Turold was rudely taken to a small room and locked in without further interrogation. Even Lord Gramsteed only looked back at him once, and then with a sort of expression that seemed to say, “I expected so much more…”
He tried to call his Familiar back to him, but try as he might, he cast no shadow by the flickering torch. Turold paced the walls, repeating the conversation with Giacinta (or whoever she was) over and over in his head, searching for clues, something he might use to his advantage. All he knew for certain was that the woman he loved was gone. Temporarily, permanently, he couldn’t be sure, but if she freed the god from his ancient tomb, what would be left to reclaim? Would she truly do the god’s bidding and destroy the city? Or worse?
No, not Giacinta—and she was still her, regardless. He had to believe that. Even so, what would it mean for Belladonna if the god left the city? The legends claimed that magic itself derived from his power, buried deep in the earth, sustaining the power of all the gems and crystals in the Observatory. If he took that power with him, would this power cease? Could magic depart like a summer storm? Were the stories true, that magic was a gift, and could be revoked, particularly as they had betrayed the giver?
So many questions, and no one to answer them. Hildigrim might have known. Sir Otrygg, certainly. Sonya Vasileyevna, even Lord Gramsteed. But they were all dead in various ways, and some might never return. If the Messengers had control of the Codex then nothing could stop them. The portals would remain open, long enough for entire worlds to pour in and enslave the living. Giacinta said he had nothing to fear, but could he trust someone who called herself ‘the Wind’? Besides, how was he to know the god didn’t betray them all those years ago, unwilling to share more than a few table-scraps of power?
He couldn’t pick the lock and nothing else in the room offered promise: no windows, tools, loose bricks, or rudiments of magic. Only time and disappointment. Defeated, he slumped into a corner, his thoughts circling and winding until they finally collapsed in exhaustion.
Hours and hours later, the door opened. It was very dark now, so he couldn’t make out the figure, though he expected Lord Gramsteed or one of his interrogators. Maybe even a Messenger to tie up loose ends?
“You’ve come to a fine end, Turold,” the voice said, sympathetically. “So much for your brief career as Astrologer Royal.”
“Sonya Vasileyevna?” he said, leaping up.
Was it really her, or just one of the Messengers, wearing her skin? Where was the real woman…or had she been killed already, her blood sprinkled over the portal gates?
“I shouldn’t be here—so keep your voice down,” she whispered, stealing into the room.
“Here to finish me off, whoever you are?” he said, sourly.
“I’m exactly who I appear to be, though you’ll find me somewhat repentant,” she said, stepping closer, the light catching her face. “We all used you for our own ends. Your Master most of all.”
“Don’t speak of him! You didn’t even know him!” he said, inching away.
“I knew him much better than you; I loved him,” she replied, crossing her arms. “And I believe he loved me. In fact, he entrusted me with his greatest secret, and I keep it even now.”
“What, that you were engaged to be married? That he jilted you to become my mentor?”
“My dear, that’s merely part of the secret, the smallest part. Yes, he did jilt me, as you say. I much preferred my own candidate, Astrid. I thought she was more up to the challenge. But you proved just as capable in the end.”
“What challenge? Being hoodwinked and betrayed?” he said, with a laugh.
“Betrayal was necessary for you both; you wouldn’t have gone along if you knew the truth. No magician would.”
She dragged the remains of a chair beside Turold and sat down, her back creaking with exhaustion and age. For the first time he noticed the toll life had taken on her, a woman who seemed so powerfully in control. A mask that she gratefully tossed aside when no one was looking.
“I promise you that I am Sonya Vasileyevna, though everything else you fear is true. I am working with the Messengers to summon the god and end his shameless exile. In this I’m doing your Master’s bidding, the goal we worked toward for so many long years, which was prevented only by his untimely death.”
“Hildigrim wanted this?” Turold said, almost coughing with disbelief. “To wake up the god? Why on earth would he want that?”
“Because he learned the truth as I have,” she said, stretching her neck from side to side. “We’ve exhausted the crystals, pushed our magic too far, taught too many people for the wrong reasons. Sooner or later, the god’s power will be exhausted…and so will Belladonna.”
“And waking the god saves the city…how?”
“It saves his life, for one. Turold, we imprisoned him here. He gave us power, and in return, we enslaved him.”
“How can you claim to know what happened hundreds or thousands of years ago, if indeed it even occurred? None of us were there—I don’t even know if this god even exists!”
Sonya Vasileyevna smiled, taking his hand in a way that skirted condescension by the kindness of her eyes.
“I know, I felt the same way. Even after Hildigrim explained it to me. But gradually, I saw the truth. I saw the greed, the hypocrisy. And you’ve seen even more. You’ve been down there. You’ve taken the cup. And you’ve seen her, haven’t you? You’ve looked into her eyes.”
“You knew about her?” he said, eyes wide.
“Of course. Lord Gramsteed told me about her, but even before, I sensed her presence. That first day in Sir Otrygg’s apartment, I knew you had seen her…I knew you weren’t telling me the truth.”
“Then why didn’t you—”
“Because I had to be cautious,” she interrupted, glancing toward the door. “Lord Gramsteed has long plotted against us. Whatever I attempted, he would be right behind me, laying down traps.”
“Like the Astrologer Royal? Astrid said you lobbied to get me this position. But Lord Gramsteed said it was Hildigrim! So whose trap was it? Or were they both lies?”
“Yes, we both lied…and both told you the truth. It was Hildigrim’s intention for you to get the post. He made me promise I would see it through. And so I have. The Codex was safer with you, and once the Messengers came through, you would be their liaison. They expected you.”
Footsteps approached the door. Sonya Vasileyevna silenced him and waited for the door to open. A guard peeked through with an inquisitive glance. She held up her hand and said, “another minute.” The guard looked pained but nodded and disappeared, closing the door behind him.
“I don’t have much time, as Lord Gramsteed doesn’t know I’m here. Just understand that nothing worked out as planned. Sir Otrygg got the position—a hopeless blunder on my part, a stunning coup for Lord Gramsteed—and then foolishly opened the portals. Never expected that. He brought her through, but he confused her; she forgot who she was. That’s why she was looking for you.”
“How was she looking for me? I still don’t understand who she is or where she came from!” he shouted.
“She’s one of the Four, the handmaidens of the god, who went into exile after his capture,” she said, trying to shush him. “To return, they needed the Codex to open the portals (which he did), and a Touchstone to restore their powers (which he couldn’t). Only you—the Touchstone—could do that.”
“You’re talking in circles! Why me? Because I’m such a fool, so easily duped by my friends?”
“No, because you’re one of the few who can hear the god. He can speak to you. Your vision…that was his voice. Also, the Wind…she would have killed anyone else. She did kill Sir Otrygg.”
“No—that’s not true, the insects—they killed him! His heart!” he protested.
“The Messengers despise humanity. Even if she forgot who she was, the hatred bubbled up…she killed him, repulsed by his greed. But you—you’re marked by the god. She knew you, even without knowing. That’s why Hildigrim chose you; he saw the marks. Astrid has it too, but Hildigrim overruled me. He said you had greater potential.”
“It’s too much…you’re still not telling me everything!” he said, almost weeping in frustration. “Why didn’t you tell this to Astrid? You know she doesn’t trust you–we thought you were kidnapped!”
“I had to make her think so, the others were watching. They’re agents of Lord Gramsteed,” she whispered. “I knew you would discover the truth together. Which is why I come here now: she’s in great danger. Lord Gramsteed means to capture her and force you to surrender. You have to find her first. She has the map—use it to secure the portals. They must remain open.”
“Naturally, I would love to help her, but as you can see, I’m under arrest. I wouldn’t get five feet out of this door…”
“What of your Familiar? Why can’t you use him?”
“He’s gone, I have no idea,” he shrugged.
Sonya Vasileyevna bit her lip, distracted.
“You sent him to meet her, yes?”
“Ah…yes, she was supposed to bring me the map, which is why she has it; I sent him to meet her. I went with Giacinta to find the cup.”
“Then it’s very lucky I came! Here, give me your hand…”
She took his hand and pressed it. A wave of nausea overcame him, making his vision go dark. When he came to, a second later, he was holding his own hand…but his hand was Sonya Vasilyevna!
“A simple parlor trick, and it won’t last long,” she said, shooing him out. “Find her immediately! And prepare for combat: your Familiar may not be happy to see you.”
“But what about you? If he finds you here—”
“I can deal with Lord Gramsteed,” she said, with a sneer. “But save Astrid, quickly! When you find her, tell her to fire the Lungwort. She’ll know what to do.”
“Fire the Lungwort? Ah, yes, very well, but are you sure…”
With a brutal shove he found himself colliding head first with the door. The guard immediately opened it and ushered him outside, taking a quick look back at Turold. Satisfied, he closed and locked the door, and gestured her down the hallway.
“Quickly, before he learns you’ve come! He told me specifically not to admit anyone—especially you.”
“My dear, I’ll vanish the same way I appeared,” Turold said, tapping his cheek.
