Part 8 (1/2)

”Father has a miniature.”

Well, if she was shy, I wasn't. I grabbed her arm and tugged her in Lord Daul's direction, over her protests. And then I saw someone I knew, and stopped so suddenly I nearly yanked Meri's arm right out of its socket.

A delicate beauty had stepped down from one of the wagons, and was lowering the hood on her sable coat to expose a crown of pale hair dressed a little too elegantly, fair cheeks tinged mountain-air pink, light eyes glittering like opals. Even among all the colorful band, I saw her. Everyone saw her. That was her whole point.

Marlytt Villatiere, notorious Gersin courtesan. It wasn't as if we mixed in the same circles, if we could help it, but we'd b.u.mped into each other now and again. She was no better bred than I was, but her beauty had propelled her to the top of Gerse society as a concubine to anyone who would keep her, and her list of patrons was reputed to be as long as King Bardolph's list of enemies. I knew her, rather crudely, as Marlytt Doskin - ”Everybody's Marlytt.”

Marlytt hung on the arm of a rotund young n.o.b in a studded black doublet straining at its laces. The obvious delight and surprise on his face eliminated him as Marlytt's ”companion” here; I wondered if she'd recently become unattached, and some natural instinct had drawn her to a house bursting full of n.o.blemen, like a bee to a flowerpot. Behind them, an older woman, narrow and pinched-faced and elegant, gave no effort to hide her disdain.

Marlytt stopped directly in front of us, and her gloved fingers flew to her mouth as she looked at me. ”By the G.o.ds, I don't believe it!” We stared each other down for the briefest of moments. ”Oh, it's been so long,” she fumbled, stalling. She clearly didn't know what to call me, since she only knew me by my street name. Fortunately Phandre came to our rescue.

”Oh, don't tell me you know our Celyn,” she said, a note of irritation in her voice. ”You'll be forgiven for not recognizing her; the local climate has done wonders for her.”

Marlytt smiled thinly, but I read curiosity and puzzlement in her eyes. ”Oh, no, our girl is unmistakable.”

”How - how do you know Celyn?” Meri asked, and I was impressed. Most people are hard pressed to manage two words together when meeting Marlytt, let alone a whole sentence.

”I do believe that's a story for her to tell,” she said. ”But we have much to catch up on . . . Celyn and I.” She curled her fingers over mine; they were cold even through the leather of her gloves. ”Come see me later, won't you? I'm staying upstairs.” With a wink, she moved on.

”Well, aren't you full of surprises,” Phandre snapped at me.

She had no idea.

”How do you know her?”

I shrugged. ”From the city. I used to see her . . . sometimes.” And she had a history with Tegen, which I was not about to mention.

There was no immediate opportunity to work out what Marlytt's presence at Bryn Shaer might mean for me, for at just that moment, Lady Lyll swept over with the lean Lord Daul.

”Lyllace, beloved, don't tell me this perfect jewel is Antoch's own!” Lord Daul gave Meri an appraising look. ”Lady Merista,” he said gravely as if speaking to a child, ”you won't know me, but I am your uncle, of sorts. Your father and I were boyhood friends.”

Meri blushed and mumbled something into her bodice. Daul quirked an eyebrow at Lady Lyll. ”Retiring? Where does she come by that trait, I wonder?”

I wasn't sure what he was implying, but I decided I didn't like it. I stepped forward. ”Lord Daul, Lady Merista tells us you're a lunarist.”

Daul looked at me with as much surprise as if the very floor had started speaking to him. Lady Lyll hooked her arm into his. ”Oh, yes - Remy, we're counting on you to entertain us all with your soothsaying.”

”Indeed,” he said. ”I believe I'll be able to tell all your fortunes tonight.” He slipped his arm through Meri's. ”Lady Merista, I do look forward to getting to know my brother's family once again. Will you do me the honor of showing me around this splendid home?” Lord Daul and Lady Lyll swept Meri away. I looked around; Phandre was still latched on to the unsuspecting wine merchant.

Fair enough; I wanted some candied plums anyway.

Meri's maids were not required in attendance at dinner that night, since the family was having a private meal with Lord Daul, so I ducked away to find Marlytt. Upstairs. It was a euphemism, meant for anybody within hearing to know Marlytt wasn't ashamed of her position. Her presence at Bryn Shaer could complicate things for me, but the least little side of me was glad to see her - we hadn't been friends, precisely, but at least we could understand each other.

I took the servant's stair, but Marlytt had apparently had the same idea, for I met her on the stairs.

”Digger! You startled me!” She clapped a slender hand to her chest. She was dressed in a loose robe of berry-red velvet, touched at the neckline with Vareni lace that must have cost a fortune. A gift, no doubt, from some besotted client. ”What are you doing here? Is Tegen here?”

A dark feeling pierced my breast, but I didn't linger to see whether it was grief, or jealousy, or something of both. ”He's dead. Greenmen.” It was the first time I'd said those words, and they tasted bitter on my tongue. I sketched out the job at Chavel's, briefly, sparing the details only to spare myself the need to relive them. It certainly wasn't for Marlytt's benefit.

A shadow crossed her pale face. ”I'm sorry, I know you cared for him. Still, I hadn't figured you for a runner. I thought you'd be the type to stay and fight.”

And I had nothing at all to say to that.

”So what are you planning? Are you here on a job?”

I shook my head and explained how Durrel Decath had whisked me to safety. The story seemed to delight her. ”You should have stayed with him,” she said. ”He sounds like quite the prize.”

”Too young for you, I think.”

She ignored that. ”And now what? Be Merista Nemair's lady-in-waiting for the rest of your life?”

”Until spring, at least. Until it's safe to go back to Gerse.” If that ever happened. Marlytt leaned back against the curving stairwell wall, and I thought of something. ”Listen - you speak Corles, don't you?”

”Of course. Why?”

”I need you to read something for me.” I pulled a crumpled packet of papers from my bodice and handed them to her. Chavel's letters had been rubbing a sore spot in my side for long enough. It was time to finally suss them out.

”I'm sure your Lady Merista reads Corles,” she said, flipping through them. ”Why didn't you - oh. Oh. Digger! Where did these come from? Is that blood?”

I pulled in closer. ”What do they say?”

Her brows knitted together. ”Well, this one is a letter from Secretary Chavel to someone called Vichet, asking if their interests in Corlesanne are being well tended. Do you know what that means?” When I shook my head, she continued. ”He wants to know if Vichet has heard from their friends in Varenzia. I don't know. It's just a letter.” She slipped the next page forward. ”I have no idea what this is.” She showed it to me, two meaningless columns of numbers and letters. ”A betting book? Some kind of inventory? I can't tell.

”But this one -” Marlytt held out the last letter, and her hand was shaking. ”Digger, this looks like a translation of some kind of warrant.”

”Warrant? For what?”

She looked at me, and her pale eyes were as wide as the moons. ”A price on Prince Wierolf's head. Five thousand sovereigns. And it's signed by the king.”

CHAPTER TEN.

Late the next afternoon, I was changing Meri out of her plain kirtle into her evening dress. It had been gray and dull all day, thunder rumbling in the distance. Phandre had heard from her servant friend Ludo that it was snowing down the Gerse road, the storm on its way toward Bryn Shaer. Meri opened her clothes chest and drew out an armful of frothy, ale-gold silk. ”Here,” she said, smiling broadly, and thrust it into my arms.

”What is it?” I said crossly. ”Do you want to wear something different?” We had spent the afternoon doing needlework in the solar, and I had stuck my fingers so many times with my needle I was going to lose all credibility as a nimble-fingered thief.

”Better,” Meri said. ”You're coming to the feast tonight, and you should look pretty.”

”Fat chance there.”

Meri's face fell. ”I wish you wouldn't,” she said, tugging at her hair. In a few weeks' time, that waist-length fall of black would be bound up as she was paraded past the marriage market, and n.o.body would see it again until after her wedding. Poor Meri; she couldn't stand to see anybody unhappy. I sighed and shook out the fabric.

Which revealed itself as a court gown - not one of Meri's little-girl dresses, made over for my size, but a heavy, stately confection of silk brocade that changed from silver to gold in the light, the sleeves and bodice trimmed in strands of pearls, amber, and tiny glittering silver beads. This was a delicious thing, far nicer than anything I'd ever worn, even when Tegen and I would raid his theater friends' wardrobes for clothes to sneak into n.o.b Circle houses. This was a real gown, meant for wear on public display, laced so tight I would never be able to breathe or sit properly, let alone spend the evening scampering over rooftops or sparring in the street.

”It's beautiful,” I said quietly. ”Where did you find it?”

”We made it,” Meri said. ”Mother and I.”