8 Coloine, evening

I had nodded off when Cederic returned and prodded me awake, telling me I shouldn’t sleep in my clothes. The note was crumpled in my hand—I had to smooth it as best I could before returning it—and I told him what I’d seen and what I’d found, leaving out the part where Vorantor nearly caught me.

Cederic was very interested in the kathana I’d witnessed and asked me a lot of questions about it. I was surprised at how much of it I remembered, and I was able to draw the th’an Vorantor had used at the end.

“It was a transference kathana,” Cederic finally said, “to move things from one location to another. The spit…it is a way to allow one person to perform a kathana that would normally take two or three mages. It is easy, but we try to train ourselves out of using it, not only because it is disgusting but because it often prevents a mage from moving further in his or her training. Denril was likely moving those war wagons. It might explain why there was no other exit from that chamber.”

“But he couldn’t have been doing it officially,” I said, “or he would have used the circle chamber, and asked for help. So he was doing it for Aselfos.”

“That is far too much speculation,” Cederic said.

I thrust the note at him. “Maybe this will confirm it,” I said.

Cederic read it quickly. “It is a list of items, most of them martial in nature,” he said, “and a few that are unfamiliar to me.”

“I bet one of those is whatever the war wagons are actually called,” I said.

“Possible,” Cederic said. He gave the note back to me. “But not proof, unfortunately. It is unsigned and Denril’s name is not on it.”

“I could bring all the notes here,” I said, and Cederic shook his head.

“That is unnecessary,” he said, “and I don’t say that because I dislike you risking yourself, because you could certainly do it tomorrow—later today, I suppose—when Denril is gone. This may not be proof good enough to accuse Denril of collusion in whatever plot Aselfos is behind, but it is enough to convince me of his involvement. But, as I believe I told you before, we still don’t know enough to do anything but confuse things. And an attempted coup by Aselfos is not necessarily a bad thing.”

“What I’m worried about is that Vorantor is planning something to hurt you,” I said, “and I don’t like not knowing what it is.”

“This does not seem related,” Cederic said, “and if you were not able to find anything indicating what Denril might have in mind, it is likely there isn’t anything to be found. I believe it is nothing more sinister than trying to take all the credit for the melding kathana, and it doesn’t matter to me who gets the credit for that.”

“You said you thought he would try to make it fail and look like your fault,” I said.

“Which cannot hurt me, since those whose opinions I care for will know the truth,” he said, and brushed my hair gently away from my face. “What matters is that the kathana works, and we will deal with whatever else happens afterward.”

“All right,” I said, “but I’m going to keep an eye on him anyway.”

“You and Master Peressten can protect me,” he said with a smile, “and I will do my best to allow myself to be protected. Now, let’s sleep, and make what we can of what’s left of this night.” And that’s what we did. We probably won’t be making love tonight either. Damn Vorantor anyway.

The day was just like yesterday. More Vorantor planning his kathana and keeping Cederic out, more of us (meaning the Darssan mages and me) failing to get our magics to combine. I didn’t tell anyone what Cederic said about our efforts possibly being useless, which would have been cruel.

I went back after lunch to put the message back in its niche, then went to the observatory to see if Aselfos had left a new note. He had. I wish I could read. Terrael would teach me if any of us had time. If the world doesn’t end, that’s the next thing I’m doing.

8 Coloine, very early

I was right to be suspicious of Vorantor, though I still don’t know exactly what he’s up to. I’ve decided to write all this down before taking it to Cederic, since there’s nothing he can do about it now, but there were things that happened before I found Vorantor in what I’m sure are illicit activities, so I have to make a quick list before I forget the details:

1. snake, arch, fork
2. pictures (he’s a good artist, maybe that’s something all mages in this world learn)
3. why did he spit?
4. rhythm tap tap taptaptap thump

Before that: last night Cederic finally came to bed before I fell asleep, and though we were both too tired for sex, we cuddled together and I poured out my fears to him. I love how he listens like what you’re saying is the most important thing in the world.

When I was finished, he wiped away the few stupid, self-indulgent tears I’d cried and said, “It doesn’t matter if our mages succeed. The kathana Denril has invented has no room for your magic, and it is bound to fail.”

“So why aren’t you doing something about it?” I said, sitting up in outrage.

He pulled me back down to lie close beside him. “Because he is not listening to me,” he said, “and there is a smugness about him that I do not understand. I may have the allegiance of the mages, but Denril still has control of the kathana, and he is relying far too heavily on the th’an Master Peressten extrapolated. He is clearly building the kathana to his glory without regard for whether or not it will work.”

“I don’t understand how he can do that!” I said. “He’ll suffer as much as anyone if we can’t bring the worlds together safely.”

“I think he intends to make the failure look like my fault, to make me look like a fool, and then he will reveal another kathana, this one effective. This is my fault. I should not have humiliated him so thoroughly,” Cederic said.

“If you hadn’t, he would have found another way to strike at you,” I said.

“Probably true,” he said. “At any rate, I have asked Master Peressten to observe him; he can get closer to Denril than I. And I am studying the false kathana when Denril is not present, to see if there is any way to salvage it. If we make corrections…and don’t worry that your efforts don’t seem to be successful. Just keep working at what you’ve been doing. If it doesn’t affect the kathana, it will almost certainly matter after the worlds come back together.”

He kissed me, then said, “I apologize, but I have to leave you now. I have very little opportunity to study the kathana without Denril hovering behind me.”

“But—” I began, then realized I was being selfish. “I understand,” I said. “Just as you will understand that I intend to go exploring now.”

His face went impassive in the way it does when he’s trying to control a strong emotion, then he said, “Where do you intend to go?”

“Somewhere you’re happier not knowing about,” I said, then, when he began to protest, I said, “I’m going to snoop around in Vorantor’s room. If he’s trying to get you out of the way somehow, I want to know about it.”

“You are correct, I was happier not knowing that,” Cederic said. “Though I was afraid you were going back to examine those war wagons again. I admit to being curious about them myself, though I think it is less safe for you to pass those guards than any of the other places you have gone wandering.”

“I agree, and I’m not going there tonight,” I said.

“Which implies that you will do so some other night,” Cederic said.

“I knew you were brilliant,” I said, and he laughed and held me tight for a moment, then released me to rise and dress. I did the same, then concealed myself and watched him move silently down the hall to the stairs before going, equally silently, to Vorantor’s door. No light came from beneath it, so I sneaked to the end of the hall and checked the observatory.

Sure enough, Vorantor was there, sitting where he always did. It was too dark for me to make out any details, so I don’t know if he had a note or not, but that wasn’t important. I crept back to his room and passed through the wall, then used the see-in-dark pouvra and took a look around.

Vorantor—this wasn’t new, I’d learned it the last time I’d been in his room—is very neat and has almost no personal belongings aside from his clothing. I went through his wardrobe and found several ceremonial robes of different levels of splendor, though I’m sure I’d have been more impressed with them if I could have seen colors.

He also had a lot of shoes; I think he could wear a different pair of shoes every day for a week. He uses only one drawer of his dresser, for underclothing, and I poked through that in case he was a fool and kept important things there. Nothing.

There were no rugs on his floor, which is one of the places I look first when I’m searching for hidden documents. The lack of rugs almost got me caught, later, and I still wonder why Vorantor doesn’t have such basic amenities. Though I suppose, based on what I witnessed in his room, he might have had them removed on purpose.

I checked under his pillows (he has more than I do), between his mattresses and in the frame of the bed, felt along the top of the canopy frame, and found nothing. Since I didn’t know what I was looking for, I wasn’t terribly disappointed. I slipped behind his bed, which had been shoved nearly all the way against the wall (that made no sense at the time, but I get it now), and checked underneath it and along the wall.

There was a niche very like the one in my room, the one that’s practically an invitation to hide things, and I was about to feel around inside it, just to be thorough, when the door opened and Vorantor came in. I closed my eyes in time to avoid being blinded by his lamp. I was crouched behind the bed, so between that and the concealment pouvra I wasn’t worried about him seeing me, but I went very still anyway until the effects of the see-in-dark pouvra wore off.

When I opened my eyes again, he was removing his gold and brown “working” robe; fortunately for my peace of mind, he wore a sleeveless tunic under it, because what I do not need to see again is Vorantor’s very pale, slightly flabby skin. Just one more reason for him to be jealous of Cederic, who is wonderfully handsome and has not a bit of flab anywhere.

I closed my eyes again, in case he was undressing for the night, but I heard him taking things out of his wardrobe, so I opened my eyes again and saw him pulling a richly embroidered red robe around himself, and despite my well-trained self-control I nearly made an indignant noise, because he is not entitled to the robe of a Kilios! I don’t even know how he got one!

I managed to stay quiet despite my outrage. Vorantor dressed himself with great care, unfastened his hair and brushed it and secured it again with a wide gold band. Then he knelt on the floor, took out a piece of black chalk, and began drawing. I couldn’t see a thing with the bed in the way, so I carefully slid out from that narrow space and went to stand behind him. It was insane, I know, but I had to know what he was doing.

This is what it looked like: He drew a circle—the mages are all very good at drawing nearly perfect circles—and then a much smaller circle inside it, centered on it. (I’m having to check my list from the beginning of this entry, because I’m already forgetting things. I feel very smart for having made it.)

In the space between the circles, he began drawing th’an, some of which I recognized from the Codex Tiurindi summoning, others which were unfamiliar to me. Inside the small circle, he drew a tiny picture, and he is a very good artist, because it was obviously a war wagon.

Then he sat back on his heels, breathing hard as if he’d been running, then with his left hand began tapping out a rhythm, tap tap taptaptap THUMP, over and over again. He did it for long enough that I almost started tapping myself. Then, at the top of the pattern, he leaned over and with his right hand began making new th’an, following the beat.

I didn’t know these th’an, but they looked so much like real things that it was easy to remember them: one like a snake, or an S with two extra curves, one like an arch that curled outward at the ends, and one like a Castaviran fork, with four tines. He drew these in several places around the outside of the circle, and then totally surprised me by spitting a great gob of saliva at the war wagon at the center of it all.

All the chalk lines went from matte black to shining gold, as if inlaid with metal, and the spaces inside the circle that didn’t have lines drawn on them glowed with white light, not bright or painful, just a soft white glow.

And then I did something stupid. I inadvertently took a step back because the glow caught me off-guard, and I wasn’t as balanced as I thought. My boot scraped across the bare floor (no rug!) and made a small but distinct sound. Vorantor’s head whipped up and around, and he stood up and scanned the room, his eyes slowly passing over the walls and the floors.

I closed my eyes, which was terrifying, but I had a feeling if our eyes met, the concealment pouvra wouldn’t protect me. So I had to stand there, motionless, blind, waiting for him to grab me and unable to do anything about it.

Nothing happened. Finally Vorantor took a few steps in the direction of the window, and I opened my eyes and tried not to breathe loudly. The chalk marks on the floor, and the light, were gone as if they’d never been. Vorantor had the curtains open and was looking out at Colosse (my room is on the other side and looks over the palace roofs).

I dared take a silent step backward; he didn’t react. Slowly, one cautious step at a time, I moved toward the door—and then I stopped. I should have left, but I really wanted to know if he kept anything in that niche behind the bed. So I leaned against the wall next to the door and waited. Eventually he got undressed (I kept my eyes closed for this too) and I waited for him to finish reading, then he turned off the light and settled in for the night.

I waited a little longer until his breathing slowed. I hoped he’d start snoring, but unfortunately that’s one annoying trait he doesn’t have. So I did the see-in-dark pouvra again, crept up to his bed, slid between it and the wall, then crouched low and felt along the base of the wall, wishing there were enough room for me to wiggle under the bed. Instead I knelt there with my face pressed against the cold wall, telling myself I was being stupid and there was nothing to find, and then my fingers reached the crack and I reached inside.

Something moved beneath my hand and made a rustling sound that in the dark seemed louder than an explosion. Vorantor shifted his weight, and I held my breath, but he didn’t wake. The wall niche seemed full of dry leaves, or small papers—I teased one out and brought it to where I could look at it. Meaningless writing, but I was certain it was one of the notes Aselfos had sent Vorantor.

And now I had a dilemma. I really wanted to know what was in those notes, but I was equally desirous that Vorantor not know someone had been snooping in his room. There was a chance he’d notice if one of them were missing. I crouched there with the note in my hand, weighing the possibilities.

Then I tucked the note inside the waistband of my trousers and began to retrace my slow, silent steps. Vorantor hadn’t checked the niche when he came in, which meant he likely only looked inside when he put a new note there. I could show the note to Cederic, then return it during the day tomorrow when Vorantor was at the circle chamber, before evening when he might receive a new one.

That’s my plan, anyway. I’ve been waiting for Cederic for nearly an hour now and I have no idea when he’ll return. He can’t go forever without sleep, though he doesn’t seem to need as much of it as normal, sane people do, so eventually he’ll have to come back, and then he can read the note and we can decide what, if anything, we should do about it.

7 Coloine

Vorantor came into the circle chamber this morning looking far more smug than usual. No idea why, because he enlisted Cederic’s help on the kathana, to confirm Terrael’s guesses about the missing th’an. Cederic acted as if this were nothing out of the ordinary, but I’m suspicious. I hate that I have nothing concrete to attach my suspicions to.

The possibility of me learning to use pouvrin to manifest th’an is looking less likely every day. Cederic told us to focus our efforts on creating th’an that are based on the structures of pouvrin. I feel useless. Our discussion on the topic went nowhere, and I think some of the other mages were laughing at us, which made me feel worse. I don’t know why I can’t explain things better. This kathana is going to fail, and it will be my fault.

6 Coloine

I still have no idea what’s going on between Cederic and Vorantor. Cederic’s climbing into bed woke me briefly, very late last night, but he was up and dressing himself when I woke and we barely had time for a kiss before he was gone again.

It’s frustrating, because I gave up exploring last night so we could talk, but I can’t blame him for being preoccupied with the kathana. The mages have stopped trying to predict how long it’s going to be until it all happens, because their kathanas give conflicting predictions, including some that say the convergence has already happened, which we know isn’t true.

Vorantor and several mages, none of them from the Darssan, started reconstructing the first kathana today. Cederic didn’t volunteer to help and told us to go on as we have been. Everyone was tense, and there were two or three discussions that nearly turned into arguments that Cederic had to break up, since Vorantor was ignoring everything except the kathana. The only good news is that Alessa and Sovrin had an interesting idea for teaching me th’an that might work. No idea if it will work in time.

4 Coloine (continued)

“I—it’s my pleasure, and your company is an honor I don’t deserve,” I said, and she beamed more widely at me and squeezed my hand so hard parts of it went numb.

“Now we should go, and don’t worry, everything’s been arranged,” she said, so of course I really started to worry. I’ve been thinking about this, and I’ve concluded that there’s really no way I could have guessed what she had in mind, since our cultures are so different, but I should definitely have been more on my guard than I was. Especially since everything she said suggested that she was deep in some delusion. If I’d tried harder to work out what that delusion was, things would have gone differently—but, then, I’m alive, and so is Aselfos, so I’m not going to reproach myself too much.

The God-Empress linked her arm with mine and skipped—yes, actually skipped—out of the room, forcing me to skip along with her in those stupid silver heels. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall and take her down with me. When we came to the checkerboard floor, she went from skipping to hopping, always landing on the black marble. “It’s not a moss day, can’t touch the moss!” she said happily, and I stumbled along after her. Even so, I was thinking this was far from the worst thing she could do to me. And that was true, right up until we came to our destination.

The room was almost identical to the throne room, with the black and white patterned floor and the crystal lamps, though the walls were painted dove gray instead of mirrored, and of course there was no throne. Instead, there was a dais of black marble at the far end of the room, surrounded by men wearing chicken helmets and knee-length black tunics all standing with their backs to it.

The God-Empress slowed from her manic hopping to a slow, measured walk with an erratic beat: step-slide, step, step, slide-step, over and over again, and after a few missteps, I was able to follow her. It took several minutes for us to reach the dais this way, which gave me plenty of time to speculate on what would happen when we got there.

When we were within fifteen feet of it, I was able to look more closely at the men and realized that they were wearing full armor under their poorly-fitting black tunics, which were thin linen stretched taut over the metal plates at their shoulders and chests. All of them were focused straight ahead, not on us, which was probably safer for them and for me; I was just as happy not to be noticed by them.

The God-Empress brought me up the three steps to the top of the dais and gently pushed me one way and then the other until I stood exactly where she wanted me, which was to my eyes a random spot left of center. She took my hand again and stood next to me, and we waited. My feet became sore, but I was afraid to shift my weight, because my mad companion was motionless, but poised as if listening for something.

“Don’t worry, he won’t forget,” she whispered, and I was trying to decide whether I should ask her for clarification when a concealed door in the dove-gray walls opened, and more soldiers in black tunics came through single-file and marched toward the dais. Three men dressed in the costumes I’d seen courtiers wear when they attended the God-Empress in her throne room, but entirely in black, walked in the center of the line. I didn’t recognize two of them, but the man in the middle was Perce Aselfos.

He has a handsome face, with a strong nose and deep-set brown eyes, but his appearance was marred by the beginnings of a large bruise on his right cheekbone and a split lower lip. He looked furious. The other two men watched him warily, exactly as if they expected him to bolt, or hit one or both of them.

“Oh, Perce, you look wonderful,” the God-Empress said in a breathless, happy voice. “Come up here and stand next to Sesskia.”

Aselfos glowered, but came up the steps and stood where the God-Empress pointed. The God-Empress took my hand, then Aselfos’s hand, and to my surprise put them together. I clasped his hand automatically. It was dry, and limp in mine. The God-Empress beamed, and took a few steps back. “What a perfect day!” she said. “Don’t you think it’s a perfect day, Sesskia? I’m so pleased for you both.”

I realized what she had in mind, and jerked my hand away, or tried to; Aselfos’s grip became suddenly firm, and he gave me a warning look. “You want us to be married?” I said.

I might have sounded the tiniest bit shrill, because the God-Empress’s eyes narrowed, and she said, “No, Sesskia, you want to be married. I only agreed to witness your marriage vows. You’re not having second thoughts, are you? Because I really am so happy for you, and I would hate for this perfect day to be ruined.”

I glanced at Aselfos again, and he shook his head, almost imperceptibly. My hand was starting to sweat. “I don’t—” I began, then words deserted me.

“Marriage is a sacred act, Sesskia,” the God-Empress said, waggling a perfect finger with a rose-enameled nail in front of my eyes. “You don’t want to spurn God’s blessing, do you?”

“I—” A delaying possibility suggested itself. “I am an otherworlder, Renatha, and I know nothing of your marriage customs. Would you explain them to me? Because I think making those vows without understanding them would be disrespectful to God.”

Aselfos looked at me as if I were as mad as the God-Empress. “Of course, Sesskia, I should have realized!” the God-Empress said. “It’s really very simple. You and your beloved come before God—actually, most people come before a priest, but naturally I’m happy to perform the service for you, because you are God’s choice—and declare your names, so that God knows who stands before Her.

“Then each of you announces your intent to marry, and God asks you to name the man or woman of your choosing. And of course you say each other’s names, because it would be silly to want to marry someone who didn’t want you, yes?

“Then God asks some questions to be sure you understand how serious it is and tells you what the law settles on you as a married couple. And then you promise loyalty and love to each other, though you’re free to say it however you like. And then you’re married! Isn’t that beautiful?”

It would be if Cederic were here, I thought. I was starting to panic. Obviously Aselfos had no interest in marrying me, and this was all some sick fantasy the God-Empress had dreamed up to “reward” one or both of us. I had no idea how binding this ceremony was, if neither of us meant it—and what happened if I swore marriage vows to someone when I was already married to someone else?

to be continued…

4 Coloine

It’s been the strangest day. I don’t know what to make of it. Especially the part where I felt I played a vicious game with the God-Empress, and may have won—it’s hard for me to tell when I don’t understand Castaviran culture well. Or, possibly, at all. I really don’t want to think about it, but I can’t leave things out of this record just because they’re unpleasant and uncomfortable and frightening.

But I have to get to the question of the worlds coming together first. After our lovemaking last night, which felt a little desperate, me wanting something good to hold onto and Cederic showing more than he probably intended of how afraid he was for me, we lay together and talked for a very short time about the question of what the worlds would look like when they were reunited.

Cederic, surprisingly, said, “I don’t know,” and then went silent for about a minute. Then he said, “You said the place where Thalessa is in our world has never been successfully settled, correct?”

“That’s what the mages from Helviran said,” I said.

He was silent for a bit longer. “And the ruins all overlap,” he said, but it sounded like he was talking to himself, so I didn’t respond. Then he rolled out of bed and began dressing.

“What are you doing?” I said. I felt miffed at his abruptness.

“I am going to get some maps,” he said. Then he saw my face, and closed his eyes briefly—he looked like he was wrestling with himself. “I am sorry,” he said, “but I am not used to having to explain myself to anyone. Let alone to the wife I am about to leave alone in our bed for the sake of an academic pursuit.”

“I think there are a lot of things we’re going to have to learn to understand about each other,” I said. “I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’m used to doing things without consulting anyone, too.”

He smiled at me—a real smile, not that thin little twist of the lips, a smile he saves for me—and said, “I intend to retrieve some maps that may help me answer your question. I further intend to bring them here rather than examine them in the circle chamber, so I can make use of your perceptions. Will you pardon my abruptness?”

“Of course,” I said, and got out of bed and began to dress. “I’ll be waiting.”

I didn’t have to wait long. Cederic returned with what turned out to be small versions of the large maps we’d used the day he figured out I was from the “shadow world.” He spread the Castaviran map out, then overlaid it with the Balaen map. “Where did you get this?” I said.

“I had Master Serelssor make copies of the large ones. She has a very accurate eye,” Cederic said. “Look at this. None of the major cities overlap any others. In your world, what exists where Colosse lies?”

“Nothing,” I said, starting to feel excited but not sure why. “There are a lot of smaller towns along the river, but none of them have ever grown very large. Except Garwin, and that’s much farther south.”

“Unusual, since river traffic usually encourages settlement,” Cederic said. “Can you think of any other cities located where Castaviran cities are?”

“None,” I said. “What does it mean?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, and I—”

“Don’t want to guess,” I said, grinning at him.

He smiled back. “I am rather predictable in some ways, aren’t I?” He turned his attention back to the map and touched it, right at the center of Colosse. “Though it seems as if each world has left space for its counterpart. And the ruins overlap exactly—that is the greater mystery.” He touched three of the X’s, one after the other, then let the maps roll up and stared off into the distance for long enough that I became impatient, and said, “What will you do?”

He looked at me, and his smile became teasing. “I will remove every scrap of clothing you are wearing,” he said, “and explore your body until you forget everything except the feel of my skin against yours, and then I will make you cry my name—” at which point I pulled his shirt off over his head and kissed him, and then he did exactly as he’d promised.

Just remembering that makes my body respond as if he were still touching me, which I wish he were. But he and Vorantor are working late, and while I still intend to spend the night here in his room, I don’t know when he’ll join me. And now I have no more excuses; I have to write what happened with the God-Empress today.

to be continued…