“You missed me so much I can't even have lunch before you sweep me up in a whirlwind of affection,” Aly said as she followed the older woman down a hall in the service wing of the house, where the nobles never went. “I knew it was only a matter of time before I won you over.”
Junai glanced back at her. “Some of your pack of spies are waiting in the meeting room,” she said. “The men will come soon. And this is your personal office.” She halted at the last right-hand door in the hall and opened it to reveal a decently sized workroom with maps and slates on the walls. Aly guessed it had formerly been used to store furniture, but now it was ready for her use, complete with a large worktable, chairs, writing supplies, and that glimmer of hidden magical spells for security.
Junai closed the door to Aly's office. “The general meeting room is here.” The raka opened the door on the left-hand side of the hall.
2
DRAGONS, CROWS,
AND DOVES
Aly walked in to find a much larger room, with a counter along two walls and a series of cupboards along the wall shared with the outside passageway. A number of chairs of all shapes and sizes filled the open floor. Six of them were occupied by the women of Aly's pack. All looked up at her: Boulaj, the plump sisters Atisa and Guchol, pert Kioka, lovely Eyun, and little Jimarn.
Guchol grinned at Aly. “Oh, good! Duani's here.”
Atisa slipped to the floor to stretch her legs in a split. “Does that mean we may go home now?” Her black hair tumbled over her face.
Aly plumped herself into a chair. “If you want to go home, you may, my ducks, but you'll miss using the training I beat into you this winter. Where are the lads?”
“Here,” a man said as seven of them entered the room. Junai closed the door as they traded greetings with the women and found places to sit.
“Gods bless us,” Aly began as they quieted. “Our pack is reunited and the stakes have gone up.” All of them nodded. “I trust you've been good lads and lasses and kept up your exercises when you were not under my eye?” She raised a brow as she looked around the room.
“We've been checking the backgrounds of all the new people in the house, those that weren't chosen by Ulasim before our ladies' exile,” Yoyox said, smoothing his mustache. He was nearly as fine a pickpocket as Aly. “And using the gossip network set up before the family got exiled. It's good. Quedanga, the housekeeper, she's supposed to just pass messages along, but she's experienced at collecting gossip from the common folk. She gets word from servants, slaves, artisans, priests—and they're everywhere.”
“Then we'll leave Quedanga to send messages and manage the people she knows best, since we'll be dealing more with the palace and the military,” Aly said. “She knows she's to pass on what she gathers to me?”
“Yes, Duani,” Yoyox said so meekly that Aly had to laugh. “To add to our ranks”—he waved an arm to include his comrades—“we have fifteen men we've been training the way you want. Most are in this house. Some belong to households on this street, so no one will think anything if they visit us often. And we've the tunnels under the house for when we don't want to draw attention to our comings and goings. Every man has been approved by Quedanga and Ysul, just like everyone who lives here.”
“We have another eleven women,” Jimarn added. “All in this house for the present. We have started to teach them codes, searches, and theft.”
Aly nodded. This was also what she'd trained them for. Each of them had been examined by Ulasim and Ochobu before he or she was allowed to study with Aly, and she had educated them all winter. One of those series of lessons had been about choosing and teaching new recruits. Aly could not constantly look over people's shoulders here in the city, when she would have to spend most of her time gathering and studying information. She had to depend on her trainees' judgment. Now school was done, and her pack had their own work to do.
“How are your recruits doing?” she asked.
“Well,” said Yoyox. “Very well.”
Everyone nodded. Aly had learned that the raka already understood the demands of being a spy. In a land governed for three hundred bloody years by strangers, they had lived like spies to survive. Aly had simply taught her pack a number of new tricks, while they taught her their old ones.
“And what of Lady Nuritin's servants?” she asked. “How safe are they?”
“Safe,” replied Olkey, one of the men. “Her maid is a luarin, a cousin, and devoted to Nuritin. Stays by her side, doesn't snoop. The other woman, Jesi, is more of a clerk, and writes all the lady's letters and notes. She belongs to the conspiracy.”
Aly nodded. That was another worry she need not have. “Good,” she said. “I'll take reports in here during the afternoon resting time. If you need me to meet one of your recruits, bring her, or him, in.” As they nodded, she looked them over. “Playtime's over, children,” she said with a grin. “Nice job on the Example pier, by the way. There were soldiers screeching at each other as we sailed by.”
Her pack smiled or looked down, depending on their natures. Jimarn met Aly's eyes steadily. She was in charge of the Example operation.
Aly took a deep breath. “What do you have for me?”
Once her people had brought her up to date, Aly ate her cold pasty and went to the kitchen to beg another from Chenaol. As she ate that, the older woman settled in for a good talk. The cook had been Aly's first friend in the household. In her mid-fifties, plump and wickedly humorous, Chenaol had some gray in the black hair she wore in a long braid. She could flip any kind of knife or cleaver and send it straight to the center of a target faster than watchers could see, and could tell good steel from bad at a glance.
They were discussing the missing tax collectors when a messenger boy came into the kitchen. “Her Grace is wishful of you both coming to the ladies' sitting room,” he told Aly and Chenaol. “She's got a cloud on her face.”
Winnamine must be about to pop, wondering how we paid for all this splendor and why Nuritin is here, Aly thought as she and Chenaol followed the boy.
The room where the family relaxed during their leisure time was light and open, overlooking the flower gardens and the courtyard pool. The cushioned chairs and couches were elegant but comfortable. Nuritin sat in an armchair, facing Winnamine and Sarai, who shared a couch. Dove had taken her usual position, off to one side. Aly slid into her spot behind Dove as Chenaol, with a nod from the duchess, took a chair. Ulasim took his post next to the main door, the consummate footman. Ochobu entered and closed the door behind her.
“Aunt, I don't believe you know Ochobu Dodeka,” Winnamine said. “Lady Nuritin Balitang, Ochobu.” The two older women looked each other over thoroughly as Winnamine explained, “Ochobu joined the household at Tanair. She is an excellent healer and mage, so we are honored to have her. Ulasim is her son.”
Aly crossed her fingers. Ochobu did not always deal well with full-blood luarin, but she would have to if Lady Nuritin was living at Balitang House. Ochobu's stony gaze was not promising. Though barely five feet tall, she gave the impression of being much taller. Her long nose always looked as if it held a sniff, particularly when she looked on luarin.
If Ochobu's stare disconcerted Nuritin, the noblewoman showed no sign of it. Instead she turned her attention to Winnamine. “You will find that many things have changed from last year,” Nuritin said. Like Ochobu, her Gift showed in Aly's Sight, though Nuritin's was glowing embers compared to Ochobu's fire. Nuritin continued, “I have explained everything to the people you sent ahead”—she nodded to Chenaol—“and they certainly understood how things will be different.” She looked at Sarai. “Stand up and turn around, girl.”
Sarai obeyed with a pout. Nuritin looked her over as she might a horse. With satisfaction she said, “We'll have to take in the gowns I've had made. It's just as well I had Ulasim here escort the seamstresses to your rooms during lunch. You lost weight out there in the wilds—very good.”
“Aunt!” cried Sarai, fiery roses appearing
in her cheeks.
“And black makes you look sallow,” Nuritin told her, adding insult to injury.
Aly ducked her head to hide a grin.
“Dovasary,” Nuritin said, an actual smile on her thin lips. “Black is not your color, either, my dear.”
“It is mourning, Aunt,” Dove explained. “I don't think you're supposed to look becoming in it.”
“That is one of the things that has changed,” Nuritin said crisply. “Her Royal Highness the princess regent ordained five months ago that full mourning was disrespectful to the Black God, who takes our dead to the Realms of Peace. She ordered that all the court put off full mourning for Kings Oron and Hazarin. The only mourning permitted to any member of the court is a discreet black armband, and perhaps black embroideries or trim. No black gowns. No black tunics. No black veils. We are to wear colors that rejoice for the peace of the dead.”
“Meaning Imajane looks dreadful in black and won't wear it if she doesn't have to,” Sarai remarked with spite.
Nuritin nodded. “Naturally. But it is a royal decree, with the king's seal attached. You must all put off black at court, or for that matter, anywhere that the regents may appear. It has been suggested that they will regard mourning as a sign of rebellion.”
“Aunt,” said Winnamine quietly. Everyone looked at her. The duchess stood, arms folded. “You said you had dresses made up. You sent seamstresses up to our family rooms. And there are these.”
She indicated two open chests. One was filled with money and topped by a clutch of parchments. Aly sharpened her magical vision to read the first of them: it was a letter of credit, issued to the duchess. Next to it was a much smaller chest that bore the crest of the duchess's own family, the Fonfalas. It, too, was open. It held jewelry: gold chains, necklaces, eardrops, and strings of colored pearls. Most were in old-fashioned or broken settings.
“The Fonfalas sent those,” explained Ulasim. “They gave their permission for us to melt down the pieces and sell the stones, but we thought we should wait for you to decide.”
“And the servants?” asked Winnamine, glaring down at Nuritin. “Where did they come from?”
Ulasim cleared his throat politely. Everyone looked at him. “Many of our new servants come from Lady Sarai and Lady Dove's grandfather, the baron Temaida. The servants are paid by the Temaidas, and clothed by them.” He met Winnamine's startled look with a reassuring one of his own. “This is family policy among the raka nobles, Your Grace. When a Temaida girl comes of age at sixteen, she receives a staff of her own, because marriage alliances mean so much to the raka nobility. They want their daughters to appear to advantage.”
“Very sensible,” said Nuritin with a nod of approval. Slowly Winnamine sat again.
“Your Grace, you were Lady Sarugani's best friend,” Chenaol added, referring to Sarai and Dove's mother. “You should remember it is the custom.”
Ulasim continued, “They were unable to manage it last year, so they fulfill their duty to their kinswomen this year. The baron sent his regrets that he will not be coming to the city for some time, or he would call on you personally, but he knows that you will treat his granddaughters well.”
Meaning last year they were afraid to help the Balitangs when they were out of favor, and this year they don't want to draw attention to their presence, Aly thought. Who can blame them? I wouldn't want to belong to the raka nobility of the Isles. It's like living with a knife at your throat. And Ulasim can't tell Her Grace that the Temaidas know Sarai may be queen soon. They're the ones who secretly carried the Haiming royal blood for three centuries, to give it to Sarugani, and then to Sarai and Dove.
Aly hand-signaled Fesgao, out of the Balitang ladies' line of sight: These new people have been investigated? Her pack would have checked them, too, but Aly was cautious.
Fesgao replied with a nod and signed, All hand-picked. Aly relaxed. Ulasim would have made doubly sure no one suspicious came into Balitang service.
“I can't possibly accept all this,” said the duchess, sitting down once more. She was pale. “I can't ever repay it.”
“You are not a fool, Winnamine,” Nuritin said flatly. “Don't act like one.”
The duchess frowned. Her chin came up.
“You will take all this, and you will deck this house and your children in the finest you can buy,” Nuritin informed the duchess. “I am sorry—I mourn my nephew's murder, too.” She smoothed a braided black armband with fingers that shook. “But politics doesn't wait, and there is work to be done quickly. I had clothes made for all of you, but they must be fitted properly today. Tomorrow you are commanded to present yourselves to His Majesty and the regents at court. I believe Her Highness may have intended to humiliate you by summoning you immediately, so she could make fun of your appearance in outmoded clothes. Well! She may be regent, but she cannot be allowed to toy with her nobles in this fashion. I intend for her to fail.”
“Who cares if Her Highness plays games with us or not?” Winnamine's gaze was still adamant. “I certainly did not return to accept charity.”
Nuritin sniffed. “My dear young woman, has the highland air made you stupid? It is an investment.” When no one spoke, Nuritin sighed. “You must build a power base for King Dunevon's heir, goose. Elsren is next in line for the throne. He will need friends and support. Our families agreed that setting you up is worth whatever we might dredge from our coffers.” She looked at Sarai. “Men will hare after you to forge an alliance with our family. I expect you to remember your family, and the interests of your family. Flirt with those men, learn their minds, and promise them nothing.”
Sarai's mouth trembled. “I have not done so well in my flirtations lately,” she replied softly. “If you haven't heard, my last lover killed Papa. And where were the Balitangs, and the Fonfalas, and the Temaidas, when we were in danger?”
Nuritin's thin eyebrows snapped together. “Your last lover? Do not tell me you forgot what you owe to the family by tumbling Bronau.”
Sarai gasped in indignation. Winnamine rose to stand with Sarai. Dove did the same. “Sarai would never disgrace us by bedding a man of whom her father did not approve,” said Winnamine, while Sarai's cheeks turned a beet color.
Nuritin's eyes were on Sarai. “Bronau deserved to die,” she said, her voice flat. “You and your sister did the realm a service by killing him. You also saved his brother the embarrassment of paying an executioner.” She looked at the duchess and at Dove. “Is she a fool? Better to lock her up than have her ruin things for us at court. It is not the place to stumble, not after this winter. The regents have proved to be less than patient.”
“She is no fool, Aunt,” replied Dove. “She just thinks the family's drawing back from us was wrong. Winna and I understood—Papa understood—the family had to save themselves from the taint of our disgrace. Sarai just hasn't made her peace with it.”
“Then make your peace,” Nuritin said tartly. “You have a duty to Elsren and to your stepmother, if you don't care for the duty you owe to our royal blood.”
“I never had to worry about that before,” Sarai retorted, her mouth mulish.
“Before there were several heirs between your family and the throne. Now there is only one. You will marry to your brother's advantage, which is the family's advantage.” Nuritin inspected the faces of those before her. Then she nodded. “Come upstairs. We need to get your new clothes fitted this afternoon. And I want to see Elsren.”
The afternoon dissolved in a flurry of fabrics and flashing needles. The Balitang clan had mustered an army of seamstresses to work on the ladies' new wardrobes all winter long, using Nuritin's precise memory for the Tanair Balitangs' height, weight, and measurements. The old woman was surprised to find that everyone, not just Sarai, had to have their clothes taken in. Winter had been lean.
Aly, Boulaj, and even the duchess's personal maid, Pembery, found themselves elbowed out of the way by women who sewed at a speed they could not match. Aly finally slid out and spent th
e remaining daylight hours inspecting the house and grounds.
Out in the garden an open-sided square pavilion glowed with extra-powerful spells against eavesdropping. Inside it, Aly could hear nothing, not even the artificial waterfall that hissed over rocks beside it. It was perfect for secret conversations.
“Come to me,” a familiar voice said behind her. “The air is dead under that roof.”
Aly turned and smiled. The new arrival was nearly six feet tall, with skin the color of dark sugar syrup. She hadn't seen Nawat Crow in five days, and as always when they'd been apart, she realized that she had missed him. Everything about him made her happy. He appeared to be about nineteen or twenty, with glossy black hair. His deep-set brown eyes were alert to any movement around him. The young woman who didn't follow him with her eyes when he passed was rare. The women who lingered when they got to know him were even more rare. Nawat's grasp on humanity was light, to say the least. It was perfectly understandable: despite his apparent age, Nawat was three years old as a crow and had spent only a year as a man. More often than not, he acted first as a crow might, then only belatedly and occasionally as a human.
Their friendship had begun when he was a crow teaching her the crows' language at Kyprioth's request. During those lessons Aly had fascinated Nawat so much that he had changed himself into a human, something he told her that all crows could do. Seeing him made her pulse quicken as she left the pavilion. He wore clean clothes and he'd finger-combed his damp, crow-black hair back from his face. His feet were bare. “You forgot shoes,” Aly reminded him. Resting her hand on his chest, she stood on tiptoe for his kiss.
Nawat stepped back.
Aly stared at him, her hand dropping to her side. She felt almost as if he'd slapped her. “No kiss?” she asked, keeping her voice light. “I'm crushed.”
Trickster's Queen Page 4
