The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 18: The Doyenne's Counsel, Part 8

 The lamps proved to be the only path he could follow, and without the light of Ammas's airy spirit, he began to appreciate just how large the patches of darkness between each of them were. Denisius knew he ought to be calling out for Casimir, but something held him back: whether it was Vos's sour assessment of their chances without Ammas or the way the Doyenne had known who each of them was the moment they arrived, he had the distinct feeling that she was watching every square inch of these empty halls. 

After a few minutes of fumbling back along the way Ammas had led them, he found himself following not only the scattered lamplight but also the thickening smell of rieldo smoke. Not far past the entrance to the library, he saw Casimir, silhouetted by the light spilling from the edge of the table where they had eaten. Ammas was visible in profile and one of the Doyenne's wrinkled hands was just barely within view.

"Cass!" Denisius whispered. The boy whirled around, holding a finger to his lips. Denisius knelt beside him with a grin. "Come on, lad, what are you doing? I'm sure Ammas doesn't want you spying on him."

"Just wanted to listen," Casimir said stubbornly, his whisper much more practiced than Denisius's was, or ever would be.

"No, I don't see Meryk often," the Doyenne was saying. To Denisius's surprise he saw her fingers toying with a smoldering rieldo cigar. Her hand moved out of view and he could hear her inhaling with obvious relish. "He knows I don't approve of the way he goes about his ridiculous protests. He hasn't come to Autumnsgrove in years."

When he saw Casimir crouched by the creaking bookshelves, Denisius's first instinct had been to shoo the boy back to the cells. But now his own curiosity began to get the better of him. Here was an opportunity to listen to two fugitive cursewrights, both experienced and skilled, and hear what they had to say when they thought they were alone. They might speak of things that had not been spoken of in decades, and he would be privy to them. They might even, he thought with a burst of hope, talk of ways to help Carala.

So, quelling any thoughts of guilt he might feel at abusing Ammas's trust, Denisius crouched beside Casimir, both of them exchanging a grin.

Now Ammas spoke. "I correspond with him. He's visited Munazyr a few times. He spoke most highly of you."

"He speaks highly of anyone who might have something he could use."

"I don't blame him." Ammas puffed lightly on his own cigar. "He might be a more frequent visitor if he knew you were entertaining clients from the Imperial family."

Othma scoffed. "It'd be a marvelous test of all his fiery speechmaking, especially if you bring him a pretty young thing like that. I imagine his words would lose their barbs."

"Yours haven't."

She chuckled rustily. "And why should they? So she steps out from that jeweled palace she's spent her whole life. Am I supposed to keep her pampered and free from the truth of things?"

"I expected worse. I half-thought you might not even help me."

"I have my reasons, Ammas. You were always a fine student, and a better cursewright."

"Good enough to tell you to your face that you went too far with Barthim?"

"I should not have brought up your father. For that I am sorry. I forgot myself, for a moment. It has been happening more as I grow old."

"Never mind that. Barthim is my friend. I vouch for him and his faithfulness not just to the gods but to me. I don't care if he follows the Hethmar, or Tol Daether, or even if he worships the Eternal Sultan or the Dread Titans -- "