The Last Lies of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

“I’ve yet to hear what piece she’s singing, though,” continued the soprano. “Not that people even care. I’ve heard that citizens are flocking from every island of the Greater Chain to be a part of this historic Moonwatch Festival. Personally, I find the whole thing to be in poor taste. Upstaging the longstanding tradition of the Grotenisk Festival… and over a Moon Passing, no less! It hardly seems fitting for a crusader monarch to have authorized such an event.”

  “Then you wouldn’t perform in it if they asked you?” Ard dropped the line that would really get this conversation going.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that, but…”

  Ard leaned across the table, lowering his voice to a whisper. “The queen has put me in charge of recruiting for the festivities. I would like you to join us as the premier soloist.”

  “Me?” Kercha gasped, but quickly recovered her level of disdain. “I don’t think I’d like to share the stage with Azania Fyse.”

  “Oh, you won’t,” Ard assured. “You’ll be under the stage.”

  Kercha’s eyebrow raised in puzzlement. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “No, I wouldn’t expect you to, dull as you are.” Ard cleared his throat. “Let me explain things clearly… Quarrah!”

  At the sound of her name, Quarrah abruptly turned her chair around, tucking it up to Ard’s table right beside a startled Kercha Gant.

  “Miss Gant,” Ard began. “May I introduce you to Azania Fyse.”

  Kercha studied Quarrah with a mix of confusion and contempt, like a rich noblewoman who couldn’t figure out how a mangy dog got inside the house. “You?” she finally squeaked out. “But you aren’t—”

  “Redheaded?” Quarrah cut her off.

  “Pretty,” replied Kercha.

  “You’re right,” said Ard. “Her beauty transcends such simple words. As does your idiocy. See, my name is not Erdon Nordesh. In truth, I am Ardor Benn.”

  “The ruse artist?” said Kercha.

  “Good, you’ve heard of me,” he went on. “Actually, we spoke once before in the palace reception hall before Noet Farasse’s concert. Of course, at the time I was dressed as the composer Dale Hizror. You paid me little attention. So little, in fact, that my associate”—he gestured to Quarrah—“had no trouble dosing you with Furybeth extract so you’d be in no condition to sing that upcoming concert.”

  Kercha’s expression lost every drib of propriety and she spun on Quarrah, raising a hand. Ard didn’t know if the soprano planned to slap her, or go straight for the eyes with those long painted fingernails. Either way, she was too slow. Quarrah had her by the wrist in a blink, Kercha’s arm twisted painfully and pinned against the tabletop.

  “We’re going to let you in on another secret.” Ard tossed a cloth napkin over their gripped hands, keeping his voice low. “Azania Fyse is no singer. The voice that everyone adored belonged to another woman, who sang from a concealed position beneath the stage. She happens to be unavailable for the upcoming Moonwatch Festival, so we thought we’d extend the offer to you. What do you say?”

  “You can rot in the Settled depths,” Kercha hissed, her face now wholly twisted in anger. “You ruined my career. My entire life!”

  “Has your life really been so bad?” Ard patronized her. “We’ve just given you more time to spend with Natanial. Your boy must be five years old by now—Oh, wait. It’s hard to spend time with him when he’s at the boarding house in Midway. A hundred Ashings a cycle for a room there, isn’t it? Good thing Lord Eaves covers that exorbitant fee. Why has he taken such an interest in your child, I wonder? I suppose if you’re not cooperative, we could talk to him about it.”

  “You’re a monster,” Kercha whispered.

  “I’ve been called worse on a first date,” replied Ard. “Now, what piece would you like to sing? Something by Sender, perhaps? Or Agrico?”

  She glowered. “I haven’t performed in years.”

  “Then we’ll need to dig deep into your old repertoire,” continued Ard. “Give us a crowd pleaser. Nothing too academic, as this will be a public concert for the common citizen.”

  Kercha seemed to think about it for a moment. “The third song cycle, by Rous Kenette?”

  “I’m unfamiliar with it,” Ard admitted.

  “Eleven short songs in a sequence,” she explained. “The entire work lasts about forty minutes.”

  “What’s the topic of the text?” asked Ard.

  “It’s a comedy,” she replied. “Strong, independent woman sings a series of anecdotes about life in the home. Only, the listener is never sure if the male she is singing about is her husband or her dog.”

  “I think I can learn those lyrics in a hurry.” Quarrah smirked at Ard.

  “Woof,” he replied in a deadpan tone.

  “This won’t work,” said Kercha. “You might have gotten away with it when Lorstan Grale was on the podium. That man was a buffoon. Swayla Tham will see right through your ruse.”

  “Which is why Swayla Tham will not be conducting the song cycle at the Moonwatch Festival,” said Ard. “Conques Fabley will be the guest conductor. He’s already been approved by the queen.”

  “Never heard of him,” Kercha spit.

  “No one has,” replied Ard. “But I hear he’s a frightfully handsome fellow. Imagine this face”—he put a hand to his own chin—“but with a mustache and hair the color of ripe wheat.”

  “You?” Kercha Gant chuckled in angry disbelief. “You’re going to conduct the orchestra?”

  Ard smiled and shrugged. “How hard can it be? Just have to stand up there and write my name in the air with a pointy little stick.”

  The serving maid suddenly appeared at Ard’s elbow, causing him to turn. Unlike a common tavern barmaid, this young woman was buttoned up in clothes made of fine fabrics.

  “Sorry about the delay,” she said. “As you can see, we are quite busy tonight. What would the three of you like to eat this evening?”

  “You know… I just remembered.” Ard stood up abruptly. “Food does not agree with me.” He dropped two five-mark Ashings on the table in front of Kercha. “But get our star vocalist anything she’d like. Surely, you recognize the elegant Kercha Gant? Or are you too young to remember the darling of bygone concerts?”

  Kercha huffed and Ard glanced down at her. “We’ll be in touch about how to proceed. In the meantime, best not to say a word about this to anyone. They say Lord Eaves’s wife is a jealous one.” Ard stepped past the serving maid, sauntering for the exit.

  “Well, she’s as sour as I remembered,” Quarrah whispered, following him outside. The darkness was touched with the coolness of autumn’s first cycle, and it felt like a storm was brewing. Quarrah tucked a short strand of jewels into her pocket.

  “Her bracelet?” Ard assumed, seeing it out of the corner of his eye.

  “I needed to get something out of this,” Quarrah replied. “Even Kercha got a free meal. Besides, you were kind enough to throw that napkin over our hands. Nabbed her ring, too.”

  “We’re already stealing her voice.” Ard scanned the dark street. “Isn’t that enough?” He spotted their carriage waiting by the corner. It had to be the one, the suspended cab leaning slightly to the left under the great weight of its hidden passenger.

  “You really think we can pull this off without Cinza and Elbrig?” Quarrah followed him in the direction of the vehicle.

  “Hey. They made the mistake of teaching us all their tricks. Besides, we bought the character of Azania Fyse fair and square. We can do with her what we please.”

  “I’m just thinking maybe her name would be enough,” Quarrah continued. “It’s the hype of her return that’s going to bring people to the Moonwatch Festival. And once they arrive, isn’t that all we need? What if I don’t have to get in costume? And we wouldn’t have to use Kercha…”

  They had reached the carriage, but Ard didn’t open the door. Instead, he turned and put a steadying hand on Quarrah’s shoulder. He understood where her ramblings originated�
��from fear and uneasiness. Not wanting to step back into a role that had stretched her out of her comfort zone and nearly taken her to death’s door.

  “I know this isn’t easy for you, but you’ll do great. Azania’s name will bring people to the Char, but we need them to stay all night. The entertainment has to be good enough to keep them happy.”

  Before she could say another word, he pulled open the carriage door. The darkness of the cab’s interior was broken only by two eyes glowing red.

  “Only Ardor Benn could pull that off,” Raek’s enhanced voice greeted them.

  “What are you talking about?” He climbed in, seating himself across from his slouching partner, Raek’s glass scalp touching the cab roof.

  “Only you could go to dinner with one woman and go home with another,” clarified Raek.

  “I’m not going home with—” Quarrah started, but Ard cut her off to put an end to the awkward conversation.

  “Where’s San?”

  “He was just finishing up at Oriar’s Square,” Raek answered as the carriage ambled up the street.

  “Where are we with the outdoor stage?”

  “San said the workers have started bringing the lumber into the Char,” he reported. “Should start assembling by middle of next week.”

  “Good,” said Ard. “Once they’re done, that’ll give us a few days to rehearse. The builders know about the modifications we need?”

  “They’re using the same plans from the year Quarrah sang at the Grotenisk Festival,” said Raek. “The stage will have a grate on the front so our soprano can stay beneath the stage and bellow unseen.”

  “But I shouldn’t need a trapdoor this time,” said Quarrah.

  “Right,” Ard agreed. “We should have them take it out. The last thing we need is for Kercha Gant to pop up and take credit during the applause.”

  “At least she won’t be singing between my legs like Cinza did,” Quarrah muttered. “That dress was too breezy anyway.”

  “Speaking of dresses…” said Raek. “I gave your measurements to the tailor.”

  “How do you know my measurements?” she retorted.

  Raek merely waved his large blue hand. “The same guy’s getting us a red wig and some beefy spectacles to complete the look. But you’ll have to apply your own makeup.”

  “Well, that’s going to be a disaster,” admitted Quarrah.

  “You’ve got time to practice,” said Ard.

  She shifted in her seat. “When’s our first rehearsal?”

  “Ten days from now,” Ard replied. “Unless I’m not back yet. Then you can cancel that rehearsal.”

  “Back?” Quarrah cried. “Where are you going?”

  Ard glanced across the carriage at Raek’s glowing eyes, then he turned his whole attention to her. “There’s something I need to take care of.”

  “Something so important you can’t tell me about it?”

  “I don’t want to trouble you.”

  “Ah. Just the fate of the world at stake and you’re afraid I’ll mess it up if I know too much?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “How many times have you said there’d be no more secrets—”

  “It’s a personal matter!” Ard silenced her, his tone rising faster than he’d meant. “It’s not about Glassminds or dragons. It’s… personal.”

  The comment clearly surprised her, but Ard could see that Quarrah was still hesitant to believe him. He supposed that was the price he had to pay for deceiving her so many times.

  But he was being honest now. This was something he had to deal with on his own.

  Ard reached behind him and pounded on the wall of the carriage, the driver bringing it to a quick halt.

  “What are you doing?” Raek asked.

  “I could use some fresh air.” Ard pushed open the door.

  “See you back at the palace later?” Raek checked. “The carpenters have been working all day to heighten the doorway into my room so I don’t have to duck anymore.” He turned his glowing eyes to Quarrah. “See what you’re missing out on?”

  “Well, I hope the perks of living at the palace outweigh the risks,” said Quarrah.

  “No risks so far,” Raek said.

  “Just wait until someone slits the three of your throats in your sleep.”

  “Ha. But I don’t actually sleep anymore,” Raek pointed out. “And I don’t think a knife could hurt me or Evetherey. Besides, they’re not going to kill us. They think they’re sheltering us at the palace. Homeland knows there are enough people out there who want Ard dead.”

  Ard moved past Raek’s obtrusive knees, dropping down to the packed dirt street. “I don’t know if I’ll be back to the palace tonight, Raek. I’m heading over to the harbor to see if they have a late ship sailing out.”

  His friend nodded respectfully. “You’re doing the right thing, Ard. Tell them hello from me.”

  Ard forced a smile onto his face. “I will.”

  He ended the conversation on his terms, swinging the carriage door shut. Then he tugged at his jacket and headed into the night.

  The thrill is in the convincing. To transform a stalwart no into an eager yes is unrivaled satisfaction.

  CHAPTER

  36

  Life moved at a different pace here. Ard had felt it even before entering the village of Sunden Springs. The houses were spaced thinly across the hilly green landscape. The residents, in their simple woven clothing, seemed to be in no rush, despite the fact that most of them looked actively engaged in some kind of work.

  Many were scattered across sprawling farmlands. Others were weeding in the yard or making simple repairs to their plain homes. Children played in the dirt and Ard saw several adults take goods without any noticeable exchange of money. Even Ard’s horse seemed to respond to the atmosphere, slowing to a lazy saunter.

  But the strangest thing—the biggest difference from his life in Beripent—were the smiles. Nearly every man, woman, and child greeted him with a friendly grin or a wave. Some even called out a midday, “How do you do!”

  Looks like you picked a good spot for them, Raek, Ard thought as he followed his friend’s directions, winding up the road toward the taller of two hills.

  His coat hung open, the fall weather noticeably warmer this far to the south of Espar. Dust motes hung in the still air, shimmering in rays of direct sunlight like detonated Grit. It was always drier on the leeward side. Not a barren desert, but a pleasant aridity that felt refreshing compared to the mold-growing dampness of Beripent.

  Despite his abrupt departure from Raek and Quarrah, Ardor Benn hadn’t rushed his journey. The ship on which he’d booked passage had been anything but express, stopping for a full day at every harbor along Espar’s western coast. Contrary to his usual nature, Ard wanted the time alone, feeling no need to speak or be spoken to. Time to wander Espar’s other cities as a mere observer.

  The world had felt bigger to him over the last week. In a new way, he’d noticed people living full and complex lives, each life intertwining with countless others until the world seemed like one inexplicably connected hive. Not akin to Centrum’s Glassminds, but a web of individuality and agency. People did right. People did wrong.

  And all these people were going to die.

  Ard had been painfully aware how word of the Moonwatch Festival decreased the farther south he traveled. It stung him with an overwhelming feeling of despair. Even if everyone knew the truth—even if every woman, man, and child were flocking to the Char, Evetherey could never hope to shield them all.

  A small leather-wrapped ball rolled onto the path—Ard could hardly call it a road, this far on the fringe of the rural village. His horse stopped as a young boy raced out to collect the object. Waiting beside a rocky outcropping were two friends, none of the kids looking older than ten.

  “Sorry about that, mister.” The shaggy-haired lad’s accent was more country than Ard was used to hearing. As the boy stood there covered in dust, holding that b
all, Ard’s thoughts suddenly turned to Tobey. Would his little gang of street orphans go to the Char during the coming Passing? Did anyone know the real extent of the danger?

  These kids in Sunden Springs were certainly going to die of Moonsickness. This far off the beaten path, it seemed unlikely that the Glassminds would find them in time to see them through the transformation—not that anyone in Sunden Springs would meet Garifus’s mob-mentality criteria for joining.

  Instinctively, Ard reached into his jacket and plucked a single mark Ashing from his pocket. He flicked it off his thumb, watching the large coin make revolutions through the sunlight. The little boy caught it without flinching, a smile on his face as he opened his hand and studied it.

  “What’s this, mister?”

  Ard stared down from the saddle in disbelief. Had this kid never seen an Ashing before? Maybe Ard shouldn’t have been so shocked. It had taken him two full days of riding just to reach Sunden Springs. The small community seemed wholly self-sufficient, with trade, barter, and borrow being enough for these humble people.

  “It’s a dragon scale,” Ard decided to say.

  “Goff stars, mister!” exclaimed the kid, his friends racing to his side to inspect the gift. “You seen a dragon?”

  Ard chuckled. “Seen them, tracked them… spoken with them.”

  “Bet you’s got some tales to tell,” said one of the other boys.

  “Like the man on the hill,” said the other.

  His comment sent a chill of nerves down Ard’s spine, causing him to glance up the path. At this distance, he could barely make out the large house set into a grassy divot in the hillside.

  “You know him?” Ard asked. But when he turned back, the three boys were racing through the field, tossing the ball and whooping gleefully.

  Ard nudged his horse forward again, the anxiety of his visit building as he drew so close to his destination. Once again, he found himself rehearsing his opening lines for the conversation ahead, all the time knowing that when it came time to say them, even the verbose Ardor Benn would be rendered speechless.

  His horse splashed through a small creek that flowed across the path, a telltale sign of the plentiful freshwaters springs that originated higher in the hills. From here, the trail climbed just two hundred feet before it reached the house that Raek had told him about.