“Did you contact the riddle keeper?”
“I did more than contact him. I stole him.”
“You what?” the second voice growls.
“He’s ours, now. He’s going to help us.”
A long, painful pause ensues. Then, “I thought you were just going to ask him the date?”
“He has more information than that,” the first voice chides. “Why not use him?”
“Fine.” The second voice sighs. “What about the purple thorn-shooter?”
“Hunter? I hired a vigilante to take care of her. She won’t be a problem for much longer. It’s the other two I’m most worried about. What if they catch on before the wedding?”
“Then we reach out to…” the voice becomes muffled for a moment, as if the speaker has leaned in to whisper a name. “He’ll help us,” she continues at normal volume.
“He might have the financial resources we need, but if he’s like his father—”
“He’s not,” replies the second voice. “I’m sure of it.”
“Fine,” the first barks. “Have you talked to him yet?”
“No. He’s still scheming against Count Malandre. He needs to be in a better state.”
The first voice tuts, disapproval dripping off each offended breath. “Count Malandre is essential. You have to tell Lord Berrel before he disrupts the plan.”
Rhydian lets out a low hiss at the sound of his name. Icy panic courses through my veins. A human wouldn’t hear it past the sound of the wind, but a dragon...
“What was that?”
“What?”
The voice quiets. “Someone’s coming. You’d best go. Time to make myself disappear.”
We fly down the remainder of the steps. I reach the door, pull, and throw myself into the open. Rhydian and I exchange terrorized glances, breathing gruffly. I lift my head, heaving for air, and spot Longley coming toward us with a wooden spoon clenched severely in her hand.
“There you are!” She freezes mid-step, eyes latched onto Rhydian. “Trouble, my lord?”
“Lord Berrel asked me to check the watchtower. He thought he saw a dragon, but he was mistaken.” I rush to her side. “Need help?” I attempt to steer her in the direction of the kitchen.
“Not anymore,” Longley grumbles. “Donja already did the dishes, lazybones. I worried when you disappeared. It isn’t good for you to be off alone with all these strange happenings.”
“I can take care of myself.” I peer over my shoulder at the door to the watchtower. Rhydian is long gone. Lady Celeste emerges, her eyes darting across the courtyard. Many servants mill about the area, and though her eyes scan their faces, they never once settle on me. Celeste frowns, her face uneasy, before she locks the watchtower door and turns away.
~ * ~
With a long, flour-covered finger, Longley points out a sack of cherries. “Pit those.”
As I wash the cherries in a bowl of water, I can’t help but dwell on the conversation in the watchtower. One of the voices was definitely Lady Celeste’s. Did Rhydian recognize it? Did he see her leave as I did? The children said they saw a dragon perched on the tower. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence then that Celeste emerged from the stairwell.
It adds up. Muuth said he’d sometimes had to kill whole families because he didn’t know who was suspect. Berrel’s mother must have been a changeling, and she passed the disease to her children. Whatever happened to his mother, anyway? How could she let Berrel’s father kill Siren, knowing what she knew? Or maybe she didn’t. Muuth said some of the changelings never knew they had been infected. Siren knew, and it appears that Celeste knows as well.
But what about the person Celeste was speaking to in the watchtower? The voice was so low and scratched, it was difficult to tell whether it was male or female. What date were they discussing? Why did they want to bring Rhydian into their plan? And why is Adom essential to their schemes? Riddle-keepers? Vigilantes?
I sigh loudly, aching to get away from the kitchen to see if Rhydian has any ideas.
“Something wrong?” Longley asks, arching an eyebrow.
“Just tired of riddles,” I mutter, slicing another cherry and ripping the seed out of it before tossing the ruby flesh into a bowl and the gray pit in a bucket. One thing was certain; they knew about one other changeling, the one they called Hunter and they wanted him or her out of the picture. Her, I correct myself. They’d referred to it as a female.
Longley wipes her forehead and accidentally paints a long line of flour on her face. “Then maybe you should spend more time with them that tell it to you straight,” she says. “I’ll say what’s on my mind, no matter how irritating, and you can take it or leave it.” Her back straightens. “I don’t like the rumors I’m hearing about you, girl. They say you’ve been seen with Count Malandre, with the murdered Lord Darton, and with Lord Faigen. They say you are sneaking around with Lord Berrel. It’s dangerous work, what you’re doing. The servants think you’re bringing bad luck to the castle.” She takes a breath and focuses on pounding dough.
Slice. Pit. Drop. I stare at her for a long moment. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re a confused young woman and you don’t know who to trust.”
Slice. Pit. Drop. “Any pointers to help me sort through my confusion?”
“Leave the nobles to their dark affairs. They aren’t interested in you. Only how they can use you to their gain.” She grabs a rolling pin and begins to flatten the dusty dough. “Trust the ones who’ve opened their doors to you, fed you, protected you from Cydra. They’re the ones who truly care about your well-being. Don’t take them for granted.”
The other voice had said she’d taken care of the housekeeper’s son. Does that mean they killed Cydra’s son? “It isn’t about my well-being,” I say softly. “I want to protect them, too.”
“Then stay away from those who wish harm on your real friends.”
I pull my lower lip inside my mouth. Does Longley even know what’s really going on with the nobles? Changelings and scorchings, lies and revenge? She’s warning me about people who could harm me, but does she realize that the real threats are monsters and murderers, not womanizers or classism? Their affairs are so much darker than she could imagine.
~ * ~
Three raps on Rhydian’s door produces a paler-than-usual face. “Are you well?”
He pulls me into his room and slides the door shut. He presses me against the broad, mahogany door and stares into my face, wide-eyed and panting, his hand splayed against solid wood. “I have no idea who to trust or where we can go to talk privately. Do you think we’re safe here?”
I push against his unyielding chest. “I think we at least have a wider berth than just these three inches?”
“Apologies.” He steps away and begins pacing. “What did you make of that conversation in the watchtower earlier? I’m sorry I fled. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I don’t know.” I stare at the ceiling for a long moment, debating on whether or not to reveal that it was his sister. “Did you recognize the voices?”
Rhydian nods. “I heard Celeste, but I didn’t recognize the person she was speaking to. I hoped you might know.” His fingers compulsively find their way to his mouth, and he works on the nails of his two middle fingers, distressed. “Any ideas?”
Relief blossoms in my chest when he names his sister—at least I don’t have to break that news to him—but it’s quickly replaced by chagrin. The more I involve him, the greater the danger to his life. “It sounded like someone she’s hired to help with a problem.” I leave out the part where Adom and King Siles speculate that Leviathan and Cinderrider might be a nobleman and a servant in court. Could it be a noblewoman and a servant, instead?
Rhydian’s eyes meet mine. “You think it’s a dragon-related problem?”
“The child
ren did say they saw a dragon land on the watchtower.”
“They saw a large bird,” he insists.
“Why would your sister hide in the watchtower? And whoever she was talking to made it sound like they didn’t want to be seen, either.” I expel a breath. “Cydra’s son died. I think that’s who the other person was talking about when he or she made the comment about taking care of the housekeeper’s son. Why would they bring that up?”
He taps his finger against his lips. “How and when did Cydra’s son die?”
“I don’t know, but I can ask around.”
Rhydian shakes his head. “It wasn’t the only reference to murder they made. They hired someone to kill a person named Hunter. Malandre is, apparently, essential to their plans. And they want to bring me in on it at some point.” He resumes pacing, until I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. Then he looks down at me, defeated. “I thought Celeste was spared the brunt of the family scandal. She was the youngest child, and was away at school when my father…” He balls his fist. “Why would she risk her position now? What is she plotting?”
“Maybe you could ask her directly?”
He covers his eyes with a hand. “No more sneaking around. I’ll ask tomorrow.”
It feels a little low to play him like this, when he is already down, but I have to plant the thought in his head. “Would your mother know anything about Celeste’s plan?”
“My mother?” His head snaps up. “She died after Celeste was born.”
“Oh,” I say, fixing my eyes to the ground.
“We were raised with wet nurses and nannies, so I can’t even recall her face.” He stalks over to the side bar, pours brandy from a decanter and gulps it down. “Maybe the family pool is tainted. My mother might have been the only normal one among us.” He crooks his head. “And what about your parents?”
“They died in a dragon scorching.”
He lets out a curse. “I wish I had known before I said such callous things to you.”
“Don’t be sorry. I know you still question my account.”
“Something traumatic must have happened for you to hold fast to these convictions.”
There’s no point in disagreeing, so I let his insinuation slide.
~ * ~
When I return, Patience has dinner ready for me. Later we go out to spar and shoot arrows until my shoulder blades ache and my lungs hurt from gasping. She assures me I’m getting better, and in spite of the skill gap between us I do feel much improved. I’ve slept better at Patience’s place than I ever have in my life, and I don’t know if it’s the food, the fact it feels more like a family between us than I’ve had in a long time, or the physical, aggressive exercise she makes me participate in that accounts for the rested nights.
Today, however, Patience doesn’t let me sleep. Instead, after we take turns bathing and resettle by the hearth, she asks if I could watch Lord Faigen for her. “Just for tonight,” she promises. “I can’t explain it, but I don’t trust he’s safe on his own. With the day I’ve had—”
“You don’t need to explain,” I say, patting her knee. “Tell me where he is and I’ll gladly watch over him.” I omit that this could be my chance to get him to talk if he’s cognizant enough.
She passes along directions to the room and before I know it I am in a different wing of the castle, sitting alongside Faigen’s bed, dabbing his sweaty brow with a wet rag.
“You’re safe here.” I reconsider my words. “We’re safe with you here.”
Lord Faigen remains unconscious throughout the night. He moans often and thrashes in the bed with painful gasps. Does he dream of dragons and fire? His legs took the brunt of the brutal scorching. I peel back bandages and smear on more salve. He’s lucky. The burns seem about as severe as intense exposure to the sun. The claw cuts on his chest are worse.
“Harminy,” he moans.
My hand stills. I draw in a breath to still the quivering of my heart. Wringing out the rag with one hand, I lift Faigen’s head so I can pour water into his mouth.
“Must warn… Celeste…”
What did he just say? I hold my breath. A fierce wave of trepidation falls over me. Faigen’s head falls against the pillow. I let out a small gasp. Then a shadow clouds the wall and I turn my head the opposite way to greet the intruder. Adom stands at the doorway.
“How did you get in?” I ask. “The door was locked.”
He disregards the question. “I went looking for you to tell you I’m going on a trip, and to ask you questions about Lord Faigen. What do you know?”
“Ryrick brought him to me last night. It’s a dragon burn. I was going to tell you, but Ryrick said he sent word to the king and I figured he’d tell you about it.”
“He did, but we were trapped in meetings all day. This is the first moment I’ve been able to check in. Did you learn anything else from him? When did it happen? Where?”
“No, I don’t know anything else, but I’m hoping when he wakes I can get him to talk. Ryrick found him on the stairwell, so we don’t know where he’d been.”
Adom closes the door behind him. He approaches the bed and sinks beside me, his knee touching mine. “He isn’t a changeling,” he pronounces.
“How do you know?”
“Look at the burns. A changeling can walk through a natural fire without injury. He can survive a blast from a full grown dragon and look like he’d only spent a few hours too long in the sun. How long has he been here? Hours? He should be fully healed by now.”
“So he’s just a human. Another scorch victim.” I drop a second rag in the basin of bloody water and set an empty pitcher on the desk. “Do you know the name Harminy?”
Adom frowns. “Not in polite society, no.” He stands from the bed, casting another unhappy glance in Lord Faigen’s direction. Poor Adom. Wherever he travels, people die. An unfortunate side effect of being a dragon changeling.
“Is anyone related to Lord Faigen with that name?”
His forehead furrows. “A cousin who’s fallen on hard times. She’s shunned from society because of her business endeavors. She lives in Southside.”
Her name sounds familiar, and the more I think about it the more I’m sure I’ve heard it before. A vague memory of my first meeting with Faigen floats into my mind. Wasn’t there a woman there, at the tavern? Didn’t she call herself Harminy? And she looked desperate, like she needed Faigen’s help. “I’ll visit her,” I breathe. “She may have information.”
Adom’s eyelids narrow. “The south side of the city isn’t safe.”
My eyes dart restlessly to the door. His nearness induces borderline panic. “Then I’m the perfect person for the job.” I smile weakly. “Patience is teaching me how to use a bow and arrow and how to swordfight. This will be a test of my skill.”
After a moment, he nods and slides his hands into his trouser pockets. “Do you want me to come with you?” he offers in a voice that sounds just a little bit too casual.
But hadn’t he just said he was going on a trip? He’s suggesting putting it off to escort me through the dangerous city. What—does he think I can’t do it by myself? It galls me when I remember that my last experience with the city involved being grabbed and locked up in a cellar. And Adom had to rescue me. I’m not about to let him assume I’m the same woman.
“I’m not afraid,” I breathe, nostrils flaring.
His mouth quirks up. “I never suggested you were.”
“And I’m more than capable on my own.”
“I know you are. That doesn’t mean I don’t have the instinct to protect you.” His eyes dilate. “I only came to tell you that it’s time for me to pay a visit to Onyx. If I spend too many days away, Ona’s control starts to tighten. I need to remind them of my strength.”
By that, I know he means he’ll need to accept challenges and battle other dragons to p
rove his dominance. “Please be careful. Ona made some threats—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I lower my head. “Check on Muuth, too, will you? I know he’s done things, but…”
“You worry about him, too?”
I turn honest eyes onto Adom. “He was my only friend for twelve years.”
He runs a thoughtful finger across his cheek. “I’ll tell him you’re safe and you miss him.”
Mixed feelings wrestle in my gut. Relief at Adom’s respect—he never brought up the kidnapping incident. Pleasure at his appreciation. Deep, tumultuous terror. My eyes stray to the bed.
“It’s hard to explain why I care about him,” I say softly. “He told me what he did to you. He told me everything about his life before Onyx. About all the violence he committed. I am repulsed by him. But everything he did—he didn’t do it to me. He took care of me when I was a child. Made me food, gave me things, and told me stories so I wasn’t scared. He remembered my name day, and kept a calendar scratched on the walls of the cave so he could give me gifts. He defended me. I always thought he was half-mad. And now I know why. I was raised by a madman, Adom. But he loved me just the same.”
“I don’t begrudge you your love for Muuth,” Adom says softly. “I’m glad you had him in your life. Somehow you turned out quite well, and that is to his credit, not mine.”
“I don’t know about that. You haven’t seen the drawings on the cave wall.”
~ * ~
Even though I told Adom I didn’t need an escort, I can’t think of a good quick alibi to leave the castle until Rhydian comes along and asks if I can help him find a present for his sister’s wedding. It’s such a harmless request, without any of the intrigue and sneaking around we’ve done so far. It’s as if he wants to spend time with me regardless of what else is going on with his sister and my connection with his sworn enemy. While we have a million things we could have talked about in the downtown marketplace—did he ask his sister about the watchtower conversation? Is he still convinced I didn’t live on an island south of Cornoc?—instead we talk about idiocy like will this blanket match her rug, and does that goblet come in pairs. When we’re done at the marketplace, I let him know that I’m going to take a detour to Southside. I tell him I want to go alone, but when he asks for details I fill him in on the basics: Faigen has a cousin who lives there and may know something.
Slither Page 22
