Free The Raven's Shadow by Elspeth Cooper

southerners were strange, soft creatures! All scented airs and lustrous fabrics – they had never ridden the long plains after the herds, never stared the wind down and spat in winter’s eye. How they had ever secured an Empire was beyond her. Was it just that there were so many of them? Perhaps their fat lands and easy lives made them fecund, the way good pasture quickened the beasts.
    A sudden, tight grin bared her teeth. Maybe when those fat lands were hers it would be amusing to watch the southerners attempt to scratch a living from the hard earth of Nimroth. Aye, and then she’d sit in a scented bath right up to her neck and watch them, and by the Eldest she would laugh .
    The marquetry box on the mantel was almost empty. Only a dozen or so leaf-wrapped twists of resin remained next to his pipe, filling the air with their burned-honey scent. Savin snapped the lid shut before it woke his hunger and locked the box securely. There’d been so much to do, so many wheels to start turning, that there hadn’t been time to return to Sardauk to replenish his supplies, and now they were almost exhausted.
    That was . . . vexing. The only Gate he knew of there was several days’ ride from the Sardauki capital Marsalis, and even further from the kalabal groves in the mountains where the purest resin could be obtained. Worse, it opened into empty desert, so he would have to go prepared for travel, which was impossible from his cramped quarters here amongst the Nords. Even going to the Sardauki interior via Gimrael would take two weeks or more, and that was time he did not have to spare.
    No, he would just have to be frugal with it to make sure the mezzin lasted. Not for the first time, he cursed the necessity of stranding himself in the north with only limited access to the trappings of a civilised society, then tucked the little brass key back into his pocket.
    The air in the tower room pressed down on him, heavy as the moment before thunder cracked the sky. His contact in the Hidden Kingdom was waiting. Irritated, he frowned. More admonitions, no doubt; more querulous demands for reassurance. Did they think he had no idea what he was doing? By all the Seven Kingdoms— His expression settled towards a scowl, but he arrested it, smoothed it out into something neutral before he turned to face the velvet-shrouded sight-glass amidst the books and papers on the table. The sooner these meddlesome creatures were dealt with, the sooner he could get back to work.
    He lifted the cloth, lips framing a greeting he didn’t get time to deliver.
    We are waiting.
    The chilly tones of the Hidden Kingdom’s representative held more than the usual amount of displeasure. Savin swallowed down his irritation.
    ‘Soon, my friends. All is proceeding according to plan.’
    You promised us results.
    ‘And you shall have them, I assure you.’
    Your assurances are worthless. We demand proof.
    Proof? Savin ground his teeth. There was no proof on earth that would satisfy them unless he was holding the starseed in his hand, and when that happened, of course, he wouldn’t need to prove himself to them ever again. He clasped his hands behind him to keep them from clenching into fists and smiled benignly at the teeming blackness within the glass.
    ‘It is all a matter of timing,’ he said. ‘The trinity moon is approaching—’
    The movement of celestial bodies is of no importance to us.
    ‘Nor to me, but these people are primitive, shackled to their superstitions. The triple conjunction is significant to them, therefore everything must occur in accordance with their prophecies. If it does not, we risk losing their credulity and by extension their usefulness.’ It was so tiresome having to explain things that should have been obvious; he barely managed to keep the bite from his words.
    Around the silver frame, fanged creatures yawned and stretched. Nothing reflected in the glass itself, of course; its blackness remained absolute, a bottomless void