“Hello,” she said coolly. She was tired from a day of work and wanted to go home.
He smiled. That charming smile. “Hello, Anza. Can we talk a bit?”
“About what?”
“Come and have a drink. It won’t take long. I’m buying.” His voice was friendly, persuasive.
She was much angrier at him than she had thought she was. She should just swear and walk away. “I’ll give you a quarter hour,” she said. “Including the time it takes to get to a public house.” She started out without waiting.
He caught up quickly with his long stride. Their shadows stretched out before them. “My father is selling my house. There isn’t room to store everything. Do you want any of the furnishings?”
He wanted her to ask why. “Not even to borrow,” Anza said. She had been sleeping on a pallet on the floor of her new flat, but she would not trade that for Rumil’s softest bed.
He winced. “I said some things that night that I’m not proud of. I’m trying to apologize.”
“You accused me of infidelity. That didn’t come out of nowhere. You had it in your mind long before you said it.” She planted her feet firmly and waited for him to stop walking and look at her. “We aren’t good at being lovers. My leaving was the best thing for both of us.”
“I know you weren’t unfaithful. I was angry. I—”
“Stop,” she said, speaking over him. “Let it go. If you keep talking, you’ll say something else you regret.” She started walking again.
He blocked her way. “Anza, we’ve known each other for years. You’re not going to let one argument be the end of that. I still love you.”
“You’re the one who threw me out.”
“It was a mistake. Just listen to me. We can fix this.”
“I don’t want to fix it. And you don’t either, not really.”
“Don’t tell me what I want,” he said, his voice sharper.
“Rumil, you can’t buy trust back. You can’t. Or forgiveness.”
“If you weren’t unfaithful, what were you doing those nights?”
“Working.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. “Go back and ask Radd. I’ll wait.”
“Never mind,” he said. He spun and stalked off.
* * *
Anza’s new flat was in a neighborhood that was neither poor nor prosperous; the stone buildings were constructed well enough but stood shabby and disheveled, the faded paint on the doors indistinguishable greys and the roofs missing slates. Nothing remarkable. The street was steep and narrow, like most other streets in that part of the city. Sometime far in the past there had been money to cobble it. The courtyard of her building was weedy, and the entrance and stairwell, where the sun rarely hit, were damp. There was a well that reached down to one of the city cisterns and a foul-smelling sewer outlet for emptying the chamber pots. Across from the entrance was a narrow tunnel, which led to an adjacent courtyard and thence to a street. There were dozens of such wynds in Karegg, designed to make it easier to pass from one street to another on the long blocks.
She had a meal and took her tea outside to drink on the balcony that circled the courtyard. Sunlight still struck the upper side of the building opposite her. The floor and supports of the balcony were stone, but the rails were only rusting iron bars. Her neighbors were busy with evening things: taking down and folding the sun-dried wash, filling pails from the well, cleaning dishes. The air smelled of kenna smoke and tea. Two cats crouching near the well glared at each other. A flock of harpies flew east overhead, going to their roosts.
The house she had lived in with Rumil already seemed not quite real. As Sparrow had said, with the right clothing she could have moved easily among nobles. She knew how to disguise herself with finery and manners. Rumil’s house had been a costume of its own, worn and now put aside. This flat, stone and city-bound though it was, was more like the farm cottage she had grown up in than Rumil’s house and its garden and greenery had been.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Anza turned her head, expecting a neighbor. Instead, surprisingly, she saw Jance. She had not seen him since they left the College. He was a soldier now, much too close to the king’s eye for comfort even before she joined the resistance. He wore a loose silk shirt and neat brown trousers tucked into expensive boots. The leather was dusty. His hair was short, and his face was thinner than it had been while they were at College; it had changed from a boy’s to a man’s.
“Jance!”
“Hello,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
They hugged briefly. Anza said, “How did you find me?” She viewed the courtyard through his wealthy eyes: old, stained, blocklike, and ugly. He would try to talk her into moving someplace else.
“I asked Rumil first. He told me you had gone back to Irini. Is that true?”
“Hell no. I need some time with no one else entangled in my life.” That should be a direct enough statement to fend Jance off if he was having any lovesick thoughts. They had been good friends, nothing more, but there had to be a reason for him to have appeared now.
Jance said, “Did you get tired of him, or did you leave because of his money problems?”
“Money problems?”
“Yes. Through his father, I gather. It’s been going on for months.”
“And he accused me of keeping secrets!” It was hard to feel much rage against Rumil now, though. “He never told me. How did you find out?”
“We were drinking. At one of the taverns near the College. He didn’t want me to come to his house. He said I should ask Radd where you were living, so I did.”
“You really wanted to talk to me, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Can we go in?”
“Yes.” They were quiet while she made him tea, served in an earthenware mug that had come with the flat. She put it before him and sat on the other stool by the table and said, “How is it being in the Guard?” She hoped it hadn’t made him brutal.
“Tedious and low-paying,” he said, “but it has its moments. It keeps me active. I was just promoted, so I will be getting more responsibility.” He sipped his tea. He had a bandage around his hand like the one she had needed after the raid. His eyes had darkened.
“Doing what?”
“I’m being trained to lead the raids on the resistance,” he said.
And you’re doing it? she thought. But Jance had no choice. If he didn’t obey orders, he could be executed. As her father had been. She could not keep herself from glancing nervously over her shoulder at the window. What if he wasn’t alone?
He followed her thought. “No one knows I’m here, Anza. I made sure of that. I may as well ask you now. Did you know a captain at the Citadel named Havidian?”
She had never expected Jance to be the one to ask that. What did he know? “Why?”
“I take that as a yes. What is he, your uncle?”
“My father.”
“Get the hell out of Karegg,” Jance said. “The king’s soldiers are looking for you.”
Terror she had thought she was done with ran through her again. “They can’t be,” she said. The cell had been so cold. When she was back at Radd’s that night, she had huddled under a blanket despite the summer heat, shaking and shaking. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the examiner’s pale hands holding the belt while his trousers bulged close to her face. She smelled her own fear-sweat and the leather of the belt and the metal of the chains. She remembered the fouler odors in the dungeon, and the whispering, endless whispering.
“You look like him, Anza. I trained with him. I knew he reminded me of someone, and I couldn’t think who, and I figured it out a few days ago. I got sent to a house where there had been a raid. An archer got away. An archer who was small and good at climbing and able to get military arrows. She was described as young and dark-haired.”
She leaned over to sniff the tea. Its clean fragrance helped calm her. They didn’t know anything about her.
“Many women in Karegg look like that
,” she said, trying to reassure herself.
“But how many of them know someone who could teach them to shoot?”
She shrugged. “The resistance can teach people. Are they looking for a member of the resistance or for Captain Havidian’s daughter?”
“A member of the resistance, now. Right now they don’t think your father was a traitor. But they’ll wonder if they haven’t already how a woman could shoot well enough to kill three soldiers, and they’ll start looking for soldiers who might have trained someone. Prince Esvar already has suspicions about the arrows.”
“That won’t lead them to my father,” she said. “Why should it? He never stole any arrows. And why would I join the resistance when my father was a soldier? Why would he train me? Neither of us would risk killing the other.”
“Someone will remember his short, dark-haired daughter. Soldiers notice things, and there’s nothing for spurring memories like being questioned by a commander or higher.”
She got up and brought down two glasses and a bottle of raki. Drinking with Jance was not the smartest thing to do right now, but she needed to blunt the anxiety mounting in her. She poured them each a full glass. The burn and sting in her mouth was clarifying, even clean.
“No one knew about us. We were careful. I don’t see how they can find me, unless you tell them. Anyway, I’m not guilty of anything but being his daughter.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Anza, but it’s obvious. You fit the description perfectly. I tried to get out the window onto the roof, and it took a hell of a climber to do what you did.”
Esvar had seen her. If she resembled her father as much as Jance thought, he could make the connection too. Her hand went to her cheek. Her face had been bruised and swollen then, which might serve as some disguise.
She gave in. Jance knew her too well for her to lie convincingly to him. If he was questioned by a Truth Finder, his suspicions would come out and they would look for her anyway. “It’s only obvious because you already know me. Are you going to tell anyone?”
Jance drank, coughed. “Gods, that’s going to make my eyes pop out. Of course not. But Thali can figure it out if she puts her mind to it, she knew what your father looked like too. And she’s married to the spymaster. You need to leave.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“What about your aunt? Was living with her so terrible?”
“Her, no. The area, yes. Nothing new ever happened. People talked about the same things their grandparents talked about fifty years ago.” It had been a life of routine, of mindlessly pulling weeds or sorting beans, of repairing thatch, of discussing the crops and the weather and who had argued with whom. She had wanted more for herself as far back as she could remember. Her aunt had been a kind woman, but not one given to thought beyond the tasks of living.
“Go to a city, then,” Jance said. “There are lawyers everywhere who need clerks. I can loan you money if you need it.”
Jance was risking himself by coming here to warn her. He was owed a better explanation. “Karolje’s here,” she said. “He’s evil. I have to fight him.”
“The resistance can find someone else.”
“It’s not about the resistance. It’s about me. I can’t turn away from the things he’s done. I don’t have children to protect. I can take risks other people can’t.”
“You don’t know Prince Esvar. He’s very competent.”
She considered telling Jance she had met the prince once, that he had set her free, and decided not to. She didn’t want Jance to have to conceal anything more than necessary. If a connection between the missing resister and Havidian’s daughter was made, a further connection to Radd’s clerk would lead straight to Radd.
“Has Esvar said anything about my father?” she asked.
“No. But I wouldn’t expect him to tell me everything he thinks.”
“How did you get picked to work with him? Does he want to go to bed with you?”
Jance had just taken a drink, and he spluttered violently, spraying raki into a napkin. When his face had returned to a more usual color, he said, “Not him. He prefers women, there’s no question about that.”
“Well, soldiers…” she said, spreading a hand.
“Some soldiers. Not all of us.” He sipped the raki. “My cousin’s a lord, you know that. I assume I was chosen as some sort of favor to him.”
“What’s the prince like?”
“Perfectly civilized,” said Jance. “But I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.”
“Cruel like Karolje?”
Jance spun his glass in his hand, drained it and poured another. “No. He tries to be fair. I don’t think he’s forgiving of much, though.”
Esvar had released her. That had been fairness.
“I haven’t done anything that needs his forgiveness,” she said. She finished her own drink. When she refilled the glass, she spilled a little.
Mirantha had been desperate to save her sons. Karolje had surely killed her. What had that disappearance, that death, done to her children? Tevin had been fourteen. Esvar had been eight. What would Anza have felt if her anger and grief about her father had had twelve years to harden? Her own mother’s death had come when she too was eight, and now it was only a softness in her memory. But her mother had died of illness, not of murder.
How would she feel if one of her parents had killed the other?
Vengeful, terrified, ashamed. She tried to imagine what it might have done to her soul and failed. She would seek justice, but Karolje’s sons did not have that chance. Or they might have been fed lies about Mirantha for so long that they had sided with the king.
“Does Esvar want to find me?” she asked, inspired by the raki.
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“I’m not worth much.”
“Don’t count on that. That just means they won’t try to be subtle about things.” He wiped his mouth and stood. “I’d better go. If you see me at a raid, try not to shoot me.”
It stung. “Don’t do that.”
He flushed. “There’s another raid in a few days, but I won’t be told any of the details until shortly before. I won’t be able to warn you. If you’re there, I’ll have to arrest you. Even if you don’t leave Karegg, can you lie low for a while? Please.”
“I’ll try,” she said. She got up and went to his side, held out her hand. “Thank you. I think you’d better not come here again. Nor talk to Radd or Rumil or anyone else. I don’t want you to put yourself at risk.”
He squeezed her hand and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Be careful,” he said, and let himself out.
She watched out the window until he had walked out of her view on the street. The rooftops were red with sun. A woman hollered her children home. Everything seemed peaceful.
“Damn,” she muttered. She returned to the table and drained her glass of raki.
* * *
The warning peal of the Great Bell of the Temple was said to be able to wake the newly dead. Anza roused to its sound rolling through her body. The vibrations shook her teeth and breastbone. Her first confused thought was of war, and she rolled groggily out of bed and dressed as fast as she could. In the street below her open window, people were talking and shouting. She smelled smoke.
Inside the dark courtyard there was nothing to look at, but from the street she saw the firelit pillar of smoke in the southwest, sooty black framed by orange light. She half expected demons or hellbats to fly out of it. The air smelled of burning oil and creosote. The bell gonged again. Dogs howled from all directions.
Whatever was burning was big. It was a strike by the resistance, it had to be. Gods, she hoped no one had used explosives.
Or, horrible thought, what if Karolje had set it himself? Perhaps he was punishing someone or wanted to stir up feeling against the Tazekhs. His soldiers would rush in to put the fire out and be treated as heroes. That was exactly the sort of deviousness Karolje was capable of.
&n
bsp; For an instant the world skidded out of control. Would her father have wanted her to take the risks she had? He could not live again no matter what she did. Perhaps she would serve his memory better by staying safe.
No. He had trained her. He had intended her to fight. He had brought her here, into the heart of danger, and she wasn’t going to waste that gift.
* * *
In the morning, the smoke haze lingered. A yellow sun cast smoldering light. Stony-faced soldiers walked the main streets, hands on their sword hilts. Some of them led the chained hellhounds, large black dogs with venomous bites. If the dog chose to use its venom, you died fast, but not fast enough.
Anza did not know her new neighborhood well enough to avoid the checkpoints. Armored soldiers stood with pikes and bows and swords and whips, ready for any kind of violence they needed to inflict. At two of the checkpoints she was waved through, but at the third, near the cloth sellers’ market, she had to stand in a line. Her bag was searched. She waited, head lowered, obedient. The soldier who questioned her was only of average build, but his mouth was thin and cruel. No, sir, yes, sir, of course, sir. He sent her on her way with a hard push on the back. At least he hadn’t taken the opportunity to feel her breasts.
At the office, the window was open and the curtains pulled clear so Radd could see anyone passing by. His desk, dark oak that still managed to show stains and nicks, was unusually tidy. He’s leaving, she thought.
“The fire last night,” he said, “that was arson, Anza. It destroyed most of four warehouses before it was put out. The owners of three of the four have influence in the Citadel. Karolje’s going to come down damn hard. He’s set a curfew for sunset, and they’re not letting most people leave the city.”
“Did anyone die?” she asked.
“Three of the men trying to put the fire out, and another two are gravely injured. It’s said to be still too hot to look through the ruins.”
“Who was responsible?”
The Vanished Queen Page 11