by C. J. Archer
"My lord," I said sharply. He glanced up and fidgeted with the ends of the ribbon tied around the wallet. "What if the events the Zemayans attribute to magic are just stories?"
"Perhaps they are. But is the strangeness surrounding the palace's existence just a story? You don't think so, Miss Cully, or you wouldn't be here. I don't think so either." He smiled. "So we have something in common."
I couldn't bring myself to return the smile. He had not leaned back but had actually shifted a little closer. I shuffled along the seat, away from him. "Then what is your expert opinion on the palace's existence, my lord? Did the sorcerer create it?"
"It certainly seems that way. I can't think of another explanation, can you?"
"Tell me about him."
"First of all, I think calling it a 'he' doesn't do it a service. According to the Zemayans, it transcends gender, just as it transcends nationality and race. It can take on any form—"
"Human form?"
"Of course. It's the favorite disguise." He winked. "How is it able to choose where and how to perform magic unless it walks among the people?"
"Why would it have chosen to create this palace for King Leon?"
"Ah. That is a very good question, Miss Cully, and I don't have the answer yet."
Yet. "Is that why you're here? To find out?"
"I'm here to make arrangements for His Majesty King Leon to marry the Princess Illiriya of Vytill," he said, his tone condescending, as if I were stupid not to know.
"Yes, but your king could have sent anyone. Why did he send you?"
His gaze narrowed. His mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile. "I see you're not just a pretty face. You're right, he wanted to send someone else but I put forward my case to represent his interests here. He chose me and here I am in this remarkable place." He stretched out his good arm to indicate the entire garden. "So far, I have not seen or felt any signs of magic."
"What signs?"
"I won't know what they are until I see them, but I know I would recognize them as signs when I do. Have you seen anything, Miss Cully?"
I blinked innocently back. "Nothing. No shimmering walls or moving doorways, if that's the sort of thing you mean."
"Precisely. You have caught on quickly."
"Perhaps the sorcerer hasn't left any signs."
"That's a possibility. That's why I also need to speak to the servants. They alone can shed some light on this mystery. Nobody seems to know where they came from before the palace was built. Unfortunately, the ones I've questioned have all been reluctant to speak to me." He regarded me again, taking in my face then going lower, lingering on my throat and breasts.
"My lord," I bit off.
He looked up and smiled wolfishly. "Yes?"
"Do you think the sorcerer can manipulate more than physical things?"
"What do you mean?"
"Can he manipulate someone's mind?"
He frowned. "I don't follow."
"Can the sorcerer make a person do something they don't wish to do? Or stop them from doing something?" It was the closest scenario to memory loss I could think of without alerting him to the servants' precise predicament.
"I suppose so. It's a sorcerer, after all."
It was hardly the definitive answer I wanted. I decided to change tactic, and bring the gemstone into the conversation. "Does the sorcerer work with a device?"
"Device?"
"An object that helps it work its magic."
"You mean a talisman. No, nothing like that. There are more to the stories, however."
"Tell me."
He smiled and tapped the side of his nose. "I'll tell you when you've done something for me." He chuckled at my disappointment. "Come now, Miss Cully, it's only fair that you help me when I've been very generous with my knowledge." He shifted closer. I was already on the edge of the seat with no more room to move. He stopped only when his thigh bumped mine.
"Please, my lord," I said loudly. "What do you want?"
"Shhh." He glanced around and leaned in. "Keep your voice down, Miss Cully. Do you want passersby to overhear us? This is dangerous talk."
"Dangerous!"
"Shhh," he said again. "Think on it. If the palace was built by magic, it must be at the behest of the king. If the two dukes find out the king uses magic, will they still want him as their king? Will they be able to trust him?"
"They won't be able to do anything about it if the king has the sorcerer in his pocket."
"They could kill him and take the sorcerer's power for themselves."
Now I understood the danger. I glanced around too, suddenly wondering if I'd made a mistake having this conversation with Lord Barborough. What if someone listened in? What if he reported me?
He licked his lips. "It's even more dangerous for me, of course, being a foreigner. But I'm willing to risk it to learn more. This opportunity may never come my way again, and I have to grasp it before I return home." His good hand reached out and snatched at the air in front of my face, making me blink. His right arm jerked but did not rise from his lap. He seemed to realize it and self-consciously pulled it into his body.
"If I can find the sorcerer," he went on, "I can learn more about it. This is a great opportunity for me, but I need your help."
"Pardon?"
"I need you to gather information. I want you to question the servants."
"I—I can't."
"Of course you can. You're a commoner too; they'll relate to you more than they do me. You're friendly and pretty." He winked. "The footmen will give up all their secrets if you ask nicely."
Ugh. If he was suggesting what I thought he was suggesting, then he didn't deserve my help. On the other hand, he wouldn't answer any more questions for me unless I agreed. That's why he'd been so willing to answer my earlier questions; he needed me. Now, we needed each other.
"Start with the maid you saw on your midwifery rounds," he said. "You have to go back to her room to get your bag, so why not ask her some questions while you're there. And if she's out, then look around her room."
"I can't do that."
He closed his hand over mine, trapping it on my lap. "Of course you can." He smiled. "If you don't steal anything, she can't accuse you of theft. Look for anything that tells you where she came from, what she was doing before the palace was built, that sort of thing. I feel as though the servants are key to this mystery."
It was the same theory Dane and I had, in a way.
"They're hiding something," Lord Barborough went on. "They must be, otherwise why not just answer my questions?"
I pulled my hand free. "Perhaps you frighten them."
He glanced at his limp arm, lying awkwardly on his lap. "Perhaps I do."
I could have told him that his infirmity didn't scare anyone, that it was his character that unnerved me, but decided against it. I wanted to get away as quickly as possible. "I'd best go now," I said, rising. "Ruth will be wondering why I haven't collected my bag."
He showed no flicker of recognition at her name. I wasn't sure if that meant much, however. Few lords would know the names of the maids who cleaned their rooms. Even if he'd attacked her, that didn't necessarily mean he knew her name.
I went to leave but he caught my wrist. His grip tightened, pinning me. "Don't back out of our agreement, Miss Cully," he said darkly. "You wouldn't want this conversation to reach the king's ear."
"You would also bring trouble on yourself," I pointed out.
"I have a reason to be wandering around the palace and gardens. You do not."
I swallowed heavily even though I wasn't convinced he would follow through on his threat. It could just be his way of making me do his bidding. "If I do this for you, I expect you to give me more answers about magic in return," I said.
He let me go and smiled. "We have an agreement."
I hurried off. It wasn't until I'd left the garden well behind and checked to see that he wasn't following before I rubbed my sore wrist. He might not have the use of
one arm, but the arm that did work was very strong. Perhaps strong enough to overpower Ruth.
I saw Dane before he saw me. He stood on the top step outside the palace, his gaze scanning the vast patchwork of gardens spread before him. When he finally spotted me, he trotted down the steps and took my elbow. He continued to glance around, checking the faces of the nobles nearby as he steered me to the shadows near the palace.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," he said.
"Am I under arrest?" I asked as we walked close to the palace wall.
"No. Why?"
I glanced pointedly at his hand on my elbow. He let go. "My apologies. Where were you?"
"In one of the gardens." I nodded toward the avenue where I'd walked with Lord Barborough.
"Hardly anyone goes up there," he said.
"I noticed."
"I seem to recall asking you not to be alone with him. You should have made an excuse not to go that way."
"If I had, I wouldn't have learned as much as I did from him."
"Even so, I asked you."
"I don't recall agreeing. And anyway, he couldn't have harmed me. His right arm is useless, just as Ruth said." I did not tell him about Lord Barborough's strength. If I did, he'd never want me to be alone with him again, and the only way I could see us gathering more information about the sorcerer was to do just that.
"He's still a suspect," Dane said. "I have reason to believe his arm works perfectly."
"What reason?"
"The king claims he saw it move during their meeting."
"It seems to have some slight movement, but not much. Did he say to what degree it moved?"
"Just that it was a twitch here and there. Is it possible for a limb to have limited movement like that?"
"Yes, although I've never witnessed it myself."
After a moment, he said, "I'm still keeping him on my list of suspects. There's something about him I don't trust."
"With good reason."
He suddenly stopped and grabbed my hand. We were outside the theater built into the northern wing. Six giggling women emerged wearing wings attached to the shoulders of their gowns. Their eyelashes and lips were painted in shining silver and their hair was streaked with the same shimmering paint. Dane steered me further away, heading ever closer to the northern end of the palace.
"What did he do?" he growled.
"It was more what he threatened to do. I can't tell you here. We have to speak privately."
"Can you stay longer or do you need to get back?"
"I can stay. There's so little to do in the village, I welcome being here. I'd be bored otherwise."
"I thought you had babies to bring into the world and medicines to sell."
"I'm used to being busier."
We walked several more steps before he said, "If you need money—"
"I don't," I snipped off. "And don't insult me, please."
He paused in front of a door, regarded me closely through lowered lashes, then pushed it open. I entered and found myself in one of the palace's service corridors. I was beginning to think they all looked the same, with stone walls and floor, and flickering torches valiantly beating back the darkness.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"The garrison. I thought you might need refreshments before returning home. You can wait there while I round up Balthazar and Theo. Brant is on duty."
"Do you have to inform Balthazar and Theodore? I'd rather have the conversation privately with you."
His pace slowed. "You can trust them, Josie."
"You used to say that about the king."
He stopped and rounded on me. The tip of his sword sheath scraped against the wall. The only other sound came from my sharp intake of breath.
"I never trusted him," he said. "I couldn't admit it to you at first. But Balthazar and Theodore I do trust." The torchlight flickered in his eyes, giving him a sinister air. "Everything you tell me in private will be told to them anyway, so they may as well join us."
I folded my arms against the chill sliding through my veins. I wanted to diffuse the tension but I could think of only one way. "Everything?" I asked breathily.
Dane set off again, his strides long. "Almost everything," he muttered.
I smiled at his back.
Chapter 7
Our entry into the garrison caused a flurry of activity. A guard with his feet resting on the table withdrew them and sat up straight. Max stood and greeted me civilly. Quentin drew me into a hug. I laughed and hugged him back.
"Quentin!" Max barked. "That is not the way a palace guard behaves toward a guest."
"She's not a guest. She's a friend." Quentin pulled away but his bright smile didn't fade. "Can I pour you some ale, Josie? There's some bread and cheese too." He eyed the crumbs on the table. "Or there was."
One of the guards mumbled around a mouthful of food and patted his bulging stomach.
Quentin shook his head. "The pigs eat less than they do."
Dane slipped out again after exchanging a few quiet words with Max and Max pulled out a chair for me.
"Your lip is healing nicely," I said to Quentin as he handed me a cup of ale.
"Aye," he said, shooting a glare toward Max.
"And how is your shoulder?" I asked the sergeant.
"Fine," Max said and rolled it to prove it. His small wince of pain wasn't lost on me, however.
"What's going on? Why are you both acting oddly?"
"No reason," Quentin said quickly. "So why are you at the palace this time?"
"Quentin!" Max growled. "She's not here to exchange idle gossip with the likes of you."
"I was just asking." Quentin slumped in his chair with a pout. "How am I supposed to learn if I don't ask her questions?"
"Learn what?" I asked.
"Doctoring."
"You want to become a doctor? That's wonderful."
"Aye, but I can't go to college." He kicked the empty chair opposite.
"There will be a way around the entrance rules. Perhaps the captain can give you a reference instead of a local sheriff or nobleman. Surely a reference from one of the king's closest servants will suffice."
"It ain't that. We can't leave here. Not until we have our memories back. Captain's orders."
"He does have a point," I said gently. "You must stay together until you find out what happened to you."
"What if we never find out?" asked one of the other guards. "What if we never get our memories back? Will we have to stay here forever?"
He wasn't the only one thinking it, going by the nods and sighs. Even Quentin's doubts were written all over his spotty face.
"I don't want to be a guard forever, Josie," he mumbled. "I hate it. I ain't very good at it."
"Aye," several voices chimed in.
"You've got to stop listening to Brant," Max said to the men. "He's stirring up trouble, asking a lot of questions," he told me.
"He's only asking the questions we all want answers to," one of the guards said.
"We have to trust the captain. He, Theodore and Balthazar are getting closer to learning more about us."
"I trust Hammer," the guard said. "But I wish he'd tell us what he knows. I don't like being left out."
The others agreed.
I couldn't argue the point with them. I would feel the same way. If they knew Dane confided in me more than he did them, they would be even more disappointed. "Have patience," was all I said. "For now, stay together. It's safer. Quentin, you understand, don't you?"
"Aye," he mumbled into his chest.
"And when the mystery of your memory loss is solved, you can go to Logios knowing who you are. In the meantime, perhaps you can pick up some medical knowledge to give you a head start over the other students."
His face lifted. "Will you teach me?"
"She will not," Max snapped. "You know she ain't allowed, so don't ask her."
Quentin resumed his pouting.
Erik entered the garrison and hung u
p his sword and belt by the door. "Josie! Welcome." He embraced me in big, sweaty hug then clapped my shoulders. "Why you in here with these stinky men?"
"It didn't smell until you came in," Quentin mumbled.
Erik lifted his arm and smelled his pit. "I smell good." He shoved his armpit into Quentin's face. "See?"
Quentin pulled back, choking and spluttering. "I hate you."
Erik laughed. "You love me. Everyone loves Erik. Especially the maids." He winked at me. I couldn't help smiling. The Marginer was nothing like how I expected one of his kind to be. He was friendly and breezy, not backward and prone to squabbling.
"The maids just like you because you tell them they're the prettiest," Max said. "Problem is, you tell all of them they're the prettiest."
Erik saluted him with a tankard of ale. "They are all pretty to me. But that is not why they like me." He drank the ale and we waited in hushed silence for his explanation. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pronounced, "They like me because my little friend is big and strong."
"Little friend?" I asked.
"Don't say it!" Max cried.
Erik grinned and winked at me again.
I groaned. I should have guessed.
The other men chuckled into their cups. Quentin laughed but turned bright red. I felt my own face heat, but fortunately no one looked at me. Except for Erik.
"Talking of my little friend," he said. "I will show you something, Josie." He set his tankard on the table and fumbled for the fastening on his breeches.
"No!" Max leaped out of the chair and tackled Erik to the floor. "Keep your breeches on unless you want the captain to kill you."
Max got off and Erik sat up. "Aye, I forgot," Erik said to me. "Hammer says you will go to jail if we ask you healing questions."
Max put out a hand to help Erik to his feet. "That isn't the only reason he'll kill you."
"What if Josie wants to see it? Josie, you ask me if you do, eh? I will show it to you."
