by Amy Keeley
He wasn’t going to get ready? He still wore the brown, tradesman vest, with a white handkerchief folded neatly in the pocket, and the plain, dark brown slacks that went with them, along with plain, brown boots. Didn’t he have something better to wear than that? Still, now wasn’t the time to ask questions. And she’d been warned of this last night. Nodding, she hurried upstairs and not only got into the dress meant for New Moon, but fixed her hair as best she could with trembling fingers. Finished, she looked at her hands. “You’ve been so unsteady,” she whispered, remembering how they had once known exactly what they should do every day.
You know what you need to do now, she silently told them. Be still.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes, preparing herself for just a moment before calmly going back down the stairs.
At the foot of the stairs, Daegan’s eyes widened slightly. Then, his frown deepened.
“Something wrong?” she challenged. She couldn’t help it.
“No. You look very ready, s’all.” And with a look that questioned her involvement and made it clear he didn’t like it, whatever it was, he opened the door for both of them, and they began to make their way to the castle. “Have you ever seen the King?”
“No one sees him except the nobles,” she said, truly surprised at his question. She hoped he wasn’t confronting her.
“The etiquette is simple.” He said this as if he visited the King all the time. “Do not speak unless spoken to. Keep your hands to yourself. No wailing or bawling when we enter, and no touching his person.”
No confrontation then. “Why would I—”
“Don’t gawk at the castle.”
“Now that’s just for your benefit.”
The barest of smiles touched one corner of his mouth. It didn’t last. “And if there’s any secrets you feel like keeping, you’d best think very carefully not only what you plan on saying, but what he might ask.”
“He’s the King. I imagine any secrets I might want to keep are already known to him.”
“Perhaps.” And that was all he said for the rest of their journey.
It wasn’t an unpleasant one. Beyond a glare now and then, Daegan didn’t say anything cutting or miserable on the way—as Lejer might have done—which allowed Krysilla to enjoy the sunshine of an early summer morning and the bustle of the capital. When they got to the square, her enjoyment faded. Zhiv wasn’t there, playing the role of Parlay the Fiddler.
“He had business,” Daegan said, catching her off-guard.
She had been about to respond that she didn’t know who he was talking about when Daegan gestured toward the wall.
Unlike the door for the Disciples’ library, they walked behind a rocky outcropping. Like the Disciples’ door, Daegan used a single word. “Jixsin.”
Amazed that he hadn’t said something like “Castle,” or “King,” she followed him inside the now open gateway. He wasn’t Zhiv. She couldn’t ask him about anything to do with magic.
Around her spread a lush green field, with a gravel path that led from the gate toward the enormous, octagonal keep, its white stone walls shimmering in the sunlight with a brightness that made her wonder if it was enchanted as well. Two wings attached to the keep, both with dark blue roof tiles, as if the King had taken part of the evening sky for his home.
“Gawking,” Daegan said.
“Never promised I wouldn’t,” Krysilla grinned, unable to keep from staring at the castle.
“Hon Jixsin!” a man called out from a ways off, to their left. Krysilla managed to stop gawking long enough to turn her head. And look again.
Walking toward them from beneath the white statue of a Blessed One with wings and arms outstretched as if the statue were about to fly away, was the same man who had entered the service after she’d left to meet with Zhiv. He seemed more at ease here, though no less full of himself. Golden hair that curled around his face prettily, and his amber eyes, in spite of their supposedly casual glance, reminded her too much of Zhiv’s in their hidden calculation. He wore the elaborately embroidered vest of the nobility, usually hidden under a black coat, but here on full display in the growing heat. Bright green with gold and bronze threads, it shimmered in the sunlight, as bright as the castle. He too wore a white handkerchief, though it had obviously been used for something other than announcing his availability if its messy folds were any indication. “Hon Jixsin,” the man said again, “I require a lock. The last one you gave me broke.”
Daegan’s jaw set. “Why?”
“He gets right to the point,” the man said with a sparkle in his smile for Krysilla. “Is he as gruff with you, my dear lady?”
“Goodwife,” Daegan corrected for her, earning him a glare from Krysilla. No one should be speaking for her unless he was her husband.
The man blinked, calculating amber eyes confused, then full of understanding. “Ah. Forgive me. Congratulations.”
“Not mine,” Daegan almost snapped. “This is Lejer Gillasin’s wife.”
She felt that the man had taken that information and locked it away in a place full of ideas and plans. Like Zhiv, she thought, and tried not to cringe. “Ah. And I haven’t even introduced myself. Forgive me. I tend to be much too casual about such things as etiquette and proper courtly behavior.” Taking her hand, he bent his head to it, then said, “I am Lord Vyomsi Teranasin, and there really should be many more titles after that if I’m going to introduce myself properly so you’ll know what you’re getting into but I despise formality. You may call me Vyomsi if you wish.”
“Thank you, Lord Teranasin.” She took her hand back in wonder at his casual approach.
A smile danced along his lips and she realized she’d pleased him with her response, though whether it was because he secretly enjoyed the title, or he enjoyed that she hadn’t easily followed, she couldn’t tell. Whichever it was, he led the way in front of them toward the enormous wooden door that must be the entry to the keep. “The King has requested you?” he said, turning to look at them. “I’m not surprised.” He became suddenly somber. “Forgive me, dear goodwife, but your husband’s name has traveled far.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Have you found a place in the town?”
It wasn’t his business where she stayed, and she found herself annoyed with his concern. Daegan once more answered for her. “She stays with us.”
“Ah. Jixsin and the fiddler. What was his name?”
“Parlay.”
Lord Teranasin frowned. “You’re honorable, but the fiddler is a poor choice.”
Would the King agree with you? she wanted to ask. He knew who Zhiv truly was and who he pretended to be. What would he think of Lord Teranasin’s off-handed dismissal of Zhiv’s honor? “He has been nothing but a gentleman to me,” she said, her annoyance growing.
“I’m not surprised,” Lord Teranasin smirked. “I hear they put on a very good show.”
“He’s treated her as well as any lord,” Daegan said, also sounding annoyed himself with Lord Teranasin.
“Strong words,” the young lord grinned. “Well, if you can vouch for him, then I must admit to finding no fault with him.” He nodded at the door, which opened for them without a push. A staircase spiraled in front of them, made of the same white stone as the castle, but with intricate symbols that appeared to be neither Ornic nor Tothsin inscribed on the side. Krysilla walked closer, hoping to see as much as she could of it before they’d walked past. “Back to my lock,” Lord Teranasin said, “though it was very well constructed, I’m afraid I need something even stronger.” Up above her, the stone was carved into vaults, and along the walls as they entered the wing to the left, enormous, glassless windows let in the sunlight. All was brilliant, and beautiful, and shining.
“What are you trying to keep out?” Daegan’s voice showed a degree of incredulity she hadn’t yet heard.
“Riff-raff who think they can enter my quarters whenever they wish. And I don’t really want something strong in the sense of un
bendable metals. I want a clever lock. One that sweeps open to whoever has the answer to the combination. I’ve heard you’re an expert in those.”
“Shall I come by after I finish here, Lord Teranasin?”
“No,” he waved the offer away. “I have guests after this. And business that must be finished.” And in his voice Krysilla heard the sound of a man used to giving orders and watching them obeyed. She couldn’t help remembering that she had once mistaken Zhiv for a lord, though with a darker purpose than this one seemed to have. Like the lord, he also had full confidence that when he asked, a request would be granted, and yet there was a caginess in him that she now knew, watching Lord Teranasin, could never belong to a lord raised to wield power. Zhiv had accepted that sometimes the answer was no.
And that thought made her think better of him.
They turned and entered a long hall, filled with reliefs on the stone of tales she’d heard in sermons. “Do you know any of the stories?” Lord Teranasin asked, sweeping his arm to take in the tales surrounding them.
“A few,” she said.
“Ah, but the best, and the most important is the one above the entry.” And he pointed to a large object carved into the stone above the entry that reminded her of moss or lichen, though it appeared to be growing in the sky. “The rift. Have you ever traveled to the capital to watch the quorum hold the thing back?”
“No.” She debated telling him that her father never even let them watch it from their house, then decided against it. Though on the surface he appeared to be making small talk, she felt he had some other reason for pointing this particular story out.
“That’s a shame. One year they couldn’t, and the streak became a thing with glowing tendrils, as if the sky were an ocean, and an octopus had decided to crawl out of it.”
She stared at the rift, carved into the rock. It loomed over all the villages below and even the castle. But there was no quorum below, holding it back. There were only two figures, both with their backs to the viewer, both with arms upraised, one a man, the other a woman. Both in long Ornic robes. “Where is the quorum?”
Lord Teranasin pressed his hand against the wood of the doorframe, as did Daegan after him. Krysilla moved to do the same, but Daegan held her back with a small shake of his head. Only men, he mouthed.
“The King,” Lord Teranasin explained as they waited for the door to open, “feels it’s more important to remember the threat than the solution. So, while his subjects wait for admission, they can view those two vile creatures as they call on distant fire, while the innocents hide in their houses below. It’s a reminder, he says, of what we might have all become if the Tothsins hadn’t intervened with their doctrines.”
In the story it took several of them, she remembered. Three quorums, one for the rift, one to stop the spell, and one to bind and kill the Ornics. A man and a woman. Krysilla briefly wondered if they had been a couple.
The doors opened and Lord Teranasin stepped forward, followed by Daegan, then finally Krysilla.
Inside, the room was filled with light from windows larger than the ones in the hall they’d passed through from the keep. You could fit a three floor house in this room, she thought as she stepped forward, trying very hard not to gawk. And this is what Zhiv has seen? It seemed impossible to her that Zhiv would see this much grandeur daily, and yet be treated so poorly when he sang for the Felldesh home and guests. As if he were nothing but a common servant.
And as they walked forward, a man called out their names. “Lord Vyomsi Teranasin. Heir Daegan Jixsin.” Krysilla looked at him sharply. No one received the title of Heir unless they were in line to inherit from a noble. She couldn’t see his reaction from this angle, but his back stiffened, and his steps quickened as he approached the King.
And then came her name. “Wife of the baker, Hon Lejer Gillasin.”
Lord Teranasin stopped, and Lejer stopped, and it was only then that Krysilla could confirm that the man who had asked her to spy on Zhiv was indeed the King, now sitting on a simple, gold-covered throne. Here his white hair was hidden under a dark blue cap, with stars embroidered on it in gold, and a strip of fabric that covered his ears and the back of his neck. A diamond, as large as both her eyes, was set in its center, radiating outward and surrounded with silver tendrils that reminded her of the rift. He wore the robes of the Disciples, but in blue, the same shade as his cap.
But his face was different. Oh, it was the same person, that much was clear. It was the look on that face though, as if a bad thought had never passed through the man’s head, nor a disparaging word passed his lips. As if he were a paragon of self-control. As if he were one of the Blessed Ones.
Behind him, in one corner of the room, stretched a red curtain with gold fringe.
“I apologize Hon Jixsin,” the King said. “Perhaps you will one day forgive me for using your title.”
Daegan said nothing, nostrils flaring and a fierce scowl on his face that was not fit for a room like this. “I have come as summoned.”
The King’s gaze flicked from Daegan to Krysilla. “First, I must question the goodwife who I have been informed is sheltering at your home.”
It was as she expected. The King interrogated her as thoroughly as any ruler who was curious as to why a noble wife would run off with a common baker. Love was a poor reason, but it was the only one Krysilla could give. And yet, no one, not even Lord Teranasin, laughed when she said it.
“And now you live with the locksmith,” he said after she had told him almost all she knew about her husband’s infidelity. Something in the way he said Daegan’s profession sounded like a laugh.
“As his housekeeper,” she said.
“He pays you a wage?” But the question was directed to Daegan.
“One uhlin, five.” More than she had expected.
The King’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t realize you had so much extra in your house, Hon Jixsin.”
“The fiddler who lives with me has announced his intentions to help pay for her keep.”
Surprised (though she knew she shouldn’t be) that Zhiv would help pay her wage, she didn’t have time to think over the implications. The King’s next words shot right to Krysilla’s stomach.
“Do you want him back?”
“I’m sorr—pardon, your Highness?”
“A married woman who lives with two men, and neither of them her husband, has put herself and her reputation at risk, even if it is strictly a business arrangment. There are already many who question why you left. You left first, correct?”
She could feel Daegan’s eyes on her. “There were,” she hesitated and hated herself for it, “there were problems, Highness. I came here to visit my sister, and clear my head.”
“And yet you inquired regarding jobs the day you arrived.”
Cursing herself for not thinking this through, she answered, “I had only enough to bring me here, not enough to journey back.”
“Which brings us back to our initial question, do you want him back?”
Was he asking if she was going to follow him like some forlorn, abandoned puppy? It was what the Disciples encouraged. After all, a man doesn’t leave unless the woman has done something to drive him away. But he never really wanted me, she wanted to scream. Never. I was his attempt to forget and I failed. Resisting the anger that question caused to surge through her frame, she said, “No.”
The King tilted his head back, eyes studying her with a calm she wished she felt. “I could order you to follow him.”
Then I would have to disobey you, Highness. She bowed her head and said nothing, hoping he was merely speculating, or testing her.
“She is proving herself a worthy housekeeper,” Daegan said to her shock. “Two sloppy bachelors would find themselves most inconvenienced if she were to suddenly leave.”
The King glanced at Daegan. “Do you have any children, goodwife?”
She shook her head, her emotions too close to the surface to answer that question.
&nb
sp; The King stared at her for what felt like hours, though she knew it wasn’t nearly that long. “Very well. For now, goodwife, you may stay with Hon Jixsin and the fiddler. But if your husband changes his mind and calls for you, you must answer.”
“Thank you, your Highness.”
“Do I have your word?” He held out his hand. With a glance at Daegan and Lord Teranasin, neither of whom looked at her, she walked forward and took it. A golden bracelet rolled out from under his sleeve and slid onto Krysilla’s wrist.
“I am most sorry for this, goodwife, but this is a very important promise. I cannot trust your word alone, for it was you who left first.”
The reason didn’t matter, she realized. She was still untrustworthy because she hadn’t stayed to subject herself to Lejer’s paranoia and resentment. Unfair, yes, but nothing to be done about it. Not in front of the King. She stuffed her fury inside and waited, letting the bracelet settle on her wrist.
“You must swear that if you meet him again, and he asks you to go with him, you will agree.”
And because she never expected him to come back for her, Krysilla said, “I swear it.”
The bracelet tightened around her wrist, pressing down into her flesh. Heat grew under it, and she clenched her jaw as a scorching flame seemed to burn through her skin. Then it left. The bracelet rolled back up into the King’s sleeve. Not a mark remained on her skin, that she could see. Nothing.
But in her wrist, she felt the smallest echo, reminding her that this was no joke, no sham. I wonder, she thought as she moved back to stand next to Daegan, if he’ll remove the spell once he’s granted me the divorce. And then she realized why he had done this. It was a reminder. If she failed, she would never be truly free of her promise to Lejer. Ever.
The sense of unfairness she’d felt turned into a burning shame at her lack of foresight. But what if I’d refused? There was no answer for that because there was no refusal of the King. Not if he had spells that could tie themselves to her very bones.
Besides, Lejer would never call for her. Not now that he had what he wanted. The King clapped his hands twice. “The goodwife, Krysilla Gillasin, has agreed, and Hon Jixsin will allow it. Lord Teranasin stands as witness. As do you, Zhiv?”