Sianim 01 - Masques

spy on the ae’Magi—the same Ren who had once sent her to spy on his own brother.
    None of her disquiet showed on her face. She didn’t want to heed the intuition that was hinting that something was awry. She wanted to give her report with no more than the usual lies: Not even Ren knew that she could alter her shape. Shapeshifters used wild magic—and this was a world that had learned to fear magic used without strict limits.
    She wanted to ignore the insistent disquiet that the Mouse’s unusual reactions spawned, but she couldn’t. With visions of the docile people in the ae’Magi’s ballroom in her head, she bowed her head and waited.
    She’d never heard anyone say anything against the ae’Magi—only Wolf. The people the ae’Magi had brought out to sacrifice to his magic had come willingly. Only Wolf knew what he was—and he hadn’t really told her until he was certain she knew what she’d gotten herself into.
    While Ren talked, she carefully edited what she was going to tell him, waiting as he drifted from topic to topic until he got around to asking her about her mission.
    Aralorn gave him a brief description of her method of entry, incorrect, of course. Someday Ren would find out just how poor she was at picking iron locks and would be deeply disappointed.
    Ren needed to know about the ae’Magi, but somehow she found herself rattling on at length about the various heads of state at the dance the ae’Magi had held and obligingly going into as much detail as she could when Ren requested it. Evidently, he was only upset about her spying on the ae’Magi—otherwise, he wanted to know everything. He could pull surprising conclusions out of the smallest thing.
    “Wearing a red cape?” he said, after she’d described what one of the Anthran demiprinces was wearing. “It was a gift from his sister’s husband—looks like peace talks between their territories might be on again. We’ll be able to pull those troops out and use them elsewhere.”
    She hedged when he asked her about Myr, saying only that she’d seen him talk with the ae’Magi but hadn’t been near enough to hear what was said. Time enough to inform Ren of the young king’s interesting talent after she discovered what was making the Spymaster behave so out of character.
    To distract him from Myr, Aralorn continued to the main reason for her mission and said with some caution, “I couldn’t find any information on an assassination attempt. If there is a plot, it doesn’t originate from within the castle. I did get the impression that if there was such an attempt, the ae’Magi would be perfectly capable of handling it without need for our aid.”
    She paused, to give herself time to choose just the right words. “I left early, I know. But I felt so uncomfortable .” Uncomfortable was true, uncomfortable enough to curl into a quivering ball of jelly at the bottom of that cage. “I thought that I had better get out before he figured out who I was and took offense. If it were widely known that Sianim spied upon the ae’Magi, half the world would be angry at us.”
    “Ah yes, I quite understand.” Ren nodded and picked up another book—his habitual method of dismissal.
    If she needed confirmation that something was awry, she had it then. Ren would never, ever accept “uncomfortable” as a reason for leaving an assignment early without picking the vague term into pieces. Unhappy, and baffled by what to do about it, she exited the room.

    Alone, Ren put his book down and rubbed his hands together with great satisfaction. If that performance didn’t cause Aralorn to start thinking, then nothing would. He needed her to be suspicious and questioning, but also cautious.
    He’d had a feeling about her—she got out of too many situations that should have been fatal—and those eyes. He’d seen that color of eyes before. He had wizards who worked for him, but they’d have been useless. The office of ae’Magi existed to control them.
    She’d come right to him, and she was well and truly spooked, he thought, though he flattered himself that no one else would have been able to read that in her.
    He couldn’t afford to come out and warn her; the ae’Magi had his own ways of learning things . . . and if anyone would be subject to the Archmage’s watchful eye, it would be the Spymaster of Sianim.
    He rubbed his chest, pressing into his skin the charm he wore on a thong. A gift from a friend, another mage, it was supposed to be