Part 14 (1/2)

Something about her voice told me she knew the answer already, but I answered anyway. ”Mostly they just prayed. They said Celys would choose to save who she would, and send for Marau to carry away those who did not meet her favor.”

”Celyn,” Lady Lyll said patiently. ”Celys is a G.o.ddess of life. She has given us herbs and fruits and flowers that can cure, that can heal, that can save lives and ease pain. Does it not make sense that she would want us to use them?”

I just shrugged, because when did the G.o.ds ever make sense?

Like a lot of thieves, I knew some basic tavern medicine - how to stanch bleeding, st.i.tch a cut, bind a broken bone - but n.o.body understood how to keep poison from a wound, save a rotten limb, or bring down a dangerous fever. There were always guesses, of course, and people more than willing to make a profit on those guesses. Apothecaries and potioners' shops abounded in Gerse, selling ridiculous decoctions that were as likely to make you worse as better. And when summer fevers ravaged the city, as they did nearly every year, the Celystra's response was to shut tight its doors to protect its own, and ring the temple bells out in prayer.

But here was real knowledge, real medicine to treat the sick and the injured. Forbidden knowledge in Llyvraneth. If Bardolph hadn't closed the Sarist college in Breijardarl, Llyvrins might have learned this too, along with astronomy and anatomy and the other sciences Lady Lyll had talked about.

”How do they get away with it?” I said, reading an entry showing disorders of the liver. I held my fingers to the rusty-red pictures, as if there were some power to be absorbed from the page, beyond the simple, clear meaning of the words. But these words were just words, plain and simple and true - and yet powerful in their own way for all that.

Lady Lyll touched my wrist with her warm hand. ”We let them, Celyn,” she said, and her voice was low and fierce. ”We let them.”

I didn't know what to do with her fierceness, and so I just hid my head in another batch of the ointment I had fouled. Lady Lyll stepped out for a moment to fetch more water from the kitchens, and I was left alone in the stillroom for the first time. I looked around me, almost in awe of this room of hidden knowledge. I was hungry for it - to understand the secrets inside every bottle, every packet, in all those books. It was even more intoxicating than Antoch's library. Taking advantage of Lady Lyll's absence, I pulled another volume off the shelf.

I thought at first it was the gamekeeper's ledger, for there was a detailed listing of game birds, along with numbers and shorthand notations I couldn't make out, but it was in Lady Lyll's firm, tidy script. Tucked between notes on the new construction at Bryn Shaer - tile orders and the payment of Breijard workmen - I found something familiar and out of place: a sc.r.a.p of embroidery, rows of black and scarlet on white linen, with some of the st.i.tches cut out.

I ran my fingers along the cut bits, frowning. One mangled sampler was strange. Two was suspicious. I cast my eye along the pattern, which was mostly obscured now, but counting the repeats and the images that remained. I thought there were five repeats. No, she could only find four. I had dozed through that conversation, but it p.r.i.c.ked at my mind now. Was there more to this than just silk and linen?

The more I looked at the st.i.tching, the more I felt sure of it. Hidden in those torn st.i.tches was a message. From Lady Cardom to Lady Lyll, about what? I tried to remember. Something about Lady Cardom's daughter, and the place she lived. Gairveyont. A castle on Llyvraneth's southeastern coast. Four repeats, when Lady Lyll had been hoping for five. Five what? They're only offering their daughter because they want our help.

Help with what? I turned back to the page in the ledger book about the construction, thinking about those fortified bailey walls. Five s.h.i.+ps? Five cannon? Five - rosebushes? I had no clue what I was looking at.

But Tiboran hadn't marked me as a fool. I knew it was something. I stuffed the sc.r.a.p of cloth into my bodice, just as Lady Lyll pushed open the stillroom door.

I brought the embroidery to Daul, interested to see what he'd make of it. We met in the servants' hallway behind the Round Court, both pieces of cut-up st.i.tchery in my hand.

”What is this?” he said, predictably.

”Isn't that your job? 'Let me decide what's suspicious'?” But I recounted the conversation between Lady Lyll and Lady Cardom. ”Maybe it has something to do with the new defenses.”

Daul sighed and took them. ”Very well. I will look into it. Is that all?”

I bristled. ”I went to a lot of work to get those. I hid in a freezing window for an hour. You could at least pretend to be interested.”

”Bring me something interesting, and I will.”

”Fine. But I want to be paid.” Enough of working for threats and intimidation. I wanted something real out of this job.

His gaze sharpened. ”You have something, then?”

I gave a faint shrug.

”The journal?”

”Forget the d.a.m.n journal. This is better.” For the first time, I had something I knew he wanted, and the power of that made my blood feel hot.

He rolled his head back in exasperation. ”Five marks - if it's something useful.”

”Ten. It is. And I'm going to need a knife.”

”I need a thief, not a mercenary. Who are you planning to use it on?” But I heard amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice.

”You.”

He did laugh then, a thin sound like the barking of foxes. Something stiff cracked in my own face, and I thought perhaps I was almost smiling.

”You're very amusing, little mouse. Give it to me.”

I hesitated. I had to tell somebody - this knowledge was too big for me alone. I was crawling with it, like fleas, and I'd go mad trying not to scratch. Let Daul get bitten for once.

”There are Sarists camping in the woods behind Bryn Shaer.”

Daul's expression s.h.i.+fted from surprise to . . . something else. ”I don't pay for fantasies.”

I shook my head, described the camp I'd seen. Well, campfire.

”A band of filthy beggars, no doubt.”

”No doubt. And they stole their purple cloaks.”

He wheeled his gaze around, leaned very close. ”Outlaws. Brigands.”

”Not these guys. Their leader had a purple tattoo on his hand.”

Daul pulled himself away from me and smoothed down his doublet. ”That's worth a half-n.o.ble at most,” he said, fis.h.i.+ng for the coin. I caught it smoothly as it sailed toward me. ”Get yourself a knife from the kitchens. I trust a girl of your talents can handle that much.” He pushed past me into the Round Court. ”I'll give you the rest of your fee when you bring me the journal.”

Turning the coin over in my hand, I watched him leave. It was a neat solution to my problem; I had found Daul some real Sarists, and in chasing them down, maybe he'd turn his attention away from me for a few days. I tried not to think too much about what would happen if he caught them.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the Lesser Court for games. I played a match of chess with Eptin Cwalo while the others engaged in a lackadaisical round of riddles, a silly game that usually started out innocent and degenerated after the gla.s.ses were filled a few times. Meri excelled at it - both in guessing the answers and in posing cryptic questions.

Cwalo had taken the seat closest to the fire, and the flames leaping all about his small s.h.i.+ny face made him look weird and sinister. Luckily the particular brand of chess he'd chosen, a fast-moving game popular in the south, was one I knew well. I played it by raucous, reckless tavern rules, knocking over his pieces and sacrificing my own with abandon. A slow grin of delight spread across his pasty features.

”My word, Lady Celyn - you have a fearless streak about you.”

I grinned back and hooked his Courtier from the game board. ”I just hate to lose.”

”When it's a cold soup!” Meri exclaimed from across the room. ”When is a pigeon not a bird?” She was smiling widely, her color high. Antoch looked on, ever the proud father. Daul sat beside them, thin legs stretched out lazily, watching everyone with a sort of bored, scorn ful gaze.

”When it's a fowling piece,” my opponent offered in a low, smooth voice. I scrunched my face in confusion, and Cwalo explained, ”There's a large gun for hunting birds they call a 'pigeon.' No one knows why.”

”Master Cwalo, do you know every thing?” I turned the game piece over in my hands, a silver figurine in the shape of a n.o.b sketching a bow.

”Perhaps not every thing, milady.” He reached toward me to Bargain back the lost man, brus.h.i.+ng his hand against my sleeve. ”But do you know who is exceptionally well-informed?” he said. ”My son Andor.”

”Your sons again! Did you ever think I might like some of these other families, their sons? What would you say then?” I made a ridiculously demure move with my Maid - one that put her directly in sight of his newly reclaimed Courtier.