Jeweled Fire

by Sharon Shinn

  “Sorry about what?” Josetta finally said, but not in a mean way. It had taken Corene that long to realize Josetta never said anything in a mean way. Josetta was barely fifteen herself, scrawny and big-eyed and nervous and worried, but there was something so steady about her. You felt like you could hold on to her if you were going under.

  “I’m sorry I fell—I’m sorry I’m crying—I’m sorry I’m so horrible—” She sobbed out all the words.

  Josetta had left off poking at Corene’s foot and scooted over until she could take Corene’s shaking body in a close and comforting hug. “I’m not sorry about any of it,” she said. And even though her words didn’t exactly answer Corene’s confession, Corene understood Josetta’s meaning: Terrible things have brought us to this point, but here we are and you’re my sister and I love you. Corene hadn’t had the words for all that when she was twelve, but she had never forgotten the feeling. Josetta was the first person who’d ever loved her just for existing, without requiring anything from her, even that she be lovable. Coming to that realization had been one of the profoundest moments of Corene’s life.

  “But I can’t walk back to camp,” she hiccupped.

  “It’s all right,” Josetta replied. “Foley will carry you.”

  And he had, matter-of-factly scooping her up in his arms and moving with great care through the snowy landscape. Corene was at the age when she had just started to notice boys—the handsome soldiers in the royal army, the promising sons of the Five Families who came to the palace on public days—and she practically adored Foley. He must have been twenty at the time, and he could have stood in for her ideal—a tall, quiet man who never bothered boasting about the fact that he was extremely good at the job he had chosen to do. He wasn’t handsome in the well-groomed way of the rich boys she saw every day, but he had strong clean features and a serious face that became merry when he laughed.

  And there he was, holding Corene against his chest, carrying her as if she weighed nothing at all. She’d never forgotten the thoughts that had circled in her excitable, pain-hazed, twelve-year-old brain on that day. I love Foley. I will love him forever.

  And here he was again, holding her carefully against his body, carrying her as if she was sweet and precious cargo. Was he devoted to her or was he just too stubborn to allow harm to come to her while she was under his protection? Did he watch her so closely because she was an assignment or because she was a woman?

  I shouldn’t get sick. I shouldn’t get hurt. I think such impossible things when I do, she thought. But she buried her face more deeply into his shirt, took in another breath, inhaling his scent again.

  The palace stairwell, unlike the one at the tower, seemed much too short.

  Someone had alerted the servants, so Emilita was awaiting them in Corene’s room. The little maid clucked in sympathy as Foley placed Corene on the bed, then she practically pushed him out the door.

  “I will take care of her now,” she said in Malinquese. Corene didn’t have the strength to protest. She lay on the bed, feeling her stomach cramp again, and knew she wasn’t done with the day’s miseries yet.

  But in her right fist she clutched a small object, and now she opened her eyes just enough to get a look at it. An ordinary silver button, round and a little tarnished. It had been on Foley’s jacket, and it had come off in her hand as she clung to him for support.

  She knew she should give it back to him in the morning. But she was pretty sure that she wouldn’t.

  NINETEEN

  The early evening was pretty uncomfortable, but by midnight Corene felt her body relax, and she fell deeply asleep. When she woke up, bright sunlight announced that late morning had arrived with its usual brassy insistence. She felt pummeled and somewhat giddy, but otherwise good. And she was starving.

  She’d just emerged from the bathing room, freshly cleaned and dressed, when there was a tentative knock on the door. Liramelli stood on the other side, wan but upright, and carrying a basket of fresh-baked rolls.

  “If you will ever again trust my recommendations on food, I brought you breakfast,” Liramelli said.

  “This is exactly what I wanted,” Corene said, ushering her in and settling them both at a table. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better than yesterday.” Liramelli shuddered. “I’m so sorry—”

  “Like I said, I think it was lucky,” Corene interrupted. “It didn’t feel like it last night, but since we had no trouble getting Teyta into the palace—” She gave the other girl an inquiring look. “Unless you know something that I don’t.”

  Liramelli shook her head. “I went by Melissande’s room before I came here, but her maid said no one was there. I don’t even know if either of them got sick or if they were both just pretending.”

  “I haven’t checked on Foley, either,” Corene said guiltily. So much for love. “Though he seemed fine when he left last night.”

  “I think you and I were the only ones who ate the meat pie,” Liramelli said. “Melissande doesn’t like zeezin and Teyta wouldn’t eat it and I don’t know about Foley. But I’m pretty sure that’s what made us sick.”

  Corene crammed the last of a roll in her mouth and grinned. “I saw Lorian helping you into the palace with his own two hands,” she said. “He didn’t even seem to worry that you might throw up on him.”

  Liramelli smiled faintly. “I’ve always been his favorite. Unless Greggorio’s in the room, and then Greggorio is his favorite. He always knew we were sneaking around the palace, getting into rooms where we shouldn’t be going, but he never reported us to Filomara.”

  Though Lorian had taken the first opportunity he had to describe Jiramondi’s illicit activities to the empress. Corene shook her head; thoughts for another day. She came decisively to her feet. “We have to find Melissande,” she said. “I have to know what happened.”

  The minute she opened her door, Foley opened his as well. He looked perfectly normal, perfectly rested; the jacket he wore had no missing buttons. “You seem better,” he said. “Both of you.”

  Liramelli blushed and murmured something indistinguishable, but Corene answered, “I am better, thank you. What about you? Did you ever get sick?”

  He shook his head. “Must have eaten different things.”

  “Do you know anything about—”

  Before Corene could complete her sentence, Liramelli touched her arm. Melissande was hurrying down the long corridor, and she was alone.

  “Inside,” she murmured, and the four of them quickly reentered Corene’s room, locked the door, then huddled together near the farthest wall, so no eavesdroppers could overhear.

  “Teyta is gone,” Melissande breathed. “We got up very early this morning and crept down the hallways to the kitchen and waited there for what seemed like a very long time. Do you have any idea how many people come to the palace in the morning? Before it is even light?” Even through her whisper, her voice sounded aggrieved.

  Liramelli was amused. “Dozens.”

  “Hundreds! I would say that is a great vulnerability of the palace, but Teyta assured me that there are always soldiers lined up along the kitchen path, watching everyone come and go.”

  Corene made a circling motion with her hand, indicating that Melissande should get to the point. “So, Teyta and I loitered in the hallway until we saw her mother and sister come in with packages. Then I stepped into the kitchen and was very charming and apologetic but explained how hungry I was since I had missed my dinner and could somebody find some crust of bread for me to eat? And while I talked to the cook and the undercook and everyone else on the kitchen staff, Teyta slipped over to be with her family. And as they left, I stepped outside as if I merely wanted fresh air. But I watched as Teyta and the others casually walked past the guards and kept going, down the paths and out of sight.” She took a deep breath. “And nobody stopped them for as long as I could see. I think
they are safely gone.”

  Corene and Liramelli gave very quiet squeals of glee and threw their arms around each other, practically dancing where they stood. Foley didn’t join the celebrations, but he grinned broadly as he watched them.

  “We will have to go by Little Islands soon and find out for sure,” Corene said. “But I think we’ve done it.”

  “Now if only Alette and her young man have managed to find a boat to safety,” Liramelli said.

  That silenced them all and brought the worry back full force. If only we could know, Corene thought. Alette and Cheelin might be prisoners of an enemy ship or dead on the ocean floor. Unless Corene and the others heard for certain otherwise, they would always be left to wonder.

  “She left a message for us,” Melissande added.

  “She did? What kind of message?” Corene asked.

  “After I left the kitchen this morning, I went to her suite. I am going to tell everyone that I sent Alette back to her own room sometime in the night, so I wanted to make sure the bed looked like it had been slept in. The place was very tidy, so I pulled out clothes and shoes and dropped things on the floor, and did many other small things. When I went to pull back the covers, I found these.”

  All this time, she had been holding something in her hand—what looked like a scroll of colorful fabric. Now she unrolled it to reveal three squares of cloth, each about the size of Corene’s hand, one purple, one green, one blue. In the center of each, embroidered in fine gold thread, was a blessing glyph.

  “She made these for us,” Melissande said, and now her quiet voice was gilded with tears. “Remember we promised that if we ran away, we would leave behind our blessings so the others knew we had left of our own accord? She did not leave her blessings—she left ours.”

  Corene felt her own throat close up. “The blue one says charm,” she told them gruffly. “Obviously Melissande’s. The green one is loyalty. Liramelli’s. The purple one is mine. Courage.”

  Melissande distributed them and Liramelli held her scrap of cloth briefly against her cheek. Corene saw the fabric get stained by a tear before Liramelli folded it and tucked it into a pocket.

  “She got to safety. I have to believe that,” Liramelli said quietly.

  “Me, too,” Corene said. “She’ll let us know.”

  Foley spoke up. “Still, the longer you can keep her disappearance quiet, the farther away she will get.”

  Melissande nodded. “I thought of that. I locked her door when I left. And then in case anyone came to my room looking for the key, I buried it in the kitchen garden.”

  “You’ve had a very busy day, and it’s hardly even started!” Corene exclaimed.

  “I know. And I am almost faint with hunger.”

  “Liramelli brought me some rolls, but I’m hungry, too,” Corene said. “Let’s go downstairs and find food.”

  • • •

  It was dinnertime before Corene heard anyone ask directly about Alette. She and Melissande and Liramelli had done their best to avoid conversations with members of the royal family—even Steff—forgoing their usual language lessons and penta games and other group activities. Instead, they’d all claimed lingering effects of illness and kept to their rooms or taken solitary walks in the garden to pass the time.

  But they all made it to dinner, since Filomara had let it be known that various city officials would be on hand and she expected all her guests and relatives to attend. Corene thought the meal might not go well, so to bolster her spirits she put on her favorite Welchin tunic and trousers, wrapped her purple shawl around her shoulders, and slipped Alette’s embroidered blessing in her pocket. Courage, she thought.

  Once she made it to the dining room, she was far from pleased to see Bartolo and Sattisi already there, making one of their mercifully rare appearances. Also at the table were Liramelli’s parents, the mayor, and a handful of other dignitaries.

  Corene managed to secure a spot between Steff and Jiramondi, so she actually enjoyed herself for most of the meal. Jiramondi teased her about her recent escapade and then recounted his own miserable episodes in Tower Alley.

  “Why does anyone ever go back there?” Corene demanded.

  “Because you might go ten times every year and only get sick once every three years,” he said. “Because the food is cheap—and it’s usually good—and it is fun to do something so unstructured. And to gamble that this time it will go well.”

  “I don’t think I’ll go back ten times,” Corene said.

  It appeared that Filomara had been auditing their conversation, though she sat five places removed from them at the head of the table. She leaned forward and said, “No, and you would be wise to never return. I cannot believe any of my nephews took you to such a place.”

  “It wasn’t us,” Jiramondi said. “Just Liramelli.”

  Who cast her eyes down. “I’m truly sorry.”

  “Well, no lasting harm done, since everyone has recovered,” Liramelli’s father said.

  Greggorio glanced around the table. “Not Alette,” he said. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

  Everyone looked Melissande’s way. Though it hadn’t been openly discussed, everyone knew where Alette had been sleeping lately. And, Corene thought, everyone probably knew why.

  Melissande was the picture of innocence. “I sent her back to her room in the middle of the night,” she said. “It is not an entirely pleasant thing when two people are sharing a suite and both of them are—indisposed.”

  Greggorio frowned. “And no one’s checked on her all day?” He pushed his chair away from the table, but Filomara frowned him back into place. She lifted a hand and glanced at the doorway, nodding at the shadowy figure who stood there. Lorian, Corene supposed. She didn’t hear the sound of footsteps moving away, but she was sure someone had been dispatched to Alette’s room. She tightened her fingers around her fork and took another bite. Better finish her meal now while she still had the chance.

  “Before you had the unfortunate encounter with the meat pies, you had a most pleasant day, or so my daughter tells me,” said Liramelli’s mother, Mariana, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “There is a Welchin temple at the Little Islands, she said? Tell me what that’s like.”

  That was an easy conversational gambit, and Corene gratefully took it. She described the ritual of the blessings and then gestured at Filomara. “The empress drew blessings when she was visiting in Welce earlier this year.”

  “Oh, do tell us,” Garameno drawled. “Which attributes were bestowed upon my aunt?”

  Filomara unexpectedly answered before Corene could. “Endurance, power, and surprise,” the empress said. “I was not happy with that final one—until the surprise was revealed a few moments later.” She nodded in Steff’s direction and her face softened into what passed for a smile. “That I had two living grandsons.”

  “Yes, an excellent revelation,” the prefect agreed. “I am looking forward to grandchildren myself.”

  Liramelli seemed embarrassed and stared down at her plate. Mariana replied gaily, “Not quite yet, however.”

  “I went to the Welchin temple about a nineday ago,” Jiramondi said. “In case anyone is interested, my own blessings were patience, honor, and triumph.”

  “Not the ones I would have expected,” Garameno murmured.

  “That’s exactly what I said,” Corene replied with a smirk. “I would be quite curious to see which ones you pulled from the barrel.”

  “Well, then—” Garameno started to say.

  But he was interrupted by Lorian’s sudden entrance. “Majesty, she is gone.”

  For a moment, it was as if no one in the dining room heard or understood the significance of his words. The room still buzzed with the ordinary undercurrent of chatter and clatter: Melissande was laughing with Harlo; Liramelli was explaining something to Sattisi. Only Filomara and Garam
eno looked up sharply when Lorian spoke.

  “Gone?” Filomara repeated, frowning. “Not in her room? Where then?”

  “No one knows. Her maid has not seen her since yesterday. I will make inquiries with the rest of the staff.”

  Now Jiramondi caught wind of the conversation. “Who’s gone? What are you talking about?”

  “Alette isn’t in her quarters,” Garameno said.

  Jiramondi didn’t look too concerned. “So? Is she in Melissande’s room? Or in the library or the garden? There are hundreds of places she could be.”

  Melissande broke off her private conversation. “Alette? She wasn’t in my suite when I came down to dinner, but I suppose—” She shrugged.

  Greggorio was on his feet again, and this time Filomara’s scowl didn’t cow him. “I’ll look for her. I know the places she likes to go.”

  He pushed past Lorian and out the door. Filomara nodded at her steward. “Send the servants out. Search every room.”

  That’ll take some time, Corene thought, sipping her water. She wondered if it would be possible for someone to hide for days—quintiles, even—in some of the half-abandoned reaches of the palace. The sixth story, for instance, or the tunnels beneath the storerooms. Definitely the tunnels, she decided. Access to food, access to water. You’d go mad, but that might be better than whatever you were facing aboveground.

  She took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know why you’re so worried.”

  Filomara gave her a hard look. “I’m worried because she was recently ill and she is under my protection, and I don’t want her to be lying somewhere in a dead faint.”

  Corene sipped her water again, eyeing the empress over the glass. “But you know she has to be somewhere on the premises,” she said. “None of us can leave without soldiers following us, can we?” She gestured around the table. “I mean Melissande and Alette and me, of course. Steff, too, probably. I’m not sure.”