The Lyre Thief

by Jennifer Fallon

  Adrina didn’t answer. They had reached the large double doors at the end of the hall carved with a massive wolf’s head. This, Charisee guessed, was the royal suite where the High Prince was recovering from his wounds.

  “How much did Kiam tell you about my husband’s injuries?” Adrina asked as she waved to the guards on duty to open the door.

  “Not much at all,” Charisee said as they stepped into the anteroom. It was a large room, but furnished in a way that made it feel quite cozy and lived in. Charisee suspected Adrina and her family spent a lot of time in here. On the far side of the room was another set of large double doors with yet another wolf’s head carving. “I gather they were quite serious.”

  Adrina nodded, indicating Charisee should sit. With some trepidation, she did as Adrina asked.

  Apparently they were not here to meet the High Prince, after all.

  Once she was seated, Adrina looked down at her and crossed her arms. “Who are you, Rakaia?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you Hablet’s daughter? Or your mother’s?”

  Charisee felt her blood run cold. What sort of question is that? Does she know? Does she suspect something? Did I say something over dinner that gave me away?

  “I . . . I’m both, of course.”

  “Did our father ask you to spy on me?”

  Charisee didn’t know the answer to that question, but she could guess. “Yes.”

  Adrina didn’t seem surprised. “And are you planning to?”

  “I’m not sure I can answer that question to your satisfaction, your highness.”

  “You’re evading the question.”

  The best lies of all are the stone-cold truth.

  “If I say yes, then you will never trust me, your highness. If I say no, you will assume I’m lying and you’ll trust me even less.”

  Adrina was silent for a moment, and then she smiled. “That’s a pretty good reading of the situation. Are you usually so clever?”

  “I don’t think I’m clever at all.”

  “I think you do yourself an injustice, Rakaia.”

  “My lady, I have not come here to cause you trouble. I’m to marry the lord of Highcastle because your husband and our father did a deal that gives the same value to possession of a single woman’s body as it does a number of trade concessions.” Charisee clamped her mouth shut, horrified she’d voiced such an opinion aloud.

  Adrina, however, burst out laughing. “Dear gods, you and Marla are going to be firm friends! You sound just like her.”

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry, my lady, I should never . . .”

  “You’re right, Rakaia. You shouldn’t have said that. Not unless you want to be thought of as some sort of anarchist. You’re perfectly entitled to think it, though, and if my mother-in-law and I agree on anything, it’s that things need to change. But changing something so . . . ingrained, takes time. You won’t win any friends undermining the efforts of those of us actually working to change things by being dismissed as a troublemaker.”

  Charisee forgot she was trying to be Rakaia. The slave answered. The outraged slave who had watched her friends—both slave and high-born—taken from the harem time and again to seal trade deals or enrich their father. “Then you condoned the deal that married one of your own sisters to a man sixty years her senior in return for a few trade concessions?”

  Adrina nodded. She was unapologetic. “Do you know why?”

  Charisee could think of quite a few reasons, but none of them was complimentary, and she was dangerously close to making an enemy of the High Princess. She wisely shook her head and said nothing.

  “Then I will tell you. It’s because one of the trade concessions we traded you for, little sister, was the right for unaccompanied Fardohnyan women to travel to Hythria without a customs official confirming that a male relative has permitted her to travel before they let her across the border.”

  Charisee didn’t know what to say. She’d imagined the trade concession concerned timber, or wool.

  Adrina was no longer smiling. “Do you think you’re the only woman who ever sat in that wretched harem, cursing the accident of birth that made her a tradable commodity?”

  “I’m so sorry, your highness,” she said, trying to figure out how she was going to repair this fragile new relationship that appeared so close to fracturing before it had even begun. “I don’t want you to think that I think—”

  She was interrupted by a knock at the door, which was probably a good thing, because she appeared to be digging herself deeper and deeper with every word she uttered.

  “Actually, Rakaia, I will soon know exactly what you think. Enter!”

  Before she could ask what Adrina meant by that, the door opened and a tall, brown-haired young man walked in. He was dressed simply, but his clothes were well made, his boots tooled from the finest leather, and he seemed quite at home in this inner sanctum of the royal family. For a moment, Charisee wondered if this was Damin Wolfblade, but then she realized he was far too young. Damin was a man in his forties. This man didn’t seem much older than her.

  Adrina turned and smiled at her guest, holding her hand out to him. “Wrayan. Thank you for coming.”

  Wrayan took her hand, kissed the High Princess’s palm, and then turned to study Charisee. “And this must be Rakaia?”

  “Rakaia, Princess of Fardohnya, I’d like to introduce you to Wrayan Lightfinger, head of the Greenharbour Thieves’ Guild.”

  Charisee was starting to wonder if she was going mad. “The Thieves’ Guild?”

  “Your highness.” Wrayan Lightfinger took her hand, kissing her palm with the same respect he’d shown Adrina, and then he turned to the High Princess. “You didn’t tell her I was coming?”

  “Of course not; that would spoil the surprise. Have a seat.”

  Wrayan did as Adrina bid, facing Charisee.

  “Wrayan is an old family friend,” Adrina explained, although she remained standing behind Wrayan. “Do not be fooled by his youthful appearance. Wrayan is part-Harshini and quite a bit older than my children’s grand mother.”

  “I . . . would never have guessed,” Charisee said, not certain what she was supposed to say to that.

  “I asked Wrayan here tonight, Rakaia, because in addition to ensuring none of his fellow guild members rob the palace blind, he provides another service for the Wolfblade family.”

  Am I supposed to ask what service? Why is he looking at me like that?

  “I’m going to look inside your mind, your highness,” Wrayan said, as if saying the words gently somehow mitigated the invasion. “I’m going to confirm for the High Princess that you are no threat to her family, and then I’m going to shield your mind so nobody else can influence you, or try to use you to threaten or harm them.”

  Charisee felt the blood drain from her face. “You can do that?”

  “I don’t have many magical gifts, your highness, but that is one of them.”

  She looked up at Adrina who was staring down at her with an implacable and entirely unsympathetic expression. There was no help to be had from that quarter. Far from it. This was clearly Adrina’s idea.

  “Will it hurt?” she asked, her mind racing. The moment she let Wrayan into her mind, she would be exposed.

  Why didn’t you warn me this might happen, Jakerlon?

  Where are you now . . . when I need you the most?

  “Only if you try to push back,” Wrayan assured her.

  “And if you do, we will assume it’s because you have something to hide, Rakaia, so I suggest you submit without complaint. It only takes a few minutes and then I won’t have to wonder if I can trust you; I will know.”

  Charisee nodded. She had to appear compliant, but inside she was a seething ball of panic. “What do I need to do?”

  “Get comfortable,” Wrayan said. “Then just close your eyes and try to relax.”

  “May I use the garderobe first?” she asked. “I drank far too much cordial at dinner, I’m
afraid.”

  “Of course.” Wrayan glanced up at Adrina. “Is that all right with you?”

  “I’ll have the guards show you to the nearest facility,” Adrina offered.

  Charisee smiled and climbed to her feet. Adrina opened the door, asked one of the guards to show her the way to the nearest bathroom, and then closed the door behind her, leaving Charisee in the hall.

  She followed the guard down the corridor to the garderobe, thanked him when he opened the door for her, and then collapsed against it and sank to the floor as soon as she was alone.

  Charisee was shaking so badly she couldn’t think straight. She could barely breathe. A quick glance around the room and she realized there was no escape here. The window above the garderobe was too small to climb through, and besides, they were on the second floor. There was no escape that way.

  Calm down! Think!

  Perhaps she could just walk out of here, pretend nothing was amiss and head downstairs as if that was where she was meant to be going. She was a princess, after all. Who would think to question her?

  How far will I get before Adrina starts to wonder where I am?

  Charisee wanted to cry. It wasn’t going to end like this, surely? It was too unfair to have come all this way, only to be exposed now.

  Jakerlon, you answered my prayer once. I need you to do it again.

  If you want me to keep honoring you, then cause an earthquake, or make the sky fall in the next few minutes because a part-Harshini thief is about the steal the truth from my mind, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.

  “Your highness?” a muffled male voice asked through the door. “Are you alright?”

  Charisee wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

  She rose to her feet, walked to the washbowl, and splashed some cool water on her face. Charisee looked at herself in the mirror. A stranger stared back at her.

  “You can do this,” she told the princess in the reflection. “Whatever he finds in your mind he will believe. So think the right thoughts and you might just get away with this.”

  After all, the best lies of all are the stone-cold truth.

  Charisee smoothed down her skirt, opened the door, and smiled at the guard. “Could you take me back now, please?”

  “Of course, your highness.”

  She followed him back to the door of the royal suite. He knocked on it twice and then opened it without waiting for permission. Charisee squared her shoulders, forced a smile onto her face, and stepped inside.

  Adrina and Wrayan Lightfinger were waiting for her.

  “Shall I lie down?” she asked. “Or would you prefer I sit?”

  “Whatever makes you the most comfortable, your highness.”

  “I suppose lying down would be best.” She walked back to the cushions and sank down gracefully, rearranged a few of the pillows, and then stretched out. Before she closed her eyes, she turned to Wrayan. “I hope you don’t get lost in here, Master Lightfinger. According to my sisters, I am rather scatterbrained.”

  Wrayan smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure I can manage, your highness. Would you close your eyes, please? And try to relax.”

  Charisee did as he asked. She took a deep breath and then opened up her mind, forcing every early memory of Rakaia she could manage to the surface, until the only thing filling her head were memories of two little girls playing pranks on everyone in the harem by each pretending to be the other.

  Until the requested earthquake or skyfall happened, it was the only thing she could think of to do to protect herself.

  Chapter

  45

  “DON’T YOU MEAN when Brakandaran the Halfbreed tried to kill you?” Rakaia asked.

  Mica shook his head. “No . . . he had me killed.”

  “And yet . . . here you are . . .”

  He looked at her, his face filled with pain. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “I want to believe you, Mica, but what you’re saying doesn’t make sense.”

  He took a deep breath. “It’s a very long story.”

  “Well, we’re not going to make it to Krakandar tonight, so we might as well do something to pass the time,” she said.

  “I can think of something,” he said with a small smile.

  “Other than that, you fiend. I think there’s some cheese and the last of that loaf we bought in Walsark left in the saddlebags. There’s a stream a little way back so we can water the horses. Why don’t you get a fire going, I’ll take care of dinner, and then you can tell me all about how you died?”

  “But you think I’m mad.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re not entertaining.”

  He smiled faintly. “You know, the only other real friend I ever really had was a god.”

  “You see, you can’t go making statements like that and not offering some sort of explanation. So . . . dinner and a tale of gods, adventure, and coming back from the dead?”

  He nodded. She took her arm from around him and climbed to her feet. “You get the fire started. I’ll be back in a few minutes with the horses.”

  Rakaia headed back toward where she had tied the horses, shaking her head at her own folly. “I should mount up right this minute and ride away from here,” she told the horses when she reached them in a low voice. “He’s mad as a cut snake and the only reason I’ve come this far with him is because . . .”

  Because he’s saved me from Hablet, and without him I would be lost. Because he adores me and I . . .

  Rakaia gathered up the reins, not prepared to finish that thought, even silently. “Come on, girls,” she told the mares. “Let’s get you something to drink.”

  THE BREAD WAS stale, the cheese dry, and the water from the creek of dubious quality, but Rakaia hardly noticed, as Mica, with a great deal of reluctance, began to explain his bizarre claim that Brakandaran the Halfbreed had killed him.

  “I grew up in Kirkland,” he began once he’d finished his cheese. Rakaia sat opposite him, the small fire they’d made between them more for comfort than for warmth. As darkness fell, the fire became their only illumination. It threw shadows up onto Mica’s face that made him seem far more sinister than the Mica Rakaia knew in the cold light of day. “It’s a province of Karien, ruled over by Lord Laetho.”

  “Was it a happy childhood?”

  He shrugged. “Happy enough. My father was a steward on Lord Laetho’s estate. That’s what I was going to be when I grew up, too. A steward on Lord Laetho’s estate.”

  “I had much higher aspirations,” Rakaia joked. “I was going to be a princess. Look how that turned out.”

  Mica smiled. “So neither of us ended up where we expected.”

  “Well, I know how I got here. What’s your excuse?”

  “War,” Mica said. “We went to war.”

  Rakaia didn’t have an answer for that, but she didn’t need one. Mica continued his tale without any further prompting.

  “My brother Jaymes and I went to war with Lord Laetho. We were just supposed to be there to wait on Lord Laetho and his knights. You know . . . fetch and carry, polish armor, that sort of thing. Nothing else. But Prince Cratyn was anxious to get the war done before winter so Lord Laetho told me and Jaymes to see if we could sneak over the border into the Defenders’ camp and report on what was going on.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Ten. Jaymes was fourteen.”

  Rakaia shook her head at the stupidity of men at war. “Is that when the High Prince ordered you put to death?”

  “Damin Wolfblade wasn’t the High Prince then. His uncle Lernen was still on the throne. He was just a Hythrun warlord off to fight someone else’s war for a bit of a lark, I think. At least, he never seemed to take it as seriously as the Medalonians did.”

  “You were captured, though?”

  “Of course we were. Jaymes and I . . . we were stewards, not spies. We weren’t across the border more than a few hours before Damin Wolfblade’s Krakandar
Raiders found us.”

  He stopped long enough to throw another few sticks on the fire. Rakaia was almost afraid to ask what happened next, well able to image the fate of two young spies in the war camp of an enemy. Mica surprised her, however, by smiling at the memory.

  “They separated us, of course. Jaymes stayed in the Raiders’ camp and I was sent to the keep to wait on Sister Mahina. I think that was the first time I was truly warm and not hungry since we reached the border. It really wasn’t that bad. Mahina was gruff, but she was kind and I had the run of the place, truth be told.”

  “Didn’t you try to escape?”

  “Tarja Tenragan threatened to cut Jaymes’s fingers off if I tried. I don’t know if he really meant it, but I believed he’d do it, so no . . . I did exactly what I was told, when I was told. Jaymes had it even better than me. The Raiders adopted him like a pet and he ended up joining them. He’s probably still with them, for all I know. And then, one day out of the blue, they sent me home.”

  “Because you were eating so much?”

  He smiled. “Not exactly. The Medalonians decided to try and sue for peace, so I was sent back with the offer.”

  “A prisoner of war and diplomat, all by the age of ten. You are an accomplished young man, aren’t you?”

  “I was just as much a prisoner when I got back to my side of the border as I was in the Medalonian war camp,” he told her, his smile fading. “You joke about the food, but they didn’t see the funny side of it. Being well fed almost got me killed. They thought I looked too well fed to have been a prisoner. I probably would have wound up dead if Princess Adrina hadn’t intervened.”

  “Adrina? My sister Adrina, you mean?” Strictly speaking, Adrina wasn’t her sister, now that she knew the truth of her paternity, but Mica knew what she meant.

  He nodded. “She was still married to Prince Cratyn then. Gods . . . I remember thinking she was the most beautiful, pious, noble woman Xaphista had ever created.”

  “You followed Xaphista?”

  “Everyone in Karien followed Xaphista until the demon child destroyed him.”

  “I know . . . it’s just . . . I can’t imagine piling all the woes of the world at the feet of a single god.”