The Dragon of Despair (68 page)

I wonder what she expected?
Peace thought.
To find us cringing? Threatening? Demanding our freedom? Whatever she expected it wasn’t Lord Edlin’s casual insouciance.

He felt a flood of completely unheralded fondness for this young man with his foolish ways and—just maybe—wise heart.

But Melina was not one to be put off her stride indefinitely. She stepped into the cave, Idalia and two of the guards, each carrying a lantern, following. Six in the makeshift room made for rather cramped quarters but Peace immediately understood the reason.

She cannot risk either herself or Idalia being overpowered by us, yet she does not wish to let us out. Interesting. I wonder how far her control within Thendulla Lypella has spread—and just who she feels she still must be careful around.

Continuing in his role as genteel guest rather than prisoner, Edlin made a sweeping gesture with one hand.

“Ladies? I’d offer you a chair, don’t you know, but I’m afraid we’re rather short.”

Idalia gave an indignant sniff, but Melina summoned a smile.

“Thank you, Lord Kestrel, but we won’t be staying long.”

“Right-o,” Edlin said, leaning back against the wall in a relaxed attitude that had to hurt his tortured limbs. “Delighted to have such charming company, what?”

Melina gave a rather icy smile.

“I am sorry I cannot invite you into my tower, Lord Kestrel, but it really wouldn’t be convenient. However, if you cooperate with me, I can make your stay more comfortable.”

Edlin said nothing, only tilted his head in a fashion that rather reminded Peace of Firekeeper—or of her wolf.

Melina went on.

“Your greatest use to me would be as a hostage. At this point, however, I am not certain what price I would take for your return. I have so much, you see….”

Again Edlin resisted the obvious prompt and Peace, aware that he himself was being deliberately snubbed, had to stifle a completely inappropriate chuckle. Once again he felt certain that this interview was not going as Consolor Melina had anticipated.

“What would make your stay more comfortable?” she asked.

Edlin looked around the cave, which, other than the lanterns and the clay cup, was completely unfurnished.

“Your hospitality has been even greater than I expected,” he said smoothly. “I could not ask for more.”

Peace saw Melina stiffen as the insult went home, but she refused to show her anger—perhaps because of the presence of the guards. These were clearly foreigners—Waterlanders, Peace thought, perhaps purchased from the debtors market. Debtors made among the most tractable of slaves because by Waterland law they were stripped of any place within their own society and so they were determined to make the most of their new life.

Debtors were also among the most expensive of slaves. Peace wondered just how high the ransom for Edlin might be set. No matter what gifts Melina had managed to extract from her besotted spouse and his associates, here was evidence that she was spending amply as well.

As for himself, Peace had no illusions that ransom would be an option. Idalia’s gaze, unwaveringly fixed on him no matter what her mistress said, told him that he was the price for another’s service. He only wondered how long he had until that price was exacted and how painful the ultimate paying out would be.

“Well,” Melina said to Edlin after a long pause, “I can only say that my hospitality can be greater than you imagine. I hope you do not mind sharing your quarters?”

Edlin gave a casual shrug.

“It matters not. What are your plans for Grateful Peace?”

Melina’s smile turned momentarily cruel.

“Eventually, he will be reunited with his older sister. I believe she wishes to have a long…discussion with him regarding her late son. However, that joyful reunion will be somewhat delayed.”

Peace heard the “can be” in her inflection. He was being offered a chance to buy a few more days of life. What would the cost be? As he had not yet been addressed directly, he forbore from asking. Edlin, however, had no such restraints.

“Really? It must be something very important to delay such a reunion.”

“Important?” Melina made a dismissive gesture. “Let us rather say helpful. I am eager to learn about my new homeland yet find surprisingly few people knowledgeable about the more obscure geographies of Dragon’s Breath—especially of the subterranean city. Repeatedly, I have heard ‘If only Grateful Peace had not turned dirty, stinking traitor. He would know what you wish to learn.’”

Peace schooled himself to impassivity, but the taunt went home, even more as he didn’t doubt the words were perfectly accurate, even mild.

Within New Kelvinese society, where merit overwhelmed all other considerations for promotion, slandering the competition was common. Complete character destruction was usual in cases of overwhelming failure—as Peace had failed his Dragon Speaker and his kingdom.

Edlin didn’t know this, of course, and had the grace to look offended, but the wisdom not to comment.

“What would you want him to do?” he asked instead.

“Recite at length and in full the details of the hidden ways above and below Thendulla Lypella,” Melina said promptly. “That will do for a start. If he can prove to me he knows more of value relating to other areas of the kingdom, he may preserve himself longer.”

Idalia gave a small, indignant squeak of protest.

Melina laid a hand on Idalia’s arm.

“Of course, maybe he can attend a family gathering or two,” she said silkily. “As a reward.”

Peace knew that the reward was Idalia’s, for her patience, and he knew, too, who would supply the punishment if the information he gave was less than correct. From the fashion Idalia’s fevered gaze rested on the limp sleeve over his amputated arm, he didn’t doubt that she was contemplating more of the same.

He strove not to vomit, not to scream, not to rush forward in a desperate dash for freedom. Surely one of the guards might cut him down? Perhaps if he attacked Melina herself…

But such impulses died even as they rose. Melina had too much self-control to let herself lose such a valuable tool. All he would do would be to put himself in Idalia’s hands the sooner.

Instead Peace said in a rusty voice he hardly recognized as his own:

“I would be honored to see my humble knowledge preserved so that it might serve the Healed One and his wife. If you would do us the great kindness of returning to Lord Kestrel his drawing materials, he might be willing to make maps of what I recall.”

“I say!” Edlin said. “That might be fun.”

“Fun,” Melina echoed flatly. “Perhaps. But certainly useful.”

She signed that the audience was ended and her entourage filed from the cave. The last look she gave them was cold and judgmental. It left no doubts that her cordiality had been feigned, nor that she had forgotten the one of their company who had escaped—and what the wolf-woman had likely borne away with her.

XXVI

THEY WERE IGNORING HER
and that was the last insult. She’d been hauled halfway across two countries, dressed as a foreign boy, treated as a servant all for a single reason—so that she could see her mother. Now no one was making any effort to bring them together.

They’d set up a hospital. They’d bought cloth and funny-smelling herbs. They’d talked and talked and talked and talked, and none of that talk had brought her to Mother.

Now they were all worrying about Edlin—and even about Peace, even though he was just a servant and a traitor whom they admitted they hadn’t even trusted—and worrying about them meant that they weren’t thinking about her.

Citrine’s fury at being so thoroughly ignored shaped her thoughts into a narrow tunnel out of which she peered like a sailor seeking a safe harbor with a spyglass. She found one, just where it had always been.

Mother. She would go to Mother. She would tell her about the others, about their nasty plans and plots. Mother would be happy and proud. Mother would make her a princess—a princess just like Sapphire.

Everything would be wonderful. Citrine knew it, and if the traces of common sense that clamored to rise through her anger and resentment tried to tell her otherwise, Citrine simply didn’t listen.

By the afternoon of the day when Firekeeper had returned and told how Edlin and Peace had been captured by Peace’s angry sister, the household had returned to some semblance of normalcy. Firekeeper was sleeping off bone-deep exhaustion. Elise had gone to the Hawk Haven embassy, just in case Ambassador Redbriar’s spies turned up something significant. Wendee was searching for rumors on the streets. Doc was seeing patients. Derian was pulled two directions at once—tending to all of his and Wendee’s usual routine and assisting Doc when he needed another set of hands.

It was easy to slip away. Indeed, the ease of it added fuel to the raging fire of Citrine’s resentment. Step one had been telling Derian she needed to lie down, that she was tired from sitting awake worrying all night. Derian hadn’t questioned her, only given a tight smile.

“Go,” he had said. “I only wish I could join you.”

Citrine knew Derian was actually glad to have her gone away. She’d heard the grownups discussing their fears that her lack of New Kelvinese—brilliant though her ability was for one who had spoken none of the language a few moonspans before—would give her impersonation away to Hasamemorri or one of her maids.

Citrine had gone into the sleeping room she shared with Wendee and Elise—Firekeeper preferred to be outside—and lay down, keeping the door open a crack so she could hear what went on in the rest of the house. When she heard Doc call for Derian and guessed from the rising note in his voice that Derian would be busy for more than a few minutes, Citrine rose, straightened her New Kelvinese attire, picked up a small bundle of personal possessions wrapped in a square of silk, and went into the kitchen.

From there she had simply walked out the kitchen door, out the back gate, and down the alley behind. Even though she longed to run, Citrine had learned when she was very young that running attracted attention. She strained her ears to hear Derian calling or the shriek of Bee Biter, Firekeeper’s kestrel.

There wasn’t a sound. No one came after her. No one on the street looked twice at her. Panic flooded Citrine when she realized she was going to get away with it, almost washing away the anger.

Almost, but not quite. With a firm, steady step she went to the market from which she’d posted her letter to Mother. The letter should have arrived by now. Indeed, she might miss the messenger Mother was certain to send for her. She envisioned a coach and four, later changing her mental picture when she recalled that the New Kelvinese tended to use litters for smaller human cargo.

The litter her mother would send for her had been hung with red-gold curtains, just a touch lighter than her own citrine namestone. The men who carried it had been muscular, their bodies painted in fanciful swirls that shone beneath the oil they rubbed on themselves.

Indeed, the image was so vivid that Citrine nearly turned around to go and wait for what seemed so certain and so real. But the sight of the Earth Spires at the city’s northern edge drew her on. Certainly Mother wouldn’t mind if she came of her own accord. She might even be pleased. After all, it would take a great while to find a litter with curtains just the right shade.

So Citrine hurried on, pausing once to buy some candied ginger root—a New Kelvinese delicacy for which she’d developed a liking. Buying it would provide an excuse if she accidently met up with Elise or Wendee—though it was likely to earn her a scolding as well.

With the ginger root’s spicy sweetness in her mouth, Citrine hurried through the crowded streets. For once not even the most elaborate costume could distract her. She had a more fascinating image in her mind—her mother kneeling down to welcome her, her arms spread wide, a smile of pure pleasure softening her lips.

As Citrine drew close enough to Thendulla Lypella that she could see the walls, she paused to consider which gate she should enter by. There was the trade entrance, of course. That was the one most discussed by her companions, for if they had any hope of sneaking inside—other than through the sewers—it was through that gate.

Citrine supposed she might slip through there, posing as part of some merchant’s party, but discovery would be too certain. In any case, once inside she’d be in almost the same situation as before. Numerous questions—mostly directed to various of Doc’s patients or to Oculios the apothecary, for she was careful not to let any person know too much about her interest—had enabled Citrine to piece together the names of some of the more visible spires, including the Cloud Touching Spire, in which the Healed One and his wife lived. However, up close she could hardly tell one towering mass of stone from another. Clearly she’d need directions, probably a guide.

There were many other gates: the Petitioner’s, the Processional, the Visitor’s, and many whose names she had not learned. Citrine considered using the Visitor’s Gate, but everyone coming through there had an invitation to show and she had none. She knew enough about guards to know that they were singularly unimaginative regarding alterations in routine.