Novels by Vespond Nicot

I waited until I was certain the tower was quiet.Moira back at her bench. The soft knock of glass on stone, the smell of whatever she was refining drifting up through the floors. Elpida in the small structure at the tower's edge that she had claimed as her workspace, visible through the library window, lamp still burning at this hour. Then I took off my shirt and looked at what was happening to me.The first mark had appeared the night of the ceremony. I had felt it form — that small geometric shape, dark silver against the skin over my sternum, no larger than a thumbprint. I had noted it and kept moving because there was too much else to manage and a mark the size of a thumbprint was not an immediate crisis.In eight days it had become something different. The original mark was still there, precise and clear, a shape that didn't quite match any alphabet I knew, structured, each line connected to the next in a way that suggested meaning rather than decoration. From it, in eight di

They came on the fifth night, each arrival spaced roughly two hours apart, which meant either three separate contractors who hadn't coordinated, or one employer smart enough to send them in waves so that the failure of the first wouldn't warn the others off.I had been expecting them since the ceremony. The signed contract had gone to Kalephis with Petros three days ago, by now Varek knew the poison hadn't worked and the touch hadn't killed me. He would have sent birds, the birds would have reached other interested parties. Three factions with three separate reasons to want me dead meant a minimum of three separate responses, and those responses had legs and blades, and had just arrived at the edge of the dead ground.I was in the library when the first one came through the tower door.He was Church, I could tell by the way he moved — that specific combination of physical discipline and absolute moral certainty that the Ekklesia Apokryfa trained into their operatives from youth. They

The room on the second landing was not what I expected.I had expected bare stone, a cot. The minimum a woman who anticipated her guests dying within hours would bother providing. What I found instead was a room that had been prepared. A proper bed, a writing desk with ink and paper already set out. A shelf of books, not decorative ones but working ones, the kind with broken spines and loose pages, the kind that had been read.On the desk, a single black rose in a small stone cup.I stood in the doorway for a moment and thought about a woman who had been alone for four hundred years, preparing a room for a man she had already decided was different, not knowing yet how different, putting a rose in a cup because that was what you did when you wanted someone to feel welcome.I set my coat on the chair and sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the tower breathe around me.It had a sound, this place. Low and constant, like the building itself was exhaling. I lay back on the bed, star

The note had four lines.I read it once and memorized it. I held it over the coach lamp's flame until it caught, then dropped it on the floor and let it finish burning before I put it out with my boot.Petros, sitting across from me, watched all of this with the expression of a man who very much wanted to ask a question and had been trained not to."Nerves," I told him. "I always burn things when I'm nervous."He nodded slowly, though he did not believe me. He also could not prove anything, because there was nothing left to prove it with.The four lines stayed in my head where paper couldn't follow.First line: She knows you're coming, she has known for three weeks.Second line: She has not prepared a death, she has prepared a room.Third line: The blessing in your blood — she can smell it. She smelled the last Valeborn who came north two hundred years ago and turned him away at the border because he was too young and the time wasn't right.Fourth line: Don't flinch when you see the l

She stood in the corridor with her hands clasped in front of her, posture straight, expression professional. If you didn't know what she looked like under Imperial blue, if you hadn't seen her materialize on the bow of a river barge in the dark, you would walk right past her without a second thought."How long," I said. "Eight months," she said. "Since before you arrived in Vethara.""You were in Varek's court while you were following me in Vethara.""I was in both places, it isn't difficult when you know which doors to use."I looked at her for a moment, "You're not Sarreth," I said.Something shifted in her eyes. "I work for Sarreth," she said. "Among others.""That's not the same thing.""No," she agreed. "It isn't." She tilted her head slightly toward the corridor behind her. "Walk with me, we have things to discuss before Varek's people come to collect you for preparation and we lose the window."I walked with her. She walked me through three corridors and a servants' stairwell

The wrapped object was a key, attached to a slip of paper with four words I didn't quite recognize.Ikaros Inn, Room seven.That was all, not even a name, explanation, no indication of what I would find when I got there or whether opening the door would be the last thing I ever did. I sat with it in my palm for a long time on that barge, the river moving under me and the woman in gray gone again as silently as she'd appeared, and I thought about the particular kind of trust required to walk into a room you've been handed a key to by a stranger.Then I thought about the alternative, which was walking into Varek's court with nothing but a penknife and a dead man's letter.I put the key in my coat.Kalephis announced itself two days before you even arrive.First came the smell — stone dust and forge smoke, Then the roads changed, packed dirt giving way to broad Imperial stone. Then the traffic thickened — merchant carts, military columns moving in both directions, pilgrims on foot with