So what now?
He ought to go back to his rooms, but he didn't want to have a fruit ice with Tish. He didn't want to sit on one of the low couches with his doubts and questions. He took a deep breath.
So what did he want?
To find Orya.
SHE'S DEAD, said one of the Voices.
What if she isn't? he asked. What if the rumors are true?
But it was illogical. He knew it was. He just wanted to believe it himself, so he let himself be seduced by the hope. The truth was usually the simplest thing, and the simplest thing was that Orya had been killed while assassinating Princess Azmei. No one had ever told Yar why they had taken a contract to assassinate their own princess. Yar had never wanted to know anything about the killing business. That changed after Orya didn't come back, but by then it was too late. Orya was the only one who might have told him, and she was gone.
He traced his finger in circles on the rough windowsill. He liked the feel of sandstone. It scraped the pad of his finger as he drew letters and numbers in no order. Orya was probably dead, but there was an assassin good enough to be mistaken for Orya. Then who was it, if not Orya? Why did it matter to Yar? Because anyone as good as Orya might have met her? Or was it more than that?
YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW.
He turned his head, humming to try to drown out the Voice in his head. Maybe he didn't want to know. Maybe he did. But the Voice couldn't tell him.
What would be the best way to find this other assassin?
FIND US. WE ARE WHAT MATTER.
He scoffed and turned away from the window, scuffing his heels along the stone floor as he walked. Why would he want to find the Voices? And how could you find a Voice? Would they help him find out the truth about Orya?
FIND US.
But perhaps they would. What if they knew what had happened? What if they had Orya with them somehow? What if they could answer all his questions?
But how did you find a Voice?
FOLLOW.
Yar shoved his fingers into his hair and gripped. He was so tired of the Voices. Tired of having them in his head, tired of sharing his life with them, tired of being ruled by them. He was tired of how they could force visions on him without his desire or consent, how crippling the visions were. He wanted a real life, not this half-imaginary one.
He wanted to not be a freak.
"If I follow, if I find, will you help me?" he whispered. "Help me find Orya."
FOLLOW. FIND.
That wasn't an answer. Nor did it illuminate how he would be expected to follow or find. He groaned and headed for his rooms. It was ridiculous for him to believe he could make any difference, even if he did find them. What would it accomplish? Free him? More likely the Voices, once he was in their grasp, would enslave him utterly.
And how is that any different from how you live now? he asked himself.
He had no answer.
Chapter 8
Azmei frowned at the off-white buildings of Meekin. Her journey from Tamnen City had been an uneventful one, punctuated by brief stops in towns along the canal to drop off merchandise shipments or take on new cargo bound for the east end of the line. She had spent much of the journey brooding over things she could not control, such as the as-yet unidentified threat against her father's life that Tanvel was attempting to puzzle out, and planning her approach to the task ahead of her.
Now she was here, in the city Orya had once described as a clean trade town with little crime, with a spring trade fair and fountains and beautiful parks. At the time, Azmei had wished that she had taken the time when she was younger to travel her home kingdom and appreciate all its many facets. She had not expected she would have a chance to visit it after marrying Vistaren. Then again, she hadn't married Vistaren, had she?
She paid the captain and stepped off the canal boat, pushing back her hood to gaze at the bustling docks. The Spring Evener had come and gone while she was traveling, so she hadn't had a chance to enjoy the bonfires and dancing, even as an anonymous visitor rather than a participant. It was probably for the best, though she had a hard time acknowledging the fact. All the same, it meant the town's population was swelling for the spring trade fair. That would be good. Plenty of outsiders, so no one would pay as much attention to one woman traveling alone.
"Is there a direction I can point you, my lady?" the captain asked. He'd been watching her take in the sights. Azmei should have walked away if she didn't want to be disturbed.
"What is your favorite inn?" she asked.
"The Laughing Dog, m'lady," he answered, "but it caters mostly to a merchant crowd. Not to tell you your business, but you might be better pleased with the Owl's Nest. They're closer to the university, so the people who stay there are a bit more varied."
Azmei raised an eyebrow. "And a woman alone might not stand out as much, you mean," she observed. It occurred to her that, while she knew her people well, she had never had the opportunity to travel much, so she had no idea how women usually traveled.
"It isn't that you're without a chaperone, m'lady, so much as that you're without a guard. Women usually have a couple of those." The captain looked away from her. "And since you seem to wish to pretend you don't know how to use a blade, it would seem more natural to stay there."
"Ah." Azmei settled her bag on her shoulder. "And if I were to go looking for the horse market?"
"You'd find it inland from the canals, by what's called the Dry Gate." The captain looked back at her. "And you might wish to let it be a bit more obvious that you know the sword."
She smiled at him, hoping it looked genuine. "Let us hope that you forget I know the sword, Captain Farruth." She handed him another gold piece, which was a generous tip beyond her standard fare. "I mean no trouble to you or your boat."
"For which I'm grateful." He made the coin disappear. "Fare you well, Mistress Baelaric."
It was a clear dismissal, and Azmei was amused at how easily it fell from his lips. She had grown up a princess, and yet no lord or king she had ever met had spoken with any more assurance than a captain on his vessel. She nodded to him and began walking up the dock. In the distance she could see several towers, which she had already learned were the university buildings. She didn't want to stay at the Owl's Nest, since the captain would be able to name it, if he were asked. But she would at least see if there were other inns around the university. She glanced up, judging the time by the sun. Still at least two hours until dusk, she thought, which meant she would have time to take a room and then locate the Perslyn House.
An hour later, she had managed the first, but not the second. She had learned where the trade quarter was, where most of the guilds had their shops and guild halls. She knew where to look for the more expensive houses in the city. But she had not been able to force herself to actually go to the Perslyn cloth shop and follow someone back to the Perslyn family home.
Instead she had wandered through the university quarter and into the city's main park, watching the shadows grow longer and the crowds grow thinner. Though canals formed the main avenues through the city, there were narrow stone walks built along either side of the canals, and the city was dotted with several large squares built on more solid portions. The main city park was one such square, with paved pathways winding through groves of trees, bushes, and flowering plants. An immense fountain portraying an ancient battle between Tam and the Wyrm of Wynra created a watery playground that Azmei imagined must tempt children in the hotter months.
You're weak, she berated herself. You are here for one purpose only—to destroy the Perslyn power structure and rescue Yarro from that family. If you can't even bring yourself to embark on this purpose, what will you do? What would Tanvel think of you?
She shook her head.
What would Guira think?
Her nurse Guira was fresher in her memory than her mother, whom Guira had served first. She had taken Azmei under her wing in their shared grief over Queen Izbel's untimely death. Guira had served a
s nursemaid, counselor, aunt, older sister, mentor, and maidservant over the years. She had had much of the shaping of Azmei into the idealistic young woman who had agreed to marry a stranger in order to end the war that was tearing her country apart.
She had also hidden a playful side that rarely showed itself; one of the best days in Azmei's life had been the day in Ranarr when Guira had agreed that the princess deserved one final day of carefree happiness. They had wandered the Ranarri market, tasting of its delights and exploring its novelties and wonders. Azmei had purchased a sea-dragon bone comb for Guira as a present, and after Guira died saving Azmei from an assassin's blade, Azmei carried that comb with her everywhere, even though her hair was too short for it.
Azmei sat on the edge of one of the great fountain's smaller pools and trailed her fingers in the cold water. What would Guira think of Azmei's hesitance? She had been a peaceful, decorous woman for the most part, but she had fought fiercely at the last, and had sacrificed her own life to save the princess she had reared. Guira might dislike that Azmei had grown so familiar with killing. She might disapprove of the way she had walked away from statecraft. She might counsel against revenge for its own sake.
But Guira would approve of removing any threat to the throne of Tamnen. She would urge Azmei to do her duty, as she had always urged before. She would advise caution but firmness.
Azmei drew in a long, slow breath, enjoying the smell of cherry blossoms and honeysuckle. The day was drawing down into evening. The shadows had lengthened to the point that, were she dressed in dark clothing, she might pass unnoticed under the trees. She was still in her unbleached linen robe, which blended into the pale stone of Meekin in the light of day, but would serve her ill tonight. But under her robe she wore fine wool trousers and a silk shirt in shades of brown-gray. Boy's clothes, because she had preferred them even as a princess and had no reason not to wear them now. With her jaw-length hair in the dim light, it would probably pass unremarked.
She glanced up at the sky. The evening bell would ring soon, and most of the shops would close, the clerks hurrying home to dinner and family. Azmei stood from the fountain and made her way, unhurried, out of the park and towards the trade quarter. She would see if anyone was in the Perslyn shop. If they were still there, she would follow them home. Master Tanvel had discovered early on that no one without the Perslyn name was allowed to work in any of the shops. He was certain that many of the cloth merchant Perslyns were unaware of the shadowy work their brothers and cousins did behind the scenes.
The pale flagstones of the park pathways gave way to rough-cut stone as she stepped from the park into an alley between two buildings bordering the park. She wanted to give her eyes time to adjust to the shadows before picking up the pace. She tugged off her robe and folded it into the small pack at her waist. Then she leaned her shoulders back against the wall, closing her eyes and concentrating on hearing everything that was going on around her.
Footsteps slapped past on the street she had just left, someone already running late, judging by the pace. A dog barked somewhere at least two streets over. Two people laughed in the park she had left behind, one male and one female; lovers, perhaps, but certainly two people who enjoyed each other's company. Ahead, someone shouted, the voice too distant for her to discern emotion. Overhead, the wing beats of a flock of birds. Doves, probably, from the soft whistle of the air through feathers. Azmei smiled. It had been far too long since she heard dove wings on a regular basis.
She opened her eyes and was able to see the distinct outlines of doors and windows in the alley. She could distinguish each individual cobble as she set out again, her pace quicker now.
She was perhaps five minutes' walk from the trade quarter, even at a pace that gave no indication of the urgency of her mission. She met no gazes of the people she passed, but she smiled impersonally at each of them, pleased when most of them smiled impersonally back. People didn't remember those who behaved normally. Azmei looked like a boy walking from his apprenticeship to his parents' shop, and that was what people would probably remember of her, if they remembered seeing her at all.
When she reached the square where the Perslyn shop was located, she paused several shops away, dropping to one knee and pretending to fuss with her boot. There were four other people in the square: three men and one woman. The woman and one man were walking together, conversing but not close enough to each other that they were anything but colleagues. One of the men was gathering wares from a display table outside an ink and quill shop. Many years ago, Azmei would have yearned to go into that shop and browsed through the inks until she found a color that suited her perfectly. Now she felt a vague wistfulness as she saw the sign, but she pushed it away. The last man was walking towards her.
His eyes were focused on the ground in front of him. His shoulders were slumped and his steps were slow. Probably he was a discouraged worker who saw no future at the shop where he was employed, or perhaps he had been reprimanded by his master that day. But it was equally possible that he was a cutpurse trying to give off as harmless an air as possible. Azmei stood and angled away from him as if she'd seen a shop she wanted to visit before they closed. When she ducked around the corner of a building and glanced back, she saw that he had continued on without looking at her. The first, then. She smiled ruefully and shook her head.
The Perslyn fabric shop was a large building with wide glass windows in front. Vividly colored fabrics were displayed in the window, draped to show the flow and texture of the fabric as well as the color. Many lamps were still lit inside the shop and the door stood open to let in the night breeze. With a satisfied smile, Azmei settled in to wait.
She wasn't as patient as some of her fellow Aspirants with the Shadow Diplomats. She had never grown to enjoy the peace of the half-trance that allowed her fellows to commune with the peace god while being somehow aware of everything around them. Master Tanvel had described it as resting assured that any disturbance of the peace would break the communion and bring him back to full awareness. Azmei had finally admitted to herself that she didn't have as much faith as the others; she opened herself to the god but also watched her surroundings.
Yet another way she was a poor servant of her chosen god.
Despite this, though, the Shadow Council had agreed that she should be tested. They judged her ready to pit herself against her selected mission and prove her worth.
Or unworth, she thought wryly. Perhaps they are just waiting for me to fall on my face.
She shook her head. Be that as it may, she still had a task here, and the god of peace would welcome her if she opened herself to him.
Cease this mental chattering, she chided herself. She let her gaze scan from one side of the square to the other, seeing that only two shops were still open. Casting her thoughts back, she didn't remember hearing the bell, but she must have been hidden here for the better part of an hour. She looked back at the Perslyn shop.
Finally! As she watched, another lamp went out. Whoever was within had finished their closing tasks and was extinguishing the lamps. Only a few more minutes. Azmei rose from where she had been crouched and began moving to limber herself after the wait. She touched the hilts of each dagger in turn, making certain they were all there and ready. She did another scan to be sure no one had noticed her.
When she looked again, a man of about twenty was locking the door of the Perslyn shop. He had already closed the shutters over the wide panes of glass. He wore what appeared to be an expensive cape, a jaunty cap on his head. He didn't look around him as he stepped away from the shop at a lively pace. Azmei waited until he had a good lead, and then started after him.
She followed him out of the trade quarter and out to the canals. He hired a boat, but Azmei had no trouble following his progress from the walkways. He had the boat stop twice to pick up others about his age, another man and three women. All were dressed for a social gathering, if not an actual ball or party. Soon a merry crowd floated along the canal. Their b
oatman made the last stop without direction from anyone. Here three more men joined the party. Azmei judged from the ease with which they arranged themselves that they had done this many times.
When the boat finally arrived at the private quarter, the Perslyn paid the boatman and the entire party shuffled off, laughing and chattering gaily. Whoever this Perslyn was, he was a popular one. Orya had seemed much more of a loner, though it was possible that had been cultivated to appeal to Azmei. All the same, Azmei found herself wondering if this Perslyn was limited only to the shop-keeping and textiles portion of the family business.
She began ducking into alleys and garden gates as the party made its noisy way along increasingly empty streets. The lights were on in most houses along this route, showing the occupants going about their nightly routines of dinner, devotions, and discussion. Azmei had to duck suddenly once when two of the party stopped to share a passionate embrace. She found herself nose to nose with a ghostly gray cat, who blinked and began to purr. Azmei smiled and petted it until the embrace was finished and it was safe to continue.
"Kesh! You took your time!" shouted a man's voice from the house as the party arrived at their destination. "I was about to begin without you."
"Don't worry, Rith, the betting doesn't start until we reach the house," replied the Perslyn who had led the way from the shop. His voice was good-natured where the other man's had been pettish and impatient. "And you'd best have a spread of food and wine waiting for me, or the betting won't start even then."
Their voices grew muffled as the entire party entered the house. The door thudded closed and Azmei was on the outside.
But she knew now which house was the Perslyn home. She knew that the man she had followed home was Orya's next elder brother, Kesh. He was one of the assassins, by all reports, though not said to be as brutish or vicious as Rith, the eldest.
Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) Page 9
