The Unspoken Name by A. K. Larkwood

Author:A. K. Larkwood
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

III

The Tether

The Reliquary of Pentravesse resists pursuit as a bank of briars resists the passage of a bare-legged traveller. It forbids the rational mind, it tempts even as it forbids, and ultimately it wounds the heedless.

Olthaaros Charossa, from a letter to Belthandros Sethennai, prior to his exile

13

No Hard Feelings

BELTHANDROS SETHENNAI KEPT THE windows of his quarters open at night. It was an indulgence, and a show of bravado. The wind freshened, and the Chancellor’s palace drank in the black desert night through every heedless pore.

A moth flickered across the balcony of the antechamber and brushed the security mesh with one wing tip. There was a brief fizz of light, a satisfying crackle, and a faint, sad smell of incineration. It could have been worse. Csorwe had seen the same thing happen to a bat.

She was waiting in the antechamber with Tal and Shuthmili. It had been a hard journey back to Tlaanthothe aboard the Qarsazhi cutter. They had stopped at a refuelling station only once, and all three of them were hungry and bedraggled, but Csorwe needed to see Sethennai before she could do anything else.

“Hope you’re going to admit this was all your fault,” said Tal.

“Remind me why I rescued you?” said Csorwe.

“Because you need me to fucking carry you like I have been for years,” he said.

If Csorwe had experienced a moment of treacherous relief when she’d found Tal alive, it had long since faded. To hear him tell it, he’d tracked down the Reliquary on his own, and had practically had his hands on it before Csorwe had snatched it from him and thrown it away.

She was about to snap back at him when she saw Shuthmili’s expression, exhausted and apprehensive, and thought she’d better save this fight until later. The last few days must have been punishing for the Adept. Even Sethennai conserved his energy between workings. Shuthmili’s face was pinched and drawn.

It wasn’t long after this that a footman emerged from Sethennai’s private study.

“He says you’re to go in and I’m to take your friend to a guest room,” said the footman, gesturing vaguely at Shuthmili, who shrank further into her chair. “He says it’s late and he’ll see her tomorrow.”

Shuthmili looked blankly terrified, and Csorwe realised she didn’t speak the language.

“It’s all right,” said Csorwe, translating. “Go with them. It’s fine.” She had been so eaten up with the thought of seeing Sethennai that she hadn’t even considered what to do with Shuthmili. “I’ll come to see you later,” she added, and Shuthmili let the footman lead her away.

Inside the study, Sethennai was sitting by the fire. He had swapped his chancellarial robes for a green silk nightshirt, and his seal for a glass of resin-wine, but he still gave the impression of sitting in splendour. Whatever was to come, it was such a relief to see him, like coming home after dark and seeing the windows lit up. As they entered he looked up with an expression of genuine pleasure.

“Sir,” she said, and bowed.

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