see.’ He hung her cloak on a wallhook and placed the carrying case beneath it. ‘Have you eaten?’ When she shook her head, he fetched a bowl and a spoon and ladled out a generous portion of lamb pottage from the crock on the hob.
‘I have herbal tea steeping in the pot – chamomile, lemon, and valerian to soothe the mind. Shall I pour you some, and perhaps add a splash of good Stippenese brandy? I was going to have some myself before retiring.’
‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘The stew is delicious. I was near starving. The ship’s mess was served early in the afternoon, and I was too nervous to eat much, knowing we were approaching your home.’
‘Help yourself to as much as you want. I usually break my morning fast with supper’s leftovers, but I’ll make us something much better tomorrow morning: buttered eggs with cocodrill sausage.’
He filled two plain pottery mugs, placing hers on the table and taking his own to an armchair that he pulled out from the wall.
‘Cocodrill? What manner of meat would that be?’ she asked.
‘The tail portion of a huge lizard that dwells in our jungle waterways. I make the sausage myself. Smoked and well-peppered, with onions and herbs, it’s fit for a king’s banquet.’
‘A king…’ She lowered her eyes to her food, then continued to eat in silence.
‘Is there still a price on my head?’ he inquired lightly.
‘The notices were taken down years ago.’
‘Ah. But I daresay the reward still stands, doesn’t it?’
‘I hope not,’ she murmured.
He paused in sipping his tea and leaned toward her. ‘Why? What do you mean?’
She shook her head and would not meet his gaze, so he left off asking questions, content to wait for her to explain herself in her own good time.
When she finished her meal he refilled their mugs and led her outside to the covered porch facing the canal. Several sturdy sling-stools with leather seats were set about a low stand, which held three little clay pots. Using his talent, he struck a finger-flame and touched it to the pots’ contents; fragrant smoke arose.
‘The resin’s smell keeps biting midges at bay most effectively. I wish we’d had it at our Deep Creek manorhouse.’
They sat side by side, drinking tea and listening to the night creatures. He had put out the lamp within the house and aside from the stars, the small lantern down on the dock gave the only light. She took a deep breath and reached for his hand. It was cool and rough with calluses.
‘I came to you for a reason, Deveron. I was sent by the Source.’
He said nothing, but his fingers tightened on hers.
‘He bespoke me some three weeks ago at the manor, giving me an urgent message for you. I left immediately. Tiglok’s sons carried me south to Mesta in their sloop, and there I took passage on an Andradhian clipper.’
‘This is the only reason you came, then.’ His voice was toneless. ‘You were compelled by that black manipulator. The One Denied the Sky has pulled you into his inhuman game. And now I suppose he seeks to re-enlist me as well.’
‘The choice to come here was my own, Deveron. I can’t deny how my heart leapt with joy at the prospect of seeing you once again, after so many years of not knowing whether you were dead or alive. The message…it’s vitally important. But once the Source told me where you were, neither the powers of heaven nor hell could have kept me from coming. Since you left me, there’s been no other. There could never be. But if – if it’s what you want, I’ll leave after saying what I must.’ Her eyes overflowed.
He took her in his arms. ‘Duna, Duna, don’t cry. I had to go away. It was the only way to keep you and Maris safe from Ironcrown’s evil minions.’
‘I know.’ She wiped her face on her sleeve and sat up straighter.’ ‘And here is the Source’s message. Make of it what you will. He asks that you return to High Blenholme with the utmost speed and stealth, using the Subtle Gateway sigil. You must go to Castle Morass in Didion and there take counsel of your – your twice-great-grandmother, after which you are to present yourself to the Sovereign of Blenholme and offer to serve and guide him as Royal Intelligencer once again.’
For a moment Deveron was rendered speechless. Then: ‘It’s a cosmic joke! One of those tricks the cursèd Beaconfolk are so fond of. What is the Source, save one of them? A renegade Light who now thinks to send me to my doom to serve some dark purpose –’
She touched his mouth with her free hand, cutting off the tirade. ‘Nay! Not so, love. He told me you would be welcomed. That your special services are sorely needed. That the New Conflict now enters its final critical stages, and its outcome depends upon the defeat of the Salka as well as the evil Lights who empower them. You can help bring that about.’
He drew away from her with a violent motion and rose to his feet. ‘I know almost nothing of the political situation on the island nowadays, save for the fragments of news that reach Mikk-Town and are gossiped about by my clients. Throughout this exile, I’ve deliberately avoided any attempt at scrying Conrig’s court – not that it would have been easy, from this great distance. I didn’t want to know what was happening in Blenholme. I still don’t want to know!’
‘Would you allow the island of your birth and all the human folk living there to fall prey to the Salka?’
He said nothing, turning his back to her and staring at the canal. His loud outburst had silenced the calls of the birds and frogs.
‘If you wish,’ she said with shy eagerness, ‘I can tell you much of what’s happened there. And once you’ve arrived in Didion, your great-great-grandmother –’
‘There’s no such person. My aged grandsire, who raised me after the death of my parents, never spoke of her. Even if she were alive, she’d be over a hundred years old. What use could such a feeble crone possibly be in a war against the Salka monsters?’
She rose and went to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. ‘That’s what you must discover, Deveron. You must return to Blenholme. Not for Conrig’s sake – he’s a tyrant unworthy of your love – but for the sake of the people he rules. For all his faults, he’s a strong Sovereign. He’s held the Salka in check this long, but only because the creatures have never taken full advantage of their sigil weaponry.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Do you know that the Salka leaders have activated the Great Stone known as the Potency? The Source told me that it’s a crucial tool of the New Conflict. Among other things, it can abolish the pain associated with sigil sorcery. Thus far, the monsters have made little use of it, perhaps for fear of offending the Beaconfolk and losing their magical weapons altogether. The minor sigils they now possess cause bearable pain, which they willingly endure. But lately the Salka have begun trying to fashion new sigils: not minor ones, but rather Great Stones like those once owned by their ancestors and by the rulers of Moss. If the monsters succeed in making these things, and then defy the Lights by abolishing the pain that limits the stones’ use, they’ll be unstoppable.’
‘Unstoppable,’ he repeated. ‘Yet Conrig Ironcrown is supposed
