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Chapter Six

The prickling attention of the market-goers returned the moment Isaiah was away from Verde's stall. Not that it had ever disappeared, but it was easier to ignore it in the coppersmith's warm presence. Isaiah had not felt this way since he'd first begun visiting the market in plainclothes nearly a decade prior, braced for the gawking of people used to seeing their royalty through the windows of gilded carriages. They'd adjusted rapidly then, learning to leave Pekea alone as she worked, to ask when he needed assistance, and to open up to conversation as he learned names and voices and listened to them in return.

That had shifted today. It was the whispers in the streets. The flirtatious tone in the voices of some of the women he spoke to about unrelated matters. There had always been some of those, but even with the disappearances weighing on their minds, some who'd gotten word of his new courtship plans had ramped up their bid for eligibility without a trace of shame. Others turned shy, still others, sympathetic. It was like being a stranger in his own realm all over again. And all that came just as fears of a beast or rogue Talak began to sink in their claws. Isaiah would have brought up the timing of the marriage announcement with his parents as profoundly poor planning, if only the two were separable.

He would have to field more courtship talk tonight. Only if he was lucky would he make it down to the archives to follow up on his most intriguing encounter of the day.

The streets of Calis emptied of their crowds as Isaiah walked. He could tell the exact stretch where the land finally rose high enough to stand above the Talakova's monstrous trees. A breeze sprang up from the direction of the forest, scented like summertime. Autumn pooled in the lowlands from the moment the late asters bloomed, like the scents of rich loam and fallen leaves carried more weight than those of warm grass and greenery. If Isaiah was being honest, he preferred the former. If nothing else, the walk from the palace to the Talakova's edge was a pain to anyone uninclined to ride in a carriage. He would have sledded the downhill distance in his teens when ice slicked the cobblestones each winter, but his parents had thought that unbecoming of a prince.

Sunset fell warm against his back by the time he reached the palace. The clink of the small, wrought-iron door to the left of the gate heralded his arrival. Isaiah returned the guard's greeting with a weary smile. Inside the palace walls, the breeze died. The damp coolness and heavy scent of dew settled over the meadow-lawns on this side of the grounds. Crickets chirped in muffled abundance. Pekea relaxed her stance on Isaiah's shoulder. Her sniffing made a small huffing sound that never got less cute no matter how many times he heard it, and she snapped at evening bugs that hummed by. Isaiah tucked his cane under his arm and flexed the hand that had held it. He knew his way around the palace, and the gardeners knew to keep the garden paths clear. Walking was easier from here.

For not the first time, Isaiah wished he could soak up the peace of the meadow-lawns and carry it with him into the palace. Such a reserve of energy might get him through the evening. He slowed his steps ever further until he reached the front door. No guards stood here. He hauled it open on his own.

Bustling footsteps preceded his mother's exclamation.

"Oh, there you are, love! We've been waiting for you. It's almost dinnertime."

Her voice was syrupy enough to give a person cavities. Isaiah tensed as she trotted right up to him and engulfed him in a hug. He returned it stiffly. It went on for too long. As soon as his mother released him, he stepped back.

"What kept you?" she fussed, catching his arm before he could retreat any further. Isaiah had to fight every reflex not to yank away. "Your father and I have been talking about you all evening. We were starting to worry."

"Talk in the town," said Isaiah. Just before dinner was not the time to broach the topic of compensations. "I was assuaging fears about the last disappearance. I'm sorry for being late."

That was a lie. He'd known the whole way here that arriving just in time for dinner would spare him half an evening's chatter about the upcoming courtship preparations, and increase the chances that his mother would remain chipper over dinner.

"Always so hard-working," she gushed. Her simpering fondness made Isaiah's skin crawl. "That's my son. Well, good that you're here now, because your father and I are planning music and food. And invitations! And I'm going to order flowers, but I wasn't sure which ones you preferred, or which might be overwhelming; it's going to be quite the night already, and I know strong scents don't help. Come wash up and eat with us. And Pekea—"

The Sanddragon stiffened at the sound of her name. Isaiah could imagine his mother wagging a finger at her.

"—No chewing on the ribbons this time, or I'm afraid we shall have to exclude you from the ball preparations. I'm sure Isaiah would be very unhappy about that."

The words were loaded. Isaiah kept his face neutral, knowing that was directed at him. Only when his mother turned and sailed back up the hallway did Pekea nuzzle his cheek. He rubbed her head, and got a headbutt in return.

"Be good, please," he murmured. "I don't want to be alone in there with them."

She responded with another nuzzle. She had no intention of leaving the ribbons alone—Isaiah suspected they reminded her of feathers, and she liked to nest with them—but she seemed willing to cooperate so long as he was in the room.

He would have to find time amidst the preparations to press his parents on compensations, and to break the news about the second disappearance. He knew the formal message wouldn't arrive until at least tomorrow morning, when the City Guard confirmed with the family and finished the requisite paperwork. But he couldn't let it slide. He also wanted to get a head-start on the back end. That meant staying up late tonight if his parents acquiesced. If they didn't, it was likely that the conversation would lock down, only loosened by a night's sleep and pressure from the City Guard themselves. If it loosened at all.

Saying anything else to Pekea risked tempting him into saying things he didn't want to verbalize. Isaiah rubbed her head again before following his mother. He had not yet reached the dining hall when her authoritative voice rang out from inside. "Then hurry it up!" was the first coherent sentence, and Isaiah froze. The words, though, were followed by, "Then make it two courses if you have to. I expect to see food on this table within a quarter turn, and no later."

Dinner was late. Isaiah's mind raced as he let out the breath he'd been holding. He could pass off a quick trip to the archives as time spent heading to his room to grab a new shirt and rinse the dust from his arms, provided he actually made that trip to back up the lie. Pekea perked up as he retreated to the nearest offshoot of the hallway. He ducked around the corner and halted to listen for any sign that his departure had been noticed. He couldn't get caught doing this. But if his mother had her way, he may not have another spare moment between now and two days from this evening, and he did not want to wait that long.

He was alone. Isaiah broke from his stance and made his way quickly to the back of the palace and down the basement stairs. He heard Eliane, the palace record-keeper, long before reaching the archives.

"Scat!" she snapped. By the sound of her voice, she was still in the archive room. "Shoo! Get out of here, you meddlesome bird, or I'll hand you off to the Pasternaks to feed to the Talaks next Crow Moon."

Every barrower made a maintenance offering to the Talaks each new moon as part of the deal they cut to get their magic in the first place. What prey they offered varied by magical lineage. The Pasternak family offered crows.

"Out!" commanded Eliane.

Isaiah was close enough now to hear the loud flapping that followed her words. The crow made its escape just before he arrived. Eliane slammed the window behind it.

"And you just had to make a mess of my reference section, didn't you," she grumbled as she turned back to the room. She startled audibly. "Isaiah! Gave me a fright. Is it not dinnertime?"

Isaiah put on a smile that he hoped looked genuine. "Dinner is late, so I came to check something before it escapes me. Would you mind? I apologize if I'm keeping you late."

"Not at all." Her voice regained its usual fond vigor. "If it's a quick thing, it's no trouble at all. How may I be of assistance?"

"I'd like to check a name in our last census register."

"Easy enough." Eliane moved back among the shelves. In all of a moment, she'd hauled down a book—a fat one, by the thump it made when she dropped it on her desk. "What is the surname?"

"Landau."

She dug a finger among the pages and laid the book open with impressive accuracy. It took her only a couple more page-turns to find the name. "And first?"

Isaiah hesitated. If not for the disquiet feeling that had niggled at him ever since meeting Niccola, he would not have taken to tracking her name through the census behind her back. It felt like an invasion of privacy. Yet his comment about crow behavior around the Ring of Thirty had been carefully chosen, and he could not forget her shocked pause in response. She hid it well. But if his gut feeling stood even a chance of being correct, he needed to confirm this before making further assumptions.

"Niccola," he said.

A soft sound traced the book as Eliane ran her finger down the page. "Not here."

"Thank you." He paused to give the impression that another thought had only just occurred to him. "Is it a relatively new surname? Landau, that is."

"Aye. It only turned up in the census in your grandparents' generation." Eliane closed the book and returned it to its shelf. "If my memory serves me correctly, it stems from a woman named Bethany Landau. A barrower, first in her line. She changed her name after cutting her deal with the Talaks shortly after... well, after what happened back then. Made it up on her own and caused a right headache in the archives. She and her progeny were terribly prolific."

Changing last names was not an uncommon practice among new Calisian barrowers. For all the barrowers in the realm and all the good work they did to keep it running, magic remained a point of suspicion for many common townsfolk—and certainly for the upper class. It was courteous to protect one's family from association with it. Isaiah had never been able to determine if this attitude predated the realm's falling-out with Varna, or resulted from it.

"What is their lineage?" he asked. New magic-lines were uncommon enough that Eliane made a point of memorizing every active lineage present in the realm.

"Oh, nothing much. Wood-bending, I believe. Lots of architects, carpenters, and basket-makers. Their maintenance offerings aren't more than a barn mouse."

That explained their fecundity. With such a small toll paid to the Talaks each Crow Moon, Isaiah doubted many Landau barrowers would see burden in passing their magic and its associated maintenance to half their children. The benefits far outweighed the costs.

The timing of the name and lineage's appearance, though, lent gravity to Isaiah's suspicions. If the Landaus originated in Calis after it and Varna closed their shared border and cut ties, the chances of the name migrating anywhere but Madeira were slim to none. Yet Niccola had claimed it. Falsely, perhaps. Her name had not shown up in the latest Calisian census, and that wasn't Isaiah's only reason for suspecting she wasn't a native resident like she seemed inclined to pretend to be. Her accent, carefully hidden but slipping out when she talked to her area of expertise, was not Calisian, either. It was from Varna.

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