Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [58]
Chant’s brows suddenly furrowed in thought. Right before they’d arrived at the Cabal headquarters …
“What?” said Demascus.
“Remember we saw that black chariot in front of the Motherhouse? It was pulling away when we got there?”
Demascus nodded.
“Someone at court knows about the Cabal’s involvement. At the very least, they know about the demonic incursions, according to Lieutenant Leheren.”
“A black chariot?” said Riltana.
“Yes. Chased with silver like ice.”
Riltana breathed in. “Only the queen uses that coach,” she said.
“Are you sure?” replied Chant, looking at her quizzically. “I thought it might be an envoy of the Crown.”
“Well … I used to know someone who is close to the queen. Arathane reserves that conveyance for herself.”
Chant goggled. He said, “You know the queen? Extraordinary! Can you set up some sort of meeting?” He smiled, imagining himself talking with Queen Arathane.
“I didn’t say I know the queen—I know an associate of the queen!”
“Who?”
The woman looked uncertain, which Chant decided Riltana was not used to.
“Now’s not the time to be shy,” he wheedled. “If we’re going to get to the bottom of this before someone sends another monster after Demascus, we need to utilize all our resources, call in all our favors.”
Riltana said, “I know the queen’s niece.”
“Ho ho!” he crowed. “Right to the top! If it gets out I am a sometimes-confidant of the queen—”
“But … she hates me. I don’t even know if she would agree to see me, let alone try to set up a meeting.”
“What’s her name?”
“Her name is Carmenere.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AIRSPUR
THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
THE SETTING SUN DRAGGED RILTANA TOWARD A MEETING SHE both dreaded and gleefully anticipated. Her stomach couldn’t quite decipher her emotional state, so settled on feeling queasy.
Her rescuers were still in the pawnshop, but she expected they’d emerge soon. She’d insisted they wait until dark before visiting Carmenere. The woman wouldn’t appreciate seeing Riltana again, and would be even less happy to find her estranged friend in the company of two rough-looking men on her doorstep in the full light of day, where any passerby could see.
So they’d relaxed, though the pudgy shop owner had been overexcited at the possibility of meeting the queen. When Riltana proved too taciturn to respond to his ever wilder guesses about how likely they were to actually set foot in the audience chamber, he retired to his room above the shop for a nap. Demascus had busied himself looking through some old books Chant had shown him.
Riltana had decided against returning to her apartment to wait out the waning afternoon. Instead she found a place to sit and put up her boots in the square outside the shop. Chant’s pawnshop was beyond the edge of the Darkled Depths, far enough from the overhanging motes that a portion of the plaza enjoyed late afternoon sunlight.
She’d spent part of that time wondering about Demascus. Riltana was wary of surface judgments. Too much of her own life depended on manipulating how people saw her and reacted to her. So for her to believe Demascus had lived many lives, and that he was the reincarnation of someone who once rubbed shoulders with gods … Well, it was going to require more evidence than the man’s claimed memories and hints spelled out on a scarf, no matter how impressive a name it had.
Of course, Kalkan’s murder attempt made the whole thing too personal to ignore. If Kalkan was coming for Demascus again, Riltana would be hiding nearby, so she could slip a length of sharpened steel into his kidneys.
So she’d watched the comings and goings through the square. Genasi were a colorful people, but Riltana was used to the flashy dress of her fellow citizens, often chosen to further highlight the particular color and pattern of szuldar energy lines that marked most genasi’s faces.
It was the ones that took no particular effort to make themselves stand out that Riltana’s attention was automatically drawn to. She’d seen one such fellow a few times, apparently a windsoul by the glimpses