Yerrin: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 6)

by Garrett Robinson

  At last Annis selected a few different materials. Once she had, the tailor took them back to the mannequins. He offered suggestions of various cuts, pointing to some riding dresses for her and a suit of clothes for Gem. The clothes were far too large for the boy, but the tailor promised he could deliver the same look on Gem’s slighter frame.

  “And for you?” he said, turning to Loren. “A riding dress as well, mayhap? Or a shirt and trousers?”

  Loren balked. “Me? I do not require anything new,” she said.

  “Oh, yes you do,” said Annis. She pursed her lips, tapping them with a finger. “But something quite different for her, I think. Not a dress, certainly, but not a suit like Gem’s, either. Here.”

  She went to the back corner of the shop. There stood a mannequin in fine clothes that yet seemed entirely useful—somewhere between a peasant’s garb, meant for hard work on a hot day, and a suit that a noble might wear. Loren could see at once that the tunic and pants would be easy to move in, and yet they had an elegant sort of flair. There was also a vest with many stylish pockets that buttoned shut.

  The tailor turned to Loren with wide eyes, and a little smile played at his lips. “Ah, I see it at once,” he said. “Yes, of course. Perfect. And the material?”

  Annis took him back to the shelves. She must have anticipated this, for she immediately pointed out a few bolts of cloth that were all black or dark grey. But then she went to the next shelf over and pointed at a bolt of muted green velvet.

  “Trim it in this,” she said. “For the eyes.”

  “Of course, of course,” said the merchant. To Loren’s surprise, he was very nearly bouncing in anticipation. “And might I suggest this for the inside of the vest? You will see only a flash of it when she moves, of course, but that will make all the difference.” He put his hand on a bolt of satin, green as well, but closer in color to the sea.

  Annis gave a sharp clap, her eyes shining. “Sky above. It is perfect. Mayhap on the inside of the collar as well?”

  The tailor snapped his fingers. “Just so. It is the final piece to make it perfect. You have a fine judgement for this, my lady. I am further humbled by your presence in my modest place of business.”

  “Modest you may be, but not deservedly so,” said Annis. From the pouch at her waist she pulled four gold weights. These she placed in the tailor’s hand, and then she deliberately pulled forth another and added it to the pile. “I hope we can retrieve the clothing tomorrow.”

  “I will delay some other orders to ensure it,” said the tailor. “But your offer is far too generous.” Yet Loren noticed his fingers closed over the gold at once.

  “Not at all,” said Annis. “For the quality I see here, I think I make a more than shrewd bargain.”

  The tailor bowed lower than ever before and drew them to the back of the shop to take their measurements. Annis went first, holding out her arms while he pulled out a ribbon and ran it along her limbs. She smiled as he did it, but then her brow furrowed for a moment.

  “I do so hope the road is safe to the west,” she said. “What a shame it would be for our new garments to be endangered by bandits.”

  The tailor frowned at that. “Things are uncertain these days, to be sure.”

  Annis nodded. “Still, I am certain that Wojin—pardon me, King Wojin—will maintain order.”

  That drew a snort from the tailor. But he quickly suppressed it, and Loren saw him look askance at Annis. He tried to pass it off by coughing quietly.

  “It sounds so strange to say.” Annis shook her head. “King Wojin. My heart breaks for King Jun. I saw him once, you know. He was a good man.”

  “He was that,” said the tailor fervently. “It was my great pleasure to make clothing for many members of the royal family—though never King Jun himself, of course. I was invited to the palace more than once, and though I never had the honor of meeting His Grace, I saw him on occasion. He was a regal man, and so handsome. Not like … well, I mean to say that we will not see his like again for a long time.”

  “I can only imagine your sorrow at his passing,” said Annis. “Yet at least his kinsman sits the throne.”

  “That is a blessing, I suppose,” the tailor grumbled. “And Wojin has what he wants, in the end. That is all for you, dear. Young master, if you would?”

  Gem stepped into Annis’ place, his chest puffing out at the title of “young master.” Annis drew aside, her eyes widening.

  “Do you mean to say that Wojin desired the throne already?” she said. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. It was the voice of a girl sharing some bit of scandalous gossip with a close friend.

  The tailor responded in kind, looking over his shoulder at her and giving a wink. “That is the most ill-kept secret in Dorsea, and mayhap all the nine kingdoms. Wojin was the youngest brother of King Jun’s mother, Min, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Annis, nodding as though everyone knew it. Loren hid a smile.

  “Well, everyone in Dorsea knows Wojin resented the throne passing to his nephew when Min passed away. Later, when King Jun’s son, Senlin, was born, they say Wojin flew into a rage that lasted for days.” The tailor sighed and shook his head. “Still, that was a long time ago. Long before King Jun met his end—at the hands of agents of the High King, or so they say.” He snorted again, louder this time, and rolled his eyes.

  Annis’ eyes grew still wider. “Do you not believe it?” she said, her voice a sing-song.

  The tailor’s eyes narrowed, and he paused before answering. “The intrigues of palace life are far above my station,” he said slowly. “Keep your head from the clouds lest it be removed, or so they say. Yet I have my doubts.”

  A thought struck Loren all at once. “And what of those others?” she said. “They say Wojin has the support of some foreigners, recently arrived here at the capital. I heard the family name, but it escapes me … Yamen? Yarvin?”

  The tailor went still. “Yerrin? The family Yerrin?”

  Loren snapped her fingers. “That was it. Yerrin. Did they not arrive here only just ahead of King Jun’s death?”

  “I had not heard that.” The tailor pursed his lips. “I wonder … hm.”

  Over the tailor’s shoulder, Annis gave Loren a small smile, but she also shook her head. Loren shrugged and turned to look out the shop’s window. “I do not mean to suggest anything untoward, of course. I am a stranger to this city, after all. I only repeat what I have heard.”

  The tailor went silent after that, and Annis deftly turned the conversation to talk of lighter matters. But after they left the tailor’s shop, she fixed Loren and Gem with a look.

  “That was most telling,” she said. “If the first shopkeeper we met was willing to whisper of such rumors, that means many in the city must secretly believe them. And what a stroke of genius, Loren, to plant the idea of my family’s involvement. Dorseans are not fond of foreigners meddling with their kingdom. Word will spread, and when it returns to us we may learn something of my family’s plans.”

  “Indeed,” said Gem quickly. “I had thought of doing the same thing, of course, but you beat me to it.”

  “Of course you did,” said Loren, arching an eyebrow. “But what can we do with such information?”

  Annis shook her head. “Nothing yet. But it is a start. Let us go to a few more shops and see what else we may learn.”

  As it turned out, there was little else. They went to a cobbler, a carpenter, a steelsmith, and some other little shops of various trinkets and oddities. Most of the owners seemed to hold a similar opinion to the tailor, but none expressed it so plainly. Loren wondered if that might be because they did not spend their coin so freely at the other shops, but she did not encourage Annis to spend more. The girl clearly knew what she was doing.

  A few hours before sundown, they made their way back to their inn. Uzo and Chet sat in the common room, and both had clearly had a few cups of wine. Chet’s nose and cheeks were ruddy, and when Loren asked Uzo how they had fared
, the Mystic blinked three times before answering.

  “We did well enough,” he said slowly. He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “Certainly there is some disagreement in the city about Wojin taking the throne. No one was willing to speak very plainly, but there was much to be read in their quiet words and sidelong glances. It seems King Jun is greatly missed.”

  “It was much the same with us,” said Loren. “That is good for our purposes, I think. If we faced a happy populace with great love for their liege lord, I think it would be harder to seek information about the Yerrins.”

  “I find myself ever more curious about the senate,” said Annis. “If the kingdom does not support King Wojin, the senate may be persuaded to take action against him. Hopefully Wyle’s contacts will know something of that. I am interested to hear what he has to say when he returns.”

  Loren nodded—and then she noticed Gem sitting very still, his eyes darting furtively over her shoulder. She barely stopped herself from following his gaze.

  “Gem?” she said quietly. “What is it?”

  He frowned. “Mayhap it is nothing. Only there is a girl over there—no, do not turn and look, any of you. She seems very interested in us. I have caught her looking at our table often.”

  Loren’s stomach lurched. What if it was some spy of Damaris’? That seemed impossible. The merchant could not have heard about their presence in Danfon so soon. Yet Loren had learned long ago that the Yerrins could not be underestimated.

  “I will fetch us some wine,” she said. The others nodded.

  Loren stood and made her way towards the bar. As she did, she stole a surreptitious glance at the girl. She wore the simple garb of a Dorsean peasant, loose pantaloons and a tunic that gathered at the wrists. She wore a wide-brimmed hat like many in the city, and her hair was black, as was common here. Yet her features were a bit softer than a typical Dorsean’s, and her freckles were unusual in this kingdom. The girl did not look up—indeed, she studiously turned her gaze away. But Loren sensed a tension in her.

  Loren bought a bottle of wine and returned to the table. “She does not look dangerous, at least,” she said quietly. “If she is a spy, what then?”

  “We should capture her,” said Annis. “She may be able to help us find my mother—if indeed that is who sent her.”

  “Agreed,” said Loren. She gave Uzo a quick look. “But we must be careful. We need her alive.”

  Uzo rolled his eyes and nodded.

  “Very well,” said Loren. “Everyone come with me.”

  She rose, leaving her cup and the wine. Quickly she went towards the inn’s front door, and the rest hastened to follow. Just before stepping outside, Loren saw the girl shoot up from her table.

  Loren darted to the corner of the inn and directed the others to file around the side of the building. She went last, waiting until the girl started to emerge through the front door. She timed it so that the last flap of her cloak was just visible as the girl stepped outside.

  Quickly she directed the others to hide in the alley’s dark corners. She herself stood behind a stack of crates. Soft footsteps sounded from the street. Loren drew a throwing knife from her belt.

  The girl stepped into view. Loren threw the dagger, but aimed wide. The blade plunged into the wall near the girl’s face, making her jump. Uzo pounced, snatching her arm and clapping a hand over her mouth. Loren stepped up beside him and slowly tugged her dagger free to sheathe it.

  “Hello,” she said amiably. “You seem most interested in our little party. Why?”

  The girl only stared at them with wide, terrified eyes. Uzo withdrew his hand slowly, ready to replace it if she tried to scream. But the girl made no sound at all.

  Loren sighed. “How long have you been following us?”

  That made the girl glance at Uzo and Chet. “I was not following you. I was following them.”

  “Fair enough,” said Loren. “Why?”

  “I … I heard them asking questions about Wojin.”

  “And do you work for him?” said Loren. “Or do you work for the family Yerrin?”

  The girl’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

  Loren glanced at Annis. The reaction seemed genuine. Mayhap the girl was a skilled liar, but Loren did not think so. Annis gave a barely perceptible shake of her head.

  “What is your name?” said Loren.

  “I …” The girl’s voice faltered. She drew herself up straighter. She had some spirit then, and not just a pretty face. “I am Keridwen, of the family Ogun. Why are you in Danfon?”

  Loren cocked her head, unable to keep herself from a small smile. “That is a proud question to ask ones who hold you captive.”

  Keridwen blushed, but she did not relent. “Are you here to help the king?”

  “We do not know Wojin.”

  Keridwen shook her head quickly. “Wojin is not the true king.”

  Annis stepped forwards. “Yet he sits upon the throne, for King Jun is dead.”

  The girl’s eyes widened and darted around nervously.

  Sky above, thought Loren.

  She gently pushed Uzo aside. He moved, if somewhat reluctantly, and Loren stepped within a pace of Keridwen. From her cloak pocket, she pulled her writ from the High King.

  “Can you read?”

  Keridwen stared for a moment before nodding slowly. Loren handed her the writ. Keridwen opened it and read it. Loren saw the color drain from her face and then come rushing back in a flush.

  “You serve the High King,” she said. “I hoped, but I could scarcely believe …”

  “And now I ask again,” said Loren. “Why did you follow my friends?”

  Keridwen seemed to steel herself, and she drew up even straighter than before.

  “King Jun was not killed,” she said. “He is still alive. And if you truly serve the High King, I will take you to him.”

  AFTER THEY HAD RECOVERED FROM their shock, Loren sent Gem to check the inn. But he returned to report that Wyle and Shiun had not yet returned. At first Loren wanted to wait for them, but Annis counseled against that.

  “The city has a curfew now,” she said. “Nightfall is close at hand, and we will have a harder time of it if we do not go at once.”

  “And I do not think you should go at all,” said Chet. “If this is a trap, you will be in grave danger. Send one of us as an intermediary instead.”

  “It is not a trap,” said Keridwen, frowning.

  “And besides, I am the intermediary,” said Loren. “Though I think you are right in one respect. Not all of us should go. I will take Annis. The rest of you remain here in case something goes wrong.”

  “I am coming as well, of course,” said Gem. “But you knew that already.”

  Loren sighed and turned to Chet and Uzo. “Wait here for Wyle and Shiun to return, and tell them what has happened. We will send for you as soon as we know it is safe.”

  “Yes, Nightblade,” said Uzo.

  Chet’s eyes were troubled. “I do not like this.”

  Loren gave him a smile. “This could be the best news we have had in some time. If Jun remains alive, he can doubtless help us get to Damaris. I must at least try.”

  He turned away. “I see that. But please, return as quickly as you may.”

  Loren nodded. She had to stop herself from reaching out to take his hand. In the back of her mind, a voice whispered. He did not insist on coming with you. Is this when he plans to leave?

  She forced the thought away and turned to Keridwen. “After you.”

  Keridwen nodded and raised her hood before leading them into the street. Loren and the children did the same as they passed through the crowds. They made their way south and west, and soon they had come very close to the place where the river entered the city. Not far away was the palace itself, but Keridwen turned from it and took them due west. Here the homes were all grand and towering, with multiple floors and little courtyards walled off from the rest of the city. This must be where the mightiest families lived. It h
ad been the same on the High King’s Seat and the other great cities Loren had visited: power gathered to power, and wealth to wealth.

  Soon they came to a manor with a hipped roof and two great wings stretching forth from either side of the front door. Surrounding it was no stone wall, but only a wrought iron gate. Guards watched them as they went around the side. Two more guards stood at the smaller rear entrance. When Keridwen threw back her hood, they nodded in greeting.

  “Welcome back,” said one of the guards. “But who are these with you?”

  “Friends,” said Keridwen. “They are here to help the mistress’s special guest.”

  The guard looked at her companion. He shrugged, and she turned back. “We shall have to send word.”

  Keridwen nodded. “Of course.”

  The second guard left to deliver the message. Keridwen stood back, folding her arms to keep warm. Loren appraised the manor.

  “Whose home is this?”

  Keridwen glanced at her and then at the home. “She is a merchant. Her name is Yushan of the family Ying. She remains loyal to—” She paused to look around, but the street was empty save for the guard. “To King Jun. She has helped us conceal him since Wojin’s betrayal.”

  “Is she trustworthy?” said Annis. “Wojin knows the King is alive, of course, and I imagine he has offered a considerable sum for his capture.”

  “I imagine he has, but we have heard no word of it,” said Keridwen. “It is not exactly something he can publicly declare, since his right to the throne depends on His Grace being dead already.”

  Soon the second guard returned, and he gave the first a curt nod. She opened the gate and motioned them all inside, and Keridwen took them in through the manor’s service entrance.

  Just inside, they met the merchant Yushan. She was tiny and fat, her round head balanced on her round body like a snowman’s. As Loren and the others shook the snow from their clothing, she took them in with sharp eyes.