Phandre cackled and threw a pillow at me.
“Meri, does your father have an office in here?” I asked, tossing it back on the bed.
She crossed the room and threw back the scarlet curtains covering one wall. Behind was a tiny room, with a much-used desk sitting before walls and walls of bookcases. For a moment I was distracted. Books always did that to me, almost more than a locked jewelry chest or a fat purse dangling from a fat nob. I liked the creamy pages, the smell of ink, all the secrets locked inside. I traced my fingers along one gilded binding after another, thinking I might help myself to a little something extra on this job.
Meri saw me looking. “Bryn Shaer has the finest library in the Carskadons. The owners have been collecting for years.”
“Then these aren’t all your father’s?”
“Oh, no. They were here when King Bardolph awarded the estate to the Nemair.”
“What’s in here? Oh, books.” Phandre strode to the first bookcase and started tipping volumes out at random. “What are we looking for again?”
“Poetry,” I said firmly.
Phandre made a face. “Teska’s Bestiary, History of the House of Shaer, A Holy Love — now that sounds promising.”
I made a show of bending over the cluttered desk. “His lordship sure is messy,” I said, moving aside a map of renowned Carskadon hunting grounds and a book in Corles. And under the map — a stack of letters. I shuffled some around; they were mostly ac cep tances from the guests who’d already arrived.
“Oh, Celyn, don’t —” Meri protested, and I obligingly dropped the map back atop the desk, “accidentally” knocking one stray document to the floor: a folded letter, sealed in gray wax . . . and addressed to someone called Wolt. Perfect. As I bent to retrieve it, I slipped it inside my bodice, careful not to disturb the wax seal. I couldn’t tell if the paw was wrong or not, but I had the first half of the job complete, without even getting my hands dusty.
The desk drawer took a little more effort to open, but rewarded me with sealing wax and two heavy brass seals, bears rearing up proudly against a shield. Why would anyone keep a wrong seal of their own house? It was the sort of mistake you’d find on a poorly done counterfeit, not something you’d have deliberately. Shielding the open drawer with my skirts, I turned them faceup, trying to decide which one was wrong. Left or right lifted? I moved my own hands, but I just couldn’t remember. Pox, I’d only been staring at the Nemair arms every day for three weeks. In the end I gave up and took them both.
“A Celyst Reader,” Meri was reading piously. “A Housewife’s Companion.” Phandre gave a snicker at that.
Successful, I turned back to the bookcase. Maybe I’d just take a small one — it didn’t have to be anything elaborate. I reached for a thin volume bound in gray kidskin —
And had to swallow back a startled yelp as a thick blur of hazy light suddenly leaped up under my touch. I yanked back my hand as if it had burned my fingers. I’d almost felt that. Averting my eyes, I plucked the book from the shelf and squeaked it open gingerly to pages of esoteric scrawl, elaborate diagrams, and detailed drawings in full illumination. But the swirling, sparking mist I saw around it made it hard to make out anything clearly. An image was embossed on the cover — a circle, traced with a seven-pointed star.
“What’s that one? Cookery?” Meri said with disinterest. She’d finished going over her shelf and was peering up from the floor.
“No,” I said slowly. I wanted to stick it back on the shelf before they saw it, but I couldn’t seem to put it down. Meri watched me as I flipped to the title page.
On the Sacrament of Magecraft.
“That’s a magic book!” Phandre shrieked, ripping it from my hands. “Listen to this! ‘Set thy mind and heart to the Holy Sister, most beloved of Celys. Light-bringer, dream-speaker. Give thanks for her Gift. Proceed only with a Purified Soul — ’ ”
“Put it back, Phandre,” I said.
“Are you mad? Look — ‘The Seeing Dream.’ Who wouldn’t want to have dreams that tell the future?”
I had enough trouble with dreams of the past. I couldn’t imagine wanting to know what was coming. Meri sat very still, her knees tucked under her skirts, and stared at her hands. “I think we should put it back. I don’t think my father would want us playing around in here.”
“I’m with Meri,” I said, and snatched the book from Phandre as she was absorbed in “To Appear Without Form.” She protested, but I tucked it back on the shelf behind the prayer book and a real book on cookery.
Daul was in his rooms when I arrived the next morning, dead on the hour as instructed. It was late, but the curtains were still drawn around the bed, and Daul was not yet dressed, clad only in breeches and a shirt, loose to his narrow thighs. I hung back in the doorway. I really didn’t want to be in a room with a half-naked Remy Daul.
“Well?” he said. “In.” He slithered into place at his desk, behind a platter of eggs and a thick slab of bacon. “I trust you have the items as we arranged.”
I dumped the letter and the seals on the desk. “Happy?”
“Delighted.” He eyed the two seals a little strangely, but the let ter drew his close attention. “Ah, very nice indeed. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
That “we” probably didn’t include me, but my curiosity was piqued. Daul slid a lit candle across the desk, and held the letter up to the light. But not to read — the flickering firelight warmed the wax, and Daul carefully peeled it away from the paper in one smooth, unbroken piece. I leaned in closer. Underneath there was a second mark, this one in ink, which had been hidden by the wax.
“What is that?”
Daul smiled. “Curious now, my little mouse?” But he held the letter for me to see. The new mark was slightly stained by the color of the wax: a field of four moons, arched inside a circle of bluish ink. As Daul moved it away from the flames, the mark started to fade from the page. He held the paper closer to the fire before it could vanish completely.
“Disappearing ink?”
He forestalled me, one hand lifted. He took one of the seals I had brought — apparently he could tell which one’s paw was wrong — and gave the brass stamp at its base a quick twist. The disk popped right off. As I watched, intrigued, Daul turned it toward me. Hidden beneath the waving bear was a second seal, for stamping ink. Four moons.
“I didn’t see that,” I said. “What is it?”
But Daul was through sharing. Instead of explaining anything else, he carefully pressed the warmed wax back atop the stamped ink moons and fitted the brass seal back onto its handle. “Very nicely done,” he said. “You may put these back at your leisure. Now, the next thing I want might be a little more challenging. Antoch has a journal —”
“Wait.” I stared at him. “What next thing?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, and his rough voice was like a purr. “You didn’t really think I was going to let you go so easily? You’re far too useful to me.”
“I gave you what you wanted,” I said in a voice much firmer than I felt. “Leave me alone.”
“I think not. I had imagined this more an ongoing partnership.”
“We’re not partners!”
That slow, oily smile made its appearance once more. “No, you’re right about that. I own you.”
I felt cold all over, though Daul’s fire roared. “I don’t work for people who threaten me.”
“Really? Why don’t I ring for Lord Antoch now, and you can explain that to him?”
“You bastard.” I felt my hand creeping toward my knife, and I caught my fingers in my skirts.
“Feign as much bravado as you like,” Daul said. “But I think we understand each other. You can either do what I tell you — whatever I tell you, or you can start working on what you’re going to say at your trial.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I lied.
“Well, then, let’s consider the matter a little more closely. I am a man of means, power, and ambition. I
have personally dined with His Majesty, traveled with the king’s Inquisitor, and been appointed to the Order of the Spur. You, on the other hand, are an anonymous speck of dung from the gutter of Gerse. I think we could say you’re disposable.”
Disposable! It gave me a chill. He was right. Nobody in all the world would notice if I just . . . disappeared. I wasn’t Meri, coddled and adored. I wasn’t even Phandre, fiercely fighting for a place in the world. I was like he’d said: anonymous. It was one reason I could slip in and out of costumes, roles, identities — because I didn’t really have one of my own.
“Don’t look so glum! This could turn out to be a very profitable association for both of us. I have powerful friends, and I expect to be well rewarded. I can arrange that your . . . rewards are likewise commensurate with the information you supply.”
I stepped back, wary. “What sort of information?”
“What sort of information do you think I mean, you brainless slattern?” He leaned forward, his loose sleeves swinging. He’d started to sweat slightly. I could just make out the branded Sarist star on his forearm. He saw me looking, and rubbed his arm.
“Yes, well. I have seen the error of my ways. But I am concerned for the souls of my brother and his family. I know firsthand how deep these dangerous, heretical beliefs may run. I only want to be certain that His Majesty’s servants are as loyal as they profess themselves to be.”
Oh, and finally I understood. “You think they’re Sarists.”
Daul leaned back and let that thought sink in. “Oh, I more than ‘think.’ But you will secure me the proof of precisely what my dear friends are planning.”
“I won’t work for Greenmen,” I said. I never would. That was the whole problem between my brother and me.
“That will not be an issue. Do your work well, and no one ever need know you were involved.”
This was crazy. “I don’t know what you think that seal means, but Lord and Lady Nemair aren’t up to anything suspicious. Ask King Bardolph — he just gave them some kind of medal for their ser vice overseas. Besides, I’ve been living here for weeks, and nobody’s eaten a single baby.”
“Do you find this so amusing, my little gutter rat? I wonder how you’d laugh with the thumbscrews on. Allow me to determine what’s suspicious about Lord and Lady Nemair. You will observe the members of this household as I instruct, report to me, share whatever secrets you uncover in your close association with their daughter — in short, tell me anything interesting you see or hear.”
“I see a weasel in one of his lordship’s bedrooms. Is that interesting?”
He moved to slap me, but stayed his hand half an inch from my cheek. That time I didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me wince. “You’re very amusing. And now you will fetch me Antoch’s journal. Black calfskin binding, a seal of the House of Daul on the spine. Do you know what that looks like?”
It probably matched the one I’d just palmed from his desk, but I made a pretense of looking dumb. “An ermine?” I guessed. “That’s like a weasel, isn’t it?” I was seething inside, that this man had me so neatly trapped. Yesterday I was a lady’s maid, and now I was a spy.
Pox.
The job was simple: Watch, listen, learn, report. And keep quiet about it all.
I could do that, of course, had been doing it all my life. But I usually chose the jobs I took, although the payment Daul was offering was hard to pass up. How would they like knowing their daughter’s sleeping with a thief?
I sat now on Meri’s lofty bed, my fingers buried deep in the white fur mantle, and stared at the carved plaster ceiling. What were my options? Work for Daul, or take my chances with the weather. I glanced out the window. The snow was still falling, and I’d heard the dogs had found two bodies trapped under the debris in the pass.
I could stroll into Lady Lyll’s solar and tell her the truth. Announce that her husband’s beloved friend suspected them of Sarist sympathies, and was extorting me to find the evidence. And have Daul tell them some outrageous lie about me. Or even the truth. I clutched at the white fur. That was a sure path to the dungeons — or worse. Did they kill thieves in the mountains?
The evidence. What was Daul even hoping I’d find? A secret stash of Sarist literature? Garderobes full of violet robes?
A daughter with magic?
Damn.
That would end this quickly.
I sat very still and cold, pressing an embroidered pillow to my stomach. What did I know? I had seen the magic playing on her skin — but nothing more than that. Not that that wasn’t damning enough, but she was a child. Merista Nemair wasn’t hurting anybody. I’d watched her say her devotions to Celys, right here in this room.
I had worked with dangerous people before. I’d helped sensitive information change hands, things that could get men killed. And maybe had. I didn’t know. Tegen had always said we weren’t spies. Spies had a political agenda. We worked for anybody. We were in it for the money, the thrill, the pure glory of Tiboran, god of thieves and liars. Messengers. Middlemen. Our hands were clean.
I had one skill, one thing I was really good at. It had kept me alive for the last few years; why was I balking now? Was this any different from working for Hron Taradyce or the Fealty Guild? I didn’t owe the Nemair anything — they weren’t my family. And did I really want to spend the next few months in dancing lessons, learning which cup to drink from first, and watching Lady Lyll embroider?
I curled up on the bed, hugging the pillow to my face. “Oh, Tegen,” I whispered. Scruples and squeamishness wouldn’t bring him back. I could smell Meri’s soft, sweet scent on the bed, and pressed my eyes closed. She was nobody to me. Just a warm body and a place to hide. I flexed my fingers and passed my hand an inch above the coverlet on her side of the bed. Faint misty flecks sprang up and swirled to my fingers like silver filings. I thought about the strange way Durrel and Meri had looked at me in the boat, Meri giving me her bracelet. What had they seen?
Tegen had died to keep my secret. He’d killed a guard to keep me from falling into Greenmen’s hands, where they’d take special plea sure in making my fingers light up. If I turned Meri over to Daul, he’d start asking all kinds of questions. She has magic? How do you know? I couldn’t risk him finding out about me. I closed my fist tight. Dying as a thief was better than dying as a heretic.
But if I did my job right, nobody had to die at all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I was getting careless. That’s all there was to it. Life at Bryn Shaer was making me soft. Three weeks of soft rooms and soft food and soft living, and here I was, pressed against a freezing windowpane, my toes curled under, scarcely breathing lest I disturb the heavy fall of yellow tapestry curtains I was hiding behind.
Lady Cardom had come back earlier than expected, and I had not quite figured out how to extricate myself from her chambers without being seen. She was supposed to be at dinner, and I couldn’t fathom why she was taking so long getting ready. Was I going to have to stay here until she retired for bed?
I’d spent the last couple of days perusing Bryn Shaer’s domestic spaces, and the entertainment was wearing thin. The Cardoms’ suite in particular was utterly clean of anything suspicious, unless you counted Lord Cardom’s vast and inexplicably pink-embroidered smock. That was one mystifying discovery I would happily share with Daul, unable to accept the oddness of it all by myself.
Lady Cardom and her maid shuffled about the rooms, changing Lady Cardom’s day dress for — I listened for the rustle of heavy silk or — pox! Was that a loose gown; was she staying in? I didn’t fancy the thought of spending the whole night behind this curtain, although I’d fared worse. I imagined a sigh of exasperation and wiggled into a slightly more comfortable position.
My second search of Lord Antoch’s rooms had proved less profitable than my first. Not only was there no journal to be found among his lordship’s belongings, but when I had gone back to check the library, the magic book was gone. I’d swiped the map of the
hunting grounds, though, just so Daul knew my intentions were pure. Daul had looked at it strangely, his fingers whitening on his tight grip of the paper, and offered to remind me, once again, of what I was supposed to be doing. I touched the bruise on my temple — only half hidden by my bulky headpiece — and shook my head.
Still, there was something about working for Daul that — I don’t know. I understood it. Ever since he’d sent me to fetch that seal, I’d felt something uncoiling inside me, a knot of tension and fear I’d been carrying around for weeks. My fingers itched; my legs wanted to bounce up and down, climb walls, kick somebody in the face. I’d never been good at sitting still, unless I was hiding behind a curtain or under a table or in a black pool of shadow at the edge of an alley. There was a thrill to tempting the risk of discovery, to hovering unnoticed, while people went about their business, no idea their belongings had been touched and examined by a stranger. Daul’s work suited me just fine.
A few minutes later, the chamber’s outer door finally swung open, and I heard the unmistakable heavy thump of Lord Cardom’s footsteps on the wooden floor. “Aren’t you ready yet, Mother? Wear the pearls; they make you look nicer.”
The footsteps didn’t stop. Was he headed for the windows?
“I am nicer,” Lady Cardom objected stoutly. “Nicer than I ought to be, that’s certain.”
Stubby fingertips curled around the hem of the drapes, and I pulled back, breath dead on my lips.
“Now, Mother, I know you wish happiness upon your only son.”
“She’s too young for you. I want your wife to bear me grandchildren, not be my grandchild. Don’t open those. It’s freezing out there.”
I could kiss Lady Cardom. I heard Lord Cardom lower his bulk onto a bench. “She’ll get older. In four or five years it won’t make so much difference. Think of every thing you could teach her, until then.”
She harrumphed. “You know the Nemair are only offering her because they want our help.”
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