Finder: First Ordinance, Book One

by Connie Suttle

  "Are you forgetting that Trikleer is there, Father?"

  "I forget nothing. If he wishes to ally himself with those criminals, then he will suffer just the same as they."

  Morid didn't respond, although he knew Marid had shoved Trik away—couldn't get rid of him fast enough. Trik hadn't had any say in the matter. Now that Trik, who'd been a cripple all his life until Shadow Grey and Lissa of Le-Ath Veronis adopted him, was an able-bodied, Fourth-Level Wizard, Marid was angry that he hadn't returned to the Belancours with his fully developed talents.

  "Do you have buyers already, Father?" Morid asked instead.

  "I do, and once they see what I have to offer, they'll pay whatever we ask."

  * * *

  "I have no rights. I'm a half-blood, remember?" I shook my head at Dena's outrage. She'd spent half an hour, pouring out her dissatisfaction at the recent turn of events.

  We'd settled inside my suite after Gurnil left us to attend a meeting with Ordin and Justis. I knew the meeting concerned me, but there was little any of them could do to change my circumstances.

  "The rights for some should be rights for all. We shouldn't be able to pick and choose who is deserving," Dena fumed. "If Elabeth were alive, she'd hear your case," she added.

  "Elabeth is dead. I've been reminded of that often enough, and usually with a blow from a wooden spoon to emphasize it," I said. "So many think I'm personally responsible for her death. I was a child and nowhere near when it happened. I find it curious that vengeance is always leveled against the innocent afterward, don't you? As if an entire nation is held responsible for a crime committed by a few, or those in power."

  Yes, I'd allowed my frustrations to surface, and that had never happened before. "Never mind," I sighed, waving a hand. "These are not your troubles, and certainly not your fault."

  "It makes me ill," Dena muttered. "I hear rumors about the treatment of her maids. Be careful, Quin." She shivered after she spoke, and that reinforced what I already knew—Halthea was dangerous.

  * * *

  "How long before the ships are built?" Omina asked. She nodded to the servant to pour tea for her brother, who'd come to her suite after overseeing shipbuilding for the day.

  "Less than two moon-turns. Perhaps six eight-days. Who can say?" Rath shrugged. "I'd worry that Tamblin is sailing to his death, if I had any concern for your husband, sister."

  "My concern is that he'll place you, Rodrik and my remaining son in the same danger he places himself," Omina snorted. "I care not if he and Yevil both perish."

  "I'd prefer that Yevil perish first. I blame him most for Fyris' dilemma. Tamblin might not have had the courage to slay his brother, had Yevil not raised his hand to accomplish the deed."

  "My Queen?" Farin knocked softly on the half-open door of her study.

  "Farin?" Omina lifted an eyebrow at her palace physician, who'd walked in, carrying a sheaf of parchment in his hands.

  "I asked the servants to clean out Finder's things. We found this beneath her mattress." He offered the sheaf to Omina. "I've already leafed through them."

  "What is this?" Omina began to read the top piece, which was a copying of an old section of a history book, with personal notations and questions in the margins.

  "Notes. I believe Finder wrote them."

  "She couldn't speak," Omina handed the top parchment to Rath, who read it quickly.

  "What if she chose not to speak, or, if she couldn't, preferred not to tell anyone that she held this form of communication? See this line here?" Farin moved to Rath's side and pointed out a question written in the margin. "It says, why are there so many missing pages? Only someone Finder's age or younger would not know that answer already."

  "Anyone Finder's age or younger would not be taught to write this well," Rath pointed out. "This is a scholar's handwriting."

  "How do we know it isn't hers?" Farin persisted.

  "We don't," Omina sighed. "Look, here is seeming proof that these were hers." She handed the page in question to Rath, who blinked at what he read. I feel responsible for Erdin's death, but Irdith is equally responsible. I curse my ability to find things, was written across the top of a page filled with geographical notations.

  "We have that story, do we not, from Chen?" Farin demanded.

  "I regret sending him to watch things from the kitchen, and ordering him to keep Amlis informed," Omina shook her head. "He came here, seeking peace from Tamblin's irrationality, and I sent him right back into it. Yes, you're right; we do have Finder's story from Chen, who heard it from Wolter. It does us no good, now. The girl is lost to us. She could have told us so much."

  "I'm sad that she didn't write more in these papers. We might have learned many things. Instead, it looks like an advanced student's studies."

  "If she hadn't done as Yevil demanded, she'd have died then, instead of that little thief," Rath pointed out. "She had no choice in the matter."

  "Nevertheless, she's dead. At least Mirisa is gone, too. What a horrible nuisance she was. She cost us so much," Omina said.

  "She cost us our lives," Farin muttered.

  * * *

  "What do you imagine the barbarians are like?" Amlis stared through the window. Rain was falling again, only nothing grew from the spring moisture. Trees that should be blossoming in the early months were bare of bud and leaf.

  "My Prince, stop troubling yourself. We have two from Warrel to question late tonight. Are you rested enough for this?"

  "Yes. Is Garth prepared?"

  "He is."

  * * *

  Wolter surveyed the new crop of kitchen boys with a critical eye. He knew why Chen was dead; secretly cursed those responsible, and had a good guess as to whom it might be.

  One of his assistants had been promoted to Chen's place already. Perhaps not the best cook in the lot, but the most trustworthy. Wolter was quite careful where he placed his trust, nowadays.

  "Don't make me break a spoon on your backs," he announced at the shuffling of feet and mischievous looks from one boy to another. "Because I will."

  Wolter hadn't forgotten, either, that it was Timblor's page, Brin, who killed the Prince he'd served faithfully for turns. Nobody was safe, in his opinion. If he left the palace as he longed to do, the King would send someone after him. He was stuck and he knew it.

  Irdith was gone, but Wolter wondered almost daily when the King would send a new spy into his kitchen. Perhaps they were there already, and merely recruited after Irdith's death, with the promise of extra coin and a few privileges.

  "Get to work," he ordered. "If you don't know how to do something, say so. I won't tolerate poor effort, for any reason." He watched, a severe expression on his face, as three boys scattered to find work to do in the King's kitchen.

  Finder, I miss you now, so desperately, he thought. Rumors had come that she was dead and he grieved for her, just as he did for Chen. Finder had done any job asked of her, without a second thought or a frown for him or Chen. She'd only ever frowned at Irdith, and Wolter suspected that she knew, just as he did, what Irdith really was.

  "It doesn't matter," he breathed softly and went to baste the roast. "We're all dead. We just haven't realized it, yet."

  * * *

  It was Garth's idea, and Amlis hoped it worked. This was no traditional questioning. They'd set up a game of cubes. Code words had been arranged, and it would appear as if the men from Warrel were talking of their families.

  "We don't need another murder," Amlis breathed as he and Rodrik walked across the courtyard toward the stables. Rodrik had his men stationed in shadows and corners along the way, fearing for the Prince's safety. Both men wore blades beneath long coats, prepared for any attack.

  Neither spoke of the fact that Finder would know if there were danger about them. They'd been fools to leave her behind in Vhrist.

  Weak moonlight gleamed on courtyard stones, still wet from the earlier rain. Random blocks, worn down by centuries of footsteps, held small puddles of water that sp
lashed beneath purposely striding boots. Amlis cared not that his boots were wet—what was that compared to protecting his life and Rodrik's?

  Neither spoke—a careless word could get them killed. If not now, then later, where none might see. When had the walk to the stables seemed so long?

  * * *

  In the morning, I was expected in Halthea's suite to wait on her, with her yellow-winged maids. In an attempt to distract myself, I searched for geography books on the tab-vid Berel had given me. Most of those had images combined with the text, along with descriptions of the land itself, crops produced, if any, lists of cities, their populations and current presidents and politicians.

  Best of all, there were images of the planet itself, flattened out so you could see all of it at once. Where Fyris should be, only ocean waters were depicted, washing over a dormant field of underwater volcanoes.

  I understood what the western spires were, now—the leavings of a volcanic eruption far in the past. According to the map I studied, more sharp spires jutted from that expanse, instead of a continent. No ships crossed the area, as it was safer and easier to get to known destinations by traveling other routes.

  I understood that flying ships recorded data for reproduction in books, but none had recorded any part of Fyris. It troubled and puzzled me, since that meant Fyris was hidden, somehow.

  I had no idea how that could be accomplished.

  Satellite was a word I had never encountered before. I learned that Kondar had sent small mechanical devices high into the air, where they circled Siriaa constantly and enabled communications and images to be sent to other machines throughout Kondar.

  How could anyone in Fyris imagine something so complex? While I pondered that conundrum, the warning came. I'd seen Chen's death too late. Would they hear me now? I had to try.

  * * *

  Wolter stood over the kitchen boy, fists on hips as he oversaw the final cleaning of the worktable. The boy had made the attempt twice already, with unsatisfactory results.

  Wolter, a voice shouted in his mind. You and the Prince, in danger! He is in the stables. Run. Now!

  Without knowing why, Wolter yanked a long knife from a nearby block and raced through the kitchen's back door, his long legs carrying him quickly toward the stable.

  * * *

  "My cousin did murder, several times, of other family members," the recruit claimed after tossing the numbered cubes. "Five. Not good." He handed the cubes to his fellow recruit with a shake of his head.

  Amlis listened carefully. Whatever was said by the recruits described Yevil's behavior instead of the designated family member. "Others not related were killed while hunting or gaming. The women he killed died after he bedded them."

  "More than one had gaping chest wounds when he was done," the second recruit offered as he threw the cubes. "Eight. Terrible."

  Amlis and Rodrik knew the numbers cited did not correspond to those on the cubes. They were describing the instances in which they knew of Yevil's killings.

  "How old were you when you learned of this?" Amlis asked.

  "Nine," one responded.

  "Seven," the other answered. "My father said other deaths came before, but I don't have that information."

  "My Prince?" Hirill pushed open the door of Garth's stable room.

  "Hirill?" Amlis rose from his crouching position at the cube game and quirked an eyebrow at Hirill. He hadn't informed Hirill of the evening's activities, but assumed that Garth must have passed a message along. His guards had allowed Hirill to pass by, unhindered, on his way to the stables.

  "This." The knife Hirill drew was long and sharp as he rushed the Prince. Amlis threw up an arm as Rodrik pulled his blade and shouted. Amlis' arm was struck and he cried out.

  Hirill's arm went slack and his eyes rolled back before he could shove the blade farther into Amlis' flesh. When he dropped face-first at Amlis' feet, Amlis and Rodrik stared at Wolter and the bloody kitchen knife in his hand.

  * * *

  I'd known Hirill wasn't to be trusted. All along, he'd kept Yevil apprised of Amlis' movements. Yevil cared not that a message was sent to the Avii—he knew there would be no reply.

  One traitor was dead, but that would put Yevil on alert. That frightened me. As much danger as the Prince was in before; that had just increased ten-fold.

  I realized, too, that Yevil was more than aware of what ailed Fyris. Did he keep that knowledge from the King, or did the King choose not to accept it?

  At least Wolter heard my mental shout and acted on it. I'd placed him in more danger as well, but if I hadn't, he'd have died on the flagstone floor of the King's kitchen.

  * * *

  "None of us are safe." Amlis gripped a wine cup in his healthy hand while Garth wrapped the other, wounded arm with clean strips of cloth.

  "My Prince, I have sent for Chen's brother to remove the body in secret. I believe the same knife was used to kill Chen," Rodrik poured more wine into Amlis' cup. "The recruits want to serve you. They are waiting outside the door. What shall I tell them?"

  "Put them to work as extra guards or manservants, I care not which. Make sure they know not to talk."

  "I think they knew that already," Rodrik snorted. "My question is this—how do we send a message to your mother, telling her of this treachery?"

  "Something to consider," Amlis nodded. "Where's Wolter?"

  "Outside, with the recruits."

  "Do any of ours have experience in a kitchen?" Amlis grimaced as Garth wrapped his arm tightly to lessen the bleeding.

  "I may have one."

  "Then send him in as an assistant. Tell him to carry a knife in his boot. Always. Wolter saved my life. I will repay that, if I can. Tell him he is welcome in my presence anytime."

  "I will." Rodrik walked away to deliver messages.

  * * *

  I slept poorly, even knowing that Wolter and Amlis were safe for the moment. Dreading what was ahead for me, I showered, combed my still-short hair as neatly as I could, then made my way toward Halthea's suite and my new assignment.

  Halthea waited for me, a stiff wooden rod in her hand when I appeared early for work inside her suite. Without a word, she whacked me several times between my shoulder blades while I cowered in pain.

  "That will show you what waits anytime you disobey or fail to do a proper job," Halthea snapped when the beating stopped. "You will address me as Queen Halthea in my presence, but only when we are alone, do you hear?"

  "Yes, Queen Halthea."

  "Good. I want my closet organized. I want colors separated, with matching shoes beneath, hear? Do it quickly." With that, she fluffed red feathers and stalked out of her suite.

  My back stung from the blows as I made my way to her massive closet. The large space was packed, front to back and top to bottom with dresses, tunics, split skirts, shoes, ribbons and anything else a highborn might possess.

  The two Yellow Wings gazed at me with mixtures of fear and revulsion. I'd held back from using my talent, as I had no desire to know what they truly thought of me. It might lessen the pain in the long term when they abused me as well, just as so many others had.

  Without speaking, I walked into the closet and began my day as Halthea's newest drudge.

  * * *

  "Halthea wanted her," Jurris shrugged, keeping his Red-Winged back pointed toward his half-brother.

  Justis stood behind Jurris on Jurris' private balcony while they waited for tea to be served. Jurris chose to watch the waters surrounding Avii Castle instead of turning toward his brother.

  "She was better off where she was," Justis pointed out. "Learning from Ordin, so she wouldn't appear a fool to those in Kondar. Surely Halthea can see the sense in that."

  "What does it matter what the Kondari think?" Jurris rustled his wings.

  "It may matter a great deal, as we ask such a high price for what Quin provides."

  "You think they'll stop asking, or run short of those who are ill?"

  "No. I worry th
at the High President may forbid it, if he learns we're mistreating the provider."

  "You think that's possible?"

  "I've worked my way through their laws concerning citizens' rights, although it was a long and tedious process. Their language is a difficult one, yet Quin speaks it with ease. The High President is responsible for several of those laws regarding fair treatment of Kondari citizens. If he learns you attempted to kill Quin when she first arrived, he may reconsider the relationship between Aviia and Kondar. If you explain Fyris to him, you know where that might lead."

  "Then what do you suggest, brother? I've never known you to take an interest in any woman, let alone an unknown half-blood."

  "I am merely attempting to protect you, Halthea and an asset," Justis growled. "If Kondar considers us an enemy, it won't matter that we can fly. Their machines fly faster, and can be more deadly than I prefer to consider."

  "I feel Halthea will tire quickly of her new acquisition. Leave it for two or three weeks, then I'll make a suggestion to place the girl elsewhere." Jurris turned to frown at Justis. "I hear your words, but Halthea must be cajoled into seeing reason."

  Justis wanted to tell Jurris what he thought of cajoling Halthea, but wisely held back his retort.

  * * *

  Only half of Halthea's closet was organized at the end of six hours, which warranted a second beating and a promise of more the next day. It mattered not that it would have taken any other nearly twice as long to accomplish what I had—it only mattered that the work wasn't completed.

  The second beating drew blood on my back, but I was unaware of it until Ordin examined my skin when I arrived in his study for my assignment. He scrutinized my back with a tightened mouth and a deep frown furrowing his brow, but didn't say anything against the Red-Winged Princess.

  Instead, he washed the bruised and abraded skin, then applied salve to the wound. "Your feathers are longer, and the colors on the tips are more pronounced," he sighed as he leaned back in his chair and wiped his hands on a towel. "I've never seen any of our feathers carry gold, silver and copper bands on the edges. The colors are always consistent throughout."