Starcrossed (38 page)

Almost there.
I searched the wall with one foot until I found a good-sized stone with a ledge just big enough to hold all my weight. I pushed off hard, high enough to hit waist to windowsill, then tumbled into the heavy drapes, scraping my back against the sill as I skidded down to the floor inside.

Corles rug. Not quite so soft on the tailbone as one might wish. I sat, frozen and breathless, just in case somebody had heard me, until the cold caught up with me and I started shivering. I eased to my feet and pushed into Daul’s rooms. The chambers were stuffy and thick with heat from the fireplace, which blazed ridiculously, even considering the snow.

I tried to remember what I knew about Daul — not just the very little he’d hinted to me, but anything I’d heard him tell others, any clues I’d picked up from Cwalo and Lyll. He’d arrived here the same day as Marlytt and Cwalo — I thought back, picturing that scene. He’d been traveling lightly, no baggage. Where had he told Lyll he’d been? At the moment I couldn’t remember.

I flipped through the papers on his desk, but there was nothing suspicious. Daul was smart and devious — he’d probably taken anything valuable with him — but he was also arrogant, and wouldn’t have counted on me going to such lengths to get in here. What was I looking for? Keys, notes — anything with that single arrow on a black ground, like the rings. My letters. I popped the lock on the desk drawer, sliding the whole unit out from the desk and laying it gingerly on top. There was nothing fastened to the underside of the desk, or the underside of the drawer, or inside any kind of false bottom.

Inside the drawer itself I found the Carskadon hunting map I’d swiped from Lord Antoch’s rooms. I should return it to Antoch; the thought of Daul knowing I was in here while he was gone, magic lock still perfectly undisturbed, gave me a malicious thrill. Tucked beside the map was the forged journal, and though I leafed through it I still couldn’t tell what Daul had wanted it to say. The rolled-up map stuffed in my bodice, I shut the desk drawer and fiddled the lock until it snapped to, gazing around the rest of the room.

The problem with castles is that they have all sorts of hiding places: nooks in the fireplace façade, loose flags in the floor, decorative urns or boxes, spice cabinets, hollowed-out stones in the walls . . . there could be anything hidden anywhere. I tapped my knife blade flat against my palm, looking around. Exactly like Antoch’s apartments, Daul’s bedchamber was set off from the rest of the room, up two polished steps and curtained off. I pushed aside the copper damask hangings and stepped inside. The massive bed filled up most of the chamber, and for a moment I considered the possibility that I might have to climb up there to look above the canopy. I found nothing in the rosewood chest beside the bed, or beneath the seat cushion of the ebony dressing chair, or under the rug. I grasped the crewelwork bed hangings and flung them open.

And found something — but not the secret I sought.

The slender form wrapped untidily in the linen sheets winced against the sudden influx of light and raised a bare arm in defense. I stared down, one hand still clutching the bed curtain. Silver-pale hair scattered over the pillow, and ice-blue eyes squinted open to meet mine.

“Digger?” Marlytt’s voice was thick with sleep, as if she couldn’t quite fathom what I was doing there. She fumbled with the sheets. “Digger — wait!”

I didn’t wait. I dropped the bed hangings and skittered back down the wide steps and was halfway to the door — the door with the lock that only opened
from the inside.
And how had Marlytt known that?
Idiot.

“Digger,
wait
.” That cool voice stopped me. Marlytt, still wrapped in the bedclothes, grabbed me by the arm. “This isn’t what —” She paused in the lie and pushed a handful of tangled wispy hair from her face. “This is exactly what you think it is. Every thought you’re having is absolutely correct.”

I looked around the rooms once again. The evidence of her presence was subtle — no silk dressing gown thrown over a chair, no hairpins scattered on the night table — yet Marlytt was obviously at home in these rooms. The roaring fire — I was seven times an idiot. Rooms whose occupants are away for a few days don’t need to be
heated
.

“Daul’s mistress?” I finally managed to get out. “You’re
Daul’s
mistress?”

She eyed me steadily. “Daul’s whore, you mean? You can say it.”

“But —” I grappled for words, as the events of the past weeks tumbled through my mind, each with a new significance. The things Daul claimed to know about me, the way Marlytt had urged me to avoid getting involved, the information she’d helped me piece together. Her cozy companionship with Meri. “How long?”

“Long enough. He brought me here.”

“Everything I’ve told you, every
word
I’ve said — or Meri! — has gone straight to Daul’s ear?”

“Don’t try to play the wounded innocent here,” she said coldly. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“But you know what he’s been making me do!”

Marlytt’s face was hard. “Yes,” she said, “and now you know what he’s been making
me
do.”

I had to get out of there. I shoved past her toward the door, and snapped the bolt without even bothering to check if anyone was in the corridor outside. I ran down the hallway, not caring who saw me. How could I have been so stupid? I
knew
better than to trust Marlytt. And I’d put Bryn Shaer’s most precious secrets practically right in her hands.

I avoided Marlytt over the next few days, which was easy enough, as she kept herself scarce. Off scaring up other dupes to spy on for Daul, I supposed. What secrets had she managed to coax from Sposa or Cardom, with her soft voice and cool eyes? I tried to remember every thing I might have told her, and how damning it was, but there was nothing to be done about the situation now except take even more care — and keep Meri away from her.

I tried to be angry with Marlytt . . . but I
knew
what Daul was — and I knew what Marlytt was, as well. She had her own priorities for survival; had she done anything worse than I had? Would I have done
any
of this, if it hadn’t been for Daul prodding me? The hidden weapons, the secret Sarists, this stupid mess with Antoch and the Traitor of Kalorjn? Daul’s whore? Well, that was me too. Even worse, after all that, I still hadn’t managed to find anything useful in Daul’s rooms.

The rest of that long week was interminable, following Lyll through an endless list of irrelevant tasks until I was ready to stab someone to death with my tiny embroidery needle. The snow never let up, building in slow, inexorable drifts on the windows and in front of doors. One freezing afternoon we gathered in the solar, where Lady Lyll super vised Meri working out the seating arrangements for her birthday breakfast. She shuffled people back and forth, while Lyll looked on and made suggestions.

“I wish Marlytt was here,” Lyll said. “This is the sort of thing she excels at.”

My eyes jerked up from the knot I was trying to untangle in my thread. “I think she’s taken to bed —” I winced. “With a head ache.”

Phandre laid her stitching aside and gave a languorous stretch. She went to peek over Meri’s shoulder, but as she read the chart, her face grew red.

“Cwalo?” she said. “You’ve seated me by the
wine
merchant?”

Meri looked up, confused. “I — I thought you’d want to,” she said. “His sons —”

“You thought I’d want to sit with a common shopkeeper while
she
” — she glared at me — “gets the place of honor beside you? Who is she? I am a noblewoman, from a family older than yours!”

“You can have my seat; I don’t care.”

Phandre spun on me. “Of course you don’t! You’re
nobody
!”

“Lady Phandre,” Lyll began ominously, using her title, but I was annoyed.

“Honestly, don’t you ever think about anything important?” I snapped.

Phandre’s face went white with fury, but Lady Lyll stepped between us. “Celyn, dear, why don’t you run down to the stillroom, and check on that — prep ara tion we’ve been working on. Lady Phandre and I will finish this conversation.”

“Oh, what’s the point?” Phandre said, heading for the door. “You always take her side.” And she slammed out of the solar, the rest of us staring after her.

“What did I do?” Meri said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lady Lyll said with a sigh. “Sooner or later she’ll have to accept the realities of her situation. We’ll find her a strand of pearls to wear, or something, and she’ll get over it.”

I took Lyll up on her suggestion anyway. Wierolf was kneeling on his bed, rummaging one-handed through the medical supplies on the shelf, his other hand stuck in his mouth. I could see the outline of the fresh bandages beneath his linen shirt, and wondered briefly if Lady Lyll was ever going to get him more clothes.

“Celyn, thank the gods,” he mumbled through his fingers. “Can you help me — I can’t seem to find anything to stop this bleeding —”

“You’re bleeding? Again?” I crossed the room. “By Marau, Your Highness, you are
truly
the clumsiest man I’ve ever met. What have you done now?”

What he’d done was cut himself — badly, in the webbing between his finger and his thumb — on the dumb, dull knife Lady Lyll had given him to carve with. I dabbed the cut with a rag dipped in poppy. “Here, press down hard. What were you making?”

“Ha — here; you’ll like this.” He patted the rumpled bedclothes and found a disk of wood the size of my palm. “I’m making a new device for myself. What do you think?”

He handed it over: a skillful rendering of a lion, silhouetted against the rising sun. The sun’s rays spread like flames to the edge of the disk, mingling with the flowing mane of the lion, its sinuous tail, its outstretched paw. I fingered the spokes of the rays, stretching out into forever. It felt like gold in my hand, warm and smooth from his touch.

“What do you think?”

The sun. Neither Celyst moon nor Sarist star, but something separate and above them. It was a daring statement — something I wasn’t sure the world was expecting from Wierolf, Lazy Prince of Llyvraneth. I held the device of the lion and the sun up until the carved flames shone back the flickering lamplight.

“I like it,” I said, absently watching the light hit the wood.

“Something’s troubling you.”

I glanced up. “No.”

“Liar. You only come down here when you’re upset.”

“Not true! I also come down here when you’re bleeding.”

He smiled faintly. “What’s the matter?”

With a sound that was half sigh, half growl, I sank beside him on the floor. “Nothing. Everything. I just saw a grown woman throw a fit over a feast seating chart. Nothing makes any sense anymore.”

I couldn’t sit still. I jumped up and grabbed Wierolf’s knife, pacing before the wooden target. For the first time I realized the circle in the middle might actually have been more than just a ring to aim at. A round full moon, to strike at with a blade.

“I used to love secrets,” I said. “Exploring rooms I wasn’t supposed to be in, looking through locked keyholes, reading forbidden books. There was a
thrill
in knowing something nobody else knew. It made me feel — I don’t know. Less small and powerless.”

Wierolf leaned forward on the bed, listening. I paced a few more steps, and he finally said, “So what happened?”

I took a toss at the target, but the knife bounced off. “I met you.”

He strode over and retrieved the knife. “Oh, come now,” he said, handing it back. “I must be just about the best secret you ever had.”

I wasn’t in the mood to smile. “Almost.”

“Really? Now what could possibly compare to me?” He sounded teasing, and I ignored him.

“This isn’t funny. I don’t know what to do. I know things, and I wish I didn’t. I’ve never collected secrets about — about people I
know
, before. . . .” I shook my head. “It’s different.”

“Don’t do anything,” Wierolf suggested.

“I can’t. They’re too big. Somebody’s going to get hurt.” I flung the knife again. “Damn it! I wish I didn’t care whether or not Antoch was the Traitor of Kalorjn! Or that Lady Lyll was stockpiling weapons — and princes — under her castle. Or that Meri —” I broke off. “This is impossible.” I sank down on the bed.

He sat beside me. After a moment he said, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

“More? What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t just about Lord Antoch or Lady Lyllace, or whoever your Meri is. Something else is weighing on you.” He was looking at me with those steady deep brown eyes.

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Do what?”

“Look into my — soul, like that. I don’t like it.”

“That’s it, then,” he said, and there was a hint of discovery in his voice, like a man finally figuring out a puzzle he’s been working on. “This is about what
you’re
hiding. About your secrets.”

“I told you. I’m not hiding anything.”

He looked at me softly. “Simple Celyn, just a maid.”

“That’s right.”

Wierolf eased back. “All right. Well, if you’re interested, I’ve never been that fond of secrets, myself. I think they’re at the heart of a lot of what’s wrong right now — the fear and suspicion, the secrecy. Neighbors turning on each other, parents hiding their children, people hiding their faith. That can’t be what any of the gods intended. Bardolph and Werne have it wrong.”