Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) (30 page)

“You ask a great deal for less than three months of work,” the phoenix says.

“Three months will be long enough for their hunters to find me. I’ll stay a month, and return again a year later for a second month.”

He shakes his head. “It will take you a month just to begin your work. Two months together, and I will offer you shelter from their hunters should you require it.”

Shelter seems an impossible thing, but if the phoenix believes he can do it, it would be foolish to refuse. And I do owe him. I lick dry lips, knowing I have precious little bargaining power. “Very well.”

Kenta arrives in plenty of time to meet the phoenix, having seen his light in the sky and hurried back. Together, we agree on a location to fly Stormwind to — a rooftop neither too close nor too far from the Mekteb, where Kenta will be waiting.

“It is better if you can make your own way out.” The phoenix plucks another feather from his breast and drops it before me. “But burn this if you find yourself in trouble.”

I hide it in my boot once more. When the phoenix departs, he merely spreads his wings and flies, looking not unlike the peacocks that grace the city and Mekteb.

“Your secret ally is a phoenix,” Kenta says, staring after him. “I can’t even …
what
will you owe him?”

“Some spell work,” I say vaguely.

Kenta gives me a hard look, then sighs. “Come on, or the bread will burn.”

I follow him downstairs and into a surprisingly barren room, containing only a sleeping mat, a large leather pack, a low table cluttered with bowls and cups, and a worn cushion on the floor beside it. A covered iron pot is nestled in the coals of the room’s small stone fireplace, more coals heaped on the pot lid.

He opens the improvised oven with iron tongs and lifts out a single baked roll. “Looks good,” he says as he sets it to cool on a cloth by the fireplace. “Give it a moment and we’ll be ready to go.”

“What took you so long to come up, if you were here all along?”

“I went to get one more thing we’ll need.” He slips a ring from his pocket. It’s bright gold with a huge blue stone that is most assuredly fake. “There are quite a few theatre troupes visiting the city right now. It took me two tries to find one that would sell me a costume.”

“But you don’t need—”

He slips the ring on. The glamor it carries ripples over him, transforming him into a copper-skinned, dark-haired man in maroon robes.

“—That.”

“You didn’t think I was going to let you walk back in there alone, did you?”

I did, actually. I need him working on the outside. If he comes, that drives the stakes far higher than I’d like them to be. I shake my head. “I’m not risking your life.”

“No,” he agrees easily. “I am. You’re going to need my help to start with.” He gestures toward the bread. Baked within it lie the cat’s head key, the look-away, and a tightly-rolled note with the words,
Open your shackles, wear the ring, wait.
“You won’t be able to add that to Stormwind’s dinner tray by yourself without drawing notice.”

“This could be your life. You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I don’t.” He picks up the bread, still steaming hot, and tosses it into a cloth shoulder bag.

“Kenta—” We don’t have time to argue. I need to take the bread and get back to the Mekteb before we miss Stormwind’s dinnertime altogether.

He glances over his shoulder. His robes are the dark red of old blood in the dim light of the room. His eyes narrow as he notices my expression. “You’re not going to change my mind, Hitomi. Not if you’re going ahead with this plan yourself.”

I don’t know what is driving him, and don’t want to take this risk … but he’s right. It’s his choice. And it will be much easier getting Stormwind the bread if I have help. “If you’re coming, you can’t wear that glamor until you’re inside the gates. The guards will catch it — they have mages posted at all the gates right now.”

“Not a problem.” He slides the ring off his finger and pockets it, then passes me the bread bag.

My mind flies ahead, trying to work through this new factor in our plan. “The guards are expecting me at the back gate. If you can come up with a pretext for entering from the main gate, we can meet up inside Shahmaran Hall.”

Kenta frowns, rubs his hand over his mouth, and smirks. “Delivery for a lady friend. Mistress Flicker.”

“Who?”

“One of Blackflame’s supporters. Do you have any jewelry I can pretend to take to her?”

“I have nothing of the—” I break off, remembering the necklaces I took from Stormwind’s trunk.

Kenta raises an eyebrow.

“It’s not mine, it’s Stormwind’s.”

“Even better. If I don’t mention names, I’ll be telling the truth.”

I swing my pack around and dig out the pouch with the chains. “You’ll need the truth to get past Jabir. If you say you’re going to deliver something, you better plan to do it.”

Kenta takes the necklace I hand him. “I’ll figure it out.”

As I shove my belongings back down into my pack, my fingers brush the crow carving. It’s smooth and slightly cool to the touch, and seeing it gives me a certain amount of hope for what’s to come. But I wouldn’t want to lose it inside the Mekteb … “Do you think I could— could leave a few things with you? In case I can’t bring anything out with me?”

Kenta goes still, a tightness around his eyes. My words have hit him hard, though I’m not sure why. We both know the risks we’re running right now.

“Yes,” he says. His voice is low, almost hollow. “You can.”

Working quickly, I transfer what I need to the bread bag — my servants’ attire, the mage’s robe, the charms. I leave most of my belongings in my pack, rifling through them once to make sure I haven’t missed anything. Rising, I hold my pack out to Kenta. “Thanks.”

He takes it as if it were incredibly fragile, setting it gently next to his own. I wait as he stands there, but he doesn’t turn back around.

We need to go. “Is something wrong?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head and walks to the door. “You won’t remember,” he says. “But you’ve done this before.”

“Done what?”

“Left me with your most prized possessions, and an emergency stash of coins.” He flicks a glance at me, expressionless. “In Karolene. You didn’t fully trust that your things wouldn’t get stolen from the place where you lived. It was supposed to be a temporary measure.”

He steps outside. I follow him into the hallway, bread bag in hand. As he locks up, I ask, “Do you still have them?”

He turns his head to look at me, so close that, if either of us shifted, our arms would touch. The laughter is gone from his eyes. “Yes. In Karolene.”

He starts down the stairs without another word.

Returning to the Mekteb is impressively anticlimactic. The same guards are on duty and merely wave me through. I change back into my servants’ garb in the women’s quarters and head off to Shahmaran Hall. The campus is all but empty, a single servant passing in front of a building far in front of me. There are still guards about, though now they are stationed at only a few strategic locations. They must consider the threat of the rogue mage well past. They certainly afford me no more than a passing glance.

The sun is beginning to dip behind the buildings. I walk quickly, the fear that we’ve already missed Stormwind’s dinner delivery hurrying my footsteps.

As I reach the side entrance of Shahmaran Hall, one of the guards on duty says with sympathy, “Working late?”

I huff with pretend frustration. “Just a few last things that
must
be done.”

He chuckles. “At least you get the evening off.”

“True,” I say, and duck into the building.

Inside, I stash my bundle in the supply closet, keeping only the bread in hand. I leave a couple of charms strategically placed at the crack beneath the door, and slip into an empty classroom to wait. If Kenta makes it in — if he can even find Shahmaran Hall and get past the guards — then he will find me here. Otherwise, it’s up to me to waylay the servant.

I try not to fidget as I watch the doorway for movement and consider what story I can use, what sleight of hand, to get the bread to Stormwind without harming the servant or raising suspicion.

Footsteps in the hall. I tense, listening. They’re measured, deliberate. Not the servant then — servants would want to make the delivery quickly, the sooner to finish and be off to the Festival
.

I press my back against the wall. A shadow darkens the doorway. It could be Kenta, but—

“Hikaru?”

I sag with relief. “Hey,” I whisper, glad Kenta remembered to use the name I’d given him.

“Anyone come through yet?” he asks.

“No.”

“I’ll wait at the end, then.”

“Last classroom is still open.”

“Good.” He continues down the hall, footsteps pausing toward the end.

I move to where I can see through the doorway, take one curious peek down the hall. Kenta turns from inspecting the classroom and begins pacing back and forth before the stairwell that leads to the lower levels of Shahmaran Hall, hands clasped behind his back. With the gold ring on his finger, he looks for all the world like a professor of magic distracted by the thought of some theorem or incantation.

I ease back once more, sliding off my boots and leaning against the wall, my eyes on the doorway. I try not to think about the classroom behind me, what it would be like to join other students at the central table with its collection of magical objects and charms. What it would be like to learn openly and freely with others, or simply to have so much knowledge at one’s disposal.

A shadow flickers past. With a silent curse, I hurry forward to peer out. A serving boy trots along carrying a tray in his hands. Kenta calls out to the boy, sounding genuinely pleased to have found someone who could help him.

The boy protests unhappily — he’s supposed to deliver the tray at once.

“To whom?” Kenta asks, peeved. “They can’t wait five minutes for their dinner?”

“It’s for the prisoner, master,” the boy says. “I’m not supposed to stop along the way.”

“What! That traitor gets her soup hot and I have to wait for help?” Kenta blusters. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Put that down right there — it will be perfectly fine — and help me a moment. At once! Come along
.
”

The boy sets down the tray and follows Kenta into a classroom, glancing nervously behind him. I wait until they are in, then hurry the thirty or so paces to the tray, my socked feet whispering across the stone floor. In addition to the cup of soup Kenta had protested, the tray holds a plate with a silver cover, and a square of cloth wrapped around two thick slices of bread. I lift the cover to find curried meat and rice. I shove the rice over a bit, squeeze the bun we’d baked onto the plate, and cover it once more.

I retreat to my classroom, my breath loud in my ears. I had planned to use a glamor, a single-word spell, to disguise the bun as whatever sort of bread might be on the tray. But this way it’s hidden from the servant’s eyes, and I don’t have to risk any spells. There are fewer magical repercussions echoing through the building tonight — almost none, which means very little “noise” to hide my spellwork behind. As long as the servant doesn’t take off the cover and notice it, as long as the lycans don’t think it strange that there are two servings of bread on the tray….

I exhale slowly, press my back against the wall. Nothing to be done about it now.

Kneeling, I check to make sure the new phoenix feather is still safe and then work my boots back on. Kenta’s voice gains volume as he returns to the hallway, sending the boy off to deliver his precious soup to the traitor. The boy’s hurried footsteps recede to silence. I listen as Kenta strides up the hall. He steps into the classroom, moving to stand against the wall beside the door. He glances at me, his features relaxing as I nod.

We wait until the serving boy hurries past again, his hands empty. Kenta, watching my face, must see my relief, for he grins and slips the glamour ring from his finger. Then he raises his brows and waggles them at me.

“Nothing yet,” he drawls, keeping his voice low. He sounds utterly relaxed, half-amused, as if we were discussing the exploits of a mutual friend.