The Capital

by A. H. Lee

  He took a step back...and then Sairis pressed him against the wall. “I told you it’s a cloaking charm,” he hissed. “It’ll work on both of us, but only if we are standing very close together. No sudden movements. Just let me work.”

  Roland’s back had come to rest against the wall beside the door, and Sairis had turned sideways against him, watching the parapet above. He reached one hand around Roland’s arm and pressed his palm flat against the wall. Roland was so surprised that he just stood there. Sairis had been very careful not to touch him since the incident with the punchbowl, and he wasn’t touching Roland’s skin now. However, his shoulder was snug against Roland’s chest, and the entire length of their bodies pressed together. It was...distracting.

  Roland wasn’t distracted for long. The guard strolled into view, his eyes sweeping the pool of lamplight around the door. He was looking directly at them. Roland couldn’t breathe. But the man’s eyes passed right over Sairis and Roland and kept scanning the streets beyond.

  Sairis’s body tensed, and he murmured another of those twisting strings of syllables. Roland was surprised to feel heat in the wall beside his shoulder near Sairis’s hand. The lamp winked out. Above their heads, the guard’s footsteps paused.

  An instant later, someone hallooed on the other side of the wall. There was an indistinct murmur of voices. Minutes passed in the dark street. Roland was uncomfortably aware of Sairis’s proximity. He could tell the exact moment when Sairis became aware of it, too. His unconscious posture against Roland stiffened. He shifted a little. “I didn’t realize we’d have to wait.”

  Roland was afraid to answer.

  After a moment, Sairis added, “The cloaking charm muffles sound, too. If you talk very quietly, they won’t hear.”

  “That’s amazing,” murmured Roland.

  Sairis put two fingers absently into his own mouth. Roland tried not to notice the way his lips moved around them.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” he whispered.

  For answer, Sairis lowered his hand and splayed the fingers, palm up. Roland’s eyes had had time to adjust to the darkness. This close, it was easy to see the blisters.

  Before Roland could express his surprise, Sairis said, “That happens when you extinguish a lamp with your hand. But, as you’ve noticed, I heal quickly.”

  Before Roland could think of a reply, the door beside them opened and a man stepped out with a long lighter stick. He was so close—an arm’s length away. Sairis grabbed a fistful of Roland’s shirt with his unburned hand and maneuvered him deftly around the edge of the door into the earthy odor of the stables.

  The long rows of stalls were lit with a single torch at the far end. The horses in that direction were blowing and stamping indignantly at having their sleep disturbed. Towards this end, the stalls were peaceful—a series of torchlit planes and ink black shadows.

  Sairis dragged Roland into one such shadow among the tack. He turned sideways against him again—chest to shoulder, his hip coming to rest against the join of Roland’s thigh. Roland had to resist the urge to put his arms around Sairis, if only to make the posture less awkward. Sairis’s ear was directly in front of Roland’s mouth, his dark hair tickling Roland’s nose. Roland could smell the lye soap the Knave had provided, a hint of clean skin...and something else. A smell like the air after lightning. Magic?

  An instant later, the lamplighter stepped back into the room, the pool of light restored outside the postern door. Roland realized the cleverness of Sairis’s ruse. He’d waited until the guard could actually see the lamp go out. The guard would have no reason for suspicion. He would believe the lamp had simply malfunctioned, not that anyone had tampered with it. Roland had relocked the door, so nothing was out of the ordinary. A moment later, the retreating lamplighter extinguished his torch at the mouth of the stables, plunging them once more into blackness.

  “That was elegant,” said Roland against Sairis’s ear.

  Sairis gave a minute jerk that Roland couldn’t interpret. He stepped away from Roland, turning his head to look down the line of stalls. “Where is the sword?”

  Roland strode around him. He reached the ladder that led into the loft and moved nimbly up the steps. The winter hay was up here now—sweetly fragrant—and there wasn’t much room for a big man to maneuver. Roland had to dig around a little. He paused between two bales and looked down at Sairis. “Wouldn’t it be better to fetch it on our way out? Or are we going to take it through the palace with us?”

  Sairis hesitated. “We’d better leave it here for now, but I want to have a look first. Is there space?”

  “Enough,” said Roland.

  Sairis trotted up the ladder and followed him into the hay. Roland squirmed into the low eaves, where the bales didn’t completely fit and there was usually some room to crawl. In the farthest corner, the roof was of such a shape that the hay bales never intruded. When Roland was a boy, it had been enough space to sit and read. Now he opted to turn onto his back as he felt for the notch in the ceiling.

  Somewhere behind him, Sairis murmured words he couldn’t understand. Soft light illuminated the eaves, beams, and hay. Roland gave a quick glance between his arms to see whether Sairis had actually called up a flame in a hayloft. The light couldn’t be fire, though. Sairis was holding it—something small that glowed a faint green without flickering or smoking.

  Roland turned his attention to the ceiling once more. He pushed aside the loose panel and felt around in the space beyond. His fingers brushed cool glass and he drew it over the edge and into the light. Sairis made a noise of protest as Roland shifted the sword out of its hiding place.

  “Do not cut yourself!”

  Roland felt a little annoyed. “I have handled a few swords before.”

  “Not like this one.” Sairis scooted up beside him on stomach and forearms. Roland placed the sword between them, then shifted onto his side and one elbow.

  Sairis set the glowing object on the boards beside them. Its green light shivered over the strange runes etched into the blade of Hastafel’s sword. The obsidian looked impossibly bright, as though it had just been polished, throwing back their reflections like a mirror. Sairis eyed it as he might a poisonous snake.

  The blade looked deceptively delicate, like the ceremonial weapons that Roland’s family carried during coronations. But our glass knives are a symbol of trust—weak weapons. This sword had met Roland’s own with all the force of folded steel. The hilt looked brutally utilitarian, bound in leather and worn with use. The cross-guard had been scarred and nicked. The pommel did not have a stone or a carving, as a ruler’s sword often did. Instead, it had bands of what looked like silver and iron.

  “Well, this is definitely a spirit vessel,” murmured Sairis.

  Roland stiffened. “It’s got a demon in it?”

  “Maybe.” Sairis ran one finger slowly along the flat of the sword, over the etchings of the runes, all the way down over the cross-guard to the pommel. His touch was careful, a caress, as though he were exploring the body of a lover and not a deadly weapon. Roland noticed that the blisters had already begun to fade.

  Sairis’s eyes lingered a moment on the only imperfection—the spot near the crossguard where Roland’s blow had chipped the blade. “I can’t even imagine how hard you must have hit him to do this,” murmured Sairis. “It’s crawling with protective spells.”

  “I hit him pretty hard,” allowed Roland.

  The way he said it made Sairis look up.

  Roland didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I probably got closer to him than most men would have dared. I was...very upset. Reckless.”

  When he volunteered nothing further, Sairis continued, “Well, you’re right; I don’t think we should carry this around the palace. I’d like to stop for it on the way out, but if that’s not possible, I’d prefer to leave it where it is for now.” He hesitated. “Who else knows about this hiding place?”

  “No one,” said Roland. No one alive.

  Sairis frowne
d. Roland turned to see the names carved into the beam behind him. “Roland + Marcus.” Roland shut his eyes. Are you going to make me explain that right now?

  But Sairis only hesitated for a moment. He said nothing as Roland placed the sword carefully back into its hiding place and they retraced their route from the loft.

  Chapter 19. Behind a Tapestry

  Sairis felt a vague sense of irritation, mostly with himself. He wasn’t used to being responsible for another person. He’d known the cloaking charm could cover both of them, but he hadn’t considered how closely they would need to stand. He hadn’t considered...the effects.

  And then there was Roland’s attitude. I have brought a knight to do a spy’s job.

  Roland had seemed impressed by Sairis’s trick with the lamp. Sairis wasn’t sure that Roland understood why he’d been so careful. If the guard suspected an intruder, the charm would not offer real protection. It only worked when a ruse was executed flawlessly, attracting no suspicion.

  To Roland, Sairis supposed this expedition must feel like a bit of a lark, sneaking around his childhood home. To Sairis, it was nothing of the kind. He was not at all sure that Roland’s word would keep a spying magician from being thrown in the dungeon if they were caught. He wasn’t even sure it would stop anyone from executing Sairis on the spot. You underestimate antipathy towards necromancers, prince.

  Or maybe not. Maybe you understand perfectly. Sairis had thought, just for an instant, that Roland was about to call for the guard when Sairis brought out the bone charm. Somehow I am supposed to manage your fears and distrust while infiltrating the royal palace.

  All the while pressed up against...

  Sairis forced himself to focus on one thing at a time. A well-hidden trap door had taken them into the tunnels under the palace. Roland’s knowledge of the grounds was at least genuinely helpful. Alone, Sairis would have spent a lot more time squinting at Daphne’s cryptic map. She’d drawn it with no labels to avoid giving away state secrets, should it fall into unfriendly hands. Roland took a few wrong turns, but he corrected himself quickly with muttered comments, such as, “That must be the back of the west wing scullery pantry,” or, “We used to play hide and seek behind that mirror. I didn’t realize it connected to the rest of the tunnels” or “Why would anyone put an exit in the lavender room?” Sairis just followed him, producing light when necessary and dousing it when Roland thought it might be seen.

  Daphne had wanted them to start by contacting Lord Maniford, affectionately known to his niece and nephew as “Uncle Mani.” Roland had agreed that Maniford seemed the safest of all their kin. Even if Roland and Daphne were dead, he would still have been third in line from the throne. He’d never had reason to dream of kingship, and he’d never been ambitious. His hobbies were women, wine, hunting, and art, in that order.

  “He seems like a fop, but he’s actually a good administrator,” Roland said to Sairis as they moved through an ink-black corridor. “He doesn’t give advice very often, but when he does, it’s usually worth listening to.”

  Sairis, who had no high opinion of any of the elder Malconwys, said, “And when his advice is to parley with Hastafel?”

  Roland was silent.

  “We are just leaving a letter, right?” asked Sairis, suddenly alarmed. “You don’t plan on speaking with him?”

  Roland sounded regretful. “I would prefer a conversation, but Daphne wants to start with letters until we know what’s going on. I bow to her wishes.”

  Well, one of you is not a fool.

  “He will almost certainly be at dinner or in the smoking room at this time of evening,” said Roland. “He is not early to bed. We’ll nip into his room, leave the letter, and be on our way.” Roland had stopped walking. “Light?”

  Sairis obediently produced the light. They stood before a door. Roland double-checked his map. Then he turned the handle. The door swung silently into the passage on oiled hinges. The opening was obscured by what looked like a rug—heavy-weave fabric, hanging two or three feet from the doorframe and creating such an impenetrable barrier that only the faintest light seeped through from the room beyond. Sairis realized an instant later that it was the back of a tapestry.

  Roland stood still in the passage, listening. Sairis could hear nothing. At last, Roland motioned with his hand to put out the light. Sairis complied. Without the glow, it was easier to see the trace of light at the top and bottom of the tapestry. Roland stepped forward. The tapestry didn’t hang smooth, but created stiff curves of cloth. Roland scooted along behind it against the wall, and Sairis followed him, leaving the door cracked open.

  After a short distance, they came to a place where two tapestries overlapped. Roland gently parted the fabric and looked out. After a moment, he pushed the opening wide. Sairis saw a well-appointed sitting room with a fireplace, tables, bookshelves, and couches. A large mirror hung over the fireplace. In the far wall, a door led to what looked like a bedchamber. The tapestry behind them covered two walls with a colorful forest scene of nymphs bathing in a waterfall. Butterflies danced between the trees, woven with threads of bright silver and gold.

  Sairis considered making some remark about checking behind all the tapestries if he was ever invited to the palace. But the idea of being invited to stay the night in a place like this seemed too preposterous to be worth mentioning. His eyes strayed to the books, shelved invitingly beside the fireplace.

  The grate was cold and the lamps were turned down low, as one might expect when the occupant was away. Roland started roaming around the room. Sairis took a step towards the fireplace with the vague idea of reading some of the books’ titles while Roland considered where to leave his letter.

  Sairis’s eyes had barely scanned “Fool’s Gold: a Pirate Tale of High Adventure,” when Roland grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back to the wall. They whipped behind the tapestry and ended up face to face in the gloom, a curve of the stiff fabric close against Sairis’s back, Roland’s hands gripping his shoulders. “What?” hissed Sairis.

  “I...saw something,” whispered Roland, “in the bedroom.” His voice sounded confused—not what Sairis would have expected if he’d simply run into his beloved uncle.

  Before Sairis could reply, he heard a board creak. Instinctively, his hand shot into his pocket, and he activated the cloaking charm. It would cover any small noises they might make. However, it would do nothing to hide the movement of the tapestry if they bumped it. Sairis was already standing with his back nearly flush against the fabric. Hell.

  If he could just scoot around Roland to put his back against the wall beside him...

  Another board creaked. Sairis forgot that he was standing in Roland’s arms. Something was moving around the room beyond the tapestry and it was moving...oddly. Not like a human, his mind supplied.

  He couldn’t hear footfalls at all, but the creak of the boards sounded ominous—as though something heavy were padding over them. A big man in socks, he told himself. But Roland was a big man, and his footsteps had not creaked on the boards. The rhythm of the creaks didn’t sound right, either. Could it be two people walking together?

  They were awfully quiet for two people.

  Sairis considered asking Roland what exactly he’d seen. In theory, the cloaking charm would allow Sairis and Roland to have a whispered conversation while standing right beside an unsuspecting person. However, Sairis wasn’t certain they were dealing with a person. A massive dog, perhaps? He’d known the charm to fail on animals, perhaps because they were naturally suspicious. Sairis kept quiet.

  And then a voice began to speak.

  Chapter 20. Third Date

  Roland wasn’t sure what he’d seen. Logic kept insisting that it had to be a dog. He felt embarrassed for his initial panicky reaction, the way he’d dragged Sairis behind the curtain and folded them up face to face in the dark. If I thought the way he had us standing beside the palace wall was awkward... Gods. He is going to think I’m invading his personal space on purp
ose, that I can’t take “no” for an answer.

  Roland felt Sairis slip his hand into his pocket against Roland’s thigh. Roland’s skin prickled and he knew that Sairis had activated the cloaking charm. But will it block our scents from a dog? A hunting dog might attack us. Better to just make a run for the door. He was about to open his mouth and say this.

  Then, beyond the tapestry, a voice like dark chocolate purred, “Oh, there you are.”

  Roland stopped breathing. His mind delivered a stuttering series of observations: It’s not a dog. It’s talking. To us?

  The next words made him think otherwise as the voice continued in an indulgent murmur. “I know it’s frustrating, but I can’t hear you. I can lip read, but you’ll have to speak more slowly. No, don’t break the mirror; you’ll just make this situation worse.” He stopped to laugh in the unconscious way people laugh when they think no one can hear them. “You’re cute when you’re angry. You won’t beat him like that, though.”

  A long silence.

  Roland felt a tap on his chest and realized that Sairis had brought a hand up between them. He also realized that he was gripping Sairis’s shoulders too tightly. He let go, feeling foolish. Roland dropped his hands and put his palms flat against the wall. Sairis put his hands delicately on Roland’s upper arms and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I know this position is not ideal, but we should not be caught right now. Be still and wait.”

  Not ideal... thought Roland as Sairis’s warm body pressed against his own. The combination of fear, strangeness, and intimacy went to his head and he whispered back, “I don’t know about ideal, but it’ll certainly become embarrassing if we have to stay like this for long. Embarrassing for me, anyway.”

  Sairis shifted in the darkness against him. Roland wished he could see his face. Why did I say that? Now I’ve made it worse. Then he realized that Sairis was laughing. Now Roland really wished he could see.

  Sairis got himself under control. He tried to maneuver to one side or the other, but he couldn’t do so without disturbing the tapestry. “This was not what I had in mind when I said, ‘Stand very close,’” he whispered.