Ferran's Map (45 page)

Several women took note of Sora’s expensive
dress when she passed. A few turned away as though jilted. One
woman near the door glared at her outright.

“Looky here!” the woman said drunkenly. She
grabbed the man next to her, almost spilling his drink. “Her
Ladyship lost her way! You’re a bit far from the henhouse, aren’t
you, chicken?”

Sora ignored the jeer, but Lily faced the
woman full-on. “Shut your crooked mouth, Claira!” she snapped.
“’Afore your teeth fall out from drinking that sewage water!” She
spit at the woman’s cup.

Claira sneered, displaying a wide grin with
two missing teeth, and raised her tankard. “Only the finest sewage
in Crowns,” she said. “Take your rich friends elsewhere, Lily. Let
us working girls have a place of our own.”

Lily made an obscene gesture with her hand,
then stomped further into the room. “Ignore her,” she seethed
loudly as she passed Sora’s side. “She’s just sore because you’re
taking all her attention.”

That’s when Sora noticed the men glancing in
her direction. Their eyes lingered on her tight bodice and the
outline of her cleavage. A few leaned over to murmur softly to
their companions. She didn’t know what they noticed more—her
expensive dress, or her lack of a male escort.

She followed Lily through the massive room.
The ceiling was tall and vaulted with exposed wooden beams. Black,
silver and white ribbons decorated the rafters, and large masks
hung from the walls, some as large as portraits.

Sora spotted less seasonal decorations: deer
heads, furs, fishing nets and other outdoor memorabilia. A large
rowboat hung across the ceiling. It was old but well-kept, made of
beautiful rich oak, polished to a shine. The craftsmanship was
impeccable. Her eyes traveled to a massive catfish almost 12 feet
long hung across the back wall of the tavern. It looked more like a
sea-monster than a fish, its mouth twice as wide as her head,
weighing at least 300 pounds. She stared in awe, wondering if it
was real. Beneath the fish hung a large plaque that read
The
King of the River.

Finally, they reached a private table at the
very back where Sora saw soldiers with the King’s insignia stamped
on their pouldrons and helms. More than two dozen soldiers sat
around a wide map spread over the table. Gracen Seabourne pointed
to various locations along the parade route as he spoke. She
recognized his long, dark-blue cloak. He was the only one who
didn’t wear armor.

As Sora recalled, the Captain of the King’s
personal guard was a position reserved only for nobility, usually
handed off to younger sons of a First Tier family close to the
crown. Contenders for the station had to prove their unquestionable
loyalty to the throne. In this case, Lord Seabourne was the Queen’s
youngest brother. He went through the same training as most
soldiers, perhaps more intensive, considering his private tutelage
as a noble. He was charged with protecting the royal family’s
safety, particularly in times of war.

Sora took a moment to quickly compose
herself.
Today, I’m First Tier. Ebonaire. Second most powerful
family in the realm. I’m in charge. Ignore the soldiers!
Then
she stepped confidently up to Lord Seabourne. Lily hung back, as a
servant would.

“Milord,” she said pointedly. “A pleasure to
see you again.”

Lord Gracen looked up. If he was surprised,
he didn’t show it. His face appeared drawn and tense, weighed down
by heavy thoughts. He looked so serious, she forgot his relative
youth.

“Lady Sora,” he said flatly. “How strange to
meet you here.”

Sora tried to think of an excuse, but
decided to cut to the chase. “I tracked you down, actually,” she
said.

“Really?” he replied.

“I have something of great importance to
discuss with you.”

Lord Seabourne considered her for a moment,
then glanced at Lily. Recognition kindled his eyes. He looked back
and forth between them. Sora knew, with a bit of anxiety, that her
charade was up.

Gracen’s brow lowered. He didn’t appear
angry, but intrigued. “Men,” he said distractedly, “I’ll return in
a minute. West Gate patrol, leave to your posts. The rest of you,
wait for me.”

The men saluted as Lord Gracen left the
table and joined Sora’s side. He offered his arm, following First
Tier etiquette. “Milady,” he beckoned.

Sora found herself looping arms with him.
She couldn’t very well refuse in front of his men; that would start
their conversation off entirely wrong.

He escorted her outside the tavern onto a
deck built over the wide water canal. Lily remained inside with the
soldiers; Sora watched her maid put on her most charming smile as
she approached their table. The door to the tavern swung shut. They
were alone on the deck.

A light layer of snow dusted the wooden
planks of the wide deck, and a thin blanket of frost speckled the
channel. Soon, the water canals would freeze over completely. How
did the city’s plumbing work during winter? Sora shivered against a
cold wind that blew across the water.

Lord Gracen noticed her discomfort and
unexpectedly pulled her closer to his side. They stood
shoulder-to-shoulder at the railing. He regarded her with a
thoughtful expression.

“You know who I am,” she said softly. A year
ago she might have been afraid, but after so many months of travel
and peril, Lord Gracen seemed as threatening as a small dog. Or,
perhaps, a large dog. Still, she saw no issue in smacking him
across the nose, should she need to.

“I’ll admit, you had me guessing at our
first meeting,” he said. He searched her face again. “I thought I’d
lost my mind. Sora Fallcrest, alive after all this time, and
somehow staying at the Ebonaire house? Congratulations for escaping
the King’s law!” His eyes glinted with irony and a sudden smoky
sense of humor. “I can’t imagine why you’ve come to the city.”

Sora had to ask, “Are you going to arrest
me?”

“Difficult to arrest a dead woman,” he said.
“Your obituary is long past, my dear, and your estate dissolved.
Enjoy your freedom; think of what it’s cost you.” He looked ready
to go inside.

Sora tightened her grip on his arm. Lord
Gracen paused, not expecting her to be so strong.

“Actually,” she said, “I have a few
questions.”

“Oh?”

“Why did you attend my Blooming?” she asked.
“Did you get a chance to speak with Lord Fallcrest before he died?
Do you know who killed him? Why did you travel to the country?”

“That’s quite an interrogation,” Lord Gracen
said. He studied her with even more interest than before. “All
right. We don’t have much time before the parade, so I’ll explain
quickly. Almost five years ago, a strange series of assassinations
struck the city. This was shortly before King Royce began
construction on his latest project, the Gillian Square Clock Tower.
Several wealthy merchants and nobility were struck down. Some were
investors in the project, others worked on crews….At first I didn’t
see the connection, since the assassinations were all framed to
look like accidents, but eventually I realized that each victim was
connected to the Ebonaire family: either working for them, or
locked into contracts.” He paused. “Except your father. He met with
the Ebonaires, but no agreement was struck. I remember him leaving
the city quickly after that. Then he wrote to me; we weren’t close,
so I found that strange. He said he had important information, but
needed to share it with me in person, and he couldn’t meet me in
the city.”

“And my Blooming?”

Lord Seabourne shrugged. “A timely excuse to
visit.” He looked solemnly out over the frozen river. “He was
killed before we could speak privately.”

Sora shuddered at his words. She remembered
her stepfather collapsing to the ballroom floor, the shattered
skylight and the screaming guests. She panicked and fled the manor,
without realizing he was dead. Several days had passed before she
learned of the assassination...and that she traveled with his
killer.

It all seemed so horribly tangled. Hadn’t
Crash done the dirty deed and offed her stepfather for payment?
Shouldn’t that make him her enemy? In that light, he was surely a
villain. She felt sick to her stomach, and thought of his likely
involvement with the Shade. What if she was wrong all this time?
What if she truly didn’t know Crash at all?

She gave Lord Gracen a sideways glance,
which he returned.

He cleared his throat. “My condolences for
your loss,” he said.

Sora blinked. No one had ever told her that.
“Thank you,” she stuttered, fumbling for something to say. “I
remember you from my Blooming,” she added. “You caught one of my
scarves.”

Lord Gracen cast her a vague smile. He
looked much younger when he was at ease, handsome in a solid sort
of way. “So I did,” he said and added, as an afterthought, “You
were quite charming.”

“And you thought I killed my own father?”
she couldn’t help but ask.

“Easier than pinning it on Martin Ebonaire,”
he replied. “Prince Peric and Martin are fast friends. Second
cousins, you know. They look out for each other...and perhaps
they’re all in it together.”

“In what, though?” Sora asked. “The
assassinations? Did you ever find out?”

“Not yet,” Lord Gracen said. His eyes
traveled over the cold water. “I thought Fallcrest might be a lead,
but the moment he offered to talk, he was killed. I don’t believe
in coincidence, but beyond my own suspicions, I have no proof to
bring before the King.” He folded his arms. “Again, I’m sorry I
couldn’t save his life. Something is horribly amiss in this city,
and it’s circling in the higher tiers. Assassins aren’t cheap, and
nobility aren’t easy to kill, no matter their rank.”

“Assassins aren’t cheap,” Sora echoed.
Morbidly, she wondered the price to take her stepfather’s life.
Crash had never told her; he never spoke of it at all.

She wondered if Crash knew who hired him to
kill Lord Fallcrest. What if he had lied to her all this time?
Perhaps Caprion’s words last night were true, and she was too close
to Crash to see the danger. She forgot how much he had frightened
her, how much she distrusted him in the beginning. Perhaps her
first impression was the most accurate. Maybe he was just a killer,
and her heart was simply too open.

Lord Seabourne stared out over the river,
projecting a calm, confident energy. She felt strangely protected
on the deck with him, despite being openly visible and vulnerable
to attack from the Shade.

Slowly, she realized he wasn’t a threat; he
was only interested in protecting the King and the royal family.
Martin Ebonaire might be a much darker person than anyone realized.
If he had hired Crash to kill Lord Fallcrest, what if he hired
assassins to kill Ferran?
We’ve landed in a snake pit.

Lord Gracen must have noticed the concern on
her face, because he said abruptly, “I’m sure you’re fine, staying
in that house. Just know when to leave. Martin is a gracious host,
but he can grow weary, especially if you make trouble.” He paused
as though he was about to say something. “Martin is a sly one. We
all are, even our good King Royce. Only wolves survive in the First
Tier. Now, I have to ask: why are you staying at the Ebonaire house
under such a disguise?”

Sora hesitated; how much should she tell
him? Humans didn’t believe in magic, and thought the races were
extinct. Lord Gracen didn’t seem interested in superstition, but in
facts.

“It’s a long story, to be sure,” she
admitted. She searched for a convincing lie, knowing how the
nobility talked. Gracen Seabourne seemed like a good man, but he
was not her friend. “Ferran married my mother. I honestly wasn’t
aware he was connected to the Ebonaire line. Ironic, isn’t
it...moving from one noble household to the next?” She laughed,
just as she knew a rich heiress would. But it sounded forced, and
Lord Gracen gave her a pointed look. He could sense her hidden
story.

Her tone became serious. “To be quite
honest, I think the source of this strange illness is in the city.
My mother is trying to find it.”

Seabourne’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean
by source?” he asked slowly.

Sora realized how strange she must sound.
Gracen didn’t even know the races still existed. The Dark God was
no more than a legend to him. “Whatever its cause, the illness
might be in the city, we’re not sure,” she said vaguely. “But I
will keep my eyes and ears open around the Ebonaires, if you’d
like. We would make good allies.”

Lord Seabourne glanced over at her. “A
deal,” he said, though he didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “Just
don’t give me cause to arrest you. Because I will.”

She nodded, a little wide-eyed.

“Come find me if you uncover anything
suspicious,” he said. “In exchange, I’ll keep your little
secret.”

“Thank you.” She forced herself to
smile.

Lord Gracen appraised her with his dark
eyes. He was an intense man, focused in the soft winter light. His
face was clear and unmarred, and he still looked youthful, despite
a few wisps of prematurely graying hair. She guessed him to be
about thirty. He carried the weight of his responsibilities
well.

“I found you quite pleasant at your
Blooming,” he finally said. “A pity the ball ended as it did. I
would have asked you to dance.”

“You and I, dance at my Blooming?” Sora
laughed unexpectedly. “What a disaster! I was so very nervous. I
appreciate the sentiment, though I know you, a Seabourne, wouldn’t
dance with someone of the Second Tier.” She sighed softly. “I must
admit…my Blooming feels like a lifetime ago.”

His eyes sparked. “You were shy and
uncertain, perhaps,” he said, “but lovely all the same. Who knows,
eh? I might have made a suit.”

Sora flushed. A suit? After tripping at her
own Blooming? He was flattering her. She didn’t know what to say.
“I know how to dance, truly,” she stuttered.