Trickster's Choice (7 page)

Aly thought swiftly. She didn’t recognize the god’s name, which didn’t necessarily mean anything. Gods’ names and importance varied from country to country. “Why would I want to call you anything, sir?” she asked, still in her character of a sweet young girl.

“Because I might be of use to you. In fact, I already have been.” Kyprioth reached into the matcher’s jacket and pulled out a tiny ball of light. “You sent a prayer to my sister, the Great Goddess, in the matter of who would purchase you. I intercepted it, since I took care of that little matter myself. You may have the prayer back.”

Aly frowned at him, forgetting her impersonation. She looked at the strong, wiry hand inside the matcher’s well-padded one. “You did what?”

Kyprioth smiled. It looked extremely odd under the matcher’s unmoving features. “I made certain that you would go to the Balitangs and no one else. I fixed your seeming so that no one else would bid on you.”

Aly scowled at him. “Do you mean I got my nose broken, my eyebrow scarred, and the rest of me all battered for
nothing
?”

“The eyebrow scar is quite dashing,” Kyprioth told her earnestly. “I’ll fix your nose if you like.”

Aly covered her nose with a protective hand. “No. I got this nose the hard way, and I’m keeping it.”

“Well, keep this, too,” the god said, thrusting the light-ball at her. “Use it to appeal to the Goddess another time.”

Aly reached out and took the ball. It oozed into her skin like water into sand and vanished. She rubbed the spot, looking the god over. “What have you done to them?” she asked curiously, nodding to the kneeling duke and duchess.

“They’re talking to a Great God,” Kyprioth assured her. “Not me—they wouldn’t listen to me—but to my brother. They can’t see or hear us, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s telling them that they are beloved of destiny and are meant for great things in this world. They are to be wise and accept their banishment, for their time of greatness will come.”

Aly raised an eyebrow at him as she mentally listed the other Great Gods that this one might be. “Won’t Mithros mind that you borrowed his seeming?” she wanted to know. “All the legends
I’ve
ever heard say he objects to it. Strenuously.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Kyprioth said blithely. “I happen to know he’s dealing with the start of a war on the other side of the world just now. Both sides are invoking him, of course—silly mortals. Don’t you want to know what his seeming is telling them about you?”

“Not interested,” Aly replied, smiling at the god with easy good humor. “I have plans.”

“Very like your father, manner and all,” Kyprioth informed her with a pleased smile. “I can’t believe he hasn’t the wit to put you to some proper work.”

“You talk like you know him,” Aly remarked. This was starting to get interesting.

“He and I have done quite a bit of business together.”

“He never mentioned you,” Aly said. “At our house, we usually share what gods are monkeying about with us today.”

“Of course he never mentioned
me,
” Kyprioth answered. “What sane man wants the people around him to know he’s favored of a trickster? They might suspect that my favor causes certain interesting events in their lives, don’t you think? Your father knows there’s no point in mentioning something he can’t change.”

“I’ll tell him you said so,” replied Aly, her mind in a whirl. Her father would definitely have to explain
this
to her. She couldn’t wait.

“Actually, you won’t,” said Kyprioth. His speech was clear, crisp, and fast, a promise of amusement in every inflection. It was the kind of voice that talked people into doing mad stunts. It made Aly very wary of him. “At least, not right away,” he amended. “I have a small wager for you first. Play this out for me, and I’ll deposit you at the cove at Pirate’s Swoop. I’m the local sea god, among other things.”

Aly raised an eyebrow. “Why should I dance to some trickster’s tune?”

Kyprioth chuckled, a rich, warm sound. “Oh, my dear, I’m not
some
trickster,” he informed her. “I’m
the
Trickster. Kyprioth is the name I have here in the Copper Isles, in addition to rule over our seas. Don’t you even want to hear my wager?” He leaned close to Aly and whispered, “It’s made to order for a girl with your skills.”

Aly shrugged, hiding her sudden interest behind a mask of boredom. “I suppose I won’t be rid of you until you tell me, so talk away.”

“It’s simple,” he assured her. “Keep the children of this family alive through the end of summer. Do that, and I’ll send you home as the gods travel. You’ll be here one moment and there the next.”

“And if I can’t? If I lose?” Aly wanted to know.

“You’ll serve me for an entire year,” Kyprioth replied. “If you’re still alive. I can’t make any promises. If things go really badly, you might be killed by accident.”

Aly twiddled her thumbs, pretending to ignore him. She wanted him to raise the stakes.

Kyprioth sighed. “I’ll convince your father to let you be a field agent. I’m a god—I can do that.”

“You can’t force him,” Aly said. She spoke from long experience with her father.

“No. But he’ll pay attention if I tell him how good you are on your own,” he explained. “I have a feeling you have a real knack for this. And I’ll grant him a boon as well.”

“I’m a slave,” Aly reminded him. “These people won’t listen to me.”

“They will now.” Kyprioth beamed at Aly. “That’s why I needed my brother’s seeming. He’s telling the duke and duchess that he’s chosen you, someone their enemies will overlook, as his messenger. That they will come to no harm if they listen to your advice. Sooner or later, of course, you’ll have to prove to them you’re worth listening to, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances for that. Have we a wager?”

Aly considered it, rubbing her hand over her short-cropped hair. From her true dream she knew Mother had already gone north for the summer’s fighting, and making things right with her had been the only reason Aly was prepared to rush home. On one hand, the wager meant she would have to follow the Balitangs into exile. On the other hand, what better way to prove to Da that she could manage the work? Even if he wouldn’t let her spy, he might attach her to the king or queen as a sort of bodyguard, to keep an eye on things. He’d know her ability if Aly showed him that she was able to keep a family in one piece when they were out of favor with a notoriously unstable king.

She might never get another chance like this. Her father would be hard put to argue with a god’s assessment, especially if that god was the Trickster. Aly grinned. Even Da couldn’t refuse her if she did it. He was very good about admitting when he was wrong. “We have a wager, then, under those terms,” she told Kyprioth. “But I’ll need help.”

The god grabbed her stubbly head in both hands and kissed her forehead. Aly yelped: the kiss sent something like a shock through her. “You’ll get it,” Kyprioth said. “On Lombyn.” With that he was gone.

If you’ve a story, make sure it’s a whole one, with details close to hand. It’s the difference between a successful lie and getting caught.

—From
A Workbook for a Young Spy,
written and illustrated by Aly’s father and given to her on her sixth birthday

The Long Strait and the Azure Sea

P
eople out of favor with King Oron did not waste time in farewells. The king had slaughtered entire households, down to the last dog, once he decided he could not live with his fears. Two days after Aly entered into her wager with Kyprioth, the Balitangs loaded their belongings onto several cargo ships and prepared to set sail.

Only Prince Bronau came to see them off that humid morning. He kissed the duchess on both cheeks, embraced the duke, and kissed Lady Saraiyu’s hand. Aly barely glimpsed this. Her new charges, Petranne and Elsren, did not care for ships, or the early hour, or Aly herself. Their governess and nursemaids had gone to other households along with seventy-four other servants and slaves. Winnamine assigned their care to Aly as the reason they had kept her with them. Neither the duke nor the duchess had summoned her to discuss the visitation from the god they believed to be Mithros. Instead they hid their thoughts behind polite, distant faces and told Ulasim that Aly would mind the little ones.

Aly hung on to Petranne and Elsren as they jerked and shrieked in her grip. At last she gave up trying to hear. She read the adults’ lips, as she’d been taught by her father.

“I’ll try to get word of events to you as often as possible,” Bronau assured the older Balitangs. “The king’s none too healthy. Things could change suddenly if he passes on. If Hazarin takes the throne, for instance.”

“Don’t speak of such things,” Mequen told Bronau. “It could be taken for treason.”

Winnamine rested a hand on the prince’s arm. “
Try
to be careful, Bronau.”

The prince grinned, then walked down the gangplank as the crew prepared to cast off. The Balitangs waved farewell. Bronau stood on the edge of the dock, watching as the ship weighed anchor.

“Come on, you raka dogs, put your backs into it!” yelled the luarin captain to his sailors. “’Less you want a touch of the whip to smarten you!” It was how many luarin in Rajmuat who were not part of the Balitangs’ circle addressed their raka slaves and servants. Aly thought it was a foolish way to talk to someone who might be inspired to throw one over the rail into a shark-infested sea, but she would be the first to admit she did not have a conqueror’s heart. She couldn’t see who would profit by keeping the original owners of a country ground into the dirt.

Elsren broke out of Aly’s hold and ran toward the rail. Still clinging to Petranne, Aly seized the boy by his shirt with her free hand and dragged him back. “I want Jafa!” wailed Elsren, tears running down his plump cheeks. Jafana had been his nursemaid. “I hate you!”

Aly sighed and wrapped an arm around him. “I know, and I’m sorry,” she replied. “In your shoes, I’d hate me, too, but we’re stuck with one another.” She looked at Petranne. Tears rolled down the little girl’s cheeks. “Sometimes being a noble isn’t much fun, is it?” she asked. Petranne shook her head.

Aly glanced at Mequen and Winnamine. They waited at the rail, none of their feelings on display as the ship drew out into the harbor. As Elsren calmed, Aly studied the city, not having seen it when she first arrived. Rajmuat was splendid, full of peaked gates and three-level temples, each with a spiked tower thrust into the sky. White or rose pink walls contrasted with the dark green of the trees that lined its streets. Homes also sported peaked roofs and intricately carved eaves, those on wealthy houses traced in gold or silver.

Something else reflected the sun, too, pricking Aly’s eyes with swords of light. She looked up. High above the city Stormwings circled like vultures over a carcass. Aly shivered. These part-human, part-metal immortals feasted on the rage, fear, and death spawned by human combat. Their wings, each metal feather shaped precisely like a bird’s, were the source of the bright flashes of sun on steel.

“They always know.” Winnamine spoke quietly. “The Stormwings—they always know when unrest is starting. How can they tell?”

Mequen put an arm around her shoulders. “We don’t know if they do, my dear,” he replied. “Maybe they just know that it’s a sure bet in Rajmuat. There
will
be fighting in the streets, if he doesn’t appoint an heir soon, or if something happens to whomever he appoints. We’re going to be well out of it.”

“We
hope
we’re well out of it now,” replied the duchess.

Aly knew she had a point. Sometimes King Oron did recover from his fears. Sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he got worse. If Kyprioth was dragging Aly into the Isles’ affairs, they might well be growing.

At least the Balitangs wouldn’t miss life at court. They occupied themselves with charity work, fashions, books, and music, not politics, court, or trade. They kept their own accounts and oversaw the work of the household. Aly suspected that they would settle quietly into rural life, given half a chance. If she was to win her wager, she had to ensure that they would get that chance, at least until the summer was over.

She wondered why a Great God would take such a brief interest in the family. In her experience, once a god took an interest in a mortal, that mortal was stuck with that god for life. Still, that wasn’t Aly’s problem right now. Safeguarding this family, without calling notice to herself, was her problem. If anyone were to find out that the daughter of the Tortallan king’s Champion and his assistant spymaster was summering in the Copper Isles, she wouldn’t live long enough to collect on that wager. The thought made her grin as she turned her face into the fresh sea breeze. At long last she had a real challenge, and she meant to enjoy every moment of it.

The captain never made good on his threats to smarten his raka seamen with his whip. The ship glided up the Long Strait. The warm, damp winds drove them gently north along the long, slender neck of water that separated Kypriang, the capital island, from Gempang Isle in the west. Dolphins, always a sign of good luck, sped alongside the vessel, watching its occupants with mischievous eyes and what looked like mocking smiles.

The Long Strait was another world compared to Rajmuat’s crowded streets and busy docks. Limestone cliffs rose high on either side, threaded with greenery and falling streams, capped with emerald jungles that steamed as the day warmed up. Brightly colored birds soared to and fro, indifferent to the ships that ploughed the blue waters. From the Gempang jungles came the long, drawn-out hoots of the howler monkeys.

“Tell me a story,” demanded Elsren after his afternoon nap.

“Yes, a story,” Petranne insisted, sitting up against the rail with her legs crossed. “A
new
story. Jafa only ever tells the same ones.”

“Did not,” retorted her brother. Petranne stuck her tongue out at him.

Aly listened to the howler monkeys and smiled. She sat cross-legged in front of the two children, keeping one hand in Elsren’s belt. She had spent the morning dragging him from under the crew’s feet. “Once the most beautiful queen in all the world had a menagerie,” she began, thinking wickedly how Aunt Thayet would screech if she could hear this story again. “In it were those self-same monkeys you hear all around us, the howlers. Now, the queen was often out and about, and the only things she liked better than coming home were her reunions with her beloved king, and an unbroken night’s sleep.” Softly she told them about menagerie keepers who sold places in the palace gardens near the queen’s balcony the nights after her return, then roused the howler monkeys to break the silence with their loud, penetrating calls. Woken from her sleep, the hot-tempered queen would race onto her balcony, bow and arrows in hand, in an attempt to shoot the beasts no matter how dark the night. Those who watched from below rejoiced in the fact that their queen slept without a nightgown.