I’m honestly shocked when Rhydian offers to come along—this isn’t his world any more than it is Adom’s. He even stops to buy clothes off a street tailor so that he doesn’t look like a fancy target for thieves. After a brisk walk to Southside and a long stretch of door-to-door inquiries, we finally stumble across a shantytown on the far end of Foghum. We’ve been directed to an old house on the end of a cluttered street. Flecks of gray paint peel from ramshackle walls. The window has cracks, places spiders claim as web territory. I lift my hand to knock on the door, half-wanting to cover my mouth to keep from breathing the repugnant fish oil scents seeping through the door.
“Who’s there?” someone screeches from within.
I withdraw my fist from the rotting door, and glance at Rhydian, flustered. He has a handkerchief to his nose, yet still offers me a weak smile. “Miss Harminy?”
A large woman with beefy hands comes to the door, swinging the hinges so wide they should have snapped. Her hair reminds me of one great rat’s nest, complemented by a face and arms covered in black soot. “I’m her chimney sweep,” she says in a deep, gravelly voice. She needn’t have explained herself; I can guess her profession based on the smell.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply taking her hand firmly in my own.
The woman gapes. “What are you touching me for?” She ogles. “Your hands are all lily-white and shouldn’t be stained with my soot.”
As I struggle to understand the dialect, I withdraw my arm. Dirt doesn’t bother me. I share a look with Rhydian again. He’s dressed down, but still we look out of place on this street, next to a pair of blind, scraggly beggars and a lunatic playing a broken instrument and cackling to himself. We didn’t pick anything out from the market today, although we narrowed it down to two gifts, and I’m glad of that. A fancy package would have drawn the wrong kind of attention.
“Where are you from?” I ask the chimney sweep.
“Eppax,” comes the woman’s curt response. “Come from hill country.”
I’ve heard of Eppax before. My papa mentioned it once or twice when he returned from his trips to Foghum city.
“Hear it’s beautiful country.” I smile. “Never been there myself.” I can’t think of anything more to say, and the woman just stares blankly. Rhydian rocks back on his boots, clearly uncomfortable. “Can you tell me where Miss Harminy is?”
She bobs her head. “She’s in the back room. Come in.”
As we step inside, a putrid rotting fish smell fills my nostrils. “Don’t mind the smell,” mutters the woman. “It’s her sick girls.” She shows us to the parlor, and I sink into a chair. Sheep wool spills out like entrails from ripped pillows. Rhydian feels the seat cushions carefully before taking a seat on the chair beside me. His mouth turned down, he appears stiff and in physical distress. I put a hand over his and squeeze gently.
“Wait here,” the woman instructs us before disappearing down a dark hall.
We wait. Upstairs, I can hear a moaning sound, like an alley cat or sick dog. One of her ailing children? Someone enters the room, and I pull my hand away from Rhydian, suddenly self-conscious. The woman closes the door behind her and approaches us.
“Miss Harminy?” Rhydian inquires.
A stick-thin woman, Miss Harminy wears her blonde hair braided in one long coil behind her back. For all appearances, she has the look of an aristocrat. Only heavy bags beneath her blue eyes and the fine lines around her mouth reveals she’s fallen on hard times.
“Let’s be frank,” she says, reclining on the couch across from us. “I run a discreet business. Men come in and out of here all the time. They don’t anticipate their wives’ reprimands because I see to it their wives never know.”
Discreet business? I weave my fingers together in distress, unsure how to respond.
“I have many connections with people in power. Prying eyes and wagging tongues are not welcome in my home. They will be dealt with harshly.”
“Miss Harminy, I—”
“Tell me,” she leans over and places an elbow on a satin pillow. “Which one of them sent you?” Her keen eyes wait for my response, measuring me in a way that makes my blood run cold. She wants to bribe me, or bargain with me.
“Sent me?”
“Which wife?”
Heat burns my face. “No one sent me.”
Rhydian clears his throat. “You misunderstand.”
She examines me anew. Chills tingle my spine. “Ah. I see.” Her voice takes on a honeyed tone. “So you want work?”
“Work? No, I—”
“You have a lover who comes here?”
Red blooms on Rhydian’s face. I stand. “I’m here to ask about your cousin, Lord Faigen.”
At once, her cool demeanor dissipates. Two blotches color her cheeks. She fans her face with one hand; the other flutters over her dress, motions as anxious as a butterfly’s wings. “How’d you know?”
I note brown stains on the dress. “Lord Faigen is a… friend of ours.”
She draws her braid over her shoulder. “Are you in love with him?”
I return to my seat. “No. But he’s in trouble. Can you help?”
“In trouble? How?” This revelation seems to visibly upset Miss Harminy.
“He was scorched by a dragon last night,” Rhydian says.
The thin woman’s face crumples. I stand again and awkwardly pat her hair. “I… always warned him… too impetuous for his own… good.”
“He’s not dead,” I murmur.
Her head shoots up. Tears shimmer on dirty cheeks. She thumbs them away.
“He’s someplace safe.”
“Someplace safe? Where?”
“I can’t say.” I glance again at Rhydian, who is leaning forward, eagerly listening to our conversation. I hate lying to him, but with Celeste involved in changeling business I don’t know if I can completely trust him. And I definitely can’t trust Harminy. “But I saw him last night, and I can assure you he’s much improved.”
“They probably sent him to a convent,” Miss Harminy mutters.
I school my face carefully so Harminy doesn’t guess that I know where Faigen is being kept. “Do you know about his dealings the past few days? People he’s come in contact with? Maybe he went somewhere recently that stands out in your mind?”
Harminy’s back straightens. “I may.”
“Please,” Rhydian says. “We need the information to protect him.”
“From what?” Her voice turns brittle like toffee, but bitter like rancid milk.
“People who might want to kill him in his…vulnerable state,” I answer directly.
Faigen is a knight, and so it doesn’t come as a shock to Harminy he’d be burned by a dragon. But as a minor lord with affluence in the community, I can easily imagine any countless number of people won’t mind seeing him dead. From the gossip I overheard among the ladies who accompanied Lady Celeste last night, Faigen’s interests obviously extend beyond me. I recall the insinuations made by the guard at the gate on the day Faigen brought me to the castle. Surely Harminy could believe her cousin, although well-loved by some, also maintained grave enemies.
“I think you probably understand the kind of discretion we need right now,” I add.
“What people?” Harminy demands. “Who’s after my cousin?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” I say. “We just don’t know enough at this time.”
“It’s likely there was foul play involved in his injury, so we’re retracing his steps,” says Rhydian. “Anything you know could help us determine his last actions.”
Miss Harminy folds her hands in her lap, her head lowered. “He was here four days ago. He had a lady friend with him. When she spoke, I could hardly tell it was a woman. She sounded as though someone had poured acid down her throat.”
“Did you catch her name?
” he asks.
“I did,” she acknowledges, her eyes downcast. “Faigen called her Siren.”
Rhydian makes a noise like he’s choking. I put a hand on his knee and squeeze. He grasps me and returns the squeeze. His grip hurts—I glance at his white-knuckled fingers.
“What did she look like?” he asks.
“Tall and thin, with pointy features and a pretty manner about her.” Miss Harminy shrugs. She purses her lips. “She wore all white. And I remember them talking about the dragon scorchings.” At last, she meets eyes with me. “That’s all I can remember.”
I mask my excitement. “Can you tell me what they did here?”
She gawks. “They must have been lovers, of course. Why else would they have come?” She straightens. “They left in the morning. Faigen left a bag of gold on his pillow—the usual amount. I haven’t seen either of them since.”
~ * ~
As we leave, Rhydian walks ahead of me several paces and doesn’t stop to look back. I quicken my pace to catch up with him. He won’t look down at me, not even when I take his hand. Something is very, very wrong with him. “I’m so sorry, Rhydian. It must be a shock.”
“Obviously she’s lying,” he says with grim-faced determination, staring straight ahead.
“Is there a chance your sister survived?”
“I saw her body go into the ground.”
“Nightshade won’t kill a dragon. It will only make them sleep.”
Rhydian stares at me with cold, disbelieving eyes. “What are you suggesting?”
I return the stare, setting my mouth in a tight silence.
“You really think my sister was a dragon? That she faked her death?”
“I don’t know what to think. If Count Malandre thought she was—”
He takes a significant step back and throws his hands between us. His pupils dilate, and when his eyes settle on me they are unfamiliar. “Count Malandre is a lunatic, and so are you.”
“Rhydian.”
“Stay away from me, Elanor. You’re poisoning my thoughts the same way Malandre poisoned Siren’s. The same way my father poisoned her.”
“You have to at least consider—”
“I trust you can find your way home from here? Yes? Good. I’ll take my leave now.”
He storms away, leaving me standing in the middle of the street, a funny aching feeling in the pit of my restless stomach. I breathe deeply, in spite of the stench, and tuck my cloak around my frame so I can walk through the streets without drawing too much attention. The sun is drooping in the horizon, and I’m not exactly sure where the castle is in relation to this street, but this time I’m determined not to be a victim. I walk with sure, purposeful strides, eyes straight ahead, no hesitation in my movements. I see thieves and drunkards and make bold eye contact.
A man steps in line behind me and begins following me as I turn a corner. My heart quickens. I increase my pace. He does the same. I slow down. He follows suit.
I turn around. “Are you following me?”
He reaches for me with broad, greedy hands.
I pull out the knife Patience gave me and hold it high between us. “One step closer, and I’ll cut out your eyes.”
The man throws his hands in the air. “No harm intended.” He takes a slow step backward. “I’m not interested in the ones who’ll fight back.” He spits at my feet.
“One day, someone will carve you so you aren’t interested in anyone ever again.”
The man slinks away without a reply.
I turn and continue my trek to the castle. I can’t shake the feeling that someone is following me. I turn again, twice, but there is no one there I can see.
Finally, I reach the steps to the back entrance of the palace. The guards recognize me and let me in without fuss, and on the other side of the gate I let out a stunted breath of relief.
ELEVEN
Patience corners me before I can swipe a dinner tray and head upstairs to Lord Faigen’s sick room. She stands tapping at the ground with one foot. “And where are you off to?”
“Just to check on…” I lower my voice to a whisper, “our patient.”
“Ryrick’s with him,” she replies. “Don’t you want to come out to the arena with me?”
If Ryrick is with Faigen, I’ll need to wait for a better time to get information from him. I need to find Rhydian and make sure he’s...make sure he’s okay. He said he wanted me to stay away from him, but he can’t really mean it. Can he?
“Actually, I was thinking about heading into the forest to restock our supplies. If you have a list of things you need, I’ll look for them.”
Patience glances at the low ring of dying sunlight. “Not at this hour.”
I smile at her, but she doesn’t seem amused. “I’ll be fine.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “What has gotten into you? You disappeared today, and when I checked with Ryrick he said you’d gone with Lord Berrel to pick out a present for his sister’s wedding.” She gives me a look that tells me she thinks the response I gave Ryrick was rubbish. “I saw how Berrel looked at you when he showed up at the clinic. I don’t believe for a minute that you two were picking out presents at the market.”
“It’s complicated,” I say, grimacing.
Patience is silent for a long moment. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
I glance at her feeling a peculiar desperation I’ve never felt before. “I want to tell you. But it’s...I just don’t…” My voice falters.
She holds up a hand, mercifully cutting me off. “I told you before that you didn’t need to tell me anything.” She sucks in a breath.” But you’re lying, Elanor. And not very convincingly, I might add.” Her eyes stare at me, crushing me with their disappointment. “Look, if you need my help, just ask. And for goodness sake, don’t disappear for hours on end without telling me, leaving me to hear your half-baked lies coming out of my father’s mouth.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I lower my head, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought maybe a dragon had gotten to you.” Now I hear the tears in her voice.
“I’m not used to people worrying over me.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but a nobleman flings open the door to the kitchen and lets out a vigorous, terrified gasp. “Help!”
“Lord Taggart? How can we assist?”
“It’s Princess Ora. She’s locked herself in her room and refuses to come out.”
Patience frowns. “The palace guards could—”
“It’s a delicate matter. It could inflame the situation to include them.” He looks at me, as if skeptical of my abilities. Then he turns to Patience. “You. Do you know of anyone who could coax the Princess out? She’s in a fragile state, emotionally, and it’s all my fau—” He stops and abruptly covers his mouth with both hands.
“I’m the castle physician. It’s my job to talk to people about what ails them.”
Lord Taggart nods with enthusiasm, his hands dropping to his sides and his jowls jiggling. “Yes. That’s exactly who she needs. Please come quickly.”
Patience crooks a finger, indicating I should follow her.
Lord Taggart swings around. “Not you!” he says, glaring at me as if I’ve somehow insulted him. “We need discretion.”
“She’s my assistant,” Patience insists. “She could help.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine, Patience. I have the other chores to attend to.”
“Please don’t go to the woods tonight,” she begs.
“Why?”
“Just please,” she pleads.
I realize that she has no real reason to ask. She’s just worried about me going in there alone. The dragon scorchings have her all frazzled, and she actually cares about me.
I gesture to the door. “Go ahead. Fix people. I promis
e not to go to the woods tonight.”
They leave, and I head to Rhydian’s room to see if he’s cooled down after our encounter at Miss Harminy’s house. I knock, and wait, and knock a second time but he doesn’t answer. Maybe it is more than just his shock at hearing his dead sister’s name. Maybe he really doesn’t want to see me ever again. Even thinking it makes my heart hurt.
Sighing, I start back toward the kitchen. Longley doesn’t have any work for me, so I decide to return to Patience’s clinic and wait to hear about Princess Ora. I’m sure it’ll be a fascinating story. But as I cross the courtyard, a flash of color in the woods arrests my movement. It looks like a bit of metal, gleaming from between the trees. Something hanging, perhaps? A helmet or a piece of armor resting on a tree branch? It’s odd enough for me to shove down the pang of guilt I feel, change course, and steer for the glinting bit of light. Patience did say she didn’t want me going into the woods. But on the other hand, Adom did ask me to look for changelings. I’ll just take a quick look at what this light is before heading back home.
As I move forward, it withdraws. I pause mid-step, and stare forcefully at the spot. Another flash, this time in a different spot, still high off the ground. Now my heart hammers, because there is only one thing I can think of that can move so quickly, has a sheen that refracts the light as bright as an open flame, and is agile enough to move from tree to tree without shuddering the branches.
A dragon.
Since it isn’t making itself known, and since it hasn’t blown me to smithereens as yet, I suspect it knows I’m watching and expects me to follow.
Adom doesn’t hang on trees. It could be Fire Breather or one of the other changelings. I could be walking into a trap. But if I don’t follow, I could miss the chance to confront Lord Darton’s killer, the same person I suspect also attacked Lord Faigen.
Slither Page 23
