The Midnight Spy

by Kiki Hamilton

  The tutor headed straight for Nica. “Don’t you try that coy act with me,” she said as she marched forward, one meaty hand clutching several books, the other planted on her ample hips. “You know perfectly well that you were scheduled for astrology this morning to be followed by languages. I’ve been waiting.”

  “I had, um... uh… an appointment this morning.” Nica fled across the room with Lady Angeline following on her heels.

  “What appointment?”

  “With my, ah… father, of course.” Nica tried to sound forceful and confident though she was sure she failed miserably. “Don’t you remember?” She cast a sideways glance at her tutor.

  “I’ll verify with your father later, but for now—sit,” Lady Angeline commanded. She pointed with her free hand at the two overstuffed chairs positioned in front of the massive fireplace. For all of Mosaba’s cruelty over the years, he had also insisted she be educated, especially in languages.

  Nica chewed on the corner of her lower lip as she waited for the lesson to begin. It concerned her that Shanks suspected she was going to run. How could he have known? This could be her only chance to escape from her father without being caught.

  “We’re going to start with conversational Jarisan this morning.” Lady Angeline’s precisely enunciated voice broke into her thoughts. Nica nodded in acquiescence and gave Lady Angeline a contrite smile. She was pleased, for she didn’t need to think much about speaking in Jarisan—the words came easily to her.

  Unbidden, the vision of the manacled prisoner came to mind. By now he was locked in the dungeon, probably being tortured. Nica shivered at the idea. He hadn’t looked like a king in his tattered, blood-stained clothes. Yet, there had been a ferociousness in his eyes when he’d spotted her that spoke otherwise. For a second, she wished she could save him. Nica shook her head. What an impossible idea.

  Lady Angeline began a conversation in Jarisan and Nica answered each question easily. Thoughts of the prisoner lingered and she shoved herself out of the chair and moved to the open window in an attempt to escape the images that haunted her. There was no way to save him. She needed to get away from here and save herself.

  In response to Lady Angeline’s questions, Nica rattled off the names of Jarisan historical figures as she gazed out onto the village just beyond the guarded walls of the castle. Small puffs of dust, like dirty grey clouds, came from behind the loaded carts of vendors as they made their way to and from the town center for market. Dogs barked and in the distance, laughter rang out. Somewhere closer, the cry of a baby cut through the air.

  Lady Angeline switched languages in the middle of the conversation and began speaking in Narsgedian. Surprised, Nica glanced over her shoulder at the tutor, but the older woman continued so Nica followed her lead.

  A surge of excitement welled inside her. She couldn’t believe the day was finally here. That it was almost time for all of the planning she and Toppen had done to become reality. She pushed the heavy, diamond shaped panes of the window open enough to lean out on the stone sill. The cool fall air felt refreshing against her skin. It felt like freedom.

  “Tell me what you see out the window,” Lady Angeline said. “In Narsgedian.”

  Nica began to describe the village below: A church with a single towering steeple, the fountain in the town square, the market area where the vendors parked their wagons to sell their wares and of course, the clock tower. Her eyes soaked in the familiar sights, as though to store them in her memory forever.

  “Excellent!”

  Startled at the exclamation, Nica looked over her shoulder to find Lady Angeline beaming at her.

  “Wherever did you learn the dicadian rhythms of the Narsgededon forest people?” The tutor sounded incredulous. “I don’t believe I’ve heard five non-native people in my lifetime be able to enunciate the ariatic structure of the harmonic contrast like that.”

  Nica’s lips twisted in a grin. “Why, Lady Angeline, you shouldn’t be so modest. You know you’ve taught me everything I know.”

  The tutor raised her eyebrows. “Is that so?”

  “Well, I suppose the songs that Y’ong Toobu used to sing might have something to do with it, too,” Nica said, turning away to hide her smile.

  “Y’ong Toobu?” Lady Angeline questioned.

  “She was a maid when I was young. My father captured her in the Narsgededon and brought her back to Ravensfell.” Nica’s voice dropped. “I suppose she amused him—like keeping a wild animal for a pet.” She sighed. “At the time she seemed very big to me but I realize now she was not much more than a girl herself.”

  Nica’s vision clouded with memories. “She must have been very scared. All alone, taken away from her family.” She tried to shrug away the guilt she still carried at not being able to help the girl. “We were two lonely girls without their mothers. So Y’ong Toobu taught me songs of the forest.”

  Lady Angeline’s voice was soft. “And what became of this young woman? I’ve never seen her.”

  The weight of her memories pressed down on her and Nica wished she didn’t have to answer. “She fell from the turret wall and died.” Nica whispered the lie. Y’ong Toobu had jumped. And it was her father’s fault.

  Lady Angeline drew her breath in with a soft hiss, then spoke in a firm tone. “That is a sad story, but I’m pleased you’ve retained so much of the language. You have a special gift. We will now go on to Ajertaukan.”

  Nica repeated the phrases after her tutor. Though she liked to tease the other woman, Nica had to admit she enjoyed the praise Lady Angeline lavished on her for her ability with languages. In all honesty, Nica didn’t see how anyone could find the subject difficult.

  Lady Angeline’s voice interrupted Nica’s thoughts. “That will conclude our languages lesson for today. Remember to work on the guttural emphasis when in the second conjugative. Next time we will stretch you a bit and start work on Corsosh.”

  Nica glanced at her teacher from beneath her lashes. She didn’t want to give the woman the impression she cared about the topic, but Corsosh? A twinge of regret twisted her stomach. That might be interesting, but she would be gone before the lessons began.

  The Isles of Corsock were a bit mysterious. They didn’t share a trading relationship with Sartis as the islands were located far away in the southern part of the Sea of Nephalon and they did most of their trading with nearby Singaty. It was rumored however, that Mosaba had befriended the ruthless pirate Canja, who had claimed one of the islands as his own.

  The pungent smell of a roasting pig drifted on the wind and caught Nica’s attention, bringing her back to the present. She inhaled deeply to savor the aroma. From her viewpoint she could see servants walking the pathways within the gates, meeting with traders and vendors. The sun burnished skin of the farming Ajertauks from across the mountains was always easy to recognize when they came to negotiate the sale of their abundant crops.

  Nica caught sight of dark-haired Philicia, her father’s latest mistress, walking with a companion along the garden pathway below, their heads bent together in conversation. She watched as the woman stopped, her hand resting on the young man’s sleeve, a coy smile on her face. As their heads moved apart Nica inhaled sharply. Philicia was talking with Jonn Shanks.

  As though feeling the weight of her gaze, Shanks looked up and locked eyes with her. Embarrassed she’d been caught spying on them, Nica pulled back from the window. But not before she saw his lips mouth the word ‘wait’.

  ica eased the door closed behind her, careful not to let the iron latch clang against the frame of the lock. The last thing she wanted to do was alert the guards. She carried a large canvas bag on her back and the uncomfortable pressure of the buckle dug into her spine as she moved on tiptoe down the hallway.

  Her father and his men were heading north to cross over the Great Divide—the huge canyon that split the continent north and south between the lands of Sartis and Jarisa—and continue on toward HighGarden Palace in LaBricé.

 
; Nica patted her pocket where she’d hidden the map, reassuring herself once again she hadn’t forgotten it. She and Toppen planned to go the opposite direction of her father and his men and take the southern sliver across the Great Divide, then head along the coast of Jarisa to reach Pont d’Suree where the University was located. They were counting on Nica’s ability with the Jarisan language to talk their way out of any sticky situations that might arise.

  As she tiptoed down the hall, Shanks’ warning not to leave Sartis echoed in her head. Nica quickened her pace as though to outrun his words. She’d heard nothing more of the prisoner. Had she not seen the battered man with her own eyes she wouldn’t have known the king of Jarisa was in the castle, so efficient was his banishment to the dungeons. Once again she suppressed a guilty twinge. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she should somehow stop the persecution being meted out by her father’s orders.

  The hallway lanterns were dimmed for the night but the three-quarter moon cast a wash of blue light through the windows. Nica moved quickly through the stone corridors, confident of which hallways to take this time of night to avoid running into the guards. Her booted feet were silent as she hurried down the stairs. She slipped out a side door and headed for the stable.

  Dim shadows filled the barn, swallowing her whole as she entered, yet it wasn’t enough to stop the erratic pounding of her heart. This would be the tricky part—to take a horse without the stable master hearing her. She hurried to the far end of the stables and entered a stall where a horse nickered in greeting. Nica’s breath came in small hiccups as she saddled the animal with quick, efficient movements. If she were caught now it would be very difficult to explain why she was taking a horse out alone in the dead of night. She tried not to imagine Mosaba’s reaction should she be caught. She really didn’t want to think about what he would do.

  Nica led the horse out of the stall, his hooves quiet against the hard-packed dirt floor. She pulled herself into the saddle, glad for the black valote pants that she had thought to wear.

  “Let’s go, boy,” she said softly as she urged her mount toward the stable exit. As they passed a nearby stall an alarmed whinny filled the air. Several other whinnies and snorts answered. Nica urged her horse to a quicker pace and glanced over her shoulder toward the stable master’s sleeping quarters. To her horror, candlelight flickered to life in his window.

  She kicked the mare into a run.

  “You there! Stop!”

  Nica bent low over the horse’s neck as they raced from the large barn. As if sensing her uneasiness the horse spooked at more than one shadow blown by the night wind, making it difficult to keep her seat. Behind her, shouts sounded in the night. By the light of the pale moon, Nica steered the horse though the small orchard toward the hidden gate, leaning low over his neck. When they reached the arbor the horse shied and refused to enter the shadowed walkway, prancing in an erratic rhythm. Desperate, Nica slid out of the saddle and grabbed the horse’s reins in a tight grip under its chin.

  “C’mon boy, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” She spoke in a low, soothing tone, fighting the urge to jerk the horse through the arched passageway to the vine-hidden door. She cooed and clucked and with the whites of his eyes showing, the horse slowing entered the covered walkway, his ears flat against his head.

  Once they reached the end of the arbor it only took a moment to sweep the vines aside and push the door open. Sensing freedom the horse bolted through the small opening to the other side, almost jerking the reins free from Nica’s grip.

  Outside the gate, Nica clambered back into the saddle. She was far enough away from the sentries posted along the parapet to be seen. She kicked her horse into a gallop and raced away from the castle. She was free! The big hood of her dark cloak flew back as she rode south. Toppen was going to be waiting for her at the fork in the road that led toward the sea port of Galeron.

  Her heart pounded in time with her horse’s hooves against the hard-packed dirt road. It was a long twenty minute ride before Nica reached their meeting place. She pulled her horse to a stop, conscious that her own shortness of breath seemed to match his heaving sides as she peered into the dark shadows of the surrounding trees. She searched for any sign of Toppen—but there was nothing. A wave of worry flooded over her. Had she arrived first? Had Toppen run into trouble and been delayed?

  Nearby bushes rattled with movement. With an uncomfortable twist of her stomach Nica reached for the dagger hidden in her belt as she wondered what beast lay hidden there.

  “You’ve got the map?”

  Nica jumped at the sound of Toppen’s voice. His elongated shadow swathed her in darkness as he left the shelter of a Junbutgen tree.

  “Yes,” she choked.

  He frowned. “Are you all right?”

  “You surprised me, that’s all.”

  Toppen smiled and urged his horse close enough to pull her hood back up. The backs of his fingers lingered on the skin of her cheek. “Let’s check the route one more time.”

  Nica pulled the map from the pocket inside her cloak and unfolded the parchment, smoothing the stiff creases. The wind gusted around them and blew the corners, making it difficult to read. He reached over and held one corner, balancing it between the two of them.

  “We’re right here.” She pointed. “If we follow this trail we can reach the southernmost sliver in about four hours.” Her finger traced a path along the dark brown color of the Great Divide. “My father’s group is headed north, toward Jorcardan. There’s a bigger sliver there that stretches across the divide. One that shouldn’t be guarded.” She glanced at Toppen to gauge his reaction. “I think we need to stay as far away from LaBricé as we can, especially now that Jacoby has been captured. I’m sure there are soldiers everywhere looking for him.”

  “Yes.” Toppen nodded. “We don’t do dare go all the way down into Ry’dontt and risk being seen. We’d be trapped there.” His finger followed a trail on the page. “Once we cross, let’s head down here toward Mar’ligaan and then take the route along the Cliffs of Seniesta back around to Pont d’Suree.”

  “Five days, you think?” Nica said.

  “If all goes well.” Toppen grinned, his eyes glowing with excitement. “Five days to freedom.” He leaned close and before she knew what he was planning his lips claimed hers. She pulled back in surprise, but Toppen never blinked. He smiled into her eyes. “Five days until we start our new life.”

  Nica forced a smile as she re-folded the map and slipped it back inside the fabric layers of her dark cloak. She wished she had the same confidence as Toppen. Once she was further away from her father she would feel better, she told herself. Safer.

  “Let’s go, then,” Toppen said. “This storm is coming up fast. We need to get as far as we can tonight.” He gave his horse a nudge and they took off at a gallop.

  THEY’D BEEN RIDING through the dark in a drenching wind-blown rain for what felt like hours when Toppen signaled for Nica to stop. The wool of her cape had repelled the rain at first, but over time water had soaked through the material, chilling her. She was shivering as she pulled to a stop next to him.

  To their right stretched the Great Divide, a gaping chasm of rock that split the continent, providing the border between Jarisa and Sartis. The wind howled with an eerie moan as it blew across the great canyon.

  “The sliver where we need to cross is just ahead.” Toppen pointed into the shadows.

  Nica edged her mount closer to the edge of the canyon, peering through the darkness trying to judge the drop as well as locate the sliver. She had read that in some places the canyon was so vast that the other side shimmered like a distant mirage. But in a few spots the canyon narrowed to a stone’s throw. It was here that thin ‘slivers’ or land bridges existed, allowing passage, albeit treacherous, to the other side. She could barely make out a crooked finger of land stretching into open space.

  “This is the only sliver south of Berjerac.” Toppen said. “We should be able to cross here
unseen. Unless, of course,” his voice tightened, “your father has scouts watching.”

  Nica’s breath caught in her throat. They were at war—of course her father would have scouts out. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She searched the surrounding trees for any movement.

  “Let’s watch for a bit,” she whispered. “If I’m caught and returned to my father as a runaway I’ll never see the light of day again.” She nudged her horse into the dark shadows under a tree and dropped her reins. She shivered against the chill of the night wind and rubbed her arms, trying to regain some warmth.

  “Well…if we’re going to stop….here, hold these.” Toppen handed his reins up to Nica and slid off his horse.

  She looked at him with a frown.

  “Nature calls. I’ll be right back.”

  “Now?”

  Toppen shrugged and disappeared into the trees.

  Wind-blown clouds suddenly eclipsed the moon and the night grew darker. Nica’s teeth chattered as she waited for Toppen to return, her eyes searching the night for any kind of threat. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

  A shadow moved in the trees to her right and Nica heaved a sigh of relief that Toppen had returned. It only took a split-second before she realized the shadow was on horseback. Someone else was approaching.

  The silhouette of a horse and rider emerged from the shelter of the forest, headed in her direction. Alarmed, Nica twisted around in her saddle to look for Toppen but he was still hidden among the trees.

  “Toppen,” she called quietly. “Toppen.”

  No answer. She was alone.

  The dark figure rode a black mount, making them blend with the night. He rode toward her at an alarming pace. As he came closer, Nica could discern there were two riders on the horse, though the person in back rode in an oddly limp fashion. They appeared to be headed for the land bridge.

  A blast of wind cut through the trees making the branches sigh and sway. Charging forward, the rider pulled his mount up at the last possible second to view the sliver before he began his crossing.