Jeje thought, I already fumbled. Though it didn’t make things worse, another fumble might. “That question by rights ought to go to Prince Barend—” (Was he really a prince?)”—and Queen Wisthia.”
To Jeje’s immense, almost dizzying relief, the princess gave a nod. “Well, then, perhaps our guest will have time to join us.” Her voice sharpened, but Jeje had her tongue bowsed up tight.
The footman appeared at her side. Belatedly she remembered to bow, then followed him out, sternly quashing the urge to sneak a peek backward.
Down the stairs and past a huge fountain. Running water muted sound, that Jeje remembered from her days at the Lark Ascendant pleasure house. “Good job,” the sailor-footman said as she paused at the fountain and dipped her hand in. “Many lives were still in the balance.”
The water was shockingly cold. She wrung the crystalline drops off. “Chim said the people are in the Bren navy.”
“That’s what they”—a glance upward—“told him.”
Another jab amidships.
“Oh.”
They walked away in silence, and she returned to the heights in silence, sensing that she was being watched the entire way. That’s the end of my career as a diplomat. Soon’s I report and have full dark, I’m gone.
Chapter Thirteen
THE thud of footsteps outside the door brought Barend to his feet. His fingers tapped the locket hanging inside his shirt, though there was no reassurance there.
He backed to the corner, poised for action. If they were going to kill him, they’d have to do it right here. He would not march tamely out to die for some foreigners’ entertainment.
The door swung open, and there were the guards. Looked like a flight of ’em. But they had no weapons in hand.
At the front stood a big, well-dressed fellow. “Your highness,” this fellow said, bowing with grace. “My name is Kavnarac. I’m here to apologize for the misunderstanding and to escort you to Princess Wisthia.”
Barend opened a hand, not sure what the proper protocol was around princes. Kavna’s smile increased, but his gaze flicked aside in exactly the same way Evred used to signal that they might be overhead, when they were boys.
So Barend just said, “Food’s pretty good here, but I wouldn’t mind some variety.”
Kavna laughed that laugh people give when they’re trying hard for humor, and off they went, trailing all those guards. Kavna worked away at a boring conversation about foods the continent over, with minimal cooperation from Barend. The only real comment during the entire journey through the castle, into an open two-seat carriage, down the ridge, across the river, and up the other side was Kavna’s sighing, “I would so love to go to sea.”
The carriage stopped. With an apologetic air Kavna signaled to one of the silent guards accompanying them, who returned weapons and gear to Barend as the prince said, “I trust we will have a chance to speak at leisure. I look forward to hearing some of your sea tales.”
Barend hopped out. Kavna raised a hand and the carriage departed, leaving Barend before a fine house flying three flags at the ridge pole—one of them Iasca Leror’s crimson and gold eagle.
The upper ranks of the city thus having seen the mystery man with the ruby earring taken by Prince Kavna to the ambassador’s, they were left to an evening’s conjecture as the prince returned to the royal palace.
Wisthia was also watching from inside the ambassadorial residence. She came out on her doorstep to greet Barend, sublimely unaware of the warriors stationed at intervals along the street, and the shift in expensive curtains in the grand houses surrounding them.
She led her nephew to her private salon.
There was the curvy furniture he remembered from his brief visits during childhood, the low, cushioned chairs with just enough back for support, and no thought to an assassin trying to sneak up behind. Curtains the color of the sea. Rugs. In the corner, seated on more of the curvy furniture, a trio of young women sawed and plunked away at the familiar deedle-deedle music.
He remembered his mother saying once, Wisthia isn’t stupid. She works hard at that pretence of obliviousness. That’s her only protection against your father’s suspicion.
Barend shifted from his aunt’s intense gaze to the room. The only three people in earshot were busy making noise that would keep anyone at a window or door from hearing much. The low chairs let you see all around. It’s not attack she’s warding, it’s eavesdroppers.
Wisthia settled herself, observing her nephew as he took in the room. Barend’s triangular face evoked his murdered mother so strongly that it hurt. But there was no time for the luxury of private grief. “Prince Kavnarac nearly joined you in the prison for high treason,” she said.
Barend dropped down next to her.
“It was only because of his sister’s regard for him that he didn’t. That,” Wisthia added dryly, “and the fact that it would be foolish to, say, attempt to overthrow a monarch by issuing orders to a disparate fleet of former traders, no matter how well trained. Especially one you haven’t paid in over half a year.”
Barend cursed under his breath. “I never thought about that. What it must look like. Neither did Inda. He needed a fleet, and they were forming independently.”
“They were fumbling around causing no problems until a pirate showed up and directs their fumbling into purpose. All without talking to the government, who really should have been approached first. Do begin to think,” Wisthia invited cordially. “How you Marlovans see yourselves and how the world sees you couldn’t possibly be more different. Now that we’ve dazzled them with stage-illusion, what are you really doing here?” She sipped the mulled wine her servants had brought.
Barend took a gulp of his and sighed as the warmth worked its way through him. “Trade.” He spread thin, rough-palmed hands. “Evred needs trade. The harbor cities alone—”
“Barend.” Wisthia laid two fingers on his wrist. “Why are you here?”
Barend grimaced. Inda had been firm about keeping the treasure a surprise. A secret, actually. They both agreed that Evred did not need another thing to worry about. There were too many dangerous ifs attached to the treasure, not the least of which was exactly how to turn it into something more useful than hoarded metal and stone.
He looked up. Here was just the person who could make it possible. If he could trust her. “First tell me your part in what happened after I was arrested,” he said.
“Fair enough.” She gave him a succinct account.
Barend smiled at the mention of Jeje and her opinions. When she was done he said, “Evred sent me to reestablish trade. Inda wanted to hire that fleet. To get us started.”
“Hire how? Or should I say, with what?”
Barend grimaced. “The truth is, there’s a treasure.”
“Treasure,” she repeated, taken aback. “What kind of treasure?”
“Pirate treasure. Mostly gold and jewels. Some in the form of coin, the rest in luxury things. Cups and plate and jewelry and the like. Piled up for years. Maybe generations.”
“I did not think that pirates were the sort to save.”
“Inda said a lot of it was the result of hiding royal hauls until the war fleets stop searching, but the pirate captain is killed, then the killer is killed, and so on. Somehow they always saved the book with the map in it. Until Ramis threw it in a fire. But Inda showed certain people where the treasure lies. They saw it—Inda described it.”
Her brow furrowed. “How much are we talking about? A chest?” She mimed something square sitting on her lap.
“More.”
“How much more? I can imagine a great deal, for example a set of boxes to fill this room.”
“More.”
“The house?” Her tone altered from shock to disbelief.
“Say three of these houses. But I don’t really know how big this house is.” He repeated what Inda had said of the cavern on Ghost Island. “A lot of it is underwater. I think we could fill several ships with it, ma
ybe as many as a dozen.”
Wisthia pressed her fingertips to her mouth. “In a way that’s worse than the mystery fleet. I am very glad you did not talk about this treasure to anyone, and I’m even more glad Chim thought to reveal who you were before I did, so that diplomatic courtesy kept Kliessin from dousing you with kinthus and wringing your entire past from you.”
Barend sighed. “Inda wants to use it to rescue the Iascan treasury. The kingdom’s been pretty much shipwrecked by the embargo and war. I know all about going through proper channels to turn it into credit—”
“Barend. Try to see this matter through others’ eyes. First, no Marlovan king has ever taken the least interest in diplomacy, with the result that you are profoundly ignorant. Dangerously so, because I don’t think you know just how ignorant you are. Second, you bring that much gold into any harbor at once, and you’ll throw the local economy into such turmoil you’ll have not just that king astir—” She shook her head. “No, all that is for later. You don’t even have it yet, am I right? That’s what you wanted the fleet for. There is then time for careful—very careful—negotiation. Careful, and discreet.”
She paused, thinking: I could not be a proper Marlovan mother to you, Evred my son. But I can at least be a proper ally. Out loud, “You may leave that to me. In the meantime, you are theoretically free—”
“Theoretically?”
“—though I notice Kliessin did not interview you herself. Surely you observed the armed guards everywhere? Perhaps your first step ought to begin with an act of good will.”
“Good will? Aunt Wisthia, what’s going on?”
“What’s going on is a stalemate between all the players in the harbor—from sailor to king—and that pirate fleet squatting out there in the middle of the bay. Your act of good will might be to get rid of them.”
“Pirate fleet? There are no more fleets . . . Oh.” “Pirate” in everyone’s view, perhaps, but the fleet’s. “You mean Fox is out there. With the Death. How did that happen?”
She lifted her cup in salute. “The entire city is waiting for you to tell us.”
Within a week after Convocation, Iasca Leror’s royal city had resumed regular life.
The royal couple returned to eating dinner with the Harskialdna and Harandviar; it was the only time of day that Hadand could get Evred to sit down to anything but work. Though she could not get him to lay aside kingdom affairs even that long: he almost always brought up business.
At the end of that first week of the new year, Evred said, “Inda, you haven’t begun teaching the King’s Runners your style of fighting?”
“Waited for Convocation.” Inda flattened his hand in negation. “Should I make it required? I thought we were going to run it volunteer. They have to unlearn so much.”
Evred tapped on the table. Hadand had yet to accustom herself to the differences in Evred since he’d returned from the north. The Venn were not an immediate threat, he seemed pleased with the kingdom’s progress, but he worked harder than ever, sometimes falling asleep at his desk.
He hadn’t come to her rooms once since Convocation ended.
“If I give the order,” Evred began slowly.
Inda poked a chunk of bread in Evred’s direction. “If you give the order, they’ll do it. Probably resent it, too. What’s the necessity? Vedrid has been drilling them extra hard, and we know how many your Runner to Ola-Vayir took down before they killed him last spring. And he was old.”
Evred knew why he wanted his men learning the two-knife style: because it had been developed by Fox Montredavan-An. Evred could not believe a Marlovan would design a fighting style superior to that taught at home and waste it solely on pirates. If Savarend “Fox” Montredavan-An came back with a force seeking to redress what he imagined to be the wrongs of his family, Evred wanted a force to meet them with equivalent training.
But he couldn’t find a way to bring that up and not sound like his uncle, looking for conspiracies everywhere.
Hadand and Tdor waited, Hadand watching Evred’s tense profile, Tdor’s attention on Inda, who just hunched over his bowl, spooning up his tomato-and-cheese soup as if nothing was amiss.
Maybe nothing was amiss. Evred ceased tapping, then said, “Volunteers, then. And see how it goes. Open it to any who wish to learn. Will you begin it soon?”
“Sure.” Inda’s spoon waved in a circle. “Then I get someone to practice with.” He grinned.
Tdor said, “What about us?”
Inda looked her way blankly.
“Women.” She tapped her chest. “That fighting style is based on our Odni. Some of your improvements aren’t any use to us, using men’s different balance points, but a lot of it would improve our own performance. Does ‘any who wish to learn’ include us?”
“Why not?” Inda answered, before Evred could speak. “Everyone learns it on my ships. My former ships.” Inda dropped the spoon into his bowl. “I know it’s not custom for the men and women to train together, but why not begin? No harm in it that I saw when I was at sea.”
Tap, tap, tap. Eyes turned toward the king.
“Run it as you will,” Evred said, and they turned their attention to the rapidly cooling meal.
The next morning, the half-watch before dawn, Tdor walked down to the inner court set aside for the new lessons. The air was bitter; the cold leached through the soles of her winter boots and two pairs of the thickest wool socks. She was the only woman there, though all the King’s Runners and a sizable number of the guard had turned out despite Inda’s uncompromising insistence on the extra early time.
Tdor turned her back on the men. She was the Harandviar, and she knew no one would say anything to her. But she felt all those eyes. Most were curious, many were affronted: men learned attack, women defended. If women were here, was this new style really just fancy door-guarding?
Inda began the warm-ups without any ceremony. Most of these exercises were easy because they were designed for balance as well as strength. They were also meant to get their arms working as a unit, the way the women used their knives in the Odni. Tdor cast a glance at the torchlit lines of men when she whirled and kicked, arms in the first Wind defense. She was startled to see how difficult it was for the men to use their left hands. Most jerked the left forearm back into the habitual shield position.
When Inda motioned her to a place in the middle as demonstrator, there was no sound of protest.
And so it went for the next few days.
After a week, Inda did not just have Tdor demonstrate warm-ups, he asked her to show them proper form in sparring exercises. The first time was so disconcerting she almost stumbled, flushing furiously, but Inda’s hands were steady and firm, his smile just for her. “Pretend I’m Jeje,” he whispered, and she laughed, remembering the dark-browed young woman she’d liked instantly. And had missed when Inda returned without her.
By the end of the first month, more women appeared, though they kept to one side of the parade ground, the men ceding them the space wordlessly. Fewer men were there as well, as Inda had predicted, though all the King’s Runners remained, from the boys in training to the older ones who mostly confined themselves to keeping records. He never said anything about who came or went, just taught whoever was there. Once in a while he’d choose someone out of the crowd and he wouldn’t go easy and slow. He’d set aside his knives and use only his hands, becoming a whirl of gray coat skirts until the fellow was lying on the ice-cold stones, the side of Inda’s stiffened fingers against the beating veins in his neck.
Tdor could not see what Inda saw revealed in these fellows’ movements; the men looked uniformly awkward to her, as they tried with varying success to force long-trained muscles into new patterns. She suspected some kind of challenge from the ones he picked out, which Inda answered equally wordlessly.
By the end of two months, Mistress Gand and the female teachers at the queen’s training had begun to join Tdor each morning. Hadand had ridden to Nelkereth on her promised trip
to interview people for the coveted northern post or she would have been there as well. The Runners she hadn’t taken were all there.
One morning they finished just as snow began to fall in earnest. Tdor walked away with Mistress Gand, who whacked her hands against her sides. “Fingers gone numb,” she said. “Tdor, I’m seeing some adaptations we can make. The men seem to have learned that real power comes from the belly, but they still drive it through the shoulders.”
Tdor had tucked her hands into her armpits. “Yes! I’ve been thinking the same, there’s too much upper body in their version of the Leaps, they don’t see how to use their hips—”
The women ahead parted wordlessly. Tdor broke off just as Evred strode down the passage toward them. He was rarely here for the drills—he trained with Vedrid and Kened, his First Runners.
“Carry on, everyone.” Evred touched his chest in response to the thumps of fists against thick coats. “Where’s Inda? I’ve a question.”
“Went to guard side—” Tdor began, then remembered that magic ring Evred wore, and so did Inda. She wondered if he asked out of courtesy. This thought gave her that inward prickle of worry.
Evred made a polite gesture of thanks and walked on with hasty step.
Mistress Gand was believed to be tougher than her husband by the girls under her exacting eye. Few of them saw the humor in her sun-bleached brows and lined face. “Venn on their way back?” she commented.
“I’ll order lunch,” Tdor returned. “I heard they like pickles.”
Mistress Gand hooted a laugh. They parted, Mistress Gand to drill the women and Tdor to run upstairs to Hadand’s office to attack that pile first.
So she was surprised when Inda appeared not long after, and kicked the door shut so hard the slam echoed in a sharp clap off the stone walls.
Tdor swerved on her mat, staring. She’d seen Evred angry several times since they’d come to the royal castle. He was frightening when angry, the way he turned to stone, his voice so soft you shouldn’t be able to hear it, but you did, because of the precision of his consonants.