Untalented (27 page)

“Done?”

She explained about posing as a healer. “The guild was right to punish me.”

“What discoveries?”

“I need to go back to the Vergal to get my notes on how the plague spread. A well at an almshouse might hold the key to a cure, but I’d need to visit again to be sure.”

“Why do you need me?”

“Madam Abaya won’t let me back in until the plague is over. But maybe with a king’s man …”

“The Vergal’s too dangerous.”

“Not for me. I’ve had the fever. I don’t think it can hurt me anymore.”

“You survived the plague?” Callor shook his head. “If the healers can’t fight it, what makes you believe you weren’t simply lucky?”

“It’s precisely because I’m not a healer that I can help.” And suddenly, she knew it in her core for the deepest truth she’d spoken in months. “The healers are too focused on a single idea—the fouled air. They can’t see beyond their assumptions. I can.”

Callor looked doubtful.

“Please. Let me show you that I’m more than what everyone says I am.”

Isolte stared at the ruin of Loric’s study. When she’d heard the first crash, she debated not investigating, but matters were coming to a head and she needed to know any bad news. She stood in the door, watching Loric sweep everything from his desk in one motion. A porcelain vase from Kurtya shattered into tiny pieces on the floor, joining splinters of wood from a smashed chair, a tattered portrait and sundry other now unidentifiable objects. Just when she thought he’d calmed down, he reached into his pocket and hurled a small object out the window. She heard a faint clink as it hit the paving stones.

“Loric, what—”

“She ran. That idiot I hired to watch the grounds let her escape and she gave my horsemen the slip.”

“What did you say to her?”

He shrugged.

“You’ll find her—”

“What if she heads for the castle, Isolte?”

“Then we have nothing to worry about.”

“She didn’t tell me how she survived the plague. It’s critical—critical!—that I be the one to bring that information before the Houses.” He kicked at a sheathed sword lying on the floor.

“What will you do?”

“I have some almshouses in the Vergal to look into.”

That evening Saroya found herself on horseback for the first time since arriving in U’Veyle. The girl who’d entered the big city with such modest hopes seemed like a different person. Now, she had to save that city. Eiden Callor rode a tall bay gelding next to her. His frigid demeanor had not softened since they met in the courtyard and mounted for their journey to the Vergal. Shrouded as they were in plague masks, she could not make out more of his expression beyond a disapproving glare. They approached the Spotted Salmon with nothing but the clatter of the horses’ hooves and moaning pleas of ill beggars interrupting the silence. Saroya had had enough.

“Captain Callor, please tell me what’s wrong.”

He dismounted in front of the pub and hitched both their horses while she clambered less gracefully down from her own mount.

“The Vergal is not my favorite destination.”

They entered the pub, and Saroya was pleased to see nothing had been touched. At least Balreg might return to find his business still intact. “That’s not the only thing. You’ve been angry with me since earlier.”

He rounded on her. “Do you not see what you’ve done?”

“I did what I had to. Had you been in my place, watching someone else steal your life, wouldn’t you have done the same?”

“You’ve taken down Urdig in the process. I could forgive a lot, but not that.”

She couldn’t look at him.

“The noble Houses are already muttering about forcing him to abdicate. They don’t want to see anyone on the throne who sired an Untalent. You played straight into Loric’s hands. He’s set the stage for months, spreading discontent about the handling of the plague, fomenting anger at paying Untalents even for servile jobs, blaming them for the plague—all the while quietly ensuring that the nobles know who would handle each of these issues in the ‘proper’ manner. Didn’t you know this?”

“How could I be expected to know? I’ve been living on the street! Do you think I bothered with the doings of the Great Circle of Houses while I dug through trash for my meals?” Saroya dug her fingers into her palm, trying to calm down. “Doesn’t it distress you that a fraud has been taking advantage of him for almost a year? Because that’s what Martezha is, singing Talent or not. She never cared much for Urdig. Only what he could do for her.”

“How are you different? You go from being a reviled servant to a rich noble. You damage his chances of keeping his throne. Why should I believe that you care a whit for him?”

They had climbed to the second floor and Saroya now pried back the floorboard underneath which she hid all her parchment notes from her canvassing of the Vergal. She pulled them out and attached the spare pouch to her belt.

“If the nobles want him off the throne because I’m Untalented, there’s nothing I can do. But maybe I can help him deal with the plague. Loric and Daravela both wanted me to tell them the thing I’m about to show you. Watch me and judge for yourself.”

She marched back down the stairs and untangled the reins of her horse. She only waited long enough to make sure that Callor followed before kicking her horse into a trot and heading for Abaya House.

The same plump woman answered Saroya’s impatient ring of the bell.

“No visitors. The plague, you know.”

Saroya raised her plague shroud. “Do you remember me? I came a few days back?”

The woman nodded.

“I must speak with Madam Abaya. Please fetch her. It’s urgent.”

The woman waddled off, moving as quickly as her bulk would allow. In short order, Madam Abaya faced them, hands on her hips.

“We had an agreement. You would not come back here until after the plague is gone. I can’t allow you back to visit Veshwa.”

“We’re not here to see Veshwa. This is Eiden Callor, captain of the King’s Guards. Are your grounds still free of plague?”

“Yes. Which is precisely why you’re not coming in.”

“There’s more than isolation protecting you from the fevers.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Most people in U’Veyle get their drinking water from the aqueducts. Here, you all drink from that well, and you’re all plague-free. I’d like to examine your well.”

Saroya was sure Madam Abaya would turn them away. Eiden Callor leaned forward in his saddle.

“Madam Abaya, I’m sure you would not refuse a personal request from King Urdig. We took the greatest precautions. We spoke to no one since leaving the castle and promise to remain outside the building. I vouch that we are both free of fever.”

“That’s what she said last time.” With obvious reluctance, Madam Abaya drew out a key from a pocket in her skirt and unlocked the gate. “Please follow me.”

Saroya untied two large water skins from her saddle and asked Callor to do the same. She knew her request to bring them along this morning puzzled him. She slung hers over her shoulder then followed Madam Abaya into the courtyard. She and Callor waited on the bench while Madam Abaya fetched an aide. The well looked much like any other well Saroya had seen: gray stone with a bucket hanging from a hand-turned axle. The only unusual feature was the mass of lichen growing over the rock, so much that one could barely make out the color of the stone.

Madam Abaya returned, a young woman trailing behind her. “Please fill the water skins,” Saroya instructed her. “I’ll need a sample of the lichen, too.” While Callor helped the young woman with the water, Madam Abaya trimmed a small pile of the lichen from the stone. Saroya stuffed this into her belt pouch. When the water skins were full, Madam Abaya dismissed the girl.

“What now?” Madam Abaya asked Saroya.

“I take what you’ve given me to the healers.”

“And if you are incorrect? I’ve never liked our dependence on the well—everyone knows the fountain water is purer.”

“If I’m wrong, then your well is the least of your worries. Thank you for allowing us this much. All of U’Veyle may be in your debt.”

Madam Abaya arched a skeptical eyebrow. “If that is true, we shall share as much as we are able. Good day to you.”

Saroya and Callor took their leave and rode to the Healer’s Guild. Callor took her to the back of the guild building, using the same entrance she’d last exited as a bonded criminal. She asked the clerk on duty to find Nalini. When her friend hurried into the courtyard, her puzzled expression changed to one of distrust.

“Why are you here? What’s going on?” She shot a wary glance at Callor. “What happened to your bond?”

Saroya drew her away from the inquisitive clerk. “I can’t explain about the bond right now. Suffice it to say that certain people now know who’s a thief and who isn’t.” Despite herself, Nalini grinned. “But I’m not here about that, and you mustn’t mention it to anyone.”

“What, then?”

“Take these water skins. It’s probably best if the guild doesn’t find out who brought them. Tell them Captain Callor brought them.” Saroya handed Nalini a parchment with the exact location of Madam Abaya’s well. “No one who drinks water from this well gets sick.”

Nalini eyed the waterbags, interest overcoming hostility. “There’s a good reason most cooks won’t use well or cistern water to prepare food. It’s stagnant. What makes this well special?”

Saroya pulled the harvested lichen from her belt pouch. “This was growing all over it. I was never the best herbologist in agronomy class, but I have a good memory and don’t remember seeing anything like it. You’d know better. You should dry it out and do all that other good healer stuff with it and see if in powder form it’s as effective as the water.”

“You’re awfully confident about that water.”

Saroya grinned. “No reason not to be. Test it and see. I came down with the plague there, and I survived.”

Nalini’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying again.” She looked up at Callor, who shook his head.

Saroya continued. “I tried to tell you before. Nobody will listen to an Untalent, and it’s important that if this is a cure, it gets used. Got it?”

“Right.” Nalini waved down another healer and Callor passed them the heavy water skins. “Where are you staying?”

Callor interjected. “Come find me if you wish to speak with Mistress Bardan.” Nalini nodded, then made off with her bounty without another word. Saroya sighed. Maybe the gift of the cure wasn’t enough to repair their friendship. Maybe nothing ever would be enough. Regardless of how things worked out for her at the castle, at least now the city would have a weapon against the plague.

Callor and Saroya headed back to the castle. When they approached the Grand Plaza and the boulevard that led to the Manor District, Saroya reined in her horse. “I’d rather not return to Manor Dorn.”

Disapproval darkened Callor’s gaze.

“I can’t have the Houses thinking you’ve been acknowledged. I’ll have Guffin find you an out-of-the-way room. But if I find out you’ve plotted to Urdig’s disadvantage, you’ll deal with me.”

He jerked his own mount’s reins and trotted away, shoulders rigid. Saroya followed, no longer sure of herself.

Isolte did not look up as Loric shut the door to their bedchamber. She stared at something cradled in her palm. He shrugged off his jacket, sat down on the opposite side of the bed and bent over to pull off his boots.