After a moment’s hesitation, Arvin hurried after her. He caught up with Marasa as she was passing a guard who had a puzzled expression on his face. The baron was nowhere to be seen. Somewhere down the corridor, a door slammed.
Marasa grabbed Arvin’s arm and dragged him down the hall with her. “He’ll go to Naneth’s house,” she said in a low voice. “I’m worried. If he finds Glisena there….”
Arvin nodded grimly. “Indeed. And when he learns she’s still pregnant—”
Marasa jerked to a halt. “She’s what?”
“Still pregnant. Naneth didn’t end the pregnancy—she cast a spell that hurried it along instead. In that last vision, Glisena looked ready to give birth at any moment. She may even have had the child by now.”
Marasa looked grim. “We must find her, then. Quickly, before Thuragar compounds his sin.”
Arvin’s eyes widened. “He wouldn’t harm the child… would he?”
“No,” Marasa said. “He wouldn’t. Not Thuragar,” she said, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself.
“But I do fear for Naneth’s safety.”
“What can we do?”
“Does your mind magic allow you to teleport? Could you reach Naneth’s house ahead of Thuragar?”
Arvin shook his head. “No. But I can send a warning to her”—shoving a hand into his pocket, he pulled out the lapis lazuli—”with this.” He touched the fingernail-sized chip of stone to his forehead. It adhered at once as he spoke its command word. Drawing power from the magical stone, he manifested a sending. He imagined that he was looking at Naneth and felt a prickling at the base of his scalp. A heartbeat later her image solidified, and he was staring at the midwife. She was leaning over, placing a saucer filled with water inside something that Arvin couldn’t see. As the connection between her and Arvin grew stronger, she jerked upright, spilling the water. Her mouth moved in a sharp question, but Arvin couldn’t hear what she was saying.
“Naneth,” he said, speaking the words aloud. “I know you have Glisena. If she’s at your home, move her. Hide her. The baron is on his way there now. He knows what you did.”
The sorcerer repeated her question; this time Arvin could hear it. “Who are you?” she said, staring intently at his face. Her eyes were narrow with suspicion. “I don’t recognize you.”
She paused, waiting for an answer, but Arvin couldn’t give one. That was how the lapis lazuli worked—he could send a brief message, and receive one in return. A few heartbeats later, the sending reached the limits of its duration. Naneth faded from view.
“It’s done,” Arvin said. “What now?”
“Are you quick on your feet?” Marasa asked. Arvin nodded.
“Then let’s get moving. I know where Naneth lives.”
They arrived at Naneth’s residence just as the baron stormed out the front door, sword in hand. “Glisena’s not here,” he gritted. “Neither is Naneth. But the Eyes will round her up, soon enough.”
Two of Foesmasher’s soldiers emerged from the building, one of them holding the arm of a frightened-looking woman whose long black hair was starting to gray at the temples. She looked vaguely familiar, but Arvin couldn’t place her.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she protested. “We just want to question you,” the soldier holding her arm said.
“I simply came to pay Naneth for her services,” the woman continued, drawing her cloak protectively around herself with her free hand as the soldiers led her away. “I don’t know where she is.” She turned to the baron, a pleading look in her eyes. “Lord Foesmasher, please. Whatever quarrel you have with the midwife, I have no part in it.”
Foesmasher ignored her. “Have one of the Eyes question her,” he said. “Find out if she does know where Naneth is. And send a detail of soldiers to secure this house.”
The soldiers nodded and led the woman away. “Baron Foesmasher,” she pleaded. “Please don’t imprison me. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Foesmasher stood, hands on his hips, scowling as she was led away.
Marasa, still panting from the run through the streets—the residence was more than two dozen blocks from the palace—exchanged a look with Arvin then hurried after the baron. “Thuragar,” she said in an ominous voice. “You face Helm’s wrath for what you ordered Naneth to do. You must atone before he—”
“I have other matters to attend to, first,” Foesmasher snapped. Turning on his heel, he strode away.
Marasa hurried after him. “Thuragar, wait! Hear me out.”
Arvin, only half listening, stared at the residence. It was a narrow building, two stories tall and sharing a wall with the building on either side. All of the windows were shuttered against the cold. His eyes ranged from one window to the next as he calculated the distance between them. If there was a wall that was a little thicker than it should be—enough to conceal a person—he’d find it when he counted off the paces inside.
The front door was open. Arvin walked up the short flight of steps that led to it and knocked—loudly.
“Naneth?” he called out, hoping that, if she was still here, she might recognize his voice.
No one answered.
A long hallway ran the length of the first floor.
