It isn’t until much, much later, as I’m lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling as Gwenna snores next to me, that I think of my father. Has he returned from court yet? Or is he still in his mistress’s bed? When he returns, will he even notice that I’m gone? That I haven’t come down to dinner for many nights in a row? Will he inquire with the staff about my absence?
No, probably not.
The thought’s a depressing one. I told everyone that I was visiting Grandmama at her Celen Hills manor, which will work until Grandmama sends one of her letters wanting to know why I haven’t married yet and enumerating all the ways I’ve grown up into an unmarriageable spinster instead of the in-demand heiress I should be. She sends those sorts of letters about once a fortnight (Grandmama is nothing if not determined), and once one arrives, they’ll realize I’m gone, but I figure it’ll take a while, and by the time my disappearance is noted, I’ll be enrolled as a guild fledgling and safe in Vastwarren City.
I picture the scene. Father will return home from court after being away for months. He’ll brush past the staff like he always does, ignore the scrolls and letters full of notices from debt collectors. Instead, he’ll retreat to his study for a drink and to relax. He’ll go out riding for a few days, visit his tailor, get new clothes, and at some point, decide that he should check in on his heir. He’ll invite me to dinner in the main hall—and it’s always more of a demand than an invitation—and then sit as far away from me as possible at the long trestle table that spans the length of the enormous hall. At some point, he’ll realize I’m not sitting opposite him.
Then, and only then, he’ll realize I’m not in the hold. That I’m not waiting around for him to notice that I exist.
It would have been nice for someone to care that I’m gone, I think wistfully. After all, I’m the heir to Honori Hold. No one knows that we’re broke and artifact-less except myself and Father and a few of our most trusted servants. A holder’s daughter should be important.
Shouldn’t someone care?
Anyone at all?
Squeaker makes a loud mrowr near my ear and paws at the blanket. Obediently, I lift it up, and she shoves her way under, curling up against my side. At least my cat loves me.
TWO ASPETH
26 Days Before the Conquest Moon
The next morning, I read over the well-worn pamphlet yet again, just to make certain that I haven’t missed anything. The Royal Artifactual Guild meets once a year, on the eve of Swansday, to say a prayer to the gods, to honor the king for his benevolence, and to update any rules of the guild itself. It’s a time when artificers are officially promoted, artifacts are haggled over by holders, and those who wish to join the guild can pledge to a teacher, who will do their best to prepare their fledglings over the next year in order to take the certification test.
That’s where I come in. I clutch the pamphlet to my chest and take a deep breath.
I’m ready. More than that, I need this. Artifacts would solve all of my family’s problems. Two or three Greater Artifacts would settle us once more and give us safety. Several Lesser Artifacts would staunch the bleeding, and could hopefully be traded for a Greater, depending on how useful they are. Truly, I’m well-equipped for this job. I learned Old Prellian for amusement. I can read and speak three other languages in addition to the Prellian glyphs. I’m well educated and good with math.
They should be salivating over my skill set.
With another deep breath, I dress, casting off the last vestiges of Aspeth Honori, only child of Holder Corin Honori of the Far Reaches. Today I truly become Sparrow, applicant and fledgling to the Royal Artifactual Guild and general nobody. I pull on my underclothes, petticoats, and corset, cinching it up the front. Brown stockings go over my sensible boots. Over my head, I toss my least extravagant dress. It’s made of a thick, sturdy brocade in a dull pattern, the skirts swishing at my ankles. Ties have been added to the skirts so they can be hiked up at the front for ease of walking or hiking—or tunneling, since Sparrow will be expected to venture into the dark and mysterious tunnels of the Everbelow. The bodice attached to this one is decorated with brown ribbon at the edges, all to convey a subtlety to my clothing. I lace myself up, the bodice bound at the front so I can dress myself instead of having a lady’s maid do so.
Gwenna watches all of this from the bed, petting Squeaker’s round head as she does. “You want help with that?”
“Sparrow dresses herself,” I say, determined.
She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re taking this too seriously. They’re going to take one look at you and know you for a lady.”
“They won’t. I’m dressed like one of the common folk.” I finish lacing my bodice and gaze down at myself, pleased. The sleeves are heavy and undecorated, with a button at the wrist, and I do them up, admiring the very drab pouf of fabric. Not even a bit of embroidery to liven things up. “Look at me. I’m wearing so much brown I can’t possibly help but look common.”
“No ‘common’ woman owns a gown in brocade, no matter the color.” She swings her feet on the bed. “You want to swap clothing?”
I consider it, but Gwenna—Wren, I must remember, Wren!—is far shorter than I am. Her skirts would be practically indecent and she’s got more in the bust than I do. “I shall be fine.”
“Are you wearing your spectacles today? You haven’t put them on.”
“Absolutely not. Spectacles are a rich woman’s accoutrement. I can’t have them thinking that I don’t need to join.”
“Can’t have that,” Gwenna drawls. “Bad enough that you’ve got titties.”
“Hush.” I gaze down at said titties and they look rather prominent, thanks to the bodice I wear that’s designed for exactly such an effect. That won’t do. I unlace the top and do a bit of strategic tucking so I seem flatter, and then re-lace with a bit of give. “There. Better. And it’s raining, so I shall take my umbrella.”
She eyes me and then looks down at her own plain clothing, then shrugs. “So what do I need to know about the guild?”
“What do you mean?”
Gwenna purses her lips. “Like, am I supposed to know what they do other than tomb robbing? Who was the first tomb robber? How’d they manage a whole guild about tomb robbing?”
I sputter at her words. “ ‘Tomb robbing’?! It’s not tomb robbing! It’s artifact retrieval.”
“From tombs.” She puts up a hand when I protest again. “I’m not judging, I’m just asking what I need to know so I can blend in and make it look like it’s my lifelong dream to join the guild.”
I want to protest more, because it’s not about tomb robbing. True, some artifacts are found buried with people, but the reason behind the artifact retrievals is a noble one. Each one will be used to carefully further the power of the holders, enabling them to protect people and the lands. “What do you want to know?”
“How did it get started? The whole guild thing? It’s because of the Mancer Wars, right?”
Nervous, I wonder how much I can sum up for her that she’ll remember. There are three hundred years of storied and glorious Royal Artifactual Guild history, but I suppose she just needs the basics. “The Mancer Wars had shown everyone that personal magic—be it as a pyromancer, geomancer, or even necromancer—was unstable and corrupted the person using it. Because of the Mancer Wars, the king outlawed personal magic and established the holds amongst his lords. You know that part, yes?”
