by DAVID B. COE
“From now on, you’re to call me Corbin, even when we’re alone.”
Dario nodded. “I’d forgotten. I’m sorry.”
“What about you? Is there a name you’ve used before?”
“I’ve always just gone by Dario.”
“I referred to you as Dagon in the Red Boar.”
The man grinned. “I know. I didn’t like it.”
Cadel clicked his tongue. He would have preferred an alias, but if Dario hadn’t used one before, particularly if he had performed under his given name, changing it now would be dangerous.
“All right, Dario will have to do. You don’t give your family name, do you?”
“I never have.”
“Good,” Cadel said, nodding.
They found the innkeeper already seated at her table, eating the stew she had prepared.
“It’s probably half cold already,” she said, as the two men sat.
Cadel glanced at Dario, who grinned in return.
“I have no doubt that it still tastes wonderful, my lady,” Cadel said.
The woman paused with her spoon just in front of her mouth, peering at him from beneath wisps of white hair. “I never said it didn’t.”
He suppressed a laugh, and both men began to eat. The stew wasn’t bad, nor was the bread she had baked to serve with it, though Cadel expected that they would find better of both in the city. She had placed no wine on the table, but for six qinde he couldn’t bring himself to complain.
None of them spoke for some time. The woman seemed content to eat in silence, and Cadel saw no reason to risk unwanted questions by striking up a conversation. Eventually, though, the innkeeper finished her meal, and, with both men still eating, she remained at the table, eyeing them both.
“So, you’re musicians,” she said. “Are you any good? Or did I give up two qinde for nothing?”
The two men exchanged another look.
“We’re good,” Dario said. “With a bit more practice we should be good enough to play for the duke himself.”
The woman sniffed. “I don’t know that the duke cares for music. The older one did, his father. But this one…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Besides,” she went on a moment later, “he’s not even at the castle. I think he’s still in Solkara, though he could be on his way back by now. Word is he came through the poisoning all right.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Cadel said.
“We had one of the queen’s messengers here not long ago,” the innkeeper said, as if she hadn’t heard. “And one of the duke’s ministers, too.”
Cadel cast a quick look at Dario. Whether the lutenist had intended it or not, his boast about playing for the duke might have been a stroke of genius. “A minister?” he repeated, trying not to sound too interested. “Then was the duke here as well?”
She frowned. “No. This was after the duke and his first minister had gone south. Though it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Rowan himself stopped here on the return.”
Cadel felt his interest growing by the moment. “If the duke had already passed by, why would another of his ministers be stopping here?”
“I don’t presume to guess at such things. But he was interested in the duke, and even more so in the duke’s first minister, when the messenger was here, telling us of the poisoning. Wouldn’t surprise me if he and that minister were a pair, if you know what I mean.”
“So he had already left the castle when he heard of the poisoning?” Dario asked, putting down his spoon.
She nodded. “Oh, yes. Seemed rather bothered by it, if you ask me. Because of the minister, in particular. Left in a hurry the next morning. I didn’t like him at first. I don’t take well to white-hairs. But he was kind enough, for one of them.”
“What did he look like?” Cadel asked. When she looked his way, eyeing him warily, he added, “I’ve sung in many of the taverns in Mertesse, including the Qirsi ones. I might be able to put a name to the face, tell you which minister had been here.”
She still appeared doubtful, but after a moment she gave a small shrug. “He looked to me like every other Qirsi. He was lean, thin-faced. I had the impression that he was a bit old for one of them, but other than that, there wasn’t much to distinguish him.”
“What about his accent?”
Her eyes widened slightly, but quickly narrowed again, as if the question had only heightened her doubts about him. “Now that you ask, he did speak a bit strangely. I couldn’t place the accent, but it seemed to me that he was trying too hard to sound Aneiran.” She paled. “You don’t suppose he was a spy.”
No, he was a traitor. Cadel was certain that this was the man he and Dario had been sent to kill. He could only hope that the Qirsi intended to return to the castle with the duke and Mertesse’s first minister. “No,” he said, making himself smile. “He wasn’t a spy. One of the duke’s ministers was born in Eibithar. But he serves Aneira now. No doubt this was the man who stayed here.”
“Well, gods be praised for that. A Qirsi is bad enough, but a Qirsi spy…” She shook her head. “I don’t need any brutes or lawbreakers coming to my inn.”
Cadel and Dario nodded their agreement and finished their meal. Cadel was eager to return to their room and discuss with the younger man what they had learned of the Qirsi. But almost before he had swallowed his last bite of stew, the innkeeper reminded them of their promise to sing for her and her family.
Dario retrieved his lute from their quarters, and the innkeeper went out the rear door of the house to fetch her daughter, leaving Cadel to ponder why the Qirsi would have left Mertesse Castle if it hadn’t been because of the poisoning. Perhaps he had gleaned what would happen in Solkara, and had only feigned his shock or surprise upon hearing the messenger’s tidings. Or maybe he had left Mertesse for some other purpose and had no intention of actually riding on to Solkara. If this was the case, their journey north had been in vain, and they had a long search ahead of them.
Dario came back down the stairs, glancing about quickly to see if the innkeeper had returned.
“You think it was the one we’re after?” he asked, seeing that she hadn’t.
“Yes. That was well done, mentioning the duke that way.”
The lutenist grinned. “I thought so. I wasn’t certain it would do us any good, but I saw no harm in trying.”
Cadel nodded. Dario might have been difficult, but he was clever as well. If Cadel was to be honest with himself, he would have to admit that Jedrek never would have thought to try such a thing.
Before they had time to talk more, the innkeeper stepped back into the house, followed by a man, a woman, and a small boy. They sat at the table, the older woman looking expectantly at Dario and Cadel.
“I’ve told them you want to play for the duke,” she said. “We’ll let you know if we think you’re good enough.”
“Mother!” the other woman said, looking appalled.
Once more, Cadel had to keep himself from laughing.
Though Cadel would have preferred to speak with Dario about the Qirsi, he could not help but be pleased with how they sounded almost as soon as they began their first piece. His voice felt good, and Dario’s playing was more controlled than he had ever heard it. They went through nearly their entire repertoire-the threnody, “Elegy for Shanae.”
“Ilias’s Lament” from The Paean to the Moons, and several folk songs, both Caerissan and Aneiran. They knew some old Eibithanan songs as well, but thought better of playing them in the Mertesse countryside.
By the time they were on their last piece, even the innkeeper was smiling and singing along, her voice surprisingly sweet. Their small audience applauded appreciatively and the innkeeper disappeared into her kitchen only to emerge a few moments later with a plate of sweet rolls, a jar of honey, and a flask of light wine.
“Music like that deserves a reward,” she said, grinning at Cadel.
“I take it,” he said, “that it was worth the two qinde.”
Her face reddened, but she merely
raised her eyebrows and said, “I suppose.”
The two musicians could hardly refuse the wine and food, so they remained with the innkeeper and her family a while longer, until the rolls were gone and the flask nearly empty. Then they walked up the stairs to their room.
“If he’s not in Mertesse-” Dario began.
But Cadel raised a hand and shook his head, silencing him. He had noticed earlier in the day that the woman’s bedchamber was almost directly beneath theirs. They would have to wait until they were on the road once more to speak of the minister.
The next morning dawned fair and unusually warm. Before Cadel and Dario had finished their breakfast, they could already hear water dripping from the melting snow atop the roof. The innkeeper was eating with them again, humming one of the songs they had sung for her the night before.
They finished their meal quickly and, having already packed their satchels, started toward the door, offering their thanks to the old woman.
Before they could leave, however, she stopped them, hurrying into her kitchen and returning with a sack of food, which she held out to them.
Cadel took it from her, his brow furrowing. “What’s this?”
She blushed. “You asked me last night if your music was worth the two qinde I took off the price of your room. In fact, it was worth more.” She nodded toward the sack. “It’s not much really-some dried meat, a piece of cheese, some bread. But it should keep you full while you walk the rest of the way to Mertesse.”
“Thank you,” Cadel said. He took her hand and bent to kiss the back of it.
Her color deepened and she looked away, though she didn’t pull her hand from his. “Stop it,” she said, not quite managing to sound cross. “You better get moving before this weather changes its mind and turns to snow again.”
“You have our thanks, my lady. If anyone asks, we’ll have nothing but kind words to say about your inn.”
She dismissed the remark with a wave of her hand. “You’ll just be making more work for me.” Then she smiled. “But if you’re ever coming this way again, I’d welcome another performance.”
Shouldering their satchels, the two men stepped out into the cool air and bright sun to resume their journey north. The road was already growing too soft with melting ice and snow; it promised to be slow going. On the other hand, with the day so fair, Cadel could clearly see the city walls and the great towers of the castle. They had even less distance to cover than he had thought.
The two men walked for some time without speaking. They saw few people on the road, though they did pass a small contingent of soldiers wearing the black-and-gold uniforms of Mertesse and bearing weapons that glittered in the sunlight. The guards stopped briefly to ask Cadel and Dario where they were headed and what business they had in Mertesse. But when Cadel told them they were musicians and Dario pulled out his lute, the men let them go on.
“We’ll get more of that now,” Dario said when they were walking again. “With the new queen in Solkara, and nobles looking for poison in every cup of wine they raise, we’ll be lucky if we get anywhere near the castle.”
“I’ve thought of that.”
“Do you have a plan in mind?”
“Not yet.”
Dario twisted his mouth, but gave a small nod. He didn’t remain silent for long, however. “Have you thought of what we’re to do if the old woman is right, and this Qirsi we’re after isn’t in Mertesse?”
“I expect she is right,” Cadel said. “The question isn’t whether he’s gone, but rather if he’s coming back. What concerns me most is the fact that he had already left Mertesse when he heard of the poisoning. That makes me think that he was leaving for some reason that had nothing at all to do with his duke.”
He didn’t say it, but Cadel could only assume that if he wasn’t serving Mertesse, he was acting on behalf of the conspiracy.
“If that’s the case, there’s no telling where he might have gone.”
“True. But I’m hoping that the poisoning changed his plans.” He gestured over his shoulder in the direction of the inn. “Our friend back there seemed to think that he was in love with the duke’s first minister. If she’s right, then I imagine he’ll be returning with Rowan. Provided the first minister didn’t die in Solkara.”
Dario regarded him a moment, then shook his head slowly. “You’re placing a good deal of faith in an old woman who may know nothing at all.”
“Not really,” Cadel said, smiling. “Though I suspect she knows more about people than you might think. Mostly I’m just acknowledging what we both know to be true. We’re going to be here for some time. If the Qirsi doesn’t come back, I have no idea where to begin looking for him. So our best hope is to wait for the duke’s return and hope that both ministers are with him.”
“And if the one we want isn’t with the duke?”
Cadel shrugged. “We’ll walk back to Solkara and start searching again, hoping that he really did go there after leaving our innkeeper.”
“Are all your jobs like this?” Dario asked.
“Like what?”
“So uncertain, so dependent on good fortune.”
Cadel shook his head, gazing toward Mertesse. The castle looked bigger than he remembered, more formidable.
“No,” he said at last. “This job is unlike any I’ve ever had before. I rarely agree to kill without out knowing the name of the one I’m hunting, and without being certain I know where to find him.” He hesitated, thinking suddenly of Brienne of Kentigern. “Or her.” He shivered, though the sun felt warm on his back and legs.
“You also rarely kill for so little money,” Dario said quietly. “You really were eager to strike back at the conspiracy, weren’t you?”
Cadel eyed him for a moment, but said nothing.
“Do you regret it now?”
“No. Not even a little.”
Dario nodded, but at least he had the sense not to say anything more. The truth was that while Cadel didn’t have any qualms about striking at the conspiracy, he wished that he had found a different way to do it. Usually he liked to have a job planned well in advance or, failing that, to have at least a few alternatives in mind. Right now, he had no sense of how he was going to kill this man, or even get close enough to him to try. He could almost hear Jedrek railing at him for being so rash as to take gold from the woman who had hired them. Never take a job when you feel anything for the one you’re supposed to kill, be it love, hate, anger, or pity. It was one of the first rules Cadel had taught Jedrek, and he here he was violating it. It seemed he had learned nothing at all in Kentigern.
“So what do we do when we get to Mertesse?”
Cadel took a breath, then squinted up at the sun. They’d be in the city before nightfall.
“We find work,” he said. “There’s no shortage of taverns in a city this large. One of them is bound to need musicians.”
“And then?”
“And then we hope that the gods are with us.”
But he could hear Jedrek again, asking the question he couldn’t answer. Are the gods ever with an assassin?
Chapter Twenty-six
City of Kings, Eibithar
She could always tell when Kearney was unhappy with her. The signs were subtle, like the scent of snow in the highlands before a storm. The silver-haired king had spent too long in the courts of Eibithar’s nobles to reveal much, and few others would have noticed anything at all. Except, perhaps, for Gershon Trasker. But to Keziah, who had loved him for so many years, the indications were as clear as a bright morning in the cold turns. The way he avoided her gaze; the expression on his face, a boyish mix of hurt and resentment; the restless pacing as he listened to the counsel of his other ministers. She had seen all these things before, usually after she angered him with some cutting remark about the queen, or overstepped with her teasing about the Glyndwr traditions.
Until now, though, she had never actually tried to make him angry. The other ministers did not appear to have noticed
what she was doing. If they had they were certainly keeping it to themselves. Clearly, though, they believed that she was angry with the king and she could only assume that they would delight in seeing her influence with Kearney wane. More to the point, she wondered if one of them might see in this an opportunity to exploit.
Unlike the ministers, Gershon was watching everything she did with complete understanding and-dare she think it-more than a little admiration. They hadn’t spoken in private since the night after Paegar’s death, when she went to his quarters to tell the swordmaster of the gold she found in the high minister’s chambers. All who lived in Audun’s Castle knew of their enmity, and would have taken note of seeing them together. But she had learned to read Gershon’s expressions as well. He had long been her chief rival for Kearney’s ear, and even loving the man she served, she had not been entirely above court politics. Gershon was watching her, gauging the progress she made in alienating the king, and offering his approval with raised eyebrows and barely concealed grins.
She felt his gaze upon her now, as she watched the king pace before his writing table, and she sensed the swordmaster’s concern. Before this day, she had opposed Kearney only on small matters, trifles really, that would trouble the king without compromising the safety of the kingdom. With this meeting of Kearney’s council of ministers, matters had abruptly grown far more dangerous.
“You’re certain of these tidings, Your Majesty?” Dyre asked, his yellow eyes fixed on the king. “Might there be some mistake?”
Kearney shook his head. “There’s no mistake, Minister. This information came from our own men. It wasn’t purchased and it didn’t come from those who might oppose us.”
“First he goes to Kentigern, and now he sends a messangeer to Curgh,” Wenda said. “Could it be that Marston is trying to broker a peace?”
Kearney stopped, glanced at Keziah, then faced Gershon. “Swordmaster?”
Even the other ministers couldn’t help but notice that. The king almost never asked Gershon questions of this sort. He was Kearney’s most trusted advisor on tactics, arms, and war, but not on matters of statecraft and mediation. Until recently, he would have asked Keziah before anyone else. It was working. The archminister’s chest felt tight, and she feared she would cry, right here in the king’s chambers.