Citadels of the Lost by Tracy Hickman

Shadow Coast up toward Nordesia. Something about a gathering to a prophet who would free the slaves.”
    Liau breathed out a sigh. “It’s Drakis . . . all those migrations . . . he’s raising an army in Nordesia.”
    Arikasi suddenly sat forward. “Rebellion? In Nordesia? It must be put down at once!”
    The Modalis all turned to Sjei.
    â€œWhat should be done?” Kyori asked the Sinechai.
    Sjei had engineered this moment and, despite a few unexpected bumps along the way, he had never doubted it would come.
    â€œIf it is the will of the Modalis,” he said with practiced modesty, “I believe I know what to do . . .”

CHAPTER 6
    The Victim
    T HE SMALL SIZE OF THE ELVEN COURTYARD was more than compensated for by the elegance of its execution. Graceful curves formed the three walls around the central space, beautiful sweeping lines that spread like beckoning arms to the weaving, broad latticework of pale pink that held the carefully beveled panes of glass rising from the floor to arch overhead. The glass was imbued with Aether, making each pane completely transparent from inside the courtyard looking out. When viewed from the outside, however, the panes perfectly matched the opaque, dull white pattern design that formed the peak of the understated avatria above “Majority House.” The avatria rotated specifically to the whim of the current occupant, allowing just the right amount of brightness by day to come into the central space and the perfect view of the streets and lights of Rhonas Chas at night. Raised gardens were set with exquisite taste in elegant harmony, their flowers, herbs, and greenery in delicate and perpetual balance. It was a study in peace and tranquility, spotless and perfect.
    It was a wonderful illusion, Sjei thought as he stepped into the garden. One could stand here in relaxed serenity and not suspect that this place had seen more violence, blood, and death than any other rooms combined in all the Rhonas Empire. Where better to do away with one’s problems than with a quick blade in a place that no one knows exists at all? All that is left is cleaning up the mess . . . and cleaning up messes was one of the things that Sjei did best.
    Looking at the lithe figure standing like another statue in the garden, Sjei actually hoped that it would not come to that most final of conclusions in this case. She was young, to be sure, but she had a fine, narrow frame and long hands. The taper of the back of her head was extremely becoming and her silver-white hair—earlier fallen around her shoulders in dirty strands—was now washed, soft and pinned up over the bald area of her crown. The hair exposed her elegantly pointed ears and framed her angular, pinched face perfectly. Her white silk gown had a neckline that plunged between her small breasts down to the clasp belt at her waist, exposing the bony ridges of her chest. She was striking, Sjei thought, and as cold as the stone under her bare feet.
    â€œIs it done?” she said.
    â€œYes, it is done,” answered Sjei, removing his outer mantle and folding it over his arm. “All the pieces are in play, Shebin, and they are all moving in the same direction.”
    Tsi-Shebin Timuran turned only slightly toward the Ghenetar Omris. “That should please you.”
    â€œThat should please us both,” Sjei said lightly. “The Modalis exists for profit . . . but won’t mind investing a bit in you as fair exchange for your help.”
    â€œSo you have your war, then?” Shebin said with her featureless black gaze fixed on the view of the Imperial City spread beneath her.
    â€œYes, thanks to your most convincing performance,” Sjei sat down on the edge of one of the raised gardens. The flowers recoiled slightly from him, but he was used to the reaction after so many years. “A nice private little war without a lot of Imperial fuss and division of the spoils. You have