The Laurentine Spy (44 page)

“State your business,” the most senior of the guards said. He’d seen the blood on their clothes; his hand rested on his saber.

“I must speak with your highest-ranking military officer.” There was flat authority in Athan’s voice. “Immediately.”

The man glanced at the blood again. “And you are?”

“Athan of Seresin.”

The guardsman looked at Athan’s face more closely. His stance became less challenging. He saluted. “At once, milord.”

Three of the guards accompanied them. Saliel’s tension eased by slow increments as they walked. The consulate stood on Illymedan soil, but inside this building she was in Laurent.

They crossed echoing vestibules and walked down long corridors. The colors were light, bright. Finally the guardsmen halted before a door. They stood as they had at the top of the steps: to attention, alert-eyed, their hands on their sabers.

Athan’s name makes them obey him, but they take no risks.

One of them—a Lieutenant—stepped forward and knocked on the wooden panels. Saliel looked down at the floor. The hem of her blue gown was dark with blood. Water dripped from her cloak, pooling on the marble floor. She closed her eyes. Only Athan’s hand gripping hers gave her the strength to keep standing.

The door opened. Saliel raised her head.

In the doorway was a General. His face was bullish, with a square jaw and wide nostrils. Medals crowded at his collar and marched across the breast of his tunic, weighing down the fabric.

“General Carel.” The Lieutenant saluted. “This man claims to be Athan of Seresin. He wishes to speak with you urgently.”

The General looked at Athan. His scrutiny was thorough. He bowed. “Milord, you resemble your father.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“And your companion?” Iron-gray eyes assessed her, seeing the blood at her throat, the water, the exhaustion. “Are you quite all right, milady?”

“She requires a physician.”

“At once, milord.” The General snapped his fingers. A guardsman stepped forward. “Escort milady to the physician.”

Saliel didn’t release her grip on Athan’s hand. “But Athan—”

“The physician,” he said. “And then you must rest. I’ll take care of this.”

“H
ER SAFETY
?”

“Is not an issue while you’re in this building, milord.” General Carel stepped back from the doorway. “Please enter.”

The room was square. Shelves of leather-bound books stood on either side of tall windows. The remaining wall space was hung with maps. He saw the Corhonase Empire, the Illymedes, the nations of the Laurentine Protectorate.

“You have no objection if the Lieutenant stays?”

“None.”

A large desk dominated the room. Several chairs stood in front of it. The General walked around to stand behind the desk. “You wish to speak with me about a matter of some urgency, milord?”

Athan reached beneath his cloak. “The third Corhonase code book.” He laid the package on the desk. Drops of water slid from the oiled cloth that wrapped it. They were faintly pink.

“What?” The General snatched up the packet. “Where did you get it?”

“The Citadel.”

General Carel sliced the stitching with his dagger.

“There’s a Corhonase Spycatcher on the wharf,” Athan said. “Dead. And two of his men. You may wish to claim the bodies.”

The General’s head jerked up. He looked at Athan, and then down at the oilskin-wrapped packet and the pink drops of water sliding from it.

“Their vessel will be somewhere. I’m sure you can find it.”

“Of course.” General Carel laid down the code book. “Where are the bodies?”

“Not far from where the
Morning Star
is moored. A minute’s walk. East. And there’s a dead woman on the
Morning Star.
The ship’s nurse. She’s in the suite.”

General Carel beckoned the Lieutenant forward and gave brisk, concise orders.

“Yes, sir.” The Lieutenant saluted. He glanced at Athan as he turned away. There was curiosity in his eyes, and respect.

Athan sat. He looked down at his hands. Cord still bound his wrists. The gashes he’d made freeing himself bled sluggishly. His clothes were sodden. Water and blood dripped from his cloak.
My blood. Their blood.

“The Citadel.”

Athan raised his head.

“I’d heard we had a nobleman somewhere.” The General sat down at his desk. He unfolded the oiled cloth and picked up the folded sheets of parchment. “I thought it a rumor.”

“There’s no one there now. Our Guardian was taken.”

General Carel glanced up sharply. “What? How long ago?”

“At a guess, some time in the past month.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“This is dreadful news! We must warn—”

“More dreadful than you think,” Athan said. “Our Guardian revealed everything he knew.”

General Carel shook his head. “You can’t be certain—”

“The Spycatcher had the Eye. He could force the truth to be spoken.”

General Carel didn’t physically recoil, but Athan saw his shock—the flaring of his pupils, the paling of his face.

“He’s dead.” Athan gestured at the droplets on the desk. “That’s his blood.”

The General looked down at the pools of pink-tinted water. He swallowed. “I see.” He put the copied codebook to one side and leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. His expression was intent, frowning. “Tell me everything.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

D
USK WAS FALLING
when Saliel woke. She stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, the window, the door.
Where am I?

Memory returned: the Spycatcher and the wharves, the Laurentine consulate. She pushed aside the bedclothes and dressed in a gown that wasn’t hers—clean, a little too big. The fabric was primrose yellow. She looked in the mirror.
Not a color that suits me.

The parlor was empty. She walked over to the windows. The panes of glass were flecked with rain. She saw a formal garden: shrubs and paths, a pond with a fountain, slender trees with up-reaching branches.

The consulate flanked the garden on all four sides, pale in the dusk, substantial—offices and reception rooms and living quarters. The solidness of the stone made her feel safe.

Saliel turned away from the windows. The door to the second bedchamber—Athan’s—was open. The bed hadn’t been slept in.

She lit candles and put fresh logs on the fire. A mirror hung above the mantelpiece. It was carved like the Consort’s, with birds and dragonflies and lizards. She reached out to touch the wood. It was smooth beneath her fingers. “Illymedan,’’ she whispered.

The mantelpiece was carved too, with winding tendrils and song birds. Saliel turned her head. Small forest creatures peeped out at her from the arms of the chairs. Lizards climbed the table legs, their tails curving into the grain of the wood; they scurried around the edge of the writing desk. Everywhere she looked she saw mother-of-pearl eyes, bright in the candlelight.

A covered tray lay on the table. She lifted the lid. Cheeses and breads, slices of meat, fresh fruit.

Saliel ate beside the fire. She’d barely finished when the door from the corridor opened. Athan stepped into the parlor. His face was weary. He carried their valises.

She stood. “Athan.”

He put down the valises. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I’ve slept.”

“But your throat—”

“Four stitches. That’s all. The physician says I’m fine.”

Athan wore someone else’s cloak. It was wet with rain. He shook water from it and hung it over a chair.

“You’ve been outside?”

“I went to the
Morning Star.
To see the captain and the surgeon. To explain.”

Saliel looked down at her hands. “I shouldn’t have opened the door.”

“She was already dead, Saliel. She was dead as soon as the Spycatcher had hold of her.”

“But if I’d—”

“I would have let her in, too. Don’t blame yourself.” Athan walked across the room to her. His hand touched her hair lightly. “Saliel, you saved us.”

She looked up at his face, remembering the blood, the rain. “No, you did.”

Athan’s mouth twisted. His hand fell from her hair. He turned away.

She watched as he sat. He moved stiffly, as if his muscles ached.

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes.” Athan rubbed his face. “While I gave my debrief.”

“You’ve done it already?”

He leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “For both of us. You can sign it tomorrow.”

“Athan...how much did you tell them?”

“Everything,” he said. “Except your eyes.”

Saliel looked down at her gown. She smoothed a crease in the fabric. “Did you tell them I’m from the Ninth Ward?”
How awkward will it be when I step outside that door tomorrow? Will people turn away from me?

“What? No.”

“Thank you.”

Athan opened his eyes. “It’s none of their business.”

Saliel picked up her plate and put it on the tray. “Have you seen your brother?”

“No. No yet.”

“Perhaps you can do that this evening.”

Athan sighed. “Saliel—”

“I’ll go to the shipping office tomorrow morning. I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

Athan looked at her silently, then pulled a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and held it out to her. “The shipping schedule.” He pushed up from the armchair. “Would you like some wine?”

She shook her head, clutching the schedule.

Athan poured himself a glass of wine and brought it back to the fireplace. “General Carel has authorized our payment. The money will be available tomorrow.”

“Good.” Saliel unfolded the parchment. She stared at the names of the ships. The destinations. The dates.

The words blurred. She squeezed her eyes shut—
I am not going to cry—
and then opened them again. Athan sat looking at his wine. She saw bandages at his wrists, white.

“You saw the physician?”

“Yes.” He raised his head. He didn’t stand in the rain with the Spycatcher’s blood on his hands, but the expression in his eyes was the same—dark and bewildered, as if he’d lost who he was.

Saliel put down the schedule. “Athan, are you all right?”

He swallowed. She saw the muscles move in his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Athan, what you did today—”

He put down his wine glass. He looked as if he wanted to vomit again.

Saliel walked over to him. She touched his hair. “Athan?”

He didn’t look up at her.

“Athan, you did something no one should ever have to do. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

He shook his head.

Saliel sat on the arm of his chair. “Athan,” she said quietly. “He was the monster, not you.” She pressed her face against his hair.
I love you.
“Thank you for what you did.”

For a moment he sat unmoving, tense, then his head turned to her. His arms came around her. He held her tightly.

They sat for long minutes, not speaking. He was warm and strong, safe.
I want this to last forever.

“I must go to bed, Athan.”

Saliel stood and looked down at him. The darkness had gone from his eyes. She bent and kissed his cheek. “Find your brother Athan.”

He rubbed a hand across his face. “Saliel—”

“Family is the most precious thing there is. Find yours, Athan. Please.”

Athan sighed. “Very well.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

M
USIC SWIRLED AROUND
him. Spring music, light and bell-like. The scent of flowers and perfume filled his nose. On every side was gaiety, laughter, dancing.

Athan strolled, his hands in his pockets. He wore his Marillaqan clothes. They were sober compared to the dancers’ clothing, plain and unadorned. He saw ribbons and lace, low-cut bodices, gaudy jewelry—diamonds, rubies and emeralds, sapphires.

The last time he’d seen women in gowns so revealing, they’d been whores.

A stir of conversation marked his path. People turned to look at him—and then glanced at a far corner of the ballroom. Whispers swelled beneath the music.

Athan followed the direction of the glances, strolling, looking around him. The dancers were like exotic birds, with plumages of lace and ribbons and jewels. Beautiful. Ludicrous.

Fashions had changed in the two years he’d been away. Gone were the high head-dresses, the rouge and brilliant eye shadow. The dancers had long ringlets. Their faces were painted white, their lips red.