“Did the man wake up yet?” I asked. A local man had been found unconscious not far from Scilla’s body. Physicians had kept him alive all this time with the help of the gods and a strong meat broth in the hopes that he’d regain consciousness and be able to identify Scilla’s murderer. Maybe he’d finally awoken and had been able to speak with the agents.
The commander’s eyes flicked to me, apparently uncertain how much I should hear. Father normally didn’t involve us children in matters of security. Llandro and I’d tried to find out as much as possible, but we were surely missing some details.
“Go ahead,” Father said. “As much as I’d like to keep Princess Jiara out of it, her safety may be at stake too.”
“Yes. The man is awake now, and he confirmed he saw the killer. Based on the witness’s testimony, it doesn’t appear that the Farnskager delegation has anything to worry about.” Commander Torro hesitated. “The assassin himself was most likely from Farnskag.”
I gasped. “The killer was from Farnskag? Does Mother know this?” She wanted me to marry one of them.
Could Raffar even be behind it? But why? Scilla’s death was a detriment to Farnskag, and if I declined to marry him, Mother might refuse him all use of the ports instead of only imposing fees.
Father’s grip on my hand loosened as he faced the commander. “That’s a serious charge, and it could have a drastic effect on our current foreign policy. What evidence do you have?”
My hands gripped the silk of my skirt. Our current foreign policy was that I’d marry one of them.
“Well, first we should keep in mind that the witness is Loftarian—”
I caught my breath. The witness was Loftarian? That was news.
Father cut him off. “Yes, I remember. And normally, I’d dismiss his opinion on those grounds alone. But he emigrated an entire generation ago, and he’s married to one of the Volari family up in Flissina. We’ve known them for years. He’s trustworthy. What did he say?”
“The killer was shaved bald, so a man. And he saw the assassin’s tattoos, described them to us. From the little we know they were missing the typical elements of the military.”
Not military. Not one of Raffar’s soldiers. My shoulders relaxed slightly. At least I wasn’t surrounded by them in the palace. “So, a private person. From Farnskag,” I said. “But why?”
“My agents don’t have any information on the motive yet. But I have a drawing in my office with the tattoos the witness described. Our next step will be to ask King Raffar’s guards for assistance. Maybe they can narrow down the search.”
Father held up one finger. “We must discuss this with the queen first. I’m not sure if a direct question wouldn’t come across as an accusation . . . or possibly allow them to warn the culprit if they do recognize him.” Father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Princess Jiara and I have been missing from the dinner for too long as it is. I’ll discuss it with the queen after the banquet. We’ll talk again tomorrow morning.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Father and I watched as the commander headed for his office. Scilla’s killer was from Farnskag. And there was even a sketch of him, or at least of his tattoos.
“Even in the dark, I recognize that look in your eye,” Father said sternly. “I want you to be careful. Stay aware of your surroundings, and report anything you see that we should know. But otherwise, I want you to let your mother and me, and the commander, handle this.”
With that, Father slid his arm in mine, steering me toward the palace. As we walked, I looked up the hill. In the dark, the memorial field was black, invisible. But Scilla was surely up there, pacing. Father might want me to stay out of the investigation, but if there was the slightest chance I might be able to help, I had to do it. I pulled Father’s arm, hurrying back to the banquet hall. He probably thought I was eager to get back to King Raffar, but I had another mission: to memorize the lines and swirls on every Farnskager face there. Because not every person who’d accompanied the king was in the military.
And tomorrow, no matter what, I’d get a hold of that drawing.
Chapter 3
By noon, I was certain Commander Torro’s office was never empty. My plan to stroll in unnoticed wasn’t going to work. And with every hour that passed, I forgot the details of the royal delegation’s tattoos a little more. Could I draw the guard out somehow and slip in? But then I’d need an accomplice for the diversion, and Pia hadn’t returned yet—if she’d even help me—and I didn’t want anyone to know what I was doing. Keeping secrets in the palace was never easy, and Father wouldn’t like it if he heard I’d been eavesdropping or meddling in the investigation.
Two of the cook’s serving women sauntered down the hall, their heads together as if gossiping. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I squeezed backward into a nook filled mostly by a huge potted plant. I’d only wanted to hide until they walked by, but of course, they stopped in front of a window down the hall to rest in the ocean’s breeze.
“An earthwalker . . .” sighed the older woman. “If they don’t find the assassin soon, it will be the downfall of the family. Mark my words.”
“You had an earthwalker in your family once, didn’t you?”
The woman made a noise of assent. “I was still a child then, just old enough for the earthwalker to stop being careful around me. At least careful in the beginning when they still have a trace of their humanity. My favorite aunt had been killed, stabbed in her sleep, and at first, we didn’t know who did it. My uncle figured it out after several months, which saved the rest of us.”
The younger woman sucked in a deep breath. “The rest? Was it terrible?”
“You can’t imagine. The earthwalker tormented us during the entire rainy season. The adults got the worst of it, but even I was hit with a hot poker from the fire.” She lifted her arm, probably to show a scar I couldn’t see from here. Then she shook her head, and her voice dropped. “One day, my mother gave me a basket of papayas to take to my grandparents. I can still smell them. But when I got to their house”—she swallowed—“there was blood everywhere. The walls. The table and chairs. The floor. I remember I dropped the papayas, and they rolled through puddles of red. Even the ceiling was spattered. I found grandfather and grandmother dropped like forgotten dolls on the floor next to their bed. Their bodies . . . they were crisscrossed with deep cuts. And their eyes, so big and scared, and—”
She broke off, covering her face with her hands. Her voice was muffled as she whispered, “Blood on the floor, the walls, the ceiling. I can’t stand the scent of papayas anymore. Haven’t eaten one since.”
The other women rubbed her back, murmuring soothing words, then she drew her along. “Maybe you need a short walk before you go back to the kitchen.”
Motionless, I watched the women go. My throat felt like someone had swabbed it with cloth. Her favorite aunt had done all that? Earthwalkers could be violent, everyone knew that. But Mother and Father must have managed to keep people from sharing just how bad with me. How long before Scilla turned that way?
I had to see that drawing. I left my hiding spot behind the plant and wandered down the hall again, hoping the last remaining person in the office would come out soon. I had paced back toward the commander’s door again when it opened.
“Princess Jiara!” Commander Torro looked up and down the corridor. “Is there anything I can do for you? Is there a problem with our guests?” His hand went to the sword at his side. “Are you worried for your safety?”
That was it. My safety. I stood taller and assumed my most royal tone. “I need to see the drawing of the assassin’s tattoos.”
The commander froze, and his eyes slid toward his office. “But His Majesty said you weren’t to be . . . bothered—”
Imitating my mother, I silently held up my hand and let my position as princess speak for me.
He swallowed.
“I would like to see the drawings now,” I repeated.
“Of course, Your Highness.” He bowed
his head slightly and opened the door. I followed him in as if I had every right to be there.
From a desk drawer, the commander extracted a book-sized piece of parchment. He slid it across the polished wood surface to me. “Apparently, the assassin had the typical swirls and lines, but only these two pictures were memorable,” he said.
Two patterns had been inked on the page. At the top, a curved leaf was depicted, its border a line thick like a twig. I placed a finger on it. “All of the guards have this leaf, but not exactly this pattern. Most have a double thin line around the leaf with short perpendicular lines between them. King Raffar also. His translator does not—the translator has a similar pattern but with thin borders and a zigzag line in between.”
The commander’s eyes shot to my face as if he couldn’t believe the queen’s youngest daughter had memorized anything so well. My years of failures in schooling had been the topic of gossip. But pictures had never been a problem for me.
“You’ve been paying attention,” he said. “My guards have been alerted to observe, and everyone has said the same. Three other members of the party don’t have this leaf symbol at all. From what we understand, the leaf is the symbol of King Raffar’s clan.”
I nodded and checked the second drawing: a stylized dolphin or whale with its head curled strangely into its chest. I sighed in disappointment. “Almost everyone in the king’s entourage has this symbol.”
The commander frowned, but he nodded. “Yes. We’re waiting for Queen Ginevora to confirm we may speak with the king’s head guards to see what it means.”
I traced the lines of the dolphin—a good sign, usually—with my finger. So wrong on the face of a killer.
But something about it seemed somehow familiar. I swiveled the drawing back and forth, then stopped so that the “head” was pointing more upward, instead of diving downward. A burst of black and white flashed in my mind. “The flags.”
Commander Torro watched me with narrowed eyes.
I pointed to the figure’s short neck. “The figures on the flags attached to the Farnskager carriages. If you shorten this part and remove the eyes . . .”
“Yes, I think you could be right, Your Highness. It could be the Farnskag hybrid figure—part rock, part fern, and part wind.” He tilted his head as he studied it, then frowned. “If so, it’s likely that many people have this tattoo.”
My gaze moved up to the leaf, which might be more promising then. “These drawings are so specific. What did the witness say—why did it take this long to get them?”
“During the attack, he was injured. When he saw what had happened, he turned to run for help, and the murderer felled him with a blow to the head. The killer must have believed the man dead. It took until a week ago for the witness to regain consciousness. As soon as my agents had the drawings, they traveled back to Glizerra.”
I nodded, my heart a touch lighter than it had been before. “If the illustrations don’t match any of the faces of those present, it means no one in the party was the assassin.”
The commander pursed his lips. “The queen puts great trust in King Raffar and his companions, so we did not expect to find the culprit among them. But we can never be too careful. Please do not leave the palace grounds without a guard, Princess Jiara.”
__________
The next morning, I strode up the memorial hill. Now that I’d heard the serving woman’s story, my heart pounded, and not from the climb. But it was still early. Scilla hadn’t truly attacked yet. I could handle a few scratches.
I stood alone before her memorial stone, and no one else was in hearing distance.
“Scilla,” I said. “We’re getting closer.”
The wind blew more strongly off the sea today, and only three neat stacks of shells remained. Sometime last night, Mother’s must have fallen down. I resisted the urge to straighten up the scattered pieces. Gio wanted it so, and the Time of Tears was almost over anyway. We had to let go, even if Scilla wouldn’t.
A tickle ran along my cheek. Scilla had heard me, but a tickle was harmless. She must be happy to know of our progress.
Her killer was a Farnskager. Why would someone from Farnskag do that? They needed us. Without our access to the ocean, they were cut off from trading and fishing. And they would lose Azzaria as a strong ally against Stärkland, an enemy to both of us on the western side of the continent.
At breakfast this morning, I’d asked Mother and Father about the tattoos. Father had reminded me to stay out of the investigation, but Llandro objected, saying we should know all we could if we were seriously considering the king’s proposal. Mother answered softly, “I’d be more worried if she were not interested.”
And then she’d given an update. The hybrid figure truly was the symbol of Farnskag. The leaf indicated the ruling clan—Raffar’s clan. But King Raffar had denied that anyone in the clan could have hurt Scilla. Raffar’s people stood firmly behind him in his efforts to save the country from the Stärklandish threat. A marriage between our two countries would bring them nothing but benefits.
Neither Raffar nor the guards knew anyone with a thick-bordered leaf tattoo. That they didn’t believe any of their clan capable of murder wasn’t surprising. If someone told me our family was responsible for killing Scilla, I wouldn’t believe it either.
I touched the stone. “Scilla, they might deny it, but we’re closer to finding your assassin. We’ve ruled out Stärkland and the Loftarians and, of course, our own people. We know it was a man, and a Farnskager at that, one from Raffar’s clan.”
What we needed now was someone who could investigate in Farnskag, someone who could check the tattoos of everyone who lived there. But with Raffar and the Farnskag guards so certain none of their own would harm Scilla, it would be difficult for Mother to convince them to allow Azzarian agents to investigate within their borders. It might take months. By then, the killer could hear about our plans and flee.
A flash of sharp pain seared my arm. I slapped my hand over it, gripping it for a few seconds, until the sting faded. My previously unblemished skin was torn in a thin, jagged line. I licked my finger and ran it along the bloody scratch.
Oh, Scilla.
I’d been so hopeful, but no. She was losing patience already, becoming dangerous. We didn’t have months to convince Raffar to allow an investigation. We needed to go after the killer now, before Scilla got worse, before she bathed her anger in larger amounts of blood. I thought of the serving woman, as a child. What if Scilla lost control faster than we expected? What if her next victim was Zito?
It might be impossible to get our agents into Farnskag, but one person had the perfect excuse to go there: me. The eventuality made me dizzy, and I lowered myself to the grass.
As queen, no one would question me if I asked to view every member of the clan. And I’d be surrounded by Raffar’s guards, protected. Despite the fact that Raffar asserted his people hadn’t killed Scilla, he’d promised Mother I’d have a female guard—one who couldn’t be the assassin described by the witness. And Pia would be with me too.
I dragged my fingers through the grass next to Scilla’s memorial stone. Only I was in the perfect position to find her killer. Except I’d never learn the language, and I didn’t understand their customs, and I would be married to someone I couldn’t communicate with and—
A gust of wind blasted up the side of the hill, bringing the lightest spray of water with it. As if both Gio and Azzoro had worked together to offer me their blessings. If the gods believed me capable . . .
And I’d have Pia to support me. She was on her way back now. How I’d missed her.
I straightened my back, looked out over the sea and the city. The important thing was to protect Mother and Father and Llandro and especially Zito. And anyone else in Glizerra. I looked down at the deep scratch on my arm. It seemed Scilla was as exceptional in death as she was in life. Most earthwalkers got through the Time of Tears before their rage took over. Scilla hadn’t been gone three months yet, a
nd already she’d drawn blood.
__________
After returning from the memorial field, I met Mother in her office, where she poured lemon water at the conference table. I perched on my corner of her desk and rubbed damp palms against my silk pants.
I allowed myself no time to reconsider. “All right. I will marry King Raffar.”
Mother’s face lit up with a smile, and she set down the pitcher and strode across the room to embrace me. “I’m so proud of you, daughter. I know you’re worried about the language, but you’ll learn. You will. Just have faith in yourself. And King Raffar is a good monarch and a good person. He has promised to keep you safe, and he’s even sent orders to have his own agents search for the suspect, despite not believing one of his countrymen could be guilty. If I didn’t believe in him, I would never let you go away.”
I forced as much of a smile to my face as I could. She stroked my hair once, then hurried to her desk. “I’ll have a note sent to the king. We will make the engagement official immediately.”
Immediately? We couldn’t even wait until tomorrow?
I walked a marble paperweight shaped like a turtle along the edge of the desk. On the outside, I was certain I looked like the same Jiara as always. But on the inside, my entire being consisted of only one thought: King Raffar would be my husband. My heart hammered in my chest, pounding in time with the words. King Raffar would be my husband.
A foreign man I couldn’t understand would share my future. He’d been engaged to Scilla, and now he’d be mine.
A tickle brushed over my cheek.
Scilla, here in the palace. Slowly, a chill crept over my neck. She’d left the memorial field. But her touch—was it approval . . . or a warning?
__________
“Seventeen!” Serenna’s less emphatic voice echoed King Raffar’s exclamation.
Only three hours after my agreement to become Raffar’s wife, we were all gathered in Mother’s office. The king leaned on the conference table, his palms flat on either side of the Farnskager version of the engagement document. Mother stood calmly across from him with her copy. Father and I waited off to the side of the table, with the translators behind each of the monarchs.
A Dragonbird in the Fern Page 3