Maya exchanged a look with Tanax, who frowned.
“It’s a miracle they haven’t blown themselves up yet,” he said. “No good comes of meddling with unsanctioned arcana.”
“Without Chosen or centarchs to power them, most of this stuff isn’t going to do much,” Beq said. “And sunsplinters are apparently hard to come by.”
She nodded at a table where several dozen of the small hemispherical jewels were laid out. None of them had the warm, healthy glow of a fully charged stone. Most barely flickered, and a few shone fitfully. Maya’s eyebrows went up when she saw the prices. A splinter that might power a blaster pistol for a few shots sold for enough money to keep a family fed for a year.
“You could always charge a few if we run out of cash,” Beq said with a weak smile. Maya chuckled, but Tanax only scowled.
“All right,” Maya said, catching his eye and lowering her voice. “We’re here to find Jaedia, not clean up the trade in unsanctioned arcana.”
“Right.” Tanax let out a breath. “So where do we start?”
“I have the location of the Order safe house,” Maya said.
“The one that Jaedia supposedly destroyed?” Beq said.
Maya nodded. “I thought we could take a look for ourselves. What’s left of the Order team in Grace has a new base, but Basel thought they might have someone on watch. If they do, we’ll make contact and get their help.”
It felt odd, saying that. Maya was used to petitioning for assistance from the Order. But she was a centarch now—even if I still don’t have a proper uniform—which meant that any Order agent was obligated to drop everything to assist her.
“That seems like a reasonable plan,” Tanax said. “How do we get to this safe house?”
Maya opened her mouth to answer, looked around the teeming market, and paused.
*
Grace lacked signposts or any other way of identifying its twisted warren of streets. Maya doubted that half of them had names. The roads were also too narrow for wheeled vehicles, so there were no cabs. Instead, palanquins were everywhere, little wooden huts on long poles carried by two, four, or six bearers. For a few thalers, they hired one of the larger models to bring them to the site of the Order’s old safe house, which turned out to be most of the way across the city. The confines of the palanquin were close and dim, with gauzy curtains shielding them from the streets outside, and the ride was bumpy and uneven. Beq looked like she was going to be ill, and Maya patted her sympathetically on the shoulder.
“This is what happens,” Tanax said, “when you don’t have a proper authority in charge.”
“They have a queen,” Maya said. “That’s an authority.”
“She’s apparently not interested in street planning.” The palanquin gave a bump, which made them all lurch. “Or leveling the ground. Or cobblestones.”
“The current queen of Grace is only fifteen,” Beq said. “There was a regency council at first, but her uncle tried to take the throne for himself, and she had him strangled. After that—” The vehicle lurched again, and she cut off, looking green.
Finally, they came to a halt and the bearers lowered the palanquin. Beq hurried out with unseemly haste. Maya paid—Basel had arranged for travel funds, most of which were stashed deep in her pack—and waited while they trooped away. They were left alone on a wide dirt road, fronted on either side by wide two-story buildings made of red brick, with sloping slate roofs and heavy shutters on their windows. From the look of it, they were mostly residences, and Maya guessed this was a wealthier part of town.
Their destination was obvious. A little ways along the road, one of the buildings was in shambles. The door hung open, dangling by a single hinge, and several windows on the bottom floor were broken. At one corner, part of the roof had collapsed, and there were marks of fire on the surrounding walls.
“I guess this is the place,” Tanax said, looking it up and down. “Do we know how many people were here when it happened?”
“Nine,” Maya said numbly. Basel had let her read the report. “Nobody made it out.”
Beq fiddled nervously with her spectacles, lenses flipping and whirring.
Maya gritted her teeth and stalked up to the building. The front door had been broken open by a single enormous blow, cracking the hardwood planks. Inside, much of the ground floor had been used as a common room by the agents stationed here, with several tables, a bookcase full of ledgers, and a small kitchen. Whoever had attacked the place—Maya refused to admit the possibility that it had been Jaedia, even in her own mind—had broken everything that came easily to hand. The stones of one fireplace had been torn apart, which had presumably started the fire, and that corner of the house was blackened and charred. There were vast brown stains spilled across the floorboards. Maya could easily imagine where they’d come from.
Something’s wrong. Maya took a few steps forward, leaving the other two in the doorway, and knelt to examine the remains of a table. She held up a broken leg for inspection and frowned.
“This is smashed,” she said, waving it in their direction. “Look, the end is splintered.”
Tanax raised an eyebrow. “Is that important?”
“You’ve never seen Jaedia fight?” When he shook his head, Maya went on. “She uses blades of wind. Very thin, very sharp. I’ve seen her dissect a leaf in midair and barely disturb its fall. The cuts are always clean.”
“Maybe she was angry?” Tanax said.
“Jaedia doesn’t get angry,” Maya said. “And … here.” She picked up part of a tabletop. “See this cut?” It looked like someone had gouged a long line with a chisel.
“It’s ragged,” Beq agreed, lenses clicking as she bent to examine it. “Like someone ripped at it.”
“That’s not much in the way of evidence,” Tanax said. “Jaedia might not have been alone.”
“She was alone,” a woman’s voice said, behind them.
Maya turned, hand automatically reaching for the haken concealed at the small of her back. She stopped with a conscious effort and glanced at Tanax, who’d dropped into a fighting crouch. He grimaced and straightened.
The woman leaning on the doorway was tall and lean, with long copper hair pulled into a twisted ponytail and very dark skin. She wore scavenger’s leathers and a sword, her features weathered by the elements. Her bright yellow eyes were wary, but she didn’t seem surprised to see them.
“Did you, um, live here?” Maya said.
“Am I an Order agent like you three, you mean?” The woman gave them a humorless smile. “You’re new to covert work, aren’t you?”
“You might say that.” Maya straightened up. “I’m Centarch Maya Burningblade. This is Centarch Tanax Brokenedge and Arcanist Bequaria.”
The woman pushed herself lazily off the doorframe and offered a half-hearted salute. “Scout Faressa. The Grace outpost is at your service, Centarch.” She slumped back into her relaxed posture. “What’s left of it, anyway.”
“You said Jaedia was alone,” Maya said. “How do you know? Were you here when the attack happened? I was told there were no survivors.”