Chapter 18

Looking out over the harbor from the temple's highest balcony, Beldinas shook his head. The ruins of the Udenso lay half-hidden beneath the water, the few shards of glass that still clung to it flashing in the afternoon sun. The ruins choked the channel, blocking the port so no ships could enter or leave. Lattakay's merchant-barons were livid, knowing their business would slip away. The rest of the city shifted between rage and terror over what had happened at the execution. The Divine Hammer and the town guard had worked hard to keep the riots from happening. Now folk had calmed, and they lined the city's stone wharf, staring through misty eyes at what had become of the their idol of the Lightbringer.

"This will not stand," the Kingpriest declared, waving his hand toward the mass of tangled metal. "It must not stand."

"Yes, Holiness," said Quarath, hovering at his side. He glared at Leciane, who stood nearby. "The High Sorcerers must pay for this. I have drawn up the edict to declare all wizards Foripon. It awaits only your seal."

Leciane sucked in a sharp breath. Her dusky face turned darker still. "That would be a mistake," she said. "I am unhappy with how my order has handled things, hut naming us enemies of the Church will do nothing to improve matters."

"What would you suggest, then?" Quarath shot back. "That we take no reprisal?"

"Better that than stir up the masses against sorcerers," Leciane replied.

Quarath snorted.

"Be still, Emissary." Beldinas's musical voice was calm, steady. "I know your mind on this. I will sign the edict if I must, but first I will hear everyone out."

Glowering at the elf, Leciane spoke to the Kingpriest. "We should try to settle this," she said, "without bloodshed or decrees. I propose a moot to make peace."

Beldinas held up a hand as Quarath drew himself erect. Revered Son Suvin was scowling, too, as were most of the priests on the balcony.

"I am not against peace," Beldinas said, stroking his chin. "But tell me again, why did they steal Andras from us?"

"The Conclave wishes no harm upon the Church, Holiness," she said. "The highmage is a reasonable man, you will find. As I have said, he wants Andras punished for his crimes just as badly as you did."

"Bah!" Unable to contain himself, Quarath stabbed a finger toward the remains of the Udenso. "Would you treat with one who did that, Holiness?"

"It was not the mages who brought the statue down," Beldinas countered. "It fell at my command."

"Perhaps," Quarath insisted, "but—"

"Enough!" Beldinas said, cutting him off. "Neither of you will convince me. I will meditate on this, milady. It may be that matters have gone too far to solve with words. I will make my decision in the morning."

With that, he turned away from his advisors, striding forward to the balustrade and standing there, staring out at the statue's twisted remains. Knowing she had been dismissed, Leciane turned to go. The sorceress felt Quarath's angry eyes on her back as she left the balcony.

If anything, the highmage seemed even less willing to compromise than the clergy.

"A moot?" Vincil echoed from within her mirror. For a moment he looked as if he might laugh, but then his smile collapsed into a look of incredulity. "You're serious, aren't you? The Lightbringer wants to meet with us."

"He does, if you do," Leciane dissembled. "Vincil, you must. If you'd seen the people, you would understand. They want blood, and if you don't offer something for the peace, he'll give it to them. It would only take a nudge to turn this whole empire against all the Robes. Do you want that?"

Vincil's lip stiffened. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. "Very well. Tell him we will meet—but in the Lordcity, not where you are now."

"Thank you, Most High," Leciane said, bowing her head.

Vincil grunted unhappily and vanished from the mirror. When he was gone, she let out a slow, weary breath. When she'd accepted the position of envoy, she hadn't expected to broker peace talks between the order and the empire. I'd have turned down the offer if I had, she thought with a grimace. But Leciane was determined to keep the Church and the sorcerers from going to war. That would lead to no good for either side.

She went to the window and opened the shutters, letting the night breeze blow in. It was past midnight, Solinari riding high, the mist spotty upon the water. In the silver light, the ruins of the Udenso looked even more like a jumble of bones than they had in the daytime. If Leciane had known any spells for it, she would have moved the metal out of sight—but there were limits to her power. It would take an archmage to perform such a feat. Perhaps—

She snapped out of her reverie, her gaze shifting to the manor's gardens. She'd seen a flash of movement, moonlight on skin. Looking closer, she recognized Cathan, standing among the starblooms. Her blood quickened at the sight of him. More than a week had passed since the night of the scrying—but she hadn't forgotten.

He turned and glanced up at the window. She could see by the way his cheeks colored that he remembered too. His tongue ran over his lips, sharpening her own memories. That frightened her. She hadn't been with a man since Vincil. What need was there, with her magic to occupy her? Now, though…

Her hands were moving before she realized it, drawing in the magic and channeling it, giving it form. By the time she thought about her actions it was done, the spell ready for the incantation that would unleash it. She bit her tongue, still holding back the word. She didn't have to finish. There was still time.

"Kushat," she whispered.

The world shimmered around her. Then, with a sudden rush, it fell away, leaving her floating in nothingness. This spell was only powerful enough for traveling short distances. It was good enough to bring her down to the garden, though.

Cathan drew back in surprise as she appeared—then stopped, his eyes wide. He looked as if he might run—but didn't. Instead, he stepped toward her. She could smell him, the scent of leather and sweat amid the garden's flowers.

"I didn't see you today," she murmured. "Or yesterday."

He stepped closer, arm's length now. She angled her head, waiting. He reached out… and slapped her, hard, across the face.

"Damn you," he swore.

Leciane stumbled and nearly fell. Her cheek aflame, she put a hand to her jaw and stared at him hurtfully.

"What?" was all she could manage to ask.

He looked at his hand, as though surprised by what he had done—but only for an instant. Then his angry gaze shifted back to her. "Don't act innocent," he growled. "I saw you use the amulet!" He started toward her again.

Several spells leaped into her mind, but she thrust the thoughts away. Using magic was the last thing she needed to do now. Instead Leciane held firm, facing him down as she fished the medallion out from beneath her robe.

"This?" she asked, holding it out "No, Cathan. I only contacted the Conclave before your men burned Andras. I didn't know what they would do."

He spat at her feet. "You still had a hand in Andras's disappearance. After all we did to capture him. Now you have the gall to talk to the Kingpriest about making peace…."

Leciane shook her head. "I want peace," she said, reaching for his hand. "I'm trying to help, Cathan."

Hissing, he batted her fingers away. "I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you," he snapped. "What did you do to me, that night? What sorcery did you use on me?"

"I never used any sorcery on you!" she protested, understanding he was talking about their kiss. She felt stricken. "All right, I nearly did, once, but I chose not to. What we did together was real—"

"No!" he barked. "Lying witch! You tried to make me break my vows, but I'm wise to your tricks. Make your 'peace,' if you wish, but stay away from me, and from Wentha and her children. If you ever do anything to harm His Holiness, I swear you'll feel this."

He put his hand threateningly on his sword. He was trembling all over. Then, with a snarl, he stormed away through the garden, muttering curses under his breath.

Leciane stood alone in Solinari's light, listening to the chirping of the crickets. Shuddering, she turned and hurried back to the manor. She wanted to return to her chambers before the tears blinded her completely. She didn't, quite.