by Shannon Hale
“Just take care that you don’t give yourself away.”
“Oh, I can be subtle.” She gave him a significant look and left without waiting for him to pick up the fallen shot. He clinked the stones into his pouch and wondered how the mood had plunged from summer to winter inside a moment. Could she have been upset just because he frequented the pastry kitchen? It did not make any sense.
One week, he thought.
Come night, he planned to climb a tree beside Ledel’s barracks and spy a bit, but there were still hours of anxious daylight. He was standing in the skinny shade of a tree beside the barracks, deliberating what to do next, when he saw a young man with short hair weaving through the relentless traffic of the palace grounds. He caught sight of a copper-colored glint on his hand before the young man disappeared into the palace.
Razo did not need a closer look to guess it was a copper ring, marked with the head of a ram.
21
An Ambassador’s Assassin
Razo ran, his breath fuming in his lungs. The young man had been moving toward the south wing of the palace, where both Megina and Enna lived. When he shimmied through the crowds and into the palace, the clack of sandals on stone stairs was just fading out of hearing. Up he hiked to the third floor, relieved to find two Bayern sentries still posted outside the ambassador’s room.
“Has anyone come looking for Lady Megina?” he asked Conrad.
“Not in an hour. Why?”
“Is she in there?” Razo gestured to the door, looking over his shoulder to watch for anyone coming from behind.
“Yes, she’s there.”
“And Enna’s in her room?”
“No, she’s off with Finn and Lord Belvan in the city. Razo, what’s going on? You look like—”
“Make sure Megina’s all right, then don’t let anyone in. I’ll be back.”
Razo fled to the stairs, slid down the rails, and raced to see if he could spot the potential assassin outside. Talone was approaching the palace, and when he saw Razo’s face, he ran to meet him.
“Manifest Tira in the palace . . .” Razo sputtered words, his breath disheveled with anxiety. “Maybe looking for Megina. I lost him—”
Then they both saw—a man scaling the outside of the palace, climbing from a second-story window to the third story, straight toward one of Megina’s windows. Her shutters were open, inviting in the cool air as well as any assassins who cared to call.
“I’ll go in,” said Talone, veering toward the door to the palace. “You—”
Talone did not finish his sentence, but Razo knew what he was going to say. He was already pulling free his distance sling, drawing a stone from his bag. The target was too far away, so he kept running as he put the stone in the leather pouch and swung it round. The moment he was close enough, he let it free, the shot ripping the air as it circled. The man dropped into the window, the stone striking the space where his head had just been.
Razo cursed and kept running so hard, the back of his throat ached and tasted of blood. When he reached the place where the young man had climbed, Raz leaped onto a windowsill and shinned up ledges. Palace guards were running at him, shouting.
“Assassin!” Razo pointed up. “I’m trying . . . stop the assassin . . . the ambassador!”
He swung an arm over Megina’s windowsill and heard metal whack metal. Pulling himself onto his elbows, he saw Talone raise his sword in defense against the Tiran’s swing. Megina stood behind Conrad and the other Bayern sentry, one sleeve of her dress ripped, cloth hanging open like a wound.
Razo scrambled into the room, rolling out of the way when the fight got too close, and grabbed a javelin lying on the floor. He crouched and waited for a clean shot at the Tiran man, hoping to nab one of his legs, but the opponents tangled and pulled away, circled and sliced, swung fists when swords locked, never offering Razo an opening.
Come on, come on. Razo was not fond of bare swords swinging in small spaces. They often managed to slice a bit of skin or lob off limbs and heads. Suddenly the Tiran lurched, and his leg curved behind Talone’s heels, tripping him back. Talone hit the floor.
“No!” cried Razo, leaping forward.
But the Tiran sword stopped short. Talone’s own sword thrust up through the Tiran’s white tunic. It was quickly turning red.
Talone yelled with effort, pushing the sword and man away. The Tiran fell dead to the side.
The room was filling with Tiran soldiers—Lord Belvan’s men, Razo was relieved to see. Had it been Ledel’s, he might have drawn his own sword. Soldiers climbed through the windows and burst through the doors, exclaiming and demanding answers until Megina’s clear voice cut through the noise. Within minutes, the Tiran soldiers carried the body away, bolted the windows, sent men to search the rest of the south wing, and set up guards on every floor.
Razo sat in a corner, playing with a cut on his hand, a result of clambering up the wall too quickly. He ripped a corner of cloth from one of the ambassador’s tunics (don’t think she’ll mind, as I helped save her life and all, he thought), tied up the cut, and discovered himself alone but for Talone and Megina, who stood in the center of the room, facing each other, apparently having forgotten that Razo existed.
“You’re not hurt.” Talone looked over her body as if making certain, his hand lifting a flap of her torn sleeve, letting it fall.
“Thank you, Captain.” Her hand kept fluttering to her heart and back to her side, as if she did not know where to put it.
“That was quick thinking,” said Talone. “You kicked him solid, gave me a chance to get between you.”
Megina’s eyes widened. “I did kick him, didn’t I?”
Her lips tensed, his tensed, and then, unexpectedly, they both laughed. It spooked Razo to goose bumps.
“The king spoke for hours on your many talents, Lady Megina, but he neglected to mention the kicking.”
Megina was laughing until she squeaked. “Don’t tell him! This entire enterprise has been failure and terror and bad news, and I don’t want to give him any more reason to laugh at me. Though I don’t mind if you do, Captain.”
The laughing stopped, her eyes still teary. “I suppose I’ll have to keep a guard with me now, on both sides of the door.”
“I will see to it,” he said, though his voice was husky, seemingly saying different words altogether. He looked at her face, her hands.
“If you’re to assign me a constant guard,” she said, wincing as though confessing a bad deed, “I would that it was you.”
Razo held his breath, afraid that any moment they would remember his presence. He crept to the exit and had almost escaped unnoticed when his javelin tip caught the doorjamb and clattered to the floor. He swiped it up and ran off.
His ribs itched inside him where he could not scratch. Seeing them made him see himself. He had been the one in the room who stood alone, whom no one looked at, who dropped his javelin and ran away. He knew he should be laughing at it, but just then he could not. No one had ever looked at him in the way Megina had looked at Talone, as if she never wished to look away.
Bettin had made him feel that the world was a laugh, that he was a bucketful of fun, that his heart zigging in his chest was the only way to feel. But in the end it had been a lie.
He thought of Dasha.
Nothing sounded worse to Razo just then than being alone, so he climbed to the fourth floor. The prince was challenging Nom to a game of Tempests, carved marble pieces played on a round board. At a glance, Razo could see Nom was beating him soundly.
“Razo’s-Own! What a pleasure. We see you all too infrequently since the summer’s end. I hope your captain is not working you too hard. But see how your face is red, and you are sweating. Celi! Please bring cold drinks and grapes, and I recall Razo’s-Own enjoyed a good strip of bacon, well crisped, or is that too heavy for afternoon? Well, bring it anyway, and, ooh, see if there are fresh peaches, not the pockmarked ones, of course, nor those hard little yellow ones. I would rath
er go without, wouldn’t you?”
Razo leaned back against a heap of pillows, too tired to care about sweating on the fine fabric. He was aware that the prince had asked a question but could not recall what it had been, so he offered a noncommittal, “Mm.”
“Precisely so,” said the prince.
Razo waited to gulp down some water before sharing the news of the ambassador, the assassination attempt, and his captain’s quick sword. The sight of Talone and Megina looking at each other still made his heart rattle strangely in his chest, and he could not cork up that feeling enough to hold back a gusty exhale.
The prince frowned in his way, which was simply the absence of amusement around his mouth. “You are worried, my friend, about your presence in my country, about the hope of your mission of peace.”
“The assembly votes in less than a week, and it’s not looking good for us. I’d hoped all those people using Bayern dyes meant that Tiran opinion was improving. I guess we just won over the summer folk, and the rich and powerful haven’t changed their minds.” Razo played with the fringe on a pillow, accidentally pulling several strands loose. He stuffed them under another pillow before anyone could notice.
The prince was quiet, eating grapes as a merchant inspects coins. Razo’s eyes had just closed when the prince shouted, “I have it! A way to support your cause. I’d already considered marrying a Bayern, but the only noblewoman in your party is the ambassador. It is a shame your king does not have a sister, but just as well—marrying a Bayern woman at this time of crisis might cause more harm than good, giving impetus for others to rise up and oppose. No, the situation needs a more subtle solution. Just now I hit upon it—the ambassador’s daughter!”
Razo did not want to argue, the prince seemed so elated with the idea, but he had to say, “Radiance, Lady Megina doesn’t have any children.”
“No, no, you mistake me. I mean the Tiran ambassador, Lord Kilcad’s daughter, the fiery-haired girl. Is that not perfect?”
Razo wanted very much to sit down and then realized that he already was.
“She is a little thing,” said the prince, peeling a grape. “Strange hair color in that family, but very respectable. Lord Kilcad is the Tiran most actively campaigning for peace, and she is the liaison to the Bayern. If I chose her, no one could mistake where the prince sides on this issue. I shall write to her father for permission at once, and I’ll do it just for you, my friend.”
Razo forced himself to lean back, act casual. He bumped a pillow fringed with tiny bells, and it tinkled sadly.
“Razo’s-Own, you do not seem pleased.”
“I . . . uh . . .” A turning stomach struck him as an extreme reaction to such news. So what if the prince was going to marry Dasha? They were all nobles, and it was just the sort of thing fancy folk were wont to do. A poor Forest boy and a noble Tiran girl would be a ridiculous match, and he would not cross three days of Forest in two days to tell her what he thought, never again. No, he and Dasha were a passing thought, a moth fluttering by his nose on its way to the firelight.
“I think that’d be a noble thing, Radiance,” Razo said.
“Precisely!”
22
The Grape Harvest Festival
The early-autumn air was in constant motion, gusts of cold, bursts of warmth. The entire world felt ready to happen. With less than a week remaining, Megina thought they had little to lose and declared it was time for the Bayern to celebrate a Tiran festival.
“It’s Tira’s most important feast day. Look sharp, act humble, don’t be quick to draw your weapons. Perhaps the sight of Bayern celebrating among them will hearten the citizens.”
At dusk, Razo wandered to the Bayern stable, watching tree shadows, peering through barracks and palace windows, thrumming to the beat of five days left, five days left. Enna and Finn were waiting at the stable, and she seized upon Razo at once for his version of what had happened the day before. He gave it gladly, emphasizing his clever deductions—how the fellow’s haircut had reminded him of other Manifest Tira assassins and his astounding observance of the telltale copper ring.
“Wish I’d been in Megina’s room. I mean, I wouldn’t’ve burned him,” Enna said, though no one accused, “but I could’ve burned the sword out of his hand, and then he’d still be alive for questioning.”
Razo thought this was a good moment to describe the curious scene that had occurred after the swordplay.
“No,” said Enna, pleased.
“Yes,” said Razo, also pleased.
“I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it. Talone and Megina were looking at each other in that way.”
Enna leaned back against the stable wall, laughing, and sighed at the sky. “Who’d ever’ve guessed? That’s lovely, that is.”
Finn smiled but took himself a bit apart, his body half-turned away from Enna. Something felt wrong to Razo, distance and tension buzzing between those two. He did not know what it meant.
Megina and Talone arrived, striding quickly from the palace. Razo, Enna, and Finn spied on them from behind the stable, waiting for their captain to do something ridiculous like throw her over his shoulder. But he was all business, counting men and assigning duties. Megina did not meet his eyes.
“Are you sure, Razo?” Enna whispered.
“Look, he’s blushing,” Finn said in jest.
“He’ll lose her for sure, acting distant and untouchable like that,” said Enna. “He’s got to speak up now, make sure she knows how he feels.”
Finn snorted. Enna turned slowly, giving Finn a glare she usually reserved for everyone else. He shook his head, meaning, Never mind.
“What, you think I’m being hypocritical?” she asked.
“I’ve told you my mind, asked you dozens of times—”
“So stop asking or I’m never going to say yes.”
“Why not?” Finn’s voice was strong as a rope, pulling for an answer.
“You can’t just assume, Finn. Look at you, the strong man, the warrior, all muscles and sword, always knowing exactly what I’m going to want, standing ready whenever I need water or an arm or a kiss.”
“What’s wrong with that?” said Razo, his stare blank.
“Stay out of this, Razo.”
“Enna, why’re you doing this?” asked Finn.
“What, you don’t like the way I am anymore? Is that it? You want me to be as perfect as you all the time?” Enna slapped his chest. “Why do you have to be so perfect, huh? I’m waiting for you to lose your cool, Finn, just once. So go on! Why don’t you make a fool of yourself for me?”
Enna stared up, Finn stared down. Razo scratched his neck and started to back away. “I . . . uh, I’ll just . . .”
“Don’t bother,” said Finn. He punched a tree trunk as he left.
Razo gave Enna a thump on the shoulder. “That was Finn you were berating, not some nasty Tiran body burner. What’s the matter with you?”
“I don’t know.” She swatted his hand away, her voice still angry. “Maybe I’m scared, or . . . I’m just . . . I don’t know.”
“You better know. You’d better know something before you start talking to Finn like—”
“Look,” said Enna, “saying I’ll love someone forever isn’t as easy as . . . as pulling yarn from a ball. It’s all knotted and kinked inside me. And if I let someone tug on me again . . .” She winced to keep herself from crying. “Ugh! Do you know what I’m saying? I let someone before, and I was wrong and he was bad, and then Finn came and he was perfect, and I thought I was easy with it, and I am easy with him. He makes me feel like Enna. He makes me feel . . .” Enna sat on the ground, Razo dropping down beside her.
“I don’t understand you, Enna. If you love him . . .”
“I do, but it’s not that easy. I hate how he just assumes everything’s fine. Why can’t he ever do something . . . something big, something dramatic, something frightening, woo me, show me that he loves me that much?”
“Finn’s jus
t not that way. He’s the quiet kind.”
“Is he? Or does he just not care as much as he used to?” She halted. Her voice frowned. “And I can’t keep the disquiet away, the whispers that say he could betray me, too.”
Razo blew out his lips. “Aw, Enna-girl. Not Finn, never Finn.”
“You’re right.” She said it lightly, as though she did not have the energy to argue. “So, you over Bettin?”
The question was so unexpected, it made him choke on his own spit. “No, and I won’t ever be, so save your voice telling me it’s done. I know it’s done, but I decided to love her always, and that’s not something a boy can just undo because she’s gone and everyone says to get over it already.”
From the direction of the gardens, Razo could just make out Finn shuffling toward them, one long, yellow flower clutched in his hand.
“He’s bringing me a flower,” Enna whispered, her tone flat, edged with disappointment.
Finn seemed to hesitate, then tossed the flower to one side and turned back around.
“Finn, wait!” Enna jumped up and ran after him.
Great crows, Razo thought, we’re every one of us a tangle too thick to pick.
As the Bayern moved out, Razo glimpsed Enna and Finn talking as they walked. Finn’s head was lowered so she could hear his quiet voice. She took his arm, they moved closer, but neither smiled, and Razo widened his eyes with the realization that Enna and Finn might not always be Enna and Finn. Suddenly the stones beneath his sandals did not feel so solid.
The group took no horses or carriages—the celebration of the grape harvest began everywhere at midnight and paraded down the avenues, converging in the heart. With Enna on her left, Talone on her right, and Bayern’s Own encircling her, Megina held aloft an oil lamp and offered a hearty greeting to anyone she passed.
All along the streets, artists gave of their talents freely—theater groups strutted their rehearsed stories on the plazas, painters scratched at the pavement with charcoal, and poets wrapped their words around passersby. In Bayern, drums drove festival music like a heartbeat, but the Tiran lap harps and flutes lacked that pulse, sliding down the streets and into Razo’s ears, ghostly.
