Moth and Spark

by Anne Leonard

  She touched Dele on the map. It was Caithen’s only real port. There were small bays between it and the university city of Liden to the west. Liden saw some traffic, but not much. Farther on, where the Narrow Sea opened to the Great Sea, the Caithenian coast was rocky cliffs. On the Great Sea side, the western side, the cliffs grew steeper and more rugged the farther north one went. Village fishermen and smugglers were the only men to put in at those rocky beaches.

  But Dele, Dele was a huge city, three times or more the size of Caithenor, with ships constantly coming in or heading out. It was all trade with Argondy and Mycene now that Illyria and Liddea were cut off by Tyrekh. Or rather, that was all the legal trade and travel. It would be no great problem to get a small amount of deadly poison in through the custom-houses and tariff-stops with so much traffic. Her brother had told her of the maddening noise and crowds at the wharves. And the corruption. Anyone with enough money could do as he wished.

  For that matter, it would not have been so difficult to come in by horse. The border between Caithen and Argondy was guarded, but travel between the two countries had never been much restricted. There were always men who dealt with the enemy, they would find their ways.

  It bothered her, though, blood-dust in Caithen. In the palace. Someone with power had it. Her father had told her it was extremely difficult to make and that Tyrekh kept tight control over all of it. It was not used for killing rats. Had it come from a chain of common criminals, or had it been brought directly from Sarium and placed in a Caithenian lord’s hands? She told herself that it needn’t be any kind of treachery. Buying Sarian poison did not make anyone less loyal to Caithen than drinking Illyrian wine did. Evil men always were on the watch for weapons.

  She did not convince herself. Oh, Tam, she thought, why are you puzzling over this? It’s not your affair.

  It was certainly not the subject a young woman was supposed to think about, unless she was reading a novel like the one she had put down. Poisons, rivalries, and dark-robed sinister men were proper enough on the written page. If Cade had died in that sort of book it would have been because he stumbled on a dark and long-hidden secret, or drank from the forbidden flask. But what she considered now was politics, not fantasy. Not the province of a commoner, let alone a woman.

  She smelled perfume. Sandalwood. It was too early in the day for such a scent. She turned quickly and saw Alina walking toward her. Alina wore a lilac-colored dress that would have made anyone else with her fair skin and dark hair look pale and ill. On her, it looked splendid. She was a handsome girl with large brown eyes and an excellent figure. She wore tight low-necked gowns that were perfectly fashionable and not too indecent; they shouted confidently, Look at me! And men did. Tam was partly scornful, partly amused, and, she admitted to herself, a little jealous.

  Alina said, “Oh, Tam, Tam, I hoped to find you here. The most dreadful thing has happened.”

  “What?”

  “Lord Cade is dead and they say it was poison,” Alina replied breathlessly. She was young, only seventeen. Old enough to marry, but not old enough to know anything about death. Then Tam remembered that the girl’s mother had died when she was a child, and she felt a little guilty for the thought.

  She asked, “Poison? Who is Lord Cade?” The lie came smoothly.

  “Nobody important, though he was rather handsome and rich. But it’s causing a terrible commotion. There are guards everywhere. They may even search the rooms.” Alina sounded more excited than concerned.

  Tam thought a search unlikely. What would they expect to find? The poisoner would have more sense than to leave poison in his room. Or hers. Poison was said to be a woman’s weapon. Of course they might have to make a show of it.

  “Did you know him well?” Tam asked.

  “Yes. I didn’t care much for him. He was always showing off. What have you been looking at the map for? Don’t say you are thinking of leaving already.”

  Sweetly said, but probably not meant at all. Tam replied, “Oh, no, I was just considering my brother’s ships.”

  “Of course. Merchantmen, aren’t they? How many does he have?”

  “I have no idea,” she answered. It was true, but not honest. “I can’t keep track of them all, though I do know the difference between a sloop and a brig.” Efan was nowhere near as wealthy as that implied, but it was none of Alina’s business. “Should I be worried about Lord Cade’s death?”

  “No, no. But do come back with me, we girls should stick together.”

  Tam thought Alina chatty, vain, and dull, which was a deadly combination, and would rather not have come, but there was no graceful way of declining. She took one last look at the map and followed Alina out. In the halls they went side by side, Tam listening to Alina talking. She murmured occasional responses, meaningless questions.

  The blood-smell was strong again in her nostrils and on her tongue. The story was a simple collapse in the hallway, no mention of blood spewing over a woman’s skirt. The guards were well disciplined if that had not got out. Later, maybe. It was fortunate that she had been the only observer. If there had been more people, or a different person, the secret would not be kept. She hoped the maid did not say anything about the dress.

  A few soldiers were in the wing, their height and weight and deep male voices contrasting sharply with the women in colorful soft dresses. They asked her name but did not stop her from entering her room. She closed the door and spent a moment smelling. No scent of metal or leather or man was in the air. She had brought few things with her, and they were all exactly as she had left them.

  Thoughtfully, she walked to the window and looked out at the courtyard. What did you do with it? You gave it to him. Had he been sick enough to confuse her with Alina? Alina had thrown something down. Probably only a love letter, a lock of hair, some money to place a bet with. Not a pouch of poison. It was entirely unlikely that a girl from a small manor surrounded by farmlands would be able to come by Sarian blood-dust.

  But why were the guards here at all? They had not searched her room, but they had to have a reason. To watch, to impress, to warn.

  She needed to shut her mind off and think only of ordinary things. She picked up one of her own books.

  She managed to keep reading until some time later when she heard a knock. It was a page with a message for her. She thanked him, took it, opened it. From the doctor. It said only, You were right. Keep silence. She tore it into pieces and tossed it on the embers of the fire. When she used the poker the edges curled up and the paper shriveled into ash. Memory did not work like that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Corin looked at the clock. “I don’t have time to see him now,” he said to his clerk. “Tell him to come back in a few hours after the council.”

  “He is unwontedly insistent, sir,” said Teron. He was the perfect clerk: impassive, unsmiling, and ironic. Loyal to the bone.

  He sighed. A lesser man he could ignore, but not the royal doctor. He pushed aside the paper he had been reading—inattentively, to be sure—and said, “Five minutes. No more.” For a moment he thought longingly of the north, where there had not been so many people he had to accommodate. He would have liked to be on a straightforward Quest; Heroes did not spend hours signing things. He knew he would regret the thought when the war started.

  When Berk came in, Corin said, “You’re going to make me late for a council. This had better matter that much.”

  “It does.” Without waiting to be asked, Berk sat down and leaned forward. “Lord Cade was poisoned this morning. With one of the most cruel and vicious poisons the Sarians have ever made. There’s no question about it.”

  “How?” he asked, even as his mind was racing through the complications this presented.

  “In his food or drink, most likely. He would have died an hour or so after. Unfortunately his dishes had already been cleared and washed by the time I got to them.”
>
  Corin leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. It was going to be a mess. “Why would anyone want to poison Cade?” he asked, thinking aloud. The man had no power or enemies; he was innocuous and unimportant, a hanger-on. He had no rival in love, property, or money. Dislikable to some, yes, but not to the point of murder. Cade was the sort of man people forgot about when he was not present. Then Corin amended the thought. He had been away six weeks, anything could have happened. The man could have gone from being a follower, easily used, to a creditor, heavily owed, in one night at a gambling table. Or got himself so much in debt that he could never repay it.

  Nor did Cade keep company only with the foppish innocent. He spent more time than was wise in the shadow of Baron Arnet, who was known to be in Hadon’s pay. Cade could easily have learned something that necessitated his being gotten rid of.

  Berk looked down and recrossed his legs. He was nervous about something. Corin said, “Which Sarian poison was it?”

  “Blood-dust.”

  Despite himself, Corin exclaimed. Berk had not exaggerated when he called it cruel. Every organ in the victim’s body failed, and there were massive hemorrhages. It was certain death, agonizing and swift but not swift enough. The poison looked like dust, could be dissolved in water, and had no taste or odor. A small pinch was lethal. “You’re sure?”

  “Oh yes. The death is distinctive and so is the blood under the glass. Whoever killed him wanted to be sure we knew it. It’s not a poison of convenience.” The slightly pedantic tone of voice told Corin that Berk was restraining impatience.

  “We can’t let this get out,” he said. “Where would one get this poison?”

  “From a Sarian,” the doctor replied soberly. “And even that would be hard. It’s far too difficult to come by for smugglers and thieves to bother about.”

  “Can it be derived?” he asked.

  “Not without a fortune in chemical apparatuses and years of study. I couldn’t do it with what I have here. None of your gentlemen who dabble in natural philosophy could.”

  That changed the picture. One did not use such a conspicuous poison without a reason when so many others would do as well. It was not murder born of ordinary enmity. They were meant to know that someone in the palace had ties to the Sarians. Or perhaps it was not meant for them at all, perhaps it was a message from one traitor to others. A punishment. What if Cade had been told to do something and got cold feet? If he had sold himself to the Sarians and then tried to back out, it would have been too dangerous to allow him to live. A political murder, not a personal one.

  He cut off the speculation. “Do many people know?”

  Berk said, “About the death, I am afraid so. It took time, and it happened in the corridors. Only one person besides soldiers actually saw him die, but plenty of people had a chance to see the body when they removed it. And the commander’s got men asking questions already. The nature of the poison, only three people know and you and I are two of them.”

  Why had no one told him earlier? If Gerod’s men were asking questions, Gerod should have talked to him already. The news must be all over the court by now.

  “Who’s the third? Gerod?”

  “No.” Berk seemed surprisingly awkward. “A woman. She saw Cade die—he got blood on her dress, nearly fell on top of her, the guards said. She won’t talk.”

  Corin looked dubiously at him. It was unlike Berk to do something with a woman that would embarrass him. He had been happily and faithfully married for years. Perhaps he was protecting her. She would undergo an inquisition if other courtiers found out she had witnessed the dying. “Do I need to see her to make sure of that?”

  “You might want to, she’s damn fine-looking, but you don’t need to.”

  “Why not? And why ever did you tell her?”

  “I didn’t,” Berk said after a slight hesitation. “She told me. She was as calm as could be about it. She is the daughter of the one man in Caithen who knows all there is to know about Sarian medicines, poisons, and chemistries. Apparently he’s taught her some things. I met him once, years ago, he’s a very fine doctor and quite a scholar. He was offered an appointment in the Argondian court and turned it down. He could have had my place here if he’d wanted it. He’s in the Academy.”

  It was an unbelievable chance. “You’re sure she’s who she says she is?”

  “Yes. I checked and Gerod had her questioned. She has a perfectly good reason for being here; her brother married up. To Lady Cina. The odd part is having been the one Cade died in front of. She had no idea who he was. But she knew the poison, from how he died I expect. And had a good guess at what it signified. She wouldn’t tell me anything in front of the guards.”

  That was almost too clever. But if she was the daughter of a man Berk respected, she might be that clever. If the man could have held royal posts here or in Argondy he had to be brilliant. And though Corin did not know Cina well—her low rank had kept her off the list of prospective brides—he knew she was no fool and would not have married into a family of fools. He had never made the mistake of thinking women were less capable of thought than men. He had only to look at his mother and sisters to see the fallacy in that idea.

  “Would her father be useful?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Berk said. “I have the treatises. Do you anticipate more such deaths?”

  That was pushing the limits even for Berk, but he decided to ignore the question. “Why haven’t you told the commander yet?” He did not like Berk keeping that sort of fact from Gerod. It did explain why Gerod had not already come to Corin himself; he may have thought it a death of little moment if he knew of no tie to the Sarians.

  Berk looked at him as though he had gone mad. “Do you expect me to pass on something with that kind of political implication to anyone without telling you first?”

  Gerod, Berk, who was he going to suspect next of unreasonably hiding things from him? He had never been so wary and distrustful of men he had known for years. He felt like his father’s dog, snarling at something familiar that had subtly changed.

  He stood. “Tell Gerod about the poison,” he said as Berk rose. He did not need to instruct the commander in what to do. “No one else. You’ll have to be ready with some other poison for an explanation, something common. A sudden sickness would be even better.”

  “Even if that were true, people would believe it was poison. But I will cover it as I can.”

  “Do so,” he said, more curtly than he usually would, and went unceremoniously past the doctor and out of the room.

  He was on time, barely, slipping into his chair seconds before he stood with the others for the arrival of his father. The king was very formally dressed. Corin was even more relieved he had not been late. He straightened the drape of his jacket and adjusted his demeanor. It would be all titles today with Aram looking like that. His own clothing felt confining after six weeks of soldier dress.

  The old glass in the windows had slumped on itself, giving the grey sky a rippling and unfocused appearance. The council chamber was one of the oldest rooms in the palace, built centuries before the newer airier ones, with a heavy stone floor and plastered walls all in straight lines. The only relief from the whiteness of the walls was a few colored banners with no patterns or pictures on them. Aram liked it stark, without distractions or enticements. The brightness of the lamps did not shake the dim, close feeling of the room. Seana’s husband had arrived; Simoun looked windblown, wet, and rather old. Corin felt a moment of pity for him, and then pity that he was pitied. Yes, it was time to be done with Seana.

  There were a number of formalities and minor affairs to be got through. It was a full council, all seven dukes and the four High Lords and a number of trusted aides. Most people pretended successfully to pay attention. It was not a challenge to guess what anyone was thinking while this kind of business went on, though there was always someone
to whom a small point mattered greatly. When he was younger he had wondered why his mother did not come to councils though she was entitled to. Now he understood completely. If he had Talia’s privilege to speak to Aram only in quiet and comfort, he would do the same thing. He let his own mind wander.

  The council table was very old, and although it was kept polished and sanded there were some scars that could not be erased: gouges where someone had angrily plunged a dagger into the wood, the various stains of long usage, uneven nicks and scuffs on the edges. The marks were as familiar to him as those on his own body. His gaze returned repeatedly to one long scratch in front of him. He began to wonder if the king intended to discuss the war at all. Other men were restraining their fidgeting rather less successfully. The room was hot and he would have liked to open a window, but he did not dare leave his seat. When Aram was being kingly and impressive, he had little tolerance for interruption.

  Finally, however, after they had been going for about an hour, Aram said, calmly as ever, “And now, my lords, as some of you know, we have a larger problem. Tyrekh is invading Argondy at last.” He held up a hand to keep them quiet and repeated much of what he had told Corin the previous night. No one was surprised—they had spent three years wondering when this would happen. He ended by saying, “This is all we know. I’ve sent out additional scouts and messengers, and the marshal has begun ordering our soldiers to the eastern border. We’re also sending soldiers to the south coast to close the major ports. I’ll let any of you who wish read the reports after we’re done here, but you have the essentials.”