Scribe in Shadows

By Moira J. Moore

Alcina lives in a land of subtle magic. She is a scribe and has prepared to take her mother's place as High Scribe when her mother retires. When her mother is killed unexpectedly, Alcina must take her place. But her mother was not just a scribe; she was also working with a secret alliance to counter the plans of the Principal Councillor and had information that someone might just kill for. While battling her own demons of depression, Alcina must decide who she can trust and what to do with the information bequeathed to her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moira J. Moore
• Release date: Oct 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9780991797417

Moira J. Moore

Writer of fantasy, drinker of scotch, eater of chocolate, and listener of a hodge podge of music.

Book preview

Chapter One

Sunlight hit Alcina’s face and she hissed as she covered her eyes. Do you have to?

Yes, ma’am, the maid said as she tied back the curtains. Your rules.

Yes, yes, on the days she was going to work, the curtains had to be opened. It was sensible, it took the edge off the sluggishness she felt every morning, but there were times when she hated sunlight. It could be so oppressive. Then I can change them.

Only between the twelfth and the sixteenth hours of the day. Karali returned to the small table beside Alcina’s bed, where a tea tray was waiting. She picked up the small pot and poured hot dark green liquid into a delicate cup. That’s your rule, too.

Alcina closed her eyes and let her hand fall back to the mattress, feeling the dread flow through her, pressing against her chest. It was going to be one of those days. She thought of excuses to avoid getting out of bed. Headache? Stomach cramps? The utter lack of desire to speak to or look at anyone?

No. She felt awful, but she didn’t think the day was going to be quite bad enough to justify hiding in her room.

You don’t want your tea getting cold, ma’am, said Karali. As though Alcina hadn’t been drinking that same tea every morning for years. As though she didn’t know ris tea tasted eleven times worse when it was cold.

Alcina pinched the bridge of her nose. She was in a vicious mood already. She opened her eyes and rolled up to her elbow, faking a smile. Thank you, Karali. She picked up the fragile teacup and downed the contents in a few swallows.

Karali, a plump woman in her late forties with beautiful white hair, pale skin, and kind blue eyes, smiled back. She had worked for Alcina for nearly five years and seemed to accept her quirks with equanimity.

On the table beside the tea tray were copies of two news circulars. The Daily Challenger was the circular Alcina favoured, as it was the only one in the city that would dare criticise Principal Councillor Danoso and his band of thugs. Should I look at that? she asked.

Sometimes the news, especially bad news, overwhelmed her.

You might enjoy it, ma’am. The Council has officially reversed their decision to expropriate the Catori estate.

Really? It had been a year-long scandal and a twelve-month nightmare for the farmer who owned the estate. Are they admitting they lied about wanting the land for the military base?

The official statement is that the sketches for Principal Councillor Danoso’s new home were misfiled by the attendants of the land registry office and should have never been attached to the deed for the Catori estate.

Of course, Alcina said drily. And the excuse for changing their minds about needing the land?

They have decided the land isn’t suitable to their needs.

Alcina snorted.

The writer was quite sarcastic, Karali added. Cameron.

Cameron is usually sarcastic. That was why she liked him so much.

But she decided not to read the circular. While that one article would be a pleasure to read, there would be others, full of information about the attempts of the Council of Gydnerth to violate one law or another. It would be enraging or disheartening, and she wasn’t up for that sort of thing, not that morning.

The other circular was The Daily Truth, an awful rag that slavishly praised Danoso and printed what was surely the most unprofessional trash that had ever been put to paper, appealing to the worst of people’s emotions instead of their thoughts. Alcina had always been leery of those who claimed special access to the truth, as they seemed to value truth the least, and she always felt as though her intelligence was draining away whenever she read that circular. She thought the name sensible people called it, The Rabid Weasel, was far more appropriate.

She felt she needed to know what Danoso’s supporters were claiming, and for that reason frequently inflicted upon herself the fiasco that was The Rabid Weasel’s version of news, but that morning … no.

I’ll get your bath ready, ma’am. Karali left the room quietly. Always quietly. She was so good at that.

Alcina hauled herself from the protection of her bed. From the side table she picked up the novel she’d been reading the night before and she sat in the chair beside the window. Written by one of her favourite authors, the novel was hilarious and it made her smile. The temporary lift the humour provided made starting the day a little less horrible, made the chores of bathing and dressing in a light blue cotton dress a little easier to perform.

The breakfast Karali brought her wasn’t her usual fare of eggs and toast and a bowl of fruit. Karali would have told Thom of her low mood, and he had put together a meal of fresh scones with rhubarb compote and a huge bowl of clotted cream. The sight of it made Alcina smile. Her cook was so thoughtful.

Like the book, the meal would provide only a temporary lift, and her mood would suffer a dive not long after, but it would help her gather the resolve to get out of the house.

And that was all she had to do, get out of the house. Once she reached Madam Lawal’s residence, she would probably get immersed in her work and the heavy sensation in her chest would dissipate.

It was too much food for a single sitting and she ate every bit of it. She rose from her chair. She clasped her hands together, hard enough to whiten her knuckles. She took a few deep breaths, then walked to the door.

She pressed her forehead against the smooth wood and closed her eyes.

Just get out of the house.

She was aware of Karali behind her, several feet away. She knew the maid was watching her, but Karali never nagged her at this part of the routine.

Another deep breath and Alcina pulled open the door, charging through it before she could change her mind. She strode through the short corridor and took the stairs down to the first floor a little more quickly than was safe.

Moren, a butler too grand for Alcina’s small house, was waiting in the foyer. A dark-skinned woman in her fifties, of average height, broad shoulders, and a cheerful manner, she exuded a sense of serene strength.

Good morning, ma’am, she greeted Alcina warmly. I hope you are well today.

Karali would have told Moren she was not, but Alcina appreciated the pretence. Very. And you?

Very.

Alcina took a closer look at her. Moren seemed a little tense, unusual for her. Are you sure?

Yes, ma’am.

Alcina didn’t believe her, but etiquette didn’t allow her to press. Why don’t you take some free time today? If Alcina couldn’t ask about Moren’s difficulties, she could at least give her some time to address them.

That isn’t on the schedule, ma’am.

Schedules are made to be changed. Not hers, she didn’t manage sudden changes well, but they seemed to be good for other people. Think about it.

Yes, ma’am.

All right. No more stalling. She had to get moving or her resolve might weaken.

Like every other house on the street, and most houses in central Ottan, Alcina’s front door was placed immediately on the street. No handy sidewalks as she’d seen in other cities. The capital of Gydnerth had been built in a hurry, with little regard to long-term organisation, and had grown quickly, the largest city in the country, with a population of nearly ten thousand. Comfort in public was rare. Pedestrians were forced to share the narrow streets with horses and carriages.

It meant slow progress through the streets, frustrating on the best of days. At times, it meant brushing up against other people. And noise. Lots and lots of noise.

That made mornings difficult, too.

Sometimes she thought about how much easier it would be to live in a more spacious city, but there was no point to it. She couldn’t leave Ottan. Not permanently.

She kept her gaze down. At times it was easier if she didn’t look at the faces of those around her, didn’t risk any sort of engagement, even one so minor as meeting their eyes.

You can’t turn around and go back home, she said to herself. You can’t turn around. She pressed her hand against her chest, trying to make it easier to breathe.

Half an hour later, Alcina entered the house of Madam Andalus Lawal, her employer of five years, through the servants’ entrance. She walked up the stairs to the ground floor and then to the small office in which she performed her work.

Alcina assembled her supplies on her tiny work table. She crumbled charcoal into a mortar and ground it into a fine powder with a pestle. She cleaned her hands and then cracked open an egg over a bowl, spilling the egg white from the egg shell. She poured the yolk from shell to shell, working more of the egg white free. Finally, she gently rolled the yolk from palm to palm, soaking up the last of the egg white.

She held the egg yolk in her right palm, tilting her hand over the mortar. She pierced the yolk with a needle and poured the liquid within into the mortar. She discarded the skin of the yolk into the bowl with the egg white.

With a brush she combined the yolk and charcoal. She added water, dabbing a finger into the mixture and putting her finger to her tongue. She mixed in more charcoal, a little at a time, until the paint tasted right.

She filled two bowls with water and carried them, the paint, and two brushes to her desk. She sat in the comfortable chair and removed from one of her drawers a stack of paper. She divided the paper into three piles. On one, written in black ink, were the instructions pertaining to the legal proposal Lady Lawal wanted to present to the Municipal Board of Waterways. On the second, Alcina’s rough draft of the proposal, written in pencil. On the third, the first two paragraphs of the final draft, painted in grey.

It was one of her earliest memories, one that came to her every time she worked. Four years old, sitting on her mother’s lap, holding a thin, light brush, dipping it into watery paint, knocking off the excess, and drawing lines on the paper. Not true pictographs yet, but the smooth curves that were needed to turn ideas into unbreakable magic.

That’s right, ‘Cina, her mother had said in a mild tone. Wash the brush before you change colours. Yes, that’s good.

And then, later, when she was learning what the curving strokes meant. Speak them out loud, my love. It makes the paint binding.

And later still, learning the colours. Blue for contracts, yellow for laws, red for bills, purple for proclamations, orange for wills, black for treaties, grey for correspondence and proposals, green for Council records.

As was proper, Alcina’s education was in time transferred to the Scribes’ Guild, but her mother continued to work with her, introducing to her skills long before the instructors of the Guild did so.

Having memorised the contents of the pencil draft, Alcina painted strokes of grey across the paper. She didn’t get far before there was a knock on her door. Come in.

Lawal’s maid opened the door. Scribe Noatak, Madam would like to see you.

Thank you. Alcina cleaned her brush before leaving her office.

Lawal’s house had been built generations before, and therefore it was small but of high craftsmanship. The floors were white marble and the walls and ceiling were tan walnut. The windows were large and of the finest glass. The tapestries, woven of light blues and shades of grey, had come from Wocin, a country known for its fine artwork.

It was orderly and relaxing. At times such order helped slow Alcina’s racing thoughts.

She knocked on Lawal’s door. It’s Scribe Noatak, Madam.

Enter.

Lawal’s office was considerably larger than Alcina’s, as was correct. It was constructed as the rest of the house had been, pale floor and walls and ceiling, with two enormous windows and tan shelves that were filled with books and scrolls. A huge desk was covered with documents, most of them written in grey paint.

Madam Lawal was in her eighties, bent with arthritis and reliant on her cane for mobility. Her grey hair was thin and her large black eyes looked out of place in her pale, wrinkled face. She looked almost sickly against the dark leather of her chair, but her mental vigour hadn’t declined in the years that Alcina had known her.

Have a seat, Scribe Noatak, she said with a wave to the other chair. How are you today?

Alcina smiled. Quite well, thank you for enquiring.

Excellent. Lawal nodded. We’ll have to put aside my current proposal for now, Scribe Noatak. More important issues demand our attention.

I see. Alcina didn’t like changing projects mid-stream. It disrupted the flow of her work on the first document. When going back to it, she had to start from the beginning and she always ended up feeling she’d forgotten something important.

I need you to draft another proposal to present to the Council.

In the prior two years, Alcina had drafted for Madam Lawal three proposals to be offered to the federal Council. All of them had been rejected.

I know, said Lawal, no doubt recalling the three previous failures as well. But the attempt must be made. She picked out one of the letters on her desk and held it out to Alcina.

It was not a letter from a scribe. The pictographs were written with black ink and the figures were of the common style, a little less elaborate than those Alcina used in her work.

Dear Friend:

Odd, the lack of the name in the salutation.

Information has come into my possession, information that we feel must be addressed.

Who was ‘we?’

As you are aware, I have had a long-term association with a certain individual.

Well, that was vague.

As is his custom, he speaks to me of his professional interests, and his latest interests are more extreme than any of his previous endeavors. At the core of his scheme is to compel those who handle correspondence to deliver that correspondence to government agents on demand, with lack of co-operation resulting in harsh sanctions. To my knowledge, the government agents must meet no requirements before making their demands, and the handlers of the correspondence are to be provided with no circumstances in which they may refuse.

With the hope that you find this information useful,

Your friend.

There was no signature.

I need more of the particulars to fully understand this, Alcina reluctantly confessed.

Lawal spent a moment studying her. Alcina tried not to squirm under the weight of the other woman’s scrutiny.

Lawal finally said, I’m about to entrust you with some delicate information and the safety of others who regularly face great risks for the good of Gydnerth.

Was Lawal referring to the members of the armed forces? Was there some sort of military clash coming? Alcina hadn’t heard anything. All right.

Perhaps Alcina’s response was too casual, for Lawal glared at her, not something she usually did. This is extremely important, she said sternly. I have become confident that you have the character to protect these people. Is that confidence unwarranted?

No, ma’am.

Lawal examined Alcina’s face again before continuing. The individual referred to in the letter is Councillor Listar Hykler. The writer of the letter is Sir Stot Belonen, the prostitute Hykler frequents.

Alcina’s mouth dropped open. Hykler’s married! He was also ancient, and not someone Alcina wanted to picture having sex. Ever. With anyone.

That he is. And I doubt his spouse knows anything about it.

Are you sure this Stot Belonen is genuine? Certainly, Hykler was constantly writing essays and giving speeches about the evils of divorce, and one always had to worry about anyone so obsessed with other people’s marriages, but, well, she would have thought him too proud to pay for sex.

She was picturing things. She looked at Lawal’s decanter of whiskey with longing.

Yes, said Lawal.

Alcina would have liked a few more details, but Lawal’s judgment was infallible and her character unimpeachable. Still, Alcina had to ask, How was Belonen able to breach the confidentiality contract? That was supposed to be impossible. A badly drafted contract could be riddled with loopholes, but she would expect a man of Hykler’s position to hire the best scribe for a matter so delicate.

I don’t know, but I trust this information, Lawal said, her tone revealing a hint of irritation over being questioned.

Breaching confidentiality was a sign of poor character regardless of the failings of the contract, but that violation of ethics wasn’t the important aspect of the letter. Am I reading this correctly? There is an intention to create a law that will allow Investigators to read people’s private correspondence without the need for judicial oversight?

Yes.

Such a law would violate decades of legal precedent.

As we all know, legal precedent doesn’t hold a great deal of sway over our current Council.

Yes, but I can’t imagine even Hykler being this foul. Councillor Hykler was known for having little respect for anyone’s rights other than his own, but what the letter was describing was far beyond anything else he’d tried. This will never pass.

Lawal gave her a level stare. Are you sure?

Alcina’s first inclination was to say, Yes, of course, but then she remembered that Principal Councillor Danoso was a vile bastard who had brought a bunch of vile bastards with him, including Hykler. She was still shocked that they’d been elected, no matter how bad the other options had been.

All right, then, the Supreme Court would strike it …. She trailed off. Not long ago, she would have been confident the three-seat Supreme Court would disallow such violations, but no longer. Justice Lisemaj Pamona, a fierce defender of the Patriation Text, had been recently forced by illness to retire. Constanza Lysenka, a crony of Danoso’s, had been appointed to take her place, leaving the court with two judges who favoured Danoso’s views.

And the law couldn’t be challenged until someone was arrested under its authority. It took years for a case to reach the Supreme Court and a great deal more money than the average resident had access to.

Exactly, said Lawal, correctly interpreting Alcina’s hesitation. We don’t know when Hykler’s bill will be released to the public, but when it is, we want to make sure the people have a proper understanding of what the bill means.

And you want to present a proposal that will accomplish that before Hykler releases his bill.

Councillor Midsomer’s slot to present motions to the Council is approaching, said Lawal. She doesn’t want to let the opportunity pass without using it, and she is as concerned by Gydnerth’s backward slide as we are.

But Danoso’s people dominate the Chamber. The councillors were supposed to vote independently, not according to whose banner they had campaigned under, but that independence was rarely exercised. Anyone who failed to comply would have funds mysteriously denied to them in the next election. They could oppose consideration of the motion as soon as it is raised. Even if the motion is put to the floor, it will be voted down.

Nothing is certain, and while a successful motion would be ideal, the point of this proposal is not to be passed, but to alert people as to how far and how fast the race to strip them of their rights is running. I hope to distribute the proposal to the public before Midsomer presents it to the Council.

I don’t know how eager people will be to read a proposal to the Council. That sort of thing was dry stuff even to scribes.

Oh, they’ll enjoy this one. And it’s up to you, she stabbed a finger at Alcina, to make sure the language is accessible.

Yes, Madam. It would be more interesting than the proposals about border surveys, the creation of a harvesting Guild, or water standards. Can we give them a history lesson, too? she asked with little hope.

No one is interested in the history of Gydnerth, Lawal said placidly. Not enough wars. She handed Alcina another sheet of paper. These are some ideas I’ve had.

Alcina quickly read the list. She smiled.

I’m glad you approve, said Lawal. So let’s get to work.

Chapter Two

Alcina and Lawal discussed the contents of the proposal for nearly an hour. Alcina spent another two hours finding the books and scrolls she needed from Lawal’s library, and yet another flipping through them and absorbing the background information that would need to be reflected in the proposal. She was eager to start putting paint to paper, but the time to meet her mother for their weekly lunch had arrived.

As the worst part of the day had passed, Alcina’s mood had lifted. The congested streets were less overwhelming, the sunlight less harsh. She exchanged smiles with those she passed and short greetings with those she knew.

Much better.

Her route took her through the core of the city, past Patriation Park, the oldest and largest public park in Ottan. One of the few open green spaces in a crowded city, it was a place for people to gather for picnics, to celebrate feast days, to play games.

And complain about the Council.

There was a small crowd listening to a young man standing on the Speech Dais, which was a simple cube of limestone, three feet high. Alcina wandered close to hear his words.

And that’s not the only Guild they’re trespassing on! he shouted. They are attempting to place their supporters as masters in the Printing Guilds. Untrained, inexperienced men and women meant to choose and teach our young, to indoctrinate them with the Council’s backward agendas.

Danoso didn’t like Guilds. Didn’t like their independence, their control over who they chose as members, what they taught them, and what sort of work members were permitted to do once they were released from training. He directed intense animosity towards the Guilds entitled to financial support from Council coffers, the Healers’ Guild and the Academic Guilds.

He had no problem giving money to the military Guilds. Gydnerth wasn’t at war with anyone and hadn’t been for decades, but that, according to the Principal Councillor, wasn’t a reason not to pour in more funds. And the Investigators’ Guild, growing faster than any other Guild in the country, that was very popular with Danoso.

And when the printing Guilds refused admittance to these ‘masters,’ the young man raised his fist, their taxes were increased threefold!

The last of Alcina’s serenity slipped away, replaced with outrage. She was aware of Danoso’s attempts to weaken the Guilds, but whenever she was reminded of it, the fury rushed through her again. And there was nothing she could do about it, not right then.

Two Investigators, easily recognised by their garish purple and yellow jerkins, were standing by the Dais. It was understandable and reasonable for Investigators to keep an eye on any large gathering, in case there were disturbances, but those two were watching the speaker, not the spectators.

She noticed three other Investigators moving through the crowd. She glared at them as they paused in front of every spectator, one at a time. She couldn’t hear what they said, but it wasn’t hard to guess as each person, usually with a black look, handed over whatever bag they had with them. The bags were searched and returned.

Apprehension spiked through her as she put her hand on her purse. What would happen when she said no? For she couldn’t do otherwise. Investigators had no right to search bags in public, and all of the spectators had the right to refuse, but that didn’t mean Alcina wouldn’t end up the recipient of a derogatory lecture. In front of so many people, it would be humiliating.

Let me go! she heard from the front.

One of the Investigators had grabbed the speaker’s arm and was trying to pull him off the Dais.

What did they think they were doing?

I’m permitted to speak here!

Alcina clenched her teeth. Excuse me, she said in a sharp tone to the people immediately before her.

Two of them glanced back.

She gestured towards the Dais. Please, she said impatiently.

They stepped aside.

With a quick litany of requests to pass, she made it to the front of the group as the first two Investigators were joined by the other three. The speaker was on the ground, barely able to keep his footing as the Investigators jerked him this way and that. Stop this! she called.

They ignored her.

Certainly they weren’t actually trying to arrest him?

Alcina didn’t dare touch any of the Investigators, so she hugged the speaker, surprising him and everyone else, adding extra weight to his form and increasing the difficulty of moving him.

Oi! one of the Investigators shouted, squeezing her forearm hard enough to hurt.

That was all she let him say. Patriation Text, Chapter Twelve, Subsection Two Two! she yelled. No speech critical of any political figure can result in the detention of any citizen, resident, or visitor within the borders of Gydnerth!

The Investigators paused, and all but one removed their hands from the speaker.

So did Alcina, relieved to find that evoking Gydnerth’s most important text had some impact on some people some of the time.

The Investigator who’d refused to release the speaker sneered. What do you think you are, a scribe?

Yes.

Easily said.

Patriation Text, Chapter Twelve, Subsection Three –

Fine! he snapped. Just shut up, for gods’ sake! He released the speaker. Name, he barked at her.

I don’t have to tell you that, she shot back.

He glared at her.

She crossed her arms and straightened her posture. She was slightly taller than he was.

He scowled. Move out! he ordered the others. They didn’t like it, they grumbled and sent poisonous looks at Alcina, but they went away, which was all she cared about right then.

Alcina pulled in a deep breath and slowly let it out. She couldn’t believe that had worked.

Are you really a scribe? the speaker asked.

Yes.

"Can I know your name?"

Scribe Alcina Noatak.

Sir Astair Vaughn. He offered his hand. Thank you.

She shook it. You’re welcome.

That was almost enough to make me like scribes.

Thank you, she said wryly.

He grinned at her. You’re welcome. He climbed back onto the Dais.

Alcina glanced about. Most of the spectators had drifted off, and she didn’t blame them. The park, which was supposed to be a place of safety, didn’t feel so safe right then. Wishing Vaughn well, her mood raised by her successful dispute with the Investigators, she moved on.

Her mother, High Scribe Dalas Noatak of the Council of Gydnerth, was waiting for Alcina in one of their favourite restaurants. The Slick Tomato was a small shack with rickety furniture, worn decorations, and excellent food. Only five tables were crammed into the small front room, and Alcina always wondered how the owner managed to stay in business.

All of the tables were taken, Alcina’s mother having snagged the one closest to the door. It was the table at which Alcina felt the most at ease. It was reassuring to know she could duck out of the building if the crowd or noise proved too much for her.

Dalas looked up at Alcina’s entrance and smiled. Alcina shared with her mother a tall, lanky frame, black hair, and dark brown skin and eyes. Dalas looked much younger than her fifty years, and strangers often thought they were sisters, which could be entertaining.

Did Dalas know of Hykler’s bill? It would be strange and wrong for Alcina to know of certain affairs of the Council when Dalas did not. It definitely felt wrong having to keep the information to herself.

Her mother rose from her chair and learned over to take Alcina’s hand and kiss her cheek. Good afternoon, my love.

Alcina returned the kiss. Good afternoon, Mother.

They took their seats.

Her mother’s sentinel, Simon Pametan, was standing against the wall, not so close as to be looming over Dalas but close enough to protect her from physical and magical attacks. As the Noatak family had supplied the Council with its High Scribes since Patriation, so had the Pametan family provided the sentinels who protected them. Alcina had known Pametan all her life.

He grinned at her. Good afternoon, Scribe Noatak, he greeted her warmly.

Good afternoon, Pametan. I hope you’re well.

Very well, thank you, ma’am.

It’s ferociously hot, isn’t it? said her mother.

It wasn’t, actually, but her poor mother was wearing the uniform of the High Scribe, a thick leather jerkin that covered her from throat to wrists, thick leather trousers, and tall leather boots. The leather was spelled to resist attack and was to be worn between the ninth and eighteenth hours of those days when the High Scribe worked at the Tower or attended special government events. No High Scribe of Gydnerth had ever been assaulted due to their position, but the custom of the High Scribe wearing such gear and being assigned a sentinel was a tradition inherited from the neighbouring country of Anglora.

Sentinels were equally unfortunate when it came to on-duty apparel. Also entirely of leather, but black. A tight black tunic, from the high collar around the neck to thick cuffs at the wrists. Black leather trousers gathered into tall black leather boots. Whoever had designed the uniforms had clearly never had to wear them.

Someone needs to create a spell that cools the air, Alcina responded.

Dalas took a sip of wine. Which Guild would that appeal to? Healers?

Architects, Alcina suggested. They could sink the spells into the walls.

The military would find it useful, Dalas mused. It might make things easier for our soldiers if their uniforms were spelled to withstand the heat in summer.

Upon thinking about it, Alcina was sure there was a Guild working on such a spell, given how hot summers could get. There might even be more than one, keeping their work a secret. The Guild that designed a spell owned not only the spell but the effect it was meant to create, and the Guilds could be viciously competitive.

The waiter, who was also the owner, came to the table. Good afternoon, Scribe Noatak.

Good afternoon, Sir Anderson.

You’ll be wanting the chilled apple juice, then?

Yes, please.

And the chicken and potato pie?

Yes, please.

I’ll be back shortly.

It was pleasant that Anderson remembered her favourites but a little sad, she thought, that she was so predictable.

Her mother took another sip of wine, and Alcina noticed the line of her jaw was a little more rigid than usual. Is all well, Mother?

I’m afraid I can’t speak of it.

It was odd, being a scribe and having a scribe for a mother. Alcina was bound to keep her employer’s confidence, as Dalas was required to keep to herself much of the work she did for the Council.

So Alcina changed the subject. I thought you might be regretting letting Jenniver go, she teased, referring to her mother’s former lover.

Dalas glared at her and Alcina smirked.

She wanted to get married, Dalas pointed out for what must have been the twelfth time.

She was very young. Only a few years older than Alcina.

Exactly. Young people are supposed to want to be free, to try their feet, not submit to the ties of matrimony.

And Raul was too rural, Alcina continued.

I have nothing against farms, but he wanted me to live there. It was too far from Ottan.

It was only a one hour ride.

Each way. Would you live so far from where you worked?

No. Never. Not for any reason. No, but I’ve never experienced true love with a farmer.

Why don’t we talk about your lovers for a while? Dalas proposed with exasperation. The one who didn’t do anything. What was his name?

This wasn’t nearly as much fun. Rohan was entertaining.

He was aimless, and too old for it. And then you went too far in the other direction with that Lyndani woman.

She was smart.

She was boring.

Alcina sighed. Dalas grinned.

Then Dalas looked up at the ceiling. Do you hear something?

Alcina and Pametan looked up as well. Alcina did hear something strange. Creaking. And was that dust falling from the beams?

A shiver went down Alcina’s spine as the creaking grew louder.

Get out! Pametan shouted. Everyone, get out!

He raised his left hand, palm up. The delicate red lines tattooed around his wrist, up the back of his hand, and around his index finger emitted a red glow that formed an arc above everyone’s head as the beams began to collapse. Get out!

Alcina and Dalas leapt from their table, the other patrons screaming and running after them. Alcina was shoved aside by a man barging up behind her. He then pushed Dalas through the doorway and into the street.