Brightly Woven
Page 55
After passing a dozen or so doors, we came to a stairwell carpeted in lush, crimson velvet. There was an enormous stained-glass window on the landing, depicting famous wizards throughout the ages. The upstairs hallway was a mixture of portraits and more stained glass, but North and Oliver were walking so quickly that I couldn’t stop to examine them.
Another stairwell. There was only one door at the top. Oliver raised his hand and gave a sharp knock.
“Come in, please,” called a woman’s voice. Oliver opened the door and strode in. When North didn’t move, I gently pushed him forward.
“Now, Wayland,” she said.
North gave me a quick look. “Don’t hate me,” he said. “I’m nothing like her, I swear. I didn’t tell you before, because I didn’t want you to think even worse of me. She may be my blood, but there’s no love lost between us.”
“What?” I followed him inside, closing the heavy door behind me. A few scattered candles cast a halo of light around a desk, but otherwise the room was as dark as the night sky. A woman with long, dark hair stood by one of the open windows. She was wearing a stunning robe of dark purple with a mantle of gold over her shoulders. There was a small smile on her face—one that seemed vaguely familiar.
“Well?” she said.
Oliver stood off to the side, smirking.
“Hullo, Mother,” said North, looking down at his boots.
“She seems surprised.”
I stood rooted to the ground, unable to move even if I had wanted to. The Sorceress Imperial’s brow wrinkled into deep creases and she seemed to go into a trance. I flinched away from her hand, my breath caught somewhere in my throat as her warm fingers came up to gently brush my cheek. At the touch, the spell broke. North stepped between us and gave her a disbelieving look. Even Oliver looked surprised.
The woman recovered from her strange daze, and the severity in her eyes quickly returned.
“He told me you were dead,” I said.
Oliver let out a short laugh.
“I did not!” North said.
“You said that both your parents had left you, or something!”
“Yes, well, left doesn’t always mean dead, you see,” North said. He turned back to his mother. “Just a misunderstanding.”
“In that case.” The woman held out her hand. “My name is Hecate Aisling.”
“Sydelle Mirabil,” I said weakly, shrinking away from her tight grip.
She clucked her tongue at North, walking back around her desk. “I suppose you’ve come to see if you could fight?”
“I’ve brought you information to prevent the war,” North said. “And what’s with Aisling? You’ve forsaken Father’s last name?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Wayland,” she said. “I’ve only recently finished reviewing the complaints filed against you by Mr. Genet after that little stunt you pulled in Dellark.”
“So is it jail or a written apology this time?” North asked petulantly.
“Was it necessary to ‘savagely brutalize’ Genet in your duel?” Hecate asked calmly.
“Well, he was rather annoying,” North said, as if that explained everything. “You would have hit him, too.”
“Your behavior is shameful and inexcusable,” Hecate said. “Yet again you’ve proven yourself to be more of an animal than a wizard.”
I took a step forward, but North’s hand stopped me. “This animal has brought you information,” he said.
He reached into his bag and removed the envelopes tied with yarn from his book. Hecate held out her hand for them, but he threw them on the desk. She shook her head as she ripped the envelopes open, holding the paper close to the light. Oliver tried to read over her shoulder until she waved him away.
“Reuel Dorwan was the one to poison the king. I don’t think Auster was involved at all,” North said. “It’s an old hedge witch poison, not something out of their kingdom. He wrote it and the antidote down for me years ago, when I was traveling with him.”
“I suppose you thought this was going to earn you favor?” Oliver asked, disgusted.
“No,” North said. “But I would have appreciated a little respect.”
“Is that why you brought me this information?” Hecate asked, finally passing the sheets of paper to Oliver.
“I brought it to help convince you that there’s no need to fight, and to warn you that dozens of villages like Cliffton have been invaded and set up as camps for Saldorran and Auster armies,” North said, placing both hands on her desk and leaning forward. “Though something tells me you couldn’t care less.”
Oliver let out a bark of laughter. “Dorwan? That loon who was in here, making all kinds of threats after the Guard refused to rank him? That’s rich, even for your imagination.”
Hecate shook her head. “Are you truly naïve enough to think we’ll believe this? That I’ll just take your word on the poison? I know you spent time with him when you were younger. He told me that much when I met him, but I sincerely doubt he has the ability to mix that kind of potion. You’ll need a better excuse than that.”
“The negotiations won’t end for another day,” North said. “If you tell them it was a mistake and recall the declaration of war—”
“The negotiations never have and never will take place,” Oliver said, throwing the papers down on the Sorceress Imperial’s desk.
Another stairwell. There was only one door at the top. Oliver raised his hand and gave a sharp knock.
“Come in, please,” called a woman’s voice. Oliver opened the door and strode in. When North didn’t move, I gently pushed him forward.
“Now, Wayland,” she said.
North gave me a quick look. “Don’t hate me,” he said. “I’m nothing like her, I swear. I didn’t tell you before, because I didn’t want you to think even worse of me. She may be my blood, but there’s no love lost between us.”
“What?” I followed him inside, closing the heavy door behind me. A few scattered candles cast a halo of light around a desk, but otherwise the room was as dark as the night sky. A woman with long, dark hair stood by one of the open windows. She was wearing a stunning robe of dark purple with a mantle of gold over her shoulders. There was a small smile on her face—one that seemed vaguely familiar.
“Well?” she said.
Oliver stood off to the side, smirking.
“Hullo, Mother,” said North, looking down at his boots.
“She seems surprised.”
I stood rooted to the ground, unable to move even if I had wanted to. The Sorceress Imperial’s brow wrinkled into deep creases and she seemed to go into a trance. I flinched away from her hand, my breath caught somewhere in my throat as her warm fingers came up to gently brush my cheek. At the touch, the spell broke. North stepped between us and gave her a disbelieving look. Even Oliver looked surprised.
The woman recovered from her strange daze, and the severity in her eyes quickly returned.
“He told me you were dead,” I said.
Oliver let out a short laugh.
“I did not!” North said.
“You said that both your parents had left you, or something!”
“Yes, well, left doesn’t always mean dead, you see,” North said. He turned back to his mother. “Just a misunderstanding.”
“In that case.” The woman held out her hand. “My name is Hecate Aisling.”
“Sydelle Mirabil,” I said weakly, shrinking away from her tight grip.
She clucked her tongue at North, walking back around her desk. “I suppose you’ve come to see if you could fight?”
“I’ve brought you information to prevent the war,” North said. “And what’s with Aisling? You’ve forsaken Father’s last name?”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Wayland,” she said. “I’ve only recently finished reviewing the complaints filed against you by Mr. Genet after that little stunt you pulled in Dellark.”
“So is it jail or a written apology this time?” North asked petulantly.
“Was it necessary to ‘savagely brutalize’ Genet in your duel?” Hecate asked calmly.
“Well, he was rather annoying,” North said, as if that explained everything. “You would have hit him, too.”
“Your behavior is shameful and inexcusable,” Hecate said. “Yet again you’ve proven yourself to be more of an animal than a wizard.”
I took a step forward, but North’s hand stopped me. “This animal has brought you information,” he said.
He reached into his bag and removed the envelopes tied with yarn from his book. Hecate held out her hand for them, but he threw them on the desk. She shook her head as she ripped the envelopes open, holding the paper close to the light. Oliver tried to read over her shoulder until she waved him away.
“Reuel Dorwan was the one to poison the king. I don’t think Auster was involved at all,” North said. “It’s an old hedge witch poison, not something out of their kingdom. He wrote it and the antidote down for me years ago, when I was traveling with him.”
“I suppose you thought this was going to earn you favor?” Oliver asked, disgusted.
“No,” North said. “But I would have appreciated a little respect.”
“Is that why you brought me this information?” Hecate asked, finally passing the sheets of paper to Oliver.
“I brought it to help convince you that there’s no need to fight, and to warn you that dozens of villages like Cliffton have been invaded and set up as camps for Saldorran and Auster armies,” North said, placing both hands on her desk and leaning forward. “Though something tells me you couldn’t care less.”
Oliver let out a bark of laughter. “Dorwan? That loon who was in here, making all kinds of threats after the Guard refused to rank him? That’s rich, even for your imagination.”
Hecate shook her head. “Are you truly naïve enough to think we’ll believe this? That I’ll just take your word on the poison? I know you spent time with him when you were younger. He told me that much when I met him, but I sincerely doubt he has the ability to mix that kind of potion. You’ll need a better excuse than that.”
“The negotiations won’t end for another day,” North said. “If you tell them it was a mistake and recall the declaration of war—”
“The negotiations never have and never will take place,” Oliver said, throwing the papers down on the Sorceress Imperial’s desk.
