by K. C. May
“How now, Tolia,” Cirang said. “King Gavin is on his way to Ambryce, and I’ve found something he would be interested in. I’m on urgent business and can’t wait to hand it to him myself. I need to leave it in a safe place.”
Tolia’s eyes widened. “Oh! You can leave it with us. I’ll be happy to put it in our vault for him. Will he know to come here for it?”
Cirang nodded as she limped over to a bench in the entry way and eased herself down. Another minute standing on her feet felt as though her back would break again. A week abed would do her much good. “I’ll leave a message with the lordover’s soldiers.”
“Dear, are you hurt? Do you need something?”
“Pain tea would help, if you have it.”
“Charla?” she called over her shoulder. “Come here, please.”
A young woman came into the foyer from a back room. She was a redhead with freckles everywhere she had skin, and her large, brown eyes were unblinking as if she were in a daze. “M’lady?”
“Do we have any pain tea for the First Royal Guard?”
“Yes, I’ll brew some. I’ve hot water on, so it’ll only take a moment.” Charla ducked back into the other room, and Tolia put a gentle hand on Cirang’s shoulder.
“Can I get you something else?”
Cirang brightened. “Yes, actually I need a piece of paper, quill and ink. I need to pen a message.”
“Yes, of course. You can sit at my desk here.” Tolia gestured to a table and chair in the corner of the adjacent room on the right. “May I help you?”
Cirang waved off her assistance and climbed to her feet, suppressing a moan. She limped over to the desk and eased herself back down into the chair, setting her knapsack on the floor beside her.
Tolia took a sheet of fine white paper from a shelf above the tabletop, uncorked the bottle of ink, and set a clean quill before her. “I’ve excellent penmanship, if you’d like me to pen the note for you.”
“No, I’ll do it.” Cirang had had poor handwriting and a worse command of spelling, but Tyr had been quite literate. It was his skill she relied on as she composed the message.
Tolia set out a stick of blue sealing wax. “I’ll fetch a flame while you write.”
Cirang dipped the quill into the ink pot and wrote her message. With one hand, she waved the paper in the air to dry the ink, and with the other, she drew Sevae’s journal from her knapsack.
Tolia returned with a slender candle, cupping its flame behind one hand. “Here you are.”
Cirang handed her the journal. “This is for the king. Make sure he gets it.”
Tolia took it and held it in both hands. “Yes, I’ll keep it safe and deliver it to him myself. What is it, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Cirang glared at her as she folded the message. “It’s none of your business, and don’t you dare read it after I’m gone.” In truth, she didn’t care one way or another whether Tolia knew what was in the journal, but there was no reason she couldn’t have a little fun while she was here. “It’s the king’s business and no one else’s.”
“Of course,” Tolia said. “Forgive me. I should have known better.” She cleared her throat, and for a moment, neither said anything. “May I ask, how did you know my name?”
Had the woman not given her name when she introduced herself? Cirang thought back to Tyr’s last visit. He’d sent a thief to steal a priceless necklace from Queen Calewyn’s tomb, and the curator had hired Kinshield the warrant knight to get it back. Tyr had been displeased and had gone to Ambryce to teach Laemyr Surraent a lesson. While Cirang had never met these people, she knew Kinshield had. “King Gavin mentioned you and Mr. Surraent before I left Tern,” Cirang said. She used the flame to melt the wax and let it drip onto the paper’s exposed edge.
Tolia clapped her hands together delightedly. “Oh! I hope he spoke well of me. Us, I mean.”
Cirang smirked. So Tolia had designs on a married man. A king, no less. And Cirang was in a position to stir up a little mischief. “I really shouldn’t say this,” she said with a teasing drawl, “but he spoke very highly of you in particular. I overheard him telling his adviser that had you been a few years younger—” She stopped and bit her lip. “I’ve said too much. Forget I said anything.”
“No, please,” Tolia said. “I beg of you. Tell me. If I’d been younger, what?”
Cirang beckoned with a finger for her to lean down and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He’d have proposed to you instead of to Queen Feanna. You must never repeat that to anyone. Swear to me.”
“Yes, I swear,” she said breathlessly with a hand to her heart. “Thank you. You can’t know what that means to me.”
“That information is for you only,” Cirang reminded her. “I’d lose my job and earn the king’s wrath if he ever found out I told you this.” She pressed her thumb onto the glob of warm wax, sealing her message shut.
“It’s our secret,” Tolia said with a smile.
Charla returned carrying a steaming cup and saucer. “I made it strong, so perhaps you should drink it slowly.”
Cirang took the cup and sipped the hot liquid. It was almost hot enough to burn, and she blew across the liquid’s pale-green surface within the cup. Its familiar scent was comforting, reminding her of days when she was a girl and her mother nursed her after she’d fallen from a tree or horse, or fought with one of the neighbor boys. She sipped until it was cool enough to drink, and gulped it down. It would be a half hour or so before the pain would subside, but it was a comfort to know the process was under way. She couldn’t afford to wait around for the tea’s pain relieving properties to take effect.
She stood and shouldered her knapsack once more. “Don’t forget.”
“You have my word. And thank you, First Royal.”
It would have been amusing to watch secretly when Kinshield showed up to claim the journal. She didn’t have anything against Tolia, but Tyr had never been fond of her either. She’d often tried to keep him from visiting Surraent upstairs, especially the last time when he’d been so angry. Cirang remembered how Tyr had shoved the older woman so hard, she fell onto her backside, but he didn’t care. He gave Surraent quite the thrashing that day, repayment for sending the ’ranter after him.
Getting back on the horse hurt like hell, but the tea would start to work soon, and by the end of the day, she would be leaving Ambryce for her new life. Having something to look forward to helped keep her mind focused.
Her next stop was the lordover’s manor. The ride from the museum was roughly an hour at a walk, and despite the rain, the streets were too crowded to trot or canter. She didn’t intend to go onto the grounds, just to approach a guard of sufficient rank to entrust with her message.
The Lordover Ambryce’s home and offices sat inside a fortified compound, evidence of past corruption that had angered criminals and law-abiding citizens alike. According to stories, an eight-foot brick wall was erected around the property about twenty-five years earlier. A paved road led to its iron gate, kept closed and locked at night. Although Cirang suspected there was a secret entrance and exit, this was the only public road. Two guards stood at the gate to stop and question everyone who approached.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with the queen’s contingent?” the taller one asked. He had a bulbous nose and heavy-lidded blue eyes that made him look bored.
The queen was in Ambryce? Cirang felt a pang of apprehension. The last person she wanted to run into was Feanna Kinshield. “No, I’m on a special assignment to Keyes, but I need to leave a message for King Gavin.”
“You want to send it by bird, then?” the guard asked.
“No, the king is riding to Ambryce as we speak,” she told him. The two men cast a glance at each other. “I prefer to leave the message with you. You’ll see it delivered to him immediately after he arrives, won’t you? It’s most important.”
The guard awakened and stood up at attention. “M-me? Is it all right if I give it to my captain instead
?”
Cirang rolled her eyes. The buck probably couldn’t take a piss without asking his captain for instructions. “Yes, yes, that’s fine. It’s crucial he gets this message as soon as possible, so you need to get word to every guard you have on patrol that an urgent message has been left for King Gavin. Anyone who sees him must direct him to your captain and impress upon him the importance of it.”
They bowed crisply in unison. “Yes, First Royal. We’ll post someone at the bridge to make certain King Gavin receives the message immediately.”
“Not the bridge over the Flint River,” she said. “He won’t be coming from the north. He’ll be coming from the mountains.”
Both guards’ eyebrows shot up at the same time. “From the Superstition mountains?” the tall one asked.
A rude quip tempted her tongue, but she held it in check and just gave them an impatient look. “Yes, from the Superstition mountains. What other mountains are near Ambryce?”
“Uh, all right,” he said, scratching his temple. “We’ll send a couple guards to the east side of town to intercept him.”
“Don’t mishandle this or he’ll likely have your heads when he finds out.” She turned her horse to the west.
Now it was time to conduct her experiment.
Chapter 36
It was late morning when Gavin and his friends arrived in Ambryce. His latest search for Cirang placed her in the northern part of the city, not far from the Lordover Ambryce’s manor. They’d ridden as fast as they dared to, without risking injury to their horses, but all Gavin could think of was Cirang passing herself off as one of his First Royal Guards to get close to Feanna. His reason reminded him that Cirang had no business with her, aside from making her a tool to anger Gavin. She’d already done enough of that to chance further insult. His fear told him Feanna was in mortal danger, and Cirang had some unknown vendetta against her.
The city was muddier than the last time he’d visited, and some buildings were bloated from the rain. Some looked like they had burst open, leaving a pile of debris through which people sorted, looking for items worth saving. He’d not seen much of this in Tern, for the homes and shops were better constructed. It seemed likely that other cities were in similar condition, with families displaced. A new council to oversee reconstruction and temporary aid to the hapless residents would be formed as soon as he returned home.
As they rode through the streets, many people didn’t seem to notice them, perhaps because his arrival wasn’t expected. They walked, heads down and shoulders hunched, looking every bit as tired of the rain as he was.
Daia grinned as she looked around. “Hardly anyone recognizes you,” she said.
“Most o’Thendylath wasn’t at the coronation,” he replied, “so how would they know what the king looks like?”
“Oh, they’ve heard about your size, your scars, your eyes, your missing tooth. Don’t fool yourself. That sort of information gets around.”
Some people did look up at them as they rode through the streets, many with confusion on their faces, a few with disinterest, and even fewer with surprised recognition. When he turned to look behind them, he saw a small following had formed of eager people, calling to their neighbors to come quick. A girl ran up to one of the lordover’s patrolling armsmen and pointed at Gavin.
“Don’t stop,” Daia said. “We’ll be trapped in a crowd.”
The man-at-arms rode up at a canter and fell into step beside him. Under his rain cloak, he wore a stiff, tailored jacket and matching trousers, with black boots and gloves, and no external armor. Gavin hoped the lordover at least outfitted his guard with leather cuirasses worn beneath their jackets. “Your Majesty! It is you. Welcome to Ambryce, sire. I’ve been instructed to inform you a most urgent message has been left for you with the Captain of the Guard.”
“Who’s it from?” Gavin asked. Only one person knew he would be in Ambryce, but why would Cirang leave him a message? He kept riding, not wanting to be engulfed in a sea of people trying to touch him or shake his hand.
“I— I don’t know, my liege. I was only told to direct you to the captain. If you would allow me, I would be pleased— I mean proud to escort you to him.”
“How did you know King Gavin was coming to Ambryce?” Daia asked, as though snatching the words from his tongue.
“The captain told me.”
“What’s the message?” Gavin asked him.
“It’s sealed, my liege. My captain only instructed us to inform you of it and stress the urgency of it.”
“A stall tactic?” Daia asked.
“Maybe,” he said. Several scenarios ran through his mind, including one in which Cirang kidnapped the queen to hide away, gagged and bound. He would have to search for her while Cirang slipped away. “But she has my attention. Lead on, soldier.”
Calinor moved up beside him. “Gavin, I want to make arrangements for the burial o’Vandra and the two people Cirang killed, if that’s awright.”
“You’re just sending the city custodian to collect them, aren’t you? Not planning to go back yourself?” At Calinor’s nod, Gavin said, “Awright, meet us at the lordover’s when you’re done. I’ll need you with me.”
Calinor broke off from the group, and the guard moved ahead of them, shouting, “Make way!” at the citizens in the street, which enabled them to trot instead of walk.
“What about Cirang?” Daia said.
Though Ambryce wasn’t a small city, he could find her, and with his ability to find her, he was confident she would be dead before nightfall. “Distance is her ally. If she stays in the city, we’ll catch her. First, I want to know what she has to say.”
The guard led them to the city’s center where the lordover’s estate was. The construction quality of homes and buildings improved the closer they got. Three guards stood at the open gates, looking around. When they spotted him, one mounted his horse and galloped off towards the main manor, presumably to tell the lordover the king was here.
“His Royal Highness, King Gavin of Thendylath,” the escort said as Gavin approached the gates.
One armsman stepped forward, snapped his heels together and bowed crisply. “Welcome to Ambryce, Your Majesty. I’m Rikard Hasprun, Captain of the Guard at your command.” Like the others, he wore the gray and green colors of the lordover beneath his rain cloak. His jacket had three golden bands sewn onto the cuffs to mark his higher rank.
“You have a message for me?”
Rikard approached and offered a folded paper, sealed with blue wax. Gavin took it, ran a finger under its edge to break the seal, and unfolded it, expecting to see a blank piece of paper. Instead, he found a short message beautifully handwritten. His elementary reading skill had never bothered him when he was a warrant knight, but now that he was king, it was a source of embarrassment. He tried to read the note, but his untrained eye couldn’t make out the fancy, swirling letters. He’d never expected Cirang to be so highly literate, though he did remember Tyr as being well spoken, despite his exotic accent. After folding the paper, he passed it to Daia, pretending to have read it. He would ask her to read it to him once they were alone.
“My thanks, Rikard. I need you to send a message by bird to Edan Dawnpiper in Tern to let him know I’m here.”
“Yes, my liege.” The captain motioned for one of the other guards to see to the task. “Right away. I regret the Lordover Ambryce isn’t here to greet you personally, sire. He had left to conduct some business before your First Royal alerted us you were coming.”
Gavin dismissed the concern with a wave. He was glad he wouldn’t be subjected to the lordover’s false praise and apologies when he had important matters to handle. “Is my wife still in Ambryce?” he asked.
“Yes, my liege. She’s planning to take some of the orphan children to the market district today, but she hasn’t left yet. My men are out securing the streets.”
“The woman who left this message, did she ask to see the queen?”
“No, my liege. Sh
e simply asked that this message be given to you. She said it was quite urgent.”
“Take me to my wife.” He needed to make sure Cirang hadn’t somehow gotten to her, but more than that, he missed her. Since their secret wedding three months earlier, they hadn’t been apart for more than a few hours at a time. This morning marked the seventh day since he’d kissed her good-bye. Though they’d been arguing lately, he hoped she would welcome his visit.
And he wanted to see whether he could duplicate his earlier experience connecting with his unborn son.
“I’ll show you to the guesthouse,” Rikard said. Gavin gestured for him to lead the way.
The grounds weren’t as well manicured as those of the Lordover Tern, but they were far more attractive than any part of the city outside the walls. Flowers and short hedges lined many of the walkways, and all of the plants looked healthy and lush, well watered from the four weeks of rain. They first went to the stable, where the horses were given into the care of the jolly stable master. Rikard then escorted him across the courtyard.
The guesthouse was bigger than most people’s homes. Its exterior walls were natural gray brick, accented with lighter gray brick around the doorway. The walls on the inside were paneled with white wood, and the plush carpet covering the dark wood floor had an image of a mounted knight woven into it.
Feanna’s unofficial champion, Tennara, was standing in the foyer with a surprised expression when he, Daia and Brawna entered. She bowed to him and shook hands with the two women. “Welcome, Your Majesty. We weren’t expecting you.”
The foyer was only about eight feet square. There were three closed doors before him, and to the left was a sitting room not much larger.
