’m her grandson.”

The old woman gave a yellow smile, but her eyes were vacant. “I used to teach at the school.” Wizards weren’t immune to the ravages of dementia; it took their minds as well as their powers.

“That’s Otix.” Riley motioned to the large man. “He’s an Archean. Doesn’t speak much Thrycean.”

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Maddox offered in Archean. It was a bit more formal than he’d intended, but wit and condescension were difficult to translate.

“Yeah, right,” Otix replied.

“You can talk to him!” Riley said excitedly. “This is brilliant. We needed you here weeks ago. We’ve only been able to piece together a little of his story.”

Maddox looked at Otix again. His neck was thicker than his head. “What’s your story?” he asked in Archean.

“Came on a sky ship to load pickled fish, got fucked up in a bar, passed out, and missed the return trip. I’ve been stuck here ever since. There’s no work for me, and I spent all my prisms on pleasure chemicals.” His speech was easier to understand than Petra’s dialect.

“Show him your thing, Otix,” Riley said very slowly as he opened and closed his fist.

Otix sighed and held out his hand. After a moment a blue flame appeared in his palm. “I know a few tricks. Just stuff everyone knows.” Maddox didn’t see a seal on Otix, which meant he was using freeform magic. They didn’t teach it at the Lyceum, because it was mostly useless.

“That’s our alchemist, Falco.” Riley grinned as he pointed at the emaciated guy with curly hair. “His thing will blow your mind.”

Falco lifted his shirt, and Maddox barfed a little in his throat. Falco’s nicely-toned-for-a-drug-addict abdomen featured a mouth-like orifice on the right side. Mutation was a common risk in working with alchemicals in an unsafe environment. Among some of Maddox’s dad’s friends, the disfigurations were sort of a badge of honor.

“That mouth can eat through anything.” Riley explained before introducing the Fodder. “This is Crateus.”

“Are you a magician as well?” Maddox asked. He’d never known a Patrean who wasn’t a soldier, enforcer, or manual laborer. This one looked like a younger version of the one he’d sucked off in the alley behind the Flask. As a race they didn’t possess magic but were more resilient to some forms of it.

“I’m trying to learn,” Crateus said earnestly. “My mother was human, so I might have the gift.” Patrean-human hybrids were always exact copies of the Patrean parent. There were no half Fodders.

“We accept everyone,” Riley said proudly. “Not like the fucking Lyceum.”

The wolf barked.

“Oh. That’s Themis. Him and his brother Theril stay with us too.”

“So this is your study group?” Maddox asked. “Half of them don’t actually do any magic.”

Riley sighed patiently. “Everyone has potential for something. It’s not just seals or blood or necromancy or artifice. There’s a ton of shit out there they don’t teach or sanction. We may not be as good as the magi, but we want to be the best we can be.”

“A little is more than nothing.” Maddox sighed. It never had been an issue for him. He had completed a degree in alchemy to qualify for the College of Seals and earn the title of Scholar. He was on another level entirely, but he couldn’t blame anyone for wanting knowledge. Still it was a sad collection of individuals.

Riley pointed to Maddox. “This is me oldest friend from the Lyceum, Maddox. He’s a Master of the Seals and a Scholar of alchemy.”

“Alchemy’s
my
thing!” Falco said angrily.

“It’s all yours.” Maddox smiled. “I don’t practice anymore.”

“Just so we’s clear.” Falco nodded and took a pipe from the hookah. He lifted his shirt again and put the tip of the hookah into the gaping mouth on his stomach. He grimaced slightly and blew a plume of smoke out of his own mouth as the orifice in his belly suckled the pipe.

“I hope you all don’t share that,” Maddox said.

“The best part is coming up,” Riley said. He sniffed, then rubbed his nose on his sleeve.

“My dead husband was an alchemist,” Gran said to no one in particular.

“Come. I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.” Riley grabbed Maddox’s wrist and let him to a door.

Maddox had braced himself for anything but was rendered speechless when he entered the room. It was a great deal better in here. The walls and floor were decrepit but mostly hidden behind woven tapestries and lustrous carpeting. On one of the nightstands, a golden candelabra shaped like an eagle peered at him with glimmering ruby eyes. The bed, bedecked in red satin, was made of ornately carved, highly polished Maenmarth timber.

A second black wolf raised its head and snarled from the center of the soft red covers.

“Theril sleeps with us,” Riley explained before addressing the wolf. “This is me best friend, Maddox. You try to bite him, and I’ll take away your bedroom privileges.”

The wolf rolled his eyes in a very human way and plopped his head down on the bed, nose turned to the side.

“Well”—Riley slapped Maddox’s back—“I’ll let you get settled in. Help yourself to anythin’ you like. I’ve got to run some errands at the menagerie to pick up reagents and trade in a bit of dragonfire. Should be back before sundown. There’s a bottle of wine in the drawer.”

“You’re leaving me alone with these people?” Maddox asked incredulously. Riley was an unsavory character but at least affable and, most important, familiar. To call this motley collection the dregs of “society” would have been an insult to the skeevy perverts, desperate addicts, and lascivious prostitutes of the Backwash.

“I’ll look after him.”

Maddox jumped. Esme was sitting on the bed next to the wolf, absently picking her fingernails with her shiny silver dagger. She posed herself sensually, as if she’d been there the whole time…but she hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Hands off me little lady.” Riley winked and punched Maddox in the arm, rather harder than he should have, before trotting back downstairs and out the building.

“So,” Esme said, “you and Riley go way back, huh?”

“I tolerated him,” Maddox said, “which is more than most people did. How did you get in here without my seeing you?”

She cast a bored look over to the open window; there were no boards covering it, and a gentle breeze blew against red gauzy curtains. “I like to make an entrance. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You’re not scary. You look like you’re sixteen, and that knife would never make it anywhere near me. So cut the tough-girl shit.”

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly choked with emotion. “It’s just so hard, you know…I’ve been on my own since I was ten and it’s just so hard to trust people. So hard to open up to anyone…” Her pale-blue eyes were wet with tears.

“Are you done?” Maddox said.

“I am now.” She sighed, instantly regaining her playfully antagonistic composure. “I had a whole story about my father going off to war, a sick mother, and a baby brother I could barely afford to feed. So…was I overdoing it, or are you just a naturally callous bastard?”

“A bit of both. Any of that story true?”