The woman laughed. "Don't you ever get tired of questioning the inscrutable motives of royals, Eshwyn?"
Ialin appreciated the reminder. It never hurt to remember that the upper echelons of the king's staff, and his family's personal assistants and aides, mostly consisted of trusted aunts, uncles, and cousins. Terrin relied on those few nonswitchers who could enter the rooms on the top two floors for everything from tidying up to strategizing. "I'm just hoping Jarvid gets tired of meeting with rumpled, exhausted, travel-filthy merchants after just this one time."
Ialin knew the actual business of trading and negotiation would occur in the courtroom, in the presence of nobles, litigants, diplomats, and whoever else had come to deal with the kingdom. Few were accorded the honor of meeting directly with any official before the proceedings. Likely, this was to be a friendly conference, only tangentially related to trading; and that realization only heightened Ialin's discomfort. Bartering he understood. He dreaded the thought of exchanging pleasantries with a stranger while feigning an extensive friendship.
The guard loosed another salvo of laughter. "I'll let him know you're here. Anything you want?"
Prinivere's mind reading would be nice. "No. Thank you." Eshwyn had a known penchant for gruff, sometimes crude, humor, so Ialin added sarcastically, "Who needs a warm bath or a nap on clean linens when he can sit in rock-hard, ass-pinching chairs?"
The woman raised her brows, but a few of the men smiled this time. They all exited, closing the door behind them.
For the first time, Ialin allowed himself to pace in a swift, short oval, dispelling some of the pent up energy he had held in check for too long. He glanced down at formal pantaloons that hid a carefully manufactured scar on his right ankle. Road dust had settled into the cuffs, further marring silks that already had a tear at the knee. It was the best garb he could find in Vernon's cottage, castoffs from some wealthy baron or merchant who could afford not to bother patching his clothing. Or, perhaps, a servant, tailor, or washerwoman had swiped the garment from a man with enough wealth not to notice one item missing, then donated it to the rebels' cause. It was even possible that someone of means had taken refuge with Vernon, leaving the silks in exchange for something less noticeable so that another could use them in future operations. Vernon had a kind heart that attracted strays and runaways of many stripes. His home had become a sanctuary, scouted by most of the durithrin, the wild folk. Fugitives had a way of disappearing once they reached Vernon, but even the constabularies rarely bothered him. They, or a loved one, might one day need his help.
When the door handle creaked, Ialin stiffened, pretending to stare out the window at the brightening sky and its vast array of puffy clouds etched against azure. Then, the door wrenched open to reveal Jarvid flanked by two elite guardsmen. The king's second cousin bore little resemblance to him. Aqua and white satin, tailored for the burly forms of the king and his brother, hung loose on Jarvid's slender frame. Unlike them, be wore no beard over his wide, dimpled chin. His cheekbones perched higher, and his cheeks were chapped and windburned. He had the same keen, brown eyes, however; and their classic wheaten ringlets fell around his ears, held in place with perfumed oil. He gave Ialin a friendly smile and made a gesture of greeting before the door had fully closed.
Ialin bowed, waiting for the other man to speak first. He knew little of the intricacies of court protocol but enough to treat a king's chamberlain with utmost respect. Caught off guard, Aisa squabbled to maintain her position on his shoulder.
"Good morn upon you, Eshwyn."
"Good morn upon you, too, sir," Ialin returned, completing his bow. Aisa grabbed his ear to steady herself. Sharp edges of rock-hard beak ground into sensitive flesh with an agony that made him gasp. For an instant, he thought she had bitten a chunk from his ear. Then she released her hold and the pain dropped to a dull throbbing.
"Sir?" Jarvid examined Ialin quizzically. "You know titles are unnecessary among old friends."
Ialin bit off a groan. The conversation had not even started, and he had already made his first mistake. He covered as best as he could. "Nothing else seems the same today. Last visit, Frida and I walked freely to the castle and crawled into a waiting bed. This time, we found ourselves surrounded like prisoners. Forgive me if I'm not sure exactly which protocols have changed."
Jarvid waved Ialin to a seat, still grinning. "Ah, so you noticed our heightened security."
"Five guards close enough to look up my backside and tell me what I had for dinner?" Ialin accepted the proffered chair. "I noticed."
Jarvid huffed out a laugh and took the seat across from Ialin. The guards stationed themselves silently, still standing, at either hand.
Aisa reached over and, before Ialin could stop her, snipped off the top button of his shirt. He snatched for it as his collar flopped open, and she rewarded him with a sharp nip. Macaws found adornments difficult to resist, and discomfort seemed to have a negative affect on Aisa's overlap. Ialin swore, then turned an apologetic look toward the chamberlain. "I lose more buttons that way."
The chamberlain's smile had become a fixture. "I've seen you do the same to her, with more interesting results." He winked at the parrot, who ignored him, clutching the button in a claw while she gnawed it into glittering pieces.
"The security?" Ialin reminded.
Jarvid took the flagon and poured two mugs full. The wine smelled as heady and sweet as a flower bouquet, Ialin knew the taste would surpass anything he had ever tried, but he could not afford to put much alcohol into his slight figure. He needed every scrap of his wits about him. "We've captured the rebel leader. We know they'll attempt a rescue." The chamberlain slid a mug toward Ialin.
Ialin caught the handle, then released it quickly so as not to reveal his quivering hands. Vernon shifted in his pocket, and he quieted the mouse with a touch. "You know Frida and I are not for sale." He crinkled his face. "Especially to rebels."
"Of course." Jarvid took the first sip, which Ialin found reassuring. If someone had poisoned the wine, the royal would succumb as well. "But they have some sort of magic that changes faces. I'm afraid everyone is suspect. And we didn't expect you for another… half year."
Ialin raised his own mug to delay his response. He had to assume every royal utterance a test. He did not know exactly how long Eshwyn intended to go between visits to the castle. Usually, he came about four times per year, but that varied. Ialin had to decide if he needed to correct the chamberlain, without outthinking himself. He took a tiny sip of a honey-based wine that enticed him to have more, then lowered the mug with a contented sigh. "You've outdone yourself. This wine is good enough for the gods." In that moment, he decided to play the odds. "You meant quarter year, didn't you?"
"Quarter year, yes," Jarvid corrected. "What did I say?"
Aisa nibbled playfully at Ialin's check, then squawked out, "Half year."
The chamberlain stiffened, then the smile eased back onto his face. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Frida."
Ialin continued as if he had not noticed the sudden breaking of the bird's silence or the error clearly intended to test his identity, "Came upon an unexpected load of vilegro. Thought I'd bring it by before it gets unusable. If I'd known I'd come at a bad time, I'd have waited a few more days."
"Half a day would have been enough." The chamberlain sat back with his mug. "The rat will be dead at midday."
Terror flashed through Ialin. Before he could think to suppress it, his nostrils flared and his hands clenched in his lap. Aisa seized another death grip on his ear. Though glad for the distraction of the pain, Ialin swiftly found it unbearable. He grabbed the jagged, black beak, winching it open with thumb and forefinger to free his aching ear. "Damn it, Frida. That hurts!"
"I'm sorry." Aisa hunched into herself remorsefully, feathers ruffled and beak low.
"A hanging?" Ialin tried to keep his question matter-of-fact, though his voice broke a bit at the end.
"No." Jarvid studied his guest. "The king's Otherworld
adviser came up with something more interesting that didn't require taking the rat outside where the traitors might manage a public and humiliating rescue." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Just between you and me…"
Ialin knew Eshwyn might interrupt with something sarcastic about the presence of the two guards making them four, but he did not wish to distract the chamberlain from what seemed like a crucial point.
" she scares me. She's always had a wicked streak, hut it's as wide as the Anale River since the fire damaged her and Prince Hardin. You know, she actually tried to talk His Majesty into letting her breed those dragons. Making more dragons. Deliberately. Can you believe such a thing?"
Ialin could scarcely believe his luck. Apparently, Eshwyn held high favor with Jarvid to have become privy to such secrets. He plastered a look of horror on his conjured features. "That's all Barakhai needs. A whole flock of enormous, carnivorous, magic-wielding monsters soaring through its skies." He shook his head. "You're right. The girl is mad." He tried to add casually, as a natural extension of the conversation. "But His Majesty is a wise man." The compliment came easily. Though the rebels struggled against his policies, especially his prejudices against magic and Random unions, they found the king himself reasonably just and intelligent most of the time. "Surely, he wouldn't let her do something so stupid."
"Of course not." The chamberlain took another sip of wine while the guards stirred restively. "He reinstated their executions, which should have happened years ago. Carrie went crazier than usual. It was a marvelous debate, though it was a foregone conclusion, of course. She did manage to talk him into letting her he the one who… ended their suffering." Jarvid dropped back into that secretive whisper. "The guards haven't had to perform a single execution in over a year. They just bind the condemned, place him on a cart, and turn him over to Carrie. I think she actually enjoys killing."
Ialin hunched into himself, hoping it was not a common trait among those of Carrie Quinton's world. He did not wholly trust Collins' judgment, but he did not believe the man would intentionally harm them. His blunders seemed more a result of ignorance and incompetence than cruelty. Ialin dropped his own head to his chin, and his volume fell to Jarvid's level. "So she put the dragons to death?"
Jarvid shrugged. "She must have. No sign of them since she led them into the mustier regions of the dungeon. The old torture area. As far as I know, no one's used those old devices for centuries, certainly not His Majesty, nor King Terrin's father."
Another hot wave of horror shot through Ialin. If he believed Jarvid, and the chamberlain's confidences seemed sincere, the royal family had had nothing to do with moving the dragons. Quinton had duped them just as she had the rebels, and only Prinivere's mind reading had rescued them from believing the same lie. But how does one woman handle the care and feeding of dragons alone? He bated the answer that seeped into his mind. She's feeding them… the condemned. Nausea flooded his gut, and acid crawled up his throat. But how does she come and go safely through caverns filled with the descendants of carnivores to do it? Ialin cleared his throat and swallowed painfully, forcing a return to the mindset of Eshwyn the merchant. Is all this even true or just another test? He looked up in time to see the chamberlain gesturing subtly to one of his guards.
Ialin gritted his teeth, clamping his fingers in his lap, hoping he had not made a serious miscalculation.
"So," Jarvid said carefully. "How did you know about the dragons? This is the first time I mentioned them to you."
"Indeed." Ialin scrambled to save his cover. "I thought it more polite to take the details from context rather than question your memory or your sanity." It was a bold move that might offend the chamberlain, hut it seemed the best way out of a bad situation. Thus far, he had performed better than even he had expected. He had anticipated switching to his second plan long before now and worried that his and Aisa's switch-time might come upon them during an inopportune situation.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Then you won't mind one more test, Eshwyn?"
Ialin folded his arms over his chest. "Actually, I'm tired and irritable and sick of the games. There's no law that says I have to offer the king my best wares first."
Jarvid chuckled, this time without amusement. "Of course not, but who else could afford to pay you what they're worth?"
Ialin could hardly argue the point. "Haven't I proved myself well enough yet?" He had little choice hut to dissuade the chamberlain from any tests now, before he administered one. Ialin might manage to pass it; he had so far, but he dared not take the chance. His best gamble lay in pretending to take offense at treatment he considered unconscionably rude.
Jarvid ignored Ialin's protestations. "Did you bring what you promised the younger princess on your next visit?"
Ialin dodged the query, keeping the edge in his tone. "I brought only vilegro." He ran a hand down Aisa's back, a prearranged signal for her to start looking for an avenue of escape. If he distracted the guards, she might manage to evade them.
The chamberlain held Ialin's gaze. "Very well. Tell me what you promised her, then."
"That," the hummingbird/man replied stiffly, "is between me and Princess Lahtishah."
"Is it?"
"It is."
Jarvid's dark eyes glinted like diamonds. The guards' hands drifted toward their belts. "Then tell me, Eshwyn. What did I ask you to bring?"
The possibilities were endless. Only one answer seemed to provide better than the same miniscule odds. "Sir, you asked for… nothing."
"Is that your answer?"
Ialin read tension in every line of Jarvid's face. He hedged his bets. "If you asked for a specific item, I don't recall it."
"Even if your life depends on it?" The chamberlain made a gesture that sent one guard to the door and the other to wrap his fingers around his hilt. "Because… it does."
There was nothing more Ialin could say, nothing except a wild guess or a plea for his life. He shrugged one shoulder, Aisa rising and falling with the movement, and hoped she took the cue. The instant the door swung open, revealing all five of the guards who had brought Ialin there, Aisa swooped toward them.
Swords rasped from sheaths.
Concerned for Aisa's safety, Ialin scooped up his mug and hurled it at the clot of guardsmen in the doorway. Wine splashed the front rank, spoiling their aim, and the macaw wove through them in a blur of blue and gold. The mug caught one in the shoulder, staggering him into the woman who had earlier taken Ialin's arm. Both crashed to the floor, but the others split around them, two chasing after the retreating bird, the other two, including the elite guard who had opened the door, charging for Ialin.
Ialin remained in place, not bothering to run. He could never make it through the guards alive, and his death served no purpose. One of the chamberlain's elite guardians hurled himself at the still-seated guest. Ialin ducked under his wildly waving sword. The man crashed against him, sending the chair careening over backward. Ialin twisted with the fall, following the momentum in a light backward somersault to spare himself serious injury. He never made it to his feet. A guard's sword at his throat stopped him in an awkward crouch, and the elite guard's weight pinned his legs to the floor.
Ialin held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I won't fight; please don't hurt me." He kept his voice steady, revealing none of the cold squiggles of fear dancing through his chest. To sound defiant might goad them to attack, but helplessness panic was also known to arouse some dogs to go after prey. Jarvid's other bodyguard hauled the chamberlain out of harm's way. The guards who had fallen scrambled to their feet and moved to block both exits.
Jarvid stepped toward Ialin, to the obvious discomfort of his bodyguard. "Disarm yourself, rebel."
Ialin forced himself to remain calm and as still as his racing metabolism allowed. His successes of the last hour had made him believe the original plan might work, but he had already anticipated its failure. The assault on Opernes Castle was not yet lost. He glan
ced at the guards who held him in place. "Do I have permission to move?"
"They won't harm you," Jarvid promised. "So long as you cooperate."
The elite guard shifted his weight, freeing Ialin's legs, dragging some of the silk pantaloons with him as he moved. He stared at Ialin's ankles, looked at the chamberlain, then inclined his head toward the bared flesh between Ialin's cuffs and shoes.
Jarvid followed the gesture, then nodded in understanding.
Ialin knew they had found the crafted scar. By the grace of all gods, let it fool them. He rolled his eyes to the sword at his throat, pretending not to see the exchange.
The blade retreated slightly. With stiff, nighty movements, Ialin relieved himself of the utility knife he carried and tossed it to the floor. As he did so, he signaled Vernon with a touch to find a safer hiding place among the several layers of clothing he wore to pad his scrawny frame. The rest depended upon how thoroughly the guards searched him. If they simply patted him down, they would find nothing and believe him as large as he appeared. If they stripped him, the game would end here.
Jarvid's brown eyes met Ialin's again. Miraculously, they had softened. So far, he seemed to be convinced by Ialin's second, more mundane masquerade hidden beneath the first. The scar perfectly matched that of the bear/man, Draezon, well known to the royals since he had rescued a royal cousin, as a toddler, when she became hopelessly lost in a cold, dark forest. Bears were not usually liked or trusted. Of all the legal citizens of Barakhai, they were most likely to revert to cannibalism. Draezon had never done so, however, one of the few durithrin who learned social graces and interacted deliberately with the city folk. Once, he had blundered into a snare placed for a murderer. He had panicked in bear form, nearly severing his foot. The castle staff nursed him back to health, where he became a favorite of the children. The injury had left the familiar scar that Ialin had copied onto his ankle.
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