Poisoned Blade

by Kate Elliott

  “How you fret about protecting us!” Her chuckle heartens me. “Take it to Maraya for now. She’s managing things until I get stronger.”

  Amaya brings in Wenru. I kiss Mother and go outside to give the money to Maraya. For a while I lean silently against my older sister as I used to do when we were little, taking comfort from her presence. Finally I speak.

  “Has Polodos been able to find any trace of Bett?”

  The shadows fall heavily on her pallid face. “No. Lord Ottonor’s death and debts were so public that people are still gossiping about the scandal. You would think they would remember a group of servants from Clan Tonor being sold into indenture, yet Polodos has asked at every market in the city where such transactions take place and found nothing. I would go myself but I’m afraid someone might recognize me. Don’t tell Amaya I said this, but she’s right. We can’t live trapped inside this compound much longer. I don’t know what to do, Jes.”

  “I heard that,” says Amaya, appearing half in and half out of the doorway where she can keep an eye on Mother but also talk to me. “I never imagined I would say this, but I envy you and your Fives stable, Jes.”

  Maraya snorts, and I laugh. “You’ll say that until the moment you have to pull yourself up the first climbing pole.”

  “I could surprise you!” Amaya’s nose twitches, and her gaze flashes past me. “Oh! Can I have that bread, Cook? It smells so good!”

  Of course Cook gives in to Amaya’s blandishments, offering her bread fresh off the grill. I am surprised to see usually greedy Amaya tear the flatbread in two and offer half to Maraya.

  “Is this coarse bread all the food you have to eat?” I ask.

  “Good-quality flour is too expensive,” says Maraya. “Prices for grain are going up with the war on. We couldn’t afford to eat if General Inarsis hadn’t brought flour.”

  “Inarsis is bringing you food?”

  “He likes to have an excuse to visit.” Amaya nudges me with her shoulder, her grin peeping mischievously in the way that makes me both love her and want to punch her. How she loves sharing gossip! “He has such a considering way of looking at Mother. I think he wants to marry her when she gets better.”

  “That’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even know her. He has to make sure you’re secure, that’s all,” I protest, even as a worm of unease bites at my belly. “He and Lord Thynos risked their lives to help get you out of the tomb. If you’re found, he’ll be executed, so it’s no wonder he’s keeping an eye on you.”

  Maraya sighs. “You two! People are complicated, you know. From things General Inarsis says, I get the impression Mother became something of a legend among the Efean soldiers. They thought she must truly be a woman of exceptional valor and honesty for an ambitious Patron man to keep her beside him as if she were his wife. Like she was his talisman that kept him safe and gave him victory.”

  “Until he got handed a better talisman,” mutters Cook, hammering down rounds of dough for the next batch of grilling.

  “That’s not fair. Father didn’t give her up for ambition. He gave her up rather than see her dead.”

  “You always defend him!” snaps Amaya.

  “Of course you would say so, Jes,” adds Maraya sourly, “but please, please, don’t try to convince Mother of that when the hurt is still so raw.”

  “She’s not the only one who has lost someone!” Amaya’s chin trembles, her expression growing so distraught I think she is about to cry real tears. “Jes, have you heard anything about my friend Denya?”

  I wince and glance away, because I know this will hurt her, but then take her hands and speak softly. “I’m sorry. Denya was taken to become Lord Gargaron’s concubine.”

  Rather than shrieking in outrage as any normal person would, Amaya throws her arms around me with a cry of relief. “Oh, good! Then you can tell her where I am! She’ll be so worried.”

  “I can’t speak to her because I’m not allowed to walk within Garon Palace.” I shake out of her grasp. “We can’t risk telling her anyway. She might tell Lord Gargaron and then he’ll know you escaped.”

  “Denya never would betray me!”

  “Hush!” says Maraya abruptly.

  From the other room we hear the creak of the outer door, the tramp of feet as men enter the inn. A wash of alarm races through my body.

  Like the slap of thunder, Polodos speaks in such an exaggeratedly loud voice that I know he means us to hear and take warning. “Domon, with regret, I must inform you the inn is closed—” The scrape of a bench pushed back and the thud of it tipping over makes me jump. “My lord!”

  He sounds scared.

  Heart racing, I signal to my sisters that they should go hide with Mother. In the Fives a good adversary knows when to make the boldest leap, and that time is now. I hook a round of bread off the grill and flap it in the air to cool it as I stride down the courtyard, push past the curtain, and enter the front room while speaking in my most falsely sweet voice.

  “Steward Polodos, I brought fresh bread for you.…”

  Lord Gargaron stands in the center of the room. He pulls his knotted whip out of his belt and taps it against his thigh.

  “So, Jessamy, be assured I recognize this man as Polodos, formerly a steward in the service of your father. What possible reason could you have for being here with him, I wonder?”

  7

  I grope for any thought. Lord Gargaron smiles in anticipation.

  Yet my visible agitation works in my favor. Think like a soldier, Father taught us. I can’t win this skirmish, only deflect suspicion. So I say what I’m sure he expects to hear.

  “You’ve caught me out, my lord. It’s true I hoped to send a message to Lord Kalliarkos through my father. You will therefore be glad to hear that Steward Polodos has just informed me he cannot send any messages because he has left my father’s service.”

  Like me, Gargaron can stand with perfect stillness while an entire trial’s worth of strenuous feats of strength and agility races through his mind. His gaze flicks to Polodos, to me, and back to Polodos as he sorts through possibilities.

  “In my comprehensive study of General Esladas back when he was Ottonor’s captain, I ascertained he kept only competent men around him and was ruthless in releasing men who did not serve him with efficiency. He retained his entire staff upon his elevation to general. I allowed it because I see no reason to interfere with success. So why were you released, Steward Polodos?”

  Whatever else caused Maraya to fall in love with Polodos, I learn a crucial aspect of her admiration for him when he doesn’t even bat an eye at this dangerous question.

  “I have poor eyesight, my lord. I am an effective household administrator but I cannot make out details at a distance. Therefore I would prove a liability on an army officer’s field staff. General Esladas kindly gave me a seed fund with which to set up a new endeavor. I purchased this inn.”

  “I am surprised you thought it worthwhile to make the attempt with a dump like this.” A flicker of displeasure disturbs Lord Gargaron’s brow. He suspects something, that is clear, but he isn’t sure what. “Jessamy, you will never set foot in this inn again.”

  I hold on to my soldier’s obedient face but inside I am seething. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Attend me.” At the door he looks sharply back because I have not moved.

  Once my feet shift I will be cut off from my mother and sisters. I give a slight nod to Polodos. By his strained, unhappy expression he understands that I mean to figure out a way to stay in secret contact, and he nods back.

  Gargaron laughs. “How like your father you are, Jessamy Garon. Do not ever think I do not notice how you silently give an order and he obeys. Your father trained you well. But I will keep this inn watched, and you will not return here. Now come along.”

  I have no choice. A carriage awaits, but as I take my place behind the rear wheels, expecting to walk as servants do, he gestures with the whip.

  “No, no, you are a Challenger now, much
too precious to waste your energy walking. You will sit in the carriage with me.”

  A horrible creeping sensation crawls over my skin like a swarm of insects, tiny legs prickling and tickling. I inhale to calm my racing heart, then mount the steps into the carriage. An embroidered cloth awning covers the two facing benches for shade during the daytime. He sits with his back to the horses and indicates I must sit on the opposite bench, facing him. When I do so, he taps my knee with the whip as if to hammer me into place. We are so close our knees almost touch, and I carefully shift so as to make sure my legs do not brush against his. There is a little of Kalliarkos in his face: Gargaron’s uncle, Menos Garon, was Kal’s grandfather, and I can see the resemblance, although I would prefer not to.

  “In one way I was pleased to see Kalliarkos take up with you,” he remarks as the carriage begins to move. “It was the first time he attempted to defy me and his grandmother or, indeed, anyone at all. But you see how quickly he acquiesced to his defeat. He hasn’t the fire to compete. He has the character to be led, not to lead. What I am doing is the best thing for him. As for you…”

  Again he taps the point of his whip on my knee.

  With an effort I do not recoil, and his thin smile emerges because he senses my revulsion and he enjoys it.

  “I have my eye on you, Jessamy.”

  I hate the way he keeps using my name as if he has the right to it, and of course he does.

  “It’s said that victory in the Fives is a mark of the gods’ favor. With Thynos leaving for West Saro—”

  Startled, I forget myself. “Lord Thynos is leaving?”

  His eyebrows lift at the interruption.

  I duck my head. “I beg your pardon, my lord. The news surprised me. No one at the stable has been informed.”

  He goes on. “With him departing, we need a new Illustrious to build renown for Garon Palace, and we expect you to become that champion.”

  He pauses, leaving space for me to speak.

  My mind is whirling. The more important I become to Gargaron the better my chances to figure out a way to destroy him. So I nod to acknowledge his words even as I struggle not to reveal any trace of the crawling disgust I feel from the touch of his whip on my thigh.

  “I run to win, my lord.”

  “You can reap manifold benefits from your victories. Kalliarkos is not the only handsome young fellow in Saryenia. If you succeed as I believe you can do, you will be able to choose from among Patron lords eager to parade themselves as the lover of a triumphant adversary of your skill and looks. Young women with your promise on the Fives court are a challenge to men. They see you and your ribbons as a valuable prize that many will try to claim for bragging rights. Guard your victor’s ribbons carefully and you can do very well for yourself.”

  I am so repelled at the idea of bartering hard-earned victor’s ribbons to lovers in exchange for attention and prestige that it takes a physical effort, a breath sucked in, for me not to blurt out a furious retort. But I know how to find the beating heart that anchors my four other souls. I settle into its rhythm and chart my course of feigned obedience. Even so my bitterness wafts like the sting of hot ash in the air.

  “What happened with Kalliarkos was nothing I sought out or expected. Now he is gone I have no intention of repeating the experience.” Speaking the truth makes my voice authoritative. In this one thing I can safely defy Gargaron to his face. “I do not dream of becoming an adversary addicted to the adulation of lovers. I want only to win.”

  A vile taste rises in the back of my throat as he presses the point of his whip into my flesh.

  “Remember, Jessamy, I can command you to lavish your victor’s ribbons on certain lords of my acquaintance who might wish to boast of their… association… with a promising adversary like you. And I will, if I feel you are being insufficiently respectful.”

  He removes his whip from my leg and sinks back into the cushions on his bench. As we roll along he hums a melody I finally recognize as the whipping song from The Cupbearer’s Calamitous Contract.

  Night hides my angry, humiliated flush. With an effort I keep my gaze on the buildings passing by. The night looks so bleak, so dark, despite the beacons made by lanterns that light the main roadways. The rhythmic scrape of the wheels reminds me of the creaking rhythm of turning Rings, and I begin thinking through the ones spinning around me. I have to warn Inarsis so he doesn’t go to the inn. With Thynos leaving, and Inarsis and me needing to stay away, my options for finding Bett and meanwhile keeping my family safe and fed are shrinking quickly.

  Instead of taking the wide boulevard that leads up the King’s Hill and thence around Garon Palace, we swing wide around the base of the royal hills and to my surprise head for the Grain Market on the lakeside of the city. Here, inside a large enclosure surrounded by a brick wall, grain, oil, papyrus, and other goods from the interior of Efea arrive in Saryenia by boat across Mist Lake. After the queen’s clerks check the manifests and collect a tax on all goods, merchants take them away across the Three Seas to sell in foreign lands.

  As we approach the gate I’m surprised to see guards wearing the royal sea-phoenix badge patrolling on the wall. I have walked down here in the past with Mother and never seen the Grain Market guarded like this, like the king is afraid of his own subjects. Of course Lord Gargaron’s carriage passes through without question. Inside, rows of warehouses are connected to the Lakeport Harbor by a canal.

  The royal warehouses are set apart behind a second enclosure, and to my surprise this area bustles with activity even though it is night. Workers load sacks of grain and amphorae heavy with oil onto wagons headed for the main harbors. Our carriage rolls to a halt in front of a warehouse close to the lake.

  “Remain here.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Gargaron climbs out. As he approaches the warehouse, guards slide back its doors so he can enter its lamplit interior. Before they close the doors after him I see the tiny but sternly upright form of Princess Berenise seated on a couch examining gold bullion brought to her by stewards who strain under the weight of the ingots. Lady Menoë sits beside the elderly woman, dutifully filling out a manifest to her grandmother’s dictation.

  That glimpse of gold makes my head swim. Without gold, kings and queens cannot rule. In Efea the gold mines of the desert are owned and run entirely by the royal family, which means all the gold extracted from Efean mines belongs to King Kliatemnos the Fifth, Queen Serenissima the Fifth, their son Prince Temnos, their younger brother Prince Nikonos, their aunt Princess Berenise, and of course Berenise’s royal grandchildren, Menoë and Kalliarkos. Gargaron has no access to gold except through his niece and nephew. No wonder he wants to make them king and queen.

  A headache starts to throb between my eyes. What a fool I was to ever think Kal was meant for the likes of me! I can’t even help my family, much less imagine what it must be like to have totting up such riches as one of my everyday duties.

  The driver moves the horses around into the shadows, and I wonder if this is so casual passersby won’t glimpse it and ask why Gargaron is here so late at night. Why does he want to hide this expedition?

  When the carriage comes to rest at the side of the warehouse I lean out. The back of the warehouse faces the lake harbor, with a boathouse and a wharf attached. A barge is tied up to the wharf, and by the light of lamps strung along the wharf, men wearing Garon Palace livery prod shackled men with the shaved heads of criminals onto the barge that will convey them across Mist Lake and into the Efean interior. Condemned criminals are the property of the royal family, sent to work in the deadly mines.

  That’s when it hits me. Gargaron doesn’t need to sell Bettany and our other servants in the market. Garon Palace has its own agricultural estates that need workers. It’s so obvious now. What if Bettany is right here, to be loaded after the criminals are shackled in place?

  I jump down from the carriage.

  “Hey! You’re supposed to wait here with us, Spider,” cal
ls one of the grooms.

  “I have to pee. You wouldn’t want me to stain these expensive cushions.”

  The men laugh in a good-humored way. “There’s a livestock pen on the other side of the boathouse. But hurry up or we’ll all get in trouble.”

  “My thanks!” I call brightly, and give them the kiss-off salute, which makes them grin and laugh again, like I’ve honored them. This is the power success gives you: people want some of that victory shine to rub off on them, so they do you easy favors.

  I slink around the corner of the boathouse, heart beating hard as my hopes begin to soar.

  A high fence with a slatted roof wraps the far side of the boathouse to create a cagelike corral. Instead of livestock a small group of women and children sits with heads bowed in weariness. The smell of urine and feces hits hard as I peer in between the fence slats. A boy wriggles out of the group and with the impatience of youth paces the fence, running a hand along the slats as he sings a song under his breath.

  With a thrill of excitement I recognize him: an Efean child my father called Monkey whose real name is Montu-en, a scamp of a boy who ran errands for Mother and got up to cheerful mischief. Father’s trusted servants were part of his military household, Patron men chosen solely for competency, while Mother invariably rescued people from awful circumstances and gave them a safe haven, shelter, food, and a small wage in exchange for work.

  The boy doesn’t see me as he passes, so I thrust my hand between the slats and grab his arm.

  “Shhh! Montu-en! Say nothing. It’s Doma Jessamy.”

  He freezes, no sound except a huff of surprise.

  “Get Doma Bettany. Tell no one else.” I release him.

  He bolts, and squeezes into the crowd of prisoners until I can no longer see him. From the wharf I hear the shuffle of feet as the loading of criminals continues. Soon they’ll come for this group. I don’t have much time.

  The moment her shadowy form pushes out from the other women, I know her, as I will always know my twin. We came into the world together. Until this last week I have never known a day without her aggravating me, laughing with me, scolding me, scheming with me.