Tallah

“I don’t think I follow your meaning.”

Mertle wanted to sit but couldn’t. As it too often happened, she was back to pacing the stuffy, overcrowded office, counting off the paces between the root and the chair. Her brush with the Storm Guard had shaken her more than she liked admitting to, though Captain Quistis had been as good as her word.

There had been none of the usual trails on her when she left the Agora for the Sisters. Even with the extra precautions she took now, she still hadn’t seen anyone following in the crowd.

And that made it all so much worse.

The Guard had shown they could follow her invisibly. That woman in the shadows had followed her undetected. It all made her paranoid and twitchy, and sent her head reeling. But if she waited any longer without showing up as Tianna, then the whole plan was likely to crumble.

Now she had trouble stabilising into Tianna’s form, nubs of her horns poking out on her forehead.

“You’re wearing a trench in my floor again, girl,” Aliana said impatiently. “Sit down.”

She gave the priestess an impatient glare of her own and grumble before taking a seat, flattening her pointed hat. Her foot bounced as she surveyed the room for the hundredth time, taking stock of the exits, both seen and unseen, of the strange jars, the leaves, the sprouts on the roots, the instruments that she couldn’t name.

A glass was pushed into her hand and she drank without even looking at the thing. Tasted of berries. Had a decent kick. She sniffed in annoyance and held it out for a second shot. Aliana poured her more. At this rate she was likely to develop a habit.

“What’s there to follow,” the priestess of the Dryad said drily. “I need you to join me here two nights from now. Alone. And if I’m not clear enough, that means I need you to make absolutely certain you’re not followed.”

“But… why?” It was such an odd request, come at a terrible time. “I was certain nobody had followed me before, but even so they knew I was coming and going.”

“I’m aware.”

Nothing more was forthcoming on the subject. Aliana poured herself a thimble of drink and took sips. Mertle downed her second shot and it kicked somewhat harder than the first. She liked the aftertaste and could understand why Tallah kept… borrowing from the priestess’s impressive spirits collection. This, distilled once more, would be considered quite extravagant in Beril. For the elendars.

“Why are you helping?” she asked as various parts of her settled into the human shape. Her horns no longer tried to jut out through skin. Absently, she ran two fingers along her forehead, making sure she wasn’t unravelling anymore.

“Because I can. Get out. I’ve other business to see to.”

To her mounting annoyance, Aliana seemed unaware that Mertle couldn’t disregard the dangers to herself as easily as the High Priestess of the Sisters of Healing could. Not everyone could enjoy immunity such as hers—nobody, to her knowledge, was as highly stationed aside from Ort’s priesthood. Even those had to answer to the empress.

The dismissal goaded her into sullen defiance but she stamped it down. No time for fancies. She had two missions to deal with before the enchantment ran its course. She put on her shawls, carefully made herself indistinct, and headed out through the secret exit, different from the one she’d used to come in. Now that the Guard had shown they knew of her comings and going, she and Aliana had decided to alternate the days when Tianna showed up, make it harder for anyone to draw any connection between the two.

She found her way out into the cold through narrow, twisting tunnels dug by the roots. Scents of mildew and sap accompanied her passage up until it was replaced by wisps of smoke as she emerged behind a workshop someplace near the Guild. From there it was a matter of skulking like a rat through hidden alleys and squeezing gaps between buildings, heading slowly towards the Meadow.

Passing from the upper city into the lower, she used the worst set of stairs, out of the main ways and secluded in such a way that nobody could follow outside. Her disguise switched back to Tianna’s underclothes by the time she stepped out again.

Tianna had been gone for a couple of days now, but Verti had been forewarned of this. Either Tianna kept her own council and did not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances, or she prowled Valen’s streets for days on end. That was what the Meadow knew.

Mertle had heard the rumours swirling around the Agora. Verti and her daughters had particularly strong words to share out about the wayward aelir healer eloping with Lady Tianna’s beau. It couldn’t be helped; Sil would just need to find a different disguise when she came back. She, herself, had explained that Tianna must be preserved beyond any other concern. The rest was easier to solve, but the sorceress was important to their long-term plans.

“Good morning, your Ladyship.”

Using the front door seemed to summon Verti to her side. The way she emerged out of the crowd to fall into step with her had ceased surprising Mertle, though she still flinched at the polite words. Her carefully arrayed expression was one of tired resignation.

“Good morning to you too, Verti.” She stifled a half-honest yawn. “Any word while I was gone?”

“None as of yet.”

“Any callers?”

“Just that impolite girl from the Storm Guard. She’s not been very insistent this time.” Verti passed her a letter sealed with the signet of the Guard. “This was left with me for your eyes.”

Mertle slipped it inside her cloak and allowed Verti to lead her up to the room through the morning crowd. She’d stopped carrying the key with her for fear of misplacing it.

“Breakfast, please. Something light. I’ve no appetite for more.”

“Of course, your Ladyship. Coffee?”

“Strong. From your stock please.” Verti bought hers from a particular vendor that Mertle couldn’t normally afford. This was one of the best things about playing Tianna’s role. “It’s been a terribly long night.”

“Of course, your Ladyship.”

The narrative she worked with was that Tianna was not impressed by the rumours of her healer running off in some romantic tryst with the human man. Worry had given way to wounded pride in being abandoned after the events of the Descent, and now her search had a more vengeful air to it. If she found the two, she would roast them alive for the trouble caused. A pyromancer’s patience was short on the best of days, and adding insult to the mix only led to explosive outcomes.

“We’ve received more word from the caravan,” Verti said as she unlocked the door to the apartment. “The last of the escort’s returned to Valen. Cassiopa has overheard them talking in their cups. The caravan has passed Bastra’s last encampment and it took on fresh guards. Signs are good it will reach Solstice before the thaw.”

Mertle knew this, of course, from her own wandering around the Guild’s halls. She nodded as she stepped into the darkened hallway and closed the door behind her. The rooms were all exactly as she’d left them. No signs of tampering or intrusion.

She spent half of a bell taking stock of all precautions set about the place, even the low-brow ones that only particularly low-born spies made use of.

The apartment had become a truly unwelcoming place in its starkness. She disrobed and headed for a bath, allowing herself the small luxury that her little shop never could. Ever since she’d been a whelp, the only bathing she’d known had been with a sponge and a pail of cool water, or submerged in a forest stream. Beril’s countryside afforded nothing more.

A whole tub all to herself and warm water? Luxury undreamed of by most Nen-born elend.

She heard the door opening and a cart brought in. She would eat, get a wink of sleep—the enchantment held strongest if she slept—and then head out again to make a nuisance of herself somewhere. Probably the Guild as Lucian was due another visit.

Yes, Lucian for today. She’d prepared a couple of the orders she was behind on so Tummy would run deliveries and the shop would be closed. It afforded her to be gone for some time.

Clean and still steaming, she ate sparsely, set the coffee aside for later, and went to rest in Sil’s bed. Without her lover, the bed was too big, too soft, and too foreign for her to enjoy. But the room still held the subtle scent of alchemy and fresh soap, and that brought her a measure of comfort.

Without Sil’s breathing and heartbeat, and without Tummy’s hammering and muttering, silence seeped in. On the cusp of sleep, this was the silence of memory unchained and shaken loose by the stress of the charade she barely kept up.

She drifted away to the sound of her own quick heartbeat and the old whispers of a lifetime and a world away.

“There is a traitor in the household,” Protector Aranar said, addressing the gathered servants and vassals in the large hollow of the Olden. “I have been informed of this by a friend. There is an assassin here, sent to kill me.” They all laughed at the notion.

Mertle laughed with them, barely hearing the Protector in the back of the crowd. Even from afar he was an impressive aelir’sar, tall and broad of shoulder, still coming into his prime. Twin atagans shone on his belt.

She’d been with the household for three seasons now. She’d broken bread and drank wine with the other servants. Had even allowed some of the aelir low-born to take her into their bed so her place in the household would be secured.

“Ridiculous,” Protector Aranar went on, pacing on the dais where his table normally sat when he ate with the vassals. “If this assassin is indeed here, I urge them to come to me. I would show mercy for I am blessed and in good spirit. If they do not desire mercy, then I shall eagerly await the thrust of their traitorous dagger.”

Again, Mertle laughed with the others. Mercy from Protector Aranar meant being flayed rather than handed over to his wife and her ministrations. Aelir’matar Aranar wasn’t here now or the servants wouldn’t have dared even a smile.

Aelir’matar Sarrinare had warned the Protector. And Mertle had received thus her own warning. The mission was taking too long. She’d gone beyond her allotted time frame and the aelir’matar was displeased. The next message would unveil and leave her to Aranar’s fancies.

She went to work that night.

Moonlight found her crouching in shadow among the high canopy of the Olden tree. She’d climbed there by the light of the Mother, the path prepared after two seasons of exploration and planning. The deed was to happen that very night, or she might expect an unkind end. It would still be better than returning to the Sarrinare household with her task unaccomplished.

Protector Aranar’s household had treated her kindly and hadn’t suspected her purpose. Now, she climbed, her path secured. Guards were of no concern so high. She knew all their routes and all their secret hiding spots. She’d taken tea to them more than once, the half-wit elendine born so low in Beril that she might as well have been an animal. What did it matter what she overheard?

Some of them would be discovered come morning with throats slit. Some had been in her way. Some had not been kind and this was petty vengeance. For two, it was mercy to stave off their lord’s fury, a reward for their gentleness and propriety in how they treated her.

She crawled underneath the highest branches, hands finding thick vines to support her, as the light slowly faded when clouds crossed the Mother’s face. She would accomplish her mission and then disappear into the ever-forest. Supplies waited below, hidden in a hollow beneath the east-most root of the Olden. It would a season’s trek back to the Sarrinare household, through the wilds of the steppes.

Protector Aranar was no fool. His lady wife was obscenely powerful with a spectacular nose for poisons. Together, they were an ascendant force in the Dominion with an excellent claim for a centre position, a bold undertaking for a lowly steppe lord.

Mertle suspected this her reason for being there. Those outside the Hearth Circle should remain where their station dictated, not lay claims to positions above their worth. That had always been the Sarrinare stance, though they’d never claim it aloud.

She pulled herself up to the highest part of the Olden’s crown, bare head to the bare sky above, moonlight fleeting. Barefooted, she made her way slowly to her destination, walking softly on swaying platforms, hidden in the long shadow of her destination.

The star-gazing nest observatory, a bulbous growth atop the Olden, lay just ahead. Moonlight cast its shadow across the rustling leaves and Mertle herself, the Mother moon still low in the night sky. If Mertle were lucky, it would rain by midnight.

Tubes protruded out of the observatory, aimed at the sky above. The glint of reflected light onto glass lenses staring somewhere into the far darkness of the night.

She’d been up there many times, sent up with food and drink, or to guide some of the household’s guests. She knew the way and how there were only two entrances: one beneath, and the window for the strange apparatus to poke out. Two entrances for the civilised.

Aelir’rei Kaleo, single scion of Protector Aranar, would be working late, bent over her sketches and notes, on the light-side of the observatory. She drew graphs whenever the weather did not permit her to gaze freely upon the stars. Given the darkening night, she would likely be drawing in the telescope to secure it against the coming rain.

Mertle cut her way in from beneath, through the thick-leaf floor. It had never been fashioned to resist a blade, and certainly not hers. It took some effort, but she made her way inside through the cut, emerging sticky with sap right behind her target, her arrival disguised by the nest’s swaying in the gathering wind.

Sure enough, there Kaleo was, bent over her apparatus, adjusting a complicated series of dials and knobs for purposes that Mertle couldn’t even guess at. Plaques full of schematics and drawings of the night sky littered the walls, filled with tight annotations that nobody was likely to even decipher.

The knife cut into her neatly, just between the ribs to split her heart in two. Kaleo gasped and tried to pull away, but Mertle’s hand was on her mouth as she twisted the knife. Hot blood coated her cold hand.

She lowered the aelir’rei to the floor and let her blood pool beneath. Kaleo died with eyes staring out at the night and Mertle found she had no strength in her to close them.