The Storm Witch (38 page)

It was coming. An entirely different world. He looked over at Dhulyn Wolfshead. A better one?

His father would never stand for it. Never let it happen.

“Dhulyn Wolfshead,” he said. “As you say, the Tarxin may only pretend to heed your suggestions, but I will listen to you.”
And to begin,
he thought,
I will set up the patrol of the Upper City.

Carcali let her woman Finexa drape her veils properly, making sure that her face and torso were not obscured, and that the cloth hung neatly and evenly down her back. The Tarxin had summoned her.

“Leave it,” she said finally, her skin fairly itching with impatience.

“It cannot be left, Tara,” Finexa said. “You go to your father, Light of the Sun, but you must pass through public corridors to reach him, and you must be properly dressed.”

She’d speak to the Tarxin about this, Carcali thought. If the Paledyn could go about dressed as she pleased, surely the Storm Witch could as well. The thought of trousers almost made her mouth water.

There were two guards outside the door waiting to escort her to the Tarxin’s hall. They were called attendants, but they were more than that, just as Finexa was more than a lady page.

This time Carcali noticed that as she passed through one of the public squares Finexa had mentioned, even a few of the men who saw her acknowledged her, not just the women as before. So it did mean something to be the Storm Witch.

The Tarxin was waiting for her in his private room, off to one side of the audience chamber. Carcali bit at the inside of her lower lip. The last time she’d been in this room, the Tarxin had struck her.

“Good,” he said, without looking up. “I thank you for coming so promptly.”

Fine words, but a formality only. When he looked up, his face changed. He tilted his head to on side, actually looking at her now, seeing her.

“What would you like to be called?”

A shiver went up her spine. Those were almost the very same words the Paledyn had said to her. And even though the woman had meant to challenge and shake her, Carcali found she would rather have the Paledyn’s distrust and challenge, than the Tarxin’s false warmth.

“It would be better if I was always called the Tara Xendra, don’t you think?”

His face hardened, but whatever his expression had been, it was gone quickly. Carcali steeled herself and went to one of the chairs near the wall and pulled it forward, placing it across the table from the Tarxin. She concentrated on straightening her skirts and veils as she seated herself, not looking up. She couldn’t wait for him to ask her to sit down. If she meant to be treated like an equal partner, she needed to act like one.

Suddenly the Tarxin smiled, like a wolf showing all its teeth, and Carcali wished that he would frown at her again.

“I forget. Looking at you, I forget that it is not a little girl, not quite marrying age, sitting before me. I forget that you are something else, something entirely different.”

Carcali tilted her head to one side and raised her eyebrows slightly, in imitation of one of her professors when he wanted to show that more of a response was expected.

“You’d do well to remember that others will only see the child, and act accordingly.”

“Others will see the Storm Witch, soon enough. Nothing so easily remedied as youth.” One of the same professor’s sayings. “May I ask why I’m here?”

The Tarxin leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the arms. “The Nomads have been sighted, two ships at least, out beyond the arm of the western shore. I want you to send a storm that will either put them upon the rocks, or push them far out to sea.”

“Why?”

The silence was so profound that Carcali thought she could actually hear the drop of sweat that trailed down the center of her back.

“They are our enemies.” His voice was cold enough to drop the temperature of the room.

“When do you want it?”

“Now. Immediately.”

Carcali shook her head. “Can’t be done, not without more notice. I don’t keep the kind of winds you’re asking for in my pockets, you know. Air pressure has to be changed, temperatures, humidity . . . these aren’t things that can just be conjured up out of nowhere.”
Well, they could,
she thought.
But not by me, not anymore.

He looked at her from under lowered lids. “What is it you fear?”

Carcali thanked the Art that she’d practiced controlling her face, otherwise she didn’t know what else he might have picked up from her expression. “I’m afraid you’re going to lose your temper with me, and forget what our agreement is,” she said finally. “It seemed pretty obvious that I was telling you something you didn’t want to hear.”

Whether it was the reminder of their bargain, or whether he really was much more pragmatic than she gave him credit for, the Tarxin relaxed.

“How much time do you need?”

“All I can give you this minute is a guess. With a few hours of calculations, I should be able to tell you more precisely.”

“And your guess now?”

“At least two days.”

“Then you have two days.”

He looked down at the pages in front of him. Carcali frowned and kept her seat, pretending she hadn’t noticed the dismissal. She had to say something. She
had
to. Her guilt already weighed her down—heavier, if anything, since the Paledyn’s visit—she couldn’t take any more.

“If the Nomads get too close to shore,” she said, “Whatever I do to them will affect the shore as well.”

“Can your storm melt rock?” he said, looking up.

“Well, no.” Carcali blinked. “But it can destroy homes, crops.”

He nodded. “Very well. Warnings can be given to those exposed. If that is all, I must return to my other work.” Now he was also pretending he hadn’t dismissed her already.

“Of course,” she said as she rose to her feet.

“Let them know they may send the Scholar in.”

She nodded, turned her back on him, and walked out.

Her guards were waiting for her in the outer room. She gave the Steward the message and watched him approach a blue-robed Scholar before setting off back to her own quarters.

So that’s the way it was going to be, was it? He would tell her what to do and she would do it. Some partnership. What gave him the right—
don’t be naïve,
she told herself. Power gives him the right. He dictates and others obey. Carcali sucked in a sharp breath, loudly enough that the guard walking ahead of her half turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. Carcali lowered her eyes and kept walking. Was she any better than the Tarxin? Hadn’t she thought power was all it would take to solve the problem facing the Academy of Artists? Look how that had ended.

That
was why her friend Wenora had been so angry with her; Carcali
had
been bullying people, in a way, since her talent was so much more powerful than anyone else’s. Would she have become like the Tarxin if one day, as her ambition was, she’d become the Head Artist? Her footsteps slowed as she reached a wooden bench looking out over a balcony that let onto the sea. She sat down, pulling her veils closely around her.

She’d been using her power to help, back then, when everything had gone so horribly wrong. The Tarxin wanted her to hurt people. Hadn’t she had enough of that? How much more? How far was she willing to go before she said stop, enough? She shivered. Xalbalil wouldn’t be Tarxin forever, but how many people would be hurt while she waited for him to die? She needed an ally, and she needed one now. If the Paledyn wouldn’t help her, then she had to go back to her original idea. Xendra’s brother, Tar Xerwin.

She looked up. Would it seem peculiar to the guards if she asked them where Xendra’s brother was to be found? Surely this was something she would be expected to know.

Finexa would know. There would be fewer questions raised if she asked Finexa.

Remm Shalyn was waiting for her when Dhulyn got back to her rooms. A waggle of his eyebrows indicated that the Marked were still there, hidden once more in her bedroom. The scrying bowl was no longer on the table, but there was a shoulder bag on a chair that didn’t belong to her. She pointed to it.

“I am likely not the only person who has seen that bag hanging from the Healer’s shoulder.”

Remm blushed and pressed his lips together, nodding. “An oversight, I admit. Won’t happen again.”

“Was the Finder successful?”

He glanced at the door of her bedroom in such a way that she read the answer on his face. He’d been hoping someone else would be the one to tell her.

“The bowl worked beautifully,” Javen Finder said once Remm had let them back into the sitting room. She was trying to be properly downcast and contrite, seeing they’d had no success. But her delight in the bowl was strong, and it showed in the sparkle of her eyes, despite her other feelings. “I saw colors, as I usually do, but much brighter, much clearer than usual. I Found you, Dhulyn Wolfshead, and a toy of the White Twins that’s been missing for months.” She lowered her eyes, glancing at the bag hanging on the chair. “If I could keep the bowl, I could try again. I’m so sorry to have failed you.”

Dhulyn grinned. If the bowl was already in the bag, they’d anticipated her answer. “The bowl is yours, and we haven’t failed yet, Javen Finder,” she said. “That was only the first of my ideas. There may be another way, but to try it we must return to the Sanctuary. We will need the White Twins.”

All three Marked looked at each other, and Rascon Mender’s lips actually parted, but she closed her mouth again when Ellis Healer gave a tiny shake of his head. Clearly, they wanted to ask how the Seers could help them. But Dhulyn had no intention of telling them yet—possibly never, if the Seers could re-create the Vision of the hiding child without her.

“We’ll need time, and that we may not have. The Nomads have been sighted.”

“From where?” Remm handed the shoulder bag to the Healer.

“The north tower.”

“The earliest point at which they can be seen. That buys us some time.” His brows drew down in a vee. “The Tarxin will call for his Council, and he’ll want the Tar with him. And at the right moment—when they’ve decided what to tell you—they’ll call for you, as well. That means the upper gardens will be clear. We’ll go as soon as the summons comes for you.”

“Should they wait here? We could go together to the Sanctuary after dark.”

But Remm was already shaking his head. “No one would call to see them now, during the meal hour, and the midday rest. But as soon as the worst of the heat passes—and word of the Nomads gets around, as it will—there will be people in the Sanctuary, and many will ask for the senior Marked. I can take them back through the gardens, Dhulyn Wolfshead. I know the way now. No need to disturb the Tar Xerwin.”

“And if you’re found there?”

“With all due respect to the Tar, it’s only he or his father can find us there. If it’s he, then no problem, if it’s the Tarxin, well.” Remm Shalyn shrugged. “I confess I was curious as to what story the Tar was going to give his father to explain our presence earlier. Me, I’ll just say you sent me, and I was afraid to disobey.”

“Very well.” Dhulyn rubbed the line she could feel forming between her brows. She looked up at the Marked. “At the end of the third watch, when the Moon has set. Expect me.”