Drawing Seanna as closely as her protruding stomach would allow, Chadron said, "Astonishing, the lengths one will go to in order to dangle rumors in front of the mindless cattle. I certainly would never associate myself with such base pastimes. Why, just the other day I left a lady alone in the middle of the dance floor for filling my ears with nonsense."
Though his words were harsh, his tone was playful, his eyes glinting. Taking the risk to please him, Seanna said in a low voice, "I do abhor such trifling things. But one cannot be too careful these days; even when I made efforts to associate myself with men of integrity, I found myself overhearing matters of the worst kind."
"Such as?"
"Well," Seanna drawled, forcing him to slow his dancing to hear her better, "I took great pains to spend time with Earl Seastone, but I discovered that his actions are seemingly altruistic, yet hide a nefarious agenda." Seanna made up the lie as she spoke. "For years the earl has been sheltering Valadi criminals and allowing them free reign in his lands. But, his compassion has extended to those far beneath dignity. He is close with his cousin Mavian Strilu, who has been known to experiment with prowlers. There are some who say that Earl Seastone has been harboring the wretched creatures for his cousin's sake."
Sir Chadron's eyes widened. "Could it be? The earl has been given much leeway; my uncle has often bemoaned the freedoms allowed to Seastone and his family."
Seanna shrugged. "There is a grain of truth to everything, is there not? There are more prowlers reported in the River Valley than anywhere else, but Seastone seems uninterested in sending men to hunt them down and destroy them."
"I have heard that indeed," Chadron mused. Before he could continue, the music slowed to a stop and they halted their dance. Chadron bowed to her, clearly preoccupied with his thoughts, and hurried over to a small group of lords and knights. They all leaned toward him, and without needing to hear the conversation, Seanna knew that she had succeeded in ensnaring him. He would spread her rumors for her, then come pleading for more.
Sudden nausea overcame Seanna. She gagged and held it down, but nobles around her had noticed. Patting her belly, she said ruefully, "The baby is acting up, I'm afraid. He's as obnoxious as his father."
Laughter followed and Seanna made her excuses. She couldn't vomit in front of Sir Chadron. Just outside the door, Sir Eric waited patiently for her. Seanna moved slowly and carefully so as not to further upset her humors.
"You're leaving early," Sir Eric commented.
"Damn pregnancy," Seanna muttered. Waves of queasiness washed over her; it must have been the pickled herring. "I'm going to take a walk in the gardens. Some fresh air might help. Lend me your arm."
He obeyed, and she leaned heavily on him as they made their slow way outside to the vast gardens. Seanna had not had much interest in exploring the graveled paths or viewing the exotic animals; such things were what lovesick couples and pink-cheeked girls partook in.
Still, it was a cool evening with a chipper autumn wind, and Seanna found herself much rejuvenated after a brief sojourn of vomiting into the bushes. She wasn't cold, so decided to wander the gardens for a time and take pleasure in her recent victories. In a low voice, she said to the baby, "Your mother will not only give you a crown, but a kingdom of loyal vassals. I'll raise you away from Henrik's backwards politics, and you'll be the greatest king ever known." As she spoke, her imagination ran wild. "Will you have my eyes and skin? How handsome you'll look on a grey charger. You'll start swordsmanship as soon as you can, and make your Grandfather Ulmer proud of your talent. And I'll be at your side when you take the crown, ready to give advice whenever you need it." She sighed happily at the thought.
The sun's last rays turned to blue dusk, and as the lanterns lit in the city below, Seanna turned to head back to her rooms. Despite eating just a couple of hours before, she was hungry again. She took the shortest route through a series of hedges and overhanging trees meant for seclusion and privacy.
Giggles and the smacking sound of kissing caught Seanna's attention. Normally, she would pay it no heed, but a mischievous part of her wanted to spy on the lovers. Fodder for gossip, she thought happily, gesturing Sir Eric to be quiet. Seanna made as little noise as she could as she crept forward. She peered around a hedge, and, in the moonlight, saw the two young lovers. They stood pressed against the hedge, their hands creeping all over each other's bodies.
The man, she saw, was none other than Mavian Strilu. His head was turned her way, though his eyes were closed as the woman nibbled at his neck. He moaned, brushing the woman's hair aside to kiss her.
Seanna stifled a gasp. Mavian didn't notice as he kissed Maeria. He stroked her long blonde hair, whispering sweet things that Seanna couldn't hear. She didn't want to hear it. Just that morning, Maeria had lain in her bed, giggled at her sweet words, and promised her the world.
Pulling back so they wouldn't see her, Seanna seethed. Sir Eric reached out a comforting hand, thought better of it, and pulled back. He rattled his sword in its sheathe a little, a wordless question: Shall I take care of the problem for you? Seanna shook her head and pushed past him. She meandered through the trees and hedges until she found a small bench. As she sank down, she straightened her back and did her best to halt her quivering lip.
She betrayed me, Seanna thought. She doesn't deserve my tears. Maeria was a schemer and a liar, just like every other noble. But Seanna couldn't help but think of the smoothness of Maeria's skin, her laughter, the wonderful nights they had spent together. If the law had allowed it, Seanna would have left Henrik forever and taken up Maeria as her partner.
The anger broke down into gross sobs. Sir Eric stood a short distance away, keeping his eyes averted. Each time Seanna's tears dried, they came anew and stronger. Her face grew red, her eyes swollen, her throat hurting from the harsh sounds she made.
Eventually, though, her crying ceased, replaced by a deep, burning, roiling need for revenge.
"I'll destroy them both," Seanna mumbled, her voice raw. "I'll make her pay for the hurt she caused me." The light in her eyes transformed from grief to fire.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sandu
AH, RIVERFEN: the bustle, the splendor, the shit in the street, just as I remembered it. After thanking the merchant who had given him a ride in the back of his wagon, Sandu set off along the busy cobbled road. Compared to the fashionable people around him, he looked like a beggar with his travel-stained trousers and sweaty shirt. He wished he had Galen so he could ride through the crowd.
Snippets of conversation showed the concerns of the people around him. Some lamented the waste of their taxes on the exorbitant Masque, while others complained about the price of eggs nowadays. Many feared that prowlers or the plague would reach the city soon.
As he took a shortcut through a small alley, Sandu remembered his first time in Riverfen. He had recently been turned out by Tambrey, and with no money in his pocket, he sought his fortune in the famed city. For days he had slept in the streets, dodging piss tossed from windows and fighting with stray dogs for scraps of meat behind a butchery. Half-starved, he found his way to the Peddler's Guild, and there begged for a job – any job – so he could fill his stomach. The boss had taken a liking to him and offered him the peddler's pack.
I had no clue what that really meant, Sandu reflected. I thought it was an easier position than it turned out to be. Peddlers that are really bounty hunters...it is clever, I have to admit.
Sandu turned his feet away from the Guild and headed down Faller Road. He knew of a decent inn by one of the major waterways. The inn, Kote's Rest, was still there, its clean windows shining with a beckoning light. He had always heard gossip there; it was as good a place as any to start his search for Cara.
But Sandu hadn't any money to speak of. The moment he entered, the bartender squeezed out from behind his counter and cornered him. "Do you have the coin, up front, for our services?" the barkeep demanded.
Sandu raised his hands defensively. "H
old, friend. I used to drink here back when Kote still ran the place. He used to offer an ale and crust of bread in exchange for cleaning the floors."
The bartender hesitated. "Kote was a trusting man. Got him killed doing favors like that."
"I'm sorry to hear it. If you're not willing to make the exchange, I'll leave. I don't want any trouble, just something to drink and a bite to eat. I'll do honest work for honest pay."
Scratching his beard, the bartender said, "I've got about a candle, mebbe two, worth of work in the kitchen. If you can peel the potatoes, work the stew, and help with the bread before the supper crowd, you'll have earned a drink and a meal in my eyes."
Sandu shook the man's meaty hand. "Agreed. Perhaps you have a washbasin where I could clean up before I start?"
After dousing his hands in cool water and cleaning off his grimy face, Sandu felt a tad better about himself. He settled into the simple task of peeling potatoes while he thought about his plan. It'll take too long to find Cara by working at taverns for each meal. I have to establish myself somehow, find a place to stay and make some coin while I search for her. Surely there'll be rumors floating around, too, about the warrior woman and the scholar recently arrived.
Once all the vegetables were chopped up, Sandu heated a cauldron over the large cooking fire at the edge of the room. While it warmed, he slid a pan of bread into the oven.
A little over a candle later, the barkeep came to check on Sandu's progress. The bread sat cooling on the table, jams and butter already laid beside it ready to serve, and the stew gave off a merry steam.
"Put some flavor into it, did you?" the bartender asked, taking a whiff of the cauldron.
"I took some liberties, hopefully ones your customers enjoy." Sandu offered the man a taste. "It's my mother's old recipe. Valadi caravanner food, hearty and delicious."
"Hm. I like it. Well, looks like you've certainly earned your supper. Fill a bowl for yourself and take a chunk of bread. What's your name, lad?"
"Sandu Crin."
"Call me Master Frest. It's not often I get a hardworking young man in here to help out; these days it's just my daughter, when she's not occupied with her husband and new babe. I can't pay much coin, but you can have a cot by the fire and two meals a day if you help me with the food until you find better accommodations."
"Thank you kindly. I'm actually in Riverfen looking for a friend, a woman about twenty with dark curly hair. She traveled with a scholar from Mott. Heard anything?" Sandu asked as he took a tray and prepared his dinner.
"Can't say as I have. Don't have much time to listen to gossip, to speak truthfully. I'll point out old Winster in the common room, though. He's a bit of a friendly layabout, as it were. People don't usually notice him, so he hears more than most would think."
"Thank you again." Sandu followed Master Frest back out into the main area, which had become crowded while Sandu worked in the kitchen. Frest pointed toward a small table in the far corner where an old man sipped a large mug of ale. The man had frizzy white hair that spiked around his head and wore patched trousers with a sackcloth for a shirt. As Sandu approached him, however, he noticed that the fellow had a suspiciously large money purse tied to his string belt.
"May I sit with you?" Sandu asked. The old man nodded, and Sandu took the seat opposite him. Tearing into his loaf, Sandu said, "You look like you've been around the streets a few times. Tell me, what's the news?"
Winster took a slow sip from his mug. "Oh, lots o' things. There's a Masque that's driving everyone mad. The low districts are waiting for their new glass lantern to be finished. The earl's new wife is a foreigner. All the courtiers are playing their political games while the rustics fight for scraps in the streets."
Sandu tried not to let his impatience show. "Anything about a young woman accompanied by a scholar, newly come here? The woman carries a sword."
"Ah, fishing for information. You could've just asked straight off, you know. I'm old, not stupid." Winster looked out over the crowd, half-mumbling, "Men are always raring to get to the next place. Always looking for the fast way, not the right one." To Sandu he asked, "Do you fancy a hand at cards?" He took out a worn deck from his purse. "Maybe gamble some information?"
Sandu bit the inside of his cheek and declined. Winster looked disappointed, but deftly slid the deck from the table. "I'm old, you see, and need something to justify spending my time talking to wayward lads. How do you propose we go about this?"
"Well," Sandu said, "we could always swap stories. I've got a few that might entertain you."
"Stories about what?"
"Betrayal, lost love, revenge, regret."
"I've lived all those, boy. Something better than that."
Sandu raised an eyebrow. "How about clandestine deals with good men to kill bad ones? Desperate escapes from murderers and prowlers?"
The old man scratched his chin. "Aye, I could stand to hear a few of those."
For the next candle, Sandu told him about working with Fauste's Shiv and the attack on Daggenhelm, of his and Cara's encounters with Jagger and prowlers, and the Hooded Man. All the while, Winster leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes betrayed his interest.
At last, Sandu wrapped up his tale. "And now, I seek my companions in this fabled city, and have come to a wise beggar man for help. Have I gained the beggar man's confidence?"
"I dare say you've given me a good amount of entertainment," Winster chuckled, "though I think it's all folly. I have heard of your friends. They paraded through the city up to the palace. Servants have come out describing the girl in all manners of ridiculous ways: that she can speak to prowlers, make gold from straw, bring the dead back to life. Lord Strilu himself brought her here."
"Earl Seastone brought her? That doesn't make sense."
"Don't mistake my words, boy. I said Lord Strilu, the earl's younger brother."
Sandu sat stunned for a minute, piecing the information together in his head. After pondering a moment, though, it all made sense. Alex couldn't possibly have trusted two strangers enough to reveal his identity, but had to once they reached Riverfen. Cara must have been furious with him.
So, Alex and Cara were at the Cascade Palace.
"How does a rustic find his way into the palace?" Sandu mused out loud.
"Ha." Winster gave a short laugh. "Easier to find your way onto the moon. No one in or out without express permission from the stewards. And you have to know someone on the inside to have any hope of finding any jobs there."
"Hm." Sandu realized that he'd let his stew go cold. He shoveled it into his mouth as he thought. He said through a mouthful of potato, "But merchants with deliveries go in, right?"
"Have to have a marked parchment with entry permissions. Those are only given to trusted suppliers."
"What about entertainers? Troopers and the like?"
"Again, you need to be a part of those chosen troops. Fat chance you'd weasel your way in without them suspecting something. Face it, lad, you're not going in there unless you somehow find out your true father was a landed lord, with seal and writ and everything."
Sandu didn't want to give up that easily. He thanked Winster for his time and returned to the kitchens. There was a pileup of bowls, plates, and trays. Sandu set to washing.
"I was going to ask you to help with that," Frest said, bringing in a tray. "You look preoccupied. What's on your mind?"
"My friend is in the palace," Sandu said, scrubbing at a particularly hard spot on a tray. "And I have no way to get in to find her. I'd be lucky for her to come out again, but I can't stay at the gates waiting for her."
"Then join the Protectors," Frest said.
Sandu looked up at him in surprise. "The Realm's Protectors? You can't be serious. Do I look like a soldier to you?"
Frest shrugged. "My cousin was with them, but he's taken ill in the last deshe. Plague, so his wife tells me. They need more good men, what with the Masque and all the nobles flouncing around
up there. The Protectors have doubled their patrols on the plateau, but they don't have enough recruits. Sure, you're scrawny, but they aren't in the position to be picky. If you go in tomorrow, I'd wager you'd be given a set of armor and steel and sent out the same day."
Sandu paused, his arms wet and soapy up to his elbows. He stared at the filthy water. "It's the best chance I have, really. I don't want to offend your hospitality by leaving so quickly after I'd agreed to stay and help, but I have to find my friends."
"I understand, lad. In the morning, you can fetch the bread from the baker and prepare the day's food before you leave. Fair?"
"Fair." Sandu dried his hand on his tunic and offered it to Frest.
Once his chores for the evening were done, Sandu laid down on a straw mat in front of the kitchen fire, drawing up the quilt Frest had lent him. He slept peacefully, despite the mice skittering in the walls and the errant ember stinging his cheek.
In the morning, Sandu dithered about his chores. He wasn't quite sure why he moved so slowly, and didn't feel like pausing to contemplate his own thinking. Frest didn't make any comments, and Sandu stayed quiet. In two candles, he had done everything the barkeep had asked of him, and had no further excuses not to go to the barracks.
"Best of luck to you," Frest said, handing a small sack to Sandu as he gathered his things. "I've packed you some cheese, bread, and apples. The Protectors may seem daunting, but they're just men like us."
"Thank you, Master Frest," Sandu said, putting a hand on the older man's shoulder. "You've been kinder to me than I deserve. I hope to return here often and share stories with you by the fire." It was an old Valadi saying, one the caravanners used to say to those who had given them hospitality along the road.
Frest beamed. "Call me Lod. You're a good lad; we'll see each other again soon."
The streets of Riverfen teemed with people: merchants hawking their wares, street urchins darting between wagons, knights on horseback, rustic servants laden with packages, and all sorts of other people cramming shoulder to shoulder on the cobbles in front of colorful storefronts.
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