Thorn (30 page)

“Have you been working at the palace very long?” I ask.

He looks at me in surprise, then smiles smugly. “Three months.”

“You must know your way around very well by now.”

“The palace’s very big, you know. It takes a while to get to know it as well as I. But there are still a few places even I don’t know. Haku says he’s been working there a year and just last week went down a hall he’d never seen before.”

I wonder just how much I might learn from my escort. “It must be interesting. Do you know all the nobles by sight?”

“Oh well, I know a few of them,” he says with false casualness, and with only a little prodding launches into a description of the lords and ladies he has run errands for, the intrigues he has heard about, and any other rumor that has been breathed in the palace. I am amazed at the breadth of his knowledge, and at Valka’s foolishness in sending such a talker to fetch me. No doubt the whole palace will know of my visit before I finish greeting her.

By the time we reach the palace, I’ve also received a full description of the ball planned for the evening, the intrigues expected to occur, and just how many lambs have been roasted in preparation. He breaks off only when we reach the royal wing, walking the last few paces in silence and rapping on Valka’s door. A voice calls sharply for us to enter. He opens the door with a flourish, gestures for me to enter, bows and departs, leaving me alone in the room with Valka. At least he gives the appearance of discretion.

Valka sits in a chair in the outer room. She is dressed and groomed beautifully, her hair braided and coiled in a crown, her jade tunic and gold skirts stiff with embroidery.

“A ball tonight?”

Her nostrils flare, but then she smiles. “Jealous?”

“Hardly. What do you want?”

“One final letter from you.”

“You know my answer.”

“Every person has a price.”

“Do you think you know mine?” I think for only a moment of Kestrin and of apple cakes.

“For all your apparent zeal for servitude, you must prefer a better position. I will grant you a place on one of my mountain estates. You will have a yearly stipend and may live the life of a lady. But you must write the letter tonight.”

“My mother has written again, hasn’t she? You’re hoping to send a letter to catch her on the road here, to allay her concerns.”

“She has written,” Valka agrees. Her face is cold now, and I do not trust the very stillness of it. “The response must be written tonight.”

“I do not believe your offer.”

“You will have to trust me.”

I laugh softly. “Have you forgotten why you were exiled? Because you cared nothing for the life of a servant. I do not think that has changed.”

Her mouth twists, her eyes glittering with hatred. “Me? You blame me for what you did? What is a servant? That little rat is probably dead by now anyhow: they die like flies. And you—you betrayed me, made me the laughing stock of the Hall so that I had to leave.” She snaps her jaw shut, glaring at me.

“It’s still all about that, isn’t it? You wanted your revenge. Is that what you like about sending me to live on a mountain estate you stole from me? That I will have gone into exile as you did? But that won’t be enough for you. You want more, you’ve always wanted more. You wanted my brother, didn’t you?”

“I would have been Queen,” she hisses. “And now I will be. It’s your own fault you’ve been turned into a servant.”

“And servants die like flies, don’t they? You won’t be happy until I’m dead.”

She takes a deep breath. “I would not mourn your death, traitor. But I will grant you this one chance to have a better life than you deserve.”

“You are the one with a better life than you deserve.”

“I would have married your brother but for you and your traitorous tongue! If you cared so much for that servant, you could have gotten her free later—but you had to betray me before everyone. In front of the servants!”

“I’ve regretted that, Valka, much as I have regretted that you blamed that servant that day. If you hadn’t made a public show of her supposed guilt, I wouldn’t have had to make a show of yours.”

“Damn her! She was a servant. A nothing.”

“Just as I am.”

Valka bites her lip, her chest heaving. “What is your answer?”

“I will not write the letter for the price you named.”

“Oh? And is there a price at which you will write it?”

“Certainly. Take up your own terms. I will be princess, and you will live out your life a nameless lady on a mountain estate.”

My words sink into the room. She sits silently, vibrating with fury, and then she nods her head. “So be it. You’ve made your choice. I hope you are willing to abide by it.”

“I am certainly willing to live by it.” I do not know where the smile comes from that lifts up my lips.

“You know you have chosen to betray me.”

“Hardly.”

“I am princess now and you—”

“You will never really be princess, Valka. You will always and only be an impostor. Whether I die a servant or queen, I will always be my mother’s daughter, and so princess.”

“I hope you will take comfort in your royalty when I am done with you.”

I shrug. “I cannot imagine we have anything left to say to each other. Good night.” I turn and let myself out, and it is only as I reach the stairs that I realize I have begun to tremble. I cling to my staff, swaying slightly, and close my eyes, breathing deeply. Then I straighten my back and take the stairs down.

***

The geese raise their heads, quieting even the friendly chuckling and mumbling that is their talk. I glance around, but see nothing amiss: Corbé sits further down the field, nothing else moves. The geese, while alert, do not seem frightened. I stand up, casting my gaze around the pasture, past the low stone walls.

And then I feel it: a faint brush against my face, a rippling of the grasses around me, circling out, the sudden lone whisper of the newly-leafed branches above me while the other trees remain silent.

“Wind?” I whisper, hardly daring to believe.

The Wind whips a circle around me, flapping my skirts against my legs and scaring off the sparrows in the tree above me.

“Wind! You’ve found me!”

The Wind slows, breathing gently.
Alyrra.

I close my eyes, listen to the familiar touch of its voice.

“How did you recognize me?”

The Wind does not answer, instead settling down to ruffle the grasses. I sit down, my back against the tree.

“Old friend,” I say quietly. “I thought I lost you. I went to say farewell to you before I left, but you didn’t come to the dell that day. I never imagined you’d find your way here. It’s a long journey and I—am not the same.”

Different,
the Wind agrees.

I feel tears spill down my cheeks and laugh, wiping them away. “I don’t know why I’m crying; I’m happy you’re here.”

Here,
the Wind echoes, and I rest my head against the tree, smiling so hard my face hurts.

“Yes,” I say, as fiercely as if the Wind’s presence might transport me back to a time before I’d ever thought of Menaiya. “You’re here.”

***

I carry the coming of the Wind with me all day, for though it does not stay long the very fact of its presence, its recognition of me, has brought both a desperate homesickness and a feverish excitement to me. For the first time in months, I can remember clearly the dell where I used to meet the Wind, the forest paths. I think of Jilna’s laugh, the warmth of the kitchen, the cool sanctuary of the Hall’s little temple. Again and again I come back to this simple fact: the Wind saw through the enchantments and found me.

“You’re happy today,” Laurel says as she ladles out my portion of curried vegetables.

“I am,” I agree. I know I cannot tell them of the Wind, so I say instead, “Joa has me working two of the younger mares before I go out to the pasture nowadays.”

“Does he?” Rowan looks up from his plate. “He must have plans for you.”

“He keeps saying he’ll make me into a hostler,” I say, amused.

“I wouldn’t go telling anyone else; there’re some boys as will be jealous,” Laurel warns me. “Corbé’s been hoping for that himself for a year or two now.”

I hesitate. “But I don’t know that much about working with horses. Wouldn’t it be better to take someone like Corbé?” After all, my friendship with Falada may have impressed Joa, but it has nothing to do with being able to handle horses.

“Corbé has a mean streak in him. I wouldn’t trust him with a horse,” Oak says.

Ash nods his agreement. “Geese will fight back and no one cares if their roasted goose had a mean temper. Horses will get cold-backed if their hostler’s rough. You can lose a good horse to a bad hostler, and that’s not something Joa would want to explain up at the palace.”

Rowan smiles encouragingly at me. “We’ll teach you whatever you need to know; you’ve already got the basics.”

I pause, thinking of how it would be to work with Laurel and Oak from now on, to never have to see Corbé again, or worry over what he might do. Imagine exchanging Corbé’s black looks for Violet’s laughter. I glance around the table. “Where’s Violet?”

“She’s running an errand in the city,” Rowan tells me.

“Aye, but she should be back by now,” Oak says, and in his deep voice I hear the beginnings of concern.

“Was she alone?”

“Yes,” Laurel says tightly. “One of us should have gone with her, or for her. It’s still getting dark early, and she’s a pretty girl.”

“She’ll be back soon,” Ash says, but his glance at Oak betrays his worry.

By the time we’ve finished dinner, Violet still hasn’t returned. Oak goes to the common room door to look out, then looks back in at us. “I’m going to look for her.”

Rowan and Ash are up and next to him in a flash. “We’re coming too.”

Oak nods. “She’ll be between here and the smith; I’ll go by way of West Road through Beggars’ Square; Ash, you check the way there past the Dancing Goat; and Rowan, you search the side streets between the two.”

“What about us?” I ask, standing beside Laurel.

“Stay here and wait,” Oak says. “We don’t want either of you hurt, and someone has to watch the stable. If Violet gets home without us, you’ll be here to greet her.”

“Why don’t we ask the guards to help us?”

Oak stares at me, and it is Ash who answers. “The guards care nothing for missing girls. But we’ll get the hostlers from the first stable; they’ll help.” He turns to Laurel, “If she comes back on her own, just keep her here. We’ll come back to check.” Laurel nods, and then the men are gone.

Laurel sits back down, smoothes out her skirts with her hands. I gather up the plates and stack them on the counter, cover the pot with a square of cloth, and then stand uncertainly in the middle of the room.

“What do you think happened?”

Laurel shakes her head. I go to the door to look out. Snatched or attacked? Enslaved or assaulted? My skin crawls. I cannot imagine one being better than the other. Perhaps she just twisted her ankle and has stopped along the way. Perhaps. I whisper a prayer and cross the room to the pile of tack requiring repair, pick out a bridle and a halter, and bring them back to the table, handing one to Laurel. We work silently, listening for the sound of boots, but the hall remains quiet. We finish our mending, and still there is no sign of the men. Laurel rubs her thumb back and forth over the grain of the wood.

“Surely the guards will help us,” I say, breaking the silence.

“No. They don’t bother with missing girls. Thieves they’ll chase, on the king’s orders, but this—they’ll just laugh at us. They’ll say she’s found herself a man somewhere. They won’t help; they never do. They say the children have run away and the girls have found lovers.” Laurel grimaces, then covers her face with her hands. She makes no sound, and it takes me a moment to realize she is crying.

“Laurel,” I say, wrapping an arm around her. I don’t know what else to say.

“Something’s happened,” she whispers. “I know it, and all I can do is sit here.”

I hold her tightly. She rests her head against my shoulder. Then, abruptly, I pull back and get up.

“Come on.”

“What?” She looks up at me in confusion.

“There’s someone we can ask for help, but I don’t want to go alone so late.”

“Who?”

I hesitate, and Tarkit’s words come back to me: “A friend of a friend.” She stares. “Please, Laurel, I know they’ll help, but I have to get there.”

“If they’ll help,” she says, and then she is up and we are well-nigh running down the hall. I make only one wrong turn, catching myself within a block. We hold tightly to each other’s hands, glancing continually over our shoulders, down alleys. Twice men call out to us from doorways or the corners of streets, but we hurry past, and they do not follow. Inside the building, the staircase is dark, and we have to feel our way up to the door. I rap hard on it, then step back waiting. We listen as footsteps approach the door.