Ripples over the Water

by Bazylia de Grean

In the vocabulary meant for describing the material world, there are no suitable terms for matters of the soul. But Thaos understands what she means anyway. And she is too amazed by that to ask how is it possible that he comprehends her skills. Later she will understand it is one of the first questions she should have asked herself. [Lady Webb/Thaos] (Adra Bán series.)

. . .

Ripples Across the Water

. . .

Lady Webb does not like mirrors. Not because they remind her – all too well – that some call her the Spinner, like one of the spider breeds. Whether they say that in whispers or in thoughts only makes no difference to her, for she can hear both. The name was chosen because it suits her profession, not her looks, but it fits either way. Hands long and thin like spider legs, hair white and soft like gossamer, and her hands move like spiders when she taps her fingers against the surface of her desk. A spider queen, spinning her web across the world, sending her small spiderlings to be her eyes, ears and minds. People rarely notice little spiders.

She does not like mirrors, but she has kept one, an old broken mirror made of adra. She hides it in one of the drawers of her desk, not in her bedroom or on the vanity table – it is a reminder and a warning, not a fond memory. Everyone makes mistakes, but once you make them, you should learn.

That is what she did, long ago, so long she does not even remember when it was – not that it matters. Paying for a small measure of wisdom in youthful foolishness is a fair trade. The only thing that matters now is that she has a goal. No one has to know that the greater good is not the only reason behind her actions, that once she had her own, personal motives.

She knows she will not be the one to see what lies beneath the surface of the mirror, but it does not matter either, not anymore. Knowledge is knowledge, after all. She will not be the one to see, but she will hear, she will learn it, one way or another, from this Watcher or the next. She will wait a few more years, if she has to. A few years, just a few more years, she has been repeating that to herself for a long time. After all, a body is but a vessel for the spirit. And what are ciphers if not the masters of the mind? Some can even master their own.

Lady Webb looks into the adra mirror. She is not looking at her reflection, but at the silvery, smooth surface, and the memory underneath.

. . .

Lady Hadret – her name is Elydh, but she firmly believes that her title sounds much more stately – lady Hadret likes the archives in the Hall of Revealed Mysteries. Only very few can enters the archives at will, and only a few chosen have access to all books and records, but those who come here to read the old volumes are always interesting.

Like all others, lady Hadret goes to the archives to read. But unlike them, she comes here to read people, not books. Of course, she does not have to do it here, but she prefers the silence of the archives over the noise of the Copperlane. That, and she likes the smell of dust and old scrolls. That is, she thinks, the smell of mysteries.

In the archives, everyone keeps to themselves, attending their own business and making certain no one would glimpse the title of the book they are reading. That makes it easy for Lady Hadret to watch the readers unnoticed, hidden behind a book or a pile of notes. But she does not look at others the way people usually do; she is not interested in clothes or faces. What she watches are minds and souls. Just a moment of concentration is enough... Or even better, just to look someone in the eye – it makes everything easier, more fluent, images and thoughts seem to appear on their own, and she can glance through them without much effort, searching for interesting details. There is a reason it is said that eyes are the mirror of the soul.

There is man sitting at the table near the wall. His clothes are simple, he is not very handsome, and the book in his hands is nothing extraordinary here is the archives – and yet something in him draws her attention. So when the stranger looks up, lady Hadret stares right into his eyes. And, frozen in surprise, cannot tear her gaze away.

His eyes are twin mirrors. She cannot look into his mind, into his souls, all she is able to see is her own reflection in the smooth, shimmering surface. She cannot reach into his mind. But when she notices the corner of the man's lips lifts slightly, she is certain that he knows she has tried.

His eyes are dark, but in the candlelight they gleam like adra. And, like adra, they hide secrets. And secrets are one thing lady Hadret could never resist.

. . .

At first, they meet only in the archives. They read, talk – though not much, Thaos does not need many words. Neither does she. A few well-chosen phrases were enough to make her think Thaos knows her better than she knows herself. That one glance was enough for him to learn so much about her. She does not know yet that he has met women like her before – young, curious, with minds sharp as swords.

But for now, Thaos intrigues her, and she is drawn in by his keen eyes, gleaming like adra. And like adra reaches down to the roots of the world, it seems his eyes reach the roots of time. His face and voice have no age; his sparse, polite words betray nothing, either. Smooth talk, manners... Even his mind is smooth, like the surface of a mirror in which lady Hadret can see her reflection. The mirror shows her not as she is, but as he wants her to become – though she will only understand that much later.

Lady Hadret does not worship Wael – she is not a very religious person, she just tries not to offend any gods and not to get in their way, and it seems that arrangement is satisfying for both parties. She does not worship Wael, but she loves riddles. And of all riddles and secrets, the mysterious workings of the mind have always fascinated her the most.

In the vocabulary meant for describing the material world, there are no suitable terms for matters of the soul. But Thaos does not share her gift, so lady Hadret learns how to put it into words – something that cannot be described, that can only be felt, that can be touched with a thought, but not named. In spite of those difficulties, Thaos understands what she means when she speaks of daggers or a brush of a butterfly's wing. And she is too amazed by his understanding to ask how is it possible that he comprehends her skills, although he is not gifted that way. Later she will understand it is one of the first questions she should have asked herself.

. . .

He starts visiting her, but never invites her over to his place. Usually they sit in the garden, under the watchful eye of a servant or two in place of a chaperone. There are no guards, because lady Hadret can defend herself well enough; no weapon is quicker than a thought.

She reads the minds of passers-by, and Thaos sometimes asks innocent questions, merely out of curiosity. For lady Hadret, this is a game, a way to hone her skills, and a way to spend more time with this man who fascinates her more and more with every conversation, so different than all her suitors.

When Thaos finally invites her over – just for a talk, she does not count on anything more, not yet, if she did, she would have tried to seduce him long ago – when he invites her, she is not surprised he does not stay at an inn. But she is astonished by everything else. Yes, he has mentioned some historical research, but she did not think the duke would let anyone enter the old tower on Heritage Hill. And Thaos not only enters at will; he lives there.

"Welcome to Teir Nowneth," Thaos says, clearly but quietly. He does not have to speak loudly, because everyone always listens to him attentively anyway – even though most people do not understand him.

"Is that what you're researching?" lady Hadret asks. "Engwithan ruins?"

"Among other things." The corners of his lips lift up briefly. "Every place has its story. Every ruin, every stone."

She snorts. "You might have forgotten, but I'm a cipher. Every object can tell a story, if only...

"I haven't forgotten," Thaos interrupts. "How could anyone forget such a gift?" he adds, trying to placate her. "But this... machine... is different. Look." He takes her hand and puts it on the tall crystal pillar.

"Adra," lady Hadret says, recognising the stone.

"The veins of the world," Thaos says quietly, the gleam of adra reflecting in his eyes. "If you touch them, you can feel its pulse."

She does feel it. A pulse, not unlike heartbeat, at the edge of her senses – touch, hearing, perhaps both. She can feel, resonating in her mind and soul like waves. She can feel Thaos' warm hand on hers, she can feel the energy emanating from adra and flowing back into the crystal through their fingers. She can see the reflection of their faces in the mirror-smooth surface. She can see her own reflection in the depths of Thaos' dark eyes.

New Dunryd stretches beneath them, the city flanked by forests on one side and stormy ocean on the other. There is a soft wind blowing from the direction of the bay; the breeze smells of salt and adventure.

"Isn't this what you're looking for?" Thaos asks. "Adventures?"

"Adventurers do their jobs for profit, not just for the thrill," lady Hadret teases. "What will you give me for my help, researcher?"

Thaos raises his hand and sweeps a wide arc in the air, as if he wanted to encompass everything towards the very horizon – the forests, the ocean, the city. The whole land down there, at their feet.

"The world," he answers.

"The whole world?" she asks meaningfully, looking into his eyes.

She wants the world, she desires power, yes. But first and foremost she desires Thaos. She wants to learn his mind. Her gift is rare, yes, but she is too young to know how much it tells about a man that he hides his mind as thoroughly as Thaos does. That he can veil his thoughts so well they are hidden even from her.

A corner of his lips curves up. "That depends on you."

. . .

Lady Hadret is persistent and patient, but there are lines her pride will not let her cross, even for a man she finds as captivating as Thaos. No, she demands something in return. And since she cannot reach his mind, she at least wants to have some power over his body.

They are sitting in the garden, playing her favourite game – she is reading the minds of the people walking the street, invisible through the hedge, and Thaos is guessing who she is talking about. Usually his guesses are right.

Among the noise of many thoughts lady Hadret glimpses familiar words and images. Thoughts of her. She smiles inwardly, coolly, calmly, imperiously.

"A rich house and a woman whom he considers beautiful," she describes. "Haughty, sharp-witted, bright. Sometimes she sees so much it can be intimidating... But not enough to stop him from asking for her hand in marriage. Or at least for her favour. There is some gossip, true, but it's just gossip, and who knows, who knows, perhaps she has tired of that... It's a good day to try. But he cannot just visit her unannounced and empty-handed..." she breaks off, because the man is too far now, but she has said enough already.

Thaos is watching her closely. "What gossip?" he asks at last.

"I thought you had no interest in gossip." Lady Hadret shrugs. "That you only care for grander, important causes. And souls."

"Souls and minds," Thaos confirms. "Especially one mind," he adds slowly.

"Yes? And whose mind might that be?" She raises her eyebrows, feigning curiosity.

Thaos gets up from the chair. "You know that very well," he says, his eyes narrowing a little, like a cat's.

"Perhaps I'm tired of playing games." Lady Hadret rises, too. "Perhaps I'll find a new one. With another companion."

"This piece of gossip," Thaos says in a quieter voice, not unlike a growl of a content drake, as he puts his hands on her shoulders, "what does it say?"

A corner of her mouth lifts up in a small smile. She straightens – haughty, beautiful, brilliant – she knows her worth. After all, she is the woman who managed to draw his attention, whom he still finds interesting.

"Curious, aren't you?" she asks, head held high.

"Very," Thaos answers almost in a whisper, because he is standing close to her.

He is looking at her with those adra-gleaming eyes. Lady Hadret can see her reflection in the mirror of his mind – can see the flames in her eyes, the triumphant smile on her lips.

Thaos pulls her to him and kisses her, though not as passionately as she wishes. Her fingers tighten on his shoulders, on a strand of his hair, as she kisses him back, giving more than she got. And Thaos, after a moment of hesitation, finally surrenders.

She thinks she forced him to admit that he finds her as fascinating as she finds him, that her minds intrigues him, that her words made him jealous. Only years later will she understand that maybe he simply did not want anyone else to touch his tool, because that was how he thought of her. And she will remember that Thaos always takes care of any important matters personally.

. . .

"You have an extraordinary gift," Thaos says, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he was trying to see into her soul, even though he does not have such abilities.

"Was it my gift you went to bed with?" lady Hadret asks bluntly, hurt pride making her forget that she should at least speak like a lady.

"What are we if not our minds?" Thaos replies with a question of his own.

A corner of his lips goes up in that peculiar expression that can be understood in so many ways. Right now, it seems to be a light, mysterious smile.

Lady Hadret forgets any grudges in an instant; not because of his smile, but his words. Everyone has a body, beauty is common enough, but a mind like hers – ah, now that is a rarity indeed. She thinks, without false modesty, that she has never seen another like it. She is proud that she uses a tool given to her by the gods so well, that she has honed her skills so now her mind is sharp like a dagger. Oh, yes, she likes the implications his words carry – that it is the power of the mind that proves the worth of a person.

Thaos probably guesses her thoughts. But his answer suggested that he appreciates her mind, her talent, that it is what draws him to her, what attracted his attention first. And is that not what she has been looking for in a man?

"You like that vision of the world, don't you?" The corners of his mouth move into what seems an expression of amusement, at least for her. By now, she knows how little can she read in his face. Truly, there is much the followers of the god of secrets could learn from him. "You should," Thaos adds. "Your mind is like an adra dagger."

He may love mysteries as much as the worshippers of Wael, but he uses words with the mastery of a chanter. And sometimes with just as deadly precision, she will realise a few years later. Now she is drinking his words in, because very few people appreciate and understand her skills. He understands, even though he does not have a talent like hers. It will take her some time to understand that is why she should fear him.

"I brought something for you." Thaos reaches down to the floor, into the pocket of his dark robe, and takes out a small adra mirror.

Lady Hadret holds it carefully. Adra is framed with partly tarnished copper. It must be very old. Quite possibly Thaos found it in that ancient Engwithan tower. The mirror shows nothing but her reflection, and yet it seems deep as a bottomless well.

A reflection. A mirror. A mind. Perhaps a dagger could break the mirror, or at least scratch it, one crack would be enough to look deeper... But what if stabbing the mirror would break the blade? Perhaps something smaller, something almost invisible, not a dagger but a needle... But a needle would not get through the glass, the scratch would be too shallow to see anything through it, it would only distort the reflection in the mirror's surface...

The surface of a mirror. The surface of a lake. One needs no knives to get through water. Water can be moved, churned up by a hand. One can touch water with a finger and then watch the ripples.

So later, when the world stops for a moment and bursts into a bright gleam of adra in her senses, lady Hadret looks into her lover's eyes as her finger gently touches the surface of the lake.

Wind that goes through souls like a battering ram through a wooden door. Immobile silhouettes in old Engwithan ruins. Empty eyes of a newborn child. A bridge and a sudden explosion that shakes the foundations of the world. An immense pillar of adra, vibrating with a low, deep sound, like the beat of a very old heart. Ashes on a weathered, bent iron crown.

Ripples over the mirror, distorting her reflection. But she wanted to look inside, did she not? She is too overwhelmed to comprehend what she has seen.

Thaos is watching her, eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time she does not have to guess what his expression means. He is interested. More than that; he looks at her as if he just truly saw her for the first time.

"Your gift is extraordinary," he says slowly. "And I can help you train it, give you opportunities to hone your skills to the levels you have not even dreamt of."

Many words, little information; something she would have noticed immediately... But for the first time Thaos it looking at her as if he truly noticed her. Her, her mind, it makes no difference.

Lady Hadret clings to the only piece of the vision clear enough to understand anything from it, the only one which gave her some knowledge.

"Serving Woedica?" she asks.

His non-smile seems to have as many meanings as Wael has forms. Amusement, liking. Triumph. Amazement. Surprise. Mystery. But never hesitation or doubt.

"You don't serve any god now," Thaos says in a voice soft like the most expensive Vailian silks, smooth and warm like the skin of a wurm.

Her own reflection in the still surface of the mirror. Can the reflection of the beholder tell anything about the mirror at all?"

"And who do you serve?" she replies with a question.

"The world. History." Thaos smiles briefly, his eyes inviting. "Find out," he adds, tempting.

Her own reflection in the gleaming surface of the mirror. No, it is not the mirror; she is the one gleaming, shining with the light of her talent, mind and the will which honed it...

"I'll find out," she decides.

She can see her triumphant smile reflected in his eyes like in a mirror. But this way she will be a step closer to solving the mystery, won't she?

. . .

Shadows are dancing on the wall, torch flames are flickering, the image wavers and blurs in the air warmed by hundreds of candles. The statue of a woman wearing an iron crown raises her head proudly, her face hidden in shadows.

Everything is moving, fluid, unreal. Like a decoration in a theatre, lady Hadret thinks. Maybe that is why she considers it just another adventure, if slightly more solemn and mysterious than others.

She can feels Thaos' gaze on her, piercing like a beam of energy, and turns to him. The look on his face indicates he is pleased – the only clear element in a chamber filled with whispers and shadows.

She is kneeling on the cold stone floor, and many others behind her, all faces hidden behind silver masks. But she is certain she recognises some by their thoughts.

The room is full of people, but she is the only one kneeling in the centre. Above her is the stony face of Woedica, carved in adra. Thaos is standing beside the Exiled Queen's statue, proud, confident, in the ceremonial robes he looks like a king himself. The queen, the king... So who am I, Elydh wonders – Elydh, not lady Hadret, because all of a sudden she feels very small. But then Thaos looks at her again and all doubts vanish. She is, after all, the king's favourite.

The light shimmers on the adra face in a way that makes it seem like Woedica is smiling. Mysteriously; that is a smile Wael himself would not be ashamed of. The candles burn brighter and the impression disappears. The Queen's smile was nothing but an illusion.

Elydh can see her reflection in the mirror, eyes burning with excitement, and that is why she does not notice how familiar Woedica's smile looked. Thaos always smiles in the same way.

When she repeats the oath, she glimpses a smile of approval on Thaos' face, clear and real. Her reflection in the mirror looks back at her with pride.

. . .

Nothing changes. She still meets with Thaos, and sometimes reads others' thoughts on her own and later just tells him their secrets. It is an adventure, a game. It pleases him, and Elydh likes his smile, a reward so treasured because of how rare it is.

Nothing changes. And that is why, over time, it dawns on her that there can only be one queen at the king's side. And everything Thaos does, he does for Woedica.

She decides she has had enough secrets, enough working for... Whom, exactly? For what? What is Woedica's goal? What is Thaos' plan? There are too many unknowns in this puzzle, and even her sharp mind cannot find the answers.

Elydh puts on her silver mask, wraps herself in a cloak and sneaks out of her chamber, out of the tunnels, out of the Leaden Key's hideout. No one stops her. She is not even very surprised; she understands now that she never mattered to Thaos. One tool can always be replaced with another.

But the Exiled Queen never forgets an offense, and always gets her revenge. So do her followers. Elydh knows that if they find her, she will pay for her recklessness – or perhaps for finally regaining her reason – with her life.

Thaos would find her anywhere, will always recognise her. He will sense her, if not himself, then by some else's skills. A bright flame can be seen from afar, and so can sunlight reflected on a blade of a dagger.

Even though she should hide, lady Hadret returns to New Dunryd, because there is nowhere else she can go. She returns, focused on one goal, one thought burning in her mind – to find the missing pieces of the puzzle. To see through Thaos' intrigues. And to stop him.

She returns home, and with the patience of a spinner she begins weaving a light, subtle web. A web of minds like hers, sharp like daggers, soft like water, violent like a storm. Like all webs, this too is supposed to catch things – lady Hadret uses it to catch information. Thoughts, whispers, words. Clues. Little tiles that will fill the holes in the mosaic.

. . .

Lord Webb's face is solemn, and his voice reminds her of a funeral bell or the rumble of a thunderstorm, but the look in his bright eyes is gentle. When lady Hadret looks into those eyes, she can see his soul – a transparent, crystal clear vessel – and the thoughts coiling inside. She can see it, but not because she is able to look into minds and souls, but because he hides nothing from her. For that, Elydh respects him from the very first moment and will respect him until the end of his life, even if she will never love him.

"In marriage, respect and friendship are the most important elements," lord Webb says simply. "Love is not necessary. It can complicate everything," he adds, watching her closely, as if he guessed.

"It can," lady Hadret agrees, looking into his eyes. "You guess; you know." That is not a question. "But you are still here. Why?"

"Because I want to marry a good woman who knows her worth," lord Webb answer. "And love, as I said, is not necessary." He says nothing more and just offers her his hand.

Lady Hadret reaches out and touches his palm. During those few – few dozen – years which they will spend together, she will have a quiet life, respected by her husband, knowing nothing but friendship and honesty from him, and she will almost be happy.

. . .

No one comes after her. There are no daggers in a dark alley, no magic or even conventional missiles from behind a corner. For some time lady Hadret – lady Webb now; her husband is a good man and keeps no secrets from her, and for that she will forever respect him, even if she will never admire him – for some time she thought Thaos will come after her himself. But as her web of ciphers slowly grows, she understands that will not happen. He takes care only of the most important matters, she knew that even before her agents began watching history.

Thaos never forgets, just as his Exiled Queen never does. But he has a reason for everything he does – and especially for things he does not do. Lady Webb can guess what he hopes to accomplish by letting her live, uncertain of the day or hour, not knowing when and if someone will come to kill her, even though death is the usual sentence for betraying the Leaden Key. But if he sent someone with a dagger, he would give her an answer. If he came himself, she would find the answer in his mind.

Because now everything she does serves a purpose. When she meets Thaos again, she will look into his mind, even if that will be the last thing she does in this life. She will break through the surface of the mirror and find the answer for at least that one question. It will be simple enough, yes or no, there is nothing in between. Oh, she knows well that there are half-truths and white lies; truth and lie are a continuum, no one is more aware of that than ciphers. But in the end, one always outweighs the other.

She hones her skills and sharpens her mind, even though it is no longer a dagger. Not just a dagger. It is a sword, a dagger, a needle, a soft touch of a hand, a gust of wind, an ocean wave, a hurricane, pure energy. It is whatever she needs it to be. She can read the minds of others, she can plant her own thoughts and suggestions into them. She forges her own mind like a weaponsmith forges a sword.

Lady Webb has never been a very religious woman. But she has dedicated her life to solving mysteries – whether herself or with her agents' help – and all secrets are Wael's domain. And when she sometimes thinks on it, she concludes that perhaps it was a wise choice, as Wael might be the only one able to hide from Woedica's wrath.

. . .

When the Watcher looks into her eyes, lady Webb peers into the girl's mind and sees Thaos. The images are not clear, tangled like threads. And then, as she understands what the Watcher finds so troubling about those memories, she laughs inwardly. She laughs because she can see plainly something that the girl does not understand yet, even though she still feels it, even after all those lives since.

Poor, foolish, naive child, lady Webb thinks with indulgence, compassion and a hint of mockery. And also with understanding. One day you will put the pieces together, girl, she thinks, soon you will. And then you will regret that you remember. But you will truly regret later, when you understand you never mattered to him.

Lady Webb says nothing, because there is no gentle way to say it. Because to explain it to the Watcher, she would have to tell her of her own past, and she has no wish to do that. Not when she has almost managed to forget.

. . .

She can hear the screams and the roar of flames from the streets, and the sound of even footsteps from the hall. And then the door opens and Thaos steps inside.

For a moment he looks at her – at what is left of that beautiful, haughty girl. But, as usually, all he notices is her mind.

Lady Webb is not afraid. She looks into his dark eyes and knows how it will end. She knew from the moment she threw the silver mask away.

Thaos calmly walks over to the bed and sits beside her. He does not gloat. It seems he is simply doing something he thinks inevitable, something he has long been expecting in his future; just another piece of a complicated puzzle.

His blow is precise – the angle, the force – precise like a well-designed mechanism. A quick, effective way to death; no one wounded like that could ever be saved. And yet Thaos does not leave. He is watching. Waiting – for what?

Lady Webb feels pain as if from a great distance. Blood is seeping through dry tissues slowly; her body is dying, unhurriedly, almost lazily, as if it needed time to understand that after years of balancing on the very border, it is the end. Death is familiar to it, because it has not been truly alive for years – but if a cipher like her can bend her mind to her will, why should she not manage with a body, which by comparison barely offers any resistance?

With a great deal of effort she raises her arms and grasps the hand holding the dagger, clutches at it with all might left in her thin, brittle fingers. She has one chance to find the answer. Once chance for... revenge? Justice? A chance to help the Watcher one last time, to do something that will outlive her.

One last chance. One last test. That is what she has been preparing her mind for all this time.

Lady Webb looks into Thaos' eyes, deep like adra, and aims her mind like he aimed his dagger – for one last precise blow. The blade clatters as it bounces off the surface of the mirror. She tries again, for she cannot give up, not now, because it is the last thing she can do.

A dagger, a sword, a wave, a hurricane – she tries all those methods, but the mirror does not crack, harder than stone. The surface glimmers rhythmically, and that rhythm is mocking like laughter.

Thaos is not laughing. His face is calm, impassive. He is looking at her, confident as always, because he knew it would end like this, because he is certain she does not have enough power to reveal his thoughts. His eyes are calm, too. Like the smooth surface of a lake...

If she did not have to save her strength, she would laugh. She found a way to look beneath the surface of the water. It is not possible to swim in this lake, or at least she is not able to. But she can drown in it.

Her mind becomes a single drop that falls into the water. And another drop spurts out from the lake. A single thought trickles through the stone wall.

It is not the answer she wanted, but it is the answer she needs most now, the answer for the Watcher. She did all she could, and everything is in the Watcher's hands now.

She does not have the energy to smile, but she does not have to. He will understand anyway; he has always understood her.

Thaos is looking at her as if he truly saw her for the first time. He is looking at her with astonishment, and his amazement is what admiration is for others, because it is very rare indeed that he happens to misjudge someone. And then suddenly he opens his mind to her, and that is the answer he has denied for so long her.

The answer that shakes the foundations of the world. Now, finally, she understands. Now it no longer matters. Or perhaps now is when it matters the most? But she does not have enough time to think on it.

She is falling into the dark depths calmly. Before she closes her eyes, she glimpses the surface of the lake somewhere above her, with her reflection shimmering on it.