Before Daul came and spoiled all of it.
Late one morning I found myself peering between the half-open Armory doors, where Daul and Antoch usually fenced. Curiously, Antoch sat alone there now, leaning back in the bench before a blazing fire. Before I thought about what I was doing, I slipped inside.
Crossing from shadow to shadow across the long cold floor, I took the space in, liking it less and less the longer I was here, with the suspended weapons and the Spear-Bearers guarding the fire. Bryn Shaer had been built for defense, and this was a room for war. Had the last Sarist conspirators planned their rebellion in this room? Or maybe Bryn Shaer was still a property of the Crown then, and in this very room, from that same scarred bench where Antoch slumped before the fire, the king’s generals had studied their maps and pointed their fingers and wiped an entire religion from the face of Llyvraneth.
No, I thought, someone had helped them do that.
“Celyn, my girl!” Antoch rose at the sight of me, and pulled me into a huge embrace. “Have a seat. Will you take wine?”
I shook my head.
“Miserable morning,” he said cheerfully. “What have my girls found to do with themselves today in all this snow? I see one’s here to keep an old soldier company, but what about the others?” He waved me to the chair across from him.
“I believe Lady Merista and Phandre are trying on their gowns for the kernja-velde this morning.”
“And not Celyn?”
“No, milord. Her ladyship had need of me this morning.” The lie came easily.
“Good, good. And how are you getting along, then? The other girls treating you well?”
“Meri is, of course, milord.”
He gave a little chuckle. “No answer about Phandre, I see. Well, we try to be fond of her. Old family friends and all. I know Lyll worries what will become of her — always scheming, my lady wife. But I’ve told her the Séthe always land right-side up.” He shuffled the papers before him on the table, and I leaned in slightly for a look. There was a map of Llyvraneth — old and well-worn, a crack at one edge where it had been folded instead of rolled. The ink had nearly rubbed away in parts, but I could still make out the name scribed over a green plain on the coast of Kellespau. Kalorjn.
Was that why Antoch sat here so often? The Spear-Bearers were the handmaidens of Zet, her loyal guard. They were said to hunt down traitors, harrying them with their dogs and spears until the end of days. Was Antoch waiting for those guardians of loyalty to step away from that hearth and strike him down? I stared at the leaping flames on their bare marble shoulders, their carved quivers. Maybe the arrow ring that Daul and the avalanche victims wore did have something to do with the war, after all. Perhaps all the survivors of Kalorjn had them. Maybe Antoch had one himself. A token of commitment, Daul had said. To the Sarist cause? But that didn’t make any sense; why wear Zet’s symbol, then? And why would Daul be wearing his now, when he had so clearly thrown off his Sarist leanings? Pox. None of this made any sense.
“Did your people fight in the war, Celyn?”
I looked up at this unexpected question. What was likely to be useful here? “My father. But —” I ducked my head as if embarrassed. “Milord, he named me Celyn and sent me to the Celystra.”
“Ah. There were decent men on both sides in that war. Just remember that. A lot of losses on both sides too.” He sighed heavily. “Damnable world that makes a thing like war the only answer to a problem.”
The Spear Maidens staring down on me, I found myself in complete agreement. “He never spoke about it, though.”
“It was a dark time. We all did things we’re not proud of — necessary things, but ones we don’t like to remember nonetheless.”
I held my breath. “What sort of things?”
Antoch gave me a soft look. “I’m sure your father served honorably, Celyn. But war casts a long shadow, and sometimes you’re trapped under it for years after.” His voice changed as he touched the map with his blocky fingers. “I made a mistake eighteen years ago. At the time it seemed like the right decision, the only way to save some good people’s lives, but —” He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to undo it ever since, but it never seems like enough.”
I felt my pulse quicken. “A mistake, your lordship?”
Antoch rolled the wine around the bottom of his goblet. “It’s a sorry matter, to be defined by the worst thing you’ve ever done.” He was looking into the fiery distance, the spears glowing in the strange uneven light. “I let down a lot of good friends.”
Was he about to confess? I leaned forward. “At — at Kalorjn?” I said softly.
He looked up sharply, but his broad, bearded face softened. “Listen to me ramble on,” he said. “A lot of nonsense for young ears, when you should be enjoying yourself. Don’t let my lady wife work you to death, my girl. You make sure your own gown is just as splendid as the others’. And if it’s not, you’d better report to me.”
Antoch’s words echoed and rumbled as I sped down the hall, no clear destination in mind. I made a mistake eigh teen years ago. I let down a lot of good friends. Daul was right. Antoch was every thing he said. A traitor.
And why did that bother me? I wasn’t even born eigh teen years ago. How could it possibly matter to me whether Antoch Nemair or Eptin Cwalo or — or Marlytt — was the Traitor of Kalorjn?
But I knew why. And the knowing sent me running down the long soft halls of the Lodge, where every paneled wall and hanging tapestry hid another secret. Where people smiled while they twisted knives, and nobody — not even me — was what they said.
When I’d run myself out, I was only half surprised to find myself standing outside the prince’s chamber door. There was nothing he could do for me — but something about him felt simple, uncomplicated. Which made no sense at all, because he was the most dangerous person here.
Wierolf was sitting up in bed, looking a little healthier. Instinctively I laid a hand on his forehead, checked his bandage, helped him into a clean shirt, happy to have something besides my own gnawing thoughts to focus on.
“Are you going to read my water too?” he asked with a grimace as I eased him back against his pillows.
“Keep it up,” I warned, and he forced out a laugh.
“You look worried,” he said.
“And you look . . . annoyed. Your Highness.”
“I’m going mad in here,” he said. “Do you know how I spent the morning? Counting the ceiling tiles. Seventy-four times. At this point I think I’d even take you cleaning my wound again, just for the novelty.”
That coaxed a grin from me. I knew how he felt — to be accustomed to a life of running and climbing and danger, and then be shut up tight in some castle, with nothing to do but sit, while the world closed in all around you. I settled down beside him on the floor — wearing a groove in the stone by now — and leaned my head back against the frame of the bed, looking at the well-accounted-for ceiling tiles.
I might be the only Gersin thief ever to make friends with one of the royal family of Llyvraneth. It was a heady thought, one that made me alternately want to throw back my head and laugh . . . or shiver with fear.
“Celyn, honestly — you look like you’ll unravel if somebody gives a tug on the wrong thread. What’s wrong?” He watched me carefully, and I could see him measuring his words, calculating and wary. “Does it have something to do with me?”
“No.” Not really. I’m not sure. But then, before I could think better of it, I blurted out, “Did you know your uncle put a price on your head?”
His eyes widened, and he was silent a long moment. Finally he said, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s still a bit of a shock to actually hear it out loud.”
We sat in silence for a bit while Wierolf took this in. “I can’t really remember anything about the men who attacked me.” His voice sounded weary. “I would hope I’d recognize them — but I don’t know. Were they my friends? Strangers?” He gave his head a frustrated sha
ke.
“I think we can safely say they weren’t your friends.” My hands tucked inside my heavy sleeves, I fingered the rings I’d taken from the avalanche victims, which I’d been carrying around with me like a sort of strange talisman. “Do you think someone at Bryn Shaer might try to claim the bounty, if they knew you were here?”
“Well, how much was it?”
Ridiculously I found this funny, and though I clamped a hand over my mouth, a laugh escaped through my nose as a very un-noblike snort. Wierolf watched me patiently, his mouth twitching. “That’s nice. Should I be watching my back for you?”
“I’ll be good,” I promised, glad he’d stopped me when he had.
I could see the prince run through the roster of Bryn Shaer’s guests in his mind, but he finally shook his head. “I don’t think the people you’ve mentioned would sell me out — but I’m not sure of anything anymore. Those families were loyal during the last war,” he said. “But that might not mean anything now.”
I looked at him. “They weren’t all loyal.”
He held my gaze. “You think Lady Lyllace might be hiding me from Lord Antoch.”
Not even sure myself, I just looked back, fingernails in my mouth. The prince lay back heavily in the bed, panting slightly from the effort.
“I’ve got to stop coming in here and scaring you to death with bad news,” I said, checking his forehead for fever. “You’ll have to find another hobby. Do you have any pastimes that don’t involve you nearly getting killed?”
He didn’t laugh, but he looked almost wistful. “I actually used to be a passable carver,” he said. “I made a set of chessmen for my father once. I was proud of those.”
“We’ve got rocks in abundance,” I said. “Why don’t you see if they’ll bring you the supplies to do that, then?”
Wierolf looked straight at me. His eyes were clear and bright and very serious. “And do you think Lady Nemair will give me a knife?”
I looked at him a long, long moment, weighty silence filling up the space between us.
“I think you should find out,” I finally said.
Before I could learn whether or not His Highness was successful in coaxing a weapon from his host (captor?), I had another encounter with Daul. I had not seen him — alone — since the night he’d accused Lord Antoch of treachery, and I wasn’t happy that it was looking likely that he was right. He cornered me after a busy dinner, when everyone had assembled in the Round Court for games and music. Marlytt was teaching a new dance to Meri and Phandre, while Lords Cardom and Sposa looked on. I was trying to sneak across the room before I could get pulled into the demonstration, when Daul slipped up beside me and pushed me into the hall. I didn’t have the energy to struggle.
“Enjoying your holiday?” The words were friendly, but the tone was icy and hard.
“Terribly. It’s always such a delight to be snowbound with a madman. I can’t think why I haven’t made this trip before.”
“Easy there. My friends are very impressed with your work,” he said.
“Are they?” I said. “That’s fascinating, because we’ve had mail go out exactly once, and your report wasn’t with it.”
Daul’s face darkened. “What —”
“What the hells is going on here?” I said. “If you’re not reporting suspicious Sarist activity to the Greenmen, then what are we doing?”
Daul pressed close to me. “Have you brought me any suspicious Sarist activity, little mouse? I’m having trouble remembering. Let’s see. Are there Sarists hiding in the woods? No. And what about these guns you promised to find? You talk big, but I’ve yet to see any real evidence.”
I pulled away, but I could hardly protest. He was right, and I was running out of little things to string him along with.
“Enough games. I know you’ve been holding out on me. From now on, I want every thing you find, the moment you find it. Do you understand me?”
“That’s what I’ve been doing!”
“Really? Then tell me what you and my brother were discussing the other morning. You looked so cozy there together in the Armory.”
“How did —” I gave up. Daul already knew; telling him couldn’t make things any worse. “You were right. He as much as admitted it to me.”
His hand on my arm gripped tighter. “As much as? What does that mean?”
I explained what Lord Antoch had said to me, about making up for a mistake he made eigh teen years ago. Daul’s breath quickened, and he stared into my eyes.
“And you’re not making this up?”
“Why would I make that up? It’s horrible.”
“It’s not enough,” he said, almost to himself. “We need proof.”
“Why? You’re the only one who cares.”
He brought his face very close to mine. “And I’m the only one who matters, to you. Remember that, little mouse.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I couldn’t sleep that night, and Meri was just as restless. She kept turning over in the bed, an arc of sparks flowing over her. I stared up at the embroidered canopy, listening to Phandre snoring noisily in the other room. I knew I should be worried about Lord Antoch, but the shadows on the canopy kept shaping themselves into long black arrows instead.
“Did you ever talk to Reynart?” I whispered.
Meri flipped over and looked at me. “I couldn’t. I was going to, but I got there and couldn’t think what to say to him! Celyn, I don’t know why those guns are down there. I trust Master Reynart, but —”
“We need more information,” I said, and Meri nodded. She was so solemn and earnest, and she was ultimately at the heart of all the secrets that Bryn Shaer twined together. If her mother was planning a war, if her father was the Traitor of Kalorjn, if Daul was passing information to the Inquisition, Meri deserved to be more than to be a helpless pawn carried along by their machinations. And I thought she’d demonstrated she could handle more, as well.
Daul had claimed his father’s journal could prove that Antoch was the traitor, but whatever he’d found inside it hadn’t been what he’d expected. Yet he still insisted it was true. And those rings. That damn niggle wouldn’t let up. Something was wrong there; I could taste it.
There was one place in this castle that I had never searched, one person whose secrets dictated every move I made. And there was only one person in this castle who could help me get inside those mysterious rooms. I turned to Meri. “There’s somewhere we should look,” I said.
“Where?” she whispered.
“Lord Daul’s rooms.”
She propped herself up on one elbow. “What?”
Well, I was committed now. “I’m not sure I trust him, Meri. He’s definitely hiding something about his connection to the avalanche victims. We need to find out what it is.” She gave a tentative nod. “He has a magical lock on his door. Do you think you can open it?”
At the word magic, she brightened. A real chance to use her powers for something that might be important. “Can we go now?”
“Now?” I said. “But it’s late; he’s probably in bed —”
She shook her head. “He’s reading a moon chart for Yselle. I heard her tell my mother. For her sister’s birthday. It has to be done at midnight or something.”
I just blinked. It was completely preposterous, and try as I might I just couldn’t imagine Daul tucked into the kitchens, reading fortunes for the housekeeper. “Good,” I said. “Yes. Now.”
Getting up to Daul’s rooms was not a problem; it was getting into them that would require Meri’s specialized skills. We sneaked up the stairs, keeping to the shadows along the edge of the hall, and stopped before Daul’s door.
“Go on,” I urged, but Meri hesitated.
“Why are we doing this?” she asked.
I stood beside the door. “He’s dangerous,” I said quietly. “He knows my brother, and he’s threatened to — report me to the Celystra.” That was all true enough, but somehow I still felt like I was lying to her.
Her eyes widened in indignation.”Your brother! But —”
“I just want to make sure he’s not telling the Celystra anything else, as well.”
Meri set her mouth decisively and gave her attention to the lock. “This would be easier if we had any kind of a key,” she said. “But if it’s really just magic keeping it shut, that shouldn’t matter.” She looked at it, whispered to it, stroked and tapped the case and shackle. The lock’s magic seemed to shudder under her fingers, but it wouldn’t dissipate. Finally she stepped back. “I think it’s a permanent charm. You need the original spellcaster to break it.”
Pox. “You tried,” I said generously, but my voice sounded thin.
“What now?” Her fingers were hooked together at her waist, and she looked eager to do something else.
“Nothing now,” I said. “We go back to bed.” I pushed her toward the main stair. We had to be cautious going back past Lady Lyll’s rooms; Lyll was getting used to finding me in strange places at all hours, but Meri was new to this.
I miscalculated. Meri trailed behind me down the stairs, and I stepped out into the hallway just as Lady Lyll rounded the corner, carrying a heavy journal and moving with determination toward the public section of the Lodge. I ducked back, swearing silently, waving Meri deeper into the shadows.
“Celyn!” Lyll gave me a curious look. “What are you doing up?”
“I needed to use the privy,” I said. Never mind that I was fully dressed and heading in the opposite direction. I said a silent prayer that Meri would have the good sense to stay tucked tight into the darkness.
Lyll didn’t believe me, I could tell that immediately. But she nodded anyway. “He’s been restless all day. Maybe you can calm him down, convince him to sleep.”
Relief surged through me, though I found a little space to reflect that that was probably the wrong reaction. “I’ll try, milady,” I said. “Would you like me to use force or persuasion?”
Lady Lyll cracked a smile. “At your discretion.”
Since I was now supposed to be on my way toward the stillroom and the prince, I had to turn around and walk with Lady Lyll, leaving Meri behind on the stairs and hoping she hadn’t overheard that little exchange. “Where are you off to at this hour, milady? If I may ask.”
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