“Yes, Miss Mya.” Dee put down his pen and stood to go, glancing curiously at Lad in passing. Lad paid him scant attention, his senses attuned to Mya. When the door closed behind Dee, Lad settled into the chair the assistant had vacated.
“The captain of the Royal Guard came to the Tap and Kettle yesterday, Mya.”
“I know. His name is Norwood. My people spotted him, and I received the report last night.”
Of course. She already knows Norwood came to the inn. Is that why she’s tense? Is she afraid of what I might do, or afraid of Norwood? “What are you going to do about it?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” She sipped her blackbrew and took a bite of toast slathered with preserves. “To do anything constructive, it would help to know why Norwood was there. My people only saw him arrive, go inside, and come out again a while later. Do you know why he was there?”
“Yes. He came to talk to Wiggin. He told her that Vonlith had been murdered.”
“Vonlith? The runemage?” Her eyebrows raised in question, Mya put down her cup, dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and put it down beside her plate, her movements measured and precise.
Too measured and precise. Nothing causal about her motions. He’d seen this mannerism many times before. It was subtle, and most would have missed it. She’s straining for calm.
“Do you know another Vonlith?” He didn’t bother keeping the ire out of his voice.
“Relax, Lad.” She leveled a stare at him intended to snuff his anger. “I need to know the details. Why would Norwood tell Wiggen about Vonlith’s death?”
“Norwood somehow found out that Vonlith worked for the Grandfather. Since Wiggen was the one who told him about the Grandfather in the first place, he thought she might also know something about Vonlith.”
“And what did Wiggen tell him?”
“The truth; that she had never heard of a wizard named Vonlith.”
“So, that’s that,” Mya said lightly as she picked up her blackbrew and sipped.
Lad was surprised by Mya’s cavalier response, and wondered if perhaps he had read too much into the captain’s inquiry. They hadn’t seen Vonlith in five years. There was no way for Norwood to trace the wizard to them.
“Norwood hit a dead end and he won’t be back,” Mya continued. “End of problem.” Then Mya brushed her hair away from her ear.
That stopped Lad cold. After five years, he knew that one tell better than any other. She only brushed her hair away like that when she was being evasive. Looking more closely, he noticed a slight quiver in her hands. The blackbrew rippled in the cup. She was uneasy.
Why?
He chose his words carefully, trying to think of the best way to provoke a reaction without letting her know that he was gauging her response.
“That’s not the end of the problem!” Standing, he pulled up his shirt to expose the neat row of tattooed runes down his chest. “If Norwood finds out just what Vonlith was doing for the Grandfather, he might also figure out that I’m not dead.”
Mya’s eyes flicked over his chest, but this time he didn’t recognize the expression in her eyes. He decided to push it farther. “And if he figures out that I’m not dead, he might think I killed Vonlith.”
“Did you?” Mya’s eyes snapped up to his, narrowing. Whatever emotion had been in them a moment before was gone, purged by a mien of pure calculation
Lad rocked back on his heels, shocked by the question. “I’m not a killer anymore, Mya. Besides, why would I kill Vonlith?”
“He was the only person outside the guild who knew what you are, Lad.” Keeping her eyes locked to his, she placed her blackbrew on the table and raised her toast for another bite, her motions precise, exact. “I’d think you’d be relieved that he’s dead, even if you didn’t do it. Now he can’t betray your secret.”
“If he was going to betray me, I think he’d have done it by now. Killing him would only draw attention to me. I’m not stupid!”
Mya’s eyes dilated and the tiny vessels under the skin of her face flushed with blood. The involuntary response faded, but not before Lad interpreted it. She was seriously upset. But why?
“No, you’re not stupid, but sometimes you’re a little naïve, my friend.” Taking the last bite of toast into her mouth, she looked down at her plate as she chewed, then picked up her cup and sipped. By the time she looked back up to Lad, her features were calm; she was in complete control again.
He realized then what she’d done. Mya had put him on the defensive, turned the table so that this was about him, not her. She was a master of manipulation, but even she couldn’t always control her reactions. He knew she was hiding something from him, but had no idea what it might be.
“Of course I don’t think you had anything to do with Vonlith’s death,” she continued, “but it does neither of us any good for you to get angry with me over something I knew nothing about. As far as I know, the guild wasn’t behind Vonlith’s death, but I have missed a few meetings. I’ll look into it and try to find out what’s going on. I’d like to know who put a chill on Vonlith, too.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin, then brushed her hair back again. Another evasion. “We might even be able to pin it on Horice. That’d be a nice payback for the attack on us, wouldn’t it?”
“His attack on you, you mean.”
“In their eyes, we’re inexorably linked, Lad.” Mya dropped her napkin onto her plate. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you out from under Norwood’s magnifying glass. Keeping you free is in my best interest, Lad. You’ve saved my life more times than I can remember. I don’t take that lightly.”
“I gave you my word, Mya. Did you expect me to break it?”
She laughed, a short, scornful sound. “You’re just about the only person in this city that I don’t expect to betray me. I just wish you’d trust me as much.”
“I…” Lad stumbled over the words. This was the woman who had tricked him not once, but twice. In doing so, she had made him a slave and a murderer. But she had also released him and helped him kill the Grandfather. One thing remained certain: Mya would always do what she thought was best for herself. He hedged his response. “You always told me not to trust anyone completely, so I don’t.”
“What about Wiggen?”
Mya rose and stepped around the table, brushing a few crumbs from her lap. A speck of reflected light fell from her clothes, and Lad heard a faint chime as it met the floor. Glass, he thought automatically.
“You trust her, don’t you?”
His mind snapped back to the question. “That’s different. She’s my wife.”
“Wives betray husbands all the time, Lad. Just like husbands betray wives and siblings betray one another. Just because someone’s married or related to you doesn’t make them trustworthy. If it came down to a choice between your life and Wiggen’s, who do you think Forbish would betray?”
“If you’re trying to make me suspicious of my family, Mya, you’re wasting your time.”
“I’m not trying to make you anything but aware of the real world, Lad. You’re going to get hurt if you don’t open your eyes.” She strode past him toward the door.
Bending quickly while her back was turned, he pressed a finger to the shard of glass that glinted on the floor. It stuck. Pinching it between finger and thumb to keep it hidden, he followed her to the door.
“I don’t understand you, Mya. You tell me to trust you, then tell me not to trust my own family. How do you live like that?”
“There are different levels of trust, Lad. I trust no one implicitly, but you more than anyone else. There is no one in the world who wouldn’t betray someone with the right incentive, my friend. The sooner you realize that, the better.”
Lad nearly laughed with the irony. Mya had taught him that very fact. She had delivered him to the Grandfather for power and position, only to turn around and betray the Grandfather when she realized that her vaunted position was just a polished form of slavery.
She open
ed the door and sent Mika to fetch Dee, then turned back to Lad. “Wait for me in the common room, Lad, and try to relax. I’ll look into this and see what I can find out.”
“Tell me what you learn.”
“I will.” Her eyes flicked away from his for before she dismissed him with a nod.
Lad took a seat near the common room’s front window and waved the morning barmaid away when she asked if he wanted anything. This early, the place was virtually deserted save for Mya’s people. He watched the city through the window, but his thoughts remained focused on Mya.
Why was she being so evasive?
He felt the shard of glass from the floor between his fingers and examined it in the light. The splinter was perhaps as long as his fingernail, and silvered on one side.
A mirror. Looking closer, he noted a faint brown stain on one end. He scratched at it with his thumbnail, brought the residue to his nose, then his tongue. Blood.
Mya had broken a mirror and cut herself on some of the pieces. He thought about the old superstition about bad luck. Could that be what had her upset this morning? He had not thought she was given to such silly notions, but he filed that bit of information away with the other innumerable details he had learned about her, and went back to pondering their conversation.
What was she hiding? There was no way to know, but he felt sure it had something to do with Vonlith’s death. And if she was so determined to hide it from him, then it must be important.
Mya’s right about one thing, he thought, there are levels of trust. And although Mya had not betrayed him once to his knowledge since the death of the Grandfather, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t if given the proper incentive.
Lad made a decision; he had to learn more about Vonlith’s death. Unfortunately, he could only think of one source for that information.
Lad flowed from shadow to shadow, silent and invisible, as he made his way through the elegant neighborhoods north of the river. He knew these streets as he knew the rest of Twailin, but in the past five years, he had avoided this area. The affluent neighborhoods of Hightown and The Bluff were where he had become the Grandfather’s unwilling harbinger of death. Coming here brought visions of those assassinations, of victims five-years-dead, ghosting into his mind.
Lad had thought all day about this. On the one hand, Wiggen’s question was valid; what did Vonlith’s death have to do with him? And Mya was right, too; he should be pleased that there was now one less person alive who could betray him. Besides, Norwood thought Lad was dead. If Lad’s curiosity changed that, would the guard captain renew the hunt for him?
But Mya’s reaction that morning had disturbed him. She was hiding something, something to do with Vonlith. There was only one place he might find answers, and he had calculated that his need for those answers outweighed the risk of Norwood discovering his identity. Getting in to talk to the man, however, was not without problems. He could not afford to let anyone identify him. If they did…
I’m not here to kill anyone, he reminded himself. I’m just here to talk.
Part of the risk was his own fault. To placate Lad, Mya had posted Hunters to watch over the captain. He would have to avoid them to get into the townhouse unseen.
So where are they?
Ducking behind an ornate marble pillar, he examined the stately row of homes across the street. Though far more opulent than any neighborhood south of the river, the buildings in this area were a step down, both literally and figuratively, from the palatial mansions farther up the hill. The nobles of Twailin evidently wanted the captain of the Royal Guard to be near them, but not among them.
He crept closer, scanning the shadows and straining his senses, his bare feet silent against the slick cobbles. It was well past midnight, and the streets were deserted. The rains had slacked to a bare drizzle. The flickering street lamps barely penetrated the darkness, gleaming in well-defined halos of light.
Slowly, silently, he edged forward.
The faint, rhythmic thud of a heartbeat in the darkness a few steps ahead froze him in his tracks. He had found the first of Mya’s watchers. A faint scent identified the watcher as a woman. Staring into the shadow of an elaborate topiary hedge, he resolved her outline; she was not completely invisible. She was good, though, utterly quiet and breathing slowly, her eyes sweeping back and forth, scanning the row of townhouses. He took a moment to admire her skill before slipping away to find another path toward his goal.
Gauging her angle of view, he guessed where the next watcher would be. He didn’t know how many Mya had placed, but her resources were not so vast that she would dedicate more than two or three. The woman watched the front of the house from an angle. He assumed that there would be one more on this side, and found the man not far away, hunkered high up beneath the awning of a balcony.
The front was well watched.
The captain’s townhouse stood in the middle of a row of buildings with shared sidewalls, so only the front and back were exposed. The block’s inner courtyard had entrances at each corner. Lad slipped beneath an archway and scrutinized the courtyard from deep shadow. The flower beds, hedges, and trees were so pruned and manicured that they looked artificial. There he spotted a third Hunter pacing the rooftop of the building across the courtyard with a clear view of the back of Norwood’s home.
Lad eased forward. If he could time his entry, he might be able to slip inside when the watcher made his turn. Movement in the shadows ahead froze him in mid-step. On the back doorstep lay an enormous mastiff, its collar linked by a heavy chain to the railing post. As if it sensed his gaze, the dog raised its head. Lad cursed silently. Dogs were a problem. He could evade the perceptions of any man or woman, and even an elf or gnome, but he could not hide his scent from a dog. Any closer and it would surely bark. Slowly, he retraced his steps.
Lad reconsidered the two Hunters watching the front. They were positioned well, but no eyes could watch everywhere at once. The Hunters were probably bored and not as vigilant as they should be. That was good. He slipped across the street again and analyzed the front of the townhouse.
The structure was built of quarried stone, polished smooth and set so close that the seams between the stones were too thin for any kind of climbing device. Tall bay windows protruded from each of the three stories, casting a narrow shadow from the nearest streetlight, though the light’s hooded fixture cut the illumination just above the highest window. Entering through a window was out of the question; shuttered and no doubt locked, they were in plain view of Mya’s Hunters.
Looking up, above where the hooded streetlight illuminated the structure, Lad finally found his point of entry. Each home in the row had a peaked roof with ornate eaves. Above the third story, the stone gave way to a low, triangular section of wooden shakes. Set among the shakes, directly above the center window, was a louvered ventilation grate. The grate wasn’t made to open, but it could probably be removed with minor coaxing. With no moonlight from above, and none reaching up from the streetlight below, the grate was virtually invisible from the street.
Reaching back, Lad checked the small pouch of tools he had strapped to the small of his back, ensuring that they would not rattle.
Good.
A shadow among shadows, he eased back around the corner, out of view of the two Hunters, and made his move.
With a quick flip, he was over the wrought iron fence of the corner townhouse and back into the shadows. He froze and listened. Nothing had changed. His invisibility was intact.
He leapt to the sill of a ground-floor window and sprang up to the heavy metal brackets supporting the corner downspout. With a quick hop, he gripped the bottom sill of the second floor bay window. He scrambled up like a spider and launched himself again to grasp the downspout brackets, and gained the third floor window. Pulling himself up, he edged back into the shadows.
Pause. Breathe. Listen. He heard nothing out of the ordinary, and looked up to the ornate roof eaves. Now for the tricky bit.
The eav
es were less than six feet from the top of the window, and the downspout, only four feet to his right, arched up to the corner of the building. The eaves jutted out about two feet. He would have to grasp the edge of the roof and flip himself up. Two things could cause problems: rotten wood and moss-covered shingles. Either one could send him plummeting three floors to the street.
Fear… It was there, niggling at him, reminding him of all he had to lose. For five years now he’d lived with his emotions freed from the magic that had made him a slave. He’d gained more than he’d lost, certainly, and had learned to deal with the fear.
All or nothing, he thought, committing his mind to the maneuver.
Lad launched himself into the night, grasped the outer rim of the eaves, and flipped up and over. No rotten wood and no slick moss. He landed like a dark bird upon the smooth slate shingles.
Stop. Breathe. Listen.
No sign that he had been spotted, and the light from the hooded street lamps didn’t reach this high.
Perfect!
He moved along the edge of the roof, keeping low and watching to make sure he didn’t silhouette himself against any lights for the Hunter across the courtyard. He reached Norwood’s roof, climbed to the peak, stretched himself flat along the shingles, and edged out to peer down. He could not see the watcher on the balcony, for the awning blocked his view, and the woman at street level scanned only from side to side. Even if she looked up, she probably wouldn’t see him.
Probably.
The attic vent was directly below, but still out of reach. The shakes around it looked too slick and thin to provide any grip or support, but he might be able to grasp the louvers of the grating itself. Lad gauged the distance from the edge—about four feet—and the timbers supporting the eaves—solid enough—and the angle between the two. Yes, this would work…if he didn’t slip and fall to his death.
He looked down, and the fear edged up from his stomach. Fear is a good thing, he reminded himself. Fear keeps you alive. Just don’t let it paralyze you.
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