The Laurentine Spy (40 page)

Saliel studied at his face for a long moment, then glanced at the rest of him and shook her head. “No.”

He could still feel where Volker’s blood had splashed his cheek, but he trusted her. “Thank you.” He handed her two of the fish sandwiches. The greasy paper was cold.

A passenger came down the narrow corridor. Athan pressed himself against the wall to let the man past.

“Go,” Saliel said quietly. “Have something to eat. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Your throat?”

“It’s fine, Athan.”

He wanted to check for himself, but he saw how tired she was. She looked fragile, as if she’d shatter at the slightest touch. He bent his head and pressed his mouth to her cheek. Her skin was cool, smooth. “Good night, Saliel.” He stepped back and picked up his valise.

“Good night.”

He nodded and turned away. He heard the door creak as Saliel pushed it open. The conversation inside stopped.

Athan walked slowly back along the corridor. He wanted to be with her tonight. To tell her he loved her. To ask her to be his wife. To hold her in his arms and offer comfort.

His berth was down another flight of steep stairs. The cabin was cramped, with twelve bunks and an empty night bucket in one corner. A small mirror hung beside the door, its surface flecked and spotted. He saw his face in it, saw exhaustion and calmness.
I
don’t need my House
. There was no panic, just a sense of freedom, a sense of the future opening out before him.

A man occupied one of the bunks, his stubbled face slack in sleep. Athan trod quietly and slung his valise on the last free bed, hard and narrow. He placed his food more carefully beside it. The air was stale. It smelled of sour sweat and urine.

He rested his forehead against the wooden bunk frame and shut his eyes. He felt years older than he was.
I could sleep here, standing.

Athan sighed. He opened his eyes and turned away from the bunk and went in search of water to wash his hands and face.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

I
T WAS A
raw morning, damp and cold. The sea was a dark, leaden gray and the sky was the color of pewter. He found Saliel on deck, sitting on one of the long benches.

She glanced up. Her eyes seemed to look through him for a moment, and then she blinked and smiled. “Good morning, Athan.”

He sat down beside her on the hard bench. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

No, you’re not. You killed a man last night.
He studied her face—closed, pale. “Would you like to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you, Athan.”

He held his hand out to her, wordlessly, palm up.

Saliel hesitated for a moment, and then placed her hand in his.

They sat side by side in silence, looking at the sea, at the slow roll of the gray waves.

“The Guardian’s dead.”

Athan turned his head and looked at her. “Yes.”

“I hated him.”

He released Saliel’s hand and put his arm around her, pulling her close. “So did I.”

“He didn’t deserve to die like that.” He felt her shiver.

“No. No one does.”

The Spycatcher was somewhere behind them.
In Bressoq, still. He can’t know yet where we’ve gone.
Even so, Athan looked west, craning his neck. The horizon was empty.

T
HEY LEFT THE
Sea Wind
at the Red Isle, where it stopped to take on fresh food and water. The ship’s destination—the colony of Monserrac—took them too far from where they needed to be.

The hour wasn’t long after dawn, but the wharf was bustling. Catches of fish were being unloaded from boats. Everyone was busy—buying, selling, piling fish into baskets and carts.

Saliel scanned the crowd, searching for the Spycatcher.
He can’t possibly be here yet.
But she was still tense, still afraid.

They walked together. Athan held her arm. His grip was firm.

The words that filled her ears meant nothing—swift, sibilant, each
s
a hiss. The cobblestones were red, the buildings flanking the wharf were red. Saliel turned her head, looking at the crowd, at the rust-colored stone.
The Red Isle.

A sleepy-eyed clerk sat behind a desk at the shipping office. “Anywhere in the Protectorate?” His Laurentine had the same hissing sibilance she’d heard on the wharf.

“Yes,” Athan said. “As soon as possible.”

The clerk seemed unsurprised by the request. He yawned and reached for a sheet of parchment. “There’s a ship leaving for the Illymedes this afternoon and one to Hespernay tomorrow morning—”

“The Illymedes,” Athan said. “We’ll take two berths.”

It took the clerk several minutes—yawning—to find the passenger list. It was clear he’d rather be in bed. He picked up a quill, squinted at the tip, and dipped it in ink. “Cabins below deck?”

Saliel glanced down at herself. Two weeks aboard the
Sea Wind
had not been kind to their clothes.

“No.”

The clerk looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

“The finest cabins you have.” Athan reached beneath his cloak and pulled out the pouch of Marillaqan money. Coins clinked as he tipped them into his hand.

Saliel almost laughed at the clerk’s expression. He glanced at the gold coins and then at their rumpled, travel-stained cloaks. He blinked and cleared his throat. His manner became brisk. “Of course, sir. The finest cabins.” He flicked through the pages of the passenger list. “There’s...several cabins on the upper deck. And a suite.”

“A suite?”

“Yes, sir. It has a bedroom and parlor, and a servant’s room and—”

“We’ll take it,” Athan said. Then he glanced at her. His question was unspoken:
If it’s all right with you?

She nodded.

“Your name, sir?”

The clerk wrote the name Athan gave him: Argante. “And your servant, sir?”

“We have none at present.”

The clerk didn’t show by so much as a flicker of an eyelid that he found this unusual. He counted the coins Athan gave him and locked them in a strongbox, then wrote the ticket and receipt briskly and dusted them with sand. “Here you are, sir.”

Athan took the sheets of parchment. “May we leave our luggage here?”

“Of course, sir.”

“He thinks us very odd,” Saliel said, as they walked down the steps.

“No doubt.”

She glanced around. Fishermen unloaded their catch. An errand boy ran with his head down. A man sold hot chestnuts from a handcart. No one watched them.

“Shall we walk?”

Saliel nodded. She placed her hand on his arm.

The wharf became a street, climbing from the harbor to the town. Everything was made of red stone—the cobblestones, the warehouses and inns, the houses. The street became busier. Children ran to school. Housewives hurried past with scarves tied around their heads and baskets over their arms. Everywhere were men—walking briskly, strolling, standing and talking.

The street opened into a square paved in red stone. Market stalls clustered—potatoes and onions, russet-colored apples, strings of sausages and round loaves of dark bread.

At the centre of the square was a burning-pole.

Saliel averted her eyes from it.

“Do you wish to buy anything?” Athan asked.

She shook her head.

The street became steeper. It twisted as it climbed the hillside. They walked slowly. “The Illymedes at spring,” Saliel said. “Isn’t there a festival?” She vaguely recalled a song:
...bells ring to welcome spring...

“Yes.” Athan’s face, when she looked at it, was frowning.

“What?”

His frown deepened. “There’s a circuit of festivities. The route is always the same: the Illymedes for the spring revelries, then the colt races in Qussey, then midsummer in Pinsault.”

She remembered tall-masted ships with bright pennants anchored in the harbor at the Aspides. “The noble Houses?”

“Yes.”

Saliel walked a few steps in silence. “Your family may be at the Illymedes.”

“Some of them, yes.”

Her time with him was suddenly much shorter. “That’s wonderful, Athan,” she said, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. “You’ll be able to join—”

Athan halted. “No.” He drew her to one side of the street. Steps led down between the houses. She saw the red paving stones of the market square at the bottom. “I won’t be going back.”

“What? Why not?”

His frown vanished. He laughed suddenly. “This wasn’t how I intended it to be.”

Saliel shook her head. “What, Athan?”

He looked at her, smiling slightly. “Please marry me, Saliel. Be my wife.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Be my wife,” he said again. His eyes smiled at her.

I can’t.

“I know you think you’ll lose your independence, Saliel. But believe me, you won’t.”

She did believe him.
Accept his offer
, said a voice inside her.

Saliel swallowed. “No,” she said.

“Why not?” Athan asked, still smiling.

“Because you don’t owe me—”

“This isn’t because I owe you, Saliel. It’s because you’re the person I wish to spend my life with.”

Her throat was too tight for speech. She shook her head.

“Yes.” Athan reached out to touch her face. She felt his fingertips on her cheek. “I love you, Saliel.”

She jerked her head back. “But you’ll be cast off!”

“I don’t care.”

He didn’t. She saw it clearly on his face: the smile, the calmness.

“Well, I do! Family is the most important thing there is, Athan. You can’t—”

“Yes,” he said. “I can.”

Saliel stepped back. “I won’t let you.”

“I’m staying with you, Saliel. Wherever you go. Whether you marry me or not.” His voice was quiet, firm. It sounded like a vow.

She felt pain in her chest—sharp—beneath her breastbone.
He truly wants to be with me.

It would be easy to accept his offer. Easy to open her mouth and say
Yes
. Easy to be selfish. To ruin his life.

Saliel shook her head. “I don’t want to be with you.”

“Then why did you risk your life to save me?”

She looked down at the red cobblestones.

“Saliel...” Athan stepped close to her. His hand was on her cheek, warm. “We’ll make our own family.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted it: him, children.

Children with the Eye.

Saliel lifted her head. She looked at him.

Athan was smiling at her, with his mouth, his eyes. “Nothing you can say will make me change my mind.”

She’d been afraid in the Citadel. She’d been afraid in the alleys at Bressoq. This fear was worse. She smelled burning flesh as she inhaled.

Saliel swallowed to clear her throat. “Athan, I have the Eye.”

Athan took his hand from her cheek. “That’s not funny, Saliel.”

“I have the Eye,” she said again, more loudly.

He pressed his hand across her mouth. “Don’t say things like that! If anyone heard—”

I would be burned.

She took hold of his wrist and pulled his hand from her mouth. “I have the Eye. How do you think I copied the Consort’s key?”

“You were a finger thief.”

“I was. A good one. Because I had the Eye.”

Athan shook his head. “Lies won’t make me change my mind about you. Saliel—”

“I set your sleeve on fire.”

“I know.”

“Linen and lace, Athan. How long do you think it took to catch alight?”

“A few seconds.”

“Almost a minute.”

He shook his head. “No, it was only—”

“I held your eyes for almost a full minute, Athan.”

His forehead creased slightly. He pulled his hand free from her grip. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, Athan. I—”

“No.” He shook his head again. His expression was stubborn.

He refuses to believe.

“Look at my hands.” She held them palm but. “Can you see them?”

“Of course I can.” Athan was becoming frustrated. She heard it in his voice. “Saliel—”

She caught his eyes. Beautiful eyes. Brown. Dark. She saw who he was in them: his courage and his integrity, his compassion, his intelligence.

A carriage clattered past. She heard voices speaking in a language she didn’t understand, the footsteps of passers-by. She stepped forward and reached beneath Athan’s cloak, feeling for the pouch of money hanging from his belt.
There is nothing to see here. We’re merely a husband and wife. He knows I’m taking the pouch.