Geyle fanned at her face with her hand. “Did the drink help Vir’s cough? He won’t even listen to Doctor Pember’s advice half the time, which I find odd because he’s always so impressed with Illithe’s medicinal advances.”
“I think he found the drink helpful,” Aren said, distracted. As she poured and stirred at the bar, his mind ran through the books in the Library with worn titles and bound in sable leather. He differentiated the fiction from the nonfiction, then began eliminating Houses that he knew didn’t use such binding. “Genethew Farista, Herbal Remedies and Potions,” Aren murmured, his mind locating the book title. “House of Tennar.”
“Did you say something?” she asked, stopping and replacing the various liquors she had used.
“No, my Lady,” he stammered. “Just talking to myself.”
“Am I not interesting enough to talk to?” Her smile was coy and it made him uncomfortable.
“That’s not what I meant. I tend to remind myself of my tasks out loud.”
“Oh! Have you read that book before? It’s fascinating! Tennar has a lot of plants that you can only get in the southern mountain regions, but their healing properties are amazing.”
Aren picked up the book and leafed through it, confirming that it was indeed the book he thought it was. He also found it completely un-fascinating—so much so that he had fallen asleep while cataloguing it years ago. When Elder had checked on his progress and found that there was very little, he had ordered him to go out and bring back a sample of every plant native to Tiede that was mentioned in the book. The results of his scavenging had made the herbalists grateful at least.
“I’m not very smart on plants,” he admitted as he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She had that mysterious vial out again, and he glimpsed two perfect pearls of liquid falling into the drink and disappearing. As she stopped the vial and slid it into the folds of her skirts, he returned his full attention to the book. He then made a show of clapping the book closed and returning it to the chaise. He forced himself to smile and noted how flush she seemed.
“Tse frie!” Geyle raised the glass, then brought it to her lips.
Aren’s mind was working. She had assured him the first time he caught her putting drops into Vir’s drink that it was harmless. He wanted to trust her; stars, he wanted to trust her.
“Shall I take it to him?” he asked.
“I’m perfectly capable of bringing Vir his drink,” she said, licking her lips and moving towards him. “Besides, he’s been so busy it’ll probably be the only time I’ll get to see him until he comes to bed—if he comes to bed.” She stopped in front of him. “If you were my husband, you’d come to me every night, wouldn’t you?”
His gut tightened. “Well—”
“You don’t know what it’s like, do you? To feel so alone and isolated…”
“My Lady,” he said, his emotions torn, “I know exactly what it’s like.”
“Trust me, Aren.” Her voice was soft and she didn’t look at him. “I’m going to make this work. Then, we’ll all be happy.”
Before he could speak, she swished her skirts out into the hall.
THREE
A Messenger notified them that there would be no sparring with Lord Vir today, as he was still feeling under the weather. Dane decided he’d spend the time with Rieka at her parents’ house. Aren walked him out, and they took the long way from the kasan, through the courtyard and to the other end of the House, past the kitchens, the storerooms, the greenhouse, and out to the gardens. They could hear Tiede’s people outside of the gates, rattling tin cans and sticks against the iron, calling out to Vir, asking him to do something about the killings.
Dane talked about how scared everyone was, and said that rumors were circulating about the end times and the fall of Tiede. Aren, still not feeling entirely well, didn’t talk much. The headaches and fever had drained him, and he had too many other things on his mind. Dane seemed to sense his mental agitation. “You and Rieka were right. Your new friend Lake is a goddess,” he said as they paused by one of the garden fountains.
“You think so?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t notice.”
“I didn’t want to notice.” Aren reached out to touch the tip of a glass star suspended over the fountain. “But she started talking about scroll preservation and celestial phenomena and the dead languages. Maybe she’s Elder’s idea of a practical joke.”
“Elder is tricky like that. Maybe he taught her how to get to you, but she must be a Fighter. She’s ridiculously fast on the draw; uncanny the way she knew Gryf and I were there when I’m positive we didn’t make a sound.”
“I guess she’s got a lot of talents I don’t know about,” Aren said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Did you tell her about your episodes?”
“No.” Aren rubbed drops of water between his thumb and middle finger. “I don’t need to scare her off.” It was bad enough that he had passed out in front of her. “I hear voices and I’m compelled to go to the Wood. When I come out—rather, when you save my ass—I have no idea what’s happened to me. I’ve lost my mind.”
“You think that’ll scare her? There’s a monster on the loose, and not a single soul has any idea what it really is. Lord Vir’s been attacked in his own House by a mage. Selina’s hearing voices and having premonitions. At this point, only Gryf showing up to spar in a yellow summer dress would be more frightening.”
Aren looked at Dane with a quizzical expression. “Why yellow?”
Dane shrugged, then patted him on the back. “I’ll be back later to check on you, make sure you aren’t dying or doing something stupid.”
Aren was about to tell him not to bother, when Vir entered the gardens, Geyle at his side. A smile lit her face when she saw them, and Dane exchanged a look with Aren before they took a knee.
“Gentlemen.” Vir stopped before them and motioned for them to stand. “Doctor Pember recommended I take a break from sparring until whatever illness I have passes. I trust you got the message.” Vir’s complexion was pale with dark circles under his hollow eyes. He hadn’t shaved and his jaw was covered with a considerable amount of black stubble. His limp hair was slicked back, and the veins on his temple and forehead seemed to throb. “It’s good that you’re here, though,” Vir said, addressing Aren as the young men straightened up. “I need a word with you, Apprentice. Young Gerrit, if you wouldn’t mind escorting my wife around the gardens for a moment.”
Dane inclined his head and offered his arm to Geyle. She took it, looked wistfully at Aren, then back at Vir, her smile fading as she allowed Dane to lead her away.
Vir proceeded to have a coughing fit, and he signaled a nearby servant for a drink. The meek girl, with her brown hair tied in a black ribbon, came forward with two glasses of water. She handed them to Vir and Aren, then bowed, taking her leave. When Vir was done coughing, he asked, “Apprentice, is there anyone you know who might consider you an enemy?”
Aren’s first thought was the mysterious note. It was threatening, but what was he going to say? Now that you mention it, I received a note written in Ancient. I have no idea where it came from, or who saved my life, or who I’m supposed to keep away from. Do you have any advice? Ridiculous. “No, my Lord,” he said instead. “Why do you ask?”
“The mage who attacked the House admitted he was trying to kill you, not me.”
Aren was taken aback. Why would anyone want to kill him? He was a nobody and he didn’t remember pissing anyone off. “Is it possible he’s lying so that you might spare his life? I only met him once before the attack.”
The mage was Horin, the tall boy with the yellow hair who didn’t speak a word to him. Aren’s mind raced to make connections. He had seen Horin once, before running into him with Dekney. The boy had poured water for Lady Saris. Garden-lemon-water-boy.
Vir interrupted Aren’s thoughts. “Perhaps there’s a girl he was fond of who might have shunned him for you? What about that girl the o
ther night? The one who came to the House to discuss your alleged betrothal?”
Aren’s mind was spinning. “Miss Crilys Trista misunderstood my intentions, and I apologize for her behavior. I’ll keeping thinking, though. If there’s someone who might want me dead, I’ll let you know.”
Vir nodded, handing Aren his empty glass. “I hope you will. We can’t have your drama endangering everyone in this House.” He turned away, looking to see where Dane and Geyle had walked off to. “Are you ill, Apprentice?”
“An overnight fever of sorts.”
“Doctor Pember didn’t think I was contagious, and Elder seems fine, as does my wife.” Vir watched as Dane led her back towards them. “A handful of servants have fallen ill as well.”
Aren was about to offer up some theory when the sound of a staff pounding against the stone caused them to turn around. Elder marched up to them, frowned at Aren, then addressed Vir. “My Lord,” Elder said, his face grim, “news on Trum. Also, one of the ill servants has passed.”
Vir rushed back into the House, Elder several paces behind him, pumping his staff up and down.
Geyle left Dane’s side, gathered her skirts, and made to run after them, but slowed herself when she reached Aren. “I suppose he forgot we were going to spend some time together.” Her voice was small, and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “It shouldn’t be this difficult.”
Aren looked to Dane, who was standing a few feet away. Dane gave him a look that he interpreted as: “Just walk away, you gigantic imbecile.”
Aren began to think of excuses, ready to leave with his brother. Geyle could return to the House and find her ladies, spend time with them. Instead, Aren offered his arm and said, “I’ll walk with you if you like.”
FOUR
After walking through the House gardens, Aren managed to excuse himself from Geyle’s company by using the growing angry mob outside of the gates as a reason for her to return indoors. He had been able to make her laugh a few times, which he much preferred over the crying. He never realized she could be so emotional, though he supposed he might get a little choked up if he were trying to poison his spouse.
She’s not trying to poison him. My imagination is out of control.
During the walk, Vir’s news about Horin targeting him was buzzing in the back of his mind until something clicked. He wrote a note for Elder, left the House, and headed for the northwest district.
When he arrived at the Morning Light, a high-end jewelry shop, he peeked through the spotless window. He associated the shop with bad memories, with feelings of inferiority and worthlessness. A few seasons ago, his father had asked him to pick up an order of precious stones from the shop proprietor, Gem Master Crilys Ire. That was when he met the Master’s daughter Trista, and Master Ire had cursed and insulted him for casting his Unblessed and unholy shadow upon her establishment. Sometimes he wondered if Master Ire’s attitude towards him was what made him flirt with Trista in the first place. Part of him felt guilty about it, but he felt that he had paid for his sins by putting up with her.
From his vantage point at the window, he saw Trista napping on a green chaise in the sitting area, where her mother entertained serious shoppers, plying them with mediocre wine as she laid out brilliant gems for consideration. The bells over the door tinkled clear and bright when he entered the shop, and Trista was startled awake. Her movement disturbed the lint in the velvet, and dust motes floated into the light, drifting like snow. Aren tried to smile but couldn’t find the energy, so he closed the door and waited for her to say something.
She stood up, rushing to straighten her pink dress. He watched her eyes move from his face to the point between his collarbones where the silver clasp fashioned in the Tiede crest kept his robes fastened. Her expression darkened; she knew he was on House business, and he knew she hated him for it.
Aren waited to see if Master Ire would appear from beyond the dark-green draperies behind the locked glass cases displaying her wares. He didn’t come here to be insulted, and he was more than ready to head back to the House if he saw her sharp, disapproving face.
Trista cleared her throat. “Are you here to see me?” He nodded and her smile was so wide and genuine, he hated himself for coming.
She gestured to the chaise but he declined. “I can’t stay long.” He held up a hand to refuse the glass of water she offered, moving to stand behind an armchair, gripping the top of it, wondering how to begin. He was compelled to look towards the cases again, worried that the Master would come out when he least expected it.
“My mother left for market days ago,” Trista said, as if reading his mind. “My father is caring for the shop, and he went to deliver a necklace to the wife of some Counselor.”
“The shops and markets always seem a little off-kilter this time of year. With the mess at the docks, it’s worse than usual.” He indicated the door with a thumb. “You should keep that locked.”
“I will.” Trista seemed surprised at his concern. “All the danger is around Crescent Park anyway, and the whole area south of that.”
“Actually, the House was attacked yesterday,” Aren said, watching her reaction. She was nodding, and she folded her arms across her chest, pushing up on her bodice and revealing ample cleavage. He turned his head to look out the window instead. “If the House is vulnerable, then everyone else is even more so.”
“You aren’t invincible,” she said. “Did you come out of the big House just to check on me?” The sass was starting to creep back into her tone, and he questioned his decision to confront her.
Aren hadn’t been attacked on the way to the shop, so it was possible Vir’s information was wrong. If he were being tortured as Horin was, he’d probably say crazy things too. There was no reason he could think of for anyone to want to kill him—not since the mage after the river, the unicorn, the smoke creature with the red blade, and that thing in the Wood.
Maybe leaving the House was a bad idea after all.
He returned his gaze to Trista, concentrating on her face. “I want to know why you came by the House the other night.” Her face reddened and she moved to retrieve a glass of water from a side table and took a sip. “Don’t throw the betrothal lies at me,” he added.
“It was the only way to get the Guard to take me seriously,” she said, setting down her glass. “How else am I supposed to get in touch with you?”
Aren let out a laugh, not meaning to. “The reason you can’t get in touch with me is because I didn’t give you the means to. If I wanted to talk to you, I’d come find you like I did just now.”
A gloss of tears filled her eyes. “You’re such an ass,” she said through gritted teeth. “Why do you have to be so mean? Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
Aren felt his patience wearing thin as he recalled every conversation they’d had and how it always ended up in an argument. “Leave you alone? You’re the one who came calling at the House, spreading lies about us getting married. Did you just happen to forget that it was Lord Vir’s House and not mine?”
Trista averted her gaze, looking down at her ringed fingers. “I needed you.”
He leaned against the back of the armchair, dropping his head. Why did he torture himself like this? “Needed me for what?”
“For everything!” she cried. “I want you to smile at me the way you did when you first met me, to hold my hand against your lips, to tell me I’m beautiful, to twirl my hair around your finger.”
Aren felt as though a blood vessel in his forehead might rupture. He peered at her from behind the locks of hair that fell over his eyes. “What about your new friends? All those things you want from me you might willingly get from them.”
“Mercer is handsome but he’s not like you.” Tears spilled from Trista’s eyes.
Why in Aum was every woman crying around him? No wonder he enjoyed Lake’s company; she wasn’t ever on the verge of an emotional breakdown. “Of course he’s not like me,” he said. “I’m not like him either, I
’m sure.”
“I don’t mean it like that. He’s selfish, and when we…” The tears fell in earnest now, and Aren was taken aback. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a kerchief, walking over to hand it to her. “Copen is even worse.”
“Then why do you keep their company?”
Trista threw up her arms. “They’re fun when they’re in a good mood.” She looked straight into his eyes. “It’s also nice to feel wanted sometimes.”
Aren didn’t flinch under her gaze. “I suppose you should put up with their selfishness then.”
“Get out,” she seethed. “I’m tired of your condescending attitude. Just leave me alone.”
“I’ll be glad to,” he said, “provided you leave me alone as well.” He put on a large, fake grin. “No more visits to Lord Vir’s House, okay honeypot?”
“It wasn’t my idea to begin with!” she yelled. “Now, get out!”
He was about to storm out of the shop, but he paused. “If it wasn’t your idea, then whose idea was it?” He walked back towards her.
She shuddered as if a cold had seized her, and she clenched the kerchief in one hand as she toyed with her hair with the other. “No one,” she said with less force than before.
Aren had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach; she was clearly hiding something. He wouldn’t have pissed her off so completely had he known there was more to her story. He took a deep breath. He was going to hate himself for what he was about to do, but if he rationalized that he was kissing her for the sake of the House, maybe he’d be able to live with himself.
He calmed down and told himself that Trista was just a girl who was infatuated and that her feelings had clouded her judgment. One day, she’d look back on all this and have a good laugh.
“Someone asked you to do it,” he said, his voice softer now. “I know you; you never would’ve come to the House on your own for such a silly reason.” He focused on her pretty face, her blue eyes, which seemed grayer in the early-afternoon light that poured in through the windows. She seemed transfixed by his change in demeanor and blushed under his gaze. The kerchief fell from her hand, and her fingers began to twist at her hair.
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