I gave up trying to go unnoticed and began shoving my way forward. The cold sensation flickered, then curled into a wisp of the Fire.
I staggered out of the press of bodies into an open area of tables. Gasping, I grabbed the back of a chair and scanned desperately for the thin man, for Borund and William.
I found Borund almost instantly, sitting at a back table. Moll, the woman who had served him before, was just setting down a platter of roasted meat and vegetables. I couldn’t see William. Or the thin man.
I dove deeper into the river, going as deeply as possible, thinking of Garrell and the girl with the green ribbon. I hadn’t been able to help the girl. I’d been too late. But I could help Borund.
I searched the crowd for splashes of red, realizing suddenly that I hadn’t used the river outside when I’d seen the thin man. I’d been too shocked. Now I had no marker, no scent for him.
I latched onto a blur of red, almost lurched forward, hand already on my dagger, but realized it wasn’t the thin man. Someone else, someone watching me closely, but too far away to worry about now. Another blur of red, and another, neither the thin man.
The Fire curled higher, grew, began to move up into my chest, toward my throat. The taste of oranges flooded my mouth.
There were no other splashes of red in the inn. The thin man wasn’t here.
Unless . . .
I paused, realized that all of the men who appeared red were watching me, were focused on me.
The thin man wasn’t interested in me. He was interested in Borund.
I hesitated a moment, then closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, frowning as I concentrated. I could feel the Fire growing in my chest, tingling in my shoulders, but I ignored it, focused on the separate sensation of the river instead, on its flow as it pushed around me. I reached out and touched it, pushed it, tried to alter its focus, turning it away from me . . . and toward Borund.
When I opened my eyes again, the texture of the room had changed. Everything was still gray tinged with other colors, but now there were more of them. The three men who had appeared red before were still red, but now they were somehow removed and unclear, faded. Now, there was a new set of red, a darker red than the others.
The men dangerous to Borund.
I unconsciously stepped forward, scanning the new faces.
The Fire began moving along my arms.
At the table, Borund took a swig from his ale, his meat already half eaten. He reached for a chunk of bread.
And then I saw the thin man.
He stood just behind Borund, within five paces. As I watched, the Fire sliding down to tingle in my fingers, the thin man’s knife dropped from its hiding place in his sleeve into the palm of his hand and he began to move forward.
At the same time, someone halted just beside me and in a startled voice asked, “Varis?”
I turned, saw William’s surprised eyes, his brow wrinkled in confusion—
And then he saw the dagger in my hand. I didn’t remember drawing it.
His eyes went wide, and one hand rose as if to grab me . . . or maybe to ward me away as he’d done on the wharf when he first grabbed my arm and I attacked him. But before I could find out what he intended, I bolted toward Borund.
I think William shouted in alarm, but it was too hard to tell, his voice drowning in the background wind. The thin man now stood a pace behind Borund, had brought his thin dagger up toward Borund’s back where he sat. I could see what he intended: a quick thrust up between Borund’s ribs, like the thrust I’d used to kill Tomas, the man who’d attacked Bloodmark. If done right, Borund would barely feel it, might think it was someone bumping into him from behind, but it would kill him nonetheless.
Borund saw me at the last moment, a forkful of shredded meat raised half to his mouth. He jerked back, shock and fear registering in the breath before I crashed into him, his chair, and the thin man.
All I could think of as the three of us tilted, Borund grunting at the impact, was the dead girl’s body—the girl with the green cloth.
Then we hit the floor. The edge of Borund’s chair ground into my hip and with the sudden sharp pain I lost the river. Sounds crashed down—the splinter of wood, gasps, a scream, clattering pottery, and close, the rustling of clothes and bodies. My face was crushed into the thin man’s shirt, into his chest, and the stench of salt and dead fish blotted out even the scent of oranges. I gagged on the cloth—
Then felt the shivering touch of metal as a knife sliced into my side, not deep, but enough to draw blood.
I hissed and jerked back, one hand finding purchase on the floor, catching the thin man’s face as he struggled to pull away from me, from Borund. His arm was trapped beneath Borund’s chair, held in place by Borund’s weight, but his knife arm was still free.
Without thought, barely on my knees and with only my own dagger hand free, I sank my dagger into the thin man’s stomach and pulled up, cutting hard and deep. Blood instantly stained his shirt and he gasped, eyes flying wide open. He flailed for a moment, and then all of the strength left his arms and shoulders and his free arm sank to the floor.
“What the bloody hell!” Borund shouted, still tangled up in the remains of his chair.
I pushed back and sat up on my knees over the thin man’s body. He was still alive, gasping harshly, head and eyes moving back and forth as if he were searching for something. His hand spasmed and he dropped his dagger.
His eyes caught mine, held there for two short gasps, and then he died.
Inside, the Fire pulled back from my arms, from my chest, and settled quietly in my stomach.
Then someone grabbed me from behind, jerked me to my feet. Others grabbed my arms. I let them, only struggling when someone attempted to take my dagger. They backed off under my glare without touching the blade.
William emerged from the crowd into the space around Borund’s table and instantly dropped to Borund’s side, helping him untangle himself from his coat and the chair. Meat sauce stained the front of his coat, blood stained the back.
As he helped Borund up, William’s gaze fell on the bloodied body of the thin man and he jerked back in distaste, cast a startled glance toward me.
The look in his eyes—fear, loathing, disgust—sent ice through my gut, as if someone had dashed frigid water up against my spine.
“What in hell is going on here?” Borund snapped the moment he was standing. He glared at me, until William leaned in close and whispered something in his ear.
Then his gaze fell on the body as well and the glare died in his eyes. He became suddenly very calm, no emotion showing at all, his back stiffening.
A man shoved through the crowd, his eyes angry. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, but then he saw the body, saw me and the dagger. “Call the Guard.”
“They’re already here,” someone said roughly, and two guardsmen pushed into the open. “What happened?”
“She killed him,” someone said, and only then did I realize that the inn was silent. No music, no laughter, no voices. Only the rustle of bodies and a few taut whispers.
“Is this true?” one of the guardsmen asked Borund.
I watched Borund. I hadn’t taken my eyes off him since William had helped him up. He stared at me intently, his face unreadable.
“Yes,” he said. But before anyone could move, he added, “But she’s my personal bodyguard, and this man was trying to kill me.”
Chapter 9
“He tried to kill me!” Borund spat. I stepped back from the violence in his voice, almost slid into the darkness of the alley at the side of the tavern and vanished, an instinctive response from the Dredge. But Borund’s violence was without a mark, and tinged with shock. “He tried to kill me, openly, in the middle of a tavern!”
We’d moved out of the tavern, stood now outside the door. Borund had removed his blo
od- and sauce-encrusted jacket, had folded it and handed it to William. William kept back a few paces from Borund, his face white and shaken, eyes wide. Like when I’d spun on the wharf and almost sliced open his chest. The horror of what I’d done, that I’d seen in his eyes earlier inside the tavern, had died. This was delayed reaction.
He glanced toward me. I held his gaze, didn’t waver, even though I felt sick to my stomach.
“You’re hurt,” he said, but his voice was distant.
I looked down, grimaced at my sliced shirt, at the cut that had already stopped bleeding. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. Barely a scratch.”
Borund didn’t notice.
On the street, a group of raucous men passed, pausing at the door, and Borund moved farther down the street, watching the group warily. Some of the shock was beginning to fade, replaced by a heated calm. I could see it in his eyes, even in the darkness.
He remained silent until the roar and music of the tavern was cut off behind the group of men. “He wasn’t acting on his own. I’ve never seen the man before. He must have been hired.”
“I wonder who sent him,” William muttered.
Borund turned toward William. “That is the question, isn’t it?”
“It was the green-coated merchant,” I said.
Borund turned toward me. “Charls?” he asked incredulously.
“The one you spoke to before entering the tavern.” I could see him clearly, the thin face, dark eyes filled with hatred. Gray mixed with red.
Borund stood still, as if unable to move, his mouth slightly parted.
Then the tavern door banged open and the guardsmen stalked out. I pulled back unconsciously, but Borund straightened as they turned and nodded.
They glanced once toward me, eyes suspicious, mouths tight. A new fear clawed through me. I wondered if Erick had told them about me, had told them to watch for me, that I’d murdered someone and then fled.
But there was no recognition in these guardsmen’s eyes, only a generalized distrust, as if they still didn’t believe Borund’s story, knew that something about it was wrong. But they couldn’t figure out what. Not with William supporting the statement. No one else in the tavern had seen anything, or was willing to come forward.
The guardsmen nodded again and stalked off, heading toward the palace, its walls on the hill overlooking the city lit with oil light. I felt tensed muscles relax, in my shoulders, in my gut.
When the guards faded into the darkened streets, Borund turned toward William. “You tried to warn me before. Did you know it was Charls?”
William shook his head. “No. I only knew that it no longer felt safe to move around in Amenkor, especially at night. I didn’t realize there was such a . . . personal threat.”
Borund grunted. “Then it was good you brought up your concerns when you did, otherwise I’d be dead.”
He turned toward me, his eyes intent, as hard and unreadable as stone. “And you,” he said softly. “It was a gift of the Mistress that you were here. A very fortuitous gift.”
I straightened under his stare and said, “I’ve been watching you, following you.” The words were harsh, defensive, defiant.
“I see. Is that how you know it was Charls?”
“After he spoke with you, he motioned to the man who tried to kill you. Then left.”
“And you followed that man into the tavern? To stop him from killing me?”
I drew breath to answer, then glanced toward William. He still seemed shocked, his hair appearing even wilder. But he was more focused now, paying closer attention.
Instead of answering out loud, I simply nodded.
Borund considered this, his gaze so intense I was forced to look away.
Finally, he murmured, “Fortuitous gift indeed.” As if he’d reached a decision, he stirred, glanced once toward William and back. “Have you reconsidered my offer? I’m forced to agree with William now. A bodyguard is necessary.”
I stood straight, hesitated only a moment, and said, “What do you want me to do?”
* * *
They led me through the streets of the wharf, beyond the warehouses, and up into the streets below the palace, into the upper city. Borund offered to return to my niche, to gather up whatever I wanted, but I had my dagger, my clothes. There was nothing in the space I’d formed out of crab traps and tarps. Nothing worth returning for.
We moved swiftly through the streets, William ahead while I trailed behind, both of the men tense, wary.
At one point, we passed the end of the bridge where I’d crossed the River from the Dredge into Amenkor. I paused, stared out over the expanse, over the river water, and thought of Erick, of the white-dusty man, of Cobbler’s Fountain.
Then I turned away. Both Borund and William had stopped farther on up the road, were looking back at me, but neither said anything when I moved to follow them.
Carriages appeared, and men on horseback, and once two guardsmen. Each time Borund slowed until the men and horses had passed. The buildings—crowded and close at first, with narrow alleys—changed. Courtyards appeared, not ruined and decayed like on the Dredge, but with closed iron gates and trees. Alleys widened. Surrounding walls appeared, the buildings set back from the streets, enclosed and protected. And the stench of fish and salt and sea faded.
Then William paused on a corner, scanned in all directions, and moved purposefully across the street to a small gate set back inside an alcove in a wall. A moment later, Borund and I joined him.
As William unlocked the wrought-iron gate, Borund turned and muttered, “This is your new home, Varis.”
We stepped inside a garden, pathways curling away in all directions, clear in the darkness because they were made of white stone and glowed in the moonlight. Trees, branches hanging down limply, sighed in a sudden breeze from the harbor, smelling of the ocean. Everything was shadowed, details hard to make out in the darkness.
Borund strode quickly into the garden, toward a building I could barely see, leaving William and me behind.
“What’s wrong?” William asked.
I looked up into William’s eyes, saw the stars behind him, and said, “There should be buildings here. It shouldn’t be so . . . empty. It’s unnatural.”
William smiled. “It’s a garden. It’s supposed to be empty, without buildings.” He shook his head, then moved out into the garden.
A twinge of guilt slid through me, as if I’d done something wrong. I watched him a moment before following.
We passed into the shadow of the building, to another door. Borund was waiting for us inside, at the beginning of a long hallway, along with an elderly man and a woman who carried a lantern. More light could be seen farther down the hall.
“Lizbeth,” Borund said, and the woman dipped her head anxiously. “This is Varis. She’s going to be staying here for the immediate future. Have a room made up, with whatever she requires.”
Lizbeth turned her gaze on me, frowning. Her eyes were sharp, like Bloodmark’s, catching every detail, noting every mark, every tear, every smudge and bruise. “Will she be needing new clothes?”
Borund turned to look at me, then smiled tightly. “Yes. New clothes. But nothing too removed from what she’s wearing right now. No dresses. Nothing . . . ruffled or anything. Bring her a variety and let her choose.”
Lizbeth nodded. “And water for a bath, I expect. Soap, too. Lots of soap.”
“Whatever Varis wants, nothing more.” There was a hint of warning in Borund’s voice, and Lizbeth shot him a questioning look. “Varis is part of the household now.”
“As what? We can’t afford any more help.”
A wave of annoyance passed over Borund’s face and he frowned heavily. “Varis is my new bodyguard. She’ll be with us whenever we leave the manse.”
Lizbeth backed away slightly, her sharp gaze returning to me w
ith renewed interest. “I see. I’ll go get the water started in the bathing room. Is the east room acceptable?”
Borund glanced toward me. “No. The east room is too big. Give her Joclyn’s old room for now.”
“Joclyn’s room? But that’s just a serv—” Lizbeth cut off abruptly, going still as Borund placed a hand on her arm.
“Joclyn’s room, Lizbeth. I know what I’m doing.” There seemed to be something else in Borund’s voice—caution or warning.
Lizbeth nodded, although her brow remained creased with a frown. Borund let his hand drop, and Lizbeth handed the lantern over to the other man, took Borund’s stained jacket from William, then hefted up the edges of her skirts with her free hand and dashed down the hall, vanishing through a side door.
The rest of the group turned to follow. I trailed behind.
“Gerrold.”
“Yes, sir,” the older man answered.
“Have some food brought to Varis’ room. Whatever you have to spare in the kitchen at this late hour. Bread, wine . . . no, make that water, and . . . and butter.” Borund grinned and glanced back briefly. “Lots of butter. Once that’s done, meet William and me in the office.” And here, Borund’s voice grew dark. “We have much to discuss.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
I was awake when someone knocked on the door of the room Lizbeth had led me to the night before. The room was too large, containing a bed, a desk, a chair, a lantern, and a tall piece of furniture with many drawers against one wall. A large bowl rested on top of this last piece of furniture, with a pitcher full of water.
“Varis?” Lizbeth called, her voice muffled by the door. “Varis, are you awake? Borund would like to talk to you and he asked me to get you ready.”
There came another light tapping at the door, and then Lizbeth opened it, tentatively, and peeked in. When she saw the bed hadn’t been slept in, she opened the door wide in alarm, then caught sight of me.
The panic on her face vanished and she raised the hand not holding a stack of clothes to her breast and sighed heavily. “Thank the Mistress! Is everything all right? Where in heavens did you sleep?”
The Throne of Amenkor Page 18
