Jayn traced the edges of the seat. The opening of course was too small, but a slight push told him that the entire slab was simply sitting within the wooden frame, using its own weight to anchor it. He slowly straightened up, lifting the seat as he did. The seat was made of white marble; Jayn only recognized it because he had once stolen a small statue made entirely of the rare stone. It was, also, fairly heavy. Nothing’s too good for Her Majesty’s royal butt, apparently. Must be cold, though.
When he was high enough to see that the garderobe was really empty, he very carefully set the seat aside on a section of bare wood on the bench that made up the frame for the slab and pulled himself up and into the small room. A thick candle burned unattended on a stone table on the left. It gave a weak but adequate light. The only exit was closed by a curtain instead of an actual door, for which Jayn was grateful. Iron hinges tended to squeak, something drapery generally did not do. Jayn carefully set the garderobe seat back in its place before he pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the next room. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Timon’s been right so far.
The map had identified the room Jayn stood in as the queen’s changing room. With what Jayn could see now, that appeared to be true. There was a tall linen press for bedding, several large chests for storage, and a fairly large glassed window on the outside wall to take advantage of whatever light might be available. That glass must have cost a fortune, not to mention that marble garderobe. The horse trade must be more lucrative than I thought. While it was true that Wylandian-bred horses were much in demand, it was only now that Jayn was starting to understand the true wealth of Wylandia. The kings of Wylandia had long held the reputation of being fairly belligerent neighbors, though in truth most disputes tended to end as little more than border skirmishes. Still, there were a lot of them and it was these flare-ups that tended to be what people first thought of when the name “Wylandia” was mentioned, not the relative prosperity he had seen both in the castle and the village at the foot of the mountain. Perhaps it is the kingdom’s small size that makes it feisty. Or perhaps it is simply that ill-tempered bastards tend to breed the same. Jayn shrugged. Either way, it wasn’t really his concern. He was close to fulfilling his obligation. After that he’d have to worry about Timon’s true intentions, since the only other ways out of the castle were either down the cliff or out through the gate, and neither alternative looked any better than, if necessary, taking his chances with Timon. Jayn crept to the second curtain that separated the changing room from the queen’s bedchamber.
The queen was not sleeping.
Jayn peered through the curtain and froze in place. There were two candles burning on a small table, but that wasn’t what worried him; the one in the garderobe suggested that her majesty might be afraid of the dark. He’d seen such often enough before. No, it was the sight of the queen sitting at that small table within that candlelight.
She’s just a girl…
On second look he revised his impression a little but not much. She was probably sixteen, maybe seventeen. Marriageable age, especially by royal standards. She had long dark hair bound into one braid that ran down her back. She looked small and alone sitting in the pool of candlelight as her pen scritched on the parchment in front of her.
Is she … crying?
Her eyes were red but that just could have been the result of writing in weak light, since the candles were barely augmented by the weak moonlight coming in the window. Every now and then she would use a kerchief to dab at her eyes. Jayn stared at her perhaps a bit more openly than he should have, but all her attention was on the parchment in front of her. She paused, apparently thinking of what to write next, then turned back to her work.
Jayn watched her with a mixture of fascination and discomfort. He had never been so close to royalty before and certainly not a queen in her own chamber. Forget being a thief, anyone caught in a queen’s chambers who didn’t belong there could count on their head being the part of their bodies that would be chopped off last. Jayn knew this and yet he couldn’t stop staring. He frowned. Here, in the depths of leisure and luxury. What bloody right does she have to be unhappy?
In a moment the answer came to him:
THE SAME RIGHT AS ANYONE. IT’S NOT ALWAYS SOMETHING
YOU EARN.
Jayn wondered, perhaps, if that thought had really been his own. He decided that it was. After all, it was true enough, even though there certainly were people who deserved unhappiness and more. In his darkest hours, he sometimes thought that, perhaps, he was one of them. He shook his head, slightly, and the curtains fluttered. Fortunately the queen took no notice.
Do your job and get out, Fool. The problems of one silly girl-queen are not yours.
He kept still, and waited. After what might have been a few minutes or perhaps longer, the queen seemed satisfied with what she had written. She rolled up the parchment and used one of the candles to drip wax for the seal.
“Lyassa, come here.”
The queen only had to repeat the call once before a middle-aged woman emerged from one of the side rooms that had been marked “Lady in Waiting” on Timon’s map. Her eyelids drooped and she carried a small candle of her own. “Yes, Majesty?”
“I’m ready to retire. I’ve left a scroll on my writing table. In case I don’t rise early enough in the morning I want you to see that it gets to my post rider … and no one else. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Majesty. I’ll take it now for safe—”
“No!” The queen stopped, then continued in a calmer voice. “No, that’s all right. I might … I might change my mind. If the scroll is still on my table in the morning, please do as I instructed.”
“Yes, Majesty … would you care for a cup before you retire? There’s still some brandy wine left.”
“I’m surprised,” the queen said, but then smiled faintly. “Yes, Lyassa. Thank you.”
The woman disappeared back into her room for a moment and returned with a small goblet, which the queen drained at one gulp. She made a face and coughed, slightly. “There’s the end of it, and that’s probably best. Good night, Lyassa.”
“Sleep well, Majesty.”
The servant woman curtseyed and withdrew. The queen went into the nursery for a while, apparently to reassure herself that the child was well, then returned and snuffed out the candles. Jayn kept still and let his eyes adjust once more to the darkness as the queen removed her outer robe and crawled wearily into her overstuffed bed. Quickly her breathing evened out and Jayn heard a faint snore. Too quickly, in Jayn’s opinion. Clearly some small crisis was in play; the change of plans hinted at this. Had the queen’s servant placed something in her drink, perhaps to help her sleep?
If so all the better.
Jayn waited a little longer, then slipped into the room. He glanced at the queen in her bed, and then at the door to the servant’s room, then started across the chamber. When he got to the table, he hesitated.
Something to prove I was here. That was the bargain.
The seal was the obvious choice, but a little too obvious. The Queen of Wylandia’s personal seal would be proof to anyone, but only if he were fool enough to let it be known he had such a thing. Then it might be worth more than his life. No, something else. Something less likely to be missed. Like, perhaps, the letter? If the letter was no longer there in the morning, then the servant would assume the queen had changed her mind. If he was right about what had been in that goblet, then the queen would not wake early, and find the letter gone as she had instructed. And if the letter never arrived … well, that wasn’t such an uncommon thing. A private letter from the Queen of Wylandia, bearing the impression of her seal?
Perfect but also risky, since he didn’t even know what was in the letter. Yet, Jayn realized, that was part of the appeal. He wanted to know what was in that letter. Who it was for. What it said. Moreover, he wanted to know why such a person could be so unhappy. It was there. In her face, in her bearing. It was also none of
his concern, as he had told himself more than once. And yet, he still wanted to know. Jayn hesitated, then left the scroll where it was. After that it was the work of but a moment to slip into the nursery and leave the package by the royal crib. He hesitated at the nursery door on the way back, and that was the only thing that saved him.
Someone else was in the queen’s chamber.
Lyassa crept across the floor and, glancing several times at the bed to make sure her mistress was still sleeping, she took the letter. So that was the real reason you slipped your mistress that draught. Not giving the poor girl a chance to change her mind, are we? Who do you really plan to deliver that letter to?
Lyassa left the chamber immediately and returned to her own room. The way was clear now for Jayn to slip out through the garderobe with none the wiser, and he knew that was exactly what he should do.
Jayn turned to the sleeping girl. You’re in a sorry pass, Majesty, when a thief like me serves you better than your own.
Jayn waited as long as he dared, then crept into the servant’s room with all the stealth and skill he could muster and stole the letter back. Timon, as promised, was waiting for him in the dark cavern beneath the castle.
“Is it done?”
Jayn sighed. “Do I die if I say it is?”
“That’s answer enough. Jayn, you and I both know there’s nothing I can swear that you’ll believe, so let me simply say this: If you try anything foolish, you will certainly die. It’s more or less the same choice you’ve had all along. Here’s your gold, by the way. I’m not carrying it for you.”
Jayn took the bag, but he remained on guard. “Where are we going?”
“Back to the Serpent’s Path, of course. ‘Safely out of Wylandia.’ That was the deal, remember.”
“I remember. But after?”
Timon sighed. “Jayn, for a thief and a rogue you worry too much.”
* * * *
It was the fourth day of their return journey. They had made camp once more at the highest point of the pass, looking out over the plains of Wylandia. Once more Jayn had been summoned from a sound sleep, only this time, when he glanced back at the fire, he was a little relieved to see that he was not, in fact, still sleeping. Even so, Timon was waiting for him on the ridge. The magician didn’t say anything at first. He just stood looking out on the distant plain and a sky full of stars.
“If you’re ready to kill me now, just do it. No suggestions for jumping off a cliff in the morning or any of that nonsense. Please do me the courtesy of being direct.”
He sensed rather than saw the magician smile. “I am always direct … in my fashion. I see you burned the letter.”
“Yes.” Jayn wasn’t surprised that Timon knew all about that, though he knew he should have been.
“Why?”
“If you already know what was in the letter, then you know why.”
Timon sighed. “That’s just it—I do know what was in the letter, and I don’t know why you burned it. I want you to tell me. I think it’s important.”
“If that’s true, first tell me what the letter said.”
“I don’t know,” Timon said simply.
Jayn put his hands on his hips. “You just said—”
“—that I know what was in the letter. I did and I do. It was the letter of an unhappy young woman reaching out to an old friend. Am I wrong?”
Jayn thought about it. “No. You’re not wrong. All right: I burned the letter because it was dangerous to keep it.”
“Dangerous for whom?”
“For me, for all concerned … all right, for her especially if it came into the hands of her lord the king, who is not noted for his compassion. It’s best this way.”
Timon nodded. “Because the old friend she was reaching out to was a former playmate who today happens to be the heir of Morushe. Yes, you were right to burn it. But doing the right thing is not part of your reputation.”
“Nor yours, if I may say, yet I have to ask this: did you send me there to steal that letter? Was that silly gift just the pretext?”
For a moment the magician acted as if he hadn’t heard. When he spoke again it was as if he were speaking on another subject entirely. “Like the Wylandian Dun breeding stock itself, there are many admirable traits of the royal bloodline of Wylandia: they tend to be brave, and honest, and shrewd. They also tend to be bad-tempered and stubborn.”
“Pardon me, magician, but this is well known, though there are few who would say as much to their faces, and certainly not the current king.”
Timon smiled. “So if, perhaps, one wished to effect a change in their behavior, one might look for more indirect methods?”
Jayn thought about this. “Such as?”
“Such as preventing a misunderstanding between a young married couple from turning into something more intractable. Such as leaving a sweet and thoughtful gift which the king himself forgot to do, on the occasion of the birth of his heir. Such as, in the face of that gift, a queen might, perhaps, reconsider her harsh appraisal of her new husband and treat him with a little more patience. Such that the king, in turn, might come to know his queen a little better and in turn treat her with more of the gentleness she needs and deserves.”
“‘The smallest seeds grow the mightiest trees,’” Jayn said, repeating an old proverb.
“Not always,” Timon said, “but everything large or small has to start somewhere.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe the new prince of Wylandia will grow up to be a mite less of a bellicose bastard than his father. One can but hope.”
“How did you know that I would steal that letter? For that matter, how did you know about the letter in the first place and the possible consequences?”
The magician didn’t answer directly. “You were born with a talent for moving quietly and tricking locks. So you became a thief. It would have been strange if you had not, yes?”
“True, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Just that it’s the same for me, Jayn. Hidden things, remember? I was born with the talent to see the places where history turns. It’s not that I want to—I have to. There came a time when I could no longer ignore what I saw … for good or ill.”
“So it was all pre-ordained?” Jayn asked. He sounded bitter.
“Don’t confuse possibility with destiny, Jayn. I knew about the letter, yes, and how it might fall into the wrong hands. I did not know for certain that you would take it.”
“What if I hadn’t?”
Timon shrugged. “Then you wouldn’t have been the man I judged you.”
Jayn looked out toward the stars. “You’re not what everyone supposes you to be, Timon the Black.”
“For that matter, neither are you. No surprise. It’s not ‘everyone’ who gets to decide who a man is. Still, for reputation’s sake I’ll keep your secret if you’ll keep mine. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Shall we swear binding oaths?” Jayn asked, smiling. The magician smiled too. “No need. I trust you.”
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