But, as soon as the thought occurred, Khriss discarded it. Their relationship just wasn’t like that. He was fond of her—she could sense that much—but it was a familiar fondness, not a romantic one. It was a feeling she returned. Baon was growing to be like the older brother she’d never had, always offering advice, guiding her with his experience and wisdom, doing things he shouldn’t even consider—like walking into a lady’s bedchamber without knocking.
With a sigh, she climbed out of bed and tried to do something with her tear-stained, puffy-eyed face. There was still a feeling of sadness in the back of her heart—regardless of what Baon claimed, Khriss really had been shocked by the news of Gevin’s death. No matter how much she prepared herself, no matter how much she’d assumed she would never see him again, a piece of her had held onto hope. Now even that hope was gone, and it left a space in her soul.
But, she could function with the hole there. It was like the hole her mother had left when she died—Khriss doubted that either hole would ever get better. But, she could go on. She really didn’t have much choice.
Eventually she managed to get enough makeup on her face, enough of the tangles out of her hair, and enough perfume on to make her less-horrifying. She put on the robe Baon had chosen—a blue one that was bright by dayside standards—along with a pair of her heeled darkside shoes.
Gathering herself as she prepared to open the door, Khriss assumed a duchessly posture and walked out into the hallway. Who would be visiting her? Loaten, maybe? Another darkside official who had heard of her loss? She arrived at the spiral staircase with a mind full of questions.
They evaporated as soon as she saw who was standing below, chatting with Baon.
“You!” she accused.
Kenton looked up with a smile. “Hello, Khrissalla. How have you been?” At his side stood the black-uniformed Kershtian she had seen a few days before, but the other man—Eric—wasn’t there.
“I spent all that time getting ready, just to see you?” Khriss said, stalking down the staircase.
“Yes, and you certainly took your time,” Kenton replied. “What is it about you darksider women? My mother would always spend hours getting ready in the morning.”
Khriss ignored the gibe. “How did you find me?”
Kenton shrugged. “You’ve been maintaining a fairly high profile here in Lonzare. The people down here were so amazed to find a mastrell walking amongst them that they answered my questions without even thinking.”
Khriss reached the bottom of the stairs and marched over to him. Kenton frowned as she arrived, looking her over with a confused eye.
“You seem … taller,” he mumbled, bending down to look at her feet.
Khriss hopped back with a blush. “What do you think you are—”
“What odd shoes,” Kenton said, standing back up.
“They’re called heels,” Khriss said, continuing to blush. “Most women wear them on darkside.”
“Why?” Kenton asked.
“I don’t know,” Khriss said. “To look taller. Why does it matter anyway? Did you ask the Lord General about Gevin for me?”
Now it was Kenton’s turn to blush. “Um, sorry …” he mumbled.
“Never mind,” Khriss returned. Doesn’t matter now anyway. “Why are you here?”
“I have to have a reason to come visit my savior? I’m eternally indebted to you for saving my life, remember?”
Khriss shot him a withering look.
“All right,” Kenton said with a chuckle, pulling out a sheet of paper. “The Lord Admiral is throwing a ball. He asked me to attend, and requested I bring you.”
“Kenton, are you asking me to a dance?” Khriss accused. “I’m an engaged woman!”
Kenton blushed even further. “I know,” he defended. “It wasn’t my idea—apparently your little performance at the Lord Artisan’s has started a few rumors.”
“So it’s my fault now?”
“Isn’t everything?” Kenton shot back.
“One of these days you will learn some manners.”
“I thought you wanted to meet the Taishin. Forgive me for trying to do you a favor.”
“You could do me a favor by getting your arrogant face out of my house,” Khriss retorted.
“So are you coming or not?”
“Of course I am. When is it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Khriss said indignantly. “What kind of forewarning is that?”
“Well, I only got the invitation yesterday, and since you neglected to leave me your address, I had to spend most of today trying to find you. I guess you’ll only have twelve hours to paint your face, rather than the usual twenty-four.”
Khriss snorted. “Well, you’re here. I might as well feed you. Are you hungry?”
Kenton shrugged. “I could eat.”
“What about him,” Khriss said, nodding toward the Kershtian.
Kenton turned. “Ais? I’m not even sure if he eats. Perhaps if you have a few roasted sand masters, he’d be willing to try them.”
Khriss frowned.
“He’s Kershtian,” Kenton explained. “He thinks sand mastery is blasphemy against his God.”
“So why … ?”
“He’s a spy from the Lady Judge,” Kenton said amiably.
“Spy?” Khriss asked.
“In essence.”
Khriss shrugged. “Baon, what time is it?”
“Two o’clock, darkside time,” he said, checking the pocketwatch.
“Is lunch prepared?”
“It has been for some time,” the warrior informed. “I believe Idan tried to inform you of that fact a little while ago.”
Khriss blushed. “Of course. Where are Acron and Cynder?”
“Out looking for information, I believe,” Baon explained.
“Still?” Khriss asked with a frown.
“Cynder claims he doesn’t trust the words of the beggar,” Baon explained. “He wanted more proof.”
Khriss smiled, her mood lightened by their loyalty. It was hopeless—the gun and ring proved that, for neither were items Gevin would ever have let out of his possession. But, the professors’ determination was sweet.
“Idan,” Khriss called to the butler, who stood a short unobtrusively a short distance away, “tell the cook we’ll have lunch now.”
“Yes, My Lady,” he said with a bow, turning toward the kitchen.
“Come on,” Khriss said, leading Kenton away from the doors and down the short steps toward the sitting room. They would have to wait a few moments while the cook set the table.
Kenton followed, frowning when he saw the fireplace. “What is that for?”
“Atmosphere,” Khriss said, nodding for him to take a seat. “On darkside most rooms have a fireplace or a stove—we need the warmth.”
“Warmth?” Kenton said with a frown. “Why would you want that?”
Khriss opened her mouth to give a retort to the obviously sarcastic comment, then paused. Kenton’s face was completely honest.
“You’ve never been cold before, have you?” she asked with wonder.
“Well, darksider town is a little bit cold,” Kenton mused. “I guess I can see why you’d want a fire down here.”
Khriss laughed quietly. “Darksider town is about as cold as a room with four blazing fireplaces back in Elis,” she said.
Kenton shrugged. “Then I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Well, I suppose it makes sense,” Khriss mumbled to herself. “If it’s never cold here, and it never rains … but, surely you use fire in cooking?”
Kenton frowned, shaking his head. “The sun cooks our food. Why would you use fire? That would burn the food.”
“Oh, my,” Khriss mumbled, finally understanding how fundamentally different their societies were. She had seen the outward signs—the cultural differences, such as the role of women or the materials used in construction—but she hadn’t grasped how deep the contrast went. Fire was s
uch a basic building-block of society.
Kenton was admiring the room—he seemed especially interested in the grundlefish in their globes on the wall. “This is quite the place,” he noted, shifting in his chair. “Even mastrells don’t live so well.”
“Thank you,” Khriss said with a nod. “Is there something wrong with your chair?”
“It’s just so …”
“Soft?” Khriss asked with a smile. Maybe now he’d understand why she found dayside’s sand-stuffed chairs so inferior.
“Uncomfortable,” Kenton corrected. “It doesn’t bear my weight—I feel like I’m going to sink all the way down to the floor.”
Khriss snorted. “That feeling is called comfort, daysider,” she informed.
“If this is the darkside version of comfort, no wonder you people are always grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy!” Khriss snapped.
Kenton smiled, then nodded toward the door. Idan stood waiting to catch her attention.
“Lunch is prepared, My Lady,” he informed.
“Good,” Khriss said, rising. Kenton followed, trailed, as always, by his Kershtian shadow. Khriss tried to smile at the strange policeman, an apology for speaking the entire conversation in Dynastic. The man’s face remained emotionless and cold, however, and his eyes regard Khriss with a piercing gaze. Khriss turned uncomfortably, feeling a sudden shiver strike her body.
The meal was a simple one—bread with a dipping sauce and some steamed vegetables. However, Khriss enjoyed every minute of it. For once Kenton was the one uncertain what to do, trying to mimic her motions as he ate. He held the utensils uncomfortably, ate the vegetables with a strange look on his face, and seemed fascinated by the bread.
“Well?” Khriss asked, about half-way through her meal.
“It’s … different,” Kenton confessed. “My mother fixed darkside food for me a couple of times for me, but I had forgotten how odd it was. The vegetables—what are they?”
Khriss shrugged. “Potatoes, a few carrots, some leeks.”
“These are potatoes?” Kenton asked with amazement, poking at a chunk.
Khriss nodded.
“But they’re so … mushy.”
“Well, yes,” Khriss agreed. “That’s what potatoes are like. You don’t mean to tell me you eat them raw?”
“We slice them and dry them in the sun,” Kenton explained.
“Do you dry everything in the sun?” Khriss asked with a frown.
“Pretty much,” Kenton admitted. “This bread . . . why is it so fluffy?”
“Yeast,” Khriss explained.
“Who?”
Khriss shook her head. “Never mind. What about the flavor?”
Kenton shrugged. “It’s a bit bland,” he confessed.
“Bland?” Khriss asked incredulously.
“I’m afraid so. If only you had some—Oh, wait! Why didn’t I see that before?”
He raised his hand and there was a sudden flash. Khriss jumped in surprise as a line of glowing sand shot through the air in front of her.
That is definitely going to take some getting used to, she thought.
Kenton used the sand to pluck a small container off the serving table—Khriss had always thought it ornamental. However, as Kenton whipped the container back into his hand and popped of the top, Khriss realized what it must be.
The pungent scent of Kershtian ashawen spice floated through the room as Kenton dumped the black powder all over his plate. He took a bite.
“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Much better. Even if it is a bit soggy.”
Khriss watched with a gaping mouth. Once he was finished with the sand, Kenton gathered it in his hand and it stopped shining.
It turned black, Khriss thought with confusion. Why did that happen?
Kenton absently tucked the handful of sand in his belt as he continued to eat, apparently enjoying the meal much more now.
Khriss sighed, turning back to her own meal, frustrated. How did he manage to put me on the defensive? She though angrily. He’s the one who’s supposed to be uncomfortable! Well, let’s see what he thinks of authentic Elisian wine.
However, before she could make the order, a commotion came from the direction of the front door. A few moments later Cynder entered the room, bowing before Khriss.
“My Lady,” he said. “I am happy to see you mobile again.”
Acron entered right behind the linguist, towing a darkside man with skin light enough that he could have been Elisian.
“Who is that?” Khriss asked.
“A witness, My Lady,” Cynder informed. “The Divine themselves must have been watching over us, for we finally accomplished our task. This is Dorvorden, one of the guards assigned to the Prince’s expedition.”
“Well done, Cynder,” Khriss approved.
“Actually, My Lady,” Cynder said somewhat sheepishly. “Acron was the one who found him.”
“Acron?” Khriss asked with amazement.
The overweight man nodded eagerly.
“I had almost given up,” Cynder continued. “But then I walked buy a pub and saw Acron sitting and chatting with this fellow.”
“That is nothing short of amazing,” Khriss mumbled to herself.
“My lady?” Cynder asked.
“Never mind. Kenton, if you would excuse us?”
“Oh, go right ahead,” Kenton said with a smile, following Khriss as she rose and walked toward the sitting room. He obviously intended to listen in on the conversation.
Shella! Khriss thought with exasperation. He has no concept of tact, does he?
However, she didn’t want to bother with Kenton for the moment, so she ignored him, focusing on Acron’s ‘find.’ Dorvorden was dressed in an odd combination of dayside and darkside dress. He had a man’s open-fronted dayside robe, but underneath he wore the pants from a darkside soldier’s uniform and a dayside shirt.
Dorvorden was a quiet-looking man with straight hair, a thin body, and a slight nervous twitch. As Acron led Dorvorden into the room, Baon reached a quick, almost unnoticeable hand toward the man’s belt, pulling free a standard-issue solder’s pistol.
He tapped the weapon for a moment, eyeing its mechanisms, then snorted, handing it back to its owner.
“No charge,” Baon explained. “It couldn’t fire anyway—the hammer’s bent and the frizzen is completely missing.”
Dorvorden regarded his weapon sheepishly.
“Please sit down,” Khriss said, gesturing toward one of the seats.
The man complied, looking around him very uncomfortably. From the nervous glint in his eyes, she was surprised Acron had managed to convince him to come along at all.
“I warn you, My Lady,” Cynder whispered in her ear as she moved to seat herself. “His information isn’t … encouraging.”
“I’m all right, Cynder,” she assured.
Kenton walked into the room and took a seat without being offered one; his presence didn’t help Dorvorden’s mood. The man regarded Kenton with a look not unlike the one a rabbit would give a wolf.
Khriss seated herself lightly. “Idan, bring this man some tea,” she requested.
The butler bowed, moving to obey.
“Now, Dorvorden, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, My Lady,” the man said in a nervous voice. He spoke with a distinctly Elisian accent.
“You were one of Prince Gevalden’s guards?”
“Yes, My Lady. Dorvorden, fourth son of Earl Teadonin. I was a lieutenant in the Elisian guard.”
Khriss nodded. The Elisian army was very small, mostly ornamental. All natives who served in it were made officers—only mercenaries weren’t given ranks.
“Tell me exactly what happened once you left Elis, Dorvorden.”
The man looked around the room uncomfortably.
“Don’t worry about the repercussions, Dorvorden,” Khriss promised. “Tell me the truth, and you will be released. I promise. We’re only here for information, not to punish anyone.”
“Well, after that the Prince spent a few days in town making arrangements. He wasn’t happy to find out how far away Lossand was, and so he hired a boat to take us along to coast until we got closer. We stopped at one of the Rim Kingdoms—of course, I didn’t know it was a Rim Kingdom then, My Lady. The Prince hired packmen and guides, and we traveled west, passing into Lossand the next day. After that we continued south until we met up with the Nor’Tallon river. We followed that to Kezare.”
“And the Prince reached Kezare safely?” Khriss asked with surprise.
“Um, no, My Lady,” Dorvorden admitted, looking down at the floor. He ignored the cup Idan brought him. “You … you won’t tell my family how we failed, will you My Lady? I’d rather they think me dead than know I failed to protect his Highness.”
“I understand, Dorvorden,” Khriss promised. “I will make no mention of your name when I return to darkside.”
“Thank you, My Lady,” Dorvorden said with a nod. “It happened just outside of town. I … I don’t know why they waited so long. Maybe they wanted to see if they could subvert more of us, I don’t know. Anyway, Lord Trevor was the one behind the betrayal.”
“Lord Trevor?” Khriss asked with surprise. “You mean Baron Trevor?”
Dorvorden nodded sickly.
Shella! Khriss thought. No wonder he wants me to keep his name quiet. Accusing such a high-ranking nobleman of being a traitor with no evidence … .
“I promise you, My Lady,” Dorvorden continued. “It was the Baron. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was him.”
“I believe you,” Khriss said reassuringly. In her mind, however, she questioned. Trevor had been one of Elis’s preeminent generals, not to mention one of Gevin’s trusted friends. He had been the only other nobleman of any rank on the expedition.
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