Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) (8 page)

Tib

Clanging. Shouting. Marching. Stench. Creaking hinges. Slamming door.

The candlelight is harsh after so long in the darkness. I try to remember how long. Hours, not days. Hours since they put me in here in this tiny room. Musty-smelling, like the roots. Dry, like the sand. Cleaner, though. I panicked at first when they left me here. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Be calm, a voice told me. Breathe. I did. It didn’t help much. I cower from the approaching flame. Can’t see the man holding it. My eyes aren’t used to the light yet. He drops a tin plate onto the rough table with a clatter. I jump and flinch away. Eye the dish. My stomach growls.

“Eat,” he says. Pulls up a stool to sit. His uniform is neat. Blue and purple. Cerion’s colors. Not city guard. Palace. Palace guard. He nudges the dish toward me. “You don’t eat it, I’m taking it away. Don’t know when you’ll get another plate. Go on.”

There’s bread. Meat. Hard cheese. I pick up some of that, the cheese. I sniff it before I take a bite. It’s good. Better than I’ve had before, even at Nessa’s. The meat, too. It’s fresh and hot. Lined with fat. I clean my plate too quickly. He waits awhile before he starts the questions.

“You like to climb?” he asks.

I don’t answer. I mop the last of the fat with my bread. My stomach churns. The towers. The fire. I can’t swallow. I feel his eyes on me. Try to look innocent, like Saesa with the dock workers. Shrug my shoulders.

“Sometimes.” I say. My voice comes out thick. Guilty.

“Yeah?” He pours me a cup of something brownish from a pitcher. At first I think it’s ale, but it’s too sweet when I sip it.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Cider,” he says. He blinks at me in disbelief. “You never had cider?” He peers into the pitcher and swirls it, then looks at me again.

“No, sir.” I remember my sirs. Nessa says politeness can get you out of a pinch. “Thank you, sir.”

“How old are you, boy?” he asks.

“Twelve, sir.” I drain my cup and he fills it again.

“From Sunteri?”

“Yes, sir,” I admit. Not like I can hide that, looking like I do.

“How long have you been in Cerion?” he asks. He leans back on two stool legs. Puts his hand casually on his sword hilt. It’s a big one. Way bigger than Saesa’s.

“About a week, sir.” I gulp the sweet cider. My mouth is so dry. “I came in with the fleet.”

“And you been staying with Lady Ganvent that whole time?” he asks.

I watch him carefully. He watches me, too. I wonder why he’s asking questions he already knows the answer to.

“Yes, sir.”

More watching. More silence. His eyes bore into me. I look into them like Cap taught me to. Honest men are brazen. Only men with something to hide look away.

“So, climbing,” he says finally. Slaps his hand on the table. My heart races. I can smell the smoke. Feel the stone through my gloves as I grip to scale the tower. “You like the aqueducts?”

I look up. Meet his eyes again. I’m unsure what he means. “Sir?”

“The aqueducts. The arches next to the castle. Along the river. You like to climb them?”

I stare at him. Nod slowly. “Sometimes.”

“It’s illegal,” he says sternly, then looms over me and speaks very slowly. “Against the law. You understand?” He leans back. Crosses his arms. Looks menacing. Relief floods through me. This isn’t about the towers. It’s about the arches. My secret wall.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know, sir.” I try not to smile. Try not to grin. He’s not smiling. I’ve seen that look before. I wonder what the punishment is for climbing the aqueduct. I’m not afraid of lashes. I can take them. I took seventeen once.

“Yeah, well…” his voice trails off. He’s still suspicious. “What are you doing in Cerion? Why’d you leave Sunteri, anyway?”

“To get away from the dye fields.” It isn’t a lie.

“You belong to someone back there?” He drums his fingers on the table. My mouth goes even drier. I don’t like this question. I shrug.

“Answer,” he says.

“Used to.” I stare at my empty plate.

“Well, what’s that mean?”

“Am I in trouble or not, sir? I climbed the aqueduct. I already said so.” Just punish me, I want to say. Punish me and get it over with.

“You’re in trouble if you don’t answer the question,” he glares. “And watch your tone, you. What’s it mean, you used to belong to someone?”

I eye my empty cup. He doesn’t fill it again.

“I asked you what’s that mean?” he says again. He’s losing his patience.

“She died. No one else to claim me, so I left. Before someone else could.” I meet his eyes. Don’t look away. It’s not a lie. Not all of it, anyway. He sighs. Shakes his head. Hides his pity quickly, but I still catch it.

He asks me question after question. What did I see on the scout ship? What messages were passed? Do I have any reason to believe that Prince Vorance is involved in Sorcery? Did Cap pay me? What did I hear at Lady Ganvent’s? What did I see? I give him his answers. Mostly. Try to protect Nessa and her secrets. Even ask him if he’s got any news about her husband’s fleet. He hasn’t. By the time he’s through with his questions, we feel like friends. Until he gets up.

“Let’s go,” he says briskly. I imagine it’s time for my punishment. I wonder what it’ll be. He takes out his keys. Unlocks the door. Barks a command at the guards outside: “Northwest Tower.”

They march me along stone-walled corridors. Clean but rough. Low ceilings. The musty smell fades as we walk, replaced by citrus oil. The guards in front push open a door. I blink at the sunlight filtering in through the high windows. The drapes are open, but there’s no draft. Outside, snow billows past the windows. Lighthearted. Carefree. My boots slip on the polished wood. The ceilings are high here. Ornate. Carved with figures and faces that peer down at me. I feel small. Alone. I’ve felt alone ever since the cell. More alone than I’ve felt in weeks. It makes me more uneasy than the thought of the punishment I know is coming.

A garden. Inside. With songbirds and flowers. It smells like wet earth and green plants. Reminds me of the jungles of Elespen. Of Saesa’s eyes. It’s warm in here. The air is thick and humid. I peer up at the glass ceiling and see men with brooms brushing away the falling snow to let the sunlight in. I slow my pace to watch them and I’m prodded forward by the guard who questioned me. Rushed through too quickly. If this was my palace, I’d stay in the garden. It isn’t my palace, though. It never will be. I’m not lucky enough to have been born here.

So many things catch my interest as I’m rushed through the twisting corridors. Silver and gold. Jewels. Pictures made of colorful thread that hang from the walls. Statues carved of white stone. Swords and shields and suits of armor. We climb a staircase carved with golden flowers and draped with purple carpet. The more I see, the less important I feel. I’m confused, too. If they’re going to punish me, why show me all of this? Why bring me through into the depths of the palace? Wouldn’t it be better to do my lashings somewhere else? Anywhere else? My stomach flips nervously. I try hard not to think of the fatty meat and cups of cider heavy in my belly. I don’t want to ruin the carpet.

We finally stop at a door carved with dainty figures of winged ladies. They remind me of bony white creatures with black, empty eyes. Roots. Sand. I look away as the guards in front of me knock. The one who questioned me is behind me. He clamps a hand on my shoulder. The door swings open and a lady in a fine gown gives me a disapproving once-over. She looks at the man behind me, shakes her head, and steps aside to let us in, wringing her hands.

Inside is too pretty. Frills and ruffles everywhere. Lace curtains and shimmering sky-blue silk stretched across the ceiling. Walls painted with trees and flowers and butterflies. Poufs of pillows like mushrooms all around the green carpet. A girl sits on one of them, watching me. Her eyes are red. She’s been crying. The guard pushes my shoulder down until I’m on my knees. A glint in her hair makes me finally realize who she is. I bow my head and my thoughts race.

“Is this the boy you saw, Your Highness?” The guard asks. His tone is different with her. Softer. Kind. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she crosses the room to me. Her dress glitters with tiny jewels, bright against the deep green silk. She circles me and bends and takes my arm to pull me up.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Tib, Your Highness,” I whisper, confused.

“Tib, I’m Margary. You may call me Margy,” she says brightly. She offers her hand to me. Tiny. Gloved. I look at it, and then at her. I’m not sure what to do.

“You may kiss it,” she says. I glance up at her. Not sure I heard her right. She nods, and I do as I’m told. Press my lips to the soft fabric over her knuckles. She smells like flowery perfume. I feel ridiculous. The lady who let us in shakes her head and click her tongue. Behind me, the guard shifts. He squeezes my shoulder to remind me he’s still there.

“Thank you, Finn,” the princess says to the guard. “You may wait outside.” The room is silent. “You too, Tirie.”

“Your Highness, I must insist—” Finn starts to protest, but the princess raises her chin at him and he thinks twice. “Please, Highness. For your safety.”

Margary looks up at me. She’s not much older than Emmie. Maybe as old as Ruben. I’m not sure. Her eyes are brown with bits of orange. Puffy. Mournful. I wonder what a princess living in a palace like this could have to be troubled about.

“He won’t hurt me,” she argues.

“I must insist,” Finn repeats. “I could lose my position, Highness.” That works. Her eyes go wide. She chews her lip.

“Very well,” she says. “Stand over there please, Finn.”

She points to a far corner and the guard goes as he’s ordered, to stand beneath a painted willow. Tirie gives me another appraising look and then goes out, closing the door behind her. The princess takes my hand and pulls me to the opposite corner. She drops onto a pouf and points to another. “You may sit,” she says. I do. She leans in close.

“I saw you,” she whispers. “Last night. You and him.” She watches me hopefully.

“Me and?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Him,” she says insistently.

“Who, Highness?” I frown. I was alone last night, all night, on the arches. Before I went home to bed. She sighs impatiently.

“It’s okay, you can tell me. I know about them.” She leans toward me, waiting.

“Know about who?” I shake my head slowly. Glance at the guard. Wonder whether the princess is not quite right in the head. She scowls.

“Here, look.” She takes my elbow. Pulls me up. Brings me to the window and points down at the arches, to the spot where I dozed last night. “See? I was watching you. You and him. He looked sick. Is he?”

“Princess…” I shake my head. “I climbed the aqueduct and I’m sorry, but I did it alone, I swear. Nobody else was there.” She huffs impatiently. Takes me by the sleeve. Pulls me back to the mushroom poufs.

“Please,” she whispers. “I promise it’s okay. I know about them. They’ve been helping me. We help each other. But now he’s disappeared and I—”

Voices outside the door interrupt her.

“I found it! Your Highness! I found it!” The princess jumps to her feet as the door swings open and a page stumbles through it. He’s waving a tattered looking baby doll. “I found it!”

She rushes to him. Takes the doll. Her shoulders slump. Quiver. She hands it back to him. Shakes her head. Tirie rushes in and embraces her. Comforts her.

“It’s not…it’s not it.” The princess weeps.

“Shh, Highness. There, there.”

“I thought for sure,” the page turns the doll in his hands and then drops them to his sides, disappointed. “I’m sorry, Highness.”

“You may go, Nate,” Tirie says over her shoulder as she rubs the princess’s back.

“Keep…keep looking. Please.” Margy sniffles.

I watch him go in disbelief.

“What’s the big deal? It’s just a doll,” I murmur. Tirie throws me a look. The princess curls into her and sobs.

“How could I lose it, Tirie?” Margy sobs. “How could I?”

“Shhh, now, little one. All of the pages are looking, and Master Anod said he’d try a location spell if he can find the time later.”

“Nobody understands,” Margy whispers.

“Of course we do, dear. Of course we do.”

I shift uncomfortably, watching the scene in disbelief. All of this fuss over a toy? The door is still open. I inch toward it. Finn shakes his head at me.

“In the meantime,” Tirie is saying, “they’re working on a new poppet for you. You should see it! So many pretty little dresses and even tiny shoes. It was supposed to be a surprise, but we don’t like seeing you so upset.”

“I don’t want…” Margy stops herself. Sniffles again. Wipes her eyes with the back of her glove. “I want Sara,” she whispers.

“Oh my darling, your sister is riding with Prince Vorance, remember? You can see her at supper.”

“Then I want Mama,” she rests her head against Tirie’s arm.

“Their Majesties are tending to the marriage contract with the advisers. They can’t be disturbed.” The princess sniffles again. Her glistening eyes rest on me.