Rogile approached the sitting room several minutes later, his wife on his arm. He’d stopped in their bedroom to freshen up and found her already there, doing the same. Now she wore a different dress; he wore a freshly starched collar; and they both wore smiles.
“Ms. Birge,” Rogile said as they entered the sitting room. “What a nice surprise.”
Remina Birge, a thin woman with a no-nonsense expression echoed by the tight bun on her head, stood from the chair where she’d taken up residence. Rogile’s chair. She held out her right hand, and as Rogile was about to take it, the woman’s ears began to glow with gray light.
“Oh, dear.” Rogile stepped away and drew his hand back, then realized the rudeness and silliness of his action. It was her ears that were glowing, not her hand, after all. He stepped forward again, offering a hand that was far more rigid than it had been at first. Birge shook it, and Rogile again pasted on a smile, unable to keep his eyes off her ears. This new gray magic was supposed to be a gift from Sava, but Rogile found it perplexing.
After they’d all introduced themselves, Birge asked, “Shall we sit?” They did, and Birge gave her hosts a tight smile. “I am a former Cormina councillor and one of the first recipients of gray magic. Now King Relin has sent me, along with a number of others, to check in on our new Corminian nobles. Are you enjoying your new positions?”
Ora and Rogile exchanged a glance. “After King Relin was crowned, a different councillor visited us to share the news,” Ora said. “Kervis Shefford.”
What a day that had been. Kervis Shefford, a haughty man better suited to the cobblestone streets of Savala than the dusty roads of rural Cormina, had ridden up to the Gistlers’ estate. Rogile had nearly turned the man away; he was so dirty. But Kervis had stopped Rogile and Ora in their tracks when his eyes glowed like twin storm clouds.
They’d been even more shocked when Kervis had informed them their democracy had transformed into a monarchy. In the next breath, he’d explained that King Relin had increased taxes, and the Gistlers were responsible for ensuring that their area of the country payed their portion. They’d be rewarded with titles and power. Rogile and Ora had woken up that morning as an ordinary couple (though richer than most); they’d gone to bed as a duke and duchess.
“Kervis Shefford is the king’s representative in Tinawe now,” Birge said. “I’ll be your new connection to the throne, so to speak. I’d like an update on how things are going in your duchy.”
“Things are fine,” Rogile replied. “To be honest, things haven’t changed, except that people call us ‘Duke’ and ‘Duchess’ instead of ‘Sir’ and ‘Ma’am.’ ”
“When they remember to,” Ora added.
Pellum entered with tea. Once he’d served it and exited, Birge added sugar to hers and asked, “How are you handling the additional taxes?”
“We’re paying them,” Rogile said. “On time, each month.”
“I’m aware of that,” Birge said. “What I mean is, how much are you paying, and how much have you collected from your people?”
“Oh, we’re paying all of it,” Rogile said.
Birge’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You know you can share that burden with the people in your duchy, don’t you?”
“Well, there are only a few dozen families in the area, and we’re the only ones who can afford higher taxes,” Rogile said.
“He’s right,” Ora said. “These people barely have enough to support themselves. And the entire duchy is sparsely populated, except in the Meadow.”
Birge tilted her head a few degrees. “What’s the Meadow?”
Two hours later, Rogile, Ora, and Birge, all on horseback, were on top of a tall hill. Several miles away, but well within their view, was the large, fenced community known as the Meadow.
Birge had insisted on seeing it once she heard of it. Rogile had protested. He certainly hadn’t planned for an hours-long excursion that day. They should stay home and eat lunch, he’d argued; he and Ora could tell Birge all she needed to know. But Birge had insisted, and when Ora had blurted out that the Meadow was only an hour’s ride away, Rogile couldn’t come up with any convincing arguments to delay the trip.
So here they were. Rogile hadn’t come to this area in at least a decade and a half. In his younger years, he’d been more curious. He’d even approached the gate a few times but had always been turned away. Now he was older, wiser, and willing to let the Meadow Dwellers have the privacy they desired.
“Incredible,” Birge said. “They’re here in the middle of nowhere!”
“Well, there is a fairly well-kept road leading to their community,” Ora said, pointing. “They send traders out to visit other towns and cities.”
Birge squinted. “How many live there?”
“Perhaps a few hundred,” Rogile said. “Maybe more. I’m really not sure.”
“It looks like they’re well-off,” Birge said. “There are plenty of buildings and even more open space. They have livestock and gardens, not to mention the fields outside the fence.” She turned to Rogile and Ora. “I’ll bring this information back to King Relin. Your taxes have been low because of the population numbers we had on file. Now that I see your duchy is much larger than we’d estimated, your taxes will be adjusted.”
Rogile tried to stay calm. “By how much?” Even he could hear the unintended strain in his voice.
Birge continued to examine the community. “I’m guessing they will be tripled, at least.”
“Tripled?” Ora asked, aghast. “We can’t pay that!”
Her open admission embarrassed Rogile, but he knew Ora was right. The new taxes had been more of a burden than he’d let on to Birge.
Birge looked at them, frustration clear in her expression. “Duke and Duchess Gistler, the wealthy were never meant to pay all the king’s taxes. You have been called to lead your people, and that includes collecting taxes from them. Our goal is not to make you paupers.”
“I . . . But the people down there . . .” Rogile couldn’t quite get the words out.
“What he’s trying to say is that the Meadow Dwellers won’t even let us in, much less pay taxes to us!” Ora said. “They’re exempt from taxes and have been for as long as I can remember.”
Birge let out a sigh. “How do people treat you when they see you?”
“They respect us,” Rogile said.
“And perhaps some of them fear you too?” Birge asked. Rogile gave a slight nod, and she continued, “It’ll be the same with the Meadow Dwellers. They’re so isolated. Can you imagine what an honor it will be to them when you show up at their community with a writ from the king, declaring you are their duke and duchess? They’ll fall over themselves to see who can open the gate for you!”
Rogile stifled a laugh. He somehow doubted that would be the impression they’d make on the Meadow Dwellers. He appreciated Birge’s optimism, but she’d never even met a Meadow Dweller. She didn’t understand.
Rogile could tell she wasn’t open to negotiation, however. He knew he and Ora would have no choice but to find others to help pay the new taxes. The Meadow Dwellers might be part of that. However, looking at the community’s tall guard towers, massive enough to be identified even miles away, Rogile could think only one thing:
Remina Birge has no idea how difficult this is going to be.
Chapter Five
They are undisciplined, lazy, and cavalier in the discharge of their duties. If ever our king and queen are attacked, I will hold you personally responsible.
- Chief Minister Burrell to Guard Captain Kulfish, from Year One: Correspondence in the Corminian Kingdom
“Evitt, wake up!”
Evitt Forning was in his favorite sleeping position: face-down, arms and legs sprawled wide, like a four-limbed starfish. A warm starfish, huddled under cozy quilts. At the sound of his mother’s voice, he opened the eye that wasn’t pressed to his pillow and grunted something unintelligible that adequately conveyed his irritation.
“There
’s some man here to see you,” his mother insisted, shaking his shoulder with a cool hand. “He talks strange, like that woman who came a few weeks ago.”
In one quick movement, Evitt flipped over and sat up straight. His eyes still felt gritty, but he was wide awake. “Tell him I’ll be there right away. I just need to put on pants. Well, don’t tell him that part.”
His mother left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Evitt dressed, then grabbed a mug of water sitting next to his bed. He swished some of it in his mouth, trying to get rid of the taste of morning. It’ll have to do.
Seconds later, he exited the house. He held out a hand to the diminutive man standing just outside the front door. “I’m Evitt.”
“Well met. I’m Shon.” His voice reminded Evitt of Tullen’s, with the subdued vowels and melodic tone typical of Meadow speech. They shook hands.
Evitt’s stepfather’s house was too small to have a sitting room, so Evitt gestured to the two rickety chairs on the tiny porch. The man sat and declined Evitt’s offer of tea.
“How’s everything in the Meadow?” Evitt asked.
“Oh, fine.”
“How’s Tavi doing? And the other Golds?”
Shon shrugged. “I don’t know them personally. But one of them gave me a letter for you.” He stood and reached into the back pocket of his pants, pulling out a folded, wrinkled envelope.
Evitt reached out an eager hand and took the envelope, suppressing his urge to tear it open right there.
“They wanted to know if you have any information for them,” Shon said.
“A little,” Evitt hedged. “How long will you be in town?”
“I’m meeting with some shopkeepers today and leaving town first thing tomorrow. I’m a leatherworker.” Shon pulled a swatch of leather from the pocket of his shirt and handed it to Evitt.
The leather was hand-tooled with an intricate design, and if more important things hadn’t filled Evitt’s mind, he would’ve appreciated it a lot more. He murmured something complimentary before giving it back. “Could you come back this evening?” he asked. “I’ll have a letter for you by then.”
“I can do that.”
Back in his room, Evitt sat on his bed. He didn’t have a desk; the room was too small for that. He leaned against the wall and looked at the envelope Shon had given him. “Ellis” was written on the front in large, block letters. He ripped the envelope open and pulled out a single sheet of folded paper.
His eyes traveled to the bottom of the note first. It was signed with the name “Senn.” That was Sall. Evitt’s anticipation burst like a soap bubble. It was silly to expect Tavi to write him, but he always hoped. He smoothed the folds in the paper and read it.
Ellis,
We want to move on from here, but we need more information. Have you gone to the place where everything is happening? You have the skills. Use them.
-Senn
Communications to and from the Meadow had to be vague or in code. But Sall’s message was clear. He wanted Evitt to use his invisibility magic to sneak into King Relin’s temporary palace. Sall wasn’t here, though; he had no idea how difficult such a task might be.
Evitt tried to squash his annoyance. He counted himself lucky to be part of the Golds at all. Long after he’d befriended them, they’d found out he had gray magic and was working with Ash. The news hadn’t gone over well.
But he’d returned to the Golds when he’d realized Ash was giving in to Konner’s violent plans. Ash had been captured by the Golds and now lived with them in the Meadow, while Evitt was stuck in Savala, tasked with spying on His Royal Ridiculousness, King Relin.
Evitt had continued to spy on Konner too, taking advantage of his position as Konner’s gardener. But he’d collected minimal intelligence, and he needed more. He reread the note and sighed. Sall was right. If I can’t get into the place where the Grays make plans, I’m useless.
The problem was, he didn’t have a plausible reason to visit the palace. And the guards there had hand cannons. If his magic wore off and he got caught, he wouldn’t have any excuses. He might not even have time to think of an explanation before his head was blown off.
Evitt scooted to the end of the bed and stood. If he kept thinking, he’d talk himself out of acting. So he left his room, dropped the letter in the kitchen stove, and exited the house.
How many guards do one king and queen need?
Evitt was in downtown Savala, watching the newly named Kingdom Street, where the temporary palace sat. Tall, wrought-iron fences had been put up behind the buildings along both sides of the street, funneling all pedestrians to the heavily guarded entrances on either end of the road.
The guards searched everyone before allowing them to enter, and more guards patrolled along the street’s length.
Evitt could easily get close to the palace. His problem was that his magical tolerance was just a notch above dismal. He could only use his gift for about half an hour at a time. He’d hoped to walk up to the building and activate his magic in some shadows, but that would be impossible with all these guards.
The first step was to find a place where no one would notice him blinking out of sight. But the streets near the palace were full of people. Finally, he settled on an alley, where his only company was a colony of feral cats.
Evitt closed his eyes, held his breath, and invited gray magic into his head. It invaded, piercing his skull with a horrendous headache. How he missed the days when magic was pleasant. Evitt put the thought out of his mind and tried to ignore the pain as he exited the alley.
It took several minutes to make his way back to Kingdom Street. He moved as quickly as he could while remaining quiet and cautious. The guards didn’t flinch when he passed them.
When he arrived at the palace, he estimated he still had nearly twenty minutes of invisibility before he reentered everyone’s vision. But he quickly encountered a problem. Well, a hundred problems.
That’s how many people he estimated were crowded around the barriers separating them from the palace entrance. And while they couldn’t see Evitt, they’d feel him if he pushed his way through.
Evitt stood and watched the crowd for a good ten minutes, at the end of which he was short on magic and even shorter on inspiration. He rushed away, reaching the alley just before his magic gave out on him. He let out a great sigh of pleasure as the pain disappeared. Then he laughed, for the moment he’d appeared, the cats had screeched and fled. I guess my magic works on animals too.
An idea, preposterous and plausible, entered his mind. He turned toward home.
Two hours later, Evitt strolled through the downtown streets again. He entered another alley, this one behind a row of restaurants. As soon as he was sure no one from the street was watching, he activated his magic, shuddering as it entered his head. Then he crept down the alley, keeping his steps as quiet as possible.
It took only a couple of minutes to find what he wanted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and when he looked that direction, he spied the hind end of a rat dashing into some trash that had fallen from an overflowing bin.
Evitt walked even more slowly as he neared the rat’s hiding place. Taking care to be silent, he removed a large piece of cheese from his pocket and placed it on the ground. He knew that as soon as his fingers released it, the cheese became visible to anyone watching. Even a rat.
Then Evitt stood, still as the stone wall next to him, and watched.
The rat was more cautious than Evitt had expected. Perhaps it smelled him. The creature’s beady eyes peered out from the trash pile, and it retreated again.
Still Evitt waited, his head pounding in time with his heart. Minutes passed. The rat peeked out again but didn’t venture forward. After a couple of minutes, it disappeared.
Evitt wished he had a way to know how long it had been. His muscles were tense from the combination of pain and acute caution. He marveled at how sore one could feel just standing still.
Evitt began to expect
his magic would wear off at any moment, and he was looking forward to the accompanying physical relief. But while he’d waited, the rat had built up its courage. Its little eyes appeared again, and this time it advanced, its head, body, and tail emerging from the trash.
It took a moment to look around, its attention quickly settling on the cheese. And then it darted out, its fat body moving fast. It reached the cheese in a split second, grabbing the hunk in its mouth, then turning back toward the trash pile.
But Evitt was fast too. He’d brought a bucket with him, and he’d been holding it in both hands, upside down, just for this eventuality. He slammed the bucket down over the rat before the animal could reach its hideaway, and the alley rang with dissonance: one part metal bucket on cobblestones, one part furious, squealing rodent.
Evitt saw that the rat’s tail was caught under the lip of the bucket, and he lifted the edge just long enough to poke the poor tail in to join the rest of the creature’s body. This didn’t seem to appease the rat; it continued to screech, its shrill voice echoing in its metal prison.
It was at that moment that Evitt’s headache fled, which meant his magic was gone too. He sat next to the bucket, holding it down with one hand. The rat eventually stopped protesting, and Evitt heard it gnawing on the hunk of cheese.
Within minutes, the rat and Evitt both settled into routines. The rat remained quiet until, every quarter hour or so, it threw its body against the bucket and squealed, before calming again. And Evitt sat, bored out of his mind, the rat’s escape efforts bringing him back to alertness each time he started to doze.
At one point, a restaurant owner looked out the back door of her place of business and tried to run Evitt off. Evitt told the woman that King Relin had sent him to catch the rats around the city, and the owner accepted the explanation enthusiastically.
Facing the Fire Page 5
