by Hilari Bell
At the third gate, where army guards were posted at night, the straight road to the palace began. But there Jeriah turned aside, riding past the gardens and into the woods that concealed the barracks where visiting knights and lesser nobles and priests were housed.
Past the barracks, he settled Glory and Fiddle in a stable and arranged for their care before going on to the palace.
The gate that lay beyond the Hall of Justice and the Hall of Plenty (which most people referred to as the treasury) was guarded at all times by the sunsguard itself.
Jeriah halted when challenged and told the guards his name and business. They looked bored, but Jeriah knew they’d remember his name, his face, and what he’d told them. The Hierarch’s personal guard, in their sunred tunics, were the best in the Realm.
He climbed two flights of wide stone steps, which ran all the way up to the high temple, broken by a wide landing at each level. The numbering of palace levels started at the top; the temple was on level one, the Hierarch’s rooms and highest government offices on level two, midlevel functionaries on level three, and the big public rooms on level four.
Jeriah turned off the stairs at the third-level landing. Flower beds and planters ringed the terrace, brimming with the brilliant blossoms of the Midland spring. Trees carried the vibrant sheen of new leaves, and fountains splashed soothingly. Jeriah circled around the terrace to Master Lazur’s office.
Master Lazur had two rooms in corridor five, one an outer room with a window. That wasn’t bad for a priest of his rank in this crowded place. What other fifth-circle priest had so much influence? Power without rank.
Jeriah’s palms were damp as he knocked on the door. He had too much to hide.
“Come in.”
He took a final breath and swung the door wide.
“Jeriah! I’m pleased to see you, but surely it hasn’t been a month?” Master Lazur rose, smiling, from behind his desk. Bookshelves lined the walls around him.
“My father released me. I want to serve the Realm until the difficulties and dangers of the relocation are past.”
“And he agreed?” The priest’s brows rose.
Jeriah handed over his father’s letter. He wished he knew what it said, but it had been sealed. Some people could remove and replace a seal without destroying it, but Jeriah wasn’t one of them. Still, his father wasn’t likely to reveal family quarrels to a stranger.
“Very well.” Master Lazur set the letter aside. “I’ve received another message concerning you…from your mother.”
“Oh.” Jeriah had forgotten about his mother’s plans. “She said she was going to write.”
“Yes. She feels that I should mount some sort of expedition to rescue your brother, and that if I don’t I’ll…How did she phrase it? I will ‘deeply regret’ it.”
“Ah…”
The priest swept on. “I do regret your brother’s death.”
He’s not dead yet.
“But if you’re to stay here, you must understand that it’s the relocation, the safety, the survival of the Realm that matter. If you can’t understand that, I’ll have to reconsider allowing you to work in the palace. In truth I’d planned to assign you as a courier between the palace and the army, but your mother’s service has earned you a palace post”—Master Lazur glanced down at the letter—“as she repeatedly reminds me.”
A courier, on the road all the time, would never be able to search for spell notes.
“I do understand, master, but I’d rather be assigned in the palace. I’ve seen too many refugees in the last month not to understand how important the relocation is.”
And that was true. He just wasn’t prepared to sacrifice his brother’s life for it.
“Surely I can do more for the Realm as your assistant than as a courier,” Jeriah went on desperately. “Besides…ah…my mother has made it very plain what kind of career she expects of me.”
As long as he could stay in the palace, Jeriah didn’t care what job he did. Though he’d assumed—“I’m not to continue as your assistant?”
“I have a new assistant,” said Master Lazur. “Not because you served me badly—you did well enough. I’m taking on young Nevin for political reasons.”
“Political reasons?”
“His father is Lord Brallorscourt, who has more influence with the lesser landholders of the Realm than any other man on the council. He waited to be certain our faction would come out on top in the recent power struggle, and we did, so now he’s bringing his influence to our support. We’re going to need it. Those who favor the relocation have been struggling for years against…well, everyone.” He rose and paced to the window, gazing out to the south. “So few understand the necessity for the relocation that it seems as if every vote has been balanced on a knife edge. With Lord Brallorscourt’s support, I’ll have a far better chance to get the votes I need.”
“I thought the relocation was assured. Orders have gone out to all the towns and the landholders…haven’t they?”
“Yes.” The priest’s voice held a weary triumph. “The orders are out. But there’s still resistance to the idea in the council, as well as the Realm. It won’t be a sure thing until the last household is settled on the other side of the Goblin Wall. So Lord Brallorscourt’s son is my new assistant. Or he will be, as soon as we find a proper replacement for his current post. He’s been serving as the Hierarch’s squire, and replacing him is proving…But that’s not your problem.”
Fleetingly, passionately, Jeriah wished the conspirators had succeeded. This kind of influence peddling was one of the many things they’d hoped to reform. But they had failed, and as long as Jeriah was working somewhere in the palace, he could search for the spell notes.
“So what will I be doing?” Jeriah asked.
“I’m assigning you to Master Goserian, who runs the Hierarch’s household,” said Master Lazur. “He can always use someone to run errands and generally assist him—much the same work you were doing for me. If you do as well for him, I’m sure you’ll soon rise to better things. If you prove troublesome…”
The priest shrugged. They both knew what kind of trouble he meant.
“…troublesome people don’t remain in the Hierarch’s service.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” said Jeriah. “I intend to be here for a long time.”
“You’ll need a room, as well as an introduction.” The priest returned to his desk and scribbled a brief note. “Present this to Master Goserian. He’ll find a room for you—only the Bright Gods know where!—and instruct you in your duties. Clear?”
“Perfectly.” Jeriah hoped that didn’t sound as ironic as he thought it did. Master Lazur glanced at him searchingly, but he handed Jeriah the note and nodded dismissal.
Jeriah left. At least he’d still be in the palace. As long as those cursed notes were in the same city, he’d find them!
Within a month?
Yes, because he had to.
It might even be easier out from under the priest’s sharp eye. And serving the Master of Household, nothing job that it was, would probably get Jeriah into more places than being Master Lazur’s assistant would.
Enjoying the sweeping view over city and countryside and trying to calm his nerves, Jeriah walked back to the great staircase between the levels where more of the sunsguard were always posted.
The guard told him Master Goserian was in the housekeeping offices in the interior of the fourth level. “When he isn’t hustling around checking for dust, the old…ah, he’s very conscientious.”
The flower beds that lined these steps were smaller than those on the third level, but no less lovely. This was a level where Jeriah had been before—it held the great dining hall where large ceremonies took place. There were many passages to the inner corridors; Jeriah spent some time wandering through the maze of hallways, and once into a steam-filled laundry, before he finally found the housekeeping offices.
Master Goserian wasn’t there, but they thought he might be o
ne level up in the library, or perhaps out on the second tier dealing with some problem with the produce that came from the palace farm.
Jeriah was very familiar with the grounds that surrounded the army barracks, but he’d spent almost as little time in the palace’s gardens and grounds as he had in its inner corridors. Soon he would probably know them as well as Rovan Manor. He followed a clerk’s directions to a narrow servants’ staircase and came out in the library.
“I haven’t seen him today,” an ink-stained librarian said. “But Koryn might know. I think she’s in the scroll cupboard, under the stairs there.”
The corner to which she gestured held not a staircase, but a recessed wedge in one corner of the back wall. The stairs were clearly on the other side of the wall, but for some reason the palace architects had opened the space beneath it into this room. The taller part of the wedge was filled with bookcases, like every other wall in the library, but as he approached, Jeriah saw that the narrow end had been partitioned off into a real cupboard, with a small access door. A pair of slender feet in well-worn shoes stuck out of it, twitching when their owner moved.
Jeriah knelt beside the hatch and called softly. “Mistress Koryn? I’m—”
A muffled thump, followed by a not so muffled curse, interrupted him. Jeriah hadn’t intended to startle her, but he had to suppress a laugh before he went on. “I’m looking for Master Goserian, and one of the librarians thought you might know where I could find him.”
She emerged as he spoke. Rump first, clad in a drab green gown. The gown was dusty. Jeriah, who’d expected the gray robe of an underpriest, was mildly surprised. The rump was followed by slender arms and shoulders, also dusty, and then Mistress Koryn was sitting on the floor beside him. Her face was too thin, her eyes too big, and the dark curly hair of the Southlands was also covered with dust.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your work, but if you’ve any idea where Master Goserian might be…?”
Jeriah wasn’t really the flirt that gossip claimed he was, but when he smiled at girls, they usually smiled back. This one didn’t.
“So you’re him,” she said. “I wondered.”
His smile wilted under that cool gray stare. Most Southlanders had brown eyes. And manners. But there was no point in him being rude too.
“I’m Jeriah Rovan. The librarian thought you might be able to tell me where I can find—”
“I know who you are,” she said. “And I know what you want. I’m the one you’ve been pretending to be for the last few months.”
“I haven’t pretended to be anyone,” Jeriah said in some confusion. He’d lied a lot, but that wasn’t the same thing. “And all I want is to find Master Goserian. So if you’d kindly—”
“What, not to rescue your brother? Or to overthrow the government? Or even just pursue a political career?”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but Jeriah flinched and looked around—no one near enough to overhear. “How in the Dark One’s name do you know all that?”
“Because I’m Master Lazur’s assistant,” the girl said. “He’s been working on your file lately, so I read—”
“He has a file on me?” Jeriah demanded, outraged. “And you read it?”
“He has files on everything and everyone in the Realm. At least, anyone who matters.” Enthusiasm brightened her rain-colored eyes. “As his assistant, I have access to—”
“Wait a minute,” Jeriah said. “He told me his assistant was Nevin something-or-other.”
“Ah, your pardon,” the girl said. “I’m just his clerk.”
Jeriah rose to his feet, staring down at her. “You’re his real assistant. The one who does the work.”
If this girl—she couldn’t be much older than he was, and she looked younger—but if she was Master Lazur’s real assistant, she was Jeriah’s enemy. On the other hand, if she was in the priest’s confidence, and it sounded like she was, she could be a mine of useful information. If he could charm it out of her.
She looked remarkably charm-proof, gazing critically up at him, but Jeriah reached down and extended a hand to help her up.
“Then when I was serving Master Lazur, I guess I was pretending to be you!” He tried another smile. “In my own defense, I did give him a fair day’s work—and sometimes more! I did my job, Mistress…? I only know your first name.”
She eyed his extended hand for a moment, then grimaced and gripped it. Jeriah helped her to her feet. She didn’t weigh much, which was good, because she needed more help than he’d expected. She staggered a bit on standing, and released Jeriah to clutch one of the shelves. She might have been stiff from kneeling so long, but something in the hip-shot way she stood…
“I’m sorry,” Jeriah said gently. “Are you lame? I wouldn’t have hauled you up so quickly if I’d—”
“That doesn’t matter,” she said. “Except to me. Which means it doesn’t matter.”
That cool, steady gaze was beginning to get on Jeriah’s nerves. “Well, I’m sorry. If you can tell me where I might find Master Goserian, I’ll stop disrupting your work, Mistress…?”
“Goserian. I’m Master Goserian’s niece, which is why they thought I might be able to tell you where he is.”
Goserian hadn’t looked or sounded like a Southlander, and only a bit of the accent clung to this girl’s words. Had Master Goserian’s brother wed a Southland bride, perhaps? It was none of Jeriah’s business.
“So where is your uncle?”
“I have no idea,” Koryn Goserian said. “Try his office.”
“I just came from there.”
She shrugged. “Then you might check the kitchen. That’s what gives him the most trouble on any given day, so it’s worth a try.”
“Thank you.” Jeriah turned away, unable to summon up another smile—and he usually found it easy to smile at women. This Koryn seemed to be not only uncharmable but charmless. He pitied her crippled leg, but…Oh well, she was only Lazur’s clerk. He probably wouldn’t see much of her.
The kitchen occupied the center of the fourth level, with circular walls filled with fireplaces and a high ceiling blackened with smoke. The scent of cooking reminded Jeriah that he’d missed midmeal. Perhaps he could beg something from the cooks later, but not now. The tall man haranguing a plump man in an apron had to be Master Goserian.
He was about Jeriah’s father’s age, and he held his back so straight and his balding head so high that the small potbelly only added to his dignity.
Jeriah approached, then waited until Master Goserian finished scolding the red-faced cook about improperly peeled vegetables. Then he turned to Jeriah.
“You require something”—his eyes ran over Jeriah’s dusty travel-stained form, placing his rank to the last degree—“young sir?”
“I’m Jeriah Rovan. Master Lazur has assigned me to your service.” He held out the priest’s note, but Master Goserian didn’t read it immediately.
“If you’re the brother of Sir Tobin Rovan of Rovanscourt, who recently gave his life in the service of the Realm, then you are now Jeriah Rovan of Rovanscourt. Or is there another brother, older than you?”
“Uh, no.” Jeriah felt a pang of guilt, as if he’d stolen the heir’s title from his brother. He was going to get Tobin back. And he suspected everyone who talked to the Master of Household felt guilty. If the housekeeper was this intimidating, what would the Hierarch be like? Working for the Master of Household, Jeriah would be bound to meet the Sunlord eventually. Or did glorified menservants ever rise that high? No matter. Jeriah was there to find spell notes, not to carve out a career.
Master Goserian finished reading. “I see. Come with me, Rovan of Rovanscourt.” He must have seen something in Jeriah’s expression, for he added, “I don’t know whether formalities were observed in your home”—his tone relegated it to some backward corner of the Realm—“but this is the palace of the Chosen of the Seven Bright Gods. You will use your full title when introducing yourself, and others’ titles when addressing them.�
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He led Jeriah through the dining hall as he spoke, their steps echoing from the pillared vault of the ceiling. The servants were setting up tables for dinner, and Jeriah wondered when it would be served. He was famished.
“Dinner is served at the sixth hour past noon.” Jeriah jumped guiltily. “Midmeal is at noon and breakfast six hours before that. The palace chimes sound hourly, and ten minutes before each meal a warning chime will sound. Food service ends one hour after it commences, and the tables are generally cleared an hour after serving ends. This time of year, however, the sun gong summons us to Sunset Prayer less than half an hour after the end of food service, so we must accommodate ourselves.”
Jeriah suppressed a grin. The irregularity of the sun appeared to be a considerable annoyance to Master Goserian.
The dining hall exited onto the fourth level’s outer terrace, which held public offices where the Realm’s business was conducted. The circular central rings contained the private quarters of the priests and nobles who made up the court. An inner ring around the kitchen, laundry, and bathing rooms held the servants’ rooms, chambers for food storage, and “other household matters.”
Master Goserian turned abruptly and led Jeriah into one of the rooms in the middle ring. No window for a Master of Household’s assistant. Master Goserian pulled out a striker and lit the lamp. The stone-walled chamber would have been reasonably spacious if it hadn’t held two beds, two chests, and one large desk. Probably only one desk because there wasn’t room for another. Jeriah eyed the books on it warily.
“Who am I rooming with?”
“Seber Merro, one of Master Zachiros’ assistants. I believe his function has to do with estimating future taxes; he’s often traveling. He’s not in residence now, though he’s expected back by midsummer.”
Thank you, Bright Ones. “Won’t he be surprised to find me in his room?”
“I doubt it.” Master Goserian opened the empty chest for Jeriah. The bed behind it must be his too. “Most who have rooms on this level share. The palace is always crowded.”
