A Secret Atlas (4 page)

your night’s-cup of wine before you slept. It was tincture of clawfoot.”

“You
poisoned
me!” Mai’s mouth gaped in horror, then looked at Keles. “Your sister tried to kill me.”

Keles looked at his sister and the fury on her face burned through the outrage Mai’s plea

had spawned in him. “You are exaggerating, Mai. She would have done you no harm.”

“I did her no harm.” Nirati shrugged nonchalantly. “Technically it was a servant of yours,

bought and paid for with Anturasi gold, who administered the drug, but it was prepared

with consummate skill—skill far greater than you possess.”

“At least I have a talent, Nirati,” Majiata snarled.

Keles stepped between them, turning to face Majiata. “Stop. Go no further.”

“Again you deny the truth, Keles. Everyone knows your sister is to be pitied. She’s

talentless. No skill at mapmaking, no skill with plants and herbs. Others who have known

such shame have had the good grace to destroy themselves.”

Keles’ hands knotted. His words came precise and clipped. “I told you to go no further.

There is more than one type of shame, Majiata. Remember, Empress Cyrsa was late

come to her talent.”

“Your sister is no Cyrsa.”

“But she is my sister and I love her.” He lifted his chin. “If you love me, you will stop. Now.”

Majiata hesitated, her blue eyes flicking as she measured her responses. Keles wanted

her anger to break, for her to ask his forgiveness. With every heartbeat that she did not,

he realized his desire was in vain, as his earlier happiness rotted within him.

“Is that it, then? You choose your sister over me?”

“I make no such choice. I love you, I love her, I love you both. I do not choose.” He

frowned and his voice slackened. “And you should not make me choose.”

“Oh, no, Keles, I could never make you choose. But clearly I never had a chance here at

all, did I?” Majiata’s eyes welled with tears. “I offered you everything. I offered you a future of your own, Keles, and you will not permit yourself to grasp it.”

Nirati came up on his side. “No, Majiata, you offered him an illusion.
His
future was to be
your
future, for the benefit of
your
family. To you he was no more than a stud who could draw maps.”

Mai slapped Nirati, snapping her head around. She raised her hand again, but Keles

caught her by the wrist. “Don’t.”

Mai screeched in fury, wrenched her hand free, and clawed at his face. Keles fended her

off and she retreated. Her fingers hooked spastically and anger knotted her face into

ugliness. “I won’t have you, Keles Anturasi. You and your family will always be prisoners

here. I will have no part of it. Our engagement is
ended
!”

She stormed back toward the tower, but Nirati darted after her and caught her by her

robe’s sash. “The ring.”

“What?”

“The ring. You broke the engagement, Majiata. The ring remains here.”

Mai turned and looked at Keles, tears painting her cheeks with black. “Will you grant me

nothing for my love?”

Keles looked down, his guts twisting slowly around an icy core.

Nirati laughed harshly. “You deserve nothing, Mai.”

“Fine.” She tugged the ring free and hurled it against his chest. It bounced off. “I want

nothing of the Anturasi. You are dead to me.”

Mai waited for a moment to hear any reply he might have, but Keles remained silent. She

shook her head, then stalked off in a rustle of silk and a flash of blue that seemed to take

the rest of the color from the garden with it.

Nirati bent to retrieve the ring. She stood slowly and held it out to her twin. “She was not

worthy of you.”

Keles started to speak, but his dry throat closed. He swallowed hard, then frowned at his

sister. “What you did was cruel.”

“To her? It was better than she deserved. For months she has bragged that she had you

right where she wanted. She said you would be trapped here in our home, while she was

free to enjoy the court and life in the capital. She would bear you children, but her family

would help raise them, and she knew you would grant her that freedom. She had it all

planned out.”

He resisted the urge to cover his ears with his hands. “Couldn’t you have just told me?”

“Could we?” Nirati laid a hand on his upper arm. “You saw in her the sort of woman

she
could
have become, were she not grasping, greedy, and venial. You would not have

listened. You did not. Mother cautioned you against sleeping with her, but you went ahead

and did so anyway.”

He slowly nodded. “I know it was foolish.” He sighed heavily. “It’s a good thing, I guess,

that Mother prepared the tincture of clawfoot and bribed a servant to give it to Majiata.”

Nirati laughed. “We didn’t bribe any servant and we certainly didn’t poison her. What I said

was a trick. I told her a servant in the Phoesel household was giving her clawfoot. You

know she will not rest until she determines who it was. And that will prove an impossible

task.”

“But . . .” He pointed off across the river toward the Phoesel compound. “Majiata and

I
have
been sleeping together. If she wasn’t . . . if you weren’t . . . then she
could
be pregnant.”

“Keles, my dear brother, we did not dose Majiata.” Nirati caressed his cheek. “Mother is

very good. You never recognized the taste of snipeweed in your night’s-cup, did you?”

“I just thought the wine was a bit off. This time of year, before the new vintages are out . .

.” He stared down at his empty hands. “I’ve been a fool, haven’t I? I had convinced myself

she would come with me, that she loved me.”

“Maybe part of her did, Keles.” Nirati rubbed his arm. “Mother and I didn’t want to hurt you,

but we knew she would hurt you more. She would hurt all of us. And it was better our

acting than Grandfather. He never would have let her sail with you. You
do
know that.”

“Well, I was thinking I might not actually tell him.”

Nirati lifted his chin and looked him in the eyes. “Keles, you will be communicating with

him, mind to mind, during your journey. I know I don’t have that talent—though we did

work hard, didn’t we, to try and see if I did? What I know of it, though, is that while you

don’t actually converse, Grandfather can rummage around in your mind. Do you think you

could have hidden her presence from him?”

Keles winced. “Once at sea he wouldn’t have recalled us.”

“In one of his rages? You really think he wouldn’t have?”

“No, you’re right, he would have. Or ordered her put ashore.” He exhaled slowly. “It wasn’t

my best plan.”

“Keles, you’re smart and disciplined and methodical, which is why someday you will

replace Grandfather.” Nirati held up the ring and let sunlight flash in rainbow glints from it.

“Majiata didn’t let you think. When you have time, you will see things the way the rest of us

did.”

“You’re right, I’m sure.” Keles swallowed hard, then sighed. “I just hope she will be well.”

“Majiata?” Nirati shook her head. “No, I won’t say it. It’s good that you are still concerned,

though you should not be. I think, brother dear, she will recover.”

The look on his sister’s face told him what she refused to.
She thinks Majiata will have a

new suitor by the end of the Festival. Perhaps sooner.

“I’ll have to tell Captain Gryst that Majiata won’t be coming on the trip.”

Nirati raised an eyebrow. “Did she actually say she’d let Majiata on her ship?”

“She said she’d find a way to get her on board.”

“In a crate, no doubt. From what I hear of Captain Gryst, she would not have put up with

her nonsense for long.” His sister smiled. “Of course, load some ballast in the crate and

dump it over the side . . .”

“Nirati!”

“I’m sorry, Keles.” She gave him a warm smile. “I just didn’t like her and I am glad this is

over—though, with her, I know there will be repercussions. Nothing we can’t live with,

though.”

“Repercussions.” Keles shivered. “What can I expect from Grandfather and Jorim?”

“Nothing from Grandfather. He was insulated in the matter, save from the demands of her

father. But it is not like he hasn’t dealt with angry merchants before.” Nirati shifted her

shoulders. “Jorim didn’t approve of her, but said nothing. The last fight he was in,

however, was with her cousin.”

Keles winced. “Does Grandfather know about the fight?”

“Not yet, but he will.”

“Can’t we . . .” Keles read her expression. “What is it?”

“The Prince is coming here, tonight, to speak with Grandfather. You and Jorim are to be

there as well. There will be no disguising that Jorim has been in another fight.”

Keles shook his head. “It’s Festival. Things should be going well, not poorly.”

“Cheer up, brother. Not everything is bad.”

“No?”

“No, indeed.” Nirati gave him a broad smile. “Just think, your night’s-cup will now be sweet

again. Perhaps it’s not much, but . . .”

“I know, Nirati.” He kissed her on the forehead. “There are times when that will have to

do.”

36th day, Month of the Bat, Year of the Dog

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

736th year since the Cataclysm

Inn of the Three Cranes, Moriande

Nalenyr

As the low tapping came at the door, Moraven Tolo felt his heart beating faster than it ever

did in combat. “You are welcome.”

The latch rose and the door swung open silently on freshly greased hinges. A young man

with black hair and bright blue eyes stood on the threshold, snapping off a deep bow.

Moraven bent to match it—not to honor the boy, but the man who shuffled into the

doorway in his wake.

Phoyn Jatan had never been a tall man, and age had stooped him so that he barely

topped five feet. His hair, thinned to wisps, no longer benefited from being dyed. The grey

threads did little to hide the liver-spotted scalp, nor did the grey robe hide how skeletally

thin he had become. His shuffled step and the way he leaned heavily on a gnarled walking

stick mocked the lithe and fluid warrior he had once been.

Moraven sank to a knee. “Your visit honors me, Master, more than words can express.”

Jatan’s voice suffered little from age. “That you would journey here at my request honors

me,
jaecaiserr
.”

Moraven straightened up, but remained half-kneeling and gestured to the room’s low cot.

It had been pushed against the wall and he’d demanded every pillow in the inn in

preparation for the visit. “Had I expected to receive you in my chambers, Master, I would

have chosen a place more suitable.”

The old man waved away his apology as he shuffled to the bed and seated himself. The

young man closed the door, then took the walking stick and knelt at Jatan’s right hand. “I

asked you to come to me during the Festival. It begins tomorrow, but I desired to see you

sooner. Thank you for indulging me.”

Moraven read the man’s grin and the playful light in his eyes. “How did you know I was

here?”

Jatan settled back against the mountain of pillows. “Must you ask, Moraven? I like that

name, by the way. Very strong. It suits you better than the others.”

“Thank you, Master.” He brought his other knee down and settled back on his ankles. “But

that does not answer the question.”

Jatan turned to the youth. “Study him, Geias, for this is the mien and focus of a Mystic. He

is a better example than I.”

Moraven looked at the boy. “But my Master is a better example of how to evade. If he has

a scar for each prince beneath which he has lived, it would only be because he has

carelessly let a cat scratch him in the last week.”

The old man laughed. “I have missed you, Moraven. As
my
Master often said, ‘Better the

sharp swordsman than the sharp blade.’ ”

“Then, lest I become sharper, your answer to my question?”

Jatan nodded slowly. “I would tell you that I felt you, four days ago, as you dealt with the

bandits on the road, but you would tell me I was remembering a time before.”

Moraven remained silent, but raised an eyebrow.

“No, I know that you, of all my students, would not believe it, even if it were true.” The old

man coughed dryly. “A boy with a withered arm came to the
serrian
two days ago, bearing Macyl’s overshirt. He’d brought it to the family, and they wished us to have it. The boy and

his family thanked me profusely for my student—one whose name I did not know—and

how he saved them.”

“It was a simple matter, Master, but one that will grow in the telling, I fear.”

“It already has, but not badly. They reported evidence of
jaedun
in how you disarmed the archer.” The old man smiled. “I am not certain they were wrong, though I discount reports

of lightning flashing and thunder clapping. You have not become
that
powerful, have you?”

“If lightning and thunder were possible, you would have long since displayed it, though

perhaps not to as unworthy a student as myself.”

“You were never unworthy, Moraven.” Jatan coughed again. “You were always clever.”

“Not always, Master. Were that true, I would not have come to you as I did.” Moraven

shifted on his knees and reached for his leather traveling bag. “I did manage to find

some
wyrlu
in the west. It is of Virine manufacture, if you wish, Master.”