by Amy Keeley
“How would a lowly minstrel like me know anything about someone who converses with kings?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Minstrels talk. Word trickles down about colleagues. Is he doing well?”
He shrugged. “About as well as anyone who makes as much as he does.”
“And does he make a lot?”
“More than me, goodwife. Does that matter to you?” He watched her carefully once more.
“No. Zhiv Mikailsin is far above the likes of me.”
An honest smile lit his face. “Too bad. I think he would like you.”
It’s not an admission, she tried to tell herself. He played you once before, and he’s not done yet. Still, the look in his eyes, the warmth, made her want to believe it was true, that Zhiv truly liked her. He didn’t love her. She doubted he knew was love was. But he liked her. She wanted to believe that with all her soul.
“Not to put any pressure on you,” Zhiv said, “but unless you have a place to stay tonight, you might want to give us an answer before sundown.”
“And Hon Jixsin won’t throw me out if I say yes?”
“I’ll talk to him.” And yet, in his eyes, she could see the first bit of doubt regarding his own plans. Can you? she wanted to ask him. Or is he the kind of man you can’t convince once he’s made up his mind?
Too much like Lejer, if he was.
Zhiv took his white handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped up the cheese inside it. When Krysilla protested, he assured her he had several. “I pass them out,” he said as he tore off some fresh bread and put it in as well.
To the ladies, Krysilla realized. She’d never seen a minstrel do it, but she’d heard the more popular, unmarried ones did. It tempered whatever pleasure she’d gotten from this moment.
I could stay here, she realized. In spite of who he is, I could live here and be somewhat happy.
No, she told herself. It would be the same danger I faced before. I’d become too attached and Zhiv would become bored and where would I be then? The same place I am now, but with a shattered heart and the last bit of dignity I can claim gone. Better to find my own way.
Still, she politely accepted the small bit of food, and refused to take the extra he offered. He showed her to the door, but stayed away from the entryway. “One last thing,” he said from his spot next to the stairs, halfway to the kitchen. “Now that you’ve given your name out, don’t be surprised if someone comes round, asking for you.”
“What if they do?”
“You handled the Dogs. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out something that’ll fit. Just thought I’d warn you.”
So you won’t lose a piece of your game, she thought, and tried not to smirk. “Thank you.”
“Farewell, goodwife.” And he went back to the kitchen.
“Farewell, Hon Parlay.” She lingered a moment, watching him. Chances were good this was the last time she would see him. Tonight, she decided, she would leave and go...where? Somewhere. Perhaps she would go back to her mother’s. Her mother had refused to speak to her after she married Lejer, but only because she’d felt Krysilla had abandoned her. Not to mention it would be a terrible humiliation, and tongues would wag for as long as she lived. But it was a place to live. And she was still Krysilla’s mother. She wouldn’t shut the door on her own daughter if she had nowhere else to go, would she?
Turning away, she left the house quickly, before she changed her mind and said she would stay. And, by doing so, become part of whatever scheme Zhiv had in mind.
He says whatever he thinks people want to hear, she told herself, and began to briskly make her way back to the city gate. She would leave tonight, and he would never hear from her again.
Munching on the food, she crossed one street, then another, before she realized a carriage was keeping pace with her. Unsure what else to do, she turned down a narrow street. The carriage followed, even though there was barely enough room for it to fit. She turned down a different street, and still it followed. She stood on the corner and looked at the sky, as if taking in the beauty of the evening clouds.
The carriage stopped next to her.
“A word,” a man said from inside.
Her husband’s name must have gotten around faster than Zhiv had implied. “With whom?”
“Someone who wishes to help you.”
She took a close look at the carriage. It was nice. Unmarked, yet beautiful. It looked like the sort the more wealthy merchants might have, unable to have a crest because their families were not from the ancient lines. Curtains covered the windows. She couldn’t see inside. “Is it about my husband?”
“Why be so obvious?” The person sounded horrified.
“Well, I figure if you’re obviously following me around in broad daylight, I can be obvious in asking you why.”
No answer came from inside at first. Then, “You know Zhiv, don’t you?”
“No.”
The man chuckled, and Krysilla felt he also had a plan that involved her. “I know him personally. Well enough, in fact, that I can tell you he doesn’t speak to anyone unless he has a plan in mind that they fit. He only uses useful people. Like me.”
“And who are you?”
“Someone who controls the Dogs.”
Her skin went cold, cold as when she found out Zhiv had been sent to investigate Felldesh manor by the King himself. Only the King controlled the Dogs.
“Now,” the man asked, still pleasant, “I would be most appreciative if you got in the carriage. Or do the Dogs need to follow up on that lock you ‘returned’?”
Krysilla stood for a moment, trying to ignore the awful feeling that, whether she wanted it or not, she would be part of Zhiv’s world. Whether “Parlay” wanted it or not, either, she couldn’t help thinking. Zhiv, even if she wanted nothing more to do with him, would have to be told about this if it involved him. Much as she hated to admit it, she owed him that much.
If it wasn’t for him, she would have still believed she had been the one to ruin her marriage.
Hoping this wasn’t a prelude to some awful betrayal, she touched the handle of the carriage door, hesitated, then opened it and got in. Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she stared in shock at the man in front of her.
An older man, perhaps fifty years her senior, watched her from the other side of the carriage, sitting with a relaxed pose that spoke of years of careful training. He smiled at her in a way that was friendly without being presumptuous. If he is the King, she thought, he seems like the man everyone had assumed in her village and what the Disciples preached each New Moon: the ultimate representation of Tothsin beliefs. “Now, my dear,” he said, his voice measured and precise, without making her uncomfortable, “I’m afraid I must ask you a few questions before I can be sure you are able to help me.”
Surprised, she asked, “What kind of help would a king need?”
His smile grew. “I think that question has already been answered for you.”
You can’t refuse the King, the Disciples said. When he asks you for something, anything, you give it. Even if it’s your own child. You give. “The King isn’t seen outside the castle. How do I know you’re him?”
He didn’t seem perturbed at all. “Well, there’s a simple way to test that. I can ask my driver to take us back to the house of Jixsin, the locksmith, where Zhiv...excuse me, Parlay...lives. He stays there because the two have known each other ever since Parlay came to the capital to fiddle for the common folk in the square. He had no money, no friends, no family, and Daegan Jixsin, only son of the great locksmith to the king, had only the money. His friends had all entered trades and moved away. He had no friends here.” The old man who knew far too much about these men shrugged in what she knew was a movement calculated to make her feel at ease. “They tried it on a provisional basis for a few months. It worked. Not long after, Zhiv, in an attempt to help Daegan who had been cheated by a powerful client, applied at the castle for a position in the house orchestra.”
Krysilla hadn’t realized her jaw had dropped until that moment. If the old man had noticed, he didn’t show it.
“He was turned down, naturally. He refused to use magic in his playing, and proficiency with such is highly regarded for our entertainment. In desperation, he returned, using an amulet given him once by a noble for a performance that he ‘forgot’ to return. And sang for me. Since then, he has lived two lives.”
“How do you know this?” she whispered.
“Why are you so interested in what I know?” His grin was almost a smirk. “After all, a goodwife like you couldn’t possibly have known someone like Zhiv Mikailsin. You aren’t wanton enough in your behavior.”
She remembered the man watching them at the tavern, the one with the cloak in summer. “And what if I was?”
“He wouldn’t have approached you with someone else. He would have approached you alone, and not in public.”
A chill crept along her spine. “Why do you watch him so closely?”
“Ah. Now, we are at the heart of my problem.” It could have been her imagination, but he seemed to relax, settling in a little deeper into the seat of the carriage. “As King, I must not allow anyone near me. I have my wife, and my children, and of course, they see more of me than anyone in my court. But outside that, I have few friends. None of them are nobles.”
Her eyes narrowed as she realized what he was saying. Zhiv was one of his friends. She could hear it in his voice, even though he never said it.
“However, those who are my friends must be absolutely trustworthy. The background I gave you? Zhiv told me all of that. I never learned any of that story through a spy.”
And this told Krysilla that he did use spies and the cloaked man was one of them. In fact, chances were good he was a Dog. The cloak had covered his vest.
The King leaned forward, fingers laced in a way that she was sure was meant to show how earnest he was when he said, “You were with him when he opened the Felldesh vault.”
Because she knew the consequences of a lie if this were truly the King, she said, “Yes.”
“And why did he bring you?”
“You must know by now, Highness.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “Your name. Gillasin.” He drew it out, though she couldn’t tell why. “He was sleeping with Lord Felldesh’s wife, and you were married to him. And Zhiv brought you because?”
“He thought I should know the truth.”
“How noble.” She couldn’t tell if the King were sincere or not. “Perhaps, goodwife, you would be so kind as to elaborate more on your role that night?”
She hesitated. “Surely Zhiv has told you everything.”
His smile remained fixed. “No. He has not. That is why I have sought you out. And why I must ask you to do something for me. Don’t worry,” he said, as if anticipating her (rightfully) frightened response to those words. “Nothing I ask you to do will bring you dishonor or harm to either one of you in any way. I only seek information.”
Like you did on Lord Felldesh, she thought, and didn’t trust him.
“Zhiv,” he said, sighing the name. “Zhiv has many good qualities. He also has many faults. One of them is a love of the past. He has an especial love of the Ornic tales and songs. Has he told you any of them?” She shook her head in response. “He does a very good job of telling them, or singing the songs. He’s even knowledgeable in the old language. I confess, that’s one of the reasons I enjoy talking with him.”
He leaned back in his seat, his face clearly troubled. “However, I worry about him. I’ve known others with a love of the past. All of them have eventually begun to question our current beliefs.”
She remembered the things Zhiv had said, scandalous, heretical things that made her wonder how much respect he had for the Tothsin ways that made sense. Something of her thoughts must have showed on her face because the King’s eyes narrowed, studying her more carefully than before.
She said nothing.
“My information of that night comes, not from him, but from Lord Felldesh. At first, he thought Zhiv had illegally opened it himself, perhaps using a device.” A device like the amulet he’d worn that night to make himself invisible, she remembered. “But when Felldesh examined it,” she tried not to cringe, “he discovered a strangeness that was also familiar.”
The chill up her spine spread through the rest of her. The bread. He must have remembered what her magic felt like from one of the orders they’d filled for the manor.
“It didn’t take long for him to piece it,” the King continued. “If it wasn’t Zhiv’s magic, and if no device was used, it must have been you.”
The Dogs must have known, must have felt it when they stopped her, and told the King. Her panic had begun to make her feel ill. Still, she said nothing. If I try, she thought, I’ll destroy both Zhiv and I together. I know it.
“You can imagine my response,” he said. “As King, I must uphold the law. No one is exempt, not even my wife and children, from my judgment. However, I understand weakness, and Zhiv is a very weak man. You’ve seen it yourself, correct?”
At this, she managed to speak. “I barely know him.”
“And yet, you trusted him.” His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “He has that effect on others. Many others.” Including you, she couldn’t help thinking, trying to figure out what kind of man this was in front of her, about to ask her to spy on his own friend. There was no other option that wouldn’t involve judgment in some way, so it must be spying. Had to be.
And yet, if she were to confess the smallest thing—the amulet he’d worn that didn’t obviously belong to any house or the revised spells he’d cast or the words he’d said regarding Tothsin ways—it would be enough to send him to the Dogs, and his death.
He didn’t send me when he caught me, she thought. I had a lock in my hand and he knew I’d done illegal magic and he did nothing. “He hasn’t done anything wrong,” she said.
“Of course not. That’s why he had you open the door. What worries me, goodwife, is not if he has done anything illegal. As I said, I’ve seen many walk down the path to Ornic beliefs and die for them. I don’t want Zhiv to end up the same.” And when he looked at her then, his jaw tensing, as if overcome by emotion he refused to express, she believed him. “I doubt you want that, either. If there is anything I can do to keep him from the Dogs, I will do it. And to give you encouragement, I will grant you whatever you wish.”
“Thank you,” she said, bowing slightly in respect, “but you have nothing I want.”
“A job, if I understand your current situation correctly.”
In the castle? Tempting, and yet, she couldn’t. “Thank you but—”
“Krysilla Gillasin,” the King said, his eyes full of a compassion she couldn’t help but believe. “You have no home left to you. Your mother refuses to speak of the daughter who left her to marry a ‘rich’ baker, and your sister lives in the slums off whatever kindness she can seduce.”
Krysilla’s eyes went wide at that. “My sister wouldn’t do that.”
As if she hadn’t spoken, the King went on. “You have nothing left, except Zhiv’s offer. Ah, yes. I know he offered you something. He’s taken an interest in you, and I dread the reason, as do you.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Her face must have paled, she must have begun to shake, though not nearly as bad since she ate Zhiv’s food. Her body didn’t seem to exist, and she had begun to feel lightheaded. “It’s a bit warm in here.”
“Given your situation, and the fact that Daegan has been asking here and there for housekeeping help so that he can focus more fully on his business, it seems only natural that Zhiv would offer you a position. Or am I wrong?”
Again, feeling as if a lie would destroy them both, she shook her head.
“No? Well, that’s gratifying to hear. I want you to take the position.”
“Curtains,” she whispered, rubbing her head. “It’s too warm.”
“You’re shaking
as if it’s too cold.” He tapped twice on the roof and she felt the carriage change direction. From under the seat, he pulled out a bottle of amber liquid and a small glass. “This is probably the most trustworthy glass you’ll receive the whole city, goodwife.” He poured a bit of the liquid into the cup and handed it to her. It smelled awful.
“No. I’m fine. Thank you.” And she forced herself to be fine.
This was worse than when Zhiv had caught her digging up locks in the forest, locks she’d used for practice once. This was far worse. Zhiv had been understanding. Zhiv had almost seemed to care. She’d believed him when he’d said that he’d only wanted information and that the information he’d wanted was truly important, both to the King and her. And then she realized the King was talking once more.
“I’m sorry?”
“I will give you the thing you need most, goodwife. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes. Are you saying I’ll work at the castle?”
“I’m saying, I’ll grant you a divorce.”
Time stopped. A divorce was not for women like her. Only the rich got one. Only those with enough money to hire someone to wait on the King day and night for the required year were able to get one.
“Consider this,” he said, “a return to the old ways. The old, Tothsin ways. Back then, a woman who wanted a divorce had to prove her determination. She had to go on a quest or perform some terrible deed. My terms are far more liberal. Watch Zhiv. Find out what he keeps in his room, the one with so many silencing spells around it that I’ve had to work for years to convince the Dogs that he can be trusted with whatever he’s keeping there. Tell me if you see anything that might destroy him. Perhaps, if you tell me in time, we might be able to save him from himself.”
And I’d be free, she thought, barely able to believe it. But at what cost?
“There’s no guarantee that a divorce will get me a job,” she said.
“No. But it does mean you could wear a white sash again, legally, though it would have the black border edging. I can’t change that. But widows wear the same, and if they ask no questions...” he shrugged again.