Second Guard (31 page)

As they walked away, Chey’s hand began to feel sweaty in hers and Tali gave it one last squeeze before dropping it. Despite the heat on her back, she shivered when the fire behind them
burst into a roar. Brindl let out a small gasp, and Zarif moved quickly to put an arm around her and pull her close. Tali brushed another tear away with the back of her hand.

The doctor walked briskly down the hill ahead of them, nearly skidding on some pebbles in his haste. He held the ceremonial box containing Saavedra’s heart tucked under his arm, ready to
be sent to Fugaza. He had proclaimed Saavedra’s death the result of Black Illness, a rare and quick disease that afflicted people in constant contact with animals. He could not explain the
simultaneous death of the bluejackets, only surmising that the same illness, in avian form, must have spread among them. Even Zarif had looked distrustful of the doctor’s conclusions.

They did not know what to do with themselves once they arrived back at the Alcazar. Before his death, they would have gathered in Saavedra’s cottage for the warmth of his companionship and
flowing tea. Now they had no place to be together, no haven to which they could escape, no wise friend to counsel them. They found themselves along the bank of Lake Chibcha, sitting on the moist
sand and randomly pitching pebbles into the lapping waves. Tali remembered spending many evenings in this same place with Boulder, who was also lost to them now. She sighed, resting her chin on her
arms. Sadness, a cold companion, wrapped its heavy arms around her, and she did not attempt to pull away.

The moon crossed much of the sky before the friends parted, weary and silent. Once she shut the door of her room behind her, Tali slid to the floor, letting the tears flow freely.

The next morning Tali, Chey, and Zarif ate breakfast in near silence. The tasteless lumps of porridge seemed harder than usual to swallow. Tali tried to form words but could
not get her lips to obey. Zarif and Chey, she noticed, also had little to say. The animated voices around them in the Great Hall seemed to mock their grief. Tali did not know how she would make it
through the long day of training ahead. She had no desire to fight; she cared not at all for winning either.

“What is wrong with the young heroes today?” Drayvon asked, as he passed their table. “Did Grandfather Pigeon fly into a tree?”

“You will not mention him ever again,” Chey said, standing up from his meal.

“And what will you do about it, dirt?”

“I’ll see you eat the dirt off my boots,” Chey answered, his eyes narrowed.

“Enough,” Zarif interjected, putting his hands up between the two. “Save it for the practice ring. A fight in here will only bring trouble to you both.”

“Then tell him to leave my sight,” Chey answered, pointing at Drayvon.

Drayvon smirked, then turned to Tali. “You should learn how to control your hounds,” he said, then sauntered away.

“I should have let Boulder eat him when I had the chance,” Tali said. Both boys chuckled despite themselves, though Chey’s jaw remained clenched.

“I saw Brindl earlier this morning,” Zarif said, trying to change the subject. “She has been reassigned to the kitchens, but first she’s to prepare Saavedra’s rooms
for the new pigeonkeep.”

Tali frowned. “Brindl herself should be the new pigeonkeep.”

“Saavedra trained her well, and she is well suited for it,” Zarif agreed. “But servants must go where they are told.”

“Well, that would be fine if the people in charge of them were not
utter fools
,” Tali said, lowering her voice as the surly Head Steward walked past. “In any case, we
should not let Brindl clean Saavedra’s cottage by herself. She should have company for such a task.”

“I agree,” Zarif said. “But what of our training?”

“If I go to the rings today, I may well kill Drayvon with my bare hands,” Chey said.

“Then we had better keep you on the roof,” Tali said. “Murder is punished by a sword to the neck, and Drayvon isn’t worth losing your head for. Besides, I rather like
your scruffy head.”

Chey smiled and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair.

“Though a good combing now and then would not be out of order,” Zarif added, his voice serious, though his eyes looked fondly at his roommate.

They pushed their nearly full bowls away and made their way to the roof, trying hard to keep the mood light. When they reached Saavedra’s cottage, however, sadness descended upon them like
a blanket. Brindl stood amid empty wooden crates and cleaning supplies, her face pale and bleak. As they walked through the door, her eyes lit momentarily. “I’m so glad you’re
here. I was told to send his belongings home to his family, but Saavedra had no family that I’m aware of…at least, not here in Tequende,” she said, looking around the room in
despair.

“No,” agreed Zarif, “but perhaps you could have them delivered to Princess Xiomara, especially his papers and books. Surely the royal archivist will find much of interest among
them.” Zarif looked longingly at the crowded bookshelves lining the cottage walls.

“I’m certain if you’d like to borrow some books, Xiomara would not mind, Zarif,” Tali said. “You could return them to the Queen’s Library when you go home to
Fugaza.”

Zarif sighed. “It would not feel right to do so without permission,” he answered, lifting an empty crate off the floor. “I suppose we should get started.”

All morning the friends worked in the small room that had been their refuge, their home away from the ones they knew. They decided that Zarif should organize the piles of parchment and scrolls
on the large table that had served as Saavedra’s desk, making note of which should be packed and which should stay behind for the next pigeonkeep. Zarif also insisted on stacking the books
according to subject, so he could catalog them before they were packed. Tali wondered at the obsessive tendencies of her friend as she cleared the shelves. Zarif would make a fine librarian, she
mused, watching him labor carefully over his task.

Elsewhere, Chey had taken on the task of helping Brindl clean out the aviary. The dead bluejackets had already been removed and burned, but the doctor had ordered that the entire stone building
be washed down with buckets of water and lye soap. While Chey stood on a ladder scrubbing each little bird roost, Brindl stood below him to rinse the rags he used and hand him clean ones. Several
times throughout the morning, Tali brought them cups of sweetwater, which they received thankfully, their faces streaked with sweat and tears, their hands raw from the lye. Though Tali urged them
to take a break, they both refused, eager to be done with the brutal job.

Brindl finally slipped away in the early afternoon and came back with a tray of hard cheese and warm potato rolls fresh from the oven. Tali’s stomach rumbled in anticipation after her tiny
breakfast. Chey made a pot of strong coffee in the hearth to see them through the rest of the afternoon, and soon they were back at work.

At times Tali felt like a spy looking through Saavedra’s private papers, letters, and books. Mostly she just handed them to Zarif without reading them. One big leather-bound tome she set
on the table in front of her friend, who glanced at the book, then laid a sad hand on it.

“What is it, Zarif?” Tali asked, looking at the book over his shoulder. “‘
The Rise of Tequende: A History
,’” she said, reading the book’s title
aloud. “‘By Manuel de Saavedra.’ Oh! Can’t we keep this one for ourselves?” she begged, taking the book back.

Zarif shrugged. “I suppose there are several copies already in the Queen’s Library. But we should still tell Xiomara that we have it, and offer to return it if that is her
wish.”

“Thank you,” Tali said, smiling at her friend for indulging her. She flipped through the pages of the heavy book and began to frown. Words and symbols had been scribbled in the
margins of nearly every page. “Zarif, someone has written in Saavedra’s book! Who would dare?”

Zarif’s look of alarm turned into a grin as soon as he looked over her shoulder. “That is Saavedra’s own hand, Tali. Remember how he used to say that history never rests? He
must have been revising his own work, adding to it as the years passed.”

Tali was about to reply when a slender girl in a kitchen apron entered the room, coughing meekly to announce her presence.

“May we help you?” Zarif asked, rising and bowing. The girl blushed a deep scarlet and seemed to have trouble finding her voice. She obviously had not expected to find anyone other
than Brindl in the cottage.

“It—it—it is only…” she stuttered, her shamed face dropping toward her feet, “Br-Brindl must soon report to the kitchens.”

“We shall give her the message,” Zarif answered, nodding kindly. “Thank you.”

The girl bowed and Zarif and Tali went back to their work, but no sooner had Tali opened up Saavedra’s book again than she felt someone’s eyes on her. She looked up to see the
kitchen maid still standing in the doorway.

“Is there something else?” Tali asked.

“Y-yes,” the girl said. “Th-th-there is news from the mines.”

“What news, Tippy?” Brindl asked from behind her. Chey stood by her side wiping his grimy face with his sleeve.

Now everyone’s eyes were on the poor girl, who looked pleadingly at Brindl. Clearly she did not wish to speak in front of the others.

“If you’ll excuse us, please,” Brindl said, steering Tippy back out to the roof to confer privately. Brindl returned a moment later, her streaked face set like stone. More bad
news, Tali thought. How much more can there be?

“Three more salters have gone missing,” Brindl said, her voice wooden, as if she was determined not to spill any more tears. “Tippy does not know their names yet,” she
continued, anticipating the question they were all about to ask.

“You don’t think it could be Ory, do you?” Tali asked, her stomach clenching. Brindl shrugged miserably.

“We should not assume the worst,” Zarif warned, standing and fetching clean rags for Brindl and Chey to wipe their faces.

“Zarif is right,” Chey said. “The mines are vast, filled with hundreds of salters. I’m sure Ory is fine.”

“It’s just—” Tali started, then bit her lip, unsure how to explain her thoughts. “Is it not more than
coincidence
that something bad happened in the mines
right after we sent word to the princess?”

The room grew quiet then, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The supper bell broke their silence.

“I’d best report to the kitchens before I get in trouble,” Brindl said, then paused on her way out the door. “Thank you all for helping me today. You are true
friends.”

Tali returned Brindl’s sad smile and said a silent thank-you to Saavedra, now one of Elia’s stars, for bringing them together. Then she drew her attention back to the book on her
lap, flipping through the pages to see if Saavedra had written anything about the mines.

“Come, Tali,” Zarif said, tidying up one last stack of scrolls. “It’s been a long day. Let’s go clean ourselves before supper.”

“I’m not hungry,” she answered, reluctant to leave Saavedra’s cottage. “Go on without me and I’ll follow soon.”

“You should not be alone with these memories,” Chey said, waiting by the door.

“Just a few more moments. Go on, I’ll be fine,” Tali promised, waving them off and returning to her book.

She skimmed through several pages about the mining industry, but most of the information she already knew from Brindl and Ory. Though Saavedra had included some rough sketches of the salt mines,
they did not give any breadth to the world she had seen below her feet. How lucky she was to be entrusted with its secrets. Well,
some
of its secrets. What else was going on in the mines?
How could three miners disappear without a trace?

Tali sighed and rose to her feet. As she did so, a scrap of paper slipped from the book in her hands. There had been many such scraps covered with Saavedra’s scrawl tucked throughout the
book. Tali was about to slide this one back in when she noticed that the ink was fresh—smudged, too, as if Saavedra had written hastily. “‘Gold in mines…smuggled to New
Castille or Oest Andoria?…Jaden’s whereabouts missing from log,’” she whispered, deciphering the words aloud. She sank back into the chair as her mind tried to sort out
what she had just read.

The sound of riding boots on gravel interrupted her thoughts. Zarif, she thought, come to fetch me. She rushed to the door, eager to show him the slip of paper.

Instead, she found Jaden making his way across the roof.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice like a knife strike.

Tali’s heart beat wildly in her chest as she quickly crumbled the paper in her fist. “I might ask the same of you, sir!” she said, her own anger bubbling to the surface like
boiling water.

“How dare you question me!” he answered, crossing the short distance between them in a second. He towered over her, forcing Tali to look up at him.

Slowly, Tali backed up into the cottage, nearly tripping over the door frame. Fear crept up her legs and through her stomach, twisting and turning like a grapevine, twining around her heart. But
fury blossomed there too, fed by her grief for Saavedra. “How dare
you
enter this man’s home after you had him killed…or did you kill him yourself?” Tali cried,
trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“You would accuse me of this?”

“Of this and more!” Tali countered, unable to stop herself. “What of those pledges dismissed last year? What of the pledge who
died
? Did he find out about you, like
Saavedra? And now who’s next…the princess? The
Queen
? Or are you content just to rob their gold instead?” Tali wished she could swallow her words as soon as she said
them. Jaden’s face was now a mask of rage, his eyes glowering at Tali as if he might cut her down with a single swipe. His hand clenched the hilt of his blade. She cast her eyes around for a
way to defend herself, but the only weapon available was a lie. “Zarif and Chey will be here any minute. They went to fetch firewood.”

Swish
. Jaden pulled the sword from his belt. Either he didn’t believe her or he didn’t care. Slowly he advanced forward, his sword aimed at her heart. His face had lost all
color and expression. Tali stepped backward until she felt the wall behind her. “You will not get away with this! Your father will hear of it,” she said, bracing herself against the
cold stone.