Tricksters Queen (10 page)

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 splendour 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 tamarinds 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 Kings 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' favourite 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 favourite 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 wont do the mans 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."