by Shannon Hale
“Hello, tree rat.” Dasha sat beside him and began to pick through the remains of the feast. “I wondered when you were going to come talk to me.”
“You did?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said as she finished a slice of cucumber. “You do drag your feet. I have been away for weeks and weeks, and all you can do is sit there and stare.”
“I wasn’t staring at you. . . .”
“You weren’t? I thought you were.” She studied an empty bowl. “So you were ignoring me.”
“No, I wasn’t.” His head felt even thicker than before, and he rubbed his eyes. “I was looking at you a lot, just not, you know, staring, necessarily.”
“And . . . ?”
“And what?”
She sighed. “And what did you think?”
She wants a compliment, he thought, pleased that he was catching on so quickly.
“And you look really pretty with your hair up like that, prettiest girl in here tonight.”
Dasha’s smile took a long time spreading from one corner of her mouth to the other. “So, you were looking. Well, thank you, but I meant, what did you think about the song I played?”
Razo stared hard at the short rope of pearls around her throat, commanding his face to be still, not to show any color, not to betray his utter humiliation with so much as an eyebrow twitch.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look as though you’re in pain.”
“Just a strained . . . toe. Ahem. Anyway, that’s what I meant, that you looked pretty while playing the harp. You sounded pretty.”
“Thank you.” She hooked a finger in her pearls, the action reminding Razo to look up. “I wanted to talk to you about the Bayern and how the situation has been over the summer. Do you have time tomorrow morning?”
“Yes,” said Razo without hesitation.
“I thought we could go riding through the heart.”
“Good,” said Razo, thinking that riding in a public place would be safer.
“On second thought, how about by the ocean?”
“You’re right, that would be better,” said Razo, now realizing that anywhere too public might be even more dangerous. He straightened for whatever she might say next, and no matter what it was, he was ready to agree.
Then he went cold, as if all his blood drained out of him from his head through his boots. He was ready to agree. No matter what she said. She has people-speaking.
Isi had told him about people-speaking, how it was a talent like Enna’s fire and wind speech. He had been around people-speakers before—they were charming and persuasive, yet they planted an uncomfortable sensation in Razo’s mind, made him itch where he could not reach. And they had been safe only once they were dead.
“Perhaps if you liked we could—”
“I, uh, I should go,” he interrupted, standing and knocking an empty platter to the floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Razo scuttled away. He had barely fled the uncertain lamplight of the banquet hall for a dark corridor when a hand grabbed him and pulled him against a wall.
“Pela,” said Razo like a sigh of relief. “I thought you were Tumas at first. What’re you doing?”
“I baked this special for you.” Pela stood close to him, holding a pastry in both hands. She smiled, her two bunches of yellow hair bobbing.
“Uh, thanks, but I . . .” He was about to make an excuse why he could not take it, but she looked so much like a rabbit, cute and pathetic at once, he could not bear to hurt her. “But I don’t have anything for you. But thanks.”
He examined it as he walked away, and despite having just gorged at a banquet, his stomach burbled gleefully. It was his favorite kind of turnover—flaky crust, pears and syrup oozing out, with some dark red berries he’d never seen before. He raised it to his lips but stopped. Somehow accepting a gift from lap-sitting Pela felt like lying behind Dasha’s back.
Probably her people-speaking power over me, thought Razo. He was passing by the kennels and tossed the tartlet to a large brown dog, who snapped it out of the air and gulped it whole.
The next morning, Razo wheedled Finn and Enna up early, begging their company, and they followed him to the stable, yawning, pillow marks still imprinted on their cheeks. They sat on their horses and waited at the Bayern stables for Dasha.
“Enna, you’ve spent more time with a people-speaker than I have—”
“Ick. I really don’t want to think about that. Ever again.”
“I know”—Razo craned around, trying to spot Dasha among the early-morning errand runners—“but if Dasha’s one of them, then it might explain how she’s able to move the bodies around, you know, persuading others to do stuff for her. She doesn’t seem like a murderer, but the people-speakers I knew can seem so friendly and innocent and pretty and—”
“Hello!” Dasha rode up on a gray stallion, her orange hair in two neat braids. She wore white trousers with her tunic, and her lummas was dyed a dazzling Bayern turquoise, making her eyes appear the same bright color. “Are Enna and Finn joining us? What fun! I brought plenty of victuals”—she patted a basket tied behind her saddle—“so shall we go?”
She tapped her mount forward. Razo glared at Bee Sting when she followed without a prompt.
They rode through twisting side streets, Dasha begging details of what the city had been like during the blistering summer months. Razo could not speak fast enough, could not leap forward quickly enough whenever she wanted a thing, and could not pass Finn and Enna enough meaningful looks over his shoulder.
They were sitting on a blanket in the sand, watching the surf stroke the shore, when Dasha held up her hands and laughed, as pleased as a fish in a stream. “I am stickier than a stickle bush, I’m so drenched in peach juice.” She hopped up to rinse off her hands.
“So, am I right?” he whispered as soon as Dasha was beyond earshot.
Finn shrugged.
“There’s something wrong with her, no doubt,” said Enna.
“I knew it!”
“No, no, I mean something else. . . . Ugh, I wish I were better at wind-speaking. Isi would be able to tell. I don’t think she’s a fire-speaker. The heat is different around her, somehow. . . . But nothing makes me think she’s a people-speaker. What makes you—”
“How could you miss it? Just the sound of her voice makes my chest feel tight, and my face gets hot and my mouth goes dry whenever she’s near. It’s getting so bad, all I have to do is see her and I’m already thinking, What does she want? What can I do for her? She’s got some power over me, there’s no question, and what else could it be?”
There was a heavy pause, then Enna burst out laughing. Finn smiled at his boots.
“What, what?” Razo looked back and forth wildly. “What did I miss?”
Enna rolled her eyes. “This is delicate, and I’ll admit that I’m not at my best when things are delicate.” She stood and stretched. “I’ll go help Dasha scrape off the stickiness. Finn, would you . . . ?” She gestured at Razo with her head.
“What is it?” Razo asked when Enna was gone. “If you and Enna knew that Dasha was an enemy all along and kept me ignorant for your own amusement . . .”
Finn balked at speaking, even more than normal, and kept running a finger on the inside of his collar as if his shirt scratched his neck. “It’s just . . . have you thought, Razo, that maybe what you were talking about isn’t because she has people-speaking, but might be that you’re, you know . . .” He looked at Razo hard, his eyes unblinking.
Razo was about to explode with impatience because he did not know and this game was getting dull and . . . then he knew. The thought rushed him like wildfire hitting an autumn wheat field. He felt his face burn, and he shook his head casually as if he did not know, then wished he had not, because Finn was forced to actually say it aloud.
“. . . falling in love with her.”
Razo’s voice stuck in his throat. He coughed. “I . . . uh, that’s just, that’s . . .”
&
nbsp; “I found another in my saddlebag!” said Dasha, returning with a fig-and-egg cake in hand.
Enna was behind her, and whatever expression Razo had plastered on his face made her turn her back and double over in hysterics.
“Are you all right?” Dasha’s look skipped to each person. “What did I miss?”
“Didn’t you hear it?” asked Razo with some pressure in his voice. “Enna just let out some serious gas. That was coarse, Enna-girl, and not funny a whit.”
Finn snorted once as though trying very hard not to laugh. Enna’s chuckle stopped short, and she glared back at Razo.
Razo shrugged, his mouth miming, “What?”
Only when the party was mounted and returning up the beach, Finn and Enna in the lead, did Razo let his attention return to Dasha. She was watching the sea, her gaze lost where the horizon was misty. With the conversation hushed, the sound of waves pierced him again as it had the first time, whispered an ache of loneliness, made him feel full of secrets. The way Dasha watched the water, he thought she would understand.
In love. That’d be just my luck.
Razo grumbled to himself as he stabled Bee Sting and ambled back to the barracks. There was a commotion around the kennels, and something was lying on the ground. Razo thought if it was another burned body, he might as well cut his own throat. As he neared, he heard one man say to another, “Dead. Just up and died in the night. Wasn’t even sick yesterday.”
Razo slithered through the throng and saw—it was a large brown dog.
17
Daggers in the Assembly
Four days after the death of the dog, Razo paced outside the barracks. He had not returned to the pastry kitchen and had so far avoided Pela, though lately everything he ate tasted a little off. He hoped it was just his imagination. Now Thousand Years was abuzz with the gossip that two of Ledel’s men had deserted after the last feast day. According to Ledel, the men had been enamored of a group called Manifest Tira. With new blood in their ranks, Razo suspected Manifest Tira would creep out and bite soon.
He should try to chase them down. But how? Were they the burners? Was Dasha involved? And how could he find out without hanging around her and confirming to Enna and Finn that he really was infatuated? The problem became harder and crunchier the longer he chewed, and he feared he might crack a tooth on it.
“Hello!”
Startled, Razo took two steps back, his heels hit a stone, and he fell on his backside. Dasha stood over him, as pleased as if she were looking at a litter of bunnies.
“I scared you! I never scare anyone.”
“No?” Razo hopped back up and adopted a posture that said he was completely unruffled, never had been, and in fact was ready to do something manly like lift boulders or swallow live worms. “You frighten me regularly.”
“Would you say I’m terrifying?” She lifted one eyebrow.
“Alarming, at the very least.”
“Oh, good.” She hooked her arm through his and began to walk, easily knocking his composure off its feet, until he noticed that her shoulder was touching the top of his arm and he could see the part in her hair. He was taller than Dasha. His gait turned into a swagger.
“And where’re we going?”
“The assembly. They asked for Lady Megina today, and you’re the first Bayern I came across.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know, but when the chief of assembly calls, you don’t dawdle.”
It was past midday when all the Bayern gathered, entered carriages, and made the slow, bouncy ride into the heart. The scene around the assembly was calm and quick in the supple heat of early autumn, the sky a bottomless blue. The ambassador promenaded across the plaza, smiling and waving. Razo felt raw and exposed, missing the protection of the prince.
The door guard outside the assembly collected swords, daggers, and slings. A Tiran man pushed his way in front of Dasha. He was perhaps twenty years old, with hair cut short, his robes sharply white. Razo took him for some assembly member’s aide who had taken too long on an errand. When the door guard asked for his weapon, the man held up his arms to show that he wore no sword. There appeared to be something darker than his white robes at his waist beneath his lummas, but Razo decided it was just a fold in the fabric.
Talone ordered Enna to stay with half of Bayern’s Own outside. He did not trust the assembly door guard to keep back any armed fanatics who might try to come in after the ambassador. Finn, Razo, and the Own’s best grapplers, including Conrad, accompanied the captain inside.
The walls of the assembly were curved, high windows piercing the white stone dome. The sixty assemblymen and -women in white robes and scarlet sashes sat on rows of steps that wrapped around the chamber. When the door minister announced Megina, the current debate paused. All faces turned to see the Bayern, then outcries arose like birds startled from a wheat field.
“Something’s not right,” said Talone, reaching for the sword that was not there.
The chief of assembly stood in the speaking circle at the lowest point of the room. “Quiet, please. Lady Megina, why have you come?”
“Lady Dasha gave me a message, saying you requested my presence.”
“I am here, honored chief,” said Dasha, stepping forward. “The message came from your aide, Tophin, just after the third bell.”
“I apologize, Ambassador, for your inconvenience,” said the chief of assembly, “but I sent no message.”
“How odd. But as I am here, may I take this opportunity to address the assembly?”
The chief stepped aside, offering the circle.
“Lady Megina, we should go,” Talone said in a low warning.
“We have less than two weeks before they vote,” Megina whispered. “I can’t pass up this chance.” She began to descend the wide, shallow steps.
No sooner was she beyond Talone’s reach than two men rushed forward, coming between the ambassador and her guards. One shoved Talone, knocking him back against the steps. Razo reached for the man, his fingers just grazing his tunic. The other man had already gained the circle, and he pulled a short dagger from his side, seizing Megina around her waist.
Talone hollered, and the Bayern leaped forward. The first thug pulled his dagger and shook it at them.
“Stay back! We will speak, and you will hear us or she dies.”
It was the young man who had pushed through the line. Razo cursed his own stupidity. The assassination of an ambassador was something even those Bayern eager for peace would not be able to ignore.
“This assembly is disgraced by harboring enemy spies and kissing our brothers’ murderers,” said the first villain.
They were walking Megina up a set of stairs, apparently seeking a wall at their backs. Razo scanned the chamber. When the ambassador and her captors reached the top, they would be directly below a ledge. Razo started toward it till he glimpsed Talone with Conrad and another grappler, climbing a pillar. Razo stayed back, thinking he would only get in their way.
“We will be heard! We will not allow Tira to fall in with thieves—” One of the men’s sandals squeaked on a marble stair that was suddenly wet. He slipped, regained his feet, and slipped again. Razo wondered how that particular stone came to be wet but thought it awfully lucky. The slip bought Talone a little more time. Razo peeked toward Talone, gauging the progress in their climb, and caught a glimpse of Dasha. Her face was intense, almost pained.
“The vile enemy . . . ,” the villain screeched. “Our murderers are not our neighbors. . . .”
His voice was building, higher and louder, as though he would come to some climax, and soon. Talone was still out of sight. Razo did not think Megina could wait.
The door guard had taken his sword, his javelin, his bag of stones, and his short sling from his side, but his long-distance sling still cinched his waist like a belt. An elderly assemblyman beside him was clutching a cane topped with a wooden ball as big as a fist.
“Excuse me,” said Razo, sn
atching the cane. He broke it over his knee.
The assassin was canting in a voice rubbed raw, building in pitch, coming to the end. “We make this sacrifice . . .”
The sling felt cumbersome with the cane knob in its leather pouch, the target too close for a distance sling. His hands shaking, he wrapped a length of the sling around his wrist to shorten it. The villain was angling the dagger to Megina’s throat. Razo swung once and released.
The knob hit the assassin on the cheek. He screamed, let go of Megina, and fell over, his hands cradling his face. The second villain’s dagger did not have time to fall. Talone dropped from the ledge onto the man’s back, shoving him to the ground. Conrad followed, wrestling the dagger from Talone’s man, the other grappler securing the wounded man. Finn rushed forward, putting Megina behind him.
“And on the very steps of our assembly chamber . . . ,” whispered the old man.
The Bayern were quiet as they rode back to Thousand Years. Razo watched Dasha, and she watched the carriage window. The assembly guards were hunting Tophin, the chief’s aide, who had disappeared. Razo wondered if his body would show up burned.
Lord Belvan and Talone led the bound, would-be assassins to the bowels of the palace for questioning, where the only light seeped from oily torches dripping smoke. Razo was at their heels. He needed to hear those men admit to the burnings.
At the door of the dark, stale chamber, Talone put a hand on Razo’s chest.
“I’ll help,” said Razo.
“No, son, I’ll do this myself.”
Talone shut the door.
18
A Ram’s-Head Ring
Razo found Talone two days later sitting on his bunk at the barracks, his forehead resting on his fist.
“Are you grayer than you were?” asked Razo, rubbing his own temples.
Talone smiled grimly, and Razo decided he would rather not know what had happened in that cell.
“I do not believe that they’re the burners.”
