The Whisper of Silenced Voices

by C. J. Archer

  "Without knowing if they would be offered a position?"

  "It's what they said, my lord."

  He folded his arm over his chest and grasped his other, limp one at the elbow. "What prior experience did they have of being in service?"

  "Two of them claimed to have worked for noble families in their homeland."

  "Which noble families?"

  "I didn't ask, my lord."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't know the noble houses of other kingdoms, so their answers would have meant nothing to me."

  He stepped closer and sneered. "You're lying."

  "No!"

  "Freedland doesn't have nobles anymore. Those who didn't lose their heads during the revolution were stripped of their titles."

  Merdu, I was a fool. How could I have made such an obvious mistake? "I-I mean prominent families, not nobles. They worked for the rich."

  "Stupid girl." He raised his hand to strike me.

  I flung my arms over my face and ducked.

  "You're lying to me," he snarled. "Why? Why are you keeping the truth from me?"

  "No, sir, I'm not lying! If they are lies, then I am the one who has been lied to. They don't like talking to outsiders. I can't befriend them." I turned the door handle at my back.

  He slammed his hand against the door, an inch from my face. "I haven't finished with you yet. Stand over there." He jerked his head to the center of the sitting room, away from the door.

  I did as ordered, keeping him in my line of sight. My heart thumped madly in my chest, but I still had my wits. I glanced around for a weapon, and my gaze fell on the candlestick on the desk. I inched my way toward it.

  "Stop there!" he snapped. "No further."

  I stopped too far away from anything that could be used as a weapon.

  "Don't treat me like a fool, Mistress Cully." His voice was steadier and his eyes no longer held the glint of madness. Yet he looked as if he would spring toward me if I dared move.

  "You frighten me too much for me to risk lying."

  He looked satisfied, either with my answer or the effect he had on me.

  "I've tried my best, but the maids are not very forthcoming with information. I'm an outsider. They don't trust me."

  "And the captain of the guards? Does he trust you? Rumor has it you two are intimate."

  "We're not."

  "I've seen you together. You must know something about him."

  "Nothing about his past. I've tried asking him, but he brushes off my questions and changes the subject. I've tried…encouraging him to take me to his chambers, but he sleeps in the room next to the king and won't take women there. I'm sorry, my lord, but what else can I do?"

  He strode up to me and thrust his finger at my face. "Try again, and again, and again," he snarled. "Until you learn something useful. Search the maids' rooms, the master of the palace's office, anything! Merdu, I thought you were smarter than this." He paced the floor in front of the door like a restless guard dog.

  "And I thought you fair and reasonable," I shot back.

  He didn't seem to hear me as he continued to pace and mutter under his breath. "He won't be happy… I need answers…"

  I eyed the door. I couldn't reach it without him catching me. I needed to draw him away from it or make him let me go of his own free will. Fighting him off wouldn't work. Even with one functioning arm, he was stronger than me.

  "My lord, if I may ask," I ventured. "If magic were involved, shouldn't it be best left alone? Meddling might be dangerous."

  "It might be," he agreed. "But the truth must be discovered, whatever the cost."

  "For Glancia's sake?" I asked, pretending not to understand what was at stake for his king and Vytill.

  "For my sake."

  "Yours?"

  He looked at me and I saw real panic in his eyes. I'd thought it was madness, but now I realized he hadn't lost his mind. He was scared of something. Scared enough to confide in me, perhaps the only person in the palace he could confide in.

  "If I don't return home with information, I'll be executed," he said.

  I gasped. "Is that how your king punishes those who fail?"

  He looked away. "It was the agreement we came to after my predecessor died."

  According to Kitty, Lord Barborough had murdered the man originally chosen to be Vytill's representative to Glancia so that he could come here and study the palace and magic for himself. If that rumor were true, it would explain why Barborough's life was in danger if he didn't succeed in gathering information. King Philip must have used the threat of execution for murder to make Barborough do his utmost, either to organize a marriage alliance or find out if King Leon used magic. Perhaps both.

  If the rumor were true, it meant Barborough was more desperate than I realized. And more ruthless.

  I inched toward the door. "I have to leave now. I'm expected elsewhere."

  He stared at the floor near his feet and did not look up.

  Then I stepped too close. His hand whipped out and grabbed my elbow. "Very well," he said with a calmness I didn't expect. "I'll let you go. But you now have a new task. Forget the information gathering. I want you to find the gemstone."

  I concentrated on looking innocent. "A what?"

  "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I know you've heard of the king's magic gem."

  "You're mistaken. I—"

  He shook me violently. "Enough of your play acting! You are aware of the gem. That is a fact."

  I swallowed. "I am aware of it, yes. But I don't know what it does."

  "It controls the sorcerer."

  My heart rose. "So whoever possesses the gem can ask the sorcerer for three wishes?"

  "No. Only the person who found the gem can. The one who merely possesses it can't take that power away. But the one who found it must have the gem in his possession to use his wishes."

  That's why the king wanted the gem back—he did want to use one of his wishes. Unfortunately it also confirmed that Dane couldn't take the sorcerer's power for himself.

  "Find the gem for me, Mistress Cully."

  "But if you can't take the sorcerer's power for yourself, why do you want the gem?"

  "That is none of your concern. You simply need to find it. Do you understand?"

  "Yes."

  "Find it and bring it to me. You have two days." He let me go.

  I opened the door and ran my finger along the wall until I found the hidden entrance to the service corridors. Once inside, I let out a long, shuddery breath.

  Then I went in search of Dane.

  He wasn't in the garrison, but Quentin assured me he would return soon and invited me to wait. "Did you hear?" he asked as he handed me a cup of ale. "There's going to be a party tonight."

  I drank deeply, settling my nerves a little. "Will it involve theatricals and music like the last one?"

  He shrugged. "Balthazar hasn't told anyone his plans."

  That was probably because Balthazar didn't know what they were yet. "You're lucky that you get to see it. All those beautiful dresses, the music and dancing."

  "The food. Lots and lots of food. If we're lucky, they won't eat it all and we'll get the leftovers tomorrow. That's if the kitchen staff don't keep it to themselves. Cooks are the worst gluttons."

  I smiled, feeling a little more myself again. The garrison felt safe, and Quentin's innocence was refreshing after the intrigue and danger of Lord Barborough.

  "Have you seen how fat they're getting?" said one of the other guards resting his booted feet on the table. "They never used to be so big."

  "Whatever they did before they came here, it wasn't working in a kitchen," said the second guard.

  "Not with as much good food leftover anyway," Quentin added thoughtfully.

  The first guard lowered his feet to the ground and sat forward. "Some of us were real scrawny back then. Do you remember?"

  The second guard frowned. "Aye, I do. On that first day, I was starving. When the
y fed us, I ate until I threw up."

  "So did I," Quentin said. "But I also remember that not everyone was skinny. Many were, but not all."

  Did that mean they hadn’t all come from the same place? Had they lived quite different lives? Other evidence would suggest so. Some men had scars on their backs, others didn't. They were from different countries on The Fist Peninsula, some of mixed nationality, and even The Margin was represented in Erik, but most seemed to be from Freedland or appeared to have Freedland blood in them. Some had cultured accents and were educated, while others couldn't read or write. Finding a common trait between all of them was impossible.

  The door opened but my heart sank to see Balthazar, not Dane. He limped into the garrison, leaning heavily on his walking stick. He clutched a leather folder.

  "Why are you still here?" he asked me.

  "I need to speak to the captain," I said. "Have you seen him?"

  "He's gone to the village."

  I sighed. "Then I'd better go too."

  "Is it important that you speak to him?"

  "Of course, otherwise I wouldn't have remained. Contrary to what you think, Balthazar, I don't particularly like being in the palace lately."

  He narrowed his gaze. "If you return to the village, you might miss him. He wasn't going to be gone long. He had a quick meeting with the sheriff and governor."

  "Then I'll wait here, if that's all right."

  He tapped his finger against the folder and his gaze shifted between each of the guards then finally settled on me again. "This works out perfectly. You're just the person I need, Josie."

  "Me?"

  "You've got the right amount of authority without being overbearing." He leaned his walking stick against the table and opened the leather folder. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. "Read this then follow the instructions, one by one."

  The paper was a list of directions to give to members of the outdoor staff. "This is a palace servant's job," I said. "They won't listen to me."

  "Take a guard with you. He'll vouch for you and help you find the people you need."

  Quentin shot to his feet. "I'll do it."

  "Why not just let him do it alone?" I asked Balthazar. "Or one of the footmen or maids?"

  "The footmen are all busy delivering invitations and the maids have to do last minute laundry duties. This lot are hopeless. I don't trust them to do the job properly."

  "Oi!" one of the guards protested. "You calling us stupid?"

  "Yes," Balthazar said.

  The guard opened his mouth to protest then shut it again. The other chuckled.

  "Go on!" Balthazar made a shooing motion at me. "Time is running out. I have to go to the kitchen and deliver instructions to the cook."

  I headed into the service corridors clutching the paper, Quentin at my heels.

  "Where's the first stop?" he asked as he strapped on his sword belt.

  "The menagerie," I said glancing at the paper. "I didn't know the palace had one."

  He pulled a face. "I hate that place."

  "Why?"

  "It's full of birds and strange creatures."

  "Aren't they in cages?"

  "Not all of them."

  We exited the palace on the western side where the formal gardens looked empty. Most of the nobles must have received their invitations and were busy preparing for the evening. Only a few gentlemen strolled around, talking quietly in small groups, while a clutch of women hurried towards the palace as if they were late for an appointment.

  We walked past partitioned gardens with perfectly trimmed hedges and topiaries, fountains, lawns and slender trees, toward Lake Grand. The sun still hung high in the sky but scudding clouds kept it from becoming too hot. I expected to skirt the lake but Quentin headed towards the boat landing and the four gilded gondolas moored there. A gondolier sat in each boat, some lazily slumped over the pole, while one lay back, his straw hat covering his face.

  "Take us to the menagerie, Tallen," Quentin said to a youth.

  "Walk, you lazy oaf," Tallen said. "These gondolas are for the guests, not you."

  "Mistress Cully is a guest."

  Tallen looked me up and down then sniffed. "She ain't a lady guest. We only take—"

  "Shut up, Tallen," said another of the gondoliers. He dipped his pole into the water and maneuvered his craft into the gap between Tallen's gondola and the landing. "Hop in, miss. I'm Kenny, Head Gondolier." He touched the brim of his hat. "At your service. Careful, now. Take Quentin's hand."

  Quentin assisted me into the boat and I settled on the bench seat. Quentin stepped one foot in, accidentally pushing the gondola away from the landing. With one foot still on the landing, his eyes widened as his legs spread.

  "Help!" he cried.

  "Jump in," Kenny said. "No, wait!"

  His warning came too late. Quentin jumped and fell into the water. Tallen and the other boatmen hooted with laughter. Quentin scowled back at them.

  "Let's try that again," Kenny said, trying to contain his grin. "Take Mistress Cully's hand."

  Quentin climbed back onto the landing. I stood, settling my feet a little apart for balance, and put out my hand. Quentin took it.

  "Bet that happens all the time," he said, stepping into the gondola without incident this time.

  "Nope. Never."

  "Then you moved away on purpose."

  "Mistress Cully managed to get in just fine."

  "I was born and bred on the coast," I said, sitting down. "I'm used to boats. This one is quite lovely." I ran my hand over the golden serpent head on the boat's bow. It was smooth and warm.

  "I think I was too," Kenny said as he maneuvered us away from the landing. "I feel comfortable on boats. All of us gondoliers do."

  Quentin gripped both sides of the boat and watched the water slide past. "Not me."

  "I see now why Balthazar asked someone else to deliver his messages," I said, watching Kenny put his back into another stroke. The gondola slid effortlessly across the glassy lake surface. "I can't imagine him walking this far or climbing into one of these."

  "Are you helping Balthazar organize the party?" Kenny asked. "The guests disappeared as soon as word reached us. What's Balthazar got planned?"

  "You think he tells us?" Quentin said.

  "There is an instruction for you on here, Kenny," I said. "He wants all gondoliers working from dusk."

  I had begun to piece together Balthazar's plans from his list. There were another two stops we had to make. Firstly to the menagerie; then we had to find the head gardener. From what I could glean from the instructions, the menagerie would be the main site for the evening's entertainments.

  Lake Grand was larger than I realized. It was shaped like a t, and it was down the shorter cross-canal that we traveled, finally alighting at another wooden landing after what felt like an age.

  When I commented as such to Quentin, he told me it would have taken twice as long to walk. The formal gardens close to the palace had given way to a more rambling structure here, with tree-lined gravel paths winding through groves where waterfalls plunged into clear pools, and rockeries provided seating where the views were best. Finally the trees opened up to reveal a gatehouse and stone wall. Beyond it, something shrieked.

  Quentin jumped. "I hate this place."

  Several birds responded to the shriek using their own unique calls. It sounded like dozens of musicians tuning up. Quentin covered his ears as we strode through the gate.

  The other side was rather disappointing. I'd expected to see animals, but it was just a path cutting through a lush green lawn edged by high stone walls. The building at the end of the path was quite a sight, however. It was made of the same biscuit colored stone as the palace with a gilded balcony rail circling the first level. Like the palace, the domed roof was black slate. A gold spire shot from the center of the dome. As we drew closer, I realized the spire was in fact a spear, and the golden statue of a man held it aloft. It was impossible to tell from
a distance if the statue depicted Merdu or the king.

  The birds continued to welcome us with their cacophony but I still couldn't see them. Inside, positioned around the edges of the octagonal building were eight large cages, each housing a collection of exotic animals. Three contained different types of monkeys while the remainder housed lizards and snakes, an eagle, a large cat with pointed ears, something small and furry that peered out of its burrow, and a creature sleeping while hanging upside down from a branch.

  "Quentin? That you?" asked a woman of middling age. Unlike the maids and other female staff, she wore pants and a jerkin over a shirt. Her hair was dark, with threads of gray through it, cascading in a thick plait down her back. "What're you doing here? You hate this place."

  Quentin hadn't taken his eyes off the eagle's cage. "Balthazar's got a message for Wes. Is he here?"

  "I'll fetch him." She waited then finally gave a shrug. She thrust out her hand to me. "Looks like he's not going to introduce us. I'm Deanne, one of the keepers."

  "Josie," I said. "From Mull."

  "The doctor?"

  "Midwife," I clarified. "My father was the doctor."

  "Right. Sorry."

  I wasn't sure if she was apologizing for the mistake or offering sympathy for my father's death. She walked across the mosaic floor and left via a door opposite.

  I peered through the cage with the sleeping animal inside. "What a lovely creature. I wonder what it is."

  "Don't put your fingers in!" Quentin slapped my hand away from the bars.

  "It's asleep," I told him.

  "It could be pretending."

  "Why would it do that?"

  "So it could make a meal of your finger." He glanced at the eagle in the next cage. "Some of these move real fast, and have enormous teeth and claws. I've seen them eat other birds they've caught mid-air." He pulled another face. "It was enough to turn me off my dinner."

  "Where are the rest of the animals?"

  He nodded at the door through which Deanne had left. "Most are out there in the seven courtyards around this building. You can view the courtyards from a balcony or you can wander through them. The birds are harmless, so Wes reckons, but I've seen their beaks and I ain't going in. There are other animals in pens not far away, but the guests don't see them."