CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
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Iris Everton
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Junos, 927 PC
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The trap disengaged exactly as Master Rellin had explained it would; silently and simply. Two turns of the key in the wrong direction, then one correctly, and the spring-loaded needle coated in Harpy’s Dust would not fire out of the doorknob on either side. Still, the possibility of being temporarily paralyzed by the poison made her hesitant as she opened the door. Jameson stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase, biting at the corner of his lip. His blue eyes were dark and magical. Alexander Petrovi stood directly in front of him, his eyes glazed over, lips curled neatly into a false sense of happiness. Their time apart had not treated Jameson well. The dark bags under his eyes were big and puffy like they belonged in a grimy inn trying to pass one over on its guests. Is that a hint of gray in his beard?
She was glad to see him in such a state, sad to know she was there too. She missed him, his sense of humor, his laugh, the way he told stories. No one told stories like Jameson. No sense in letting her feelings show though. Give the man an inch and his charm would take a mile – magical or not.
The way he studied her growing stomach suggested she put her hands over it protectively. No words were exchanged, only the most uncomfortable shared glance she’d ever experienced. “I have four messengers prepared to go straight to Captain Meldar and the City Guard in case of any incidents.” A lie. She had Master Rellin and that was it, but four sounded more difficult to outwit.
Jameson didn’t move. Neither did Petrovi. Not that he could without a command from his master. “Well.” Even Jameson’s voice wasn’t immune to his decay, riddled with nerves and uncharacteristically scratchy.
“Right.” She stepped aside, making room for the executioner and his victim. Or was she the executioner? Did it matter? Petrovi was a dead man walking and she was none too sympathetic for it. She hoped that was still true once the man was strapped down.
“To the workbench.” Jameson shoved Petrovi in the back, doing nothing to change the stupid expression on the man’s face. Off to the gallows they went. Halfway across the lab, Jameson spotted Urman tied to the ovens. He paused momentarily, but kept going when he realized the commoner was asleep. Master Rellin had put Dreamweaver in the wine he’d demanded. New dog, same tricks. “Ya really know how to treat your lovers.”
“Urman is not my lover. He’s my… employee.” She made her way down the other side of the bench. A precaution she’d told herself to take when she’d run through this entire scene in her head a hundred times while she waited. They were on her terms now, there’d be no idiotic choices or surprises that caught her with no notes.
Jameson made a point of glancing at Urman’s work conditions. “Reckon I’d still rather be your employee. Least my heart wouldn’t be in pieces.” He frowned. The same exact way he’d frowned the night they’d met in Penelope’s Place, when she’d rejected his drink. Only he looked worse tonight. Older. More pitiful and sadder. Certainly not the charismatic force she knew him as. And yet, she preferred him this way. Vulnerable. Honest. Not performing something she couldn’t identify as real or magic. Don’t listen to him. He’s evil and manipulative.
“You threw me down. Broke my wrist.” Annoying as it was, the brace would have been a nice addition to her spiel. “You endangered my child.”
“Our child.” He frowned, realizing what that meant. “And I didn’t mean t’do that. Ya got in my way. Ya know not to get in my way when I’m like that.”
“So it’s my fault?” For once she possessed the more powerful eyes. “Because it sounds like you’re saying I forced you to throw me to the cobblestones and leave us there to die.” She held her stomach.
He slammed his hand on the workbench, making her jump and step back. “You wasn’t gonna die.” He motioned toward Urman. “He was the only one supposed t’die that night.”
“You have no idea what might have happened to our unborn child, Jameson.”
“I said I’m sorry!”
“No you didn’t.”
His eyes softened. He bit at the corner of his lip. “Well, I meant to. Because I am. I didn’t mean to hurt ya, sweetheart. Reckon I’ve never meant to hurt ya. Not that night, not ever. Not with the Apple Core, not with all the assholes comin’ and goin’ wherever we was.” His chinned drooped. “I’m real sorry. For everything.” If he was lying, he had practiced his lines until he’d perfected them. No, dammit. He’s not worth the trouble. A work agreement and nothing more. “Give me one more chance. To prove how much you mean t’me. I’ll do anything. I’ll help ya with what you’re doin’ here. All day, everyday. Just come back to me. Come home.”
Her eyes fell on Petrovi. She’d almost forgotten about their silent observer. “Strap him down,” she said. “And take off your pants. Quickly. We don’t have much time.”
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Master Styner sat down in the lush chair opposite her. The first ass, outside Master Rellin or herself, to ever do so. The excitement in her cheeks made her feel like the teenager she was, not the intelligent adult she always tried to be. The first time she’d felt like such in months. His powerful aura of self-importance certainly did all it could to indicate he was a Master of Alchemy. He was someone who was used to being the smartest person in the room. A commonality between them she hoped wouldn’t lead to butting heads.
His light brown eyes were the color of his skin and went well with the red cloak of his university. The navy blue scholars hat was an eyesore though.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked.
He took his spectacles off, folding them and placing them in a pocket inside his cloak. “Not at all. A simple discussion shall do,” he said, shifting his weight in his chair and adding, “Besides, I’m sure Donovan will be along with the wine soon enough.” He gestured for Master Rellin to do exactly that. “He tells me you are something special, Iris Everton. The key to our cause.”
She smiled tactfully. “Master Rellin showers me with much praise. Most of which is hardly deserved.”
“Don’t let her fool you, Tripelthin, she loves it,” Master Rellin said from across the room. Urman stood shockingly close by for having been ready to slit the man’s throat a week before. They’d come to a new agreement; Urman could roam the university freely if he caused no harm and Master Rellin would ask nothing of him until proof came of Harlow’s well-being. Which would be nothing more than a letter written by a Purist with a knack for forgery. The trouble now was finding a sample of Harlow’s handwriting. He swore he had a letter from the man somewhere in the endless stacks of parchment all over the room but to this point he’d produced nothing of the sort.
“You and I have similar goals, Iris. We’ve gone about it differently, but we are heading toward the same future,” Master Styner said.
“Equality,” she said, trying to believe that was what she still wanted, that she didn’t want revenge on all Purists.
“Is it equality you want? Because I want dominance. The Purists have had their fair share of the throne. It is about time a commoner reigns supreme.” She had to admit, she liked the sound of that. However, with three brilliant minds fighting for one throne, she wondered who might sit upon it. She took a sip of water then let the cup rest on the arm of her chair.
The voices across the study were rising and lowering like two brothers bickering. Two volatile and dangerous brothers.
“I can see your contemplation but you have nothing to fear. Donovan and I are well aware of how long we waited for a mind like yours to grace the empire. Time stripped both of us of our chance to be the face of a movement. It is you that will need to lead from the front, Iris. Your youth, your vigor, your passion. You are everything a movement like this needs to gain momentum. No one follows boots that can’t move. Nor would we want anyone to do so. Too easy for others to believe they should be in front.”
Master Rellin turned to them. “He’s right, Iris. Neither of us can lead. We need someone who will sit on the throne for years to come. Long enough to create consistency and direction. And by the time you’re done, you’ll have a well-trained successor.” He glanced at her stomach.
Never once had he ever mentioned Master Styner, or these types of goals they had for her. Success, sure, a throne… not so much. Perhaps she didn’t know him as well as she’d thought. And more importantly, perhaps he knew her better than she’d realized.
“I’m flattered, to say the least. But my goal has always been to show the Purists what we commoners are capable of. Not steal their position of power.” Master Styner wasn’t sold. “Perhaps, a little more than simple recognition would be nice, but you make it sound like you want to wage war on them.”
“Do you not?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I’m not sure I’m capable of that.”
“No one is. Not alone. But you’ll have Donovan and me. And thousands of others if your project is managed properly.”
“Thousands?” she said.
Master Styner sat up straighter. “What is an army without thousands of soldiers?”
“And you think you can form an army?”
“Aye, I have spent years plotting for this very moment.”
Master Rellin held up a piece of parchment, smiling ear to ear. “He has. Can’t imagine there’s a single detail he hasn’t considered.”
“How can you get so many followers?”
“They already exist. The Purists have created them for us. For centuries. Gathered them up at the gates of oppression. All we have to do is turn the crank for them.”
Urman headed for the oak doors, Master Rellin following him closely, lecturing him on what he was and wasn’t allowed to do in the university. When the doors closed he turned to them and waved the piece of parchment around excitedly. “Back on track.” He picked up a pitcher of wine on his way to them. “Once commoners hear of your work, word will spread quickly. You’ll be the great hope you’ve always wanted to be, Iris. Slightly different than you envisioned. But a great hope nonetheless.”
“And the Purists?” she asked.
Master Styner snapped his fingers loudly and a flame appeared at the tip of his thumb. He let it spread to the closest finger. Then the next. It crawled toward his palm and spread like wildfire until his entire hand was engulfed. “If left unattended, a small flame can burn an entire forest to ashes. Is it safe to assume your work is well hidden?”
“Of course, but it won’t be forever. When the Purists find-”
“A formidable foe, no doubt,” Master Styner said. “One we’re unlikely to defeat head on. At first. But I plan to make them rot from the inside out.” There was no stopping him now. His satisfaction in his own brilliance flooded across his face. “I will slip into their ranks like a cold dagger between the ribs. Soften them up. Make it easier for you to club them over the head with your new magic.”
“You don’t think they’ll be able to tell you’re using alchemy?” she asked.
He clasped his hands together and extinguished the flame. “The Purists are too arrogant to question the limitations of magic. A man could launch himself through the sky with a catapult and if a Purist saw him they’d claim one of their own could fly.” She laughed, realizing he was probably right.
“Tripelthin will do many things to make your goals possible,” Master Rellin said, handing a cup of wine to his friend. “He is not a man that accepts failure.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said to Master Styner.
“Simple.” He leaned back, sloshing the wine around in his cup. “Complete your work.”