The Shadowglass (The Bone Witch, #3)(19)
Even among the wreckage and the slag, the city remained a stunning sight. Not all the structures were damaged, and many had escaped the daeva’s three-headed fury unscathed. Scrub off the soot and clear away the broken timbers, and the aesthetics were intact, the way layers of dirt do not hide a girl’s beauty. Ankyo always carried about it an air of perfumed danger, like elegantly dressed women with a secret—a coquettish smile behind every painted fan and a knife hidden up every silken sleeve. Their asha—epically, socially, traditionally—had always danced too close to the fires of history, tempting its flames. A burning seemed inevitable.
I had never felt comfortable in Ankyo. At least Drycht never hid its contempt of me.
The night smelled of lingering wildfire. The scent of incense was gone, but something else lay scorching in its stead. Every now and then, one of Kion’s soldiers cast a wary gaze at the dark sky above, dreading an attack.
The Dark asha’s description of her mentor was accurate; Lady Altaecia could have been a fishwife, if fishwives were accustomed to gravity and elegance. Her hua was a silvery moon peeking through wisps of clouds, and it did nothing to hide her round, pleasant figure. But I could feel the power emanating from her person, knew she was a woman of importance despite her drawn face and eyes that had not known sleep for many nights.
With her was another strange figure—a fellow Drychta, white-haired from age, with stooping shoulders and a drooping beard. But his eyes were alert and ever vigilant, making note of those who disembarked before settling curiously on me. My discomfort grew at his silent inspection.
“Got them all back safe and sound, Althy,” Zoya said, “and with a couple of hours to spare.” Barely were the words out of her mouth when a beautiful woman with golden skin and long braids dashed forward, enveloping her in a warm hug.
“You overexerted yourself again, Zoya,” she scolded, peppering the other woman’s face with kisses. “I could tell. I told you not to.”
Zoya blushed, her sardonic expression softening. “We wanted to return as soon as we could. No telling if Tea intends to mount another offensive in the interim.”
“What has happened while we were away?” Lord Fox asked tersely. Lord Khalad appeared preoccupied, nodding distractedly at the others before walking ahead, too occupied to even greet Lady Altaecia.
Lady Altaecia sighed, watching him leave. “This trip will be hard on him. No word yet of where Tea has disappeared to. Her azi is nowhere in sight. But…”
“But what, Althy?” Inessa prompted.
The older asha schooled her features, though her jaw remained set and square. “She lurks nearby. I can almost feel her in the air, crackling with magic so subversive that not even I can see. And who is this?”
“Only a bard, milady,” I offered.
She frowned. “Ah. The chronicler Tea dragged into this mess.” She extended a hand, but not to grip mine. “Her letters. Where are they?”
I paused, tightening my hold, the pages crumpling in my obstinacy. This was the only task she had given me. Venerable as Lady Altaecia was, I could not comply. The Dark asha had given them to me.
She sighed. “We are wasting time.”
“We have had little chance to read them, given Zoya’s enthusiasm for speed,” Lord Fox said. “Tea entrusted her papers to him, and he feels compelled to watch over her words. We can read the rest of them once we return.”
Lady Altaecia pursed her lips. “Very well. We must make haste for the Valerian. The Willows was the hardest hit, but whether by coincidence or from a belated sense of obligation, Tea left the Valerian untouched.”
She winced. “The oracle…she forewarned us, saved us. She had been refusing visitors the last few months. We thought she was ill or worse until she reemerged a week ago and spoke of fire raining down on Ankyo, and by the time the azi arrived, we had taken the bulk of the citizens to safer ground. We would have suffered worse without her warnings.”
“I hope,” said the elderly Drychta beside her, “that you would give me the chance to study her letters as well, milord. I promise to treat them like I would one of my rare books and give her the due honor she deserves.”
“Tea brought about Mykkie’s death, however indirectly,” Althy said, though the look on her face was in contrast to the harsh words. “The time to honor her has long elapsed.”
A spasm of grief passed through Lord Fox’s expression, though he steeled himself quickly enough. “We’ll talk more at the Valerian.”
“I am glad to see a fellow Drychta, even if I’d hoped the current state of affairs would be different,” I said. “But how do you know the Dark asha?”
“We knew each other only briefly, kinsman, but it was enough to know her friendship. My name is Garindor Sverrthiya. I know nothing of fighting, but perhaps I can be useful elsewhere.”
5
The legend of Blade that Soars poses too many questions, Vernasha wrote. Bone witches will demand answers we should not be at liberty to divulge. The tale tells us to use our magic to set the world right, but at the cost of magic’s possession. I reject such sentiments. We can do far more by retaining what the Creator graciously bestowed upon us. To sacrifice such power holds neither merit nor results. The People of the Shadow may think to stop us, but they are few in number, and we are many.