039
Chapter 9
“HEtriedtokillme!”Borund spat. I stepped back from the violence in his voice, almost slid into the darkness of the alley at the side of the tavern and vanished, an instinctive response from the Dredge. But Borund’s violence was without a mark, and tinged with shock. “He tried to kill me, openly, in the middle of a tavern!”
We’d moved out of the tavern, stood now outside the door. Borund had removed his blood- and sauce-encrusted jacket, had folded it and handed it to William. William kept back a few paces from Borund, his face white and shaken, eyes wide. Like when I’d spun on the wharf and almost sliced open his chest. The horror of what I’d done, that I’d seen in his eyes earlier inside the tavern, had died. This was delayed reaction.
He glanced toward me. I held his gaze, didn’t waver, even though I felt sick to my stomach.
“You’re hurt,” he said, but his voice was distant.
I looked down, grimaced at my sliced shirt, at the cut that had already stopped bleeding. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. Barely a scratch.”
Borund didn’t notice.
On the street, a group of raucous men passed, pausing at the door, and Borund moved farther down the street, watching the group warily. Some of the shock was beginning to fade, replaced by a heated calm. I could see it in his eyes, even in the darkness.
He remained silent until the roar and music of the tavern was cut off behind the group of men. “He wasn’t acting on his own. I’ve never seen the man before. He must have been hired.”
“I wonder who sent him,” William muttered.
Borund turned toward William. “That is the question, isn’t it?”
“It was the green-coated merchant,” I said.
Borund turned toward me. “Charls?” he asked incredulously.
“The one you spoke to before entering the tavern.” I could see him clearly, the thin face, dark eyes filled with hatred. Gray mixed with red.
Borund stood still, as if unable to move, his mouth slightly parted.
Then the tavern door banged open and the guardsmen stalked out. I pulled back unconsciously, but Borund straightened as they turned and nodded.
They glanced once toward me, eyes suspicious, mouths tight. A new fear clawed through me. I wondered if Erick had told them about me, had told them to watch for me, that I’d murdered someone and then fled.
But there was no recognition in these guardsmen’s eyes, only a generalized distrust, as if they still didn’t believe Borund’s story, knew that something about it was wrong. But they couldn’t figure out what. Not with William supporting the statement. No one else in the tavern had seen anything, or was willing to come forward.
The guardsmen nodded again and stalked off, heading toward the palace, its walls on the hill overlooking the city lit with oil light. I felt tensed muscles relax, in my shoulders, in my gut.
When the guards faded into the darkened streets, Borund turned toward William. “You tried to warn me before. Did you know it was Charls?”
William shook his head. “No. I only knew that it no longer felt safe to move around in Amenkor, especially at night. I didn’t realize there was such a . . . personal threat.”
Borund grunted. “Then it was good you brought up your concerns when you did, otherwise I’d be dead.”
He turned toward me, his eyes intent, as hard and unreadable as stone. “And you,” he said softly. “It was a gift of the Mistress that you were here. A very fortuitous gift.”
I straightened under his stare and said, “I’ve been watching you, following you.” The words were harsh, defensive, defiant.
“I see. Is that how you know it was Charls?”
“After he spoke with you, he motioned to the man who tried to kill you. Then left.”
“And you followed that man into the tavern? To stop him from killing me?”
I drew breath to answer, then glanced toward William. He still seemed shocked, his hair appearing even wilder. But he was more focused now, paying closer attention.
Instead of answering out loud, I simply nodded.
Borund considered this, his gaze so intense I was forced to look away.
Finally, he murmured, “Fortuitous gift indeed.” As if he’d reached a decision, he stirred, glanced once toward William and back. “Have you reconsidered my offer? I’m forced to agree with William now. A bodyguard is necessary.”
I stood straight, hesitated only a moment, and said, “What do you want me to do?”
040
They led me through the streets of the wharf, beyond the warehouses, and up into the streets below the palace, into the upper city. Borund offered to return to my niche, to gather up whatever I wanted, but I had my dagger, my clothes. There was nothing in the space I’d formed out of crab traps and tarps. Nothing worth returning for.
We moved swiftly through the streets, William ahead while I trailed behind, both of the men tense, wary.
At one point, we passed the end of the bridge where I’d crossed the River from the Dredge into Amenkor. I paused, stared out over the expanse, over the river water, and thought of Erick, of the white-dusty man, of Cobbler ’s Fountain.
Then I turned away. Both Borund and William had stopped farther on up the road, were looking back at me, but neither said anything when I moved to follow them.
Carriages appeared, and men on horseback, and once two guardsmen. Each time Borund slowed until the men and horses had passed. The buildings—crowded and close at first, with narrow alleys—changed. Courtyards appeared, not ruined and decayed like on the Dredge, but with closed iron gates and trees. Alleys widened. Surrounding walls appeared, the buildings set back from the streets, enclosed and protected. And the stench of fish and salt and sea faded.
Then William paused on a corner, scanned in all directions, and moved purposefully across the street to a small gate set back inside an alcove in a wall. A moment later, Borund and I joined him.
As William unlocked the wrought-iron gate, Borund turned and muttered, “This is your new home, Varis.”
We stepped inside a garden, pathways curling away in all directions, clear in the darkness because they were made of white stone and glowed in the moonlight. Trees, branches hanging down limply, sighed in a sudden breeze from the harbor, smelling of the ocean. Everything was shadowed, details hard to make out in the darkness.
Borund strode quickly into the garden, toward a building I could barely see, leaving William and me behind.
“What’s wrong?” William asked.
I looked up into William’s eyes, saw the stars behind him, and said, “There should be buildings here. It shouldn’t be so . . . empty. It’s unnatural.”
William smiled. “It’s a garden. It’s supposed to be empty, without buildings.” He shook his head, then moved out into the garden.
A twinge of guilt slid through me, as if I’d done something wrong. I watched him a moment before following.
We passed into the shadow of the building, to another door. Borund was waiting for us inside, at the beginning of a long hallway, along with an elderly man and a woman who carried a lantern. More light could be seen farther down the hall.
“Lizbeth,” Borund said, and the woman dipped her head anxiously. “This is Varis. She’s going to be staying here for the immediate future. Have a room made up, with whatever she requires.”
Lizbeth turned her gaze on me, frowning. Her eyes were sharp, like Bloodmark’s, catching every detail, noting every mark, every tear, every smudge and bruise. “Will she be needing new clothes?”
Borund turned to look at me, then smiled tightly. “Yes. New clothes. But nothing too removed from what she’s wearing right now. No dresses. Nothing . . . ruffled or anything. Bring her a variety and let her choose.”
Lizbeth nodded. “And water for a bath, I expect. Soap, too. Lots of soap.”
“Whatever Varis wants, nothing more.” There was a hint of warning in Borund’s voice, and Lizbeth shot him a questioning look. “Varis is part of the household now.”
“As what? We can’t afford any more help.”
A wave of annoyance passed over Borund’s face and he frowned heavily. “Varis is my new bodyguard. She’ll be with us whenever we leave the manse.”
Lizbeth backed away slightly, her sharp gaze returning to me with renewed interest. “I see. I’ll go get the water started in the bathing room. Is the east room acceptable?”
Borund glanced toward me. “No. The east room is too big. Give her Joclyn’s old room for now.”
“Joclyn’s room? But that’s just a serv—” Lizbeth cut off abruptly, going still as Borund placed a hand on her arm.
“Joclyn’s room, Lizbeth. I know what I’m doing.” There seemed to be something else in Borund’s voice—caution or warning.
Lizbeth nodded, although her brow remained creased with a frown. Borund let his hand drop, and Lizbeth handed the lantern over to the other man, took Borund’s stained jacket from William, then hefted up the edges of her skirts with her free hand and dashed down the hall, vanishing through a side door.
The rest of the group turned to follow. I trailed behind.
“Gerrold.”
“Yes, sir,” the older man answered.
“Have some food brought to Varis’ room. Whatever you have to spare in the kitchen at this late hour. Bread, wine . . . no, make that water, and . . . and butter.” Borund grinned and glanced back briefly. “Lots of butter. Once that’s done, meet William and me in the office.” And here, Borund’s voice grew dark. “We have much to discuss.”
“Yes, sir.”
041
I was awake when someone knocked on the door of the room Lizbeth had led me to the night before. The room was too large, containing a bed, a desk, a chair, a lantern, and a tall piece of furniture with many drawers against one wall. A large bowl rested on top of this last piece of furniture, with a pitcher full of water.
“Varis?” Lizbeth called, her voice muffled by the door. “Varis, are you awake? Borund would like to talk to you and he asked me to get you ready.”
There came another light tapping at the door, and then Lizbeth opened it, tentatively, and peeked in. When she saw the bed hadn’t been slept in, she opened the door wide in alarm, then caught sight of me.
The panic on her face vanished and she raised the hand not holding a stack of clothes to her breast and sighed heavily. “Thank the Mistress! Is everything all right? Where in heavens did you sleep?”
My gaze flicked unconsciously toward the darkness beneath the bed, then back toward her as the muscles in my shoulders stiffened defiantly.
Lizbeth frowned in incomprehension, head turning, and then nodded. “Ah.” Her expression softened. “Not used to beds? Nor baths either, I expect.” Her eyes narrowed as she took in my hair, my face. She’d left me standing over a large tub of water the night before. I’d stared at the water a long time, thinking of the barrel of rainwater I’d used after fleeing the Dredge, wondering why this tub was so large. I’d dipped my arms into the water, shocked at how cold it was. After scrubbing at my arms, I’d discovered the steps on one side and realized I was supposed to climb into the water, like when I was six at Cobbler ’s Fountain.
“Looks like we’ll be needing another bath,” Lizbeth said at the door, more to herself than to me. “Apparently, all that murky water I drained away last night was only the surface dirt. At least today we’ve had time to haul in and heat the water.” She came farther into the room and set the clothes down on the bed, moving carefully. “William explained the situation last night, after I left you at the bath. He said I was to help you . . . adjust.”
She turned toward me, the harshness I’d seen in her eyes the night before gone. Then she stepped forward, stopping a few paces away with an uncertain smile. “He said to be careful with you. That you might not understand how things are done around the manse, and that anything you wanted was to be provided. Is there anything you’d like this morning?”
I didn’t answer. She held my gaze a moment, but then her eyes drifted to my clothes.
“Nothing this morning? Well then, I brought you some new clothes, something better than those rags.” Her eyes returned to mine, narrowed shrewdly. “And I expect you’d like something to eat? Eggs perhaps? Maybe some bacon?”
I shifted forward and my stomach growled, loudly enough for Lizbeth to hear. I frowned in annoyance, and Lizbeth smiled tightly, trying to control a grin.
“I thought so. Let’s get you into a bath first, then try out these new clothes, and after that we’ll see what they have in the kitchen. How does that sound?”
042
Lizbeth led me to a hallway outside a large wooden door three hours later, my skin feeling raw from the bath Lizbeth had presided over, my new clothes scratchy, loose, and smelling of soap. I wore a brown shirt, brown breeches with a thin leather belt, and sandals. My hair hung damply around my face in tendrils, my head aching from how often my hair had been pulled by Lizbeth. She’d finally given up trying to untangle it and had cut most of the length away with a pair of scissors. It now hung down to my chin, rather than past my shoulders.
I’d glared at her the entire time, but she’d ignored me. She’d ignored my grunting protests when she’d tried to dip my head underwater as well, simply placing her hand on the top of my head and pushing me under with surprising strength. She’d soaped up my hair before I’d stopped spluttering, talking the entire time about the manse and how it was run.
Now, she rapped on the large wooden door and cast one last critical glance over me as I stuffed the last of the buttered bread into my mouth.
“You’ll do,” she mumbled, then caught my gaze and added sternly, “for now. I’ll show you around the manse once Borund is done with you.” She eyed me carefully for a long moment, and then her eyes softened and she relaxed. Like the white-dusty man had relaxed when he’d seen me take the rolls.
Something tightened at the base of my throat, hard and hot, making it difficult to swallow the last of the bread. I choked a little, turned away to cough as my eyes blurred with tears.
When I turned back, she was already halfway down the hall.
Then the door opened and instinctively I reached for the dagger and backed against the wall.
I caught myself just as my hand touched steel, recognizing William.
“Borund’s waiting,” he said, ignoring my sudden movement.
I straightened and followed him as he turned away, moving into a huge room. I’d thought the bedroom had been large until Lizbeth had led me to the kitchen. But this room was twice the size of the kitchen. The walls were lined with shelf upon shelf of small statues, wooden boxes polished to a high sheen, cut stone, glass vases, candleholders, and plants. A large rug covered most of one wall, above a stone fireplace with no fire, but stained with soot. A large sword, three times the length of my dagger, rested in a sheath on a shelf above the fireplace. The wooden floor of the room was scattered with chairs and rugs and small tables. Most of the objects were obviously from Amenkor, but a few were too exotic, the patterns too strange. An intricately carved staff leaned against one corner, the dancing figures clearly Zorelli.
Borund sat behind a large desk in the center of the room, papers spread out before him in every direction. William took a seat to Borund’s left behind the desk and pulled a set of neater pages toward himself. He dipped what looked like a stick into a small black bottle and scratched at the pages.
I halted at the door, wary of the size of the room, then forced myself to move toward the desk.
Borund sighed in disgust as I approached. “Put half in the warehouse and send the rest on. Send all of the spice to Marlett.”
“They don’t want the spice,” William said as he made more scratches. “They want the wheat.”
“Well, they can’t have it. Not at that price. And they won’t be willing to accept the price I would take for it, so they’ll have to choke on the spice.”
“What if they won’t take it?”
“Then it will have to rot in our warehouse in Marlett rather than here. We don’t have enough room here.”
“We don’t have enough room in Marlett either. Not for spice.”
“Then let it rot on the ship!”
William stared at Borund with a frown and said distinctly, “Very well.”
Borund drew in a deep breath, face darkening, then blew out the air in a rush, raising a hand to his forehead. He massaged his temple, then removed the curved wire from his face. This close, in the light streaming in through the windows to one side, I could see glass inside the wires and suddenly realized why they had flashed in the sunlight on the docks. I hadn’t seen the glass in the tavern, nor on the streets outside. It had always been too dark, or I’d been too far away.
“Apologies, William. I think the attack yesterday has affected me more than I want to admit.”
“You’ve been working all morning. You should take a rest.”
Borund grunted. “If only I could. But it’s become so much harder. It’s already midsummer. Winter is approaching fast and we haven’t half of what we need in the warehouses.” He shifted all the papers to one side in a disorderly stack and turned his attention to me.
His eyes widened in slight surprise. “I see that Lizbeth has been at work. You look . . . like an entirely different person.” He paused and I shifted my stance, weight settling slightly forward, arms spread farther away from my body. My eyes narrowed, face hardened.
“Ah,” he mumbled. “There’s the Varis I know.”
My shoulder muscles tensed. “You never told me what you wanted me to do.”
He smiled, leaned back in his chair. William had set his papers aside and was now organizing Borund’s stack.
“I want you to protect me. It’s as simple as that. Just as you did last night at the tavern. I want you to accompany me whenever I leave the manse, follow me, like a shadow. Warn me of any dangers, protect me if you need to. But I expect you to warn me first. Is that acceptable?”
I thought suddenly of Mari, saw Bloodmark kneeling over her, his knife cutting down sharply and deeply, heard her screaming. I saw her trying to push herself upward after Erick had knocked Bloodmark aside, saw her watching me.
And then, abruptly, I saw the white-dusty man’s face, saw the blood splattered on his forehead and cheeks from the Skewed Throne symbol that had been carved into his chest.
I hadn’t been able to protect them. But I hadn’t realized they needed protection, especially by someone like me. I’d always assumed they could protect themselves.
I stared into Borund’s eyes—a dark brown, like mud—then drew myself upward and said, “I can protect you.”
For a moment, I felt a faint curl of the Fire deep inside me rise up, sending a cold shiver through my gut. But then it died.
“Good,” Borund said, then rose from his seat. William rose as well, putting the neat sheaf of papers to one side. Borund reached for a small pouch on the corner of the desk, lifted it, and held it out for me.
I frowned, hesitated, then took a step forward to take the pouch.
It held coins. More coins than I’d seen my entire time on the Dredge.
Gutterscum didn’t deal in coins.
I turned a confused glance toward Borund, then William.
“Those are your wages,” Borund said quietly, his voice gruff, but undercut with a note of pleasure. “It’s what you’ll earn every month you’re in my service. I’ll provide room and board as well of course.” He smiled. “And as much butter as you want.”
I held the pouch, not knowing what to do with it, until Borund cleared his throat.
“I’ll have Lizbeth put that in your room for you,” he said, leaning across the desk to take the pouch back. “For now, let’s begin with a courteous visit to our dear friend Charls.”
His voice was light and carefree, but tinged with darkness.
We stepped out into sunlight through a polished wooden door twice my width, banded with iron. Three wide, curved, tiered steps led down to a white-cobbled path wider than the Dredge. It led straight through the garden I’d seen in the darkness last night to an open front gate. Trees rustled in the sunlight. Gerrold waited at the bottom of the steps with three horses and a young boy I didn’t know holding the three sets of reins. One of the horses stamped its foot and shook its head.
My eyes narrowed as Borund and William moved toward the horses. I stayed on the rounded top of the stairs, by the door. On the Dredge, horses were to be avoided, unless they could be ducked under for a quick but dangerous escape. Most were larger than me, and definitely heavier.
Borund was already seated before he realized I hadn’t moved. “I assume you haven’t ridden,” he said dryly.
“No.”
He frowned. “That will have to change. But not today. We’ll move slow enough you can follow.” He turned toward Gerrold. “Gerrold, you should have known she couldn’t ride.”
The man ducked his head briefly. “My apologies. I didn’t think, sir.”
Borund nudged the horse toward the gate.
William mounted with smooth skill, then motioned the boy and the remaining horse along another path toward the back of the manse. He turned toward me. “The horse won’t bite,” he said. “Come and touch him.”
Ahead, Borund had paused, had turned back in his saddle to watch, annoyed.
I came down the steps reluctantly, halted just out of reach of the horse. He snorted, nosed forward as if trying to smell me, but William kept him in check with the reins and a soft clicking sound. The horse’s ears swiveled back at the noise, then forward as he lowered his head.
I had to look up into his eyes, but I reached out tentatively with one hand, glancing toward William. William smiled and nodded his head, so I touched the horse on its neck.
The horse remained still, not moving, a shudder running down the muscles in his neck. The short brown hair felt smooth and warm in the sunlight, taut with energy, ready for motion. I stroked the horse’s neck and the creature snorted again.
I smiled and laughed, the sound strange and startling in the late morning stillness.
When I looked up toward William, he was grinning, his face open, easy to read, his eyes bright. “I never would have thought to hear you laugh,” he said, and then he laughed himself, as if the statement were somehow absurd.
He turned the horse, slowly, so the movement wouldn’t startle me. Farther down the path, Borund turned back to the gate. His annoyance had vanished, replaced by amused tolerance. I fell into step a few paces away from William and his horse, far enough to run if necessary, but close enough I could still smell the horse’s dark humid sweat.
“The horse’s name is Fetlock,” William said as we caught up to Borund and entered the street, “and Borund’s mount is called Brindle, because Gart—the stableboy—thought the horse’s color was shit-brindle brown when we bought him. The name stuck.”
Borund snorted and mumbled, “Bloody stupid name,” under his breath, shaking his head. But he was smiling. He reached forward and patted Brindle’s neck roughly, the horse nodding his head as if in agreement.
The streets of Amenkor this close to the palace were practically empty and I gazed up at the sky as I had done on the Dredge, raising one hand to shade away the sun. There were no clouds today, the sky a pure blue. A steady breeze blew in from the harbor.
I let my gaze drop to the water of the harbor. Borund’s manse was situated high enough up the slope that I could see down over the rooftops to the wharf, could see the masts of the ships tied at the docks. More ships sat in the harbor itself, appearing calm amid the slate gray of the waves.
I ignored the far side of the bay to my left, across the River, where the Dredge ran. Instead, I turned my gaze in the other direction, upward, toward the palace.
In the sunlight, the walls seemed smooth, colored like brown eggshell, with only a few windows at the lower levels. There were three layers of walls, the palace offset from the center inside the third wall, a few towers rising into the empty sky. Flags and banners flapped in the wind, too far away to be heard, their colors bright against the light brown of the palace and the sky.
“That’s where we’re headed,” William said beside me, nodding toward the palace and the walls. “The old city. It’s where we’re most likely to find Charls this time of day.”
I stared at what I could see of the palace between the buildings and above the walls a long moment, then turned my attention to the street. We were moving from the mostly empty streets where Borund’s manse lay into more crowded areas, and almost without thought I slid beneath the river.
It was just like the Dredge. Or the wharf. A world of gray and red, a wash of sound in the background.
The tension in my shoulders and back shifted, from nervousness about the horses and William and Borund, to apprehension about protecting them from Charls. I could still feel the tavern, the desperation as I’d fought through the crowded tables, searching. I glanced up to William to see if he’d noticed, but he was watching the street intently, frowning, as focused as I was. He could still feel the tavern as well. I could see it in his eyes.
So I turned back to the street and with a subtle push on the river felt it shift, new people emerging to the fore, those that were possible threats to Borund. Those that were threats to me—the guardsmen, men with visible weapons—mostly slid into the background, a bleached red.
I settled in to watch.
We emerged onto a wide, crowded street and turned into the general flow heading up toward the palace. The noise increased, people shouting, hawkers bellowing, men cursing. The crush of horses and men—many more horses than I was used to—forced me to walk closer to William and Fetlock, almost touching the horse’s side. Up ahead, I could see the first wall, an arched gateway standing open to the street. As we approached, the crush of bodies grew worse, as bad as the press of the tavern, tight and restrictive. The background noise beneath the river tripled and I felt my control beginning to slip, felt sweat break out on my back, in my armpits, felt my breathing increase.
Then we were through the gate, past the wall, and the crowd fell back, loosened.
I blew out a held breath, then steadied. Neither Borund nor William seemed to notice me or the crowds, continuing on up toward the second wall.
I tried to calm myself, my heart still shuddering in my chest.
“This is the outer circle,” William suddenly said, motioning toward the surrounding buildings, “or rather, outer oval. This is where most of the merchants live, along with a few of the highest-ranking Guard and sea captains. Those with some influence. Essentially it’s a residential area, close to the palace for when there’s a need for the merchants to speak with Avrell, the First of the Mistress—or, more rarely, the Mistress herself—about trade negotiations and how they might affect the city or our relations to the surrounding cities of the coast. It’s also close to the guild halls in the middle circle, and the wharf and the warehouse district below, on the harbor. Borund could live here if he wanted, but chose to live below, in the city. He always felt that living here would distance him from the everyday man. He was raised near the wharf, built his merchant house out of nothing but spit and hard work.” William had straightened in his saddle, watched the passing buildings with a strange hope in his eyes. Almost under his breath, he added, “I want to live here someday, though.”
I glanced around and frowned. This close to the main street, the buildings were tight together, almost as tight as the Dredge, and each doorway had a painted sign over it, all with designs that had no meaning to me. Two crossed swords on one, a three- masted ship on another. One seemed to be three squiggled lines, like waves. Through the paned windows, I could see mostly empty rooms, the only furnishings desks and chairs and high countertops. Shelves lined the walls, packed with statues and plants like Borund’s room. A few had large sacks and barrels instead. Most had sheaves of papers scattered over the desks and on the walls. And then I noticed that here and there, almost lost among the rest of the shops, were a few empty buildings, doors closed, windows boarded up. The empty buildings sent a cold shudder across my shoulders, as if someone had just breathed against the nape of my neck.
The empty buildings reminded me of the Dredge. This is what the Dredge must have once looked like— its buildings intact, its streets full of merchants and shoppers. But now this street was beginning to decay, beginning to fade. The empty stores were simply the first outward sign. My frown deepened.
“There’s nothing for sale in those shops,” I said.
I meant the empty buildings, but William didn’t seem to notice them, didn’t even seem to see them. He smiled without looking down at me. “Ah, but that’s the thing. Amenkor is the crossroads of the Frigean coast, the gateway to the nations in the east, on the far side of the mountains. Everything’s for sale in these shops. You just have to know the right person.”
I didn’t answer, uneasiness settling into my stomach.
Up ahead, we were approaching another gate and the second wall. William turned away from the shops toward the wall. “And this is the middle circle. All the guild halls are in here. We’ll find Charls at the merchants’ guild, no doubt.” His voice darkened when he mentioned Charls. “That’s where most of the actual business of trading and selling takes place.”
We passed through the second gate into a large, open, square marketplace with huge stone buildings on all sides, broken up by various streets. The marketplace was crowded, but there were fewer hawkers than on the wharf. They stuck mainly near the center of the square, around the towering fountain. I paused to stare at the three stone horses that reared toward the sky, a spit of water pouring out of the top, three more spouts of water emerging from the horses’ mouths. The water collected in a giant pool at the base.
Cobbler’s Fountain seemed suddenly small and insignificant, almost childish.
William and Borund continued across the square, toward the largest of the stone buildings, its front riddled with carved statues of men and women, lying down on stone benches, standing and reaching for the sky, most wearing nothing at all. Some appeared to move until we got closer and I realized there were birds in the crevices of the carvings. There were birds everywhere, on the cobbled square itself, lining the stone steps leading up to the doorway that seemed small in comparison to the rest of the building. They fluttered out of the way of passersby, muttering soft, throaty coos of protest.
I followed Borund and William numbly, but we didn’t approach the steps. Instead, we moved toward a side street, passing beneath an arch and along a narrow until it opened up into a courtyard where men practiced with swords and boys rushed, running errands. As soon as Borund and William appeared and dismounted, two boys stepped forward and led the horses away.
Borund motioned to William as we entered the merchants’ guild through a side door and began climbing stairs. “He’ll be in the Great Hall now,” he said, glancing back quickly toward me. His mud-brown eyes were hooded and dangerous, but not like Erick’s had been. Erick’s eyes had been cold, purposeful, casual. Borund’s were heated and intense, angry.
We passed through a low-arched doorway and into the Great Hall and I tensed, the hackles on the back of my neck rising. I resisted the urge to crouch, to draw my dagger and slip back through the doorway. I couldn’t stop a harsh hiss of warning, like a pissed-off cat.
In the swirling gray world of the river, almost everyone in the room was red. A shroud fell over me, covered me like a blanket, pushed me down with its weight. All of the awe over the size of the room—over the fountain and the buildings and the walls outside as well—died, replaced by the instincts of the Dredge.
“What is it?” someone murmured, the voice muffled by the pressure I felt from the river. Then someone touched my arm.
William. I could feel him, smell him. Borund, as well. But I didn’t turn to look at them. Instead, I kept my gaze focused on the room, on the people milling about, on the soft background noise of their conversations.
“What is it, Varis?” Borund asked, his voice a little more commanding than William’s.
“Everyone here is dangerous,” I said.
He grunted. “How can you tell?”
“I can see it,” I answered without thought. “They’re all red.”
A long, heavy silence followed, but I was too distracted by the pressure to notice until Borund spoke again, his voice tight. “I’m only interested in one of them today, and I don’t see him. Do you?”
I drew a deep breath and tried to concentrate more. As I submerged myself deeper, the reds shifted into various shades, some darker, like blood, others more vibrant.
I focused on those like blood, pushed the others into the background. There were fewer of them, and one of them was Charls.
He wasn’t a mix of red and gray now, but a deep red. Even when I shifted the focus of the river back to myself briefly.
“There,” I said, and pointed.
Borund laid a hand gently on mine and lowered it slowly. “Don’t draw attention. Just nod in the right direction. We don’t want anyone here to know the real reason we came.”
I frowned, then realized it was like the Dredge, like standing at the edge of a narrow, looking for a mark.
Borund wanted us to be gray.
I nodded in the direction of Charls, and with a swift look at William, Borund began to move through the room. I kept my attention fixed on Charls and the few other washes of blood red. Borund paused occasionally to speak with other merchants, some dressed like Borund in long coats of differing colors with gold embroidery. Most had less gold than Borund, and after a quick scan of each, I dismissed them as harmless.
We edged closer to Charls, moving in a wide arc.
“Borund!”
I turned to see a dark blue-coated merchant approaching, arms held wide. He had a plain face, a wide grin, hazel eyes, dimples. His hair hung down to his shoulders and had been tied back into a ponytail. He had no trace of red to him at all.
Borund smiled as they grasped arms at the elbows and clapped each other on the back. “Marcus, it’s good to see you! How’s Marlett?”
A bitter expression crossed Marcus’ face and he scowled. “The city’s hurting. Not enough wares to be found. And what we can find is becoming too expensive to buy.”
“Not much better here in Amenkor, I’m afraid.”
Marcus turned serious. “I heard about the tavern.”
“Word travels fast.”
“Good you had a bodyguard, eh?”
There was a hint of something more behind Marcus’ voice and Borund fell silent. I gave Marcus a dark stare. Unconsciously, he shifted away.
“Yes. My bodyguard.”
After a moment, Marcus cleared his throat. “I also hear you have some grain in storage?”
“You shouldn’t always listen to rumor, Marcus. Now spice! I have plenty of spice!”
“I don’t need spice,” Marcus protested darkly, and the two began bargaining, just like any hawker and his victim on the Dredge or wharf. I let the conversation fall into the background and turned back to Charls.
He’d shifted, moved to the edge of the room, toward one of the walls covered in tapestries. Most of the room was empty of furniture, the polished stone floor bare, but near some of the walls sat a few chairs. Light streamed through tall, thin windows, slanting across the floor at an angle, but Charls stood in the most shadowed corner of the room now.
He spoke with someone I could barely see. Someone as blood red as himself. Another merchant.
I stepped back from Borund, Marcus, and William and focused.
He wore a dark yellow coat, like mustard, covered with gold thread. Ruffles filled the neck, puffed out of the sleeves. His face was narrow, but not thin, his nose long. He had a mustache, neatly trimmed. His brown hair was streaked heavily with gray and hung down his back in a ponytail longer than Marcus’.
He seemed somehow vaguely familiar.
I felt William step up beside me and realized that Borund had broken away from Marcus and moved on. I turned back to Charls, drew breath to ask William who Charls was speaking to, but the mustard-coated merchant had vanished.
Charls had moved back out into the light when Borund finally approached him. He smiled graciously.
“Master Borund,” he said, his voice deep and somehow slick, like the dead fish on the wharf.
“Master Charls,” Borund murmured. None of the danger I’d seen in his eyes touched him as he reached out and grasped Charls’ arm at the elbow, as he’d done with Marcus, the contact brief.
Deep inside, I felt the Fire stir, a shiver running down the backs of my arms. I shifted slightly forward.
“Rough crowd down at the Broken Mast Tavern, so I hear,” Charls said.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Borund grinned. “That’s why I like the docks. Always something . . . unexpected.”
Charls’ eyes flicked toward me, absorbed me with one quick, careful, considering glance, then stole away, back to Borund. “Yes. Something ‘unexpected’ always seems to intervene when you least expect it.” There was a tinge of sourness to the words. But then Charls shifted. “But Amenkor has become desperate. Roughness is to be expected, just to survive. Wouldn’t you agree, Master Borund?”
“No,” Borund said shortly. And now he let the anger inside darken his eyes, blatant and targeted. “No. And it won’t be tolerated either. The Mistress will see to that.”
Charls seemed surprised, but then his smile widened.
The tendril of Fire inside surged higher and my hand stole toward my dagger. William sensed the movement and shifted farther away.
“Ah, Borund,” Charls murmured, his voice soft. “I think you place too much faith in the Mistress. I don’t think she rules the city anymore. Haven’t you heard? The Mistress has gone insane.”
Borund snorted. “And now you deal in rumor?” An edge entered Borund’s voice. “Beware of what you play at, Charls. There is more at stake here than just business. You’re dealing with the life of the city. The Mistress will hear about the attack last night.”
Charls chuckled. “Yes, yes. Tell the Mistress, if you can reach her. She doesn’t grant audience to anyone anymore. To even get into the palace you have to get through Captain Baill and his guards. And then your chances of seeing Avrell, let alone the Mistress, are slim. The Mistress has never been this hard to reach in the past. I wonder why? And as for the city . . .” Charls leaned forward, his eyes going dark and tight. The Fire inside flared and I stepped forward, stepped between the two, near Borund’s shoulder, my hand on the dagger hidden at my side.
Charls didn’t flinch, his eyes fixed firmly on Borund.
“You would be wise to leave the city alone, Master Borund. Powers are shifting, have been shifting since the Fire scoured its way across Amenkor. You slipped through the net once; I wouldn’t wait around to see if it happens again.”
Charls backed off, smiled thinly and reached to brush nonexistent lint off of Borund’s shoulder. I halted him with a look and a slight shift in weight.
His smile faltered.
Then he moved away, engaged another merchant in conversation, his laugh echoing loudly over the conversations in the hall at something the merchant said. The merchant looked confused, but Charls put his hand on the merchant’s back and guided him away, head bent close.
He glanced back once, smile tight and self-satisfied.
Then he was lost among the crowd.
At my back, Borund trembled with suppressed rage.
The Palace
MYheart had barely begun to calm, back still pressed against what had once been a granite wall outside the archer’s niche, when there were sudden hurried footsteps from the corridor on the other side of the little window.
I slid down close to the opening and peered into the hallway just in time to see the two guardsmen I’d noted before jerk to rigid attention on either side of the doorway they guarded. They’d barely managed to compose themselves when another guard appeared, approaching fast, almost at a run.
I saw him just before he reached the two guards and shuddered, drawing back from the old window.
Captain Baill.
Beside the archer’s window, I cursed, then slid back to watch, eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion. What was Baill doing here now? He should be safely occupied elsewhere. In the city, on the walls, at home in bed—anywhere but in the inner sanctum of the palace.
Unless someone had warned him, had alerted him to my presence. But who?
Captain Baill wore all the armor of his rank, was moving swiftly, his eyes darkened with intense irritation and something close to hatred. His bald head gleamed in the torchlight, his face covered in scars. Old scars. Earned scars. They surrounded dark eyes that shifted restlessly even as he walked—calculating eyes that saw everything, and remembered.
He moved toward the two guardsmen with purpose, barked, “Has anyone passed by here in the last hour?”
“No one, Captain.”
“Fuck!”
The two guards glanced at each other, startled. Baill stared at the stone floor a moment, one hand rising to rub across his bald head.
Then he glanced up, scarred face hard.
“Come with me,” he said.
One of the guards began to protest, motioning toward the door they guarded.
“It’s a fucking audience chamber!” Baill roared. “There’s nothing in there! We’ve got bigger problems.”
And he began moving away, fast. Toward the main entrance to the inner sanctum, the doorway that had once been an outer gate.
The two guards hesitated a moment, then followed.
Then they were gone.
043
I dropped back from the archer’s window, heart suddenly pounding. Did Baill know I was here? Had he been warned?
The fear twisted into anger, the taste of sickness on my tongue now bitter, like ash.
Had Avrell had a change of heart and warned them? Had he betrayed me?
It seemed unlikely. He was the one who’d hired me. He’d been the one arguing so fervently with Nathem to convince him that the Mistress’ death was essential.
But who else could it have been? No one else knew I was here tonight except Avrell. He’d seen me in the meeting room, knew exactly where I was. . . .
A sudden flood of relief washed over me. It had been Avrell. But he hadn’t warned Baill to betray me. He’d done it to help. Avrell knew the plan, knew I’d been in the meeting room, knew that I was behind schedule. He must have assumed I’d miss the changing of the guard.
So he’d provided the guardsmen with a distraction.
My hand tightened on my dagger in determination and I spun back to the archer’s window, gauged the narrow opening. It didn’t matter if Avrell had warned Baill to help me, or if someone else had warned Baill to stop me. Whatever the case, this might be my only chance to get past the outer perimeter of palace guardsmen. And I had to reach the Mistress tonight. There was no more time left, not if the city was to survive the winter.
Placing one hand at the top of the opening, reaching through with the other, I shoved my head and shoulders through. If I’d had anything in the way of breasts, I’d have been fucked. It was the only reason I’d been passable as a page boy, and one of the only reasons the plan to get me into the inner sanctum of the palace would work.
I exhaled sharply, pushing all the air out of my lungs in one hard gasp, and wedged my chest through next. Pausing to get a better grip on the granite, I drew in a gulp of air, the window crushing me. Too tight. I couldn’t draw in a full breath. Pain shot up through my lungs. I gasped, began breathing in short huffs, exhaled all the air again and shoved, the window’s edge scraping down to my hips.
For a heartrending moment, I thought the opening was too small, my frame too big. I panicked. Sweat broke out in the pits of my arms, slicked my palms. I shoved again, strained against the granite, felt it grinding into my pelvic bones—
And then, with a sharp, stinging pain, my hips scraped through and I collapsed into the archer’s niche on the far side with a hiss, legs still dangling out the other side, into the linen closet. I pulled them through, lances of pain shooting up my sides, but I shoved that pain away and crouched in the niche.
In both directions, the corridor was empty. But I could hear voices now, shouts, heavy boots running in my direction.
I darted across the corridor to the door of the audience chamber. The unguarded door opened without a sound, but slowly, the solid wood heavy. I ducked inside, pulled it closed behind me and turned.
I was inside the palace’s inner sanctum.
And all hell had apparently broken loose.