Starcrossed (45 page)

I nearly choked on my own splendid vintage. Were they
deliberately
baiting him?

But Werne looked up only briefly. “Your hospitality does the Goddess honor,” he said. “I look forward to acquainting myself with all the . . . comforts of this place. I’m sure I’ll find it edifying.”

“What are they
doing
?” Phandre fussed, as the female Confessor’s placid expression grew strained. “They make us all look like mannerless rustics!”

But Cwalo, beside me, was smiling faintly. I caught his eye, and his grin spread. “Is that how it looks to you, Lady Celyn?”

“No,” I said, and my voice was unexpectedly bright. “We look unafraid.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Cwalo, clinking my goblet.

The other Bryn Shaer guests were not so easy, though I could see them straining to follow the Nemair’s lead. The only one who seemed to be succeeding was Marlytt, as icy and charming as ever, her delicate fingers on a Confessor’s green sleeve. Even Daul seemed twitchy; he kept darting glances toward the Inquisitor, as if he wanted to scurry over and whisper something in his ear. It bothered me, but I didn’t see what I could do about it. No matter how brave the Nemair seemed, Daul had won.

After dinner, I pulled Lady Lyll from the crowd streaming out of the Round Court. “You were magnificent!” I said. She gave a faint smile and squeezed my shoulder. “I almost forgot to be afraid of him.”

“We’ll pay for it, I’m afraid,” she said. “Still . . . it
was
hard to resist. Go be with my daughter now, Celyn.” She touched the silver bracelet on my arm, and her voice was sad.

Meri and I had been spared the task of billeting the Inquisitor’s men in the spare Bryn Shaer guest rooms, and we trailed back to her apartments, both of us quiet. All along the hallways between the Round Court and the family suites, people stood and whispered, guests, guards, and servants turning worried faces to Meri. Finally she stopped and looked at everyone.

“Be easy,” she said calmly. “Lord Werne is one of many guests my parents hope to host at Bryn Shaer, and it is our job to make him and his men feel welcome. And now I suggest we all retire for the evening, as I’m sure we’ll all have much to do tomorrow. Good night.”

The startled residents didn’t react for a moment, then came murmurs of “yes, milady,” and “good night, milady” as people drifted off to their rooms. Meri nodded, satisfied.

Back in her rooms, she sank onto her bed with a deflated sigh and looked up at me with frightened eyes. “What will we do, Celyn?”

I sat beside her and took her hand. The magic flared up between us, and I only squeezed harder. “Whatever we have to.”

Morning came, Meri and I waking together to stare at one another.

“It’s my birthday,” she whispered. I had almost forgotten. Though her gowns were laid out in her dressing room, and we had all memorized our roles, the coming celebration had been eclipsed by every thing else. The ceremony itself would be delayed for a couple of days, to fall on a more auspicious calendar day than Meri’s actual, Dead of Winter birthday. That had always been the plan, but it seemed impossible now to think about a feast of celebration, with the Inquisitor and his men walking the halls of Bryn Shaer and casting their dark green shadow over every thing.

I tried to smile. “All grown up,” I said softly.

Though Meri was to have breakfast this morning with her parents, there would be no riding out of Bryn Shaer today, or any other day, probably. It was only beginning to dawn on me that my fate was sealed with the Nemair’s. I would likely be spending the rest of my life here in the Carskadons. At least until Bardolph died and Astilan took the throne, and decided that the Nemair were even more of a threat than his uncle had thought, and had everyone brought to Gerse to be executed.

That’s it, Digger. Start the day on a positive note.

I dressed Meri in her kirtle of soft pink wool, and I brushed her long fall of black hair straight down her back, tying it back from her face with a gold ribbon. During her
kernja-velde
, if it even happened now, Marlytt and Phandre and I would plait and pin it up into an elaborate confection of braids and jewels, as a symbol of her reaching adulthood. But until then, even though she was technically an adult today, she would wear it loose.

Phandre came out of her chamber, looking sullen and thoughtful. I almost said something snide just to lighten up the heavy air — but she didn’t seem worth it anymore. Meri crossed to the window to kneel by her prayer stand as I pulled on my own blue dress. I saw her from the corner of my eye, hands resting on the stand’s edge, head bent.

“I hate them!” she cried out suddenly, and gave the prayer stand a shove that sent the candles and prayer stones scattering.

“Meri!” I said, shocked more by her behavior than anything. She stood staring at the mess, her hands balled up at her sides. I went to her, to help gather the spilled stones, then stopped myself. What did it matter anymore? I took Meri’s hands in mine, and a thread of light twined our fists together.

Phandre just stood in the corner, dressed wisely in green, and watched.

Meri spent the morning with her parents, and Phandre wandered off wherever she normally wandered off to, but I was too restless to stay anywhere for long. Though Werne had only brought a dozen Greenmen inside the gates with him, we felt their presence every where: drinking Yselle’s mead in the kitchens, standing guard by the Armory, patrolling the battlements. It was like Gerse all over again, only worse.

At last I went up to the white tower. I’d nicked a packet of seed for the rooks, an offering to Marau’s messengers on this holy day, and as I scattered it against the snow, I cast my thoughts to the year’s dead. I said a prayer for Tegen, that pain still a hot knife in my breast; for the dead men in the tunnels, Daul’s conspirators; and for my tinker at the convent.

As the black birds circled down, wide wings lifted, I watched the soldiers outside the walls circle the castle like a green moat. Why hadn’t I run with Wierolf and Reynart? Why didn’t I grab my stash and head straight down those tunnels now? Why was I still here?

I went back to Meri’s rooms, which still suffered from this morning’s mess. As I bent to right the toppled prayer stand, I found a scrap of paper, torn no bigger than my thumb, with writing on it. My writing. It was a piece of the page I’d been using to decode Daul’s journal — the page on which I’d recorded the identity of the Traitor of Kalorjn.

I was staring at that scrap of paper in my fingers when Marlytt burst into the room, her hands gripped together at her waist. “I can’t find Meri,” she said simply. A furrow creased her forehead. But Marlytt
never
let worry show.

“She’s with her parents.”

“Lady Nemair is downstairs, supervising decorations in the Round Court, and Lord Antoch was in the Armory with Cwalo and two of the Confessors.”

I stood up, moving toward the door with her. “Why were you looking for her?”

“I don’t know where Daul is either.”

The cold room suddenly felt hot. We stared at each other, a vise of worry pulling us together. Maybe the two had nothing to do with each other, but it was awfully strange that Daul and Meri would
both
disappear on the very morning of the Inquisition’s arrival.

On the very morning of her birthday.

“Sweet Tiboran, I know where she is,” I breathed. “She’s fourteen now — the Age of Authority. She’s answerable for her own crimes.”

Marlytt shook her head, confused, and I remembered that of course she didn’t know that Meri had magic, let alone that she’d been consorting with wizards and getting the Mark of Sar branded into her skin. Well, this was still no time to go spreading it around the hills. “Get her parents,” I said. “I’ll find Meri.” And I took off down the hallway, Marlytt staring silently after me.

I ran down the soft rugs, trying to keep my breath mea sured and even. I was probably overreacting, but a thread of fear twined around my heart, pulling tighter as I ran. Marlytt didn’t know about Meri’s magic — but might someone else? Had Meri guarded her secret well enough, or had she grown careless after meeting Stagne? Even in the absence of magic, her tattoo was enough evidence to send her to the gallows. How long would it take the Confessors to find it?

I tried to remember where they’d put the Inquisitor’s men. Would Werne have taken over some public space? Not the Armory — Marlytt had said Antoch was there. I started toward the Lesser Court, but saw, down at the end of the far hallway, a pair of Greenmen flanking Lord Antoch’s door. I skidded to a stop and ducked back into an alcove. Pox. I couldn’t just run up and barge through the doorway — that wouldn’t help Meri, if she was even there.

Easy, Digger.
Interviews, Cwalo had said. Everyone at Bryn Shaer would have to appear before the Confessors and say whatever would save our own skins. Meri might just be having her interview. Questioning by the Inquisition was never a good thing, but it was better than an arrest.

And then I saw Daul step out of Antoch’s rooms, and knew better. Hot bitter bile rose in my throat and I had to fight down a murderous urge to run for him. The first thing I had to do was find Meri, assess her situation. Satisfying as attacking Daul would be, it was unlikely to help.

I paced the little nook, considering my next move. The easiest way to get inside those rooms was to march up to the guards and announce that I could identify traitors and heretics, and I was ready to do my holy duty by Celys and the king.

The next easiest option was to stroll up and announce that I was the Inquisitor’s long-lost sister, and demand to see him.

Neither option was good. Both would get me in, but I wanted to get
out
again too. Thinking a moment, I came up with a third alternative. I ran back to Meri’s rooms and grabbed the untouched breakfast tray. The posset had gone cold, but who cared? I didn’t actually intend to feed anybody. I hesitated, wondering if I could do anything useful here, add something to the tray to gain some kind of advantage. A knife wouldn’t help Meri. Could I drop some potion or poison from Lyll’s stillroom into the wine or honey? I had a bottle of something I’d nicked, weeks ago. But chances were too slim that the Inquisitor would actually consume it — and what if Meri got hold of it instead?

In the end I gave up and just took the food. Observe, learn, report. I could do that, without getting anybody killed.

I carried the tray back across the Lodge to Antoch’s chamber, the plates and pots rattling as I hurried. I was sweaty and agitated from all this running, but the Inquisition was probably used to sending people into such a state.

At Antoch’s door, the Greenmen looked me over suspiciously. There were two of them, one looking bored, the other small and surly and glaring up and down the empty corridor. Like all Greenmen, he was armed with a nightstick, which was technically the only weapon they were authorized to carry, but I saw a sheath in his boot, and a matching one in his partner’s. Did guarding the Inquisitor merit additional weaponry — or did these guys just like knives? In a fight, I might have a chance with the smaller one, but the bigger guard had at least a foot and a half on me, and probably double my weight. This was going to take charm. Thank the gods I’d spent the last two months with Phandre and Marlytt. I looked up sunnily and said, “I have His Grace’s tray!”

The smaller guard scowled at me. “Go away.”

But the other, older and softer, smiled back at me. “We didn’t order anything.”

“
Everyone
at Bryn Shaer gets breakfast,” I said. “Here — there’s honeyed Breijard pears. Go ahead, His Grace won’t notice if one’s missing.”

“He’s eaten already. Go away.”

That little one was starting to get on my nerves. I wondered if I might take him out — the tray was heavy; one quick club to the back of his scowling head —

“Ease up a little, Arrod. The girl’s trying to be hospitable. That’s rare enough.”

I turned to Older-and-Softer. “One quick peek inside the rooms, and I’ll disappear. You’ll hardly even know I was in there.” For good mea sure, I stole a glance at Arrod. “And I can make sure the next tray has an extra bottle of sweet Brennin red on it.”

Finally, finally they relented, stepping aside and swinging open Antoch’s unlocked door. Inside, Meri sat in a chair by the cold fireplace, weeping and obviously terrified. Werne stood before the tall windows, a green shadow, flanked by guards. His head was bowed over the earthstone in his clasped hands. One of the Confessors looked up briefly when I entered, but nothing more. The red drapes sectioning off Lord Antoch’s office were thrown open, and two Confessors were working their way quietly and methodically through Antoch’s desk and bookshelves. Sud denly I was sick with relief that I had never brought back the seal or the letter I’d stolen.