The Shattered Circle

16. A Silent Secret

I looked to Haven as Luka's glazed eyes continued to roll, seeking something no one else could see. "Do they often spout nonsense?"

"Vaendal flowers have hallucinogenic properties even as they kill," Haven explained calmly, apparently unfazed by the strange prophecy Luka was trying to deliver through his heavy breaths. "As we said, he is in delirium."

"Wreathed in flame, wreathed in ash... The heat! The heat!" The spymaster thrashed on the bed as he spoke in his beast form, claws whipping dangerously close to my head. I retreated back alongside Haven and Shira, giving the poisoned Luka more space.

Anstydir crossed his arms, powerful muscles flexing under his dark, partially scaled skin. The wyrm-blooded man kept his eyes on the thrashing, delirious spymaster, even as he asked his question. "Do you think there is any truth to it? Does vaendal open the mind, Haven?"

"To Fate?" I said scornfully. "Do not be ridiculous."

Haven started to wash his instruments in the basin of steaming water nearby, positioned safely out of reach of the bestial Luka. "Vaendal is a poison, from the root to the bloom. There are some in Suzail who say one may safely inhale the vapors of a tea of its leaves and see into eternity, but that is a tale as likely to be true as any other elvish drivel." The wight sniffed disdainfully. "Besides, if his condition is this grave this quickly, clearly he consumed some of the petals."

Anstydir grunted at that, slitted pupils flicking towards the cup sitting on the table beside Haven's many remedies. "Well, shall I read it? Lady Frostborn is present now."

Haven glanced over at me, his black eyes still lowered slightly in deference. "Perhaps it might give us clues to a curative. I think the purgative was administered too late to be fully effective. My lady?"

I inclined my head to Anstydir. "Do it."

Shira's fingers flicked a question as she watched with fascination. Read what?

"Anstydir is a master of arcane recalling," I explained for her. "He can learn much of people and things with a mere touch. It is a rare and undervalued talent."

The towering man gave Shira a broad grin that showed draconic fangs and sent a shudder of fear through the priestess. "Lady Frostborn is not among those who fail to appreciate its uses." He picked up the cup, rolling it slowly between his palms. The simple cracked ceramic gave no sign that anything magical was occurring, but Anstydir's strange golden eyes rolled back into his head, eyelashes fluttering like that of a dreamer. The tiny expressive muscles in his face twitched and spasmed as the impressions on the object unfolded in his mind's eye.

I waited patiently. Anstydir would speak when he was ready. For such magic, the mind always had to accommodate, and that took time.

"I see Luka." The wyrm-blooded man inhaled sharply. "No suspicion. He took the cup when it was offered without hesitation. He knew this person, trusted them." His face spasmed into a snarl. "The one who carried this was an archer. I feel the calluses on his hands. Fear, carefully controlled. His eyes watch Luka's face. The horror that spreads across it as the poison sinks in. Luka lunges for him, but collapses before more than a glancing blow. His claws catch the assassin's arm just as the archer makes it to the door."

I turned to face the door to Luka's room, noting a splash of dark on the stained floor. Blood. That was useful. I opened the door and looked down the hall, still listening to Anstydir.

"They entered through the passage below. No one was in the house but Luka. They listened, checked. Before, the cobbles of the Dark Mother's path. Hooded, wary, always checking behind. Two. Male. Human. Fresh gravedirt under their nails." Anstydir inhaled deeply. "The smell of ha'adis and blood." His voice rose in pitch, almost like someone else's entirely. "No, no room for doubt now."