Part 11 (1/2)

”I didn't see that,” I said. ”What is it?”

But Daul was through sharing. Instead of explaining anything else, he carefully pressed the warmed wax back atop the stamped ink moons and fitted the bra.s.s seal back onto its handle. ”Very nicely done,” he said. ”You may put these back at your leisure. Now, the next thing I want might be a little more challenging. Antoch has a journal -”

”Wait.” I stared at him. ”What next thing?”

”Don't look so surprised,” he said, and his rough voice was like a purr. ”You didn't really think I was going to let you go so easily? You're far too useful to me.”

”I gave you what you wanted,” I said in a voice much firmer than I felt. ”Leave me alone.”

”I think not. I had imagined this more an ongoing partners.h.i.+p.”

”We're not partners!”

That slow, oily smile made its appearance once more. ”No, you're right about that. I own you.”

I felt cold all over, though Daul's fire roared. ”I don't work for people who threaten me.”

”Really? Why don't I ring for Lord Antoch now, and you can explain that to him?”

”You b.a.s.t.a.r.d.” I felt my hand creeping toward my knife, and I caught my fingers in my skirts.

”Feign as much bravado as you like,” Daul said. ”But I think we understand each other. You can either do what I tell you - whatever I tell you, or you can start working on what you're going to say at your trial.”

”I'm not afraid of you,” I lied.

”Well, then, let's consider the matter a little more closely. I am a man of means, power, and ambition. I have personally dined with His Majesty, traveled with the king's Inquisitor, and been appointed to the Order of the Spur. You, on the other hand, are an anonymous speck of dung from the gutter of Gerse. I think we could say you're disposable.”

Disposable! It gave me a chill. He was right. n.o.body in all the world would notice if I just . . . disappeared. I wasn't Meri, coddled and adored. I wasn't even Phandre, fiercely fighting for a place in the world. I was like he'd said: anonymous. It was one reason I could slip in and out of costumes, roles, ident.i.ties - because I didn't really have one of my own.

”Don't look so glum! This could turn out to be a very profitable a.s.sociation for both of us. I have powerful friends, and I expect to be well rewarded. I can arrange that your . . . rewards are likewise commensurate with the information you supply.”

I stepped back, wary. ”What sort of information?”

”What sort of information do you think I mean, you brainless slattern?” He leaned forward, his loose sleeves swinging. He'd started to sweat slightly. I could just make out the branded Sarist star on his forearm. He saw me looking, and rubbed his arm.

”Yes, well. I have seen the error of my ways. But I am concerned for the souls of my brother and his family. I know firsthand how deep these dangerous, heretical beliefs may run. I only want to be certain that His Majesty's servants are as loyal as they profess themselves to be.”

Oh, and finally I understood. ”You think they're Sarists.”

Daul leaned back and let that thought sink in. ”Oh, I more than 'think.' But you will secure me the proof of precisely what my dear friends are planning.”

”I won't work for Greenmen,” I said. I never would. That was the whole problem between my brother and me.

”That will not be an issue. Do your work well, and no one ever need know you were involved.”

This was crazy. ”I don't know what you think that seal means, but Lord and Lady Nemair aren't up to anything suspicious. Ask King Bardolph - he just gave them some kind of medal for their ser vice overseas. Besides, I've been living here for weeks, and n.o.body's eaten a single baby.”

”Do you find this so amusing, my little gutter rat? I wonder how you'd laugh with the thumbscrews on. Allow me to determine what's suspicious about Lord and Lady Nemair. You will observe the members of this household as I instruct, report to me, share whatever secrets you uncover in your close a.s.sociation with their daughter - in short, tell me anything interesting you see or hear.”

”I see a weasel in one of his lords.h.i.+p's bedrooms. Is that interesting?”

He moved to slap me, but stayed his hand half an inch from my cheek. That time I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me wince. ”You're very amusing. And now you will fetch me Antoch's journal. Black calfskin binding, a seal of the House of Daul on the spine. Do you know what that looks like?”

It probably matched the one I'd just palmed from his desk, but I made a pretense of looking dumb. ”An ermine?” I guessed. ”That's like a weasel, isn't it?” I was seething inside, that this man had me so neatly trapped. Yesterday I was a lady's maid, and now I was a spy.

Pox.

The job was simple: Watch, listen, learn, report. And keep quiet about it all.

I could do that, of course, had been doing it all my life. But I usually chose the jobs I took, although the payment Daul was offering was hard to pa.s.s up. How would they like knowing their daughter's sleeping with a thief?

I sat now on Meri's lofty bed, my fingers buried deep in the white fur mantle, and stared at the carved plaster ceiling. What were my options? Work for Daul, or take my chances with the weather. I glanced out the window. The snow was still falling, and I'd heard the dogs had found two bodies trapped under the debris in the pa.s.s.

I could stroll into Lady Lyll's solar and tell her the truth. Announce that her husband's beloved friend suspected them of Sarist sympathies, and was extorting me to find the evidence. And have Daul tell them some outrageous lie about me. Or even the truth. I clutched at the white fur. That was a sure path to the dungeons - or worse. Did they kill thieves in the mountains?

The evidence. What was Daul even hoping I'd find? A secret stash of Sarist literature? Garderobes full of violet robes?

A daughter with magic?

d.a.m.n.

That would end this quickly.

I sat very still and cold, pressing an embroidered pillow to my stomach. What did I know? I had seen the magic playing on her skin - but nothing more than that. Not that that wasn't d.a.m.ning enough, but she was a child. Merista Nemair wasn't hurting anybody. I'd watched her say her devotions to Celys, right here in this room.

I had worked with dangerous people before. I'd helped sensitive information change hands, things that could get men killed. And maybe had. I didn't know. Tegen had always said we weren't spies. Spies had a political agenda. We worked for anybody. We were in it for the money, the thrill, the pure glory of Tiboran, G.o.d of thieves and liars. Messengers. Middlemen. Our hands were clean.

I had one skill, one thing I was really good at. It had kept me alive for the last few years; why was I balking now? Was this any different from working for Hron Taradyce or the Fealty Guild? I didn't owe the Nemair anything - they weren't my family. And did I really want to spend the next few months in dancing lessons, learning which cup to drink from first, and watching Lady Lyll embroider?

I curled up on the bed, hugging the pillow to my face. ”Oh, Tegen,” I whispered. Scruples and squeamishness wouldn't bring him back. I could smell Meri's soft, sweet scent on the bed, and pressed my eyes closed. She was n.o.body to me. Just a warm body and a place to hide. I flexed my fingers and pa.s.sed my hand an inch above the coverlet on her side of the bed. Faint misty flecks sprang up and swirled to my fingers like silver filings. I thought about the strange way Durrel and Meri had looked at me in the boat, Meri giving me her bracelet. What had they seen?

Tegen had died to keep my secret. He'd killed a guard to keep me from falling into Greenmen's hands, where they'd take special plea sure in making my fingers light up. If I turned Meri over to Daul, he'd start asking all kinds of questions. She has magic? How do you know? I couldn't risk him finding out about me. I closed my fist tight. Dying as a thief was better than dying as a heretic.

But if I did my job right, n.o.body had to die at all.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

I was getting careless. That's all there was to it. Life at Bryn Shaer was making me soft. Three weeks of soft rooms and soft food and soft living, and here I was, pressed against a freezing windowpane, my toes curled under, scarcely breathing lest I disturb the heavy fall of yellow tapestry curtains I was hiding behind.

Lady Cardom had come back earlier than expected, and I had not quite figured out how to extricate myself from her chambers without being seen. She was supposed to be at dinner, and I couldn't fathom why she was taking so long getting ready. Was I going to have to stay here until she retired for bed?

I'd spent the last couple of days perusing Bryn Shaer's domestic s.p.a.ces, and the entertainment was wearing thin. The Cardoms' suite in particular was utterly clean of anything suspicious, unless you counted Lord Cardom's vast and inexplicably pink-embroidered smock. That was one mystifying discovery I would happily share with Daul, unable to accept the oddness of it all by myself.

Lady Cardom and her maid shuffled about the rooms, changing Lady Cardom's day dress for - I listened for the rustle of heavy silk or - pox! Was that a loose gown; was she staying in? I didn't fancy the thought of spending the whole night behind this curtain, although I'd fared worse. I imagined a sigh of exasperation and wiggled into a slightly more comfortable position.

My second search of Lord Antoch's rooms had proved less profitable than my first. Not only was there no journal to be found among his lords.h.i.+p's belongings, but when I had gone back to check the library, the magic book was gone. I'd swiped the map of the hunting grounds, though, just so Daul knew my intentions were pure. Daul had looked at it strangely, his fingers whitening on his tight grip of the paper, and offered to remind me, once again, of what I was supposed to be doing. I touched the bruise on my temple - only half hidden by my bulky headpiece - and shook my head.