Free Echoes in the Dark by Robin D. Owens Page A

Luthan said.
    “Damned
shame, but our need is too great.”
    “Ayes,”
Luthan agreed. He saw a larger number of Chevaliers loitering around the Landing
Field. The Assayer’s Office was unusually crowded, too, with people
eavesdropping. No one interrupted the pair of them until they were crossing
Temple Ward to their suites in the Noble Apartments. A tall, broad-shouldered
man rose from a sunny stone bench. Koz, Marian’s brother, once a Chevalier, now
a mirror magician. He’d moved from Horseshoe Hall to the Noble Apartments. He
could easily afford them.
    “The
new Exotique?” Koz asked.
    “With
the Singer,” Luthan said.
    At
that moment the Castle klaxon rang in a short pattern that meant “Meeting in
Temple Ward for all Chevaliers and Marshalls.” The siren could be heard all the
way to Castleton, so Chevaliers in the town—and any Exotiques there—would
arrive soon for the discussion.
    Koz
turned to Faucon, rubbing his hands. “I’ve got some ideas about putting
transdimensional mirrors in Raine’s father’s and brothers’ houses so she
doesn’t fret as much.”
    “She
always frets. Doesn’t like to be asked about the Ship design,” Faucon muttered.
    “We
don’t want an unhappy Exotique who must still perform her task. She’ll be
distracted.” Koz sounded cheerful at the challenge.
    The
klaxon stopped and the quiet was wonderful, then people began filling the
courtyard.
    “I
wonder if the Singer will be keeping her Exotique happy,” Koz said.
    Singer’s Abbey
    J ikata stood
before a carved and gleaming wooden door that rose in a pointed arch several
feet above her head. Everything she’d seen in her walk from her rooms to this
soaring round tower was on a scale larger than Earth human. And a feeling was
rising through her that she really wasn’t on Earth. But everyone was treating
her very well. For her mental health, she’d consider this a resort.
    There
were buildings as small as a ten-foot airy pavilion of embellished gothic
arches, and as large as a huge square stone tower, and something like the
chapel at King’s College in Cambridge, England.
    At
least she hadn’t gaped open-mouthed. Stared, yes. Everything was surrounded by
a high stone wall, equally white, as for a castle or a college, a city in
itself. The whole place spoke of immense effort over ages. Like for a king, or
queen.
    Or
the prophetess of a country.
    The
maid had told her that much, despite Jikata’s wariness. The Singer was the oracle of the country. She had the magical skill—Power—of prophecy. Everyone listened to her, came for personal Song Quests and more, the woman did
quarterly Songs on the future of Lladrana. Then the maid had shut up. She’d
left Jikata here. Everyone in the castle-keep-like building wore jewel-toned
colors at the dark end of the spectrum, and the maid wore yellow. Jikata had
deduced the clothing indicated rank.
    This
door led to the Singer’s “most formal” personal apartments, the most
impressive. The Singer had been impressive enough last night with her four-octave
voice, commanding people right and left, including one very impressive man in
white leathers—a Chevalier, a knight, the maid had said. Not a Singer’s Friend
who lived in the Abbey compound.
    Jikata
herself wore her own underwear and a long, midnight blue robe that slid over
her skin like the silk it was, embroidered in what appeared to be real gold
metallic thread around the long bell sleeves and the hem. The dress fit
perfectly, which made her nervous.
    She
was alone. Chasonette, the mind-talking bird—that was the only strange thing
Jikata would accept—had flown away as soon as they’d stepped out of the
building into the bright summer day. Jikata wished the cockatoo back.
    “Entre!” demanded the
melodious voice of the Singer from beyond the door, apparently deciding Jikata
had paused too long.
    The
door opened and a golden room dazzled her. A woman took her arm and drew her
forward. Jikata blinked. The