No, she would not, curse her. Razo knocked the bag of stones against his leg and swore to himself that he would do anything to help Enna keep from burning people again.
“Anyone else?” Talone asked.
“The day of our match, I overheard Captain Ledel say he was anxious to see Bayern soldiers fail without fire fighting for us. But then again, he placed a death sentence on his own soldier who stuck me with a dagger, so it seems like he doesn’t have a grudge against Bayern. And, well, the prince hasn’t made a hair of an effort to get to know any of the Bayern, and he’d have the power to order murders himself, I imagine. Besides, remember how the crazy assassin who killed Veran in the barracks was shouting, ‘Long live His Radiance’? I heard from the pastry girls that ‘Radiance’ is what everyone calls Tira’s prince.”
“The prince…”
“But the more I think about it, the more I see that we don’t know anything, not even if there’s a genuine fire-speaker on the loose or just some crazy who burns victims in a bonfire to make it look like the work of a fire-witch. I almost liked it better when I thought it was Enna. Now I feel like I saw a spider drop under my bedcovers and I don’t know where it is or when it’ll bite.”
“And what would you do with the spider?”
“I’d get out of bed.”
Talone shook his head. “We leave Tira now, we look guilty. No, too much is at stake. The real threat of war is greater than the uncertain fear of assassination.”
“That’s basically what Megina was talking about when she wouldn’t let Belvan move us somewhere safer.”
“Sometimes she seems surprisingly wise, doesn’t she?” Talone looked out the window. “Razo, I have some misgivings about this assignment. We both know you’re not the most… subtle… person. Don’t throw yourself into trouble you can’t handle. Just observe, and always come back to me with what you know. And I want you to work this alone. The more people who know what you’re about, the more danger you’ll be in, besides the fact that the murderer could be anyone—even one of our own.”
“So, although Enna could be in danger, or Lord Kilcad could be plotting to kill Isi and Geric, or fanatical Tiran citizens might try to slit all our throats, we’re staying.”
“It sounds to me, my boy, like you had best get to work.”
That night, the Bayern folk took their evening meal in the barracks. The bread was rubbery and the soup cold (on purpose, apparently, another inexplicable Tiran custom).
After refusing to tell Enna and Finn why his nose looked like a pickled beet, Razo stood alone by the window and practiced identifying people from a distance. He watched two men cross a courtyard and successfully named Tumas and Ledel before their faces became clear in the folding dusk. Tumas saw Razo, but instead of smirking at his swollen nose and black eyes, the soldier glanced at Ledel, edgy and uncertain. Apparently Tumas did not have his captain’s approval to pounce on a Bayern and was afraid Ledel would find out. A man like Tumas afraid. The thought made Razo itchy.
He plunked down beside Enna, begging for a back scratch, and asked, “Do you two know someone who has ink-stained hands?”
“Razo,” said Enna, scratching lazily, “yet again, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I mean, have either of you ever noticed someone we know well who’s always got ink stains on his hands? Uh, hand actually. Just one…No guesses? But if I say Geric, now you’ll remember, right?… No? But if you had to guess
which
hand is always ink-stained, you’d know that? The right one? You probably knew it was the right one and I just said it too fast.”
Enna continued her stare. Finn’s brows raised, halfway between surprised and amused.
Razo laughed self-consciously. “I’m just…I…Never mind.” He turned back to his soup. Still cold.
Maybe Talone
was
right about him. And except for the threat of immediate death to him and his closest friends, this spying business might be something of a lark.
Razo woke feeling strangely eager to get up and see the day happen, as though he were ten years old on the morning of the wintermoon festival. Then he remembered.
He was a spy.
The other soldiers ate breakfast sullenly, but Razo whistled a dance song. He stopped after a few glares warned that he was either too jovial or just plain out of tune.
“At least the Tiran didn’t murder us in our sleep,” said Razo.
Conrad snapped a boot lace pulling it too tight. His eyes were heavy with sleeplessness. “If they’re going to, I wish they’d get it over with already.”
“This whole mess is a bit more complicated than watching geese or sheep, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes I miss our old animal keeper days, and then I remember.” Conrad looked directly into Razo’s eyes and whispered, “We’re in Bayern’s Own.” He laughed, as pleased as a gaggle of geese on a spring morning. “I still can’t believe our luck.”
Talone came midmorning with unexpected orders. “Lady Megina will go out into the city and dine with the chief of assembly today.”
A few soldiers chuckled. “She’s bold, that one.” Others raised eyebrows, questioning if it was wise. When Talone named Razo part of the guard, he thought he detected an uncertain flicker in several of his comrades’ faces.
I’m a spy,
he wished he could explain to them.
I’m not completely
useless. At least, I won’t be. Eventually. Hopefully.
They rode in closed carriages to the chief of assembly’s palace, smaller than Thousand Years but more decadent, its capstones and pillars twisting with stone vines and plaster flowers.
“Lovely place for a massacre,” Razo whispered to Finn as they climbed the steps.
The door guard let Megina and Enna pass but stopped Razo, Finn, Talone, and the five other Bayern soldiers, demanding they leave their weapons at the door.
“Do it,” said Megina.
During the meal, Razo watched the ambassador carefully as she devoured slimy sea creatures cooked in their shells, appearing to relish every bite. And the talk… Razo’s eyeballs itched with annoyance. She did not even mention the burned body or assert Bayern’s innocence. She just gabbed—about the weather, about food, saying things that made the chief of assembly laugh.
“What do you think about Megina?” Razo asked Finn. They stood on the far side of the room and under the noise of dining could speak without being heard.
“You don’t think she’s trustworthy?” asked Finn.
“I don’t know…. Geric thought she was, but … well, I guess lately everyone’s looking squirmy to me.”
“I wish she’d negotiated about our weapons.” Finn patted his belt. “I don’t like being without my sword. Feels like I’ve lost a limb.”
“Lost a limb? Not hardly. Javelin’s all right for reaching a back itch, and a sword’s a good prop, but no weapon feels easy in my hand.”
“What about your sling?” asked Finn.
Razo blinked. A sling was not really a weapon, not unless you were a squirrel.
The third hour of the dinner hobbled on, and Razo was almost wishing for a brawl with the chief of assembly’s guards, just to break the boredom.
“Finn, do you think I can hit Enna with a pebble from here?”
“Not a chance,” said Finn, though there was the suggestion of a smile around his mouth.
Enna was sitting behind Megina, leaning back on her hands, staring at the ceiling. Razo eased a small pebble out of his pouch, and keeping his arm down straight at his side, he flicked it, striking Enna on the shoulder.
“What…?” Enna sat up.
Razo bit his lip to throbbing to kill his laugh and stared straight ahead. Finn breathed out an almost silent chuckle.
“Did you ask something?” said Megina.
“No, my lady,” said Enna. “Just a cough.”
Razo felt a sting on the side of his neck and slapped it, thinking it was an insect. Until he smelled burning hair. He looked at his palm. She had singed a single hair from his neck.
By the time they dragged into Thousand Years, the sun was making a show of setting, the sky all rust and gold and heaving with clouds. After hours of standing at attention, Razo thought he could eat his saddle raw. The pastry kitchen was empty, the only sound a low fire snapping at a log. No sooner had he started to poke around for a treat than Pela hopped through the door, her shrubs of yellow hair flopping. Instinctively, he moved toward the door, not feeling safe alone around a girl like Pela with so many sharp knives about.
But she’s become friendlier,
he thought, remembering how she touched his hand when giving him a cup of tea.
“There you are.” She set down an empty tray. “I have something to show you.”
“You do?” Razo hoped it was something to eat.
“Yes, but it will cost you.”
He was about to protest his poverty when in some slur of movement, some hitch of skirt, leg wrapped around leg, hop, and a trip, Razo found himself sitting on a stool against the wall, Pela on his lap, her legs bestride his.
“Oh,” he said. Or perhaps grunted. She was pleasantly robust. He squeezed his arms against his sides in case she tried to tickle him.
“I don’t want much,” she said, affecting a shy face and toying with his lummas.
Enna often declared that when it came to catching innuendo, Razo was as slow as a dead hare fleeing, but he thought he had a handle on this.
“What is it?” He was appalled to find that his voice had tangled in his throat and came out less of a manly inquiry and more of a squeal. He did not want her to think that she was the only girl ever to climb onto his lap, so he grumbled his throat clear and asked again, “What is it?”
She leaned in closer, her lips just separated from his.
“A parchment,” she whispered. Her breath tickled his face, and he tried not to squirm. She smelled nice, like salted meat, and that made him want to hold very still so that she would not go away.
“What’s on the parchment?” His hands were still tight to his sides. Should he put them on her waist or back or something?
“I don’t know, but when I entered Lady Dasha’s room, she stuffed it away, hiding it all suspicious-like, and since you were nudging for any information on her the other day, I pinched it for you this morning. And all I want for it is—”
“You took a parchment from Dasha’s room?” He bolted upright, sending Pela tumbling to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning over her, trying to help her upright. “Whoops, that was awkward.” She reached for his hand, but he was trying to lift her from under her shoulders, and she fell on her rump again.
“Never mind, I’m fine,” she said, finally gaining her feet on her own and shaking her skirt clean. Her entire face glowed red.
Razo picked up a folded paper that must have fallen from her pocket. “Is this it?”
The door banged open and a parade of girls with empty trays poured through. Pela and Razo took a few guilty steps away from each other, Razo stuffing the parchment into the waist of his leggings.
“Hello, Razo.”
“Evening, Razo.”
The freckled girl came in laughing. “Did Lord Rogis’s son Victar propose to anyone else at dinner or just me?”
“Stay away from that one!” said another. “Acts as if he’ll drape amber around your neck, but the word is he and his rich father aren’t even talking….”
Razo said hello to all the girls and kissed the pastry chef’s cheek, telling her she worked too hard and to let the girls finish up so she could go soak her feet. When he left, Pela followed him out the door, pressing herself against his back, her mouth on his ear. He could feel some nice parts of her body touching his.
“If you don’t return that before Lady Dasha notices, my skin will pay for it,” she whispered. “Her chamber door is unlocked. Read it quickly, then go stick the parchment back beneath her lamp. She won’t be back tonight, so you could look around a bit too, if it helped.”
Razo nodded and left, but not before she patted his bum.
Thoughts of Pela chased after him down the dark corridor, inching over his skin, wriggling so that the hairs of his arms stood up. She was a pretty girl. And, well, she was any girl. He had not thought much of anyone since Bettin.
He paced outside Talone’s dark apartment in the heavy huff of night, flicking pebbles with his thumbnail to hear them pop against the door. With every moment his anxiety tightened, a rope twisting. Getting caught with a parchment stolen from Lady Dasha’s room would not do much to ease the political tension.
Some hour later, the captain returned, emanating the salty fish smell of Tiran dinner.
“It’s about time,” said Razo. “If there’s ever any doubt of my commitment to Bayern and peace, know that I missed a meal to wait for you.”
“There was never a doubt.” Talone ushered him inside and lit a lamp.
“Found in Dasha’s room and I’ve got to get it back quick, but I don’t know reading.”
Talone scanned the parchment. “This looks like notes taken while studying some books. She cites several sources that mention ‘fire-witches.’”
“Uh-oh.”
“Indeed.” He studied it, his brow furrowed. “She seemed interested in the fire worshippers from Yasid, people who know how to work both fire and water. Here’s a note at the bottom that says, ‘Apparently live healthy all their lives,’ underlined twice.”
“You think Dasha is the…”
Talone shook his head. “After Enna, we won’t make the mistake to assume anything, not without definitive proof.”
So Razo set off to find proof. He scurried down the servants’ walkway until it climbed into the lamplit main corridor of the palace. A dusting girl passed by, and Razo ducked into a side hallway just in time, grinning at the darkness. Skulking around a palace was quite a bit more exciting than hunting squirrels. The fear of being caught gave speed to his blood and made his pulse click in his ear.
He’d followed Dasha once before and remembered which door was hers. He knocked, peered inside, then jumped in and shut the door, quiet as brushing two feathers together. He smiled at his own stealth, then swaggered right into a chair, banging it against the wall.
You oaf.
He cut short his swagger and began to move with exaggerated sneakiness. There was a certain pleasure in that, too.
Three large windows opened to the central courtyard, allowing the pale moonlight to creep in and over everything, marking the chairs and tables with rims of silver. He did not know what he was looking for, but clothing streaked with soot might be a handy implication of guilt.
He slid the parchment beneath a lamp on a table. Various bottles, jars, and wooden boxes were arranged in pretty little groups. He peered into a few—powders, mint leaves for chewing, a yellow cream that had no odor. He shook a silver tube, heard the muted slosh of liquid, and raised the cap to his nose. A perfume of tangerine blossoms teased him with uncertain intimacy. What did it remind him of? He closed his eyes, and the scent pulled him into a memory of the ocean, his feet uneven in the sand, the lulling hush of waves, and Dasha standing close.
Razo sorted through the wardrobe—no burn marks, no scent of smoke. So he shrugged at the moon, slipped into the corridor, and stood a moment by her door, wondering what to do next.
“Tree rat!”
Razo jumped back at least two steps and hit his back against a wall. His heart banged so hard against his ribs, it felt bruised.
“Dasha…Lady Dasha…I…”
“Oh, what happened to your nose?”
“Nothing.” He sniffed. “Ouch. I mean, it broke. Accident.”
“I’m sorry. Were you looking for me just now?”
He nodded, not quite ready to give up the support of the wall. “Yes, um, how are you?”
Dasha smiled, and her nose crinkled. How did that one expression make him feel as helpless as if two big brothers sat on his chest or Pela straddled his lap?
“So I guess that means you heard.” Dasha opened her door and handed him her lamp. “There was no one here, but I wouldn’t mind having you look around again.”
What is she talking about?
Razo wondered, but he played along, holding the lamp aloft and walking through her rooms.
“Of course,” she said, “it was probably a lie all along. The door
was
unlocked for some reason, but why would a Bayern hide in my rooms and wait to murder me? I told the soldiers that when they came for me an hour ago, but they insisted on escorting me to my rooms. Said they’d had a very reliable tip. Nonsense, I said, and sure enough, the soldiers didn’t find anyone lurking about. I’ve just now come from Lord Belvan’s chambers, convincing him that the Bayern aren’t a threat to me no matter what some troublemaker claimed.”
Razo realized that if he’d come here as soon as he’d left Pela instead of going to Talone first, he would have been the one stalking Dasha’s rooms, just in time for soldiers to burst in. The light in Razo’s hand swayed, sending shadows zooming across the walls.
“Nothing appears to be missing.” She removed her lummas and laid it directly over the parchment Razo had replaced. Coincidence, or was she hiding it?
“All… all clear,” he said, pleased his voice betrayed only a petty tremble.
“Thank you.” She took the lamp and smiled at him, right into the ghostly light. “I’ve been meaning to tell someone from your party that I’ll be leaving tomorrow, back to my father’s estate. In the summer, the assembly is in recess, and most people return to their lands in the country. I will be away for three months, but Lord Belvan will be here to aid you. Look at you! You seem crushed.”
He did? “I’m not.” That seemed rude. “I mean, I’ll miss you.” What was he saying? “But I hope you have a good time.” He was a spy; he should be trying to find out information. “I guess you have business to deal with in the country. Well, have you, you know, taken care of everything you need to here?”
“I have tried….” A shiver of uncertainty crossed her face, as though she’d stepped on something sharp and tried to hide the pain. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
Her stare pinned him, and he had the sudden and unhappy conviction that small though she was, this Dasha was as dangerous to play with as a well-sharpened dagger.