“I come from there, my lord,” she admitted meekly. She kept her eyes down to hide her growing delight. Somehow Taybur Sibigat had recognized her for a player of the spies' game, but he didn't seem interested in exposing her. She had to try to convince him that he was wrong, but it was lovely to meet someone who spoke the language she had learned in the cradle, the give-and-take between those who sought information. Glancing around the room from the corners of her eyes, she saw that most of the servants watched them warily but without alarm. She even saw liking on some of those faces. This man wasn't as feared as the regents or Topabaw, then.
He tugged on his ringless earlobe. “I'm trying to narrow it down—you're not a Carthaki agent,” he murmured, thinking aloud. “They have a, a special whiff about them, don't you agree? A well-polished one. They do unctuous better even than a courtier. Tyrans are a slippery lot. Usually they just ooze around corners. It comes of living in a swamp. But you . . .” He tipped his head from side to side. “The Whisper Man of Tortall. Are you one of his, or have you sold your services elsewhere?”
It would have taken much more than her father's nickname to make Aly twitch. She began to shake her head and continued to shake it as he asked if she served the Marenite, Yamani, Gallan, or Tusaine spy networks.
“You must believe me, I'm just a servant, my lord, just a servant, and I know naught of spying or whispering or anything like that!” she babbled. “I'm just a poor girl from Tortall, making my way in the world!” She glanced up at him from under her brows. “If you suspect me so, why haven't you arrested me or given me over to Topabaw?” she demanded. It was a risky point to make when she was supposed to be terrified out of her wits. She simply could not resist needling him a little in return.
He shrugged. “I won't do the man's work for him. Besides, Topabaw has notified me, through the prince regent, that my assistance and advice are unwelcome.”
Hmm, thought Aly, I smell rivalry here. When two powerful men dislike each other, things can slip through the cracks between them.
“Besides,” Taybur continued, “I'm sure you'll get to know him soon enough.”
Too late, Aly thought, thinking of the purse of coins she had stowed in the Balitang luggage. Inside she grinned broadly. She hadn't realized how much she had yearned for someone who could meet her at her own level. She would be even more careful knowing that Taybur Sibigat had an eye on her. Unlike Topabaw, Sibigat did not hear only what he wished to hear. It would be much more fun to outwit someone who knew what he was doing. She'd only have to worry that the regents might give Taybur Sibigat the spymaster's job if she brought about Topabaw's fall.
Taybur leaned down until his lips were close enough to her ear that the feel of his breath raised goose bumps on her skin. “Whatever game you play at here—and let's just assume you denied it with great vigor and go about our day—please, understand. All I care about is the safety of the king. Conduct whatever games you wish on these palace grounds with my blessing. Topabaw can use the exercise. But sniff around His Majesty, and suddenly I won't like you anymore.”
Oh, dear, Aly thought guiltily. He thinks I'm just a regular spy. He doesn't know what the raka are up to, or if he does, he doesn't think it will come to anything.
“You frighten me, my lord,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on the ground.
“I told you to call me Tay—”
Whatever else he had meant to say was cut off by a yelp from the dais. Taybur left the servants' gallery at a swift pace. King Dunevon, not liking the way the game of storm the castle was proceeding, had kicked one of the young generals. A seasoned courtier even at that age, the boy he'd kicked knew better than to hit his king. He fell on Elsren instead, pounding the smaller child. The other two “generals” entered the fistfight. Dunevon jumped from his chair, shrieking with glee as all across the room female relatives converged on the dais.
Winnamine got there first, thrusting one boy into his mother's arms and holding another by one arm as she scooped Elsren from the pile. Rubinyan started across the room for the king, but Taybur Sibigat was there ahead of him. Gently the big man hoisted the king onto one hip like an experienced nursemaid.
When Rubinyan reached them, his face dark with anger, Taybur spoke quietly. Aly read his lips as he explained to Rubinyan, His Majesty is wearied. I'm sure Your Highness will forgive him. He missed his nap.
Dunevon, if you can't control yourself . . . , Rubinyan said angrily.
He can when he's had his nap, said Taybur, still the picture of goodwill. He walked toward the hall that led out of the building as Dunevon began to howl. Everywhere men bowed and ladies curtsied to the floor as their king passed.
Taybur walked by the screened-in servants' gallery. “I know, I know, you're tired,” he told the boy shrieking in his arms. “Any normal person would be.”
Aly pursed her lips. That the king's closest guardian was fond of him was a complication she could not like. Her mind knew that the odds were very good that Dunevon might be killed in the rebellion, Dunevon and maybe even Elsren. She did not want the painful cost of those two young lives on her conscience and heart.
“I hope you weren't looking for romance in that area,” Vereyu said as she took Taybur's place next to Aly. “He lets nothing get in the way of his duty to the king. A number of our young ladies have sighed over it repeatedly since he left off courting them.”
“I don't sigh very well,” Aly replied. “And I've no idea why he singled me out.” She continued to scan the room as it quieted and nursemaids came to take charge of the king's young companions. Rihani took Elsren and Petranne back to the Robing Pavilion, chatting with the maid who half carried a still-protesting lordling. Dove had not stirred from her spot between Baron Engan and Duke Nomru. Reading their lips, Aly realized they were talking about the meager winter rice crop. She shook her head. Dove had the strangest interests.
A muttering from the other servants drew Aly's attention to the corridor that led to the main entrance. An immortal made its way into the hall where the regents sat. Aly stared at the unmistakable creature visible through the carved screen as it walked over to Princess Imajane. Even the nobles were turning to stare at the basilisk, some nervously, some in wonder. He was seven feet tall, which was average for a basilisk, with gray skin as pebbly as if it were made of beads. A hint of folds at his chin told the observer that he was young, with only two or three centuries on him. He wore a chain with a loop on it around his belly, to keep his lengthy tail from dragging on the ground. His eyes were gray and wise, with a cat's slit pupils. He bowed gracefully to the princess and the ladies around her.
Aly reminded herself to gape as if she'd never seen a basilisk. This was not just any basilisk. This basilisk Aly knew as well as she knew her family.
“He is a basilisk,” one of the other maids told Aly. The smug superiority on her face made it plain that she thought Aly gawped like a country bumpkin. “The monarchs of Tortall sent him with gifts to honor His Majesty's ascension to the throne and the regents' appointment. Wonderful toys that wind up and walk about, and gems for Their Highnesses. You don't see that many basilisks, even here at court.” She sighed. “He's leaving soon. A pity. He's much nicer than some of the other special envoys.”
“You mean he doesn't pinch your bottom, Mimisem,” joked one of the other maids.
Aly watched Tkaa curiously. To uninformed eyes, the basilisk might look plump, as the pouch on his belly bulged. What was Tkaa carrying? wondered Aly. Not weapons. Nobody who can turn folk to stone with a sound needs weapons. Unless he's ill, perhaps?
Imajane smiled up at the immortal, who had deftly stopped just far enough from her that she would not get a crick in her neck as she met his eyes. She chatted with him briefly. When the basilisk went to pay his respects to Prince Rubinyan across the room, Nuritin rose and beckoned to Winnamine. Immediately the duchess walked over to Imajane and curtsied. With a graceful movement of her hand, Imajane invited Winnamine to take the seat Nuritin had just left.<
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Aly spared a glance for a pudgy man who whispered in Rubinyan's ear until Tkaa reached the prince. Noting how the fellow stood so that no one could see his lips moving, Aly was sure this was Sevmire Ambau, Rubinyan's private spymaster, the one who he'd asked to keep watch on his own brother. After memorizing Sevmire's face, Aly turned her attention back to Winnamine and Imajane.
“And so the Balitangs return to court,” the princess said with a smile. A maid glided forward to pour out goblets of wine for the two ladies. Aly looked at Tkaa, then gave a mental shrug. He would know where she was if he needed to find her, and she was certain that he would. She didn't worry about Tkaa giving her identity away. The basilisk was one of her father's best operatives.
She continued to inspect the room. Here and there groups of people sat or stood. They talked, drank, and ate as slaves circulated with trays full of delights. It was obvious that, although they seemed absorbed in their chatter, they were equally observant of both regents. While Imajane and Winnamine talked, Rubinyan stood in a far rear corner. In addition to Tkaa, a group of noblemen attended the prince regent. Rubinyan was a listener, not a talker. He kept a gold cup in one hand, often masking his expression by looking into it.
Aly read the men's lips. They discussed pirate raids along the islands. One man accused another of taking a profit from pirates. The other told him that he would do better to mind his own pirates. The whole thing might have spun out of control had Rubinyan not put a hand on one debater's shoulder and smiled at the other, saying that he would ask the navy to step up its patrols. He handled them like an accomplished diplomat. Aly was impressed.
Forget your pirates, another noble grumbled as Aly read his lips. What I want to know is, what's being done about our missing tax collectors? The flooding this winter swept away three of the bridges in my province, and I have no way to pay for new ones! I need tax money!
You'll be missing more than bridges before the summer's done, thought Aly. A peal of laughter drew her attention to Sarai. She stood at the heart of a group of young men and women, all of whom were applauding some joke. The men's presence did not surprise Aly: Sarai drew men like honey drew bees. Her surprise lay in the number of women of Sarai's age or a little older, women who clearly liked Sarai as well.
Many of the group were luarin who obviously didn't feel, as some of their elders seemed to, that they lowered themselves by association with a half-raka. It was too early yet to tell, but if the younger luarin were more open to friendship with someone of raka blood, they might yet avoid the bloody revolution that Aly feared. It was all too easy to imagine these smug, wealthy people as the dead, the smooth columns and gleaming floor marred with the bloody gouges of swords and the black sooty splashes of magical fire. It was Aly's nightmare. She just hoped and prayed Ulasim and the rebel leaders could keep the rebellion from turning into an all-out massacre.
A brown-skinned man in his twenties was bowing over Sarai's hand. He was dressed like a Carthaki, in a short-sleeved yellow tunic that hung below his knees and sandals that laced up. His black hair was oiled and combed back from his forehead, then held in a horsetail with a gold and amber clasp. He wore heavy gold cuffs inlaid with enamel and a broad gold collar set with amber and lapis. Aly read his lips as he told Sarai to have pity for a man smitten hard by her loveliness when he was far from home. His jewelry wasn't as bright as his lively brown eyes.
Vereyu came to stand beside Aly. “Ah, I see the Carthaki has found our lady. Let's hope he doesn't break her heart.”
“I think she's guarding her heart more this year than she ever did,” murmured Aly. “A Carthaki, you say?”
Vereyu smiled. “He's the most amazing flirt. Lord Zaimid Hetnim, the youngest mage to be made head of the Imperial University's Healers' Wing. A close friend of his emperor and some kind of distant cousin to the imperial family. He is taking the chance to learn healing techniques used in other realms before he is made the emperor's chief healer.”
“He's a bold one,” commented Aly. Zaimid had yet to let go of Sarai's hand.
“That's how you know he isn't from here,” Vereyu said, bitterness in her voice. “He'll flirt with raka.”
Zaimid released Sarai and let another man move in to greet her. On Sarai's lips Aly read the joke she cast over one shoulder to a female friend, “Have the men here gotten so much more handsome, or am I just unused to it after a year in the hinterlands?”
A young man wearing gold rings on every finger stepped close to Sarai to whisper in her ear.
Vereyu grunted. “Count Ferdolin Tomang. The family holds most of Jerykun Isle, and that means most of the sunset butterfly trade.” Aly looked at her and raised her eyebrows in a silent question. Vereyu, understanding, added, “Mages use the butterflies for fair wind and treasure spells. In all the world they are found only on Jerykun.”
Against the wall near Sarai's group, a matron with young Ferdolin's eyes and nose snapped her fan open with a crack that drew glances from all over the room. Ferdolin himself never turned away from Sarai to look, even when the fan snap was followed by an intent glare.
“Ah,” Vereyu said, amused. “The Dowager Countess Tomang is unhappy. No part-bloods for her precious darling!”
Aunt Nuritin hove into Aly's view, like a stately vessel on a cruise, pausing to exchange smiles or a word. Her course brought her to a stop at the empty bench next to Countess Tomang. She eased into the spot and murmured in the countess's ear. Nuritin's hand obscured her mouth, so Aly couldn't tell what her exact words were, but she saw the countess's eyes flick to the dais, where the toy castle still stood, then to Sarai. Her fan quivered. She closed it with a much gentler snap and used it to beckon to a maid with a tray of drinks. The two older women each took one of the delicate crystal glasses and smiled at one another, then drank.
“Well!” said Vereyu, plainly startled. “Apparently Elsren's sister is a better catch than Mequen's half-raka girl child. The year before last she did everything but send him to gather butterflies to separate Ferdy from Sarai.”
“May I ask you something?” Aly beckoned Vereyu to follow her to the magically protected corner. Both of them stood with their backs to the room. Boulaj and the other maids and servants were talking casually among themselves. “Have you someone in service here that you know is reporting to Topabaw?”
Vereyu's brows knitted together. “How could you—”
Aly smiled. “There is always at least one,” she said. “I take it you've isolated him from important information?”
“He knows nothing we do not wish him to know. Now that your ladies have returned to Rajmuat, we were going to eliminate him,” Vereyu replied, clearly puzzled. “Most of us voted to dispose of him in one of the streams outside the wall at the dark of the moon.”
Aly remembered the flesh-eating fish and shivered. “That would be wasteful,” she told Vereyu firmly. “Where does he work?” When the woman hesitated, Aly raised an eyebrow. “The god trusts me,” she murmured. “Your general”—the raka code name for Ulasim—“trusts me.”
“In the gardens of the Gray Palace,” Vereyu said.
Aly smiled, and wondered if Kyprioth was helping to smooth her way. “I need you to do something,” she said, her mind flicking through each aspect of her idea. “Two of your people should stop near the place where this spy works. Have you servants who work in the regents' rooms and in the places they take private meals?”
Vereyu nodded, fascinated.
“What your people will whisper, seemingly unaware that he is near, is that they have overheard the regents discuss Topabaw. They couldn't quite tell what was said, but they know Her Highness was unhappy about something, and His Highness mentioned ‘new blood.' Don't let him see your people, for the sake of their lives. And then you will let him report to his master. For the present, that will be enough.”
She glanced at Vereyu's face and saw astonishment there.
“You may ask your general if it's permissible, but do it quickly, if you please,
” Aly said. “Before Topabaw finds a way to break through our security.”
“Oh, no,” Vereyu replied, shaking her head. “No, there's no need to consult the general. You want Topabaw believing the regents are losing confidence in him. And best of all, it will come from one of his own spies.” She smiled slowly, the expression putting light in her eyes. “I should have thought of it. I might try a few such rumors myself.”
“One or two won't hurt,” Aly admitted. “Don't overdo. Topabaw will be hearing more, I'm certain, and not just from the palace.”
Vereyu shook her head in bewilderment. “Yes, you belong to the god, all right,” she whispered. Looking sidelong at Aly, she asked, “Are you sure you're not him?”
Aly grinned. “No. My sense of fashion is so much better than his.”
About to go in search of the privy, Aly halted when Imajane raised her voice. “Am I to believe my ears?” she asked, her voice brittle ice. “I grant to your stepdaughter and your son an honor that any other parent here would love to receive, and you refuse me?”
Winnamine bowed her head. “Your Highness, please. While in your wisdom you have banished mourning dress, the truth is that I still mourn my duke. His children are my mainstay. I am honored beyond all words that you invite my son to live with the king as part of his court, and that you wish Lady Sarai as a lady-in-waiting. I know how many of our friends would love such positions for their children.” She swept her arm open to include the other people in the room. “Can you forgive a mother's weakness? Let me keep my children by me for a while longer?”
Imajane drummed elegant nails on the arm of her chair. “They would receive the best care, the best living that a girl and a boy could wish in our household. Sarai would be an ornament to our court and an asset to her half brother. And after all, Elsren is His Majesty's heir. Life is uncertain. Dunevon is healthy and strong, but so apparently was King Hazarin. Elsren will not receive the royal education he requires in your house.”
Trickster's Queen Page 9
