Authors: Sharon Shinn
Jiramondi laughed out loud, the sound so unexpected and so welcome after these last dreary days that Corene laughed right along with him. “You’re right—I’ve given you too much credit,” he said. “You’re probably as shallow and small-minded as the next girl, you just had a better upbringing.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I was raised by a woman who noticed and cataloged everyone’s deficits,” Corene said cynically. “Not because they revolted her, but because she might need to exploit them at some point in the future. My father makes it a habit to know every man’s weak spot, too, but he’s usually not planning to use it against the other man. He just wants to know when and how that person might fail him.”
“That must have been a delightful household.”
“They didn’t live together. And there were plenty of other influences at court that helped shape me, for good or for ill. But I don’t think
I became a nice person—well, as nice as I actually
am
, which isn’t as nice as I should be—until I started spending time with my sister and my stepmother. And I learned that you don’t have to scheme and you don’t have to outsmart people and you don’t have to be
better
than everyone else all the time. You just have to be you, even if
you
aren’t perfect.”
“Now there’s a lesson Sarona never learned,” Jiramondi said. “She only liked perfect people.”
“Do you think she actually cared about Greggorio? Or did she just think he was the most likely heir to Filomara’s throne?”
“I think it was all the same thing to her. He’s always been the most likely heir because, of the three of us, he’s the closest to perfect—the reasons she liked him are the reasons Filomara still favors him. Did she actually love him? I don’t know. But I don’t think it would have pained her soul to marry him. As it would have pained her to marry Garameno or me.”
“Even if you’d been named the heir?”
“Maybe even more so then,” he mused. “Because the bitterness of our—drawbacks—would have poisoned the sweetness of her life.”
“Well, you’ve convinced me,” Corene said. “I’m glad she’s dead.”
• • •
B
ut gladness was in short supply throughout the rest of the palace. At Filomara’s request, Liramelli and Greggorio traveled with the body to the estate Sarona’s parents owned some fifty miles from Palminera to attend the funeral as the empress’s representatives. Corene could not imagine how strained conversation must have been during that long, uncomfortable ride. She could only be glad she hadn’t been in the carriage.
Like Corene, Alette was a stranger to Malinqua and had never been friends with Sarona, so she could hardly be weighed down by grief over the other woman’s death. In fact, during the next nineday, Alette showed as much animation as Corene had ever seen. She loved the yellow shawl Corene and Melissande had brought her from the Great Market, and she started wearing it every day. She showed up for every meal, she occasionally joined the other women for strolls through the
garden, and she attended the impromptu evening sessions Corene had started hosting in her room just to chase away the gloom of the dinner conversation.
It was an odd group, Corene had to admit—bubbly Melissande, exotic Alette, matter-of-fact Steff, and watchful Foley. And herself. She wasn’t sure she could think of a single adjective she’d want for her own description.
They spent much of their time playing penta, of course. Alette had proved a surprisingly quick study, winning the first few hands so decisively that they couldn’t help but accuse her of cheating. She had shown her rare smile and said, “It is very similar to a game we have in Dhonsho. My sisters and I played it often.”
“And did you always win?” Steff inquired, raking up the cards and shuffling them again.
“Of course not. My sisters were all very good at the game.”
“You’ll have to teach us Dhonshon games when we get tired of penta,” Corene said.
“Tired of penta? But is such a thing possible?” Melissande demanded. Of all of them, she was least engaged by the card game. But, of course, she couldn’t bear to be excluded from any social gathering, so she endured it.
Steff dealt the cards and they all studied their hands. “That fellow was here again to see the empress,” he said idly.
“We have no idea who you’re talking about,” Corene said. “What fellow?”
“Renalto. The one who runs some biological lab—you met him, Corene. The one who tested my blood.”
Melissande feigned alarm. “Tell us quickly! Are they testing you again? Have they decided you are an imposter after all?”
He grinned. “No—well, not that I know of, at any rate. Apparently people at his facility studied Sarona’s body before it was sent home, and he was here to tell Filomara what they’d determined about how she died.”
He fell silent, studying his cards again, seeming unaware of the fact that the rest of them were staring at him.
“Well?” Corene demanded. “What
did
they determine?”
He looked up, surprised. “Oh, I don’t know. She sent me from the room.”
Corene made a growling noise in the back of her throat. “You are the most
useless
man.”
Steff shrugged and laid down the low cards in the suits of fish and skulls. Everyone else showed their own low cards, and Melissande took the bid.
Foley spoke up while they played the first round. “If training yard gossip is correct, these scientists decided that Sarona took her own life,” he said. “They found a knife near the body and evidence that the arteries in her throat were cut. Jaggedly and badly, which made them think the wounds were self-inflicted.”
Melissande shuddered delicately. “I could not do such a thing. I could not abide the pain.”
Corene carefully did not look at Alette, who had already proven she was willing to take her own life. But the Dhonsho girl didn’t seem to mind suicide as a topic. “There are drugs that they say will kill you quickly and easily,” she said. “But the people I’ve seen who died that way didn’t look peaceful to me. Bleeding to death isn’t so bad. You grow tired and then you sleep. It doesn’t hurt as much as you might think.” She played a card. “It’s living that is sometimes too painful to endure.”
Corene leaned over to briefly lay her hand on Alette’s forearm. “I wish you hadn’t lived a life that made that true.”
Alette gave her one long, serious look. “Thank you,” she said.
Steff tapped a card against the table, frowning. “That’s not right,” he said.
“What’s not right? Your card? Alette’s life?” Corene demanded. “You’re always so obscure.”
He put the chosen card back and played another one. “Sarona couldn’t have killed herself.”
“There is no possible way you could know that,” Corene answered.
But Foley was nodding. “I thought the same thing.”
“But why?” Melissande exclaimed. “What evidence could you have?”
Steff glanced at Foley. “There wasn’t enough blood.”
“Exactly,” Foley said.
“I admit I did not stand there gazing at the body for hours, but I saw plenty of blood,” Melissande declared.
“She was wearing a white jacket. She was covered with a white blanket,” Steff said. “If she’d cut her own throat, the blood would have soaked everything. I’ve slaughtered enough livestock on the farm to know how that goes. There was blood on the jacket, but the blanket was almost clean. She was killed someplace else, then taken down the tunnel.”
Foley was nodding. “Most likely she was killed in the palace. If you live here and you end up with a body on your hands, you don’t have too many places to dispose of it. Since we know from experience how hard it is to leave the grounds without being seen.”
“But then that means—that means—” Melissande could not seem to get the words out.
“She was murdered,” Corene said flatly.
Steff nodded. “The more I thought about it after we found the body, the more convinced I was.”
“But who killed her?” Melissande said.
“Well, that’s the question, of course,” Steff replied.
“I don’t think it was Greggorio,” Corene said. “Though he would be the obvious suspect.”
“He is too kindhearted,” Melissande agreed.
“He’s too weak,” Alette said sternly. When they all gaped at her, she nodded emphatically. “It takes a great deal of nerve and conviction to kill someone. I do not believe Greggorio is that strong.”
“I suppose in a way that’s a compliment,” Corene said doubtfully.
“In a way,” Alette said, equally doubtful.
“And I don’t think Filomara killed her,” Corene said.
“Not with her own hands, no, but could she have ordered such a thing done?” Melissande asked. “I do not think
she
is too weak to flinch at murder.”
Alette was nodding, but Foley shook his head. “She didn’t do it,” he said. “The body would never have been found if the empress was responsible. She’s the one person who
could
have gotten a corpse off the premises—
aided
by the guards, not stopped by them.”
“A most excellent point!” Melissande approved. “So we have now eliminated two suspects.”
“Though I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Filomara
wanted
her dead,” Corene said.
Melissande nodded. “Yes, because she disliked Sarona’s relationship with Greggorio,” she said. “I do think Greggorio is the key here. He might not be the killer, but someone at the palace didn’t like how close he was to Sarona. He paid attention to her—so now she’s dead.”
Alette played an unexpected trump and elicited groans from everyone else at the table. Her voice was placid when she said, “If that’s the case, then the next person to be murdered will be me.”
Shock created space for a brief, airless silence, and then they all spoke at once. Corene was the one who managed to talk the loudest. “What do you
mean
?” she demanded.
Alette laid down a high horseshoe, and everyone numbly followed suit, still staring at her. “Greggorio has been very kind to me,” she explained. “Until these last few days, he was the only one at the palace I thought might be a friend. It was not a—what is the word you use?—a boy-and-girl thing between us.”
“Not romantic,” Melissande murmured.
“Exactly. Merely, he saw I was unhappy and asked how he could help.”
“He carried messages for you,” Corene guessed. “That’s how you got news from home that Filomara hadn’t read.”
“Yes.”
“That
was
kind,” Melissande agreed. “But I myself did not realize there was any kind of special bond between you, so perhaps it is not widely known.”
“You’re not jealously trying to win yourself a crown,” Foley reminded her.
Her smile was blinding. “But I am!”
Corene frowned at Foley. “You’re saying that Jiramondi and Garameno are the most likely murder suspects.”
“There are other people who covet the throne,” he said quietly. “The empress’s brothers, for instance.”
“Yes, I always overlook them because they are never here at court,” Melissande admitted. “But it seems they have always been interested in the succession.”
“Very interested,” Corene said. “Jiramondi told me that everyone thinks Filomara’s two oldest brothers poisoned each other in a fight over the throne.”
“But there are many others equally invested in the succession,” Foley went on. “Such as the prefect.”
“Liramelli’s father?” Steff said in outrage. “That’s an insult!”
“I like Harlo, too,” Corene said to him. “But we have to put him on the list of possibilities.”
“No, we don’t! We don’t have to put anybody on the list! It’s not up to us to
make
a list!”
She watched him steadily. “It is, if we want to survive this particular game. If someone wants to dispose of all rivals to the throne, there’s another list and your name is at the top of it.”
He threw his cards down, but his expression grew a little calmer. “I don’t mind being in danger so much, but I can’t stand wondering if any of my friends are killers.”
“Really?” Melissande said softly. “You believe you have made friends at the Malinquese court? I spent most of my life in the Coziquela palace, and there might be five people there I would trust with my life. This is not your father’s circle of steadfast friends, my dearest Steffanolo. These are not people who will come to help you if your barn blows down or your winter crops fail. These are people who would burn your barn and salt your fields and laugh when you lose everything you love.”
This time the silence was longer and more profound as everyone considered what exactly Melissande had lived through to bring her to that bleak conclusion.
“Well, that’s cynical,” Steff said at last. “I wonder that you can convince yourself to stay, then, and keep maneuvering to win this crown for yourself.”
“Because no court is any different,” Melissande said sadly. “It would not matter where I went.”
“There is life outside the royal courts,” Steff answered.
Her voice was even sadder. “Not for me.”
“We’re straying from the main point,” Corene said, her voice a little gruff. “If Sarona was murdered—”
“Well, she had to be,” Steff interrupted.
“Then there is a killer living at the palace. And if he killed her because he—or she—wanted to control who will sit on the throne next—”
“Then the four of us are in danger,” Melissande summed up.
Corene looked at Foley, whose habitually solemn face looked even more somber. “It might be time to leave,” he said, and she nodded slowly.
“I’m staying,” Steff said instantly. “I don’t know yet what exactly my place will be in Malinqua, but the empress wants me here and I feel as if I belong. As if I have a part to play. I think we can discover who’s behind the attack and take care of the danger that way.”
“Well, I might go,” Corene said. “
I
don’t want to be murdered and thrown down a stairwell.”
“You will find it difficult to leave,” Alette said in her usual calm way. Her gaze was focused on her cards, and Corene assumed she would make one more devastating play. “The port is closed.”
“What?”
they all cried in unison.