Spy Glass Read online

  But a message sent by courier will take five days. And, really, who would believe you over a magician assigned by Master

  Bloodgood?”

  I assessed the magician. Sandy brown hair fell in layers

  around his face and the tip of his nose looked as if someone had pushed it down toward his upper lip. He wasn’t bluffing.

  “That’s blackmail,” I said.

  “No. I’m protecting the Councilor.”

  I huffed in frustration. “No one sent me. As you pointed

  out, I’m not very popular with the Council or the Master Ma-

  gicians right now. I came to ask Tama for a job, but when I saw how…fragile she had become, I wanted to help her instead.”

  The truth. When he failed to reply, I added, “Besides, I had

  planned to convince her of your…good intentions? Maybe I

  need to rethink that. Unless you’d rather she not trust you

  enough to let you be in the same room with her?”

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  His stance relaxed a smidge.

  I pressed my advantage. “And I’m positive her view of magi-

  cians wouldn’t improve if I told her you’d been using magic

  to spy on her.”

  “I’m not spying. I’m doing my job.”

  “Then why isn’t she surrounded by a null shield? That

  would have protected her.”

  “Not from you.” He gestured to me. “You could have at-

  tacked her with your sais. Magic isn’t the only weapon.”

  “But she’s surrounded by guards at all times.”

  “Guards you selected.”

  “They’re Fulgor soldiers. They’re more loyal to her than

  you,” I shot back.

  He crossed his arms again. This conversation had gone

  nowhere. I returned my sais to the holder hanging around

  my waist. Long slits in my cloak allowed me to access them

  without getting tangled in the fabric.

  “How about a truce?” I asked.

  “I’m

  listening.”

  “I believe Tama can sense your magic on an unconscious

  level.” I held up my hand when he opened his mouth. “Hear

  me out. In order to help her over her fear of magicians, I need you to stop the protective magic. If you feel she’s in danger,

  you can surround her with a null shield. And in return, I will

  keep you updated on her progress.”

  He considered my offer. “Not you. I want the Councilor’s

  First Adviser to give me twice daily reports.”

  So he could read Faith’s mind to ensure we didn’t lie to

  him. “Fine.”

  “And you have to answer two questions.”

  Wary, I asked, “What questions?”

  “Why didn’t you tell Master Bloodgood about your

  immunity?”

  He couldn’t use magic to determine if I lied, but he studied

  me with a strong intensity. Remembering what Valek had

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  Maria V. Snyder

  said about my poor acting skills, I kept as close to the truth as possible.

  “At first, I hoped my powers would return after I healed.

  They didn’t. Now, since the Council and Bain are dealing with

  the consequences of the soon-to-be-extinct glass messengers,

  I wanted to keep a low profile until things settled to a point

  where I can tell Bain and he’ll be more receptive to figuring

  out a way my immunity can help Sitia.” I waited, hoping that

  last bit wasn’t too much.

  “Why did you come looking for a job in Fulgor?” Zebb

  asked.

  “Obviously, I can’t go to the Citadel and my hometown,

  Booruby, is filled with glass factories.” I lowered my gaze, not having to pretend to be upset. The hot sweet smell of molten

  glass fogged the streets, and the glint of sunlight from shops

  displaying glasswares pierced the air. It was impossible to avoid the reminders of what I had sacrificed.

  “I have a few friends in Fulgor. It seemed like a good place

  to start,” I said.

  He agreed to the truce, but also puffed out his chest and

  threatened to tell the Council about my immunity if I failed

  to keep him informed. I ignored his bluster. What concerned

  me more was I still didn’t know why Zebb failed to erect a

  null shield around Tama. Until then, I wouldn’t trust him.

  Tama Moon’s confidence crept back over the next twenty

  days. We had weeded out the inexperienced guards and as-

  sembled a group of seasoned veterans with f lawless service

  records. Nic’s team remained her personal bodyguards, but

  her distrust of magicians failed to abate despite my assurances and the lack of magic.

  The taverns buzzed with general rumblings from the citi-

  zens over the mass firings of the guards, but otherwise their

  biggest concern was over why their Councilor hadn’t returned

  to the Citadel.

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  Sipping wine at the bar of the Pig Pen, I overheard bits of

  a conversation from a few people talking nearby.

  “…they’re making resolutions without her.”

  “…we need someone to speak for our clan.”

  “First Akako and now this…maybe we should demand her

  resignation.”

  “The Council could assign someone…”

  “…they take forever to make a decision.”

  When they turned to another subject, I stopped listening.

  Their accurate comment about the Sitian Council and the

  slow pace of decisions snagged on one of my own worries.

  What if the Council decided to execute Ulrick, Tricky and

  his goons before I had a chance to find out where they hid

  my blood? A slight risk, but still a possibility. Perhaps it was time to resume my own project.

  I had planned to ask Tama to arrange a visit with Ulrick for

  me, but no visitors were allowed inside Wirral. And I couldn’t

  find any exceptions—like by order of the Councilor—to that

  rule. I needed an alternative plan.

  “Faith, do you have a minute?” I asked from the threshold

  of her office.

  “Sure, come in.”

  Sunlight streamed in from the large glass windows behind

  her. I suppressed the memory of being here when Gressa had

  occupied the First Adviser’s position. Then I had been mana-

  cled and considered a criminal. Instead, I noted the lush carpet and rich furniture. Her office was as ornate as the Councilor’s, but smaller.

  I settled into a comfortable chair in front of Faith’s desk.

  When she smiled at me, a prick of guilt jabbed me. Squashing

  all such feelings, I stayed pleasant as we exchanged small talk.

  Eventually, she asked what I needed.

  “Tama has improved so much over the last twenty-five

  days, but she is still terrified of Zebb,” I said.

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  Maria V. Snyder

  “That’s understandable,” Faith said.

  “I know, but the townspeople are worried about her missing

  Council sessions and if she doesn’t return soon, there could

  be a call for her resignation.”

  Faith tsked. “There are always naysayers out there. You

  can’t please everyone.”

  “True, but I have an idea that might help.”

  Her eyebrows arched as she waited for me to continue.

  “I’m assuming her sister Akako and Gressa are in the maxi-

&nbs
p; mum security prison?”

  “Yes, they are both in the SMU along with those other

  men.”

  “Do you know the correctional officers who work in the

  SMU?” I asked.

  “Not personally. They’re a specially trained elite unit.

  In fact, there are only a handful of people allowed in the

  SMU.”

  “Do the officers live there?” That seemed extreme.

  “No.” She tapped her fingertips together. It was an uncon-

  scious habit that she displayed whenever the logic in a conver-

  sation didn’t quite add up; as if she could push all the illogical pieces together and build something she could understand. I’d

  spent more time with her than I realized. Tama had made an

  excellent choice when she appointed the practical and sensible

  Faith as her First Adviser.

  “Do you have the names of those in the elite unit?” I

  asked.

  “How is this related to Tama’s fear of Zebb?”

  Time for a little creative reasoning. “We did background

  checks on all the guards in the Council Hall and Tama has

  relaxed. She’s afraid of a magical attack. So I thought if we

  did some digging into the backgrounds of the unit, she would

  feel better, knowing the men and women guarding those who

  know blood magic are trustworthy. I know I would sleep

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  better with that information. And I think we should check

  into Zebb’s history, as well.”

  Faith’s hands stilled and she pressed her steepled index

  fingers to her lips. “Why don’t you just ask Tama for their

  names?”

  “She would want to know why I was interested. And it’s

  more complicated than with the Hall’s guards. Then we were

  just weeding out the inexperienced and those of question-

  able repute. The unit has been with these prisoners for over a

  season. What if we discover a real problem? Akako could have

  assigned moles in the prison just in case her plans failed. You know Tama requests daily updates, and I can’t lie to her. She

  would be terrified by the notion. I’d rather wait and tell her

  good news once we assess the situation.” I held my breath.

  “A reasonable plan, and I agree we shouldn’t tell the Coun-

  cilor. At least not yet.” Faith opened a drawer in her desk,

  pulling out a sheet of paper. “I’ll send a request to Wirral’s

  warden.”

  Uh-oh. I hoped to keep the number of people involved to

  two. “Don’t you have that information here?”

  “No. Grogan Moon is in charge of all Wirral’s per-

  sonnel.”

  “Is his office in the Hall?”

  “No. It’s at the prison where he spends most of his time.

  He comes here for meetings with the Councilor and other

  clan business.” She dipped her quill into ink and wrote the

  request.

  After she folded the paper and sealed it with wax, I jumped

  to my feet. “I’ll deliver the message.”

  She

  hesitated.

  “I want to make sure it reaches the warden and not some

  underling. Besides, I think it’ll be helpful if I take a look around.”

  As soon as I entered, the solid mass of the prison’s stone

  walls bore down on my shoulders. The air thickened and I

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  Maria V. Snyder

  fought to draw a breath. I clutched Faith’s request in my hands, which were pressed against my chest as if it were a shield.

  With each step, I sank deeper into the bowels of Wirral.

  My escort held a torch, illuminating his aggrieved scowl. Most

  messengers delivered their communications to the officers

  at the gate, but I had insisted on handing the missive to the

  warden himself.

  After an intense debate, an order to disarm and a thor-

  ough search of my body, I had been permitted to enter. I’d

  regretted my insistence as soon as the first set of steel doors slammed behind me. The harsh clang reverberated off the

  stone walls, and matched the tremor of panic in my heart.

  More sets of locked gates followed until I lost all track of time or location.

  Rank and putrid smells emanated from dark hallways.

  Shrieks of pain, curses and taunting cries pierced the air. We

  didn’t pass any cells. Thank fate. I had no wish to view the

  conditions nor the poor souls trapped in here.

  Eventually, the officer led me up a spiral staircase so narrow

  my shoulders brushed both walls. The acrid odors disappeared

  and the oily blackness lightened. Dizzy with relief and the

  fast pace, I paused for a moment by the only window we en-

  countered. Drinking in the crisp breeze, I looked down on

  an exercise yard. Completely surrounded by the prison, the

  packed dirt of the square at least allowed the prisoners some

  fresh air and sunlight.

  My escort growled at me to hurry, and I rushed to catch

  up. The top of the staircase ended at another steel door. After a series of complicated knocks from both sides of the door, it

  swung open, revealing two officers wedged in a small ves-

  tibule. Another round of explanations followed another pat

  down.

  Yep. This had been a bad idea. One of my worst.

  I was finally admitted to the warden’s office. Windows

  ringed the large circular room. A stone hearth blazed with

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  63

  heat in the center, and behind a semicircle-shaped desk sat the warden.

  My first impression—big bald head. Second—an immacu-

  late uniform cut so tight wrinkles would be impossible. An-

  other man lounged in a chair next to the desk. He also wore

  a correctional officer’s uniform, but instead of the standard

  blue, his shirt and pants were deep navy and no weapons or

  keys hung from his belt. He eyed me with keen interest.

  My escort waited for the warden to acknowledge our pres-

  ence before approaching the desk. I lagged behind and tried

  not to duck my head when the warden turned his irritation

  on me. Steel-gray eyes appraised me, and I stif led the need

  to scuff my foot and fidget like a small child. He stood and

  held out his hand. His movements were so precise and rigid,

  I wondered if his bones had been replaced by metal rods and

  his f lesh petrified by years spent inside this stone prison.

  “The message?” His voice matched his demeanor. Rough

  and sharp.

  I handed him the request. He snatched it, ripped it open,

  scanned the words and tossed it on his desk. “Go,” he

  ordered.

  “But—”

  “What? Am I supposed to hand you the information?” His

  tone implied yes would be the wrong answer.

  “Er…” Wonderful retort. Opal, the superspy.

  “Am I supposed to stop everything I’m doing to give you

  classified documents?”

  “Um…”

  “Go

  now.”

  I used to believe a powerful Daviian Warper addicted to

  blood magic was the scariest person I’d ever encounter. Not

  anymore.

  Outside and several blocks away from Wirral, I sucked in

  huge gulps of air, trying to expel the fetid taint of the prison

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  Maria V. Snyder

  inside me. My gasps turned to hiccupy giggles as I imagined

  going through with my original plan to work undercover as

  a correctional officer. Light-headed and unable to draw in a

  decent breath, I reached for a lantern post as my head spun.

  I missed and toppled to the ground. Dazed, I waited for the

  spinning to stop.

  “Hey! Are you all right?” a man asked. He peered down

  at me in concern.

  “Fine. Fine.” I waved him away. “Just lost my balance.”

  He knelt next to me. “It’s brutal the first time.”

  I squinted at him. “What?”

  “You were in Wirral. I thought you looked…shaky.”

  Recognizing the man from the warden’s office, I pushed

  to my elbow in alarm. “You followed me?”

  “Of course. Your face was whiter than a full moon, your eyes

  were bugged out and you wobbled when you left. What was

  I suppose to do? Let you fall and crack your head open?”

  “No…sorry. I’m just… That was horrible!”

  “It’s a punishment. It’s not supposed to be fun.”

  “But it seemed…cruel.”

  “What

  did?”

  Was he teasing me? A cool humor lurked behind his

  grayish-green eyes, but it didn’t spoil his genuine interest in my answer.

  “The smells, the shrieks, the darkness, the…”

  He waited. When I didn’t continue, he said, “Did you

  actually see anything cruel?”

  “No,

  but—”

  “Your imagination filled in the details.”

  I wanted to correct him. Not my imagination, but my

  experience.

  “I won’t lie to you. It is bad, but not cruel. They’re fed,

  given water, exercise and fresh air. No one is tortured or

  harmed by the COs. And considering what most of them have

  done to others, it’s more than they deserve. Here…”

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  65

  He hooked his arm under mine and helped me to my feet.

  I swayed, but regained my balance, trying to remember the

  last time I ate.

  “What are COs?”

  “Short for correctional officers. We abbreviate every-

  thing.”

  The man still held my arm.

  “Thanks for the help,” I said, trying and failing to subtly

  break his strong grip. “I’ll be fine.”

  He gave me a skeptical look. “You need a drink, and I know

  just the place.”

  Instinctively, I gauged his skill level. About six inches taller than me, he had a lean, wiry build. Buzzed black hair showed