Liar's Moon

by Elizabeth C. Bunce

  Oh. Surprise hit me like a blow, and for a second I wanted to laugh. “It was nothing.” I paused a moment, deciding, then added, “I don’t have anything to insult.”

  His freshly washed boyish face turned pink. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I had no right to assume —”

  Seventh Circle boys never embarrassed that easily. It was oddly endearing. “Where I grew up, down below the Big Silver, life can be short. There’s not always time to wait.” There hadn’t been, for me and Tegen. I bit my lip and shoved that memory aside. “And sometimes you don’t get to choose. There’s always some Greenman patrolling your neighborhood, and plenty of fathers scared enough to give up their daughters in return for spotty protection from the Guard. Not to mention all the girls ready to give up their lives and bodies for the Goddess.” My own mother had been one of those.

  He was watching me calmly, too much going on behind those dark eyes for me to make out. “You lost someone.” It wasn’t a question, but it was a long time before I could answer.

  “Tegen,” I finally said, hating the way I had to whisper it.

  “Meri told me something of it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t want to talk about Tegen. Not here in Tiboran’s temple, not to this kind-eyed nob I’d just plucked from prison with the help of a Greenman. It seemed wrong, somehow, given how he’d died. But Durrel knew, he understood; I could see it in his eyes, in the long shadow there that belonged to a dark-haired Tratuan girl, and somehow I found myself telling my fugitive nob about the man I had loved and lost, and how.

  “This can’t be easy for you, then — with Raffin, I mean.” I saw his eyes go past me to the folded-up Greenman’s uniform on the bench near the door.

  I just shrugged. “Everybody has a story like that.”

  Outside, we could hear the soldiers marching through the circle. They were becoming more and more a part of the music of the city. Why were we talking about this when there were Ferrymen and murderers on the loose? I shifted to another side of the room and took one of the chairs. Durrel lifted his mead cup, but, seeing my eyes follow his hand there, set it down again and took some of the bread instead.

  “All right,” he said. “What comes next?”

  “We keep you away from Karst,” I said. “And I will be going back to the docks tonight.” I explained about Cwalo’s note.

  “Well, I’m coming too,” he said.

  “Like hells! Every guard in the city is looking for you. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Damn it, Celyn!” He rose and paced the room. “You can’t expect me to just wait, while you’re out there taking all the risks.” I opened my mouth to object, but he went on. “Look, I have to do something. If this Karst really is out there, and he really did kill Talth, I have to know. Not just to clear my own name, but —” Durrel trailed off, but his eyes were fierce. “She was my wife; she was my responsibility.”

  I fidgeted, but I knew he was right. If our positions were reversed, there was no way I could simply sit still and wait for answers. I understood that, at least. “All right,” I said. “Just as long as you don’t plan on starting any more fights on my behalf. I can take care of myself, milord.”

  Satisfied, he nodded. “Well,” he said, “I’m not making any promises.”

  I supposed that was the best I could hope for. Nobs.

  Durrel went to the documents pinned to the wall. “We have a few hours until then. Let’s review what we know. First, the magic you found at Bal Marse.” He pointed to a mark on one sheet of paper. “Second, Talth and the Ceid were running clandestine shipments in or out of the city on falsified vessels. Third, a man called Karst claims to have killed her. Fourth, Karst is a Ferryman.” Durrel turned a sober face to me. “I think the implication is clear,” he said. “The magic, the shipments . . .”

  A dark feeling stole up my spine and made my skin prickle. “The Ceid are involved with Ferrymen.”

  Durrel studied his lists, his jaw set. “I’d like to believe there isn’t any truth to it, but — I lived with Talth. I saw what she was capable of.” His brows drew together grimly, as if he was remembering too much. “Maybe your Cwalo’s information can shed some light on things.”

  “It’s just a rumor about some undeclared shipment,” I warned. “It’s a lot more likely to be a load of Vareni marchpane or cloves for the spice trade, and it might not even have anything to do with the Ceid.” I got up from my chair to look over Durrel’s lists. He’d been thorough, marking the connections between everyone so far, from Karst and Talth to Barris and Koya, and even himself. Still, something was missing. I hesitated a moment, then said, “What about your father?”

  “What about him?” Durrel’s voice was sharp. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Durrel, Karst sent him an ear. That’s not a gift you give a stranger.”

  “You said yourself — that was just a warning, to stay out of their business.”

  Maybe. “Look,” I said. “I don’t know what it means, but I’ve seen Karst before, and it wasn’t with Ferrymen or the Ceid. He was there when I went to Charicaux.”

  Durrel looked like I’d struck him, an expression of surprise and confusion on his face. “I need to see him.”

  “Who? Karst?”

  “My father.”

  “You can’t,” I said, although I did think, rather belatedly, that someone ought to let Lord Ragn know his son was well, and not the owner of the ear delivered to Charicaux two days ago. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “No.” Durrel looked stubborn. “I must speak with him.” He turned and rummaged through the clothing Eske’s girls had brought, but absently, as if he couldn’t find what he needed. “And if you don’t take me, you know I’ll simply walk out that door the second you leave here.”

  I believed him. I nodded. “I’ll try and arrange it.”

  He still looked set and worried. “Good,” he said. “Thank you. You’re taking as much risk as anyone, and I want you to know how much I appreciate it.” That noble tone was back in his voice, all solemn and weighty.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “No,” he said. “It’s everything.”

  A few hours later, I presented myself at the Charicaux gates. Last time the guard — or Karst, rather — had summarily dismissed me, but now a stone-faced retainer ushered me through as soon as I gave my name. He led me into the house like an errant child tardily returned from some high adventure, finally depositing me in an interior courtyard with a curt warning that I was to wait there until Lord Ragn became available. He gave no indication of when that would be, however, and after a few minutes of pacing between a fountain and an iron bench, I grew restless. Since this was probably my only opportunity to get a glimpse at what those guards were keeping so well protected, I decided to make the most of it.

  I could hear voices from the second story above me, and saw a series of closed doors in the courtyard level below. Swiftly I passed from door to door, testing them. I ignored the unlocked ones — kitchens, workrooms, a covered walkway to the stables — and set my attention (and my lock picks) to the ones that wouldn’t open to a visitor’s casual curiosity. The first two were useless, a music room and a cluttered storeroom that held spare furniture and bolts of cloth. The third, however, granted me access to a broad chamber of bookcases, desk, and a chest of many tiny drawers and doors. An office. Perfect. I slipped inside, leaving the door open a sliver so I could hear my guard return with Lord Ragn.

  It was dark and hot in the office, the tall windows closed behind heavy damask drapes, like the room was hunkered down and hiding from something. I went straight for the desk; a closed ledger sat atop a blotter, with a neat row of pens and inkwells. Very tidy. Very Decath. The desk drawer held a stack of correspondence and an accounts book from a banking house. The book was smallish, and though it would have fit very nicely in the bodice of my kirtle, I resisted. Lord Ragn would miss it straightaway, and Durrel would hardly welcome it. Nobs and their honor.<
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  Instead I contented myself with leafing through the entries, and I was surprised to see the withdrawals outnumbered the deposits. By a lot. The records went back a little more than a year, and the sums in Lord Ragn’s accounts seemed to be dwindling rapidly. There was one large influx of cash at the end of the winter, around the time of Durrel’s marriage to Talth, but after that, the decline continued. I wondered if Durrel knew his father was losing money. But how? Bad investments? Gambling? Women? None of the usual reasons for nobs to go broke seemed to fit what I knew of Lord Ragn. I tucked the account book back into place and combed through the letters, my fingers stalling when they came to a fold of green parchment in the drawer. Loath to pick it up, I flipped it onto the desk with a letter knife, and spread it open.

  It was a note from the Matriarch at the Celystra, thanking Lord Ragn for his recent gift of a set of gold candlesticks for the convent’s chapel, and a donation of ten thousand crowns. I frowned, feeling dull and sick in the stuffy heat. Could famously neutral Lord Ragn, the man who had raised Meri, be secretly a Celyst? It would explain the company he’d been keeping, at least, the Councilor and the Confessor I’d seen riding with him into this very house.

  I heard the thump of footsteps coming down a flight of stairs outside, so I ducked back out to the courtyard, not even bothering to replace the letter. I did pull the office door shut behind me. Lord Ragn appeared at the base of the stairs, looking uncharacteristically rumpled, his face flushed. He stalked over to me. “Where is my son?” he said, his voice harsh.

  “Safe. For now.” My heart was pounding; between his cold greeting and the letter from the Celystra, I didn’t know what to think about Lord Ragn’s loyalties.

  “This isn’t a game,” he said. “You have no idea how much danger he’s in. Lord Raffin was taken to the Celystra infirmary with broken ribs! He’s facing discommendation for this little stunt.”

  My breath caught. “Is he —”

  “What were you two thinking?”

  “Karst was going to kill him!”

  Ragn fell back like I’d struck him. “Karst? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said stiffly.

  “What does he have on you?”

  He took a moment, pacing across the tiled floor, past the fountain and a bench with a blue velvet cloak puddled in the seat. He tugged and smoothed his doublet, rubbed the back of his neck. “These are not matters I have any intention of discussing with you,” he finally said. “You must tell me where Lord Durrel is.”

  I could be stubborn too. “No.”

  “Damn it, girl, if they find him —”

  “They won’t,” I said firmly. “I told you, he’s safe for now. But he’d be a whole lot safer if I understood what was going on.”

  “It’s no concern of yours,” Lord Ragn said in a tight voice. “The situation is under control.”

  “He wants to see you.”

  Lord Ragn’s eyes closed briefly, and he nodded. “I — I would appreciate that very much. You haven’t brought him here, surely?”

  “No, milord.” I outlined my plan, which had grown legs on my walk over here. “This afternoon, can you book passage on a ship to Tratua?” Nobs could still travel freely in Llyvraneth, so far as I knew. “Withdraw a reasonable sum, say, five hundred crowns, from your banking house. Send one of your men to a tailor’s — your normal one — and buy a suit of clothes and a traveling cloak.”

  “Shall I buy a horse, as well?” There was almost a trace of amusement in Lord Ragn’s voice.

  “No,” I said. “That would look suspicious, since the Decath already own the best horses in Gelnir. But a good sword and a pair of boots, and perhaps a falcon.”

  “You want him to run.”

  “I want it to look like he’s run. Can you do that?”

  Lord Ragn looked into the distance. Lines creased his forehead and feathered the skin at his eyes. “And he’ll still be here in the city? Do you think that’s wise?”

  “If I could have convinced him to leave, don’t you think I’d have done it already? He’s determined to clear his name.”

  “But this is madness,” Ragn said. “To break out of prison, to —” His voice broke and he fought for composure. “You’re certain he’s safe?”

  I felt a surge of pity. “As safe as I can make him, your lordship. But, please, if you know anything about what’s happening to him —”

  “I asked you before to stay out of this,” Lord Ragn said, but he sounded tired now, not angry.

  “What does Karst want from you?” There was no question in my mind that I’d seen Karst here, at Charicaux, and that Lord Ragn must know him. So what was he hiding?

  Lord Ragn sighed, shadows crossing his face. “It has nothing whatever to do with the death of Lord Durrel’s wife, but since I don’t expect you’ll accept that for an answer, I’ll try to explain. Sit down.” He pointed me to the iron bench, and I shifted aside the velvet wrap. “You know that I fostered my niece Merista for five years.”

  “Of course.”

  Ragn continued. “You have no idea how costly that was for us — for the Decath. Keeping her safe, keeping her secret. The bribes alone nearly bankrupted the estate. And then when she came out as not only magical, but a party to Wierolf’s rebellion . . .” He touched his fingers to the bridge of his nose, wincing slightly. “If she had been my blood relation, and not just my late wife’s niece, we would have lost everything. There were inquiries. The king was not pleased. We convinced him we knew nothing of Lady Merista’s magical nature, but it was a near thing. We’re lucky we still have our title, let alone managed to hold on to Favom Court and Charicaux. Only my wife Amalle’s connections, and a very great fine paid directly to the king’s coffers, as well as sworn oaths of loyalty to His Majesty, saved us at all.”

  I suspected Lord Ragn was sparing some of the details. Hang the estate and the title — he was lucky he still had his head. Meri’s parents had been in exile for much of her childhood for their role in a previous rebellion. “And Karst?”

  “I’m getting to that. As you can imagine, the Decath estate has fallen into debt since all this began. I couldn’t approach a bank for obvious reasons, so I turned to old, old family friends.”

  “The Ceid?”

  “The very same. Mistress Talth’s first husband and I had worked closely together for many years. His heirs were more than willing to negotiate a settlement with the Decath, but their fee was steep.”

  “Talth wanted to marry Durrel.”

  He nodded. “It was an excellent match, and Lord Durrel seemed amenable as well, so we struck the bargain.” Lord Ragn shifted position, his face grim. “Unfortunately it was not the happy marriage we had all anticipated, and with the untimely passing of Mistress Talth, there has been some . . . dispute regarding the settlement. The family Ceid has demanded I return the money from Talth’s dowry, and their requests are developing a certain uncharacteristic urgency. This Karst you’ve mentioned is employed by the family.”

  “They sent him to recover the money from the marriage settlement?”

  “He’s a bit thuggish and uncouth, and he’s been flexing his muscles a little more than I’d like,” Ragn said, “but it’s been — relatively — civil. They’ve filed a claim with the magistrates, and we’re simply waiting on the court’s judgment. Some of us more patiently than others.”

  So Karst wasn’t a Charicaux guard after all, just a Ceid heavy who’d been hanging around the Decath house, leaning on Durrel’s father. But he was also a Ferryman, which reminded me that something was still off here. There was more that Lord Ragn wasn’t telling me. “What about the ear?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The ear. The severed ear that Karst had sent here the day before yesterday.”

  Lord Ragn looked genuinely perplexed. “I can’t imagine what you’re referring to. Now, if I’ve answered your questions to your satisfaction, when can I see my son?”

  I knew that noble tone well enough; there
was no use trying to get more information out of him today. “I can arrange something for this evening,” I said. Before my errand to the docks.

  “Not tonight,” he said. “I have another engagement, and it can’t be missed.” What could possibly be more important than seeing his son? Lord Ragn must have read the look on my face quite clearly, because he said, “Dinner, with the minister of the exchequer and the master of the king’s horse. And there is no possible way I can get out of that without arousing extreme suspicion. It will have to be another night. Tomorrow.”

  Grudgingly I admitted he was right. That would also give me more time to make sure the details were in place. “I’ll send word when everything is arranged. Give my regards to Lady Amalle,” I added, rising to leave.

  “Amalle?” Lord Ragn looked surprised. “Certainly, but it will be a while; she’s at Favom Court for the summer.”

  I smoothed the blue velvet wrap across the arm of the bench. “Oh, I thought — never mind. It wasn’t important.” As I turned to go, Lord Ragn caught my hands.

  “Celyn, wait. Tell Durrel —” He faltered. He looked weary and spent and ground down by concerns I could only begin to imagine.

  “Tell him yourself,” I said gently, squeezing his arm. “Tomorrow night.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I made my way back across the city, my thoughts a tangle. Did Durrel know about his father’s debts? And Raffin — had Durrel really hit him hard enough to crack bone, or had Karst turned up to “finish the job”? Lord Ragn had said Raffin would receive an official reprimand, but broken ribs and a dressing-down were hardly the worst of it. Unbidden, my list of consequences for his participation in our scheme sprang to my mind again: the loss of his commission, arrest for treason for the escape of one of the king’s prisoners, and worse. I wasn’t convinced even Raffin was a match for the wrath of the Acolyte Guard.

  Back at the Temple, the place was as crowded as ever, and I saw a handful of masked barmen and servers hauling up a huge gold-and-orange banner to one of the balconies. I stopped to watch them, and one of the figures hanging over the balcony rail, a coil of rope over one shoulder, paused to give me a broad wave. Evidently Eske had put Durrel to work. With the mask, he’d be as anonymous as the rest of the Temple staff, and I wondered if she’d have him serving drinks next.