Carroway frowned. "I don't like the way that sounds."
"Neither did I. But just then, they got up and left."
"What do you think it means?" Macaria asked.
Carroway hesitated. "I doubt that we've caught up with everyone who benefited when Jared was in power. Jared couldn't have done as much damage as he did without help."
"What about something as simple as jealousy?" Helki ventured. "I mean, ambitious fathers like to marry their daughters as high as they can. Maybe a couple of them have their noses out of joint because a foreign queen means no royal in-law for them, and no clout."
"What worries me the most is the idea that 'it' isn't settled yet," Carroway said. "What do they mean by 'it'? Do they mean Tris being king, or the marriage to Kiara, or accepting Kiara as queen?"
"And do they mean that it just hasn't happened yet and sometimes life changes plans, or did they have something more hands-on in mind?" Macaria added.
"You're playing for Eadoin tonight, Carroway," said Helki. "You're clever enough to find out what she knows."
Carroway brushed back an errant lock of jet-black hair. "Don't underestimate her. No one ever gets free information out of Lady Eadoin."
Macaria gave him a wicked smile. "We expect you to come back with the story—even if you have to sacrifice your body to her advances."
It was Carroway's turn to roll his eyes. "Really, Lady Eadoin has always been the soul of propriety. You're going to start talk."
"There's been talk about you and the court ladies for years, my dear." Macaria dismissed his protest with a wave of her hand. "If even half of it is true, you've been a busy boy."
"I make it a rule never to talk about my patrons," said Carroway, "much, anyhow."
Helki laughed. "You don't have to. They talk. And while you're the most gifted musician in Margolan, those good looks of yours have gotten you some patronesses who weren't just interested in your music."
"And to think, I've been spurning advances like that for years." Macaria clearly enjoyed Carroway's discomfort. "Then again, you had no way of knowing you'd end up court bard. Some of those widowed noblewomen could have provided quite a comfortable home," she teased, placing exaggerated emphasis on the word "comfortable." ' .
"Enough," Carroway said. He did have a reputation. Older women appreciated the presence of a handsome young man, and without family or fortune to rely upon, he had played to the vanity of prospective wealthy patronesses. He'd meant to keep it as harmless flirtation. But he had underestimated one of them. It was an old scandal. Macaria and Helki were too new to court to know the whole story, and Carroway was not inclined to bring it up.
"More to the point," Carroway said, "we've got to keep an eye out for trouble. Tris and Harrtuck have enough to worry about—we might just hear something important."
"Maybe it is just jealousy." Macaria said. "We've seen Kiara. She's beautiful, she's foreign, and she handles a sword better than most men." She spread her palms up to the sky. "What's not to hate?"
"You forgot—she has a small amount of magic in her own right," Carroway said.
"Which means that the next heir to the throne is certain to be a mage as well," Helki finished.
Carroway shrugged. "Kiara doesn't have the kind of power Tris does—it's mostly scrying and such. Her magic is very specific, and it was directly related to protecting the crown of Isencroft."
"Does it transfer to the crown of Margolan?"
"Who knows?"
"So anyone who is uncomfortable with a mage-king has a long time to wait." Helki leaned back in his chair.
"Unless they decide to do something about it," Macaria said.
Carroway met their eyes. "We need to get the Troupe together. Find Bandele, Paiva, and Tad-hge. We need their ears. Tris has his hands full with Curane and cleaning up the rest of the mess Jared left."
"How about the Goddess purists?" Helki asked. "The ones who are afraid that the Oracles and the Sisterhood are going to swoop down and take over?" Carroway grimaced. "Yet another reason to worry."
The door to the kitchen opened. Bian, the head of the kitchen staff, entered bearing a tray with a pot of hot tea, a generous length of sausage, a hearty wedge of cheese, and a bowl of fruit.
"Thank you." Macaria slapped back Helki's hand playfully as he reached for an apple. "That's very kind of you."
Bian's hands were gnarled from work and marked with the burns of stray cinders. Her face bore witness to the trials she had survived— marks from the pox, a not-quite-straight nose from a drunken husband, the lines of age and worry. But her back was straight, her eyes sparkled, and she grinned.
"I've been feeding this one here," she said with a wave toward Carroway, "since he was just a slip of a boy. Can't stop now. Besides, we like your music—when you play." She gave a side-long look at Carroway. "Sorry. Just catching up on court gossip," Bian nodded, setting out the food on a small table. "You mean, like the talk about the new queen." She gathered up the serving tray and limped toward the door.
"Bian, what have yo.u heard?" asked Macaria.
The old woman turned. "Well, first off, you'd be surprised what people say around me and the girls. Like we're doorposts with no ears. 'Just the serving wenches' they think. Some of the ladies at court are most put out not to be considered to wed the king."
Bian had worked in Shekerishet's kitchen all of her life. Carroway remembered stealing down to the kitchen at night with Tris, sometimes to avail themselves of a snack, but more often to find the ingredients for a poultice to bind up a wound that Jared had inflicted. Jared's temper had been well known among the serving staff. Worse were the elder prince's lusts. No young woman who came to serve in the palace remained a virgin long when Jared was around. His taste for rape ran to brutality, which had only gotten worse when he had the crown. Bian's daughter had been one of his victims, a pretty young girl who had disappeared after being summoned to bring a flask of wine for Jared.
"What are they saying, Bian?"
Bian leaned against one of the heavy serving tables. " What they're saying about the queen is what any young girl says when a man doesn't ask for her hand. It won't be what they say, but what they don't say. They'll be sweet as pie to her face, and then set her up to embarrass herself at social occasions." Bian wiped her hand on her apron. "Such things aren't so important when it's just the village girls at the tavern. Seems like it might be a bit more important for the queen."
Carroway looked from Macaria to Helki. "Eadoin," they said. Bian chuckled.
"Aye, if you be getting Lady Eadoin on the queen's side, then you improve your chances." Bian looked at Carroway. "Couldn't help overhearing what Helki said about those two men.
If they're the ones I'm thinking of, the dark-haired one is Lord Guarov's son. I've seen him with the redhead, outside by the sheds late at night. Can't think of a good reason for a highborn to be out there, can you? The redhead works for him. I'd watch those two, if I were you."
"Thank you, Bian." Macaria said. "Can you please keep an ear out for us?" .
"Aye, that I can. Been watching over Prince Martris since he was a lad. No reason to stop looking out for him now, though kings don't usually need help from the likes of me."
Carroway kissed one of Bian's gnarled hands. "You've mothered both Tris and me for as long as I can remember. Don't stop now. I think our king is going to need all the friends he has to keep Margolan together."
"By the Childe, you may be right. But take my advice. Don't be trustin' everyone in the palace. There's some that take their pay from elsewhere."
"What do you mean?" Helki asked. Bian shook her head.
"That's all I can say about that. Now I've got meat pies to bake for supper." She grinned. "I make them better when I've got music to bake by."
Carroway laughed. "All right, you've made your point. We need to get down to business. Thank you, Bian."
"Mind what I've told you, but don't say I said so." Bian bustled toward the kitchen.
; "What do you think she meant by that last comment, about 'taking their pay from elsewhere?'"
Macaria gave Carroway a good-natured swat on the arm. "Spies, m'friend. Every palace has 'em, like rats."
"I thought we'd already figured out who the spies were," Helki said, setting up his music. "We know Lord Dravan reports back to the King Bricen's brother-in-law, King Harrol in Dhasson. And by the time we figure out who the Nargi spies are, they turn up dead—guess they don't bring back enough good information."
"Lady Casset is from King Staden's family in Principality," Carroway mused. "She's always been the conduit for information there. And Count Suphie has so many business dealings with Eastmark that he might as well be their court herald."
"And we figured Dame Nuray and her coterie as the ears for Trevath ages ago," Helki said. "Anyone who wants to feed Trevath information goes straight to her."
"So who's left?" Macaria wondered aloud.
Carroway tipped back in his chair against the fireplace. "Curane, for one," he said. "He's got to have someone feeding him information. It could be Guarov."
"And Isencroft," Helki said. "There's got to be an Isencroft spy somewhere."
Macaria raised an eyebrow. "Do they need one? I mean, after the wedding, King Donelan will be father-in-law to King Martris."
Helki jabbed her in the shoulder. "King or no king, did you ever see a mother who didn't set spies on her daughter?"
"Kiara's mother's been dead for years," Car-roway mused. "But every kingdom has spies. Just part of doing business."
"Maybe Jared eliminated Isencroft's spy and Donelan hasn't put someone else back in."
"Or maybe," Helki said quietly, "the person is so good that he's under our nose and we don't know."
"You're a ray of sunshine, aren't you?"
"Why are we worried about an Isencroft spy anyhow?" Helki asked. "I mean, they've got a stake in making this all work out."
"I didn't say we needed to be worried about it," Carroway said thoughtfully, "but on the other hand, it's nice to know where all the players are when the stakes are high."
"So how do we find this-spy?" Macaria asked, plucking absently at her lute. "We can hardly go asking door to door."
"We watch," Carroway said. He picked up his lyre. "Now let's play some music before Bian takes back our food."
That evening, Carroway reclined in the carriage as he watched the countryside slip past. The horses were keeping a good pace; it would take less than a candlemark for him to reach Brightmoor, Lady Eadoin's manor house. He straightened the ruby silk collar of his tunic and picked at the fine sleeves that billowed to his cuffs. His mood was off. His thoughts still strayed to spies and conspiracies.
Keep this up and you won't be on the favored guest list.
The carriage crunched over dry leaves and fallen twigs. Despite his mood, he looked forward to seeing Lady Eadoin. As a girl, Eadoin had been the prettiest at court. When her beloved husband died young, Eadoin had contracted for her lands to provide produce for the palace, which settled her husband's debts and permitted her to maintain a gracious lifestyle. Sidestepping marriage proposals, Eadoin opened Brightmoor to Margolan's bards and artists, poets, and scholars. She hosted fabulous parties and held frequent salons for the young nobility not yet come of age. Balls and hunting parties, holiday feasts and lavish galas—Eadoin's festivities always featured the newest music, the latest fashions, the most beautiful young ladies, and the most handsome eligible young men.
As the years passed and the young nobility grew to love her as a mother, mentor, and icon, her genius became clear. When the young nobles came into their inheritances and their own grand estates, it would be their patronage upon which Eadoin would rely in her old age.
Eadoin remained a regular at court, maintaining her ties to the ruling nobility with the charms and grace that once made her the belle of all Margolan. Lady Eadoin was a force of nature.
She was waiting for him as the coach pulled up. Her golden white hair and her figure remained alluring. The cut of her fine brocade gown was flattering, and the jewels at her throat might have ransomed a prince.
"Riordan, it is so good to see you," Eadoin said as Carroway bounded from the carriage and up the steps. Eadoin embraced Carroway and gave him a peck on each cheek, then took his arm and patted his hand.
"So I have finally managed to get you to keep an old lady company for the evening."
"Of late, the royal wedding preparations take up more of my time than my lute."
"Well, I shall be a rapt audience for anything you would like to preview," Eadoin laughed. "Only please, play them first for me!"
Carroway could imagine the effect Eadoin must have had on the young men of her age. Eadoin laughed. "Were I forty years younger, I would be among the girls who clamor for your attention!"
"And were I worthy of your attention, I would duel for your hand," Carroway returned with a wink. I could probably bed-any lass in the castle I chose, he thought, except for the one I truly want.
A steward pressed a goblet of brandy into Carroway's hand. Tonight, he played for an audience of one. "What shall I play for m'lady, and how is it that Brightmoor is quiet tonight?"
"Please play 'I Shall Dance With Thee at the Ball,'" Eadoin requested. "As for Brightmoor being quiet... Tonight is the anniversary of my husband's death. I've always filled it with activity, so that I wouldn't feel the emptiness." She sighed. "Perhaps I can no longer outrun my ghosts.
"Every musician is a Summoner of sorts, did you know that, Riordan? Music brings the past to life." She plumped the pillows. "So play for me, please. If I close my eyes, I'm only in another time and place."
He began the ballad she requested, a well-known favorite of her generation. Eadoin clapped enthusiastically when he finished. "Now please, some of the older dances, if you would."
Carroway reeled from one sprightly dance tune into another, stopped only by the steward's announcement of dinner and his own aching fingers. "Bravo, Bravo!" Eadoin cried. "You have been just the tonic I needed. I hope that dinner will repay you for your kindness."
Candles burned brightly and the torches lit the room as if for a ball. The meal put out for them would have been suitable for the king himself. "My lady, you are too generous."
"Not at all," she said. "You've played the healer for me tonight, and I am in your debt." She looked at him for a moment, her head to one side as if remembering. "I see your mother's eyes when I look at you, Riordan," she said. "And your father's build. They would have been so proud. Margolan's master bard, king's confidant—an adventurer and a hero."
"I've had more than enough adventure for a lifetime," Carroway confessed. "But there are times when I do wish -they could have seen what I've made of myself."
"T'was the will of the Lady herself that chose the timing of your fostering, else you'd have been claimed by the plague as well." 'A sad smile played at the corners of Eadoin's lips. "Your memories crowd around you closely for one so young. I wonder, has the king's confidant ever asked a favor of his friend? Every day the king holds his court of spirits for all the realm. Wouldn't he do so for you?"
"I haven't asked, m'lady."
Eadoin reached across the table and patted his hand. The paper thin skin wrinkled across bones finer than those of a bird, lined with the veins of age. "Don't wait until you're my age to lay your ghosts to rest. Now, eat. For such fine music you should be well fed."
Eadoin's servants plied him with food until he waved them away, groaning. Her steward brought out fine sherry and aged port, an offer Carroway could not refuse. In the fireplace at the end of the great dining hall, logs blazed and crackled.
"Tell me, Riordan," Eadoin said, leaning back in her chair, a goblet of port balanced in her thin fingers, "how go the preparations for our royal wedding?"
"That depends, m'lady."
"Kiara has been raised from birth to become Margolan's queen," Eadoin observed. "It's one thing to study a kingdom's ways—and another to navigate it
s court."
The old fox! All this time, I was conspiring to enlist her aid, and she set me up!
"Viata was from Eastmark," Eadoin said. "Some in Isencroft didn't like that Donelan took a foreign queen. Donelan was gone for long stretches on hunts or clearing out raiders. Viata surrounded herself with Eastmark courtiers. The Isencroft court never forgave her." She leaned forward and patted Car-roway's hand. "It would help Kiara greatly to have a guide."
"What would you have me do, m'lady?"
"First of all, you can stop pretending that you didn't have this in mind when you came here."
Carroway grinned sheepishly. "Done, m'lady," he confessed. "I came to ask your advice. We've heard that some in Isencroft don't want to blend the kingdoms together at Donelan's death. There's also some jealousy among the girls at court who thought they might wed a king"
"Were there any Jared left unbedded?" Eadoin asked.
"That alone is a good reason for Tris to avoid the 'ladies' of Margolan. There's no question of paternity with Kiara. One royal bastard is enough."
"What have you heard?"
Eadoin stared into the fire for a moment. "My sources within Isencroft are fewer than they once were. The Isencroft separatists are getting desperate. If they can't stop the wedding, they may try to make sure no heir will be born."
"What can we do? Once the wedding's over, Tris'll take the army against Curane in the South. Kiara will be alone at Shekerishet."
"We must be conspirators, you and I," she said with a smile that told Carroway she relished the action. "I'll come back to court for a while, and bring Alyssandra, my niece."
"Soterius told me that Alyssandra took up arms for the resistance."
"Jared attacked the bards, trying to keep news from being spread. I hid as many as I dared here. My brother—Alyssandra's father— tried to help. But the bards he hid were discovered, and Jared's troops burned their home and killed his family, all but Alyssandra, who was with me at the time. Alle knew we didn't dare keep the bards here any longer, and so she volunteered to get them across Margolan to the Principality border. After she succeeded, she was afraid to come back. That's how she met your friend. I have no doubt that Alle can hold her own."
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