Part 37 (1/2)

”I just a.s.sumed he was playing with me; 'Bait the n.o.b' is a grand sport here at the Keep.” Durrel spoke slowly, as if turning a thought over to examine it. ”You think he might have been serious; someone - sent you to me? To what end? That doesn't make any sense.”

”Oh, milord,” I said. ”I've learned it's easier if you stop expecting things to make sense.” I rose slowly and leaned back against the wood. ”It would appear we have a common enemy. Who have you p.i.s.sed off?”

He eyed me evenly. ”You mean besides Talth's family?”

”Well, that's no good. I've had no dealings with them at all. Is that it? No dark secrets in Durrel Decath's past or present?” My voice was as light as I could make it, and Durrel shook his head. I frowned. My own list was definitely longer - dissatisfied clients and frustrated a.s.sa.s.sins, disgruntled former rebels, jealous n.o.bs. Inquisitors. The standard a.s.sortment. ”There must be someone else. Could it have anything to do with the war?” Even now, magic-tolerant Sarists commanded by Prince Wierolf were advancing on the city, pressing with surprising success against Prince Astilan's royal troops. ”Where do the Decath stand?”

”Where they've always stood, off to the side where they can't get into trouble. Waiting for the pieces to fall so they can still be everyone's friends when it's over.” I thought I heard an edge of bitterness in his voice. ”But what about you? I seem to recall there was rather more about you than you originally let on.”

That was no surprise; my relation to the High Inquisitor had become a more or less public secret in the last few months. ”But no one knows I'm back in the city,” I said - which wasn't strictly true - ”and even if they did, they'd be looking for a waiting gentlewoman, not -”

”A ragtag, street-brawling urchin?”

I had to grin. ”Something like that.”

Durrel gave my stained and rumpled men's clothes a critical eye. ”I think I preferred your last disguise.”

”Runaway nun?”

”More romantic, definitely.”

”Well, that's what I was going for.” This conversation was ridiculous, but I couldn't help it. Lord Durrel was too easy to talk to.

”This is probably not the time to mention that you should maybe have stayed out of the city,” he said, a quirk to his lip.

I shook my head. ”I had to come back. I had friends here, and -”

”No, I get it,” he said. ”It's home.”

Home. I wasn't even sure what that meant anymore. I leaned my head against the curving stone wall of the cell. It was late and surreal, and the b.u.mps on my head were taking their toll.

After a silent moment, Durrel straddled the bench and poured out another cup of the stale water. ”Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way,” he said. ”Maybe we're not looking for a mutual enemy, but a friend.”

I choked on my water. ”I thought I'd gotten past the sorts of friends who have you arrested.”

Though we ran through our tiny circle of shared acquaintances once more - many of them his cousin's family, who'd taken me in for the winter, and all their friends and allies - we had no better luck. I couldn't fathom any of the Nemair or their fellow Sarists having me arrested.

”We're left with a puzzle,” Durrel said, and there was a lively spark to his voice that seemed all out of place.

”Pox,” I said. ”I hate puzzles.”

”Surely we'll know more come morning,” he said. ”Our - friend - must have some plan.”

”I hate waiting too,” I said, and personally didn't care to stick around to learn the plans of people who randomly had their acquaintances arrested. But it seemed I didn't have a choice about that, so I plied the rest of Durrel's story from him.

It seemed their marriage, however promising on paper, was troubled from the beginning. Talth, generally accounted a respectable widow, turned out to be cold and controlling, unaffectionate but to her four children, and kept Durrel on a tight leash, like a prize dog she'd bought to show off to her rich friends. By the time his tale wound round to the night of the murder, a dark picture had emerged. An overheard quarrel, a witness who saw Durrel leaving his wife's bedchamber, the empty poison bottle in his rooms.

”But I didn't do it,” he insisted. ”Her maid is lying. I left Talth's rooms at midnight; she can't have seen me there two hours later.”

”And no one can confirm your story? That you were alone in your own quarters all night?”

”I can barely confirm my story,” he said. ”I don't remember much about that night. I - I was angry, and there was . . . rather a lot of wine involved.” He gave a mirthless laugh. ”One thing she wasn't stingy with was her wine cellar.”

”What was the fight about?”

He shrugged. ”Money, Koya, who knows. Nothing, anything. I barely knew the woman, Celyn, but apparently she'd decided to hate me almost as soon as we were married.”

”So in a drunken rage, angry over money, you broke into her rooms in the middle of the night and poisoned her.”

”I know it looks bad. Her family is convinced I'm guilty, and -” He faltered and stared up at the ceiling. ”And so's mine.”

”I don't believe that,” I said. I had met his parents, Lord Ragn Decath, his genial, good-natured father, and a sweet, soft-spoken stepmother, Amalle. They'd been kind to me, when their son thought I was an errant Aspirant on the run from convent school. I had liked them.

But I'd touched a nerve. Durrel's expression grew closed. He shook his head. ”Amalle has left the city, and my father won't see me. He hasn't come or even sent word since I was arrested.” He rose and crossed the cell, looked out the high, barred window at the fading sky. ”We've talked the moons down. The guards will be back on duty soon.”

”And then what?” I said. Bludgeon the one who brought breakfast and steal his keys? Not a terrible plan, the more I thought about it.

He sat beside me. ”It seems the G.o.ds keep throwing us in each other's paths, Celyn Contrare,” he said. ”I say we see what they have in store.”

He sounded so patently silly that I had to laugh. This entire situation was completely cracked, but it was almost worth it, to see Lord Durrel again. ”That sounds like one of your friend Raffin's lines,” I said. Raffin Taradyce had been the engineer of Durrel's escape (and mine) from Gerse last year.

He did grin then, but sobered quickly. ”Speaking of, I have news you won't like. Raffin's joined the Guard.”

I felt my eyes narrow. ”City or royal?”

”Ah, no . . .” Durrel was shaking his head, almost wincing. ”Acolyte.”

I shouldn't have gone cold all over, but I couldn't help it. Durrel Decath's best friend was now a Greenman, one of the brutal henchmen of the Inquisition who tore children from their beds and tortured their victims in secret dungeons all over the city in their ruthless quest for magic users and heretics. All in the name of Celys, our great Mother G.o.ddess. I clutched at my bare wrist, where I'd once worn a silver bracelet given to me by Meri Nemair. It was too dangerous to wear silver in the city now; the slightest glint of the metal would condemn you as a magic user. ”His father's idea?”

”Who else?”

I sighed. ”Remind me to tell you how I met Lord Taradyce sometime.”

”Hist,” Durrel said. Outside in the hall, we heard footsteps, then a loud bang on the door, and a guard threw it open with a G.o.dless crash.

”You there, girl,” he said. ”You've made bail. You're out of here.”

I scrambled to my feet, Durrel behind me. ”Who?” I demanded. ”How?”

The guard shrugged. ”You want out of here or not?”

I turned back to Durrel, feeling suddenly helpless.

”Go,” he urged.

”I don't want to leave you.”