4
THE PAVILION OF
DELIGHTFUL PLEASURES
When Aly looked into the Throne Hall, it was empty. The maids at the Robing Pavilion told her that her ladies and their maids had gone to the Pavilion of Delightful Pleasures. Aly nodded as she tucked Topabaw's purse among their boxes, grateful the Balitang party was still here. She could put off the inevitable questions about where she'd been until tonight. Casually she crossed the Golden Road to the pavilion that lay beside the Throne Hall. Aly knew better than to enter through the porch that opened onto the Golden Road. That was a stage, designed to display the court while important guests presented themselves. With the palace map in her mind's eye, she found a small bridge spanning the creek that cupped the pavilion. A well-trodden path led her to the servants' entrance. As she passed into the building, she walked into an invisible cloud of scent: lotus, rose, sandalwood, and lily as well as cherries, mangoes, and cooked chicken.
Servants pointed Aly to a gallery at the end of a long, narrow hall. Everywhere Aly saw spells for listening and seeing, but their gleam was faint. When was the last time they were renewed? she wondered, seeing glimmers of the spells. Don't they know you have to renew spells every few years? Or are they so sure their spies among the servants will report what is said that they don't bother?
In the servants' gallery the carved screen that served as one of the walls allowed servants to see the nobles beyond. They also allowed the nobles to see their own people, in case they needed something the pavilion did not provide.
Aly took the entire gallery in a second time. The mages of the Chain had been at work here. Pembery, Boulaj, and some other raka servants stood in one corner, talking. Aly heard nothing and could not read their lips. An entire corner of the servants' area was marked out with spells to counter the Crown's magic. These spells were so carefully hidden under other spells that Crown mages might not detect them. The edge of the silent corner was marked out on the floor by a line of boards held in place by a pair of pegs at each end. On this line only, the pegs were perceptibly lighter than the wood in which they were set, the only boards in the floor to show such a marking. It was subtle but effective. Aly approved. It was always nice to see a well-done piece of spy work.
It was also a powerful illustration of how the raka used their magic after the luarin conquest. Raka magic was shaped by subtlety, crafted by mages who spent their lives hiding things from other mages. To those who wielded their Gift as the mages of the Eastern and Southern Lands had been taught, raka magic seemed weak, good only for simple tasks. Its symbols were different, its spells far quieter, shaped for that effect over three hundred years of practice and development, with death for the raka mage who drew a luarin mage's attention.
As she eyed her surroundings, the other servants turned to look at her. Boulaj waved Aly over to the protected corner. As soon as Aly stepped past those marked boards, she could hear Boulaj speak clearly, when her words had been indistinct outside them. “This is Aly, Lady Dovasary's new maid. She is one of us.”
The woman next to Boulaj frowned. “A luarin? She can never be one of us.”
“That you must ask the god, if you dare,” Boulaj informed her pleasantly. “In our household, we do as he bids us. He chose to make Aly his messenger.” To Aly Boulaj said, “This is Vereyu. She represents our folk in the palace.” When Vereyu protested the use of her real name and position, Boulaj said, “Ask the god about Aly's faithfulness, if you won't believe me. Go on, ask him.”
Aly looked at Vereyu and raised an eyebrow. Most people of sense preferred not to call on specific gods unless matters were dire. There was always the chance the god might not care for the summons.
It seemed Vereyu was a woman of sense. She tightened her broad mouth but did not open it to call on Kyprioth. A stocky part-blood raka, Vereyu looked both intelligent and hard. Her clothing was unremarkable, but her hair drew Aly's eye. The long copper pins that secured her black hair in its coil at the back of her head housed lethally sharp miniature knives.
“You don't go near the throne with those, do you?” she asked, gently tapping one of the pins' copper knobs. “Surely the weapon alarm spells would detect them.”
Vereyu swung around almost casually, reaching for the arm Aly had just used, ready to grip it and twist it up behind Aly's back. As Vereyu moved, Aly took just one step to the side, letting Vereyu's hands slide uselessly past. When Vereyu moved straight into another attack, Aly took a second step just out of range, guessing that Vereyu would lunge at her. As Vereyu did, Aly gripped a part of her collarbone that would hurt exquisitely if pressed. Vereyu went still.
“Play nicely, if you please,” she murmured in Vereyu's ear. “I'm sorry I'm not to your taste. Do you want everyone to see that we know unarmed combat? Only think of how they would gossip at such undovelike behavior on the part of servants.”
Vereyu considered her next move. Aly glanced at Boulaj, who was covering a smile with her hand.
Suddenly Vereyu nodded. Aly waited for a moment, alert for a trick, then let her go.
“If they knew real doves, they'd stop telling us servingwomen should act like them,” Vereyu said, her voice very dry. “What is it the god uses you for, anyway?”
Aly batted her eyes at the woman. “To guard the ladies,” she replied. There was no reason anyone should know her real place in the rebellion if they did not already know. “And a bit of this and that.”
Vereyu snorted. “You're the god's, all right,” she muttered. “You're just his sort.”
Why, thank you, Kyprioth said. The sound of his voice made all the servants in the corner jump, though no one else in the gallery appeared to have heard.
Establishing my credentials with the palace raka? she asked Kyprioth silently as the servants who'd heard him bowed their heads briefly. I was doing well enough on my own.
I just wanted to remove any lingering doubts, he said, apparently to her alone. Better safe than sorry.
Aly giggled at the thought of the Trickster's ever caring about safety. When she felt his presence fade, she looked around. “I'm famished,” she remarked. “Do you people ever feed a girl?”
Vereyu raised a hand and beckoned. A maid came over to them with a tray of fried dumplings and fruit. As Aly ate, she looked around the room. Servants flirted in corners, sat on cushions and chairs and gossiped, or watched their masters in the room beyond. Once she'd cleaned her hands, Aly drifted over to the screen to have a look at the nobility.
Vereyu followed her. “They are not so smug as they were last autumn,” she murmured in a voice that dripped venom and satisfaction. “They have lost too many tax collectors and couriers. There have been five riots in the Downwind District of Rajmuat since Midwinter, three of them coming when the Crown sent troops to take raka mages and leaders captive. The Crown's armies have gone without pay for three months.”
“I assume this means you take the god's word for me,” Aly whispered in return. She had already positioned herself, and thus Vereyu, out of range of two faded listening spells. “How do you know I'm not one of his jokes?”
“Because he needs us too much to joke,” replied Vereyu. “Because he needs all the victories we can win for him if he is to retake the Isles. We were great, once.” She nodded toward the sprawling chamber on the other side of the screen. “All this splendor was built by our people. The world came to these pavilions to discover the true meaning of beauty, when our queens ruled here.”
Aly looked into the gallery. Vereyu was right. The Pavilion of Delightful Pleasures was extraordinary. The walls were fashioned of pale marble and lined with arched windows that extended to the floor, the windows magically spelled to keep animals and insects at bay. A tribe of golden lion tamarins sat on the rail of the outer walkway and watched mournfully as servants passed the windows carrying fruit.
Inside, there was a raised dais at the center of the room, but Aly saw no thrones. Instead the young king sat on a cushion and directed playmates as four boys of his own age, including Elsren, moved toy soldiers and immortals into position all around an intricately carved fortress. Petranne sat beside the king and watched as Dunevon moved the castle's defenders and their weapons along its stone battlements.
Princess Imajane sat in a backless chair in front of the dais, talking to Lady Nuritin. Between them was a small table laden with food and drinks. The ladies chatted, sipped, and nibbled while raka slaves waited on them. Aly read both women's lips: they were talking of Winnamine's “magical transformation” from country lady to noble courtier. The duchess herself sat across the room, talking with other noble mothers as she watched Sarai mingle with a bright cluster of young men and women.
Aly felt Vereyu shift position. “Watch yourself,” the raka whispered to Aly, and moved off. Aly could tell that someone else had come up behind her: someone large, because she felt his body heat to the top of her skull. He smelled of soap lightly scented with sandalwood and cinnamon. She pretended she did not notice him, though she kept her ears sharp for any movement that he would make, and continued to survey the large room.
She found Dove near the far rear corner, seated between two older luarin noblemen and engaged in a conversation that was every bit as animated as the ones Sarai was holding. The man on Dove's right had to be in his seventies, bald, the white hair on the sides of his head and of his beard clipped neatly short. His eyes were set in fans of wrinkles. Despite the day's warmth, he was dressed in velvet and wool. Around his neck he wore a heavy chain with a pendant that was half a golden sun face and half a white gold moon face.
“Baron Qovold Engan,” a light voice said in Aly's ear. She gasped, jumped, and spun, as if she had not heard the man come over to speak to her. She stared up into the face of Taybur Sibigat, captain of the King's Guard. He was as tall as her adopted uncle Numair, who stood six feet five inches in his stocking feet. Unlike her uncle, Taybur had a solid build without any of Numair's angular gawkiness. He wore his chain mail as easily as other men wore cloth, despite the growing heat. “He's the royal astronomer, and your young mistress's former tutor in cartography and astronomy. At the moment, he's not the regents' favorite person. He's told them that there will be two lunar eclipses and a solar eclipse this summer, which some people might see as ill omens. That other fellow, next to Lady Dovasary? That's Duke Vurquan Nomru. Old Iron Bum was his nickname when he commanded the army. He was one of your lady's favorite chess partners before she was exiled. They tell me that for a girl of twelve, she played as well as any adult.”
Aly could see how Dove's other companion might earn such a nickname. His nose was an eagle's beak set under two sharp brown eyes, his sensuous mouth set in a firm line. His clothing was simple bronze cotton and silk. Like the other male nobles, he wore no sword or dagger in the royal presence, but there were dents in his belt where they normally hung. For a Kyprin noble he showed uncommon restraint in his jewelry, keeping it to a single gold earring, a chain, and gold rings on his index fingers and thumbs.
“Excuse me, my lord, but why do you say such things to me?” Aly inquired, bobbing as much of a curtsy as anyone in a sarong could manage. “I'm just a maid.”
“And I am just a friendly fellow,” he replied. “I'm Taybur Sibigat, captain of the King's Guard.” He smiled at Aly, revealing small, pearly teeth. “I wanted to compliment you on your inspection of the Throne Hall,” he added. “You spotted each man I had there, including the ones on the roof beams, where no one else ever looks. And you found every exit.” When Aly took a step back, frowning, he shrugged. “Spells around the dais help us to see clearly throughout the hall.”
Aly gave him a trembling smile. “I've no idea what you're talking about, my lord,” she said nervously, though inwardly she was fascinated. It sounded as if he'd guessed she was a spy of some kind.
“Of course you don't know what I'm talking about,” he said agreeably. He was chubby cheeked like a boy. He wore his dark, curly hair cut short over his high forehead. His eyes were brown and observant, and his mouth had smile curves tucked into the corners. “Call me Taybur. We'll see a lot of each other if Their Highnesses have their way.”
Aly continued to play the part of the not-very-bright country girl. “I don't know how you can say as much, my lord,” she replied, deliberately neglecting to use his name. “My mistress is here today because the whole family was summoned, but she's not of an age to be going to court things. And whyever would a great man like yourself take an interest in a poor little maid like me?”
Taybur's smile lit his face and eyes. “That's very good,” he remarked with approval. “I couldn't have done it better myself. Now, if I were being a nice man, one who'd let you believe I'm not suspicious of you, I would say that I like to meet all the very pretty girls who come my way. It would even be true. I'm quite fond of very pretty girls. But we both know that there is far more to you than that.”
Aly looked down, the picture of the demure servant. He does suspect me, she thought. He's been trained. “My lord, you talk in riddles, I swear!”
“Very well,” he said agreeably, leaning against a corner post. “You look like a girl who knows her riddles. I understand your name is Aly Homewood, and I know you were once a slave.” He pointed to the faint scar around Aly's neck, the mark of a slave collar. “Today you're Lady Dovasary Balitang's maid. Your accent . . .” He cocked his head, studying her with interest. “Tortall, southeastern coast.”
“I come from there, my lord,” she admitted meekly. She kept her eyes down to hide her growing delight. Somehow Taybur Sibigat had recognized her for a player of the spies' game, but he didn't seem interested in exposing her. She had to try to convince him that he was wrong, but it was lovely to meet someone who spoke the language she had learned in the cradle, the give-and-take between those who sought information. Glancing around the room from the corners of her eyes, she saw that most of the servants watched them warily but without alarm. She even saw liking on some of those faces. This man wasn't as feared as the regents or Topabaw, then.
He tugged on his ringless earlobe. “I'm trying to narrow it down—you're not a Carthaki agent,” he murmured, thinking aloud. “They have a, a special whiff about them, don't you agree? A well-polished one. They do unctuous better even than a courtier. Tyrans are a slippery lot. Usually they just ooze around corners. It comes of living in a swamp. But you . . .” He tipped his head from side to side. “The Whisper Man of Tortall. Are you one of his, or have you sold your services elsewhere?”
It would have taken much more than her father's nickname to make Aly twitch. She began to shake her head and continued to shake it as he asked if she served the Marenite, Yamani, Gallan, or Tusaine spy networks.
“You must believe me, I'm just a servant, my lord, just a servant, and I know naught of spying or whispering or anything like that!” she babbled. “I'm just a poor girl from Tortall, making my way in the world!” She glanced up at him from under her brows. “If you suspect me so, why haven't you arrested me or given me over to Topabaw?” she demanded. It was a risky point to make when she was supposed to be terrified out of her wits. She simply could not resist needling him a little in return.
He shrugged. “I won't do the man's work for him. Besides, Topabaw has notified me, through the prince regent, that my assistance and advice are unwelcome.”
Hmm, thought Aly, I smell rivalry here. When two powerful men dislike each other, things can slip through the cracks between them.
“Besides,” Taybur continued, “I'm sure you'll get to know him soon enough.”
Too late, Aly thought, thinking of the purse of coins she had stowed in the Balitang luggage. Inside she grinned broadly. She hadn't realized how much she had yearned for someone who could meet her at her own level. She would be even more careful knowing that Taybur Sibigat had an eye on her. Unlike Topabaw, Sibigat did not hear only what he wished to hear. It would be much more fun to outwit someone who knew what he was doing. She'd only have to worry that the regents might give Taybur Sibigat the spymaster's job if she brought about Topabaw's fall.
Taybur leaned down until his lips were close enough to her ear that the feel of his breath raised goose bumps on her skin. “Whatever game you play at here—and let's just assume you denied it with great vigor and go about our day—please, understand. All I care about is the safety of the king. Conduct whatever games you wish on these palace grounds with my blessing. Topabaw can use the exercise. But sniff around His Majesty, and suddenly I won't like you anymore.”
Oh, dear, Aly thought guiltily. He thinks I'm just a regular spy. He doesn't know what the raka are up to, or if he does, he doesn't think it will come to anything.
“You frighten me, my lord,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on the ground.
“I told you to call me Tay—”
Whatever else he had meant to say was cut off by a yelp from the dais. Taybur left the servants' gallery at a swift pace. King Dunevon, not liking the way the game of storm the castle was proceeding, had kicked one of the young generals. A seasoned courtier even at that age, the boy he'd kicked knew better than to hit his king. He fell on Elsren instead, pounding the smaller child. The other two “generals” entered the fistfight. Dunevon jumped from his chair, shrieking with glee as all across the room female relatives converged on the dais.
Winnamine got there first, thrusting one boy into his mother's arms and holding another by one arm as she scooped Elsren from the pile. Rubinyan started across the room for the king, but Taybur Sibigat was there ahead of him. Gently the big man hoisted the king onto one hip like an experienced nursemaid.
When Rubinyan reached them, his face dark with anger, Taybur spoke quietly. Aly read his lips as he explained to Rubinyan, His Majesty is wearied. I'm sure Your Highness will forgive him. He missed his nap.
Dunevon, if you can't control yourself . . . , Rubinyan said angrily.
He can when he's had his nap, said Taybur, still the picture of goodwill. He walked toward the hall that led out of the building as Dunevon began to howl. Everywhere men bowed and ladies curtsied to the floor as their king passed.
Taybur walked by the screened-in servants' gallery. “I know, I know, you're tired,” he told the boy shrieking in his arms. “Any normal person would be.”
Aly pursed her lips. That the king's closest guardian was fond of him was a complication she could not like. Her mind knew that the odds were very good that Dunevon might be killed in the rebellion, Dunevon and maybe even Elsren. She did not want the painful cost of those two young lives on her conscience and heart.
“I hope you weren't looking for romance in that area,” Vereyu said as she took Taybur's place next to Aly. “He lets nothing get in the way of his duty to the king. A number of our young ladies have sighed over it repeatedly since he left off courting them.”
“I don't sigh very well,” Aly replied. “And I've no idea why he singled me out.” She continued to scan the room as it quieted and nursemaids came to take charge of the king's young companions. Rihani took Elsren and Petranne back to the Robing Pavilion, chatting with the maid who half carried a still-protesting lordling. Dove had not stirred from her spot between Baron Engan and Duke Nomru. Reading their lips, Aly realized they were talking about the meager winter rice crop. She shook her head. Dove had the strangest interests.
A muttering from the other servants drew Aly's attention to the corridor that led to the main entrance. An immortal made its way into the hall where the regents sat. Aly stared at the unmistakable creature visible through the carved screen as it walked over to Princess Imajane. Even the nobles were turning to stare at the basilisk, some nervously, some in wonder. He was seven feet tall, which was average for a basilisk, with gray skin as pebbly as if it were made of beads. A hint of folds at his chin told the observer that he was young, with only two or three centuries on him. He wore a chain with a loop on it around his belly, to keep his lengthy tail from dragging on the ground. His eyes were gray and wise, with a cat's slit pupils. He bowed gracefully to the princess and the ladies around her.
Aly reminded herself to gape as if she'd never seen a basilisk. This was not just any basilisk. This basilisk Aly knew as well as she knew her family.
“He is a basilisk,” one of the other maids told Aly. The smug superiority on her face made it plain that she thought Aly gawped like a country bumpkin. “The monarchs of Tortall sent him with gifts to honor His Majesty's ascension to the throne and the regents' appointment. Wonderful toys that wind up and walk about, and gems for Their Highnesses. You don't see that many basilisks, even here at court.” She sighed. “He's leaving soon. A pity. He's much nicer than some of the other special envoys.”
“You mean he doesn't pinch your bottom, Mimisem,” joked one of the other maids.
Aly watched Tkaa curiously. To uninformed eyes, the basilisk might look plump, as the pouch on his belly bulged. What was Tkaa carrying? wondered Aly. Not weapons. Nobody who can turn folk to stone with a sound needs weapons. Unless he's ill, perhaps?
Imajane smiled up at the immortal, who had deftly stopped just far enough from her that she would not get a crick in her neck as she met his eyes. She chatted with him briefly. When the basilisk went to pay his respects to Prince Rubinyan across the room, Nuritin rose and beckoned to Winnamine. Immediately the duchess walked over to Imajane and curtsied. With a graceful movement of her hand, Imajane invited Winnamine to take the seat Nuritin had just left.
Aly spared a glance for a pudgy man who whispered in Rubinyan's ear until Tkaa reached the prince. Noting how the fellow stood so that no one could see his lips moving, Aly was sure this was Sevmire Ambau, Rubinyan's private spymaster, the one who he'd asked to keep watch on his own brother. After memorizing Sevmire's face, Aly turned her attention back to Winnamine and Imajane.
“And so the Balitangs return to court,” the princess said with a smile. A maid glided forward to pour out goblets of wine for the two ladies. Aly looked at Tkaa, then gave a mental shrug. He would know where she was if he needed to find her, and she was certain that he would. She didn't worry about Tkaa giving her identity away. The basilisk was one of her father's best operatives.
She continued to inspect the room. Here and there groups of people sat or stood. They talked, drank, and ate as slaves circulated with trays full of delights. It was obvious that, although they seemed absorbed in their chatter, they were equally observant of both regents. While Imajane and Winnamine talked, Rubinyan stood in a far rear corner. In addition to Tkaa, a group of noblemen attended the prince regent. Rubinyan was a listener, not a talker. He kept a gold cup in one hand, often masking his expression by looking into it.
Aly read the men's lips. They discussed pirate raids along the islands. One man accused another of taking a profit from pirates. The other told him that he would do better to mind his own pirates. The whole thing might have spun out of control had Rubinyan not put a hand on one debater's shoulder and smiled at the other, saying that he would ask the navy to step up its patrols. He handled them like an accomplished diplomat. Aly was impressed.
Forget your pirates, another noble grumbled as Aly read his lips. What I want to know is, what's being done about our missing tax collectors? The flooding this winter swept away three of the bridges in my province, and I have no way to pay for new ones! I need tax money!
You'll be missing more than bridges before the summer's done, thought Aly. A peal of laughter drew her attention to Sarai. She stood at the heart of a group of young men and women, all of whom were applauding some joke. The men's presence did not surprise Aly: Sarai drew men like honey drew bees. Her surprise lay in the number of women of Sarai's age or a little older, women who clearly liked Sarai as well.
Many of the group were luarin who obviously didn't feel, as some of their elders seemed to, that they lowered themselves by association with a half-raka. It was too early yet to tell, but if the younger luarin were more open to friendship with someone of raka blood, they might yet avoid the bloody revolution that Aly feared. It was all too easy to imagine these smug, wealthy people as the dead, the smooth columns and gleaming floor marred with the bloody gouges of swords and the black sooty splashes of magical fire. It was Aly's nightmare. She just hoped and prayed Ulasim and the rebel leaders could keep the rebellion from turning into an all-out massacre.
A brown-skinned man in his twenties was bowing over Sarai's hand. He was dressed like a Carthaki, in a short-sleeved yellow tunic that hung below his knees and sandals that laced up. His black hair was oiled and combed back from his forehead, then held in a horsetail with a gold and amber clasp. He wore heavy gold cuffs inlaid with enamel and a broad gold collar set with amber and lapis. Aly read his lips as he told Sarai to have pity for a man smitten hard by her loveliness when he was far from home. His jewelry wasn't as bright as his lively brown eyes.
Vereyu came to stand beside Aly. “Ah, I see the Carthaki has found our lady. Let's hope he doesn't break her heart.”
“I think she's guarding her heart more this year than she ever did,” murmured Aly. “A Carthaki, you say?”
Vereyu smiled. “He's the most amazing flirt. Lord Zaimid Hetnim, the youngest mage to be made head of the Imperial University's Healers' Wing. A close friend of his emperor and some kind of distant cousin to the imperial family. He is taking the chance to learn healing techniques used in other realms before he is made the emperor's chief healer.”
“He's a bold one,” commented Aly. Zaimid had yet to let go of Sarai's hand.
“That's how you know he isn't from here,” Vereyu said, bitterness in her voice. “He'll flirt with raka.”
Zaimid released Sarai and let another man move in to greet her. On Sarai's lips Aly read the joke she cast over one shoulder to a female friend, “Have the men here gotten so much more handsome, or am I just unused to it after a year in the hinterlands?”
A young man wearing gold rings on every finger stepped close to Sarai to whisper in her ear.
Vereyu grunted. “Count Ferdolin Tomang. The family holds most of Jerykun Isle, and that means most of the sunset butterfly trade.” Aly looked at her and raised her eyebrows in a silent question. Vereyu, understanding, added, “Mages use the butterflies for fair wind and treasure spells. In all the world they are found only on Jerykun.”
Against the wall near Sarai's group, a matron with young Ferdolin's eyes and nose snapped her fan open with a crack that drew glances from all over the room. Ferdolin himself never turned away from Sarai to look, even when the fan snap was followed by an intent glare.
“Ah,” Vereyu said, amused. “The Dowager Countess Tomang is unhappy. No part-bloods for her precious darling!”
Aunt Nuritin hove into Aly's view, like a stately vessel on a cruise, pausing to exchange smiles or a word. Her course brought her to a stop at the empty bench next to Countess Tomang. She eased into the spot and murmured in the countess's ear. Nuritin's hand obscured her mouth, so Aly couldn't tell what her exact words were, but she saw the countess's eyes flick to the dais, where the toy castle still stood, then to Sarai. Her fan quivered. She closed it with a much gentler snap and used it to beckon to a maid with a tray of drinks. The two older women each took one of the delicate crystal glasses and smiled at one another, then drank.
“Well!” said Vereyu, plainly startled. “Apparently Elsren's sister is a better catch than Mequen's half-raka girl child. The year before last she did everything but send him to gather butterflies to separate Ferdy from Sarai.”
“May I ask you something?” Aly beckoned Vereyu to follow her to the magically protected corner. Both of them stood with their backs to the room. Boulaj and the other maids and servants were talking casually among themselves. “Have you someone in service here that you know is reporting to Topabaw?”
Vereyu's brows knitted together. “How could you—”
Aly smiled. “There is always at least one,” she said. “I take it you've isolated him from important information?”
“He knows nothing we do not wish him to know. Now that your ladies have returned to Rajmuat, we were going to eliminate him,” Vereyu replied, clearly puzzled. “Most of us voted to dispose of him in one of the streams outside the wall at the dark of the moon.”
Aly remembered the flesh-eating fish and shivered. “That would be wasteful,” she told Vereyu firmly. “Where does he work?” When the woman hesitated, Aly raised an eyebrow. “The god trusts me,” she murmured. “Your general”—the raka code name for Ulasim—“trusts me.”
“In the gardens of the Gray Palace,” Vereyu said.
Aly smiled, and wondered if Kyprioth was helping to smooth her way. “I need you to do something,” she said, her mind flicking through each aspect of her idea. “Two of your people should stop near the place where this spy works. Have you servants who work in the regents' rooms and in the places they take private meals?”
Vereyu nodded, fascinated.
“What your people will whisper, seemingly unaware that he is near, is that they have overheard the regents discuss Topabaw. They couldn't quite tell what was said, but they know Her Highness was unhappy about something, and His Highness mentioned ‘new blood.' Don't let him see your people, for the sake of their lives. And then you will let him report to his master. For the present, that will be enough.”
She glanced at Vereyu's face and saw astonishment there.
“You may ask your general if it's permissible, but do it quickly, if you please,” Aly said. “Before Topabaw finds a way to break through our security.”
“Oh, no,” Vereyu replied, shaking her head. “No, there's no need to consult the general. You want Topabaw believing the regents are losing confidence in him. And best of all, it will come from one of his own spies.” She smiled slowly, the expression putting light in her eyes. “I should have thought of it. I might try a few such rumors myself.”
“One or two won't hurt,” Aly admitted. “Don't overdo. Topabaw will be hearing more, I'm certain, and not just from the palace.”
Vereyu shook her head in bewilderment. “Yes, you belong to the god, all right,” she whispered. Looking sidelong at Aly, she asked, “Are you sure you're not him?”
Aly grinned. “No. My sense of fashion is so much better than his.”
About to go in search of the privy, Aly halted when Imajane raised her voice. “Am I to believe my ears?” she asked, her voice brittle ice. “I grant to your stepdaughter and your son an honor that any other parent here would love to receive, and you refuse me?”
Winnamine bowed her head. “Your Highness, please. While in your wisdom you have banished mourning dress, the truth is that I still mourn my duke. His children are my mainstay. I am honored beyond all words that you invite my son to live with the king as part of his court, and that you wish Lady Sarai as a lady-in-waiting. I know how many of our friends would love such positions for their children.” She swept her arm open to include the other people in the room. “Can you forgive a mother's weakness? Let me keep my children by me for a while longer?”
Imajane drummed elegant nails on the arm of her chair. “They would receive the best care, the best living that a girl and a boy could wish in our household. Sarai would be an ornament to our court and an asset to her half brother. And after all, Elsren is His Majesty's heir. Life is uncertain. Dunevon is healthy and strong, but so apparently was King Hazarin. Elsren will not receive the royal education he requires in your house.”
Bodies shifted in the outer room. Thinking like her warrior mother, Aly realized that the ranks of nobles were changing their positions. Sarai was the first of the young people to drift over, understandably, since she was under discussion. Aly noted that Prince Rubinyan came up in support of his wife, placing gentle hands on Imajane's shoulders. Dove almost unnoticeably flanked the men who supported the prince regent until she stood at her mother's back. There was plenty of space there. The ladies who formed the princess's court had moved back as if Winnamine had the plague.
Nuritin came up, an army in her own person, to stand next to Dove. Aly was starting to fear that Winnamine had no other support when Dove's friend Duke Nomru walked briskly to stand between Nuritin and Sarai. There was a shift of color: suddenly Countess Tomang and her son glided over as if they meant to join an interesting conversation. They took positions near Winnamine.
Vereyu told Aly and Boulaj the names of other nobles who went to stand with the duchess: Lord and Lady Wesedi, Lady Adona, and Lord and Lady Obemaek. In the end, Winnamine had representatives of fifteen noble houses to support her, even if it was in silence. Baron Engan kept away, Aly noticed, as did Tkaa and about thirty other men and women. Still, those who stood with the duchess were among the most powerful families in the realm; Aly recognized their names from her winter's study. They were telling the regents that they would back Winnamine.
Imajane looked from Winnamine to each of her silent supporters. Times were uncertain enough that Imajane must be thinking hard about whether she could afford to offend these wealthy people. The princess's mouth was a thin, tight line. Aly saw the knuckles of Rubinyan's hands whiten as he pressed his wife's shoulders. She looked back and up at him, then turned and forced a smile onto her lips.
“I fear you subject your son to inconvenience, allowing him to travel to the palace and back each day, instead of dwelling here as the Lelin, Uniunu, and Obeliten lads will, but there.” Imajane shook her head. “In my eagerness to have such adornments as your children at court, I forgot your recent bereavement. I hope that the wounds of your heart soon heal.” She gave a razor of a smile to Sarai. “Perhaps you will grace us with your presence in the fall, Lady Sarai.”
Sarai bobbed a small curtsy, veiling her eyes with her lashes. “Your Highness honors me,” she replied softly. “And I thank you for your kindness to our family.”
Imajane graciously inclined her head. “I trust that you, and your stepmother, and your sister Dovasary will join us at the palace the night of the lunar eclipse. Baron Engan, our astronomer, tells us that your sister is quite enamored of such things. It will be an agreeable night's entertainment and a marvel for those of us who worship the Goddess to see her veil her face with a maiden's modesty.”
Oh, so that's the tale they're telling, Aly thought. Traditionally lunar eclipses were viewed as unlucky, a blurring of the Goddess's view of her daughters. Imajane was trying to rewrite centuries of belief.
You have to admire her vision, Aly told herself. She thinks big. Or maybe she's just crazy enough to believe it's the Goddess whispering in her mind.
The duchess rose. “We accept your kind invitation, Your Highness. You are too good to exiles. I do fear I am overtired. Our journey was long, and we only arrived yesterday.” Her tone was as even and gracious as if she had just complimented the princess's hair, not defied her moments before. “If I may have your leave to withdraw?”
Imajane's eyes glittered like sapphires as they rested on Winnamine. “But only for the moment, Your Grace,” she said with another tight smile. “We expect to have your company in the future, too, Winnamine Balitang, at our party and on other occasions. Your presence at court has been missed.” She deliberately did not look at the duchess's supporters. “We need to draw you gently from your mourning, and give you other thoughts to occupy your mind.”
Prince Rubinyan smiled. “In the meantime, Captain Sibigat will send troops to escort young Elsren to the palace and home each day,” he said, his voice smooth as honey. “We shall care for him as if he were our own.”
Winnamine curtsied deeply to them both. Nuritin, Sarai, and Dove did the same. Only when the princess nodded did they move to leave.
Aly's mind worked busily as she helped Dove to change for the ride home. That silent assembly of nobles had been most instructive. She had seen it: what might she do with it? Aly knew that everyone in that room had brought away the same lesson she had. The regents needed the luarin nobility to stand with them, united. They could not afford to offend them over something as apparently small as the appointment of a young woman to the princess regent's ladies-in-waiting.
Aly had noticed something else. Very few of the nobles who had moved to shield the duchess's back had hesitated. They had acted as if they'd been prepared to do just that, which meant they had expected something of the kind. In that group that had stood behind Winnamine, Aly had not seen a majority of the court. Those people might be a quarter of the luarin nobility in the Isles, perhaps less. The regents were in so much trouble elsewhere in the Isles that they had to tread lightly rather than punish even this small group of defiant luarin.
As the family met their horses and guards by the Gate of Victory, Aly went through the lists of nobles whose names she had learned from the raka, along with information about their interests, alliances, and political positions. One of them had to have a weakness she could use to turn the regents against him or her, though it might take some doing, particularly if Rubinyan could control his wife's temper.
“It's like rocks,” her grandfather Myles had taught her. “Many of them have what the sculptors and quarrymen call cleavage points, spots you may strike with hammer and chisel to break off slabs of stone. Communities and organizations are the same. Find the right cleavage point and you might break them in half, or even into splinters.”
If I can divide the luarin nobility by working on the princess regent, I might divide her from her cool-headed prince, Aly thought as their party clattered over the second bridge that crossed the streams outside the Luarin Wall. Slipping between two men-at-arms, she let Topabaw's pouch of coins and the listening spells attached to them drop noiselessly into the water below, which thrashed as the hungry flesh-eating fish fought over the prize.