by Amy Keeley
Nitty laughed. “And do what?”
She had been about to explain about magic and knowledge and things that she now realized Nitty would never fully appreciate. “Help around the house. And Tira could learn script. Hon Jixsin might even be willing to teach Tira locksmithing. She could be his inheritor, like we were with Da’s farm.”
Nitty grinned. “And that’s all? I get all that just from dusting a few cupboards and shining a few windows?”
Krysilla didn’t like the implication in Nitty’s voice. “That’s all. Both Hon Jixsin and Hon Parlay are gentlemen.”
“A minstrel can never be a gentleman. Nor can a locksmith, though they come closer. The only true gentlemen are nobles.”
That’s something to debate, Krysilla nearly snapped. Lord Felldesh, perhaps. He seemed good enough, though too devoted to his wife in the end. But Lord Teranasin? Never.
“Silly Silla,” Nitty said, leaning forward. “There’s more nobles than one. Why should I clean house when I can put on a pretty dress, comb out my hair, and get a man who can give me whatever my heart desires?”
“You live in the slums, Nitty.”
“Not as of tomorrow. The money I’ve saved up from what Vyomsi gave me will get us a nice, little house out in the country, with only taxes to worry about. Plenty of room for Tira to play. I’m not the best mother, but I won’t become a drudge when I can still use my looks and get the attention of rich men. I’ll wash my hair, change into those pretty dresses Vyomsi forbade me to wear but always bought for me, and if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to pay for the very things you say come free in your deal with these men.” Her smile turned sly, and her voice lowered so that only Krysilla could hear her. “They’re still men, Silla. By the time all is said and done, you might be the one crying to me.” Turning away, unwilling to hear any more, Nitty called out to Tira that it was time to go. “Good luck with the men, Silla,” she winked. “I hope all your dreams come true in spite of them.”
“The offer stands whenever you want to take advantage of it,” Krysilla said, hating watching her sister and her niece leave.
For a moment, the Nitty she remembered smiled, the one who had some kindness left in her. “I’ll remember that. Farewell. Say farewell to your auntie, Tira.”
And then she was out the door and gone. For a while, she stared at the ceiling, hoping her tears would leave soon. When they finally did and she could trust herself to look forward once again, Daegan stood in the entry to his lock room, arms folded. “All right?”
She nodded. He was too much like Lejer for her comfort, and yet, in a way, he was what she had always assumed Lejer was. And she found she respected that. “I’m fine.”
He nodded, and pulled the watch out of his pocket. “We’ll need to leave in a few minutes for the announcement.”
“All right.”
She went through breakfast as if she were eating in a dream. Nothing satisfied and yet it didn’t matter because she wasn’t really hungry. Her mind only thought she was eating, and breathing, and living. Even after Hon Jixsin closed the shop for the morning and they began walking toward the square, even after she felt the spell sweep through that she knew came from the Dogs and, as Daegan explained, meant an announcement, not only an execution or something like it, she still felt as if the world wasn’t quite real.
Instead, she tried to focus on the future. If all goes well, Zhiv had said, she could live here for months, puttering around someone else’s house, a house that, in a way, was hers, too.
And she could continue learning to write Ornic. A thrill went through her as she realized that she could ask Zhiv to teach her the language. The world began to unfurl in front of her, as often happens in dreams, and everything became possible. Any kind of magic was available to her. Any kind of life was hers for the taking. All she had to do was the work.
It was with these thoughts running through her head that Krysilla and Daegan arrived at the square. To her great surprise, she could see Zhiv standing among the other castle servants, not in his typical uniform as Parlay the fiddler, but in a rich, silver-trimmed, dark purple tunic with intricate silver embroidery all over in a patchwork pattern, as if someone had decided to mimic the pieced vests some minstrels wore, but only in appearance, not fact. In the pocket was his white handkerchief, and under it was the fine, beige linen shirt and black leggings of those who worked for the King, with fine black leather boots instead of the brown laced ones he usually wore. Only his unruly, wavy hair was the same.
And he looked furious.
Remembering how carefully Zhiv had kept his two lives separate, Krysilla felt a stab of fear at his appearance. But why? Was it the dagger, or something else? And what would this mean for their small group? She looked up at Daegan for his reaction. Daegan stared at Zhiv with wide eyes, then leaned down. “I think,” he said in a low voice, “things are about to go very badly.”
She couldn’t help but agree.
Part Three: Doors
Krysilla Gillasin stood in the square of the capital city, Hurush, and stared, oblivious of the gathering crowd, at the King’s minstrel: the great, the mysterious, Zhiv Mikailsin. For the first time since she’d met him, he was dressed in the rich clothes she’d expected him to wear as a servant of the King, and not the clothes of Parlay the lowly fiddler. And that was how she knew things were going horribly wrong.
The King was dead. The Queen was about to appear to make the announcement on the dais that had been constructed in the square. It looked too much like the style used for executions, and Krysilla wondered if something just as horrifying were about to happen. It would make sense. Zhiv had pulled the King from the wreckage of the clock tower of the Disciples. He’d managed to rescue the King, Krysilla, and himself. But he was also a minstrel, and they were known to be unreliable, wild, especially if one happened to be descended from a tribe who still clung to Ornic ways. The ones who had tried to burn the world.
But Zhiv had been the one who had fought the hardest to keep the King from implementing his mad plan to control the rift himself alone. He’d saved him, even though that same King had massacred Zhiv’s family.
For you, a miserable voice said. He saved the King to save you from the curse the King had wrapped around your wrist and locked into your bones. But she knew it wasn’t the only reason. In spite of all the King had done, Zhiv had wanted to save him as well.
And now, he stood like a man awaiting judgment, no matter how fine his clothes. Never again would he be able to hide behind the common fiddler’s appearance. Not in this city. And probably not anywhere else, if the gossip worked as quickly for him as it had for her and her soon-to-be former husband, Lejer.
The Queen appeared from a narrow street, two small princesses and a not-much-older prince walking calmly behind her. They all looked beautiful, even with the black sash draped over their chests. The younger of the girls had a lovely porcelain doll tucked under one arm, also wearing a black sash. The Queen wore two, one around her waist and one draped across her chest; a sign of mourning until she could wear the white with black border that marked a widow three months from now. She walked slowly, stiffly, as if she were about to face the Dogs and their justice of her own free will. But the Dogs that walked ahead of her had no staves to burn anyone, and took their place quietly in two lines on either side of the square. No spell obscured their faces, as it would if someone were about to die.
Krysilla briefly wondered which exit the Queen had used to hide the existence of the castle everyone seemed to think was in a mythical place. It was a terrible thought when someone has died, she told herself, and focused again on the moment.
The wood groaned under the Queen’s steps as she ascended the dais. Briefly, her eyes caught Krysilla’s and the faintest of smiles appeared at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were red and swollen and Krysilla wondered how many tears she had shed for the man she had obviously loved.
And for a moment, Krysilla, who had never known a man’s love, felt jealous.
Now’s not the time for useless feelings, she told herself, and glanced up at Daegan, his gaze fixed on the Queen. Around them, she could hear the sound of shuffling feet and the occasional curious whisper from a child, or an indiscreet adult.
Standing now on the dais, the Queen looked over the crowd. She glanced behind her and gestured to Zhiv, who approached without hesitation.
Krysilla felt the smallest bit of panic clutch her stomach.
Looking over the crowd once more, the Queen’s gaze lingered on the Dogs, and for a moment she appeared sad. She said to all the people surrounding her, “A great tragedy has befallen us. The King is dead.”
Whispers hurried from one person to another in the crowd, the murmur growing in volume. Still, Krysilla waited, her own gaze no longer fixed on the Queen, but on Zhiv. Nothing, no true feeling, escaped from his sober expression as the Queen spoke of the kindnesses of King Jivon, of the help he had given his people. The Queen said nothing of the massacre of Zhiv’s people, of his attempt to control the rift and through that take all power to himself. The nobles might as well have burned themselves if he’d succeeded. And if he’d failed, the nobles wouldn’t have been the only ones to burn. Krysilla watched Zhiv listen to what was said and what wasn’t said with a neutral face. He seemed very good at it. She wondered if he’d had much practice.
Of course he would, she told herself. Even if he spent most of his time invisible, the King saw him.
Zhiv let his eyes roam the crowd and his gaze met hers. His eyes softened, and it almost looked as if he were about to smile before his gaze moved away. I wonder, she thought, if he’s glad I’m here.
And then, the Queen turned to Zhiv. “Yesterday,” she said, never truly looking at Zhiv, “my husband, your ruler, was inspecting the renovations on the clock tower of the Disciples when it fell.”
When Zhiv destroyed it to stop the King, Krysilla mentally corrected the Queen.
“He had brought his minstrel, Zhiv Mikailsin, with him.” Still, the Queen did not look at him. Why wasn’t she looking at him? “I have asked Hon Mikailsin to appear today before you to receive honor at my hand.”
That’s not true, Krysilla realized. And for just a moment, Zhiv’s mouth quirked into a cynical smile, proving her right. The smile faded. Perhaps he hopes the people will assume he feels unworthy of honor, she thought.
Still, the Queen did not look at Zhiv.
“I present you,” she said to the crowd, “Zhiv Mikailsin, who risked his life to drag the King from the burning wreckage. I ask you to hail him as hero, as loyal servant, and as a true follower of the principles of the Honorable Toth.”
He’ll laugh at that later, she hoped. The idea of Zhiv being upheld as an example of anything Tothsin-related was worth a laugh or two.
Whatever he truly felt, he gave a weak smile as the Queen gestured toward him and the crowd shouted. “Hail! Hail! Hail to thee, Zhiv Mikailsin!” He bowed his head in acknowledgment, looking perfectly humbled by the experience and awed by the crowd, though Krysilla felt the response wasn’t as strong as it might have been.
And tired. He still looked tired.
She remembered the fever he’d had last night from using spells his body wasn’t used to casting. He hadn’t been fully recovered when he had woken that morning.
The crowd once more began to murmur, and she heard a woman ask about the fiddler who played on the streets. Zhiv looked like him, the woman said. Krysilla began to feel ill. “How much longer?” she whispered to Daegan.
“Not much,” he muttered back, looking more worried than when they’d first arrived.
He sees it, too, she realized. Perhaps he knew why Zhiv had been revealed, and by the Queen of all people.
The Queen stepped aside and Krysilla realized Zhiv was about to speak to the crowd. She glanced at the Dogs and noticed some of them were smiling in the same way her estranged husband, Lejer, would when something was going especially well. Feeling even more nervous than before, she tried to listen.
Zhiv’s words were brief. Gratitude for the service he could render. Gratitude for the principles Toth had preached all those many years ago. Gratitude that the King had trusted him so much that he would allow his presence, even during such an inconsequential thing as an inspection.
Krysilla knew some of it was true. Most wasn’t. But then, he looked at her and paused. “Most of all,” he said, looking away, “I am grateful that the time has finally come for me to be revealed for who I truly am.” He paused once more. “It has taken a greater burden from me than I expected.”
That was true. Once more he glanced at her, once more a smile threatened to break through, and yet she knew in her heart that he was as worried as both her and Daegan were.
There was nothing else that caught her interest. The Queen would rule until her eldest son came of age, at which time he would inherit the kingdom. More words about service that, though not empty, sounded rehearsed. And then it was done, and both she and Daegan breathed a sigh of relief.
They were all still alive.
She felt the eyes of the Dogs on her as she walked away. And still she wondered what they had to do with Zhiv’s unmasking.
Zhiv surprised her by leaving the other servants and joining her and Daegan as they walked back home to eat. Her shock must have been clear. He grinned and said, “I felt peckish. The great Zhiv Mikailsin hasn’t eaten yet this morning.”
“Won’t the Queen want you?” Daegan asked.
Zhiv shook his head. “The King is gone, and he’s the one who employed me. She’ll keep me for a while. Perhaps for the rest of my life. But there are no guarantees now.”
Krysilla stared at him, hardly able to believe that they were talking like this in the open, that she could call him by name under the great sky and not be afraid she was destroying some awful secret. He glanced at her again. “Still amazed?”
“Very. Hon Mikailsin.”
She thought he would smile at that. Instead, he frowned. “You don’t like your name?” she asked.
“You’re not the only one amazed,” he murmured, and she knew she was right. He hadn’t been shown to the world for honor, but as part of a deal.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, not very different from before the King’s death. And, not very different from before, the moment they entered the plain, stuccoed Jixsin home, one of them, Zhiv this time, began to talk. “What deal do you think I made, goodwife?” He walked down the hall toward the kitchen.
“I’m not sure I want to know,” she said, her mouth dry. Both she and Daegan followed him.
Daegan leaned against a counter, arms folded. “Do the Dogs feel you tried to kill him?”
“The important ones don’t,” Zhiv replied. He grabbed a strip of jerky and took a bite. Chewing thoughtfully, he said, “At least, I don’t think they do. We have maybe a month, at most. If the goodwife doesn’t receive her divorce in the next few moments, we’ll have to leave today.”
“Your deal?” Krysilla said, feeling weak now. She had hoped things wouldn’t fall apart so quickly.
He swallowed. “The Dogs have never liked the fact that the one closest to the King was also the one they were never allowed to know. It was one of my conditions for revealing my identity to Jivon.”
“King Jivon,” Daegan corrected him.
“Oh, the man’s dead now. I could call him a flaming Ornic and it wouldn’t change a single thing between he and I.”
Daegan glared at him. Zhiv only shrugged. “King Jivon,” he said, with a pointed look and a smile at Daegan, “had a much better handle on the Dogs than the Queen. And if any of them feel disl—”
Magic swept through the house, a spell to search for anything illegal.
The Dogs rarely checked during the day, she had been told. Both Zhiv and Daegan felt perfectly comfortable with this fact. And yet, both of them had frozen just as she had, and Zhiv had gone pale.
The spell ended and Zhiv said nothing. He waited, holding perfectly sti
ll, then closed his eyes. After several long moments, he said, as if talking to himself, “I told them about the book, goodwife. And the dagger. They found that in the wreckage, and the Queen returned it to me, explaining it was a gift. The Dogs said they would have difficulty trusting someone who had received such gifts, but slipped so easily between two worlds. That was the deal. My identity made public, in exchange for time.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “The silences will have to come down.”
Now Daegan went pale. “Are you sure?”
“The Dogs will order them down sooner or later. Better if I took them down myself and showed them there’s nothing there to find.”
And yet Krysilla remembered the press against the silences that surrounded his room, as if something loud and awful were trying to break out. “What will you do instead?”
“There are options,” he said, trying to remain casual, though she could tell he felt nothing of the sort. “I wouldn’t travel if there weren’t.”
A light knock on the door and Zhiv rushed toward it. Terrified of whom it might be, Krysilla got up to watch the front door from the kitchen.
“It’s from the Queen,” Daegan said softly. He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear, “If it were the Dogs, you would know it.”
Zhiv spoke briefly with whoever had knocked, then inclined his head in respect. Closing the door, she saw he held a scroll, wrapped in a white ribbon with black edging. “Many joyous blessings on your head, goodwife,” he grinned, and handed it to her. “It looks like we have some time after all.”
She undid the ribbon with trembling fingers. Seven long years of hoping she would one day feel loved wrapped up in this moment. Even the terror of the Dogs faded slightly as she opened the parchment and read the neat lettering that announced her marriage to Lejer Gillasin void.
The tension left over from waiting to see if they would all be dead, if the Dogs would crash through the doors and burn them all, erupted from her in a cry that she quickly covered up with her hand. Tears sprang to her eyes. No one had the right to judge her by her husband after today. Even if the Dogs came and took them all, she would stand under her own name, not that of her husband. Though, she almost wished, for the sake of spite at his infidelity, that she could.