Grinsa nodded, facing forward. “For both of us.”
They passed the guards without incident and began to follow the crowd toward the marketplace. But before they had gone far, the gleaner heard the jangling of a sword and the scuffling of a soldier’s boots.
“Stop right there, you!” came a hard voice.
Grinsa kept walking, and gestured for Tavis to do the same, but his heart was pounding at his chest like a fist.
“I told you to stop!” the guard said.
A sword was drawn, the morning air ringing with the sound of steel.
“Another step and you die!” the man warned.
Grinsa froze, putting out an arm to stop his companion as well. He turned slowly, only to see the guard pressing his blade against the throat of the man walking just behind him.
“What’s this,” the guard said, removing a two-handed sword from a baldric on the man’s back. “Peddlers don’t usually need such fine blades.”
“I carry it for safety, good sir,” the man said, his voice quavering. “There are thieves on the roads throughout the forest.”
“That may be,” the guard said. “But you don’t carry such a blade into Solkara unless you’re a noble or a soldier in the service of one.” He paused, glancing over at Grinsa and frowning. “What are you looking at, white-hair? This doesn’t concern you.”
“Of course not, good sir,” the gleaner said quickly, lowering his gaze. “Forgive me.”
He hurried on, Tavis beside him, but for some time his pulse continued to race, as if he had just come through a battle. He looked forward to the day when they could leave Aneira for Caerisse, or Wethyrn or Sanbira. Any place where Tavis’s lineage wasn’t grounds for immediate execution, and where his accent didn’t draw the unwished-for attention of everyone from castle guards to innkeepers.
“They stopped that man just for carrying a sword,” Tavis said quietly. “No wonder my father hates the Aneirans so.”
“We’re in their royal city, Tavis. Their king has just died and one of their dukes was murdered barely a turn ago. Houses will by vying for the throne, old rivalries will be rekindled. This is a time for vigilance. I wouldn’t assume that the guards always treat strangers that way.”
Tavis eyed him briefly. “Why do you always take the part of those I dislike?”
“I’m not taking their part. I’m merely trying to make you see the world from someone else’s perspective. A good king can see through his enemy’s eyes as well as his own.”
The boy gave a short, sharp laugh. “You still think I’m going to be king?”
“I don’t know,” Grinsa said. “But the same qualities that make a good king, can make a good man.”
Tavis seemed to consider this as they walked on, wandering slowly among the stalls and peddlers’ carts of the city marketplace. There was little for them to learn in the city streets, though they could certainly ask some of the sellers about the assassin. But it was far too early in the day for them to go to taverns and inns, where their chances of learning something useful were far greater.
Grinsa couldn’t say what it was about the woman that caught his attention. While there were more Eandi in the marketplace than Qirsi, there were enough white-hairs about to keep one from standing out. From a distance, her clothes appeared ordinary-a simple brown cloak, hooded like his own, and clasped at the neck with a plain silver chain. It was only when she drew nearer that he saw the hem of her robe and realized she was a minister in the court of an Aneiran noble. She was pretty in a plain way, with a thin face, bright yellow eyes, and fine white hair that she wore loose so that it hung past her shoulders to the middle of her back. But she wasn’t beautiful, like Cresenne or even Keziah, his sister.
Perhaps it was the expression on her face that made him notice her, the deep sadness in her eyes, as if she had just lost a parent. Grinsa found himself wondering if she had been minister to the king and still mourned his death.
She was walking directly toward Grinsa and Tavis, gazing about the marketplace, but seeming to see nothing at all. Not knowing why he did it, Grinsa remained in her path so that when she drew near she had to step to the side to avoid him.
“Good morrow, Minister,” he said, bowing to her.
She hesitated a moment, looking at him with surprise. “Good morrow,” she said, her voice low. Glancing at him a second time, she continued past, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Grinsa stood in the middle of the lane and watched her walk away. A few seconds later she seemed to turn her head again, as if sensing his gaze. After a time, he lost sight of her amid the carts and the city folk.
“Do you know her?” Tavis asked.
The gleaner shook his head. “No. I’ve never seen her before.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. There’s something…” He shook his head again, unable to find the words. He wanted to follow her, and he had learned long ago to trust his instincts on such things.
“Come with me,” he said, starting after her.
At first he couldn’t find her again, and he felt his frustration mounting. Just as he was ready to give up, however, Tavis pointed to a lone figure entering a small tavern.
“There,” the boy said. “I think that’s her.”
“Why would a noble’s minister go to a tavern so early in the day?”
They walked quickly to the building, entered the tavern, and took a seat in the middle of the room, not very far from where she sat, alone, with her back to the door.
The tavern man appeared a few moments later, carrying a plate of breads and cheeses to the minister. He was Qirsi. Grinsa hadn’t even thought to check the name of the inn, but he felt certain that it must be one of the city’s Qirsi establishments.
“Good day, sirs,” the man said, stepping to their table. “Can I bring you some breakfast?”
“Please,” Grinsa said, though they had already eaten once, before entering the city.
“Bread and cheese?” His eyes lingered a moment on Tavis’s face, but he had the good grace not to comment on the boy’s scars.
“That will be fine.”
The innkeeper nodded and hurried away to fetch their food, leaving Tavis and Grinsa to sit in silence, occasionally glancing over at the woman. She showed no sign of having noticed them. She merely ate, though even this she did slowly, seemingly with little enthusiasm.
“Are you going to speak with her?” Tavis asked in a whisper.
“Patience,” Grinsa said.
The innkeeper returned carrying two plates of food, which he laid on the table. Grinsa pulled out a five-qinde piece and held it in his palm for the man to see.
“I’m wondering if you’ve noticed a man in your tavern. A singer. Eandi, with long black hair, a black beard, and blue eyes. He’s tall and broad.”
The man stared at Grinsa briefly, then looked at the coin, wetting his lips. “I’m afraid not,” he said.
Grinsa closed his fingers over the gold piece. “I see.” He started to put the coin away, then stopped. “Would you have a room available for the night?”
“Again, I’m afraid I don’t. With the king’s funeral just a few days away, I’ve sold every one.”
Grinsa nodded. “A pity.” He made a point of looking around the empty room. “All your guests must be heavy sleepers.”
“They are,” the man said, turning to walk away. “They also know better than to ask questions of a tavern man.”
The gleaner gave a shrug and glanced toward the woman, only to find that she was already watching him. Their eyes met for just an instant before she turned back to her food. But that was enough. She knew the assassin. Grinsa felt certain of it. He could only assume that she was part of the conspiracy, and it seemed likely that she thought the same of him.
“Greetings again, Minister,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was you.”
She stiffened. After several moments, she finally turned to look at him again. “Have we met?”
“I’m not certain. I knew you were a minister from your robe, but now that you ask, you do look familiar.” He stood and walked to her table. “My name is Grinsa jal Arriet,” he said, bowing to her once again. He indicated Tavis with a wave of his hand. “My friend there is called Xaver.”
The woman nodded to Tavis, smiling weakly. “I’m Evanthya ja Yispar,” she said.
“Your name is familiar as well. Do you serve one of the major houses, Evanthya?”
She faltered. Clearly she wanted no part of this conversation. “Yes,” she finally answered, the word coming out as a sigh. “I’m first minister to the duke of Dantrielle.”
Grinsa grinned. “Of course! I’m a gleaner, and I often travel with the festivals. That must be where I’ve seen you.” He pulled a chair over to her table and sat beside her. “I love Dantrielle. It’s a beautiful city.”
Her eyes flitted about the room uncomfortably. “Yes, it is.”
“If you’re first minister to one of the land’s most prominent houses, shouldn’t you be staying at the castle?”
“I am,” she said, looking down at her food. “I just needed… I wanted to get out for a time.”
“Yes,” Grinsa said, nodding sagely. “I can imagine Castle Solkara is a rather grim place just now.” He felt certain that something other than mourning for the king had driven her from the castle walls, but he didn’t want to push her too hard on this point, not when there were others of far greater importance that he wished to pursue.
They fell silent, Grinsa watching her from the corner of his eye, and the minister toying anxiously with her food. He sensed that she was readying herself to leave.
She looked at him at last, opening her mouth to speak, no doubt to offer some quick farewell. Grinsa didn’t give her the chance.
“I couldn’t help but notice you watching me as I spoke to the tavern man,” he said. “It almost seemed to me that you know the man I was describing.”
She looked away again.
“Do you?” he asked.
“I really ought to be going,” the woman said, reaching into her cloak and pulling out two silvers to leave on the table.
“It’s important that we find him,” Grinsa said. He was going to tell the familiar lie about the singer owing them money, but he knew she wouldn’t believe this, not if she had ever had dealings with the man herself. Instead he pointed over at Tavis. “You see the boy there. You see the scars on his face. The man I described is responsible for those wounds.” It was close enough to the truth. Tavis averted his gaze, his cheeks reddening, but he made no attempt to hide his face.
“I’m sorry for the boy,” she said, “but I don’t know the man you re talking about.”
Grinsa read the lie in her eyes and in the twisting of her slender hands.
“Did you know that this man was in Bistari just before the duke was killed?”
She stared at him, the color abruptly draining from her face. Then she quickly looked down again. For a moment Gnnsa thought she would cry.
“Were you in Bistari for the duke’s funeral?” he asked, knowing that she must have been.
The woman nodded.
“Did you see this man there?”
“I told you, I’ve never seen him before. I don’t know him.”
“Have you seen him here? Did he come for the king’s funeral? Or did he leave once the king was dead?”
Her eyes flew to his face once more. “You think he killed the king?”
“Do you?”
She started to object, but he raised a finger, silencing her. “Yes, I know,” he said. “You know nothing of this man.”
“I really must go,” the minister said, though she still did not stand.
There was one other possibility. He had heard men speaking of it in one of the northern cities. Had she been from any other house, he wouldn’t have mentioned it, but she had said Dantrielle, and so it was worth trying.
“There’s a tavern in Dantrielle, I believe it’s called the Red Boar. Did you-?”
Before he could finish she was on her feet, having nearly toppled over the table as she stood.
“Who are you?” she demanded, leveling a trembling finger at him. “Who sent you?”
Grinsa stood slowly, holding up his hands as if to show her that he carried no blade. “No one sent me,” he said gently. “I’ve already told you, my friend and I are looking for this man.”
She backed away from him. “And I told you, I don’t know him! Now stay away from me! If you come near me again I’ll have you both arrested. I swear it.”
The minister glared at him another moment before turning and walking swiftly to the tavern door. She looked back at the gleaner once, as if assuring herself that he wasn’t following her. Then she hastened into the street.
“Are we going to follow her again?” Tavis asked, standing.
Grinsa walked slowly back to their table, shaking his head. “No. I don’t think she can actually have us arrested, but I don’t want to chance scaring her any more than I have already.”
“You think she knows him.”
“I’m sure of it,” the gleaner said. “Just as I’m sure that she met him in that tavern in Dantrielle.”
“Do you think she’s with the conspiracy?”
“I suppose,” he said.
Tavis narrowed his eyes. “You don’t sound very certain.”
“She seemed terribly uneasy, not at all like someone who’s been plotting against the Eandi courts for any length of time.”
“Perhaps she hasn’t been,” the boy said with a shrug. “If their movement is growing as we fear, they have to be adding new people. She must be one of them.”
Grinsa nodded, though he remained unconvinced. Something about the woman’s behavior troubled him, but he couldn’t explain it, and even a Weaver could place too much trust in his instincts. She knew the assassin and had worked very hard to conceal this from him. That should have been all the proof he needed.
“If she is with the Qirsi movement,” Tavis said, “and if she has allies in the castle, our lives are in danger.”
Again, the boy made sense. Yet the gleaner’s doubts lingered, like the scent of rain after a storm has passed. “Perhaps,” he said, sitting once more. “But I don’t think she has many friends in the castle. If she did, she wouldn’t have been here.”