“You could have bloody well fooled me,” Draken growled, but they clasped arms and then hands, each meeting the other’s eyes. The unlikeliest of friends made over the death of a child, Osias had once claimed, and it wasn’t far off the truth.
Va Khlar moved to unlock the others. “Sorry. For your protection and all that.”
“How do you figure?” Aarinnaie asked.
Va Khlar dipped his chin to her. “Princess. I’ll explain your unconventional reception, shall I? While we have a meal below in private. Come, Your Highnesses, Captain. You look like you’ve traveled fair distance.”
Or perhaps a bath first? Even I can smell you.
Draken ignored Bruche, but Va Khlar did take them to rooms to bathe and change clothes. More borrowed clothes. Draken didn’t know why he cared, but he did. He missed his loose trousers, boots fitted just to him, and the reassuring weight of Elena’s pendant resting against his chest.
Simple fare was laid in a comfortable sitting room where a warm fire blazed. Candles and oil lamps lit every handspan of the place. Draken lowered his head and squinted as he eased down onto a bench. “Can you put out some lights?”
Va Khlar ignored his ungraciousness, waved the slaves off, and shut the door behind them before moving to pour out wine. “I expected you, though hope waned as time went on. How did you manage it?”
“You first,” Draken said, resettling his mask over his eyes.
Va Khlar dipped his chin and handed him a flagon, and poured two more for the others. “I’ve spies here, Akrasians who’ll wag tongues to Ilumat. I wasn’t exactly under orders to capture you, but I thought it best to make it appear that way. My captain, who I trust, was under orders to lock you up here. Not to imprison you, but protect you.”
“So he knew who we are?”
“Aye, he suspected.” A soft grunt. “But you lack the Queen’s pendant and you wear a mask. If you mean to disguise yourself, you did a fair job of it.”
Princes don’t apologize; the first lesson drummed in him by Thom. “I’ve developed a … condition.”
“He can see in the dark now,” Aarinnaie said impatiently. “Magic sight.”
Va Khlar, blurred by the gauzy fabric around Draken’s eyes, turned his head to study Draken.
“Darksight, the gods call it. Where is my daughter, Va Khlar?”
Va Khlar sat across from him and put his hands on his knees with a long sigh. Draken’s heart chilled. “I don’t know. I received a message she was to be brought here. As time went on, I thought it impossible you escaped the city—”
“Who? Who brought the message?”
Va Khlar shook his head. He didn’t know. “Then when she didn’t appear day after day, and I heard Brîn was to be given to the Ashen, I assumed she was caught or waylaid. Who had her, Your Highness?”
“The Mance. Setia, to be specific. They’ll be travelling together.”
Va Khlar’s usually ruddy cheeks paled.
Draken shook his head. “What?”
“I thought it didn’t signify until now.” Va Khlar lifted his head. His scars stood out against his pallid skin. “Someone attacked a group of Mance in the woods by the Eros.”
“Setia?” Aarinnaie asked.
“Just Mance proper. Five of them.” The words emitted from his tight jaw. “Downstream but close enough to the path here we’ve little doubt their purpose was Reschan.”
Little doubt … “You didn’t ask them where Setia and Sikyra is?”
“Couldn’t, being they were all dead.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Draken thrust himself up from his chair. “There is little magic that can touch the Mance. How did they die?”
“Looked to be the regular sort of way; stab wounds to the heart, mostly. Plenty of defensive wounds, as well. A few arrows spread around but I think they barely had time to take aim.”
Gods, it made no sense. “No Setia?”
“I’m sorry. We looked everywhere for survivors.”
“Obviously not everywhere.” Draken paced while Va Khlar watched, silent. “I must go there. Look for evidence.”
Va Khlar shook his head. “My men have already cleaned it up. We couldn’t leave Mance to rot in the woods.”
“The bodies?”
“On their way to the sea, Your Highness. I thought the fewer who see them, the better. It’s a sharp blow to confidence.”
“When do you think it happened?” Aarinnaie asked. “Tell us everything.”
“Couldn’t have been more than a night before I saw them from the looks of things. No evidence of the attack beyond the dead Mance. Not so much as a man’s bootprint.”
Aarinnaie sniffed, probably at the word man, but Draken shook his head at her. Her face shuttered; back to discipline. “This is madness. I’ve seen Osias fight. I’ve seen him stop hundreds of arrows.”
“More than once,” Tyrolean said. “This is a … devastating complication”
Draken had pushed past shock right into fury. An attack on the party that surely escorted his daughter. Killing Mance when … He blinked and looked up at Va Khlar.
“Your Highness?” Va Khlar said, chin tilted at an inquiring angle.
Draken shook his head and strode to the window, shoving the drapes aside and opening the shutters so that the cold breeze stirred the fire, making it snap and snarl. Below, people rushed about on business of their own. No one looked up to those who were warm in the Baron’s castle.
Va Khlar cleared his throat. “There’s something else.”
“Another attack?” Aarinnaie asked.
“No. An invitation … a standing invitation. I received it three sevennight ago—”
Around the time of the coup, wasn’t it?
Grimly. Aye. “From who?”
“That’s just it. It had no name. And that’s not the only odd bit. It’s not for you, Prince Draken. It’s for Captain Tyrolean.”
Draken looked at Tyrolean. “Who do you know in Reschan?”
“Or more importantly, who knows you’re here?” Aarinnaie added.
Tyrolean shook his head. His fingers had tightened to fists. “I’ve some few acquaintances from my stationing here, but no one leaps to mind.”
“Someone has been following your movements,” Aarinnaie said, looking none too pleased. Draken thought it might be because she wondered if it was another woman.
Draken snorted. “Even your future movements. The message arrived before we had even thought to leave Brîn.”
“Whoever it is wants you to meet him at The Mace Inn on the Eros whichever evening you’re available,” Va Khlar said. “It’s all I know.”
Tyrolean’s lip curled. By his expression Draken guessed the neighborhood wasn’t a nice one. Can I trust him, Bruche?
A beat passed. No. There is profit to be had by keeping your daughter from you. Unless you know for certain, have proof he isn’t involved in this … by Korde, he even shoved off your asking to see where they died. And now this invitation.
It had to have been Korde that killed the Mance.
You don’t know that for—
No one else has the power over them, not even Ma’Vanni. Do you think Va Khlar knows about the gods walking among us?
A hesitation. He might. He’s behaving oddly.
If so, Korde might have my daughter.
Again, you don’t know that. You must discuss this with Osias.
If only. Va Khlar was—is—my friend.
Before you were known as sundry, he was. When you had power, he was. Va Khlar is friends with whoever will make him coin and power, especially now.
Draken felt as if a weight on his shoulders had deflated all his strength and hope.
Let him think you ignorant. Let his prejudice blind him to your capabilities.
He wasn’t really sure what that meant, but he turned to face the room. “Whoever attacked the Mance has my daughter and Setia. They can’t have gotten far in a day. Likely they’d come here … Sikyra was ill and may yet be
. Va Khlar, put out word among the healers in the city.”
“Aye, Your Highness. If you need help with guards or coin …”
“We’ve rare enough to pay for information and a reward for her return. And I’d just as soon not draw so much attention to myself.”
Va Khlar’s brows dropped, probably wondering where he’d gotten it and where the money was kept now. In their things that had been taken from them? Draken could fair see the blades sharpening plans in his mind. Next stop for the trader-Baron, the baskets where the guards had dropped their belongings.
* * *
The markets were shutting up for the day and truth, the stallkeeps looked so harried and worn and, if he cared to admit it, hungry, he doubted they would have noticed a sundry with a baby … or anyone else for that matter. Tyrolean perfunctorily asked a few questions but returned shaking his head.
It was cold out on the street, but night had fallen enough Draken didn’t have to wear his blasted mask. Like Tyrolean said, there might be a few coins about with his face on them, but nothing like in Brîn.
“I’ve been thinking,” Aarinnaie said. “What if the mysterious meeting is from Setia?”
Tyrolean said. “But that would only be if she came straight here after taking the baby.”
“Setia wouldn’t come to some ruddy inn and set up a covert meeting.”
“She might, if there were no other way. If there were danger. Or if she had warning,” Aarinnaie said.
Patience, Khel Szi. Sometimes she has a good idea. Bruche kept his gaze firmly on Aarinnaie. A less than sisterly opinion of Aarinnaie seeped through their bond.
Draken grimaced inwardly. First Tyrolean, now you.
“We’ll go there and see if this person arrives,” Tyrolean said.
She shrugged. “It’ll be useful to find out what happened to the Mance.”
It was a point, though the last thing he felt like doing was lounging around an inn common room or a rowdy tavern. His body, every part of him, ached to find his daughter. He couldn’t do that drinking watered ale and listening to tellers spin tales.
Perhaps not, but you have no other options at the moment. Likely, Setia is in the city—
No. Likely she held by whoever attacked the Mance. Or worse. He looked at Aarinnaie. “How well known is it that Mance do not die when they are ‘killed’?”
By Tyrolean’s raised brows, he guessed not very.
“I wondered if you knew since you managed it with Truls,” Aarinnaie said, turning and leading them to gods knew what sort of place. “It’s not a secret, exactly, just something that doesn’t come up very often.”
Draken got a whiff of grave scent and turned to find Truls lingering at his side. He frowned, wondering where he went when he wasn’t following and interfering with things. The ghost was quiet. Damned awkward asking him if he knew anything about Setia, his daughter, or Osias in front of the others. Did he know who planned to meet them? Surely the ghost never appeared without reason, even if Draken had a tough time working out what that reason was.
He thought of Zozia and wondered if he’d actually killed her. He hadn’t seen her moon in the night sky since, but he’d lost track of the phases. He’d found it difficult no longer spending his nights on the open seas.
This night carried clouds and the sting of icy rain. And why shouldn’t foul weather follow him here? If snow was ankle deep in the Moonling Woods, where snow rarely fell, he might as well be as miserable as the troops he’d sent to fight there.
Draken. Bruche came forward, stalling his stride. The snow. It must be the gods’ work, aye?
Now that Draken thought about it in so many words he rather assumed so. Tyrolean glanced back at him, curious. He started walking again. It doesn’t matter.
Aye, but it does. It tells us at least one god is on the Monoean side of things.
I thought we knew that already. When they aren’t fighting each other, they’re trying to drive us mad.
Hardly on purpose, I think. It’s their nature, aye? And ours.
Whatever. I think they’re using Akrasia and Monoea to war amongst themselves.
Hm. The spirit was quiet while Aarinnaie searched out a table, didn’t find one, but returned with drinks. A quick glance showed only the roughest traders frequented the place, the sort that cared little for clean-swept floors or quality ale, so long as the drinks came cheap and regular. The erratic rhythm of conversation set him on edge and the scent of malty vomit assaulted his nose. At least the place was almost dim enough for his darksight, making his mask unneccesary.
You’re already on edge. Drink. Bruche lifted the cracked mug to his lips. But deep inside the chill that was Bruche, thoughts slithered like errings under Draken’s consciousness. He sighed and drank. When Bruche had it all worked out, he’d say so.
“He’s here.” Tyrolean was already headed for a table with a lone Akrasian man sitting there. Older and with a capable air, the man rose at the Captain’s approach.
“Tyrolean.”
Draken’s eyes widened. Aarinnaie snickered. Tyrolean held out his hand and the two exchanged grips. “It’s been a long time, Wes.” He gestured to Draken and lowered his voice. “Draken, Khel Szi of Brîn, meet Weswick. My brother.”
“Half-brother, youngling.” His greyed brows raised as he took in Draken, and then dipped his chin to Aarinnaie. “And the Szirin, I presume.” His Brînian wasn’t flawless, but comfortable.
Draken nodded, accepting the courtesy. “I wasn’t aware the Captain had a brother.”
“Ah, well.” Weswick waved a hand in dismissal and dropped back into Akrasian. “I’m a bastard from our father’s war years. The family doesn’t like to mention me.”
Tyrolean snorted softly. Draken sat so they all would, sliding his long leg over the worn bench. “We’ve that much in common, then.”
Weswick dipped his chin again. “I’d heard … rumors of your parentage, of your history. On the road, as it were, as you are now.”
“Rumors on the road often prove true,” Aarinnaie said.
“Aye, Princess. It’s what I’ve found as well. I assume you heard of the … unpleasantness with the Mance on said road.”
“You are very well-informed.” For a brother he’d never heard of. Draken gave Tyrolean a sidewise glance as he spoke.
“It’s my living to know, isn’t it?” He glanced at Tyrolean as well. “You really haven’t told them about me?”
“Your name hadn’t come up.” Tyrolean drank and added, ale shining on his lips, “My brother sells information.”
“Are you in the employ of the Queen?” Draken wasn’t privy to all of Elena’s machinations. There hadn’t been time to learn them all even if she had trusted him enough to share.
“No. I simply sell to whoever pays the most.”
“Which has been who, lately?” Aarinnaie asked.
Weswick glanced around, but their voices were already low. “The local trader-Baron. Lately.”
Draken grunted. “What do you know about the Mance?”
Weswick’s eyes narrowed. “I see no coin.”
“Consider me good for it.”
“Aye, it’s what people say when they aren’t.”
“Weswick.” Tyrolean’s voice was a whip. The table next to them quieted and glanced their way. Whatever Tyrolean had been about to say, it died in his throat. He swallowed, his lip curling a little. Instead he chose a generic: “His word is binding.”
Draken leaned forward. “What do you know?”
“They died by spear. Your friend Osias was not among them, nor his companion.” He worked his jaw as if it were sore, as if it had just been hit with a fist. Draken didn’t find the future possibility too far off the mark. “The Mance are dead in the way we die. Gone to Eidola as banes, most like.”
Draken stared a shade too long. “You can’t know all that for certain.”
Weswick lifted his chin. “Logic, my prince. And keen observation from long practice.”
“What
did you observe?” Draken growled.
“Beautiful Mance bodies sprawled on cold ground, bled out and lifeless.” He looked pleased, whether by their deaths or at delivering the news, Draken didn’t know.
Next to Draken, Aarinnaie’s breath hissed, covering whatever noise drawing a blade from her wrist sheath caused. It flashed in the corner of his darksight.
Draken wasn’t in the mood to be baited. “How did you see all that?”
“I know enough to follow trader-Barons when they leave their castles, don’t I?” His fingers curled as if he were holding tight to something. “I’ve more, too. You’re as fortunate as the tales tell.”
“If that were truth, dozens of heads wouldn’t be rotting on Citadel walls.” Draken rose, the bench scraping the dirt floor. “I’m finished here.”
Weswick sighed. “No need for dramatics to lower the price. I’m a reasonable man.”
“This is not a negotiation, brother. This is him at the end of his patience.” Despite their attracting some notice from nearby patrons, Tyrolean’s gaze was steady, fingers relaxed on the pitted wood table. “Please. Draken. Stay. I’ll see he talks.”
Bruche studied the man through Draken’s eyes. Greyed, worn features no different from a thousand others. Is he so desperate for money? Or something else.
I don’t care.
Ah, but Tyrolean does.
Draken clenched his jaw and sat again.
Weswick drew in a breath. Examined the table between them, eyes narrowed. “I knew about Ilumat’s plan. Well, I had guessed.”
“How?”
“He sent me as a messenger to Khein. They were far from happy to hear from him. I reckoned something more was afoot than sending more troops to a quiet front.”
“And you didn’t come warn me instead?”
“I hoped I was wrong.” Weswick’s voice dropped. His pale skin flushed. “And they held me at Khein until their troops departed.”
“They must be the first who managed it,” Tyrolean muttered.
“That Geffen is clever.” Draken cursed inwardly. Why hadn’t Geffen told him all this? “Unfortunately I made the mistake of thinking she was loyal, as well.”
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