While Meri slept, I pulled out the hidden journal again. I stroked my fingers over the shakily written pages. That might work to my advantage, although where I was going to find a binding to match this —
I was crazy.
But I knew I could do it.
I was going to have to copy the whole damn book.
I awoke to a crick in my neck, the white fur mantle tucked around me, and Meri gone. Gods — what now? Stumbling to my feet, I almost fell over the breakfast tray. Meri — riding. Or not riding. My head was fuzzy from a night spent cramped — apparently — in the window seat. I’d done one thing right, at least: The hidden chamber under the bench was tightly shut, Meri’s secrets safely tucked away inside.
I changed my smock and shook out my kirtle, did something more or less respectable with my hair, and headed off toward the stillroom. I told myself it was absolutely not to visit the prince again; I had to pretend every thing was normal, for one thing — and for another, I still hadn’t satisfied my curiosity about the bird-guns. The trapdoor in the stillroom was my only clue about the tunnels; could I help it if it also happened to lead to Wierolf?
I passed Phandre along the way, coming up the corridor in a sunny yellow gown, her hair bouncing as she walked. She gave me a significant look as we met.
“I’d call you lazy,” she said, “but you were still dressed, so I think you were actually up all night. What were you doing, I wonder?” She twirled a packet of papers in her hand. “Something with Lord Daul?”
“What?”
“Don’t snap at me,” she said. “People are noticing. I’d say it takes a pair to set your aim on his lordship’s best friend. But I don’t think you have it in you.”
I could have laughed, if I wasn’t staring at her in astonishment. “Me and Daul? Sure.”
Phandre shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe there’s something about gutter rats he finds exotic.”
I knew better than to let her bait me. “Have Ludo’s parents given their approval yet?” I asked sweetly. “Because I heard Lord Wellyth ask if Lyll knew any well-bred girls with no prospects. His granddaughter needs a governess.”
Her face darkened briefly. “She wouldn’t,” she said, but there was doubt in her voice. I’d struck a nerve. “You’re lying.”
I wasn’t, exactly: I had seen a letter from Lord Wellyth to his daughter-in-law, proposing “the Séthe girl” for just such a role. “Apparently she needs to learn how to shake her tail at every thing that moves.”
But Phandre wasn’t listening anymore. She twisted the papers in her hand and stalked off down the hallway, back the way she’d come.
Downstairs, the stillroom was empty, so I went next door to the kitchens, where I managed to work out from Yselle’s halting Llyvrin and my nonexistent Corles that Lady Lyll was in the solar this morning. I should go and make sure of that, but if Lyll saw me, I wouldn’t get away again, and I had a command to appear from someone who outranked her. I had meant to ignore it, but it was like trying to set a bowl of cream out of reach of a cat. Sooner or later she’d nick in for a taste. I’d just have another nip down, take a proper light and see if Lyll’s tunnel led anywhere else, and then maybe check in on the prince on my way out.
Accessing the hidden stair was even easier by daylight, even if I did have to crawl under the rug and pull the trapdoor shut above me. As I trotted down the twisting steps, I decided the architects who had designed this castle must have been great friends to Tiboran. This time I’d helped myself to one of the stillroom candles and I shined it now around the stairwell, looking for more doors or passages that had slipped past me last night. The prince’s presence here made such a thing even more likely; there had to be a route in and out of his hidden chamber that made a little more sense than crawling underneath Lady Lyll’s stillroom. That hardly seemed a practical way of bringing an injured man treatments or clearing away his soiled bandages and chamber pots. Chamber pots — pox! I’d been smart enough to carry the changed bandages away, and stuff them into one of the great ovens kept burning all night in the kitchens, but that hadn’t even occurred to me. Oh, this was all kinds of foolishness, and I was being stupid about it, to boot.
The little landing at the foot of the stair seemed to lead nowhere else, though I tapped all around the space and inspected every crack in the wood with my candle. If there was another passage, it was through the prince’s rooms. Of course.
He was awake this time, propped against the pillows with a tray beside him on the bed. He smiled weakly when I came in. “Hullo,” he said hoarsely. “I thought I’d dreamed you.”
“That would have been nice,” I said, “but no. I’m as real as you. You are real, aren’t you?”
Wincing, he maneuvered an arm out from beneath his linens. “This certainly feels all too real.”
“I’ll bet.” The hanging lamp was lit already, and I stuck the candle in a brass holder on the shelf behind the bed. I glanced around the little room but, even with twice the light, there wasn’t all that much to see. Just the bed and the prayer stand and the shelf full of medicines. “When was the last time you had something for the pain?”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Someone was here a while ago; she gave me something. What time is it?”
“Morning, late,” I said. “The other woman — does she always come in the way I came?” His dark eyes clouded over with confusion. “Never mind.” The milk and bread looked untouched. “Did you eat anything?”
“She tried, but . . .” He trailed off.
I scowled. It didn’t seem like Lady Lyll to leave a tray of food in bed with an invalid, but the prince clearly wasn’t strong enough to move it himself. “Can you feed yourself?” That was probably not how a nurse was supposed to talk to a prince, so I tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into the milk, then held it up to his mouth. He took it, swallowing slowly. I gave him another couple of pieces, and though he seemed willing to try more, the bowl had been nearly full when it was left here with him, and I didn’t want to arouse suspicion.
When I didn’t offer any more, his fingers fumbled for the bread. I let him; all the better if he made a mess himself. I was looking around the room, trying to decide how I was going to tap my way around the paneled walls until one of them popped open and became a tunnel . . . without him noticing.
Abruptly, Wierolf’s hand fell heavily to the tray, splashing milk. “Damn,” he said weakly. “Thirty-one years old, and I have to be spoon-fed like a baby.”
“You’re tired. I should go —”
“You just got here.” The protest was feeble and almost whiny and, damn me, he was the prince, even if nobody was going to say so. So I knelt beside the bed, my cold toes tucked under my skirts. “Tell me something, Lady —”
“Celyn,” I said. “But I’m not a lady. I’m just a maid.”
“Tell me something, Celyn just-a-maid.”
I waited, but he didn’t finish. “Milord?”
“Tell me something — anything. About yourself, about this place, about the weather. By the gods —” He broke off, a cough racking his whole body. His face twisted with pain, but he shook me off when I tried to help. At last he sank back down against the bed, pale and sweating. “Just — talk to . . . me.” The last word was merely a movement of cracked lips.
“All right,” I said finally. What I really wanted was for him to talk to me, but he obviously wasn’t up to it. “It’s winter,” I began. “It’s cold here; there’s a lot of snow, and . . .” For the love of Tiboran, I was a better story teller than this. What had happened to me?
I didn’t know which way to lie, that was the problem. I didn’t know what this man knew, what he was supposed to know, and who might be keeping what from him, and why. And until I knew that, I had no idea what to say or not say.
“I saw a lion once,” I said utterly at random. “At a street carnival in Gerse. Its fur was gold, and it had huge golden eyes that looked right at you, like it knew every secret you ever had. They had
a baby there too, and for a silver piece they’d let you hold it. It was heavy and soft — the softest thing you’ve ever touched. Softer than velvet.” I was looking at my hands as I told that stupid story that wasn’t even a story, just a scrap of pointless memory, and the prince was silent so long I decided he’d fallen asleep. But when I looked up at him, his head was turned toward me, and he was listening to every meaningless word I said, great dark eyes watching me intently. “It — it reminded me of the sun,” I finished lamely. I didn’t even know what that meant.
“Go on,” he whispered.
“I —” I faltered. “There isn’t any more to tell.”
“Gerse,” he murmured. “Is that where you’re from?”
I nodded.
“I thought so — your voice . . .” He briefly closed his eyes, as if gathering strength. “Where were you raised?”
“At the Celystra,” I said without thinking, and could have bitten back the words. His dark eyes were still on me. Like they knew every secret you ever had. I dropped my gaze.
“Convent school,” the prince said. “I’ll wager you don’t miss that.”
“You have no idea,” I said, and thought he smiled.
He turned his head a little, working his eyes. I wondered if the pain — or the poison in his wound — might be making him dizzy. “How did you end up here, Celyn just-a-maid?”
“Milord, I ask myself that question daily.”
A sound squeaked out of him, raw and painful. It took me a moment to realize it was a laugh. Surprising myself, I grinned back. It made me daring. “What about you, milord? You haven’t told me your name.”
A sigh. “My name,” he said, his voice raspy. “I don’t get asked that very often. I think . . . I’ll be no one for a while. See what that’s like.”
“Fair enough,” I said. I wasn’t going to be the one to press someone about his identity. “You’ll like being no one. It’s better than commonly reported.”
“Is it?”
“Oh, yes. Nobody expects anything of you, nobody makes demands on you, and if nobody knows who you are, you can be anyone you want. I highly recommend it.”
“It sounds splendid,” the prince said, but my list had spun out further in my mind: Nobody tries to kill you. Did he know his own uncle had ordered his death? I shivered in the icy room.
The prince was clutching at the little amulet he wore, his face drawn tight.
“Can I see that?”
He leaned forward so I could lift it from his neck. I held it by the chain and gradually pooled it into my palm, until the bronze pendant touched my hand, and the magic around it shifted and swam, twining across my fingers, my wrist. The prince winced and put his hand to the bandage on his chest.
“It doesn’t seem like it’s working.” As gently as I could, I hung the pendant back around his neck.
“I don’t know, it hurts, and she’s not sure why it’s taking so long to heal. Maybe —”
I thought through what I’d learned from Lady Lyll in the stillroom, but kept staring at the pendant, the way it fell against the bandages, and — pox! I was seven kinds of a fool.
“Are they still treating you with silver?” He just blinked at me. Lyll must not have known about the amulet. “Silver inhibits magic. You’ve got — two kinds of medicine there, magical and mundane, and they’re fighting each other.”
He eyed me strangely. “You didn’t learn that in the Celystra,” he said, surprising a laugh right out of me.
“I should go,” I finally said. “You need to rest.”
“All I do is rest.” He sounded petulant again.
“Yes, and why is that, do you think?”
“Point taken,” he said. “Very well, Celyn just-a-maid. You may go. But come back again with more stories of Gersin lions.” He settled back against the pillows, closing his eyes.
I’d been dismissed, but I lingered as he fell asleep again, then crept around the perimeter of the room, casting my candle over all the seams in the paneled walls until I found one that matched the way I’d let myself in. It wasn’t even that well concealed; it was just so dim in here that it looked more like a wall than a door. I cracked it open, shining my light into the hollow behind it, but the shadows were too deep for the candle’s glow to penetrate. Wierolf shifted restlessly on the bed, and I slipped through the door, feeling it click shut behind me.
The thrill wore off abruptly. The passage continued straight — east, at a guess, though it was hard to be sure, underground — for a few dozen yards, then ended at a short flight of stairs that opened out behind a storage bench in the kennels outside. The dogs gave me a roaring welcome as I popped up between the cages. Convenient, perhaps, but not exactly good for stealth. And utterly free of firearms. The only birds here were the real kind, rooks perched low, taunting the dogs.
Meri was still out on her “ride” when I dragged myself back up to her rooms. I used the time to gather supplies for my new project: forging a copy of Daul’s journal. Ink and pens we had aplenty, but leather for the binding and pages to match were going to take a little more effort. Meri’s magical fingertips had left flickering traces of power on some of the journal’s pages, but mostly the book behaved itself. The whole thing was about eighty pages, written in a smooth swift hand; with a little practice I would have that script down as naturally as if it were my own. Daul would never know the difference. I’d made a living making sure of that.
I wrote a few quick practice lines to see how hard it would be, feeding the sample pages into the fire when I was done. The careful, familiar work was soothing, but every time I looked up from the page, my thoughts drifted down to the prince below, or out into the snowy morning with Meri. To Daul. Normally I liked secrets, but these were beginning to wear on me. I could have spent the whole winter in cozy luxury, with nothing more difficult to do than labeling medicine bottles — but I’d had to go poking my fingers where they didn’t belong. And now I was caught in a tangle of lives, lies, and mysteries that had nothing and every thing to do with me.
Meri finally came in, half soaked, her thick hair speckled white with melting flakes. I’d watched out the window for her approach, and had cleared away all the signs of my work.
“Celyn — mulled wine! How clever of you.” Meri crossed the room and shed her gloves, dropping them on the tapestry tuffet.
“Did you and your father have a good ride?” My voice sounded sharp.
“Snowy,” she said, sinking down beside me. “It got a lot colder than I expected.” She looked out the window, into the thickening snowfall, and I wondered where her gaze tracked to.
“Meri, you would tell me, wouldn’t you, if you had a secret?”
She blinked at me in surprise. “A secret? What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “You know, anything. Like if you had — a lover, or something?”
“A lover? Celyn, what in the world are you talking about?” She seemed guileless, confused. “If I had a lover, you can be sure I wouldn’t keep him a secret!” She laughed. “And anything else? Of course I would tell you. Unless I was commanded not to by my lord father and lady mother, of course. But those would be official secrets that really weren’t my right to dispose of any way I wished to.”
And that was the crux of the problem before me. The things I knew, I had no right to know. They weren’t my secrets to keep or give away. “I’m no good at secrets,” I said, looking at the patterns in the red and gold of the tuffet. “I always have to tell somebody, or I’ll go mad with the feeling — it’s like holding on to a hot ember.”
Meri gave me an odd look for a moment, and then smiled. “Well, then,” she said, “I guess I shan’t be telling you any of my secrets, after all!” She stood and brushed droplets of melted snow from her skirts. “I’m soaked,” she said. “Help me change?”
She raised her arms expectantly, so I came to her side and unlaced her wool riding gown. The folds of heavy damp fabric slipped easily to the floor. Beneath the wool gown and her line
n kirtle, her smock was very sheer, and as I helped her step out of the kirtle, I thought I saw something strange. Crossing the boundary between curiosity and shocking rudeness, I pulled her smock down off her shoulder, exposing the bare pale flesh — and the tiny tattoo, still slightly pink and swollen, at the base of her shoulder blade.
The purple tattoo.
Of a seven-pointed star.
I stood there like an idiot, the corner of her smock still in my hand, too stunned to say anything.
“Celyn!” Meri pulled away, tugging it back over her shoulder.
“Meri, are you crazy?”
“What?” She held the smock closed with one hand balled up at her breast. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? A tattoo? And — and of —” Ridiculously, I almost couldn’t bring myself to say it. I had to whisper. “The Mark of Sar? When did you get this? Where did you get it? Who gave this to you?” Who would have the skills — and the nerve — to commit such a work of madness? Brand ing the Mark of Sar into the heir to Bryn Shaer?
“I don’t have to tell you anything!”
“No, you don’t, but — what if someone saw it?”
She frowned. “Who’s going to see it?”
“Anyone! Your mother — a seamstress! Your husband?”
She made a sound, but I couldn’t tell if it was derisive or hopeless . . . or something else. “You have one.”
Now how in the world would she know that? It was just my Guildmark, three tiny black dots on my hip. I’d had it since becoming a thief. Officially.
“I saw it once. In the bath.” She sounded defensive.
“Meri, I don’t think you realize how dangerous this is.”
“I do!”
I grabbed for her shoulder again. “No, I don’t think you really do! That’s not something you do on a lark, for a thrill! What do you think would happen to you if someone found that?” I shoved my own sleeve back from my arm, revealing the gash that had faded into a long pink stripe on my forearm. “Look. Look! I didn’t get this falling into some rosebush at the convent. I got it from Greenmen. Greenmen, Meri. I’m lucky that’s all they did. And I don’t have the Mark of Sar branded into my body.”
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