by Amy Keeley
Freedom. All she had to do was become a spy like Zhiv. Her head spinning from the offer, she felt the carriage lurch to a stop. It couldn’t be this simple. “And if I refuse?”
“You’ve seen the forest. And who guards it. And you know who commands them.”
Then there is no choice, she thought, hating this moment. “All right.”
He smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. I had thought of asking Daegan. His family is very conservative and would be sure to help me if I ever asked, but those two are such good friends. And I’ve noticed men seem to trust women with their secrets more.”
Feeling truly ill now, she waited to be dismissed.
“I must warn you, goodwife. If this is to work, he must never know.”
Of course, she wanted to scream. She’d be in his house, working around him day and night. How could she keep her real motive hidden? He’d been able to see right through her every time. You’re asking the impossible, she wanted to say, and yet, she hoped he did figure it out. Then he’ll hate me, and I’ll be cast out of his life forever.
The thought was like a knife in her gut.
“Good luck, goodwife. And may the spirit of the Honorable Toth guide you in keeping Zhiv safe.”
She bowed and got out of the carriage. As it pulled away, she refused to watch it, or move. The hot summer wind blew her hair across her face. She pulled it away and brushed a tear off her cheek while she was at it.
This is impossible, she thought again. I can’t do this.
Looking around, she cringed. He’d set her down in the slums. And on the opposite corner, a Dog in his scarlet-red vest, lounged.
***
Standing in front of the house of Daegan Jixsin, Krysilla hesitated before knocking. It had taken her the entire way from the slums to here for her to become even somewhat all right with this. It’s to help him, she told herself, though she knew that was a lie. The only thing that made it even somewhat palatable was that the King seemed to actually care about Zhiv. So, why was it a lie? She didn’t know. It simply was.
But the worst part would be seeing Zhiv’s smug grin when she agreed.
Giving the wooden door a quick rap, she fought against a wave of nervousness fierce enough to make her shake if she let it, then she heard his quick steps to the door. Knowing it was him didn’t diminish the rush she felt when he opened the door, eyes sparkling with excitement. “And?” he said.
“All right.”
“Excellent. Come in.” She did so. “Cleaning duties will, naturally, be light. You won’t need to worry about cooking. That’s a shared chore. And when you do cook, you’ll have to work with a King’s Platter instead of an open flame. Perhaps you’ll enjoy it. I’ve heard it’s easier to use, though I won’t touch it myself. If you don’t know how ot use it, Daegan can show you. He’s mastered it.” Zhiv grinned. “We’ll put your things in the spare room upstairs.” His grin widened. “It’s blue.”
“Not the same shade as the one you were in, I hope.” I can’t do this, she thought, and tried to ignore it.
He led her upstairs. “No. Yours reminded me of the sea. The one you’re in is a more dark blue, like the curtains of the royal sitting room. Or so I’ve been told,” he winked.
Upstairs the landing went all the way around the four sides of the stairs. “This,” he said, pointing to the first door on the right, “is Daegan’s room. Easy access to the stairs.” They continued on to the left. “This is his practice room where he builds the specialty locks.” He pointed across the landing to the opposite side. “That’s the room where I fix my instruments.”
“You have more than one?”
“My fiddle, a viol, a psaltry, and a gemshorn for when I want to involve my mouth.”
Krysilla nodded. The words meant nothing to her, nor did she see the point in having instruments that weren’t part of your work. Perhaps there was more to being a minstrel than she had at first thought.
Zhiv glanced at her and tried not to laugh. “I’m allowed to have them, and I enjoy them. If you’d like, I can show them to you.” She nodded again, this time with a little more enthusiasm. “Very well. But first, your room.”
Hers was the second door down from Hon Jixsin’s room. Next to it was another room, one Zhiv didn’t name but that had to be his, and was surrounded by so much magic she could see why the King might feel concerned. And yet, she was right next to it. She wondered if Zhiv had any idea that someone might have encouraged her to accept.
“And this is yours.” He didn’t enter, only opened the door for her. Inside was a plain room, the walls a lighter shade of blue than Zhiv had implied, yet still darker than the color on the walls of the room he’d stayed in.
“Are you sure it’s mine?” she said, turning round. Pressed flowers under glass hung on the walls, daisies and violets and forget-me-nots. White lace curtains obscured the view from the window, yet allowed the late afternoon sunlight to filter through.
“Do you like it?” He stood, arms folded, leaning one shoulder into the doorframe. He seemed pleased by her reaction.
Of course he would, she thought. His plans are moving along nicely.
With a shrug and a desperate attempt to hide her pleasure at the coziness of her own room, she said, “It’ll do.”
He guffawed. “Do you even want to know why it’s there? Or did you think it was built just for you?”
She looked around the room a little more. A beautifully carved washstand sat in the corner, with a delicate china pitcher and bowl on it. The desk was plain, but well-built and carved with inscriptions that...no. She moved to look closer. “The door,” she said, pointing out the characters. “They look just like the ones on the door.”
“And on the stones in your meadow.”
“It’s not my meadow. It belongs to everyone.”
“I know. Put your things wherever you like and I’ll show you my instruments.”
She set her bag at the foot of the bed, still staring at the desk. “Why is this room here?” she asked, slowly following Zhiv down the hall to the room where he kept his fiddle and more.
“It was designed for a girl who rejected Daegan many years ago.” His voice was low and somber as they walked. “He’s never wanted it changed, so I told him the least he could do was hire a serving girl to keep the shrine clean.”
She wanted to tell him what the King had said, that Daegan was a conservative man. If so, why did he have a desk with those characters on it? Did anyone even make desks like that anymore, no matter who they might have loved? Instead, she said, “So now he’ll have twice the reason to hate me.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t trust you. There’s a difference.”
Drawing quickly with his finger on the metal above the doorknob, Krysilla felt the keyspell release the lock. Inside were a number of instruments, more than what he’d listed to her earlier. He labeled them all in turn and even played a little melody on a few of them here and there. Light, little tunes that made her smile and forget, for a moment, why she was there. Until he stood and, breaking the spell that was no spell, told her it was time to introduce her properly to Daegan.
They walked down the streets of Hurush, past the business quarter and up to the square. “Did you notice the castle when you were here?” he asked.
“No.” She had seen no such thing, and a castle, she thought, would be difficult to hide. “I thought the King lived far away from the city.”
“Most think that, some even within Hurush itself.” And with a smile that promised mischief of one kind or another, led her to a wall that surrounded the square. He did not slow or hesitate as he walked up to it, then, with a voice obviously used to this command, said, “Tower.”
The wall melted away until both Krysilla and Zhiv could easily pass through into the busy yard beyond. “Come on, then,” he said, his step quicker than usual as he walked through.
Amazed that he’d used a word to cast a spell instead of a gesture, Krysilla followed him into a large yard
, grass neatly trimmed and surrounding a large white building that should have been seen from outside the wall and was not, covered with white stucco, same as the others in the city, with a red tiled roof and a tall tower above the entrance. An enormous disc, white as the purest cloud, was placed in the top of the tower, and golden pointers, beautifully decorated with swirls and stars, extended from the center. She’d never seen anything like it. Her question regarding the spell was quickly forgotten. “What is that?”
“It’s called a clock. Some say it’s from the early Tothsin days. It keeps the time and sounds out the hour for the whole city, not just the Disciples.”
She stopped walking. Were they on sacred ground? She thought they’d been going to the castle. Why else would he ask about it earlier?
He turned. Puzzled, he said, “It’s all right. This is just the library. The sacred places are in the chapel, there.” And he pointed out a small building just a little beyond the large one. Continuing on, he said, “Daegan comes here instead of going into the woods. Less nature to deal with, and he can still examine his life quite thoroughly.”
“Then why ask about the castle?”
“I was curious.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
They stepped onto a neat, gravel path that crunched under their feet as they walked toward the building with the great clock. “I was told,” she said, “that the rift marked the hour here.”
Long ago, the Ornics had tried to burn the world for the sake of their greed and power. The rift had formed in the sky above the capital, held back only by a quorum of nobles, working Ornic spells they desperately tried to remember. Or so the story went.
“The rift only appears once a year,” he said. “Even then it’s nothing more than a sliver.”
“Then, you’ve seen it.” She tilted her head back to stare at the beautiful clock as they walked under it.
“Didn’t you? It should be visible across the kingdom.”
Shaking her head, she said, “My father would shoo us inside when Two Days came. He said something that awful shouldn’t be seen by anyone but men and nobles. One night I tried and I didn’t see anything but a star that streaked across the sky.”
“That ‘star’ was likely the rift.” Zhiv opened a large metal door for her. “One year, when I was four, the nobles didn’t contain the rift and the sky began to crack with light.” His eyes narrowed. “How old must you have been then?”
“I’m twenty and five now.”
“Is that so?” His eyebrows lifted as she passed him. Did she look older than that? It wouldn’t surprise her, and she didn’t want it confirmed if she did. “How old are you?” she asked.
“The same.” They walked down a marble hall inscribed with Tothsin characters along the top and bottom. The words of Toth, she realized. “Hon Jixsin comes here often?”
“If he could, he would live here. His father wanted him to be a Disciple when he was younger.” Zhiv peered into a side room, then moved on. Krysilla peeked and saw a group of Disciples, dressed in their plain brown robes, meditating. She ran to catch up to Zhiv.
A Disciple, she thought. That would make sense, given what she’d seen thus far, and the way the King had described him. And yet, Zhiv had some sort of plan or agreement with him. But why?
They made their way through various halls, and spoke with more than one wandering Disciple regarding Daegan’s location, until finally they entered the library proper. Books and scrolls lined the walls, extending far above Krysilla’s head. On the rafters that extended between the walls were more shelves, held up by pillars along the floor. It feels like a cavern, she decided, nearly running into a stack of books while trying to follow Zhiv through the maze. King’s Lights glowed all around them, bright as the noonday sun in most areas and dim in others.
In one corner, with a book in his lap, sat Daegan Jixsin. He looked up and frowned. “Still at it?” he asked Zhiv.
“She’s agreed to keep house,” Zhiv said.
Daegan’s eyes went wide. “And you tell me that here,” he hissed.
“There’s nothing wrong with it, Daegan. Your upstanding, sterling reputation is still intact, or at least no worse than when you took me in, and you’ll be helping a woman in need.”
“A woman who left her husband,” he snapped.
Krysilla’s eyes went wide. Is that why he didn’t trust her? Because she left? “Does he—” she began to ask, but Zhiv lifted his hand, eyes never leaving Daegan.
“There’s no reason for you to worry about her trustworthiness, Daegan. I can vouch for her myself.”
Glaring first at Zhiv, then at Krysilla, Daegan said, “What kind of wages do you expect?”
Having never gotten this far in her search for a job, and having no idea how much others were paid, she said, “What do you often pay?”
In spite of his chuckle, his good humor hadn’t returned. “We haven’t needed one before.” His glance at Zhiv clearly said they didn’t need one now, in spite of what the King had told her.
“Then give me whatever you think is fair,” she said.
“And how much will your husband get?” He closed the book in his lap and rested his hands on it, his eyes looking darker in spite of the light.
Not the smallest coin if I can help it, she wanted to say, but wasn’t sure if that would help or hurt her. Zhiv answered instead. “Daegan—”
“And you brought her here so I wouldn’t cause a scene and attract any more attention than we’ve got.” His words were barely more than a mutter.
“I only ask for one month,” Zhiv said. “If she doesn’t work out, she can go somewhere else.”
Daegan raised one eyebrow. “Anywhere she wants?”
“Of course.”
Daegan sighed and glared at her again. “Your husband is the one who ran off with that noble?”
“Yes.”
Daegan nodded, regarding her closely, and she realized he was one of those who thought it was her fault he’d left. “Why?”
“We have plenty of time for your questions, Daegan,” Zhiv said, getting up. “But right now, we’re getting something to eat. Care to join us?”
Daegan shook his head. “I’ll be home late.”
And then Krysilla realized why he annoyed her. He reminded her too much of Lejer. Glad Zhiv didn’t press the issue and persuade him to join them after all, she followed him out of the library. “Do you come here often?” she asked when they got close to the entrance.
“No.” He gestured to the empty yard beyond the doors, bounded by a low stone wall. “Did you know the castle is just beyond that wall, hidden by the stone?” And with a look that told her exactly why he was so familiar with this area, Zhiv, the King’s minstrel led the way out of the hidden yard with a friendly smile.
She thought of her promise to the King, and felt ill.
***
Dinner was surprisingly quiet, with bits of conversation about Zhiv’s work as the fiddler, Parlay, a role he held to without exception. It made sense in the tavern where he’d taken her to eat. But it made no sense to her why he would play that role at all in the quiet of his own home, unless the attention Daegan had mentioned included listening in on private conversations inside those walls. Or unless Daegan didn’t know about his life as Zhiv. That made sense. But it didn’t. Because the more she talked to Zhiv Mikailsin, the less sense his role as Parlay made.
And the table with Ornic characters in a world where such things could make others wonder about your devotion to Tothsin values, built by a conservative Tothsin. That made very little sense, either.
By the time they had returned home, only one thing was clear and it was the same thing that had been clear before. Zhiv had secrets he didn’t want to share. And yet, the first thing that was almost clear was that he had chosen to put her into a position where she might learn those secrets in time.
It made her think of when she was first asked by Lejer to marry him. Like every other potential bride, she had
been put through a trial, a time when she was allowed to use his magic and see if it suited her. It had gone well enough, and she’d shown enough proficiency that she’d married him and learned his trade spells and secrets.
Though this wasn’t a marriage proposal, it made her think very much of that. Except, there would be no new magic for her to learn. Not with Daegan glaring at her as fiercely as he did when he returned.
And so, to keep the peace, she had retired early to her bed. Down below, she could hear the two men talking, sometimes with voices slightly raised, though she could understand no particulars. And then the sound of Daegan’s heavy, sure footsteps ascended the stairs, the wood creaking under the weight of him, and the sound of a door opening and closing. His bedroom from the sound of it.
The front door opened and closed, and the house was silent.
Curious, but unwilling to show her curiosity by leaving her room, she stayed up, touching the various things in it, inspecting it, and trying to believe it really was hers. Her own bedroom with Lejer had been plain, and, with the exception of a plain mirror, free of anything feminine. He was a man and men did not have such things in their room. Not if they could help it. And when she had been a girl, something had always happened to require coin for something other than the stuff to make frilly curtains and draw pretty pictures on the walls. Krysilla wrapped her arms around her and tried to believe that this room really was hers and that she would stay here for years.
Until Zhiv kicks you out because he’s discovered you’ve spied on him.
She wished, in that moment, that she had never struck a deal with the King. But she’d had no choice. You don’t deny the King what he wants. No one does.
A scratch at her window made her jump. Moving slowly toward it, she felt the spell before she saw the Dog. He looked up at the house from the street with a cold stare, and his magic wrapped around it like icy fingers, feeling for something. She stayed where she was, not moving even when his eyes caught her, and stared back. She felt the spell just outside the window, brushing against it as if searching for something from the outside, some sign that the spell could reach in and examine it.