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There were only two people in all the city that he trusted unconditionally.
One was himself.
And the other was Teigra.
With his mother’s warning still hot in his ears, he passed her the folio. “Burn it after you’ve read it, Tiggy. Pummel the ashes and scatter them to the wind. Our journey just became a lot more interesting.”
16
TEIGRA
The lamp carved deep shadows from her bed—daggers of dark that danced around the room with each flap of the heavy curtains. Those pools of black slid up her simple dresser and her simple mirror. They slunk over her simple chest of left-behind possessions and her simple scroll hive, full of biographical details of the Cosmin stables for over a hundred years.
The simple things of her simple life.
A life which was just hours from ending.
Teigra rubbed her knuckles into her eyes. It was not to stop herself from sleeping, for there was no chance of that happening, but rather to force some moisture back into them.
It must have been well past midnight now. She should have been in bed hours ago.
It was the wisdom that everyone had given her. Jaspar had said, Get your head down early, Teigra, it will be a big one tomorrow! Mother had nodded with something that almost resembled pride when she returned from her eventful evening with Aurelius, thick armfuls of scrolls clutched to her chest, telling her to turn in at once. Even Jaronas had rushed into her room after a hasty and simple dinner to help her pack her bag, making sure that she could get as much sleep as possible.
It was all good advice. Reserve her energies for the long journey by carriage to the other side of the country. To make sure that she was alert and able to cram in as much as possible on her short window on the road. To put herself in the best position to impress the high envoy, Ms. Ramuna Securia, by being well-read and well rested—rather than dry eyed and dull.
But... she couldn’t.
Not now that she knew what she knew.
Not now that she had what she had.
Instead of sleep, she was scouring over the folio Aurelius had given her.
The folio of Aunty Urosina’s cables...
For long hours, Teigra’s fingertips ran over parchments and inks gathered from all across Dynosia. There were the simple and economical buffs that Apaderma supplied to the rest of Mestibes, crossed with well-performing but unfancy black swirls. Others were dark and thicker leather, sent from cities across Ardora and Rinath and Vaticily, more wide strokes than cursive flicks, and written with inks that tended toward browns and earth reds and even deep greens. And finally, there were the parchments so light and so thin and so white they could only be Kanilada Creams, the most expensive parchments in all the country. These were sent from Ondocis, of course, with pen strokes as thin as a needle and with inks that shifted as bright and purple as the dyes Aurelius had on some of his finest tunics.
And every line had been written by Urosina’s hands.
The same hands that had clapped her shoulders in celebration after she’d won her first race at just thirteen years old. The same hands that had picked her up as a giggling child, on those rare occasions Ura had found herself back home in Mestibes, and thrown her up toward the sky. The same hands that had held her close when no one else dared, when the tears over her wicked mistake had been too sharp to suppress any longer.
These were the hands that had written more than twenty years of news back her master. Little triumphs and great frustrations. Short scandals and long explanations. The hands which had written down farming techniques and shipping patterns and page after page of laws passed in towns big and small. Twenty years of weddings and births and betrayals. Hands that had recorded a frontline glimpse into almost every coup and shift of power and important event in all Dynosia for over two decades!
And then there were the pages on Ardora itself. These were the hands that had provided a trove of insights into family names and petty squabbles and little tricks with individual personalities. Of leverage points to achieve the best results. Of lords and ladies and leaseholders. Of who could be set against who to get the most trade and most value for Mestibes.
Hands that had recorded it all...
And this was it. These pages were the only copies that existed.
With each turn of the page and each swirl of text, she could almost hear Ura again—those little turns of phrase that made her voice seem to carry with the flickering light. There were unsavory sorts in the courts and complex individuals in the chambers of power. There were uncluttered minds in the pubs, and the women of high ambitions in the bedrooms.
And then, as the pages already read started to vastly outnumber those that remained, the language shifted again. The messages became shorter and more urgent. The pen strokes wider and less delicate. Like the text was written with a faster and heavier hand.
As the stack dwindled, Teigra’s shoulders pinched together, and her heart quickened. Each flip was a countdown toward an ending that she already knew.
The sun was threatening the sky when she at least reached the final page. And she finally uncovered the horror that Aurelius had wanted her to discover for herself.
No...
