Viceroy's Knot

By Jane Bigelow

Layla knew those beautiful, glimmering opals would be trouble. She just didn’t know how much trouble. She wants to lead a quiet life in lssrandar, leaving Gods, politics, and gem-thievery behind, but life won’t let her.

Arakante, her sometime lover, unexpectedly appears. He tells her that her friend and teacher, Firousi, has been kidnaped by the priests of Sarinsat. Then, Layla is framed for a theft she didn’t commit!

To save Firousi, Layla must travel to The Ngarra where little children have knives and the roses have poisonous thorns. She must go to the Overworld, which she’d sworn never to visit again, on a mission she did not want: to steal a magical protective charm for her worst enemies.

How can she avoid helping her foes to hurt her friends?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jane Bigelow
• Release date: Jun 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224164790

Jane Bigelow

Jane Bigelow has published two fantasy novels. Her new novel, A Most Inconvenient Corpse, leads the reader into a glittering world of elegant music and dance, astronomical research, courtly intrigue--and murder, in a world inspired by 18th century Versailles. Marguerite, Duchesse de Lille, never meant to kill the Marechal-duc de Nolhac. Can she escape? If so, how? Jane's earlier novel, Talisman, involves the struggles of Layla, gem thief, to elude the whimsical gratitude of Kossinli, Goddess of Mirth. Be careful what you ask for: you might get it, in this Silk Road world. Jane has also published short stories, including several in the Darkover series, and nonfiction articles. She is a member of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers and the Denver Area Science Fiction Association.One of her favorite things about writing fiction is to get into the mindset of someone from a completely different background. She is fascinated with foreign travel, archeology, music, and world history. They have given her lots more writing ideas than she will ever have time to use. Jane lives in central Denver with her husband, Robert, two barely-controlled cats, and an out-of-control garden.

Book preview

Chapter 1

This is thieves’ work.

The man I’d just insulted smiled. Forgive me; I spoke clumsily. I meant nothing illicit. I need duplicates only for safety while my wives and I journey–opals are such delicate stones, you know.

Indeed. I glanced away, hoping that another customer would give me an excuse to break off the conversation.

Something flickered just inside the passageway that opens where two shops almost meet. They come out at the end of the day, these amateur thieves. They expect us honest merchants to be tired and less vigilant. I’ve been a thief myself; I don’t ever get less vigilant.

My own jewelry gleamed under an awning of silver–woven shadecloth. It’s heavy; it has to be taken in and locked up each night if you want to have it to shade your wares the next day. But oh, it’s worth it. The bright and dappled shade it casts gives a simple braid clasp an air of exotic mystery and can conceal numerous flaws in gems. Not, of course, that any of my own work needs such concealment, unless I have been deceived myself.

The man who sat before me wanted none of what I offered. I’d heard of your artistry and wondered if you ever work on commission.

Yes, certainly. Had he, now? I wondered where. I hadn’t had this shop a full month yet. He knew me, but I didn’t know him: not good. Better find out more. Forgive me, I’m being rude. Will you drink some tea? It was stewed strong now, but I still had a little crystallized honey. He graciously consented.

Past his shoulder, I saw someone who couldn’t be there. Arakante never travels. I needed to get out more if I’d started seeing a man who was at least a month’s journey distant, and wasn’t likely to take that journey for a glance from my pretty eyes.

I turned my eyes back to my customer’s unremarkable face. He had graying, mid–brown hair neither curly nor straight; his middle spoke of a fondness for his dinner. The setting sun laid strong shadows across his face that kept me from seeing his eyes.

That must be what made me so uneasy. I certainly had no doubts about his request. Duplicates–fakes–of several pieces of opal jewelry, to be done before the next moonchange? I thank you, sir, for your confidence. I must refuse your offer, though. All my work is genuine.

I meant to keep it so. Issrandar’s Jeweler’s Bazaar is run by a careful family. They keep an eye on newcomers, especially women who show up with little more than a large donkey, some gems of highly variable quality, and money of unknown origins.

I enjoy my quiet life. I don’t miss excitement. That’s another name for running for your life and having your possessions rifled by large men with larger swords and sticky fingers, and that’s just mere mortal complications.

My would–be customer chuckled. Yet surely you know how it’s done, if only to spot counterfeits when they’re offered to you?

I acknowledged that I did know something of the matter. Yet–forgive my blunt speaking; I mean no offense– this isn’t the sort of work that an honest craftsperson wishes to be known for.

No offense taken. I’d prefer to keep this confidential myself. He took a sip of tea and added honey. I could make it worth your time and trouble. An even hundred lirials?

Imps of sour water. I could buy some Ngarran lapis, the finest and most inclusion–free. I could buy more coral. I could even consider hiring an assistant to mind the shop for part of the day while I worked on new pieces in the back. The youngest wife of my coral–trader had a cousin who needed a little extra work, and I was confident that family ties would keep him honest.

You’re generous indeed. Yet there isn’t time to do a believable counterfeit of several pieces before then. No, I fear I can’t help you.

His teacup clicked against the silver tray. I commend your honesty. Of course, if you think the task is beyond your skills, I must look elsewhere.

I am not a fool. I was being challenged, being lured. Sir, I’ll give you this for free: If anyone tells you otherwise, then that person is lying to you. And even in Issrandar there would be people who’d take the money and give him something that would suffice for a singing–play or a brothel.

He smiled gently. You are someone I can trust. Here, I’ll leave this one piece with you. Examine it, decide what time you’d need. I’ll stop by again, say, tomorrow? He handed me a lacquered box. I opened it to find dampened silk and then a necklet of fire opals, simply set with just enough gold to protect their delicate glory. I had never before seen any so fine.

This was dangerous. He rose more easily, and much faster, than I would’ve expected a man of his build to move. Sir, no, for both our protection–sir, I must have a witness, and so should you.

No need. He strode away.

The bazaar master would not be pleased to be interrupted just as he sat down to dinner. Still, it would probably be wisest to take them to him immediately.

I could stop by Imchi’s stable on the way back and be sure that he was being well–treated. Really, it was time I sold that animal. He was costing me a fortune to stable and feed here in Issrandar. It would be much simpler to buy another donkey when and if I moved on. Yes, and maybe the next one wouldn’t talk to me.

Talk wasn’t quite the right word. Arakante would know the right one. No wonder I thought I saw Arakante where he couldn’t possibly be. I thought of him at the strangest times.

I needed to get my shadecloth into the safe trunk first. Metal strapped, bolted to the back wall of the shop, it’s as thief–proof as anything can be when you can’t afford your own guards. Inconvenient, but secure. My shop’s at the end of one of Issrandar’s long rows, which isn’t quite as safe as the middle shops. It does give me more light, and a couple of extra ways out.

I was wrestling the awning off its frame when I heard someone ask, Layla, would you like some help with that?

I knew that voice, low–pitched but clear as pure water. Arakante? But he never traveled, never left Tzakende. And if he did travel, why would he come to Issrandar? This is a city of caravans and caravanserais, not centers of learning.

Yet he stood there smiling just a little. He looked much the same; even travel across the Wastes hadn’t changed that burnished bronze skin. I’d swear he even wore the same clothes as he had the last time I saw him, except for a traveler’s waist–satchel strapped on over his high–necked Tzakendi tunic.

There was one reason he might be here. I should be angry, I truly should. I’d given him his answer. Hadn’t I left Tzakende partly because of him? And here he was, smiling that secretive half–smile and sneaking up on me as no one else can.

Even in Issrandar, a man and a woman may not embrace in the public street. If their hands should brush against each other while they take down an awning, well, no one could really see that.

Is there somewhere private that we can go?

So, he was here because of me.

But don’t you want to get some dinner first? I didn’t want to seem too eager. Besides, he looked thin. Travel across The Wastes can do that to a person. This time I could provide his dinner. I do like having money. Nothing too heavy, maybe some of those river fish grilled with herbs. That tastes so good after weeks of boiled grain and mutton. He had almost as much of a sweet tooth as I have, better get some almond cakes...

No, we need to talk. Arakante glanced at me, then quickly away.

Maybe he wasn’t here for the sake of my beautiful eyes after all. Well, if we didn’t need that sort of privacy the back room of my shop would do. It’s certainly not fancy, but I had slept there a few nights before I found a room. It has cushions, and good lamps in case I decide to work late.

The guard for Jeweler’s Street was already watching us both with unconcealed curiosity. When I told him that we’d be here awhile longer, he bowed politely and touched his lips and chest. He probably would be discrete; at least now he knew not to investigate any sounds he heard. I was beginning to doubt that there’d be any interesting ones.

I led Arakante through the shop into the back room, hauling the shadecloth with me. He courteously gathered up the jewelry I’d had on display. There was that box with the opals. I needed to get that to Parataqa fast. Arakante, would you mind if I—

Firousi’s missing.

I dropped onto the nearest cushion with a most inelegant thump and narrowly avoided cracking my elbow on the low table. Missing? Well, that was better than saying what was in my mind. Why in the name of all the little imps of sour water are you here? was not a friendly question.

How could Firousi be missing? She’s the one who solves problems, not the one who has them. Firousi is my friend and my teacher; she saved me from my own ignorance when first I drew the merciless gratitude of Kossinli, Goddess of Mirth. I still hold that the theft of Kossinli’s emerald eye was my idea, not some divine inspiration as Firousi insists. She is the goddess’ High Priestess, so naturally she thinks the Lady of Mirth’s concerns rule all.

Firousi had never shown me any resentment of her Goddess’ attentions to me, a stranger. She had never interfered between Arakante and me. I should not have felt jealousy scratching like sandfleas just because Arakante had made his journey for her sake, not mine.

I did, though.

Up near the ceiling, the narrow windows let in what light remained in the sky. I busied myself with striking a spark for the nearest lamp. Or trying to: three times I tried, and either no spark came or the wick refused to catch.

Arakante reached past me and quietly sang two rising notes. The lamp in my hand sprouted a small clear flame; Arakante made a quick gesture and the other two lamps in the room lit also. The warm light flattered his bronze skin that needs no flattery.

I forced my wandering mind back to immediate concerns. Thank you.

He shrugged. It’s a beginning student’s trick. You could learn it easily.

I don’t do magic. I just understand the speech of a donkey, and still hear from the Goddess of Mirth when it pleases Her whim.

Arakante rubbed his forehead. If you say so. Anyway, it may be your skills rather than mine that solve this.

Firousi’s missing? How long’s it been? How’d you find out?

She didn’t come back from the Feast of Rainbows, and, he hurried on as if he didn’t dare stop, And all my scrying doesn’t detect her.

He couldn’t find her? Those two were closer than brother and sister, scarcely needing to speak to know each other’s thoughts. Yet I wondered, Arakante, what—

Arakante continued as though I hadn’t spoken. I hoped–sometimes, perhaps, Kossinli of the Laughter might still speak to you?

I’ve tried to avoid that. Her sense of humor–well, Firousi said it herself. It’s a little strong for mortal tastes. And a little careless of mortal limitations.

He waited silently. He had come to me for help, had admitted his own skills were not sufficient. He’d come across the Wastes–in five days?

Arakante, how did you get here?

He smiled. Magic does have some practical uses.

Must be nice. It took me weeks. When the bandits weren’t harassing us, Sarinsat’s Exemplars were. We had to make a huge detour around some local war, too. What’s the point of this Empire if they can’t—

It isn’t nice. It’s all the strain and peril of the usual journey, packed into a few days. I needed to get here fast.

Right. Arakante, I’m not even sure Kossinli will speak to me. It never did happen at my asking, you know.

But you will try?

No obligation lay between Firousi and me; we had helped each other in equal measure. Yet I couldn’t seem to say no. I remembered Firousi, that proper lady, walking with me to steal away Kossinli’s ruby heart by lies and deception, not to mention a little fighting. The thought of that laughing courage held captive by Sarinsat’s prim blue–clad order was not to be borne.

Of course. Yes, of course. I’d only be trying to strengthen a tie that I’d worked for a year to break. I’d only have to contact a tricksy Goddess whose sense of humor had nearly gotten me killed. I’d only have to do it on an empty stomach, since I was ashamed to suggest dinner again.

I stared into the lamp’s flame until my eyes ached. I did the exercises that Firousi herself had taught me for calming and focusing the mind. I tried to be unaware of Arakante sitting near me. He rose quietly and went into the shadows at the other side of the room. That helped a little.

At least he wasn’t right beside me when I let out a loud belch.

Before I could apologize, laughter filled the room. "Well, it’s about time. I’ve been trying to talk to you for days."

So why didn’t you? Fortunately for me, the Goddess of Mirth doesn’t demand humble obedience. Even I get a little good luck now and then.

I don’t visit where I’m not wanted.

That wasn’t what I remembered, but even a minor Goddess might object to being contradicted, especially when she was already in a bad mood. Laughing One, you must know that Firousi has disappeared. Please, tell me where she is.

"Would that I could. I can hear her; she lives and she is well, though in no laughing mood."

I could certainly believe that. Firousi constrained would be like a djinn in a bottle. But if you can hear her, can’t she tell you where she is?

Not when she doesn’t know herself. You already have part of what you need to find her; use it.

She was gone. I hate mysterious mystical messages. I hate feeling stupid. And I hate even more having someone else see me look stupid.

Arakante walked silently back to me. That one could be a thief himself, he moves so softly. I heard. Layla, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry too. Why can’t the Laughing One ever just tell me what she wants? I choked back a few comments on the supernatural; he was a mage, after all.

At least we know Firousi is alive. So, he’d also wondered if he couldn’t find her because she was dead. Yes, at least we knew she lived. And at least I hadn’t made it perfectly obvious that I thought Arakante might have come across The Wastes just to see me.

Mages have an entirely unfair advantage. They can tell your thoughts. Arakante swears he doesn’t try to hear mine, but somehow he often does.

Oh, Layla. If I’d known you did miss me–Well, I don’t know quite what I would have done. One corner of his mouth drew up in a half–smile. The wrong thing, probably. But I’m not here just to make use of your talents.

Only partly, eh? I should throw him out, right now. If I felt like being nice I could tell him which inns to avoid. I moved away.

He turned towards the door. If he left now, when would I see him again? Arakante, I began, and stopped, uncertain of what to say. I struggled to take a deep breath. I was no shy virgin, to flinch like this. I took a step back to him, so that we touched.

He touched my face so that I’d look at him. Layla. I’ve missed you, too.

O wise among men, to know when to stop talking.

Chapter 2

Firousi spoke softly. Kossinli, Lady of Mirth, I could find it in my heart to wish that you did sometimes compel people. She sat cross–legged on a narrow bed, in a shallow alcove of a tower room. Beyond that, she had little idea where she was.

Laughter sounded, loudly enough to make the drowsy Exemplar jump where he listened at the air vent in the door. Even over the divine laughter, Firousi could hear the sound of solid flesh hitting more–solid stone as the guard knocked his head against the ledge.

So, they were listening even now. Her prison was a comfortable room with windows enough for light and air. She could even see a narrow slice of the world outside. They were only a little too small for her to climb through. The moon was down; it was sometime in the pause between night and dawn.

You could compel whichever one that is, for example, to open this cursed door. Firousi murmured. Would it not be better for you, too, if I were out of this tower?

The world outside was red stone cliffs with a stream that she could hear, but not see. Three oleanders bloomed in one fold of those cliffs. Sometimes she’d swear she could smell roses, but that seemed unlikely in such a stark land. Swallows and some bright turquoise bird flew past her windows during the day.

Anything might lie below her tower. The window was set high in the wall; her guards were with her too often, and too unpredictably, for her to try to climb up into it. When the wind was right she could hear carts rattle by far below. Distant voices shouted. She thought they spoke a foreign tongue; certainly she couldn’t tell what they said.

She’d had plenty of time to memorize what little she could see. She had been in these rooms for a week, and for most of that she had been alone except for the times, unpredictable as they always were, that the Goddess spoke to her. Firousi thought that perhaps Kossinli herself didn’t know where this prison was.

Maybe that was why Kossinli wasn’t speaking to her. Was the goddess angry with her for getting herself into such a situation? Yet how could she have known, Firousi wondered silently, what should she have done differently?

Lady of Mirth, she whispered, I know I’m a poor substitute for my mother, who could be mirthful at the same time as she managed your daily affairs, but I’m all you have.

Kossinli’s statue had been scattered for years, emerald eyes gone to different temples, Trembling Flowers wreath passed from hand to ignorant hand, heart held by the Exemplars of Order themselves. Who would apprentice to Her priestess in those days? Since the recovery there’d been no time to train up a successor. There hadn’t seemed to be any urgency.

Silence. That had probably not been the most intelligent thing she could have said to her Goddess.

Firousi spent most of her time in silence here. Men brought food at regular intervals, plain but sustaining. They were meticulously courteous and almost entirely silent, except for one young man.

Kossinli’s laughter ceased. Just as well for you that I don’t compel. I do suggest you sleep now, my priestess.

Firousi dutifully smoothed the bed linens and pulled off the loose overrrobe of plain undyed wool that her captors had provided her in place of her own brightly embroidered caftan. The night breeze was chill; she settled back into her low bed and composed herself for sleep. There might be some need for her to be alert the next day. If she slept, then she could revisit the Festival of Flowers. Carefully she pulled the woolen coverlet up over the sheet that covered her. Cold was distracting.

Slow the breathing; hold the images clear in the mind. Count. Focus. Breathe.

Tzakende had dazzled its people that day even before celebrants began flinging bright powders made of last year’s flowers. The whitewashed walls were nearly blinding; the protective rings of green or blue that bordered most windows and doors were a welcome relief to eyes used to winter’s cloudy days. Even the plain terra cotta roofs of the lower city seemed to glow.Finally, after so long, they were welcoming spring properly again.

Firousi laughed. Three splashes of paint had just struck her at once, making a rainbow arc across her old white caftan. There would be no need to puzzle over these signs of Kossinli’s will. The Goddess of Mirth was clearly pleased.

Crowds of celebrants filled the stair–stepped street, completely overwhelming the few people who’d thought to carry on with their usual routine. Wasn’t that a client of Arakante’s standing where the road to Scarfseller’s Bridge joined the upper stairs? He looked so funny with his face dyed purple.

He recognized her, too. The look he gave her stopped her laughter briefly. Her cousin was not going to be happy if Lord Prahin was upset.

Oh, really, why had he worn good clothes today? Was it her fault that so many more people had come to celebrate Kossinli’s Mirth this year? She laughed again and turned to fling a cupful of turquoise powder over the crowd.

Firousi smiled in her sleep. Under the coarse sheets, her feet moved slightly as she remembered how she had danced that day.

Chapter 3

My growling stomach woke me. It was full dark outside, and two of the lamps had burned out. The last one gave enough light to see Arakante lying tangled in our clothes, skin gleaming with sweat. One arm was still inside the sleeve of his undertunic. He slept soundly, his long lashes moving slightly as if he dreamed. The room smelled of burned lamp oil and sex.

It must be very late. I couldn’t hear any sound, not even the cries of kabob vendors in the streets beyond the bazaar. Somewhere far off men were marching. Why would they do that in the middle of the night?

The sound was getting closer. Suddenly I was wide awake. Those damned opals were still in the room.

Arakante, wake up. I kept my voice low. He smiled in his sleep and said, Firousi.

And this night had started out so well. I scrambled into my clothes, cursing softly. Should I try to hide the opals? Couldn’t hide them on me, I’d surely be searched. Would it be better to let the guards find them and try to play honest but stupid? That should be easy.

Something for bribes, something that was clearly mine. Well, I’d never taken off my earrings. They were silver, too; a good start. Hastily I piled on more jewelry, two necklaces and as many rings that fit my fingers as I had in the back room. Where was the key to my trunk? I hunted unsuccessfully in the flickering light. That last lamp was nearly burned out.

I did know where my lockpicks were. On the underside of my workbench I’d glued a soft, slim leather envelope. Inside it was a slimmer envelope yet, and inside that were my most special tools. I tucked my braids back into some sort of order and buried the lockpicks among them. I learned to do that without a mirror long ago.

I couldn’t let whoever was coming find Arakante asleep and mostly naked. If we both lived to quarrel I’d get my revenge on him for saying the wrong name. Had they been sleeping together all that long winter that I lived in their villa in Tzakende?

I kicked Arakante’s shoulder. When my heart is weighed in the afterlife, may this lighten the balance: that’s all I kicked. Wake up, idiot.

Ouch. He stumbled to his feet, blinking.

Get dressed. Hear those footsteps? They were much closer now, coming on fast. How many? Hard to tell; they moved together perfectly. That’s trouble. Want to meet it naked?

He dressed silently. His hands were shaking so much that I reached over and tied his overtunic fasteners for him. Was he that frightened? I would have expected better courage of him.

Sorry, he said. I’ve never done one of the great magics and then made love soon afterwards. He leaned against the wall. Always followed the rules. In the moment someone began pounding on the door, I realized he was breathing raggedly.

The windows were high and narrow, but the real problem was the bars. If I could get just one loose...

Getting up there was easy. A quick spring, a hand to the wide sill, and I had a perch wide enough for my clever toes. One bar seemed a little loose. I yanked it back and forth; chunks of adobe began to peel off. Just little ones, though. The bar was still solid.

Arakante? Can I get a little help here?

He walked over, grasping the table for support. What do you want me to do?

Reach up and yank on the bottom of this–oh, never mind. He’d wiggled the bar too little to help, and he was getting in my way. Men. Mages, most of all.

Just look to yourself, then. Tell them you didn’t know me well, tell them what you like. Oh well, I had more to worry about just then than my reputation.

Suddenly the bar gave. I had to grab another bar to keep from falling out the window. Out, and into the arms of a man in leather and scale armor who grinned broadly. I win the bet. He called to someone I couldn’t see yet. Palm wine at the Smiling Camel.

Then, smiling at me in a way that I did not like, he cooed, Come down, little cat. Come to Papa.

Hah. My father, if he lives, is ten times as fine a man as that lump of camel dung. I edged around to see if dropping back into the room would do any good.

Five men strode in, two bearing torches. Five, for me? It was almost flattering. One grabbed my arm and hauled me off my window ledge. The rough edge of the bar’s hole scraped off skin from my back as I went over. He shifted his grip to my upper arm and marched me away from the window to one corner of the room. Stand still and keep quiet.

They all wore sleeved tunics of Issrandar’s supple scale–armor. Who did they serve, that could afford to clothe so many in such costly stuff? Just how much trouble were we in?

Or was it we? They were paying no attention at all to Arakante. He’d gone back to standing by the table. He swayed slightly. Damn the man, this was not the time for contemplation.

The soldiers were going through my back room from the back wall out, wasting very little time on breaking things. They unearthed the safe trunk from underneath my street caftan. The man in charge grinned and reached an open hand towards me. Key?

I don’t know. It’s in the room somewhere.

Oh, girlie, I don’t believe you. He shook his head sadly and slapped me once, open–handed. I let the force move my head back; it does less damage that way.

Girlie, he said, Lord Turukan wants you in good condition, but it doesn’t have to be perfect.

Arakante shoved himself away from the table. Stop that. His voice was clear, commanding, and useless. You’re not even supposed to be here. We had an agreement—

The Man in Charge’s grip kept me from seeing Arakante, but I could hear him being hit hard, twice. If I protested–they might just hit harder to make me give them a key I didn’t have.

I’d give it to you, honestly I would. My voice shook. I’d spent years avoiding contact with men like these, and I’d done quite well until the last year or so. I’m not stupid. You can break the trunk open if you need to, I know that. I just wasn’t paying attention when— I stopped. I definitely didn’t want to discuss why I hadn’t been paying attention.

He looked at Arakante, and at me, and laughed. Maybe I do believe you after all. Sweet Mirinlanda, girlie, what’d you do to your boyfriend? Arakante was now leaning against the wall as if he might slide down it all the way to the floor. What had I done to him? He was no fighter, but no weakling either.

Arakante lifted his head. I’m just tired.

The Man in Charge gave me an appraising look. Must’ve been quite a night.

I slumped down a little and tried to look unappealing. Just then the shortest one of the guards gave a whoop. Got it. He grinned and handed the small laquer box over to the Man in Charge.

He opened it and whistled. Oh yes. Very nice. Okay, girlie, you and the opals are coming with us.

Ah, greed. It’ll defeat lust any day.

Where? If they told me, then Arakante would know too, and it didn’t look as if they were taking him. He might be able to help. Maybe, if he didn’t just fall over in a faint.

The Man in Charge laughed. Trying to make sure someone knows where you are? Sarinsat’s best temple. Who else should have charge of keeping a city orderly?

How had the Exemplars here found me? I’d lived quietly since leaving Tzakende. I’d done nothing to give anyone the idea that the thief who restored Kossinli’s heart to her was the same person as the widow with a certain talent for gem setting who’d taken up a stall in the Parataqa’s bazaar.

That heart had completed Kossinli’s statue. Getting it was harder than retrieving all the other parts combined. It took all three of us, and we still almost failed. I only managed to get the heart because Firousi was willing to risk her own skin and come with me. I’m sure it was the first time she ever knifed anyone. I only got back to the villa unharmed that day because Arakante moved the fog to help me.

There was one link. Arakante? I stared at him incredulously. No, you couldn’t have. Why would you? Even if he didn’t love me, he needed me. He needed my help. Why would he make it impossible for me to give it?

He slide the rest of the way to the floor. I didn’t mean to. Layla, please–

I had been a fool. Twice in one day, I had been a complete fool, if you counted letting the man with the opals plant them on me. But he was a stranger, and Arakante said he loved me. How could he, why would he? Imps of sour water, when would I learn? My empty stomach tried to climb up my throat.

I made no answer. Did Arakante think I was such a fool that I’d believe he accidentally betrayed me? He was too clever for that to be true. He turned away in silence.

The soldiers surrounded me. Arakante wouldn’t even look at me now. Would that I hadn’t looked at him. Night’s chill air flowed through the open door as we turned to leave.

There is a feeling when magic is in use. It’s like a smell in the air, or a tune you can’t quite hear. Once you live around it for awhile you can’t not notice it. Arakante was casting a spell. I only hoped it was to help me.

The usual way to bind a prisoner is with the hands behind the back. The Man in Charge fastened mine in front.

Chapter 4

Arakante sat in the chaos of Layla’s workroom and groaned. Betraying Layla to the Exemplars of Order was bad enough without taking her to bed first. He was an adult man, a mage trained in directing his energies, not a randy teenage boy. Sweet harmony of the universe, would he ever forget the look on her face as she was led away?

Back in Tzakende, the Exemplar had promised there’d be time to persuade Layla to take their job. Arakante need only talk with her, explain how much her help was needed, remind her of all that Firousi had done for her; she’d surely consent. And he had counted on that. If he’d just gone up to Layla when he first saw her, before that shady character gave her the opals. She’d known that was trouble; she’d tried to tell him. But no, he had to interrupt her with his problems. Even after that mistake, if he’d just talked with her and not let himself be distracted, he might still have preserved some honor and kept her out of captivity.

I didn’t mean to do it, he thought, and thrust that whining excuse away. What kind of fool would trust kidnappers and blackmailers? His own stupidity made his head ache. It was only that he needed Layla’s help so desperately to rescue Firousi.

At least he knew where Layla was. Not so Firousi. Arakante shivered. He hadn’t thought that anyone, mortal or Immortal, had the power to