Chapter XII: Secrets To Damn You

As the Head of the Spy Guild, Arta Rinari knew secrets. People came to curry favor with her, praising her good looks and vast acumen, scavenging bits of information that could save and destroy. She granted them their wishes. Never because of ambition, always out of sheer curiosity. She kept asking herself what would happen if she lifted the heavy curtain of mystery for one person or another. The results never disappointed her. This time it was Rareș Calimachi, the Archon of the Fasma, the preserver of knowledge, the most glorified library rat beneath the Veil, who sought her council.

Arta swung back in a cane armchair, enjoying the gentle sun of autumn. Obeying an old habit, she spent her time in one of Bucharest's teahouses, stuck between Art-Nouveau villas that were two streets away from Gradina Icoanei. Her smooth hair covered most of her back, blending with her silky dress and flowing down her gloved arms. She sipped her drink slowly, holding the bottom part of the cup with two supple fingers.

"I could not resist the temptation to see you, Arta." Calimachi bowed, kissed the hand she had graciously stretched out, and sat down beside her. He was lying, of course, but she did not care. Calimachi's presence scattered the shadows in her mind, and she preferred his sweet compliments to boring reports delivered by her agents.

"You look marvelous. You always do." He hesitated, searching her face for clues. "Should I skip the pleasantries?"

She smiled gingerly, and a green sparkle appeared in her dark-brown eyes.

"Why should you? I love flattery. It's entertaining."

"Hmm…?" He stared at her in confusion. As always, he was trying to figure her out. As always, he was failing, missing clues between one eyeblink and the next. Arta knew why he had come.

"The Basilisk has crossed the Croatian border and… vanished into thin air. This exciting event has brought you to me. You want answers."

"The news has reached me, yes." He made a sign to the waiter. "I thought you could tell me more. For a price, of course."

Her triumphant smile faded. "I could tell you more. But why?" Arta had learnt Calimachi's mannerisms well enough to read them with ease. The yellow-eyed bastard was terrified, although he would not admit it. She saw a glimpse of despair in his pleading look and she liked it. His misery reminded Arta she was not the only one plagued by self-doubt.

"You don't know her motives, Arta, do you?" he asked her with a scathing stare. She pouted, feigning indifference.

"I play this game as long as it's interesting. I am not as obsessed with the Basilisk as you are, Rareș," she snarled, watching Calimachi's face go pale. Her gloved hand brushed a stray lock away from her long face. "The Lascaris are not my priority."

Arta enjoyed teasing Calimachi, knowing that he would retaliate.

"What about Laurenția?" he asked, forcing her to swallow a knot in her throat. He knew how to hurt. But even those jibes were better than a solitary sojourn in an empty teahouse, where she'd do nothing but sip her drink and drown in the stale waters of her troubled thoughts. Arta neither rejected pain nor avoided it. Instead, she embraced it as a grim reminder of her own shortcomings.

"What about her?" she asked, feeling the sting deep in her bones.

"Aren't you sorry?"

Sorry? A day had not passed when she did not think about long auburn hair and naïve blue eyes, clear as frozen lakes. But no, Arta, was not sorry.

"She's been doing fine," she replied. "It was only fair to use the situation to my favor." Arta had warned her, but she did not listen. Arta never lied, and she always betrayed. It was her nature. One could not change that much.

"Had I not sold the information to the Council a decade ago, I would not have been the Head of the Spy Guild now, would I? And Constandache would not have been on the Council. Who knows, Leudora Galbur might have even replaced you as the new High Archoine." She glared at him, poisonous and careless. "Hasn't that always been your greatest fear?"

"Don't be ridiculous…" He attempted to hide his anxiety, but Arta had a strange ability to see through disguises - something most light-benders lacked. She leaned over him, her shiny hair almost touching his face.

"Rareș, I might not be a Byzantine Blood, but my job is to know things. You do not give a damn about knowledge preservation, light scrolls, and whatever else your purple-wearing friends are obsessing about. You want to feel important. That's why you do it. And that's why you find yourself fascinated by the Basilisk. You don't understand what she wants. Neither do I. She's interesting to watch, and you like her." Arta's face drew closer and she smiled as if she was preparing to kiss him. She laughed instead. Leaving him perplexed, Arta returned to her armchair and emptied her teacup.

"She will travel to Serbia…" Calimachi murmured, scratching his chin. Arta sneered wickedly.

"We can always recruit her eldest sister - our charming Lorei. She's a better ally than all those dull gravity-switchers. Only the Serpent was up to my standards. I wonder how he tolerated those boring freaks around him."

"Those freaks are hunting Kosar now. If he is apprehended by the Lovrens and the Draškovićes, the influence of the Alka will fade. Grand Magister Blažetin will fail, and so will the reputation of his Alkari. Think about the possibilities, Arta! The Alkari could not prevent the assassination of their most capable Magister, they could not predict the massacre of the Gothars and the theft of the blood lily, they could not even catch those responsible for these crimes. All Offcasts will flock to Tomislav Drašković and abandon the Alka. Together, they will get rid of the Psychic traitors and restore the Veil, recovering the technology of the Ancestors."

"You are forgetting that you are a Psychic yourself," Arta laughed. "That contradiction in you, Rareș, I have always found it fascinating!"

"My enhancement will change after we join the Ancestors. Energy-twisters and time-masters were never meant to exist."

Bewildered, Arta stared at him. She could never figure out whether Calimachi sincerely hated his kin, or if he played a game so subtle that even Arta could not guess the motivations behind it.

"You are forgetting the Setra businessmen," Arta scoffed.

"Matter-shifters? Are they even in this game? Rankova follows money, and so does her kin. If we make our cause attractive enough, they will join us."

"How would you do that?" A beacon of dangerous excitement appeared in her dark eyes.

"Unlike other Psychics, I support the winning side. And I am able to recruit allies through the Fasma."

"I am looking forward to seeing you do that," Arta retorted. "With her daughter under serious accusations, Lorei Lascari will agree to join us. She has no taste for heroism, and I have no taste for dull people. It seems that we are quite a match."

Calimachi smiled broadly, then immediately grew wary and annoyed as if he'd seen his perfect suit destroyed by oil stains. "The only one who bothers me right now is the damned Hungarian time freak, who is lurking behind my back. Szemere…" Whatever it was about that Inquisitor of the Fasma, it irritated Calimachi without measure. Arta found the topic exciting enough to pursue.

"That ridiculously handsome young man with a huge bird at his side? What about him?"

"I believe I should remind him of his place in the Fasma."

"Does the turul bird annoy you, or does the man?" Arta grinned wryly, knowing how much Calimachi hated when she pretended not to care. She pushed on. "I can almost believe that his idealism and selflessness are sincere. I hate people who don't have secrets. But again… maybe there's something about him that I haven't yet noticed."

"He is an annoying mosquito, a cursed time-master and a friend of the Basilisk!"

Arta leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

"I will have my nephew Ilir deal with him, if you wish."

Calimachi drew back. "Unleashing your pet-assassin is not a good idea."

Pet-assassin? The mere expression made her cringe. She squeezed his shoulder with her gloved fingers. "Be careful, when you talk about my nephew."

Calimachi bit his lip and said nothing, much to Arta's disappointment. She never liked those who gave in without a fight. She had expected him to tell her how he was terrified the Hungarian could challenge his position of the Archon, with or without a formal election. Arta doubted Szemere could prove he was Enlightened and marked by the Ancestors, changing the white color of the Setra tree leaves in the Sanctuary to black. No one could force those leaves to change color. And certainly not a time-master. A formal election, on the other hand, could threaten Calimachi's position. After all, that well-spoken Hungarian with his ridiculous bird did have a talent for charming people, and a knack for defying authority. He sounded like an interesting man. She cast a lazy glance at Calimachi and darted away.

"We'll meet again once things become more exciting."