by Hilari Bell
“Most lads in his situation,” said Yallin, “rich lads with no parents, or parents who don’t care, they usually get raised by the servants.”
“So he got raised by the servants,” said Arisa. “So what? There are lots of worse things.”
“There are,” Yallin agreed. “And one is being raised by servants who were hired by your enemy, most of whom hated you.”
Thinking suppressed some of her anger. “I’ve heard that,” said Arisa. “That his servants hated him. I heard he did things that gave them reason to.”
“Maybe he did,” said Yallin. “Even I don’t know the whole story behind that one. And it’s a prob— Well, that’s neither here nor there. But have you thought about what it would be like to be raised by strangers who hate you? Strangers who can make your life a misery in a thousand petty ways, yet you have the power to command them—even get them fired, if you’re desperate enough. I’m amazed he turned out as sane as he is!”
Arisa scowled. “It’s like… It’s like he tries to be nice, but he doesn’t know how. And when he gets confused, or can’t figure it out, he falls back on being an arrogant twerp. So maybe it’s the arrogant twerp that’s real, and the nice Edoran that’s fake!”
“Maybe they’re both real,” said Yallin. “People are hardly ever only one thing. Run along now, lass. That’s all the sheets, and I can do the pillow slips myself.”
Arisa still hadn’t made up her mind when she met Edoran at the wall that night.
“I think this is a mistake,” she told him.
“Well, it certainly wasn’t my idea,” he said. “If you don’t want to go through with it, you should have told Weasel when he was taking us over all those maps.”
Weasel had spent the morning away from the palace setting things up, and the afternoon drilling his coconspirators. Arisa liked every part of the plan, except for the prince’s presence.
Weasel’s coat and broad-brimmed hat fit Edoran fairly well, but to her eyes he still looked… small. Small and weak and worthless. Was he as jealous of her friendship with Weasel as she was of his? Probably. But if she’d been misjudging him because of something as petty as that, then she owed him the benefit of the doubt. That was why she’d finally agreed to this. That, and because it was the best chance they’d ever have to learn the identity of the man who’d paid Katrin to try to harm her mother.
“Come on,” Arisa sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
She had to help him climb the wall, even in the easy place. Of course, she reminded herself, trying to be fair, he’d never done it before. Edoran dropped to the street neatly enough, and looked around nervously.
“Don’t do that,” Arisa whispered. She dropped down beside him and continued in an even lower voice, “We’re supposed to lure him into following us. He might not, if he knows we’re looking for him.”
Edoran peered at her through the light rain. “After what happened to you and Weasel last night, I’d think he’d be suspicious if you didn’t act wary. In fact, you’d have to be crazy to leave the palace again at all.”
This was undeniably true. “Well, that’s why we’re going the other way tonight. This way.”
Arisa set off down the street in the opposite direction from the tavern. It was Weasel’s theory that the stalker would position himself to follow them in the same direction they usually went. If they went in the other direction, he’d be farther behind them and it would allow them more time—plenty of time to reach any of the five foolproof escapes Weasel had planted along their route.
It had seemed a much better plan going over the map with Weasel, in front of the fire in her own room. Now the back of her neck crawled with tension.
“We turn toward the city at the end of the next block, right?” Edoran asked, looking over his shoulder.
His constant turning would also force the stalker to keep his distance, Arisa realized. Until the man decided to strike.
“That’s right,” Arisa confirmed. “Then straight for two blocks, then—”
“Then turn right, go ten yards, and the ladder will be hanging down the stable wall,” Edoran finished with her.
Weasel must have drilled him as relentlessly as he’d drilled Arisa. He’d wanted to show them the course he’d spent the morning setting up, but between the edict that Arisa not go out with either of them and Edoran’s difficulty in escaping his escort, it just hadn’t been possible.
Still, they both knew where they were going. In just a few blocks they’d reach the first of the places where Weasel had promised they could elude the stalker. Then Weasel would take over, and soon they’d know who was behind all of this.
“Weasel and I were talking about who it might be,” said Edoran, almost as if he were reading her thoughts.
“It’s one of my mother’s and Justice Holis’ enemies,” said Arisa. “Someone who wants to take over the regency.”
“I agree,” said Edoran. “But Justice Holis appointed your mother as his successor. If they’re both disqualified, with no one else named…”
Arisa frowned. “How would your regent be chosen then?”
“It should be my nearest kinsman, but he has to be confirmed by a two-thirds majority of the concordance of shareholders,” said Edoran. “This is where we turn, right?”
“Right.” Before she went around the corner, Arisa stopped to look back. She saw nothing in the dark street. She heard nothing but the soft patter of the rain, yet a chill moved over her skin.
Was he there? Or was it just her own tension that made her feel like she was being watched.
Edoran had stopped to wait for her, looking very much like Weasel in the dimness.
He has to see both of us, Weasel had said. He has to lose both of us. Otherwise he’ll start wondering where I am.
“So who’s your nearest kinsman?” Arisa asked, turning down the new street. This one was better lit than most—had Weasel chosen it because of that?
“Harald Wasserton,” said Edoran promptly. “He’s my father’s only living cousin.”
“He’d never be approved by the shareholders,” said Arisa. “He’s a drunk.”
“I know. But after him the question gets murky,” said Edoran. “Because if you’re only looking at legitimate male lines, you have to go back six generations, and there are scores of descendants from that generation. If you’re willing to go through the female line, which has happened three times in Deorthas’ history, though technically—”
“I get the picture,” said Arisa shortly. He was babbling because he was nervous, but she couldn’t blame him for that. “You’re related to, what? Half the court?”
“Only about a fifth,” said Edoran. “If you count only the legitimate lines. If you start adding illegits, which the church claims is illegal, but which has happened at least once before, then it’s probably closer to three quarters. Weasel’s been reading more of those old diaries; he says if you believe all the gossip those women wrote down, I’m probably related to everyone.”
“So we can’t narrow it down by looking at kinship,” said Arisa, caught up in the question despite herself. “Have you seen or noticed anyone trying to… to discredit or sabotage Justice Holis. Or maybe get closer to you?”
“Getting closer to me—we’re back to everyone at court,” said Edoran. “Sabotaging Justice Holis… If someone’s doing that, they’re being really careful. Is this our turn?”
“No, we don’t turn for two blocks,” said Arisa. They might have been careful, or Edoran might not have noticed what they were doing.
“But with kinship,” Edoran continued, “it gets even worse if you start separating the pre-Regalis descendants from the post-Regalis ones. If someone could prove he wasn’t the old king’s son, they could—”
“If someone could have proved that, they’d have done it a long time ago,” Arisa told him. “Do you hear something?”
Edoran stopped talking. Their own footsteps. Rain. But suddenly, Arisa knew.
“Run!” sh
e commanded, and set the example. Edoran was half a dozen strides behind her.
Their sudden change of pace forced the stalker to run too. He was farther back than she’d thought, almost three blocks, and she and Edoran had only half a block to go before they reached the rope ladder. They’d have plenty of time to scramble up to the stable roof and pull it up after them. The stalker would run right by, and when he gave up looking for them, Weasel would follow him back to his employer, and all Edoran’s blathering about kinship would mean nothing. They’d know who their enemy was.
Arisa kept an eye on Edoran as they ran—he wasn’t catching up, but he wasn’t falling behind. They were moving fast enough that the stalker wasn’t gaining on them. Plenty of time to climb the ladder.
She whipped around the corner and ran ten paces, the ten yards Weasel had described. No ladder. She ran a few more feet, running her hands along the wall in case she was somehow missing it. She stopped to look back.
Edoran raced around the corner. “This isn’t a stable,” he gasped. “We’re in the wrong place!”
“We can’t be!” Arisa looked across the street to be sure the ladder wasn’t there, either, though she knew it was supposed to be on this side.
“No stable there either,” Edoran cried, already sprinting down the street ahead of her. “Come on!”
When she neared the cross street Arisa looked for the ladder again, in case Weasel had forgotten which end of the block he’d put it on, but there was nothing there. They were off course. Somehow, in the dark and the rain they’d missed a turn… and now they had no way to escape the killer who ran behind them.
Edoran turned left at the corner, still following Weasel’s preset route, though he had to know that they were off the map.
Arisa put on a burst of speed and caught up with him. It took more effort than she’d expected—he was fast. But he was already breathing harder than she was.
“Where should we go?” she panted.
“City,” gasped the prince. “More… hide.”
They dodged left again at the next corner, down a smaller street, and Arisa looked back just in time to see the stalker charge around the corner. He saw her and put on his own burst of speed. Edoran was slowing. They didn’t have much time before the stalker came in sight, but this was a shorter street—still mostly residential, though not so wealthy. The houses and yards were smaller, concealed by wooden fences instead of high stone walls. Arisa began to watch for a place, any place they could— There!
She grabbed Edoran’s arm and dragged him into a narrow carriage drive that must have led back to someone’s stable. It ran between two fences for half a dozen yards, cluttered with a brimming rain barrel and half a dozen crates… and it ended in a latched gate.
Arisa grabbed the latch and yanked it up—locked! And too high to climb.
Edoran slammed into her side, knocking her flat into the mud behind the crates, just as the running footsteps pounded up to the opening of the drive… and stopped.
Arisa lay unmoving, listening to Edoran trying to gasp quietly. He did pretty well. Evidently well enough, for the stalker hesitated, looking up the street and then back toward them.
She laid a hand on her knife, ready to pull it free.
Something clattered up the street. It sounded like a thrown stone on cobbles to Arisa, but the stalker spun toward the sound. He crossed the lane and moved up a bit farther, trying to see down the cross streets and still keep the end of the drive in view.
Edoran was moving beside her, writhing like a snake, but Arisa kept her eyes on their enemy. He wasn’t going to fall for it—and this constricted space, with only Edoran to help her, was the worst possible place for a fight.
She felt a flash of pure despair, but that vanished as the stalker turned and came back toward the carriage drive. He was going to search for them. She drew her knife, silently. If she could spring before he was ready…
He was ready now. A knife flashed silver in his hand as he drew nearer.
Arisa almost jumped out of her skin when a cold, muddy hand clamped down on her ankle. She turned to the prince, but he had vanished! There was only an arm extending from beneath the fence, and a deep depression in the mud where he’d dug it away.
Arisa yanked her leg free and plunged her head and shoulders under the fence, wiggling through the rain-softened earth. Her buttocks stuck, briefly, but Edoran grabbed her shoulder and dragged her through.
He was coated with mud from the top of his head to the bottom of his boots—he’d evidently dragged both their hats through the hole before he’d signaled her. He bent to push the mud he’d piled on this side of the fence back into the hole, but Arisa caught his wrist and he froze.
The stalker entered the drive. It was dark behind the crates, but if he saw the hole Edoran had dug, he’d know where they’d gone. If he came under the fence, she could take him, thrust her knife into the back of his neck while the fence pinned him down. If he climbed over the top, her best chance would come when he jumped down and was still recovering his balance.
The fence posts were spaced closer than the wicker of the wood bin—Arisa could see only the man’s shadow passing over the boards.
He tried the gate first. Then he looked behind the crates. He checked to see if any of the crates opened. He even plunged his hands into the brimming rain barrel, though no one could have held their breath that long.
Then he swore and stamped out of the drive and away, into the night.
Arisa released her breath in a silent sigh and slumped against the fence.
Edoran was shaking so hard his teeth would have chattered, if he hadn’t pulled down one sleeve and stuffed it into his mouth. He looked utterly absurd, but Arisa wasn’t inclined to laugh.
They’d done what they’d set out to do. It was up to Weasel now.
They waited in her room, not even caring what would happen if they were caught together—though Arisa told Edoran that if she was forced to marry him it would be his own silly fault.
She understood why he couldn’t go to his own room and wait for Weasel to show up there. She almost went out to wait for Weasel by the wall, but it was raining harder now, and far too cold to stand still for long.
Only a few hours later a dark figure rolled over her balcony.
Arisa flung the door open before he could knock. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.” Weasel pulled off his dripping coat and dropped it onto the floor, heading straight for the fire. “Unlike some people, I know this city. And I know better than to walk three blocks when I’m supposed to turn at two.”
“You should have warned us that first block was so short,” Edoran told him. “It was less than half the length of most blocks. We both missed it.”
“If you hadn’t been so busy argu—”
“Never mind all that!” Arisa exclaimed. “Did you find out who he works for?”
“I did.” The grin that spread over Weasel’s face was intolerably smug, but she had to admit he’d earned it. “He went straight back to report to his employer. Who didn’t seem to mind being waked up in the middle of the night, though he wasn’t happy about what he heard.”
Arisa glared at him.
Edoran glared at him.
Weasel grinned again and gave in. “It’s Shareholder Ethgar.”
CHAPTER 14
The Eight of Stars: loyalty.
Being true to a person, or a cause.
They went together to find the Falcon the next morning, all three of them, only to be told that the lord commander was meeting with the regent. When they arrived at Justice Holis’ office, his clerk, Kenton, was standing watch outside the door.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but the regent and the lord commander are discussing important matters. I’ll let them know you were here.”
“No, you won’t,” Arisa told him. “We need to see both of them. And this is important.”
She feinted right, then ducked under his left arm and opened the door. Men
always underestimated a woman’s quickness, especially if she was wearing skirts.
Was that why her mother wore dresses so often?
The Falcon and Holis both turned when the door opened. The regent’s office was bigger than her mother’s, with a huge polished desk and padded chairs. Justice Holis looked tired and harassed, the lines in his face deeper than usual. Her mother’s face was smooth and sharp, like it looked before a fight.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” said Arisa, dodging Kenton’s snatching hand, “but it’s urgent.”
The justice shot Kenton a look, and the clerk fell back a place. Then Holis turned the same gaze on Arisa, and she stiffened to attention. “Excuse us, Mistress Benison, but your mother and I really are—”
Edoran came in, with Weasel at his heels, and the regent’s brows rose. “A delegation, I see. Is this urgent, or can it wait?”
The Falcon was frowning. “If Arisa thinks something is important enough to interrupt us, then it probably is.”
Pride in her mother’s trust welled up in her heart. She hoped she had enough hard evidence to justify it.
Most men, told that a fourteen-year-old girl had any judgment at all, would have denied it—or at best offered her indulgent, false acceptance.
Holis waved Kenton out of the room and resumed his seat, his weary gaze suddenly curious. “Very well. What is it?”
He looked at the prince when he spoke, but Edoran turned to Arisa. It was her story, after all. She decided not to begin with the fact that she’d quarreled with her maid—even if her maid had been murdered.
“Master Darian is in the city,” she told them. “He’s attending secret meetings in a tavern called the King’s Folly. I don’t know who’s behind the meetings, but I think they’re plotting to make some move against you, Justice Holis. Against your regency. I think Katrin’s murder was part of it.”
Though she still didn’t know the motive for that murder. Was Ethgar Master Darian’s “patron in the palace”? And did that patron command the conspiracy, or did he only supply money?
