StarCrossed

by Elizabeth C. Bunce

  Marlytt rose. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re all off to the east tower to see the Breijarda Velde. That thunder we heard at dinner? It wasn’t. There’s been an avalanche, and the pass is completely blocked!”

  PART II

  DON’T GET CAUGHT

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bryn Shaer could make a celebration out of anything, I decided, huddled in my stolen coat beside the tower wall, as the nobs clustered excitedly at the crenellated edge, pointing through the trees at the vast white swell that had been the Breijarda Velde. And, until an hour ago, my only avenue of escape. The sleet had settled to a soft snow, pinkish in the moonslight and just now sticking to the cold wet stones.

  “Well, we’re stuck with each other now, it seems,” said Lord Cardom, accepting a goblet of wine from Eptin Cwalo. “It’ll take weeks to dig that out.”

  “Weeks?” I echoed, my voice a strained squeak. I turned to Lord Antoch. “But won’t it melt, or something?”

  “The folk of Breijardarl are no strangers to avalanche,” Antoch said. “They’ll have it clear as soon as they can, but they’ll have to wait until the danger of further collapse has passed. I suppose we should send somebody to help, maybe with dogs, dig a little bit from our end as well — and make sure no one was caught in it.” He looked up into the snow-filled sky. “This looks like it’s shaping up to be a hell of a snowfall, though. Cardom, I think you’re right. Could be weeks.”

  I just stared at them and pulled my coat closer, painfully aware just how inadequate it was. If the lot of them weren’t distracted by the excitement, they’d have noticed how strange I was acting. The snow drifted steadily downward, like a soft, white nightmare, as the nobs around me laughed and chattered like a flock of nattering crows.

  I spent the night arguing my options with myself, but come morning finally admitted there were none. It wasn’t just the avalanche — this freak impediment flung into my path by gods who clearly hated me — but the steady fall of snow on top of it as well. It had drifted up against the castle walls during the night, smothering the courtyard, swallowing the lower stories, pinning the larder and buttery doors shut. Out in the world, a vast white blanket stretched from the bailey wall into the forest beyond. Even the tracks of the messengers and their dogs disappeared again within the hour.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Marlytt had said the previous night, as we stood atop the tower. “I know what you’re thinking. You’d freeze to death by morning, and your body wouldn’t be found until spring. Is that what you want?”

  And I’d just looked down into the white depths, weighing death by snow against whatever Daul had planned for me.

  Most mornings I would have been entrenched in Lady Lyll’s plans for my day — grinding medicines in the stillroom, or marking hem lines for Meri’s kernja-velde gowns — as her ladyship marshaled the troops to organize the coming birthday feast. The Dead of Winter was fast approaching, a mere six weeks away now, and prep ara tions were mounting, from the planned menu and its stockpiled exotic foodstuffs (Talancan spices and cones of sugar), to the continuing construction work on the castle (a new tile floor to the Lesser Court), to the invitations being dispatched to ever-more esteemed guests — including, I had just learned, His Majesty.

  “We don’t expect him to come, of course,” Lady Lyll had explained. “He hasn’t left Hanivard Palace in years. But an invitation is expected, and who knows? He might send a representative. Maybe even Queen Lieste!”

  I hadn’t been able to tell if that news excited Meri, or frightened her.

  Today, however, with the pass closed and snow piling up along the longer route south toward Gerse, Lady Lyll and the serving staff were distracted, scrambling to check that the supplies would hold out until the pass opened up again, sending snowshoed messengers with shovels, axes, and medicines down through the drifts to the site of the disaster, all on top of stirring up the guests into a festival mood. I should have been helping (with the supply-checking, I mean, not with the mood), but I took a chance that one missing set of hands might go unnoticed.

  I’d had a lifetime’s practice making sure I wasn’t noticed when I was there. It must work in reverse too.

  It took some effort to find Daul’s rooms; he was on the third floor, same as all the guests, but I couldn’t very well go about asking people at random which door was his. Or knock at every one and wait for the right face to answer. In the end I grabbed a serving boy scuttering past with somebody’s mid-morning posset.

  “I have an urgent message for Lord Daul. Could you see that he gets it?” I didn’t give him time to answer, but plowed on impatiently. “Oh, just show me which room.” And I sailed off down the hall with him hurrying to catch up to me. Phandre would have been proud. When the lad stopped at one of the middle suites at the back of the corridor, I caught him by the arm and twisted it behind his back until he gasped. The posset sloshed out of its cup, dripping sticky pink onto the floor.

  “Breathe a word of this to anyone, and I’ll break your arm. Got it?”

  Blinking back tears, he nodded. I let go, and he sped off down the hall.

  Before I could knock, the door swung open, and Lord Daul stood in the threshold, looking me over. The scar on his lip stood out in the harsh morning light, and I could see another through the open collar of his shirt. I wondered which were from battle, and which were from prison.

  Some of my fear from last night had faded, since I’d survived the night without guards hauling me out of Meri’s bed and tossing me into the ancient dungeons. I cast a glance around Daul’s quarters, waiting for him to say something. His room was bigger and brighter than Meri’s, but more sparsely furnished. The curtains were pulled closed around a tall bedstead, and a ridiculous fire blazed like a furnace. The heat from it hit me like a blow through the open door.

  “It seems a serving girl found Lady Cardom’s jewels right under her table in the Round Court this morning.” No greeting, no explanation. “How fortunate that they hadn’t wandered farther afield. I believe our hosts might have launched a castlewide search.”

  I said something rude, and he grabbed my arm and yanked me inside, slamming the door shut behind me. “How very refined you are.”

  I rubbed my arm. I’d have bruises where his fingers had dug into my flesh. “What do you want?”

  Daul stepped back into the rooms and strode to a carved oak desk by the windows. His rooms overlooked the sculpture garden, where the nymphs and griffins were reduced to formless lumps under their white shrouds.

  “Wine?” He lifted an inlaid decanter toward me, twisting the glass stopper with his other hand. He wore an onyx signet ring on his little finger, but I couldn’t make out the symbol etched in the stone.

  “No.”

  “Come now, there’s no need to be rude. I’m toasting our association.”

  “I don’t drink with people who threaten me,” I said baldly.

  “Oh, please. I had to give you some incentive. You don’t strike me as a girl who’s easily convinced.” He poured out two goblets. The wine was white, almost clear.

  “Convinced of what?” I said.

  Daul glanced up. “The value of what I’m offering, of course. A chance to put your considerable skills to good use, and work for me. It seems we’re in a position to help each other.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “Oh, I think you do. You have a valuable secret to protect, and that will be much easier if someone doesn’t expose you, don’t you think?”

  I halted, my breath tight. “I’m listening.”

  “Good!” His cold smile spread. “If you agree to work for me — and you will — I can arrange it so that my friends ignore your petty transgressions, and that their lordships never learn the truth about your identity.”

  “Your friends?”

  He looked surprised. “Oh! I thought I’d mentioned that. You know, you really do look so much like him —”

  I was staring at him, tense and c
old. “Like who?”

  “Your brother.”

  My entire chest turned to ice, freezing the words in my throat. “My — Contrare?” I said faintly.

  “I think we both know very well who I’m talking about,” Daul said.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?” Daul said. “We’ll see. Now, down to business.”

  I’d seen a troupe of players once in Gerse — an old man from Sirpal played the recorder to a thick black snake that rose up from a basket, stretching its neck like an unfurled cloak. A little girl from the company dumped a rabbit right in front of it. The terrified rabbit had frozen, wide-eyed, staring into the snake’s gaze. As the music played on, the snake hung motionless in the air, but the rabbit inched closer and closer to its death.

  I felt like that rabbit now.

  “So what are you — like a Greenman or something?” I was nearly at the desk now. I could almost reach the heavy bronze inkwell on the corner. I’m not a great throw, but he was standing right in front of me. I could do a little damage.

  Daul saw where I was looking. With a quirk to his scarred lip, he slid the inkwell to the opposite side of the desk. “Feisty, feisty! No wonder your brother thought you unmanageable. Still, I think I like a girl with a little spunk to her.” He reached out his finger and stroked it along my cheek. I grabbed his hand and bit down — hard.

  He slapped me — so hard I went down and cracked the side of my head on the corner of the desk. Gasping and blind with pain, I fought to stand back up again.

  “We’re not playing games here, you little thief. Now listen, and listen well.”

  I pressed my hand to my stinging temple and blinked up at him.

  “There’s something I want in this castle, and you’re going to get it for me. If you don’t, or if you fail, I will expose your little masquerade. How do you think Lady Nemair will like knowing her daughter’s been sleeping with a thief and a murderess all these weeks?”

  Murderess? What was he talking about? But I didn’t say anything — what was the point? He was right about every thing. He was Lord Nemair’s best friend, a nobleman. He had all the power here, and I had nothing. I was whatever he said I was. Thief or murderer, traitor or heretic — Remy Daul’s word was enough to get me killed.

  I bit my lip and looked away from him, out into the snowy landscape. My forehead throbbed. In a thin voice, I said, “Fine. What is it?”

  “There! Was that so difficult? This should be a simple matter for a girl of your talents. I seem to have been the victim of an oversight. My foster brother invited all our dearest friends to winter with him in his lovely new home, but it seems I, for whatever reason, was not included on the guest list. I’m interested to know why.”

  “How am I supposed to find that out? Ask them yourself!”

  “I have a better plan. I want you to track down one of the official invitations for me. And while you’re at it, bring me a seal of the House of Nemair.”

  That didn’t make any sense. “You’re planning on forging an invitation for yourself?”

  “No! I wouldn’t think of doing something so unscrupulous. This is just to satisfy my own curiosity. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  Don’t ask questions. That was one of the first things a thief-for-hire learned. Questions got people killed. “Seal, invitation. Got it.” It would be the job of five minutes. I turned to leave.

  “Not so fast. The seal I’m looking for is very specific. There will be only one of its type, and it will be held closely by Lord Antoch — or possibly Lady Lyllace. I’m never certain about that one. You’re familiar with the Nemair crest?”

  I shrugged. “The rampant bear on the quarter field. Of course.”

  “Very good. The seal you want will have the wrong paw raised.”

  “The — what?”

  “Enough. You have every thing you need to know. I’m feeling gen erous this morning, so I’ll give you the day. If I don’t have that seal by noon tomorrow — or if you bring the wrong items — it’s ‘stop, thief!’ Understand?”

  “It’s done. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  His hand came down on my arm, gently enough. “Take the full day,” he suggested. “You’re only valuable to me if you can follow instructions.” He pulled away from the desk and headed for the door.

  I paused in the threshold. “Why don’t you do it?”

  He smiled. “Because I have you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It wasn’t a good job — Daul had been vague about the location of the target, he hadn’t given me enough time to prepare, and there wasn’t an escape route. The payment was also questionable. But he’d been convincing. It could be a long time before the snow cleared, and I’d rather spend that time in Meri’s warm soft bedroom than whatever served Bryn Shaer for dungeons. I still thought he might be lying about his “friends.” Anyone could claim to have the Inquisitor’s ear — that didn’t make it true. Except that it did. Greenmen took even the most frivolous accusations seriously. I knew that better than anyone.

  To get the letter and the seal, I’d have to concoct some excuse for getting inside Lord Antoch’s rooms, a part of the castle I had never been in and had no conceivable reason to visit. Meri usually went riding with him every morning; that would have been my opportunity, but the stables were under a foot of snow, thanks to the storm that had trapped me here with Daul.

  I worked out my plan that afternoon in the solar. The Bryn Shaer women gathered most afternoons for a few hours of needlework and gossip. There wasn’t much embroidery getting done today; it was stupidly cold and everyone was still too excited about being snowbound to concentrate. Which was just as well for me, since I was going to have to recruit some confederates for this job, and it would be easier if everyone was already distracted.

  “Did everyone make it before the snow, Lady Lyllace?” Lady Cardom had joined the group, and sat beside me, unpacking a workbasket.

  Lady Lyll gave a sigh and looked out at the snow, her untouched embroidery in her lap. “No, unfortunately. We were just getting ready to send for the Wolt sisters, but it looks like we’ll be missing them.”

  “Wolt?” Lady Cardom’s lips pursed. “Perhaps it’s for the best. Your Ladyship, I’ve brought the stitchery you were so interested in last summer.” She drew a roll of cloth from the basket and passed it to Meri’s mother. “You’ll see it includes the band from Talanca you were asking about, as well as the one from my daughter at Gairveyont.”

  Lady Lyll unrolled the cloth, revealing an intricate sampler of black- and scarlet-work. She indicated a wide row of alternating lilies, the black threads spangled here and there with gold. “This is the band from Gairveyont?”

  Gods, would this conversation ever end? I was ready to poke my own eye out with my needle, and I had work to do.

  Lady Lyll said, “I had remembered wrong, then. I thought there were five repeats?”

  “No, only four,” Lady Cardom said. “She sends her regrets that she could not find the exact pattern you requested.”

  “Very well. Tell Dressana I am grateful for her help.”

  Lady Cardom smiled. “She knows, your ladyship.”

  Lady Lyll took the sampler and rose. “I’ll just go tuck this away where I can study it later,” she said. “I’ll return shortly.”

  When Lady Lyll was finally gone, I leaned over to Phandre. “Meri has a secret,” I said in a low, teasing voice.

  Meri looked up, startled. “What? No, I —”

  Phandre dropped the book she wasn’t reading and leaned forward. “Ooh, come on, Meri, out with it.”

  “But I don’t —” Poor Meri stared desperately at me, trying to figure us out.

  “She told me that her father has a book of Vareni love poetry in his rooms.” That should tempt Phandre to an adventure; the Vareni weren’t prudish about their poetry. And they illustrated.

  “No, I —” Meri was still confused. “I didn’t. I never heard that.”

  “Who
cares?” Phandre said. “Let’s go see.” She was on her feet in an instant, with Meri hard on her heels. All I had to do was trail after.

  “I don’t think we should. Father —” She may have been speaking to the castle walls for all the good it did her. “Maybe we should wait until he gets back from surveying the damage —”

  And miss my only shot at Antoch’s rooms? Fat chance. Phandre and I grabbed Meri and dragged her from the solar.

  When we neared Lord Antoch’s rooms in the opposite wing of the Lodge, I skipped forward to reach the door first, blocking it with my body as I popped the lock behind my back. The new locks at Bryn Shaer were flimsy, decorative things that took hardly more than a kiss and a wish to crack. I grinned and swung the door open.

  “He must not be worried about intruders,” I said cheekily, ushering Phandre and Meri inside.

  I almost didn’t have to search Lord Antoch’s rooms at all, with Phandre there. She flounced through the rooms, touching every thing, peering behind tapestries, opening drawers and cabinets, and testing out all the furniture. I just followed in her wake, looking behind whatever she’d moved. I heard a door click open, and Phandre barged into his lordship’s bedroom. Meri hurried after her.

  “Does your father really sleep in this bed?” Phandre asked, and threw herself bodily atop it.

  Meri turned pink. “I — I expect so,” she managed.

  “And your mother?”

  “Sometimes,” Meri mumbled.

  Phandre turned to her, gaze pointed and mischievous. “Anyone else?”

  “Phandre!”

  But Phandre only laughed, her hair splayed across Lord Antoch’s satin pillows. “I want a bed like this,” she said. “Too bad I don’t have a father to get me one.”

  “If you stay with me, I’ll ask Father to buy you a great oak panel bed, with a canopy of velvet and lace and crewel.” Meri’s voice was generous, as if giving away the world was nothing at all in the course of her day.

  And Phandre turned on Meri a gaze that was full of acid and ice and every bitter thing. I winced. “I’ll bet Raffin Taradyce has an awfully fine bedstead,” I said.