Theurgy is believed to have been the final gift from the gods; the strongest of which they Graced upon the first kings. This is why people of royal blood are known to exhibit higher levels of theurgy, although holy texts warn that this will only remain true so long as their lineage remains pure.

—Corthair's Compendium of Theurgy

6

↝ A FACE UNMASKED ↜

This letter shall grant to its bearer access upon Her Honourable Vessel, Tempestorm. Any impediments made against whom carries the penalty of death for treason.
By Royal Decree I thus declare.

Red wax had been pressed into the corner of the card. Thick, with a few stray droplets like coagulated blood; a capradon clutching a dagger in one claw and rice stalks in the other, a crown of nine prongs between its antlers. Nothing else signed the page, not even a name.

Still Isla could not come to terms with the betrayal. She had unleashed her fury on Haana's cloak, one tear at a time. The letter had been stitched between two layers and dropped along with a silver pendant, the red bird engraved upon it all too familiar.

Isla had not seen Haana since the attack. The girl was alive – that much she knew. Noi had barged in with a couple of Sir Edric's watchmen and found both girls unconscious on the floor. Even after she woke, Isla had been too overwhelmed to realise her handmaid was alive and well.

Only now did she recognise Haana's lie. Then again, she had lied about everything.

She remembered the night vividly. Sir Edric's men dragging Haana away, Noi scribbling enough to fill a page. Not two days later, they were off to Cannersly.

So here they were.

Isla blinked herself into the present. The bedchamber Sir Edric had prepared for her was a gross mockery to the storm in her head. Light streamed in from all four windows, red cardinals chirped and preened upon the outstretched bough without. They're always brighter in winter. Like they thrive upon the misery of others.

A knock came from her door. A maid, announcing that Aldir requested her presence. Isla followed her to Sir Edric's private cabinet; a warm apartment on the ground floor, cluttered with shelves, caskets of weaponry, and a stout table whereupon sat a carafe and two accompanying cups.

Aldir rose when she entered, bade her to sit, and poured a glass of water smelling of winter pine.

'I've asked you to come, for I wish to hear your thoughts,' he said as he eased back into his seat. 'You've been keeping a considerable secret from us.'

Isla averted her eyes. After Noi sent Haana off to Sir Edric, there was no option but to reveal Isla's secret to them, and hope that it would be just another piece of information they could keep in confidence.

'Did you not trust us?'

'Of course we trust you. It was simply safer not to say anything. The less you knew, the less you can be held accountable.'

'That's Noi speaking.'

'True words, even so.'

'Yet here we are. I don't know why a silver-servant was sent for you, and the servant we speak of refuses to say a word.'

'It's only been two days.'

'This is our third, and still it looks unlikely that any progress will be made.'

He's tired. Aldir must want answers as much as she did. He and his uncle both. Isla had been so wrapped in her own head, she never considered how he and Sir Edric were taking the matter. Haana had masqueraded as someone dear to them ... a sister, a daughter ... did one truly exist, and if so, what had become of her?

Isla found his hand. 'I'm sorry. I know you wanted it to be true. Now you may as well have lost a sister.'

'I made a narrow escape, I'd say. One gives me quite enough trouble.'

Isla could not bring herself to smile, though she appreciated the sentiment. 'I know you were hoping that your mother –'

'The girl knew far too much. Of my mother ... her relationship with Sir Edric ... of me, of you ... how could she have learnt it all? My mother would never have betrayed me or my uncle.'

'Your mother never knew me. She could not have been the source.'

'Not the only source, you mean. The ring is still hers.' Even now he played with it absently, turning it on his finger. 'We played right into Haana's hand. We should have been more wary. Noi was right –'

'Don't let her hear you say that.'

Aldir smiled sourly. 'We shouldn't have let her stay with you. Ifrit's breath, Isla, she almost killed you. Then I truly would have lost a sister.'

Her hand strayed to the binding around her neck. Only a graze, but even that was too close for comfort. She almost had her, Haana had said. The thought stirred the storm in Isla's head. 'It was not her first time.'

'What are you saying?'

'She said she tried to take me in my sleep. Weren't it for Whitebill or my salamander, she likely would have done so.' And the cakes. Haana had mentioned the cakes ... it was all coming back to her, now. Had there been more than eggs and dough in the mixture? 'And that night in the alley ... I think it was her who knifed me.'

'My uncle must be told of this at once.'

Isla's throat clogged. There were too many questions. She doubted Sir Edric could answer any of them. She took her glass and drank, coughing at the sharpness that filled her mouth. 'This isn't water!'

'It's jin. My uncle received three entire barrels just last turn.'

'Djinn?' Isla spat. 'The demidaemon of air?'

'So it is named after for its devilishly chilling taste. But no, this beauty is a distilled beverage prepared in one of the smaller realms off the Godsthrone continent.'

'It tastes like a garden.'

'It is an acquired taste, yes.' He poured her another glass.

'We can force these down Haana's throat and she would be more inclined to speak.'

'Jin is much too valuable to waste on charlatans, though it does loosen one's tongue.'

Isla drew in a deep breath. 'Let me try, Aldir. I need to know. Let me speak to her.'
    

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