by K. C. May
Adro and Lilalian rose from their seats. On the table between them were two dice and two piles of silver coins. “King—” Adro started to say but stopped when Gavin put a finger to his lips.
“I want to surprise Feanna,” Gavin said quietly. “Which room is she in?”
“She’s in the one on the far right,” Tennara replied. “She’ll be glad to see you. We all are. What brings you to Ambryce?”
“Cirang,” Gavin said. “You haven’t seen her, have you?”
Tennara and Lilalian shook their heads, eyebrows raised.
Adro’s blond brow wrinkled. “Cirang? No, sire. Last I saw of her, she was in gaol. Did she escape?”
“It’s a long story,” Gavin said. “Be on the lookout for her, and be wary. She’s wearing Vandra’s mail shirt.”
Tennara tensed. “Vandra’s dead then.”
Daia piped up. “If she offers you anything to drink, don’t. Apprehend her immediately.”
“Or better yet,” Gavin said, “put your sword through her heart. Above all, don’t let her anywhere near my wife.”
“Of course,” Lilalian said. “Your will be done.”
“In fact, don’t let Feanna out o’your sight, even for a moment.”
Tennara nodded. “Your will be done.”
“Not even when she shits,” Gavin said, “though I prefer Lila or Tennara be on shit duty.” The two battlers shared a glance and chuckled. “That’s not a jest.”
“No, sire,” Lilalian said, still smiling. “I’ll take shit duty.”
“Awright then. Far right you said?”
All three battlers nodded, and Gavin went to the door. He leaned one ear towards it, but he heard no voices, no movement. Carefully, he pressed the thumb latch and hoped she hadn’t barred the door. It opened.
Dressed in a green gown, she sat at a small writing table, quill in hand, while her maid brushed her hair. The two women looked up in surprise when he entered.
“Gavin!” Feanna cried. She dropped the pen and ran to him.
“How now, sweethea—” he managed to say before her lips pressed against his and shut him up. His arms went around her automatically and held her tightly. Her warmth, her love, her intoxicating scent made his knees weaken. Her hands caressed his hair and neck while they kissed. Guess she’s not angry anymore, he thought. He heard the door close and the latch click.
They pulled back to look into each other’s eyes. “How are you, love?” he asked.
“I’m fine, really. A touch of the morning sickness, but it’s nothing a little finnara root doesn’t cure.”
“And our son? Have you felt him move?”
“Oh, no,” Feanna said. “No, it’s too early for that.”
“I want to feel him again.”
She giggled and took his hands, putting them on her belly. “Of course.”
He took a deep breath, scoffed at his own nervousness, and focused on her haze with his hidden eye. His hands warmed, his awareness expanded through her haze and through her body to touch his son. His boy was safe, growing, healthy. He hoped the baby’s haze would reach for him like it had before, but nothing happened. There would be time to bond with his son in the coming months. No need to force it. He pulled back and let out his breath.
“Did you feel him?”
He nodded. “He’s healthy. Seems bigger now.”
“They grow up so fast.” They both chuckled.
“How was your visit to the orphanage?”
“Oh, it’s wonderful. I’m so glad I came. It’s given me some ideas for improvements to the one in Tern. But Gavin, what are you doing in Ambryce?” she asked. “You didn’t come just to see me, did you?”
Damn, he thought. She had an uncanny way of phrasing questions that made any answer he gave the wrong one. He hoped this wasn’t the beginning of another argument. “Cirang escaped,” he said. “We tracked her to Ambryce. I had to make sure you’re awright.”
Feanna put a hand to her heart. The color drained from her face. “Cirang’s here? Oh, Gavin! How could you let that happen?”
His spine turned to steel. “Let it happen? That’s the question you ask me? Not ‘Who did she kill to make her escape?’ Awright, I suppose I own the blame for it, since I let her out o’gaol to chase after a book.”
She lay her hand over his thundering heart. “Oh! No, love, that’s not what I— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cast blame. I just meant how did she get away? What book were you chasing?”
He took a deep breath to calm himself down, and then told her about the journal, the journey, and Cirang’s attack on Vandra that led to her escape. “I should’ve known she’d try something,” he said quietly. “She’d been cooperative, and I guess Vandra dropped her guard.”
“You took two battlers whose job was to ensure she wouldn’t escape, and yet she found a way.” Her brow creased with worry. “Does she know I’m here?”
“If she didn’t know before, surely she does now,” he said. “Even if she doesn’t notice the lordover’s entire garrison directing traffic and blocking off streets, I’m guessing the townsfolk haven’t quit talking about your visit since you got here.”
“Do you know why she came to Ambryce?”
“I guess because it was the nearest city.” He told Feanna a condensed version of their pursuit, the wellspring, and the murders of Vandra and the two people whose home she invaded. “If she’s smart, she’s already left. If she tries to hide in the city, I’ll find her. She wrote me a message, probably a taunt.” He opened the door, leaned out and beckoned Daia into the room.
Daia bowed to Feanna. “Your Majesty, it’s wonderful to see you looking so well.”
“And you, Daia,” Feanna replied.
“Now’s a good time to read me Cirang’s message,” Gavin said.
Still holding it in her hand, Daia unfolded it and began to read aloud.
To our illustrious king, Gavin Kinshield.
I’ve left a gift for you at the Gwanry Museum of History. By the time you receive this message, I will have left Ambryce. Once again, I’ve slipped through your thick, clumsy fingers, and this time for good. Don’t bother to look for me. You won’t find me.
Good-bye, Kinshield. I hope you find my gift illuminating.
My warmest regards,
Sithral Tyr
“She signed it Sithral Tyr?” he asked, snatching the message to examine the signature. “Bastard.”
“Who’s that?” Feanna asked.
“A Nilmarion man who was in league with Ravenkind,” Gavin said.
“Why would she sign a man’s name?”
“Daia killed him— sorry, love. It’s a story I got no time to tell right now.”
“Is she still in Ambryce?” Daia asked.
“Let me see.” He took a moment to send his hidden eye up through the building’s roof and over the city. At first, he saw no sign of her, but as he moved his mystic vision westward, he spotted her dark haze among the light ones in the city’s center. She was on the edge of a large gathering of citizens. If that was where Feanna was supposed to take the children, then her excursion was about to be canceled.
Gavin shook his head to dismiss the hidden eye and return to his normal consciousness. “Found her. She’s in the city.”
“Excellent,” Daia said. “We’ll catch her today, then.”
“I’m afraid I got to cancel your plans,” he said, taking Feanna’s hands. He hated disappointing her and the orphans, but Cirang was dangerous. There was no telling what she would do. “She’s in the crowd that’s gathering, waiting to see you.”
“Then you can send the lordover’s men to arrest her,” she said. “Once they have her, I can take the children—”
“She’ll sneak away as soon as she sees them closing in,” Gavin said. “I got to hunt her myself.”
Feanna shook her head. “You’re the king. You aren’t supposed to chase down malefactors. Let our battlers do it. Daia knows her. All the former Sisters do, and Adro does.�
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“Don’t you see?” he asked. “If she gets away, I can track her down. She might run, but she can’t hide from me.”
Feanna squared her shoulders and gazed at him with such determination, she appeared to be looking at him from his own eye level instead of a foot lower. “Then there’s no reason to cancel my plans. If she’s in the crowd waiting for me, then you’ll stop her before she reaches me.”
The image of his first wife, pregnant with their second child, came to mind, her blood spurting from the knife wound in her neck. His failure as a husband and father was as real to him now as it was when he’d watched his family die five years earlier. His palms sweated, and his throat tightened. “No,” he said flatly. “I won’t dangle you in front of her like bait and endanger your life and the life o’my son.”
She went to the door and yanked it open. “Tennara, come in here, please.” The elder battler entered the room, followed by Adro, Lila and Brawna. “Do you remember what Cirang looks like?” Feanna asked. They affirmed they did. “Then there’s no problem. If they see her, they’ll apprehend her.”
“King Gavin instructed us not to leave your side,” Adro said, “not even to shit— begging your pardon for my language.”
Feanna put her hands on her hips. “You’d think I was the malefactor and not Cirang.”
Gavin went to her and tried to put his arms around her, but she pushed his hands away. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, “I’m just trying to keep you safe. That’s my first concern, always.”
“No, you’re trying to control me like you always do,” she said. “I won’t have it. I’m taking the children shopping. The lordover’s got every one of his guards on duty to keep me safe. Send Brawna and Daia with me if you want, while you sit around here twiddling your toes. I promised those children, and after what they’ve been through, the last thing they need is another adult letting them down. I won’t do it. If you want to keep me here, you’ll have to hold me down yourself.”
He couldn’t bring himself to chastise her in front of Daia and her own guard. She was still their queen, and he wouldn’t humiliate her, though as soon as he got her alone, he would redden her ears. All the tears and apologies in the world wouldn’t ease the scolding she was due. If he hadn’t married her, she’d still be a lonely widow struggling to put food on the table, and he would still be king. In defying him, she was overstepping her authority, and in front of her guards and his champion, no less. Using his own guilt against him was an added offense for which she would not be soon forgiven. Gavin gave her a look that promised the matter wasn’t settled, and then he told Tennara, “Cirang has some serragan powder. Be sure she doesn’t get close enough to use it.”
She bowed. “Your will be done.”
“Let’s go,” he said to Daia, and walked out, too angry to kiss his wife good-bye.
Chapter 37
Cirang had one last task to complete before she left Ambryce: to empty her waterskin into one of the city’s wells, though she had some reservations. The public wells contained a large enough supply of water to dilute the water in her skin and reduce its effect, if any, on those who drank it. She couldn’t be certain what she had was anything more than plain spring water. Perhaps she should pay some street urchin to drink it as a test. That way she could observe the effect on the child before she poured it into the well.
As she rode through the streets of Ambryce, she exchanged greetings with the townsfolk she passed, playing the part of the First Royal Guard. All she needed to do was stay out of Kinshield’s reach until she saw the effect the water had on those who consumed it. If it did what it was reputed to do, she would plan her next step. If not, then she would follow her original plan to return to Nilmaria.
If this water was enchanted, it could make her very wealthy. Plenty of things were traded on the black market — warrant tags, illegal poisons and potions, orphans — but the problem with selling the water that way was the reliance on word of mouth. Those who drank it might consider themselves more enlightened than, perhaps morally superior to, others and might not spread word. In fact, they might tattle to the city guard, leading to her capture. On the other hand, she couldn’t very well open a shop and sell the water to the public like wine or coffee. She could, however, sell it to merchants and distributors. Her advantage was being the only person who knew its source.
She turned a corner and came to a stop, held up by a crowd of people, horses and wagons so thick, it would take hours to get through. Ahead, the street was a sea of heads and hats seeming to float in place, unmoving.
“What’s going on?” she asked someone beside her.
“The queen,” the man grumbled.
Hell’s teeth! Feanna would recognize her and have her arrested on sight. The queen was reputed to be a sniveling martyr, but no idiot would forgive Cirang for kidnapping her to feed to a demon. She needed to take another route.
“Why aren’t you with her?” the man asked. He was well dressed in stylishly fitted trousers and a billowing shirt with a waistcoat beneath a fitted jacket and rain cloak. Though he wore a hat, he also carried a rainshade. “You’re wearing the royal colors.”
“I’m on a mission for the king, actually,” she said. “What’s Queen Feanna doing out in the rain?”
“Don’t know,” he said, “but nobody seems to mind. Everyone wants to get a look at her.”
“She’s takin’ some orphans shopping,” a woman said. “She took ’em to the bookman yesterday.”
“It’s a damned nuisance, if you ask me,” the man said. “I’m just trying to get to the Temple to take my sacrament. Didn’t think I’d have to wade through a sea of spectators to get there.”
A thought lit Cirang’s mind, energizing her instantly. The sacrament! It was brilliant.
“It’s worse than Tern was during the coronation!” someone replied.
“Rain be damned,” the first man said.
“After almost four weeks o’this, you got to wonder if the rumors’re true.”
“Bah! Just lies born o’jealousy.”
Cirang quit listening as her mind spun. As a child, she’d followed her parents to the temple every month to pay homage to the god Asti-nayas, but she’d never truly believed in an all-powerful supernatural force that ruled people’s lives. Tyr had subscribed to the Nilmarion belief that humans were spiritually governed by twelve gods, not just one. Though the two faiths were different, the people of Thendylath and Nilmaria shared a common goal: a good life and a better afterlife. A more prosperous life. More power, more money, more sex, more wisdom, greater health. Communing with the Savior Asti-nayas by drinking the blessed water within the temple was said to grant these things and more to worshipers He deemed worthy.
In her waterskins, Cirang had the power to enlighten the people of Ambryce and make them see that Asti-nayas was but a fairy tale. Once she gave them this, they would know the twelve true gods and worship them properly. For that, they would owe her. They would do things for her, just as they’d done for Tyr.
Inspired by her new purpose, she turned the horse back the way she’d come and circled around the central merchant district to avoid the traffic while she formed a plan in her mind: to hide in the temple until she was sure it was safe to leave the city. Yes, it was risky, but the payoff was well worth it. The chances of Kinshield looking for her there were slim. She pulled off the mail shirt, stuffed it into her knapsack and then rode to the temple to scout the area.
The Spirit of the Savior Holy Temple of Asti-nayas was one of the most beautiful buildings in Ambryce with its tall, arched roof and four bells in the belfry that rang the hour from dawn until midnight. Its reddish bricks stood out against the dull beige and gray of the surrounding shops and houses. The casement windows were made from different colored glass, arranged in patterns that resembled symbols of the faith. Before she could get started, she needed a place to keep the horse for a few days.
Just down the street, a sign reading The Good Knight Inn hung by one co
rner from the eve of a small, dilapidated building, and swung in the breeze with a rhythmic squeak of its rusty chain. She tied her horse to the hitching post, jogged up the porch steps and opened the door. A musty smell assaulted her nose, and the floor creaked under her as she approached the counter.
A man pushed past an ugly brown curtain. He was average height with graying hair, and his right arm ended just below the elbow, probably from crossing the wrong person. “Help you, Lady Sister?” he asked.
“I need a room for a couple of days,” she said, ignoring the erroneous title. She should have taken Calinor’s warrant tag from his body so when she wasn’t wearing the mail, she would have another badge to win people’s trust. That was a problem she could address later.
“You got a horse?”
Cirang nodded.
“Then that’ll be five pielars per night.”
She paid the man for three nights and held her hand out for the key.
“We got no keys here. Take whichever room you like. They’re all empty. Bar the door from the inside. If you got somethin’ valuable you want to keep safe, you can leave it with me.”
He followed her outside and whistled for the stable hand. A boy of about twelve sprinted over, gave the horse’s neck a pat and untied the reins. “What’s his name?” he asked.
She didn’t know. It had a broad, golden face with a white streak that went halfway down, and a neatly trimmed forelock of darker gold. The first name that came to mind was Calinor. Naming the horse after the ’ranter who’d hunted Tyr for so long was a symbol of her domination over the slain battler. She settled on a shortened version of it. “This is Calin,” she told him as she untied the saddle bag.
“Come on, Calin,” he said softly. “Let’s get you some hay.”
Cirang chose the room farthest from the inn’s office. A rope dangled through a hole in the door up near the top, and when she pulled it, the bar on the inside lifted, and the door swung open.
It was about ten feet square with a wide bed, small table with a pair of candles atop it, and two stools. With the door barred shut, the only light came in through the cracks between the door and its frame and the gap around the rope pull. She set her knapsack on the stool and saddlebag on the table, unstrapped her weapons, and lay down. The bed was straw-filled and lumpy, but better by far than any bed in a gaol cell.
