The Threads of Magic by Alison Croggon (best books for students to read .TXT) 📗

riffraff. We’re fairly certain it was taken by a young pickpocket with links to witches. The entire office has since been devoted to its recovery.”

Oswald was silent, staring out the window. Finally he turned around. “Do you know what this Stone Heart is?”

“No,” said Ariosto.

“But I think you can guess,” said Oswald.

“My guesses, sire, are at best stabs in the dark. I know it is a magical artifact. I know that it was made by a witch from the heart of the crown prince Clovis, just after Axel the First seized the throne. I suspect it has great power.”

Oswald turned again to the window. It seemed to Ariosto that he was suppressing agitation, but it was hard to tell. Like most nobles, Oswald was adept at hiding his feelings.

The assassin waited, wondering how his gamble would pay off.

At last Oswald turned to face him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I thought it might interest you.” Ariosto permitted himself another direct glance and looked away. There was a red flame in Oswald’s eyes. Or perhaps he was imagining it.

“As it happens, it interests me deeply. What do you wish to gain by telling me this?”

Ariosto cleared his throat. “I am the best assassin in all Continentia. Perhaps you might be keen to employ someone of my skills in your personal retinue.”

At this, Oswald laughed. “Had enough of Lamir, eh?”

“I believe he is not the man I thought he was,” said Ariosto. Or maybe, he added privately, he is exactly the man I knew he was.

“Do you know where the Stone Heart is?”

“No, sire. We’re assuming that it is in the possession of witches. Most likely a witch called Amina Bemare, who escaped from the office last night through magical means.”

“And do you have any idea why Lamir wanted it?”

“No, sire.” Ariosto cleared his throat again. “I assume that it may serve his personal ambition in some way.”

Another silence. Ariosto simply waited.

“So why this sudden transfer of allegiance? I wonder,” said Oswald.

“I hate Lamir.” Ariosto spoke coldly, without expression. “With every part of my body and every part of my soul.”

“Dear me. Lamir must be in a state if he’s alienating his most loyal staff.”

“Yes, sire.”

Another pause.

“I’m surprised that Lamir never made you a Specter,” said Oswald conversationally. “You would have made a most excellent vessel.”

Ariosto felt a stab of terror as everything fell into place and his mouth went dry. He had known, of course, that Lamir had unusual powers, but he had never suspected that he was a Specter himself. His licked his lips, trying to think of what to say.

Oswald examined his face, a cold smile on his lips. “Dear me, you had no idea, did you? In any case, one has to begin in childhood. No doubt your breeding is vulgar, and the thought caused Lamir distaste. I confess I have similar distaste. One only wants the finest vessels for one’s soul, after all.”

He walked up to Ariosto and forced up the assassin’s chin with his finger. Ariosto stared into his eyes, unable to move.

There was no warning, none of the theatrics that the cardinal was so fond of. There wasn’t time to feel afraid. Ariosto only had time to note that he hadn’t imagined the red fire in Oswald’s eyes.

Oswald said a single word in a low voice, and Ariosto burned up instantly from inside. It was too quick for pain. For an instant he was a blazing column of fire, which went out almost as quickly as it appeared. Then a gray, man-shaped shell crumbled into a small pile of ash on the expensive carpet.

It was, by Oswald’s standards, a merciful death. He glanced down, his face expressionless.

A shame, he thought. A criminal waste of some truly exceptional talents. But he couldn’t trust that the man wouldn’t do something foolish. Despite everything, the chief assassin Ariosto, the most feared man in the kingdom of Clarel, was an innocent.

What he had revealed certainly explained a few things about the cardinal’s conduct. Oswald walked over to the window and gazed out blankly, digesting the information Ariosto had just given him.

The Stone Heart. Was it everything that repute made it? It was hard to say, since it had been made by a witch.

Oswald-Rudolph understood everything there was to know about blood magic. He doubted that witches had an equal understanding of Specters to his own, although it was difficult to be certain. Witches were, in the end, blinded by their own shortsightedness, their vain desire to do good.

If the rumors held any truth, the Stone Heart was a tool of unsurpassed power. But equally, it could be used to destroy every single Specter . . . And the cardinal, fool that he was, had let the witches get hold of it.

Oswald-Rudolph’s first impulse was to leave Clarel, pleading urgent affairs at home, and leave these incompetents to their own mess.

On the other hand, he was reluctant to leave without the princess, since he needed her for his next vessel. And if the cardinal did find the Stone Heart and succeed in unlocking its powers, he could be unstoppable. Oswald turned on his heel, thinking deeply. Perhaps he should find the princess first. He could trace her fairly easily with some simple magic. And secondly, he must find the Stone Heart. That might be a little more difficult, but surely not impossible, if he reached for his powers.

He ought to tell his staff to prepare for departure from Clarel, just in case. But in the meantime . . .

He summoned his secretary. “I have,” he said, “a sentimental request.”

“At your service, sire,” said the secretary. A well-trained servant, he pretended not to notice the pile of ash on the carpet.

“I am afire with love for Princess Georgette, as you know. And I find I have the fancy to hold something that belongs to the princess. Something that she values, something that is precious to her, so I may the better summon her to mind.”

His secretary bowed. “I shall enquire of