“Is this your house?”
He smiled. “No. I’m going to find you something else to wear.”
“Will you take me home then?”
He supposed she meant the boat she’d arrived on. Kiam nodded. “Yes. Now stay down. I’ll only be a minute.”
The latch proved to be tied up with twine, making it impossible to open it from the other side. He gave up after a couple of futile attempts and grabbed the gate with both hands. Lifting himself up, he balanced on the top for a moment before dropping into the yard—straight into the path of a large, reddish brown dog about the size of a small pony with a low, threatening growl coming from his throat.
Staying crouched and low, Kiam immediately lowered his eyes and slowly turned his back to the beast, figuring the quickest way to become dinner was to challenge the brute. The massive dog continued to growl but didn’t attack. They stayed like that for an interminable length of time—Kiam not moving and the dog growling his warning. After a time, when Kiam didn’t react to the threat, or, indeed, make a move to run away, he felt a hot nose nudge against his hand. He let the dog push his palm for a moment, before he reacted, gently scratching the beast under its chin. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the strip of jerky he’d been chewing on while he waited on the roof opposite the inn.
He turned slightly and offered the dog the jerky. The beast snatched at it, but he jerked it out of reach before he lost a few fingers. “Ah! Gently, my friend, or not at all.”
Although he was speaking at little more than a whisper, the dog accepted his authority and sat down, looking at him expectantly. This time, when Kiam offered him the jerky, he took it from Kiam’s hand with much more decorum and then gobbled it down like he hadn’t seen food for a month.
Satisfied he was no longer on the menu, Kiam rose to his feet and headed for the clothesline. The small yard reeked of dog shit. He had to treat carefully to reach the line, where he pulled off a gray shirt and a pair of linen trousers. As he turned to leave, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, revealing the filthy squalor of the yard. The dog was bone thin, tied to a stake by the wall of the house. There was an empty clay water dish on the stoop leading to the back door, and a grimy scrap of rag by the wall that apparently served as the dog’s bed. It looked as if nobody had been in the yard for days, but the dog was too thin to be suffering only a few days of neglect.
Kiam squatted down again, and the dog came straight to him, looking at him with hopeful eyes. “When was the last time anybody checked on you?”
The dog licked his face in reply and sat down.
“I have to go,” he explained, wondering why he was explaining anything to a dog.
The beast reached up and placed a saucer-sized paw on Kiam’s knee.
He glanced around, wondering if the dog would simply be left to starve or, worse, die of dehydration. It wasn’t his problem, but no creature deserved to be treated like this. He patted the massive head, rose to his feet, and pulled out the wickedly sharp blade he’d used to slit Shilton Rik’s throat.
“I am a sentimental idiot,” he announced softly to the night, and then reached down and cut the rope securing the dog to the wall. He turned and cut the twine holding the latch shut and pulled open the gate in a startlingly loud screech of hinges. The dog was out through the gap before Kiam could warn Tritinka, but the beast wasn’t interested in the girl. He charged down the lane and stopped at the first puddle he found, lapping at it thirstily.
“Did you find something?”
Kiam handed her the clothes and turned to watch the dog guzzling from the puddle. Who knew how long it had been since the poor thing had been offered water. Once he’d drunk his fill, the dog wandered down the lane, sniffing at every interesting smell he encountered, which seemed to be every few feet. Kiam supposed someone would find him and take him in. Even if they didn’t and the dog ended up a stray roaming the city streets, the brute was still better off than locked in that squalid yard, tormented by thirst as he slowly starved to death.
“I’m ready.”
He turned to find Tritinka had changed into the too-large shirt. She hadn’t bothered with the trousers; the shirt reached almost to her ankles.
“Let’s get you to the docks, then.”
“What about the dog?”
“He’ll find his own way.”
The child smiled, her teeth white against her caramel skin. “I think he’s chosen his way.”
Kiam turned to find the dog had returned and was sitting behind him, as if waiting for them. “Shoo!”
The dog didn’t move. He just looked up at Kiam with trusting liquid brown eyes. Kiam turned back to Tritinka. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be off the first time he sees a cat. Let’s get you home, eh?”
Tritinka placed her hand in Kiam’s and smiled up at him. “You are a good person, Master Assassin. My brother won’t forget this kindness.”
Kiam turned in the direction of the docks, her small hand in his, muttering to himself as they headed back down the moonlit lane, “Actually, I’d rather he did forget. In fact, it might be better for everyone concerned if he forgets all about my kindness the moment he sails out of Greenharbour.”
Chapter
3
“MY MOTHER IS up to something, Chari.”
Rakaia had her arms folded over her horse’s back while she talked. When she got no immediate reaction to her news, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure nobody else in the stables could overhear them before turning back to her half-sister, adding, “She went to see Naveen Raveve this morning.”
Charisee kept up her long strokes on Snow Blaze’s withers with the currycomb and said nothing.
“What do you suppose she’s up to?”
“I have no idea.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Curiosity in this place gets you disappeared,” Charisee said without looking up. “If you had any brains you’d shut up about it, too.”
Sometimes, Rakaia mused, Charisee forgot who was the princess and who was the slave in this relationship. “If you had any brains you’d shut up about it, your highness.”
Charisee looked up. She wasn’t smiling. “I’m already grooming your horse for you, your highness. Don’t push it.”
“You’re mad at me.”
“What gave it away?”
“Why are you mad at me?”
“Because you’re a fool and you’re going to get us both in trouble if you don’t keep that big mouth of yours shut.”
Before Rakaia could scold Charisee for her rudeness—or her tactless honesty—she heard footsteps approaching. Firm, booted footsteps. It was probably one of the eunuch grooms who served the harem stables. She waited until they passed the stall and faded into the distance before she turned back to Charisee.
“What are you talking about?”
“What am I—Gods, Rakaia! Where have you been this past month? Father is trading one of his legitimate daughters for unfettered access to Highcastle.”
“So?”
“So . . . who do you think he’s considering?”
“Not me. I’m way too old.”
“You hope you’re way too old, you mean.”
A chill gripped Rakaia despite Talabar’s notoriously hot and humid spring. “Do you think that’s why mother went to see Naveen? To stop my name being put forward?”
“Can you think of another reason? I’ve heard stories about Frederak Branador. They say he’s old and diseased and a lecher. His last wife died of syphilis, they say. And she caught it from him.”
“How do you know that?”
“Slaves talk.”
“Slaves gossip, you mean.”
“Either way, he’s looking for a new wife and your father has far too many daughters to choose from.”
“Then I have nothing to worry about,” she said. “You missed a spot.”
“Charisee shouldn’t be grooming your horse at all, Rakaia. You should be doing it yourself.”
> She spun around in alarm to find her mother standing at the entrance to the stall. The princess was dressed far too formally for the stables. Her skirt was a diaphanous cloud of blue silk, her jeweled bodice displaying her ample bosom and her surprisingly well-toned midriff. Her soft leather slippers were encrusted in crystals and were the reason she’d been able to sneak up on the girls without them hearing her approach. It was the sort of outfit one wore for a special occasion. It was striking and more than a little seductive—something completely wasted on a man like Naveen Raveve.
“Is that what you wore to visit a slave?” Rakaia hated Naveen and the power he held over them all, even more than she’d hated his predecessor, Lecter Turon. He had always been a snake. Naveen had pretended to be their friend. It annoyed her to see her mother pandering to him, even if it was on her behalf.
“Charisee, please go back to the palace and ensure your mistress’s lavender gown is clean and ready to be worn tomorrow at dinner.”
Charisee handed Rakaia the currycomb over Snow Blaze’s back with a serves-you-right sort of look, and then ducked under his head to stand beside her. Her base-born half-sister curtsied to Princess Sophany. “Will that be all, your highness?”
“For now, dear,” Sophany said. “Run along. I wish to talk to my daughter in private.”
Charisee curtsied again and hurried off, leaving Rakaia alone in the stall with her mother.
“I don’t know why you sent her away, Mama. You know I’m going to tell her everything we talk about later.”
“Not this time,” Sophany said, straining to listen. Once Charisee’s footsteps had faded to nothing, she pointed to the comb. “The horse can wait for his rubdown. Let’s walk so we can’t be overheard.”
Rakaia had lived in the king’s harem all her life and knew well the only place one could guarantee a private conversation was walking along the many graveled paths that crisscrossed the harem gardens. Curious, but unworried, she placed the comb on the ledge and followed her mother out into the corridor between the stalls, making sure she secured the door behind her as they left. Neither of them said a word until Snow Blaze and the stables were well behind them.
Once she judged it safe, Sophany slipped her arm through Rakaia’s and smiled at her as they walked. “No matter what I tell you, darling, I want you to smile and nod and laugh like a giddy girl as if we are sharing a bit of idle gossip.”
Rakaia smiled. Her mother was being quite melodramatic. “You’re worried someone is watching us?”
“I am certain of it. Even if they weren’t watching us before today, after my visit to Naveen this morning, you can be certain his spies are everywhere now.”
Rakaia glanced up at the high wall surrounding the harem, patrolled by her father’s guards, and then around the riotously fabulous gardens. Full of nooks and crannies and flowers of every imaginable color and type, the spring air was heavy with their perfume and the buzzing of frantic bees, quite drunk on the endless bounty. Their low humming was hardly noticeable unless you listened for it. Other than that, they appeared to be alone. It was almost lunchtime. There was nobody in sight, but in the distance Rakaia could hear the sounds of her younger sisters playing. She thought her mother was being overly cautious. But she’d seen women escorted out of the harem for no apparent reason, never to be seen again, so she wasn’t prepared to completely dismiss her paranoia.
“What did you say to Naveen?” Rakaia asked, a little alarmed Sophany might have done something foolish. “That he would set his spies on us?”
“Have you ever wondered why you have blue eyes, Rakaia?”
Despite instructions to seem giddy and unconcerned, she looked at her mother in surprise. “What?”
“You have blue eyes,” she repeated. “Now laugh as if I’ve said something hysterical.”
Rakaia let out a fake laugh for the benefit of anybody who might be watching and then leaned in closer to her mother’s ear. “So does Charisee,” she hissed. “And half the slaves in the harem. It’s probably because we have, you know, the same father.”
“Charisee is the daughter of your father and a whore of who-knows-what ancestry,” Sophany reminded her without malice, a fixed and entirely false smile on her face. She wasn’t being mean. It was the truth, after all. “You, on the other hand, are a daughter of the Royal House of Talabar and the Royal House of Lanipoor. We come in many shades of green and brown, my dear, but until now, nobody ever produced a blue-eyed beauty like you.”
“You’re trying to hide whatever bad news you have for me with flattery,” Rakaia accused through an insincere smile.
“I’m trying to help you understand what I’ve done for you, Rakaia. You need to appreciate that no matter how distasteful, what has been done has been done to protect you.”
Rakaia would have stopped her mother right there to demand an explanation, but Sophany had her by the arm and continued to drag her ever so subtly along the graveled path. “What are you talking about, Mama? What have you done?”
“I have bribed Naveen Raveve to put your name, and only your name, forward to the king as a bride for Frederak Branador.”
Rakaia laughed and this time it was quite genuine. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I am serious, Rakaia. You will be gone from the Talabar harem within a week. I believe the plan is to send you to Greenharbour to stay with your sister Adrina until the wedding. The ceremony will take place in the Temple of the Gods at the Sorcerers’ Collective at the end of summer. Lord Branador is very devout, it seems.”
“Why would you do this to me?”
Sophany didn’t answer.
Rakaia studied her mother closely, looking for some hint she was joking, but underneath the false air of cheerfulness she wore for the benefit of Naveen Raveve’s spies, her mother’s eyes were filled with pain. “What’s really going on, Mama? Why does it matter that I have blue eyes?”
“They are proof of my crimes, Rakaia.”
“Crimes? What crimes? Stop being ridiculous. If you have a problem, you shouldn’t go to that worm Naveen Raveve to fix it. You should go straight to the king. My father—”
“Is not who you think he is,” Sophany said softly. “And you need to be gone from the harem before the king learns the truth.”
Rakaia was stunned into silence.
“Smile!” Sophany ordered. “We are supposed to be talking about something trivial!”
“Triv—” Rakaia began. She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where to begin. The implications of her mother’s news were only just beginning to sink in. “He’ll kill me,” she said after a moment, certain of that one thing. “If he finds out about this, the king will kill me, and you, and whoever . . . Who is my father, by the way, if not the king? And how did you even manage such a thing here in the harem surrounded by eunuchs and loronged court’esa?”
Sophany looked around, still fearful of being overheard, before she answered in a low voice. “Even in here, the Captain of the Guard is traditionally an entire male.”
Rakaia took a moment to realize what her mother was telling her. It felt as if the very ground upon which she stood was crumbling to dust beneath her. She managed to force out a loud and entirely false laugh for the benefit of any spies watching, then hissed out of the corner of her mouth, “Gods preserve us, Mama! Are you telling me you had an affair with the Captain of the Guard?”
Sophany’s eyes filled with pain. “Don’t make it sound so sordid, Rakaia. It wasn’t just an affair. We were in love.”
“Which is all very romantic of you, Mama. But it doesn’t alter the fact I’m a bastard and not a princess. Does he know about me?”
Sophany nodded. “Of course. I told him as soon as I knew I was pregnant.” Her mother’s eyes softened with the memory for a moment and she smiled a genuine smile. “I had this ludicrous idea in my head that we’d run away together and live . . . I don’t know . . . just live. To be honest, even back then, my fantasy didn’t really reach much beyond getting out of
this gilded prison.”
“I gather your heroic captain thought otherwise?” Rakaia said, wondering if that made her true father a cad or a realist.
“Even attempting such a thing would have gotten us both killed. In the end we agreed to say nothing. He asked for a posting to Bordertown and left a few days after I realized I was pregnant, and sanity prevailed. For my part, to protect us both, I made certain I caught the eye of the king as soon as I could, so there would be no question about my child’s paternity.”
Rakaia didn’t know what to say. Everything she knew about herself was a lie. Everything she’d ever thought about her mother was wrong. And the man she loved as a father would likely kill her if he ever learned the truth.
“Why now?” she asked eventually, forcing herself to think this through rationally. As if that were possible. “Why are you telling me this now? Gods, why are you telling me at all?”
“Because Meyrick has been arrested.”
Rakaia frowned, wondering what difference the arrest of some general who’d offended her little brother made, until it dawned on her what Sophany was getting at. “Meyrick Kabar? General Kabar? Dear gods, he was the Captain of the Guard back then?”
“Lower your voice!” Sophany ordered looking around fearfully.
“Has he betrayed you?”
“Not yet,” her mother said. “But they are torturing him to learn of some plot that undoubtedly exists only in Alaric’s head. I fear he’ll say something, eventually . . . no man can resist torture forever.”
“And you think this Hythrun brute can save me?”
“I think a betrothal to any Hythrun, brute or otherwise, will get you over the border and out of the king’s reach,” Sophany said. “Once you reach Hythria, you can disappear, but without this betrothal, you’ll never get out of the harem alive.”
Her mother was right about that much, but her plan only took care of Rakaia; Sophany would be in more danger than her daughter if Meyrick Kabar betrayed them. “What about you, Mama?”
“I have a plan to take care of myself.”
Rakaia knew she was lying, but was too stunned, too confused, to call her mother out. She couldn’t think. Could barely comprehend the change in her fortunes these last few minutes had wrought. “What . . . what do I tell Charisee?”
The Lyre Thief Page 3