Viltred’s color improved as he drank his ale and I took a long swallow of my own. Full favored with the bitter bite of good hops, it was more than good enough for me if I couldn’t get a decent Formalin wine. It was certainly a vast improvement on the sour dregs I’d been drinking in Lescar.

Shiv fixed a stub of tallow to the lower point of the crescent, and in his unguarded expression I saw he was weary as a brothel watchdog, woken ten times a night. Viltred carefully hung a gem from a tiny hook at the top and Shiv lit the candle with a snap of scarlet magic. I saw from the flashes of fire that this was a diamond, larger than any in the Imperial crown, and bit back an exclamation.

Viltred cleared his throat before speaking. “Nowadays I live a quiet life with little magic, but one thing I do for the locals, in return for food and so forth, is take auguries for the coming seasons.”

I wondered how good the old man was; I’ve never seen a festival fortune teller I’d wager a Lescari penny on, netting the witless with their lies. A sudden flash of amber light set images dancing inside the diamond, seizing my eye and seeming to fill my gaze, everything else of no more significance than a mirror’s frame.

The face of the stone was dark now, clouded with what looked like smoke. It drifted apart leaving only the sooty breath of torches steaming around a ruined hall. Greedy fires devoured heaps of fine satins, lovingly embroidered hangings, furs and gowns looted from Dastennin only knows where. Dark oaken furniture, dutifully polished for generations, was hacked and splintered, gouges showing pale in the old wood like bone exposed in a mortal wound. My heart started pounding in my chest as I recognized this place; it was the audience chamber in the Imperial Palace in Toremal. I gritted my teeth in impotent fury as I saw black-liveried figures crossing the broken tiles of the floor with armfuls of looted luxury to dump on the insatiable flames. I realized with cold horror and hot rage that these were Ice Islanders, fellows to the villains who had maimed and robbed Messire’s nephew the previous summer, that outrage setting Aiten and myself on the trail that had ultimately led to my friend’s death.

Darker smoke was gathering in one corner and I saw that a ravenous tongue of fire had taken hold of one of the great wooden pillars of the doorway to the throne room. As I watched, the heavy double doors, shorn of their gold fixings, swung open and a tow-headed man in bloodstained leather waved a triumphant and terrible trophy at his fellows.

It was a head on a pike. From the lumpen shape of the jaw and face, they had beaten their victim before despatching him, savagely enough to break the bones of his skull. For all that, I knew this man, I had seen that youthful and once handsome face warm with contentment, those eyes, now dull and lifeless, bright with excitement. This was my emperor, Tadriol, third son of Tadriol the Prudent, fifth emperor of that House, still new enough in his seat of power to be awaiting the acclamation from the Princes of the Great Houses that would seal their approval or otherwise in the epithet their Convocation bestowed on him.

I could not stop myself glancing at Shiv and our eyes met for a moment, his face set like ice and just as cold. Realizing my hands were clenched into fists, my nails marking my palms, I reached for my tankard, trying to wet my dry throat before realizing the vessel was empty. Viltred’s magic flickered as he turned the gem once more with trembling fingers of enchantment.

Soft gray haze cleared and revealed mellow stone walls, warm in the light of fine beeswax candles. I saw myself again, this time standing on a dais in what I instantly recognized as a Formalin Prince’s great hall, lavishly decorated for the celebrations of either Solstice or Equinox. We had evidently all prospered; I was spruced up like a whorehouse apothecary in maroon velvet and fine linen with a discreet collar of golden links as I stood behind Messire’s nephew, Camarl, his plump face genial but his eyes keen, deep in conversation with someone I recognized from a cadet line of D’Azenac. Realizing I was looking at myself as other people must see me was an eerie experience, unnerving, and I stifled a sudden shiver. My lips parted in unconscious surprise when I saw Livak, seductive in a midnight-blue gown of silk, pearls caught in the exquisite confection of her hair and gleaming around her neck. I allowed myself a moment to savor her unaccustomed elegance and realized she was enticing the knot of eager and noble youth around her to wager on the fall of a delicate set of applewood runes, tucking silver and gold coin discreetly into the little velvet bag on a ribbon at her waist.

Shiv was down in the main body of the hall, standing tall and courtly in green linen, closely shaven and with his long dark hair tied neatly back for a change, weight resting easily on his back foot, arms crossed and relaxed. He was laughing with one of Messire’s nieces, who clearly had no idea that her evident interest in him was doomed to disappointment. Viltred was in animated discussion with two noblemen, dressed in formal robes incongruous in this setting but possessing an unexpected air of authority as he waved a black-clad arm, his gnarled hand gripping a staff which he thumped down to emphasize his point.

“What you are seeing are alternate possibilities for the future,” began Shiv.

“What does it all mean?” I demanded curtly. Any concerns of the wizards were secondary to the peril threatening everything to which I was honor-bound.

“We don’t know.” Viltred’s frank admission silenced me.

“You’ve taken no action?” I heard impatience sharpening the edge to my tone and forced myself to blunt it. “When you’ve seen such a threat to the Emperor?”

“Taking action based on auguries is a very risky business.”

Unexpectedly, Viltred was not cross or defensive but merely sounded weary to the bone. “Every event depends on such a chain of circumstance and causation that in acting you can forge the vital link that brings about the very catastrophe you are trying to avoid.”

“Seeing yourself and Livak like that suggests you both have some role to play in securing a positive outcome.” Shiv gestured at the now lifeless gem. “I’d say our most important task is getting everyone in that vision together as soon as we can.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“She’s with that friend of hers, Halice.” Shiv nodded and poured more ale. “I’ve been scrying for her last night and today, as well as for you. That’s how we knew what road you had taken.”

Of course; those tricks with magic spells and colored inks gave Shiv the means to keep track of people without them even knowing it. How long had he been scrying on me? I discarded that thought in the face of more immediate concerns. So Shiv was trying to find Livak; the woman who’d killed Aiten, who’d saved my life, who owed me a good measure of hers, skilled gambler, dextrous thief, latterly my lover when a sudden storm of passion had hit us both on the voyage home. I’m not given to nailing anything in a skirt, I did enough of that in my youth, but Livak, she had been something different, the first woman to really get under my guard in more than ten years. Just thinking about her red-haired passion set the blood pulsing in my breeches. What was I going to say to her? What did I want from her? Come to that, was she going to want anything from me, beyond a good time between the sheets? Hopes and doubts that had nothing to do with my duties warred within me.

I rasped a hand over a day’s growth of beard but banished that minor irritation from my mind. “What else do I need to know?”

Shiv hesitated before answering. “The Elietimm attacked Viltred’s home the night before last. It may be coincidence, but then again, they may have followed me there.”