Authors: Victor Gischler
“This was Duke Arlus Veraiin’s signet ring,” Mother said.
That caught Tosh’s attention. “Why?”
A long sigh originating in the depths of memory. She looked down at the ring as she spoke, turning it over in her hands. “Arlus’s wife had always been so sickly. Especially after Rina was born. It was a difficult birth, nurses attending to her all the time, and Arlus always there by her side, trying to run a duchy and care for a sick wife at the same time. He was a great man, but there are limits to endurance and patience and strength.”
Tosh didn’t to hear this, didn’t want to know whatever it was Mother was going to say. It felt too much like she was putting some kind of responsibility on his shoulders, a weight he didn’t want. It was unfair. It wasn’t Tosh’s problem.
But she’d taken him in. He owed her … something.
Didn’t he?
“A man like Arlus needed somebody to lean on,” Mother continued. “Somebody who could comfort him and never expect anything back.”
Please don’t tell me what you’re going to tell me
.
“We were lovers for almost twenty years,” Mother said.
Tosh winced.
“I never told anyone,” she said. “Would never have done anything to embarrass or compromise him.”
Shut up. Please shut up
.
“He loved his wife,” she said. “But he needed me.”
A long silent moment. Tosh’s head pounded, stomach churned. He could think of nothing to say, wanted nothing more than to slink away and hide.
“We killed the chamberlain because one of my girls has her hooks into the new chamberlain,” Mother said. “I’ve placed another girl in Lord Giffen’s bed.”
Please …
“When the time is right I will strike. While there is breath in my body I will not suffer Arlus’s betrayer to live, won’t tolerate his murderer on the throne of Klaar. And now you know, Tosh. It’s all on you, isn’t it? You can decide to help. Or not. You could even turn me in, couldn’t you? Might even collect a nice reward. Is that what you intend, Tosh?”
He shook his head slowly. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his spine.
“You need to decide then,” she told him. “I’m trusting you. You need to think about it and decide what you will do.”
Tosh had already decided. He’d need to pack some things soon and get as far away from Klaar as possible.
Rina’s hair trailed behind her in the wind, the grin wild on her face. When tapped into the spirit she could keep her emotions at bay if needed, but this time she wanted to feel the joy, the pure rush of speed.
She glanced at Alem grinning back at her. He ducked low in the saddle, leaning forward, spurring his gelding at full speed next to her on a long straight section of the dirt road. Alem was a good rider, and Rina had told him not to go easy. He was riding for all he was worth.
Rina pumped her legs harder and pulled away from him. Her jubilant laughter flew away on the wind.
When she was a hundred years ahead of him, she carefully slowed and stopped, remembering Talbun’s warning. Rina wasn’t used to running so fast. She could step in a hole and snap an ankle, and while the healing rune would eventually mend any broken bones, it would still
hurt
.
Alem had slowed to a trot, reined his horse in next to her. “Okay.
That
was impressive.”
Rina released the spirit as she stepped close to Alem’s gelding and took the reins. She could feel it in her legs. Her muscles hummed. The lightning bolt tattoos might give her speed, but that didn’t mean her legs were conditioned for it. Might take time to build up those muscles.
Still …
She grinned up at Alem. “I’m not going to lie. That was
amazing
.”
He grinned back down at her, the warmth spreading to his eyes, and Rina felt something flutter in her stomach.
Their heads turned at the sound of Maurizan’s horse trotting to catch up, and the light fluttering in Rina’s belly turned into a cold stone.
“Okay, I admit it,” Maurizan said, bringing her horse alongside Alem’s. “That was pretty fast.”
“Pretty fast.” Alem snorted. “She outran my horse.”
Alem’s comment teased the grin back to Rina’s face, but her eyes slid to Maurizan’s and the grin dropped again. She sighed. “I’ve got to go on ahead of you.”
Alem frowned. “Without us?”
“You saw. I can get there faster if I run ahead.”
“We’ll follow as soon as we can,” Alem said.
“No. I want you to meet me. Here, I’ll show you.” Rina tapped into the spirit and dropped to one knee, searching her memory for one of father’s maps. She’d seen it with her own eyes. It was just a matter of searching her mind for it, and when she found it she began to sketch in the dirt, drawing a line in the dirt road that ran along the river north to Merridan and then Tul-Agnon beyond. Halfway to Merridan a bridge crossed the river and another road led east and north back toward Klaar.
Rina drew an X in the sand. “There’s a village at the crossroads here. There’s an inn, or there used to be, at least. I don’t know how long I’ll be in Merridan. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Take the rest of the money and wait as long as you can.”
Maurizan’s eyes shifted from Rina to Alem. “And if we
can’t
wait?”
“We’ll wait,” Alem said firmly.
“Well, then. No time like the present.” Rina’s smile was wan and reluctant. She nodded at each of them once, then turned.
And ran.
* * *
The world blurred.
Her arms and legs pumped like a machine, and at times it felt like her feet barely touched the ground. She passed through tiny villages, past the alarmed, disbelieving faces of farmers not sure what they’d seen—maybe the apparition of some long-dead sorcerer riding the wind, a ghost, a trick of the light.
She would push herself until she knew she needed rest, sleep off the road under a tree and start again as soon as she was ready. It became harder each time to rip herself away from the embrace of the spirit. Weylan’s ghostly warning rang in her head, but she ran on. She ran by starlight. She ran on through the day.
A man could ride his horse into the ground and make it to Merridan in a little over a week.
Rina reached the outskirts of the city in three days.
Merridan’s Central Postal Exchange was in the posh part of the city only a few blocks from the palace. Rina was acutely aware of how she looked—road weary, muddy, hair matted. Likely, she smelled too. Her appearance earned her a few suspicious glances, but maybe it was the black armor and the rapier hanging at her side that kept anyone from commenting or getting in her way.
Walking beneath the vaulted arch of the Central Postal Exchange was like entering the frenzied palace of a foreign monarch. A long line led up to a podium on a raised dais. Runners in the livery of the Postal Exchange scurried in every direction.
The line moved slowly. Rina looked around for another option. There was none. If she wanted to talk to an official representative of the Postal Exchange, she needed to wait in line, and seeing the looks on the faces of people on the way out, she suddenly didn’t feel very optimistic. But this is where Brasley had told her to come. It was a big city. Brasley hadn’t known exactly where he’d end up, and the Central Postal exchange was an easily identifiable landmark and a natural place to leave a message.
Rina finally reached the head of the line, and the stuffy dignitary stared down at her over his podium. He had a long, curled moustache and wore a uniform as ostentatious as a general’s— gold piping and buttons, a brass badge of office with the King’s crest.
“What is your business with the Central Postal Exchange?” he demanded.
Rina lifted her chin. “I am Duchess Rina Veraiin of Klaar.” It was worth a try. Maybe a title would impress him. Maybe not. This wasn’t a backwater like Klaar. It was the capitol of the kingdom, and likely one couldn’t swing a cat without hitting a duchess or an earl or a count. “I was told to come here in case I had any messages.”
One of the functionary’s eyebrows ticked up half a notch and Rina thought he was deciding if he believed her. She certainly didn’t
look
like a duchess.
He held up a finger. “A moment.”
He opened a large book, ran a finger down one page, chewed his lip, flipped to another page. His face brightened “Ah.”
From beneath the podium he brought out a bell and began ringing it. The sound was so loud and piercing that Rina flinched.
The response to the bell was immediate. A pair of tall double doors flew open across the chamber and a pair of runners in postal livery sprinted toward the podium.
Rina worried she’d inadvertently set off some kind of chain reaction. “Uh, maybe I—”
“Special instructions have been left for you, Duchess Veraiin. Where is your retinue?”
“I have no retinue.”
“I see. And where is your luggage?”
“I have no luggage.”
He frowned, his moustache twitching with annoyance. Evidently, not having luggage and an entourage didn’t match his idea of a duchess. He turned to the two runners who turned out to be pimply-faced youths maybe fourteen years old. “Bring around one of the postal carriages immediately.”
They bowed tersely and ran away at full speed.
Everything happened rapidly after that.
Rina was hustled out of the post office to where an enclosed carriage drawn by four horses waited in the street. A driver nodded to her respectfully. One of the pimply youths held the carriage door open for her, and the other clung to the rear of the carriage in the footman’s position. She climbed in, not even having the time to form one of the dozen questions that swirled in her mind.
Ten seconds later they were clattering down one of the city’s cobblestone streets, citizens leaping out of the way as they flew past. They turned into an extravagantly wealthy neighborhood; various flags and coats of arms were displayed on the gates of each manor. Abruptly the carriage turned and passed through a gate. The two-story manor house ahead of her was enormous, with fluted columns on each side of the grand entranceway.
Two lines of servants stood in rows on either side of the steps leading up to the front door like some kind of welcoming committee.
Did they know? Did somebody run ahead to tell them she was coming?
The carriage stopped and the footman was there in a flash, opening the door and offering a hand to help her down.
She looked up as she exited the carriage, saw a man slowly descending the stairs toward her. He wore long, plush robes, some kind of official gold chain around his neck, a soft, floppy hat with a garish red plume from what enormous bird Rina couldn’t guess.
With a lurch in her gut Rina thought she understood what was happening. Somebody very important had discovered what was happening in Klaar. Now Rina was being called to task. Somebody important—maybe the king himself!—wanted to know why there had been a delay in warning the rest of Helva that the Perranese had invaded.
She looked at the man again, trying to guess who could possibly—
Oh, shit. It’s Brasley
.
* * *
The servants had escorted her to a second-floor, corner room with wide windows that offered a good view of the extravagant neighborhood. Not that Rina saw it. She’d flopped into bed, had slept the rest of the day and through the night into mid-morning.
They brought her breakfast as she soaked in a large tub of hot water. Maids circulated steadily through the room to add warm water to the tub.
Rina plucked a pastry from the silver tray next to the tub, bit into it. Light. Some kind of berry filling. It was perfect.
“This isn’t really necessary,” Brasley said from the other side of the tri-section, silk screen. “I would gladly have waited for you to finish your bath.”
“Then you would have been waiting a long time because I’m not getting out of this tub any time soon,” Rina said. “Maybe not ever.”
“It’s awkward to talk like this when I can’t see your face.”
“Just stay on your side of the screen. You know what my face looks like.”
A sigh came from the other side of the screen. “I suppose you have questions.”
“A manor house? Servants? New robes? Yeah, you could say I have a few questions.”
“Please. Not
just
a manor house,” Brasley said. “This is the Consulate of Klaar, the official presence of the duchy in Merridan. The flags haven’t been delivered yet.”
“How can you
afford
this?”
“As the official representative of Klaar, I was able to establish a line of credit at the Royal Bank.”
“
What?
”
“I had to prepare for your arrival, didn’t I? You’re a duchess, after all. You have a reputation to maintain.”
“I haven’t been duchess long enough to establish any kind of reputation,” Rina said.
“I’ve been taking care of that,” Brasley said. “I’ve been whispering in various ears what an important person you are. Into the ear of the secretary of the Royal Bank, for one.”
“So really
I’m
paying for all this.”
Brasley laughed. “Unless we can’t get rid of the Perranese. In which case nobody is paying for it.”
Rina laughed too.
“There’s lots to do,” Brasley said. “You do need to get out of that tub.”
“No.”
“I’m serious. There are people coming to take your measurements. Better if you’re not wet.”
“Measurements for what?”
“Clothes,” Brasley said. “You can’t meet the king in that grim armor you arrived in.”
Rina’s heartbeat ticked up. “You were able to arrange an audience?”
“Audiences are booked full for the next two months. It’s impossible. And the wrong way to go about it anyway. The last thing you want is an official audience with the king.”
“Then what are the clothes for?”
“A ball.”
“A what?”
“A formal ball at the palace. Everyone important will be there,” Brasley said. “And don’t worry. I’ll be your escort. It will look good for you if you’re there with somebody handsome.”