Shadowrise (67 page)

“As little as I wish to admit it, much of what he said . . . well, it does ring in accord with the history of my order ...” she ventured.

“But certainly!” Merolanna was briskly tidying up a room that needed no such efforts. “Don’t you see? That is the cleverness of it! They make their lies plausible—until you consider what they are actually saying. Oh, no, it was not those monsters that came out of their shadowy country and attacked
us!
All of the gods-fearing people of the March Kingdoms—we lured them out, then betrayed and slaughtered them! Can you not see how foolish it is, Utta? Really, I despair of you. My husband told me of such madnesses when he came back from the wars in Settland—you have been a prisoner so long you are beginning to believe your captors.”

Utta opened her mouth, then shut it again.
Patience,
she told herself.
She is a good woman. She is frightened. And I am frightened, too.
Because if what Kayyin had told them was a lie, as Merolanna so fervently believed, then the Qar were completely mad. But if it was the truth . . .

Then they have every reason to hate us,
Utta thought.
They have every reason to want to destroy us all.

The fury that was boiling inside Briony began to die down on her way back to her chambers, as if someone had taken a lid off a cooking pot. She did not have time for anger, she reminded herself: her life was at stake. At any moment they might put her in a cell, or remove her to some country estate to live as a prisoner. Ananka might even talk the besotted old king into believing that witchcraft nonsense if she had long enough to work at him. Briony’s own word—the word of a king’s daughter!—had meant nothing to Enander. Instead, he had sat back like the great fool he was and let his whore manipulate him . . .

Calm,
she told herself.
What was it Shaso used to say? Even as you are defending, you must be attacking. You cannot simply react to what is given you. A warrior must always act, even if only to plan the next move.

So what was the next move? What assets did she have? Dawet was gone on some errand of his own. The money Eneas had given her was mostly spent. Well, Zoria would provide for her, she told herself . . . but Zoria had to be given a proper chance. Briony had come to this city with nothing but her freedom. She would be happy to leave it in the same condition.

 

It was obvious by their embarrassed expressions that her ladies-in-waiting had heard the news. No surprise: gossip traveled fast in the Broadhall Palace. Still, it was painful to watch them try to decide how to treat her. Had they known about Feival’s treachery all along? And how many of them were also Ananka’s spies?

Of all her ladies-in-waiting, only Agnes, the tall, thin daughter of a country baron, even came to meet her when she entered. The girl looked Briony over carefully. “Are you well?” She sounded as though she truly cared about the answer. “Is there something I can get you, Princess?”

Briony glanced at the other young women, who turned away and busied themselves with a variety of aimless tasks. “Yes, Mistress Agnes, you can come and talk with me while I put on some other clothes. I have been in these all day.”

“Gladly, Princess.”

When they were in her retiring room Briony quickly began undoing the clothes she had been wearing. As Agnes helped her out of the dress and into a heavy night robe Briony watched the girl. She was a little younger than Briony but much the same height, and although she was thinner, she was fair-haired like Briony, too—which would count for a great deal.

“How much do you know of what happened to me this afternoon?” Briony asked.

Agnes colored. “More than I like, Princess. I hear that Master Feival has gone to the king and told him lies about you.” She shook her head. “If they would have asked me, I would have told them the truth—that you are blameless, that you acted only honorably with his highness, Prince Eneas.” She looked startled. “Do you want me to tell them, Princess? I will do it if you wish, but I fear for my family ...”

“No, Agnes. I would not ask that of you or the other girls.”

“The other girls are cowards, Princess Briony. I fear they would not tell the truth, anyway. They are afraid of Ananka.” She laughed ruefully. “
I
am afraid of Ananka. Some say she is a witch—that she has the king under a spell.”

Briony scowled. “Well, I can show her a little conjuration of my own—but only if you’ll help me.”

Agnes finished tying the belt of Briony’s robe and looked up at her solemnly. “I will help you, Princess, in any way the gods will allow. I think what they are doing to you is terrible.”

“Good. I believe we can manage this without any harm to your reputation here at the court. Now, listen ...”

 

The first time she sent Agnes out, Briony went to the door with the girl so that the guards could see her in her night-robe.
Modesty be cursed
, she thought.
A warrior has no modesty.

“Hurry back,” she told Agnes loudly enough for all to hear. The soldiers turned to watch the girl hurry by, but Agnes was not the kind to draw much attention from men. She was carrying a note to the king full of the sort of pleading and vows of innocence that could be expected from someone in Briony’s position, but the guards did not even bother to ask her errand, let alone read the letter.

Idiots,
Briony thought.
Well, I suppose I should be glad they think so little of me here.

While Agnes was gone, Briony went through the chest that contained the few things she had brought to the court at Tessis. She made a bundle of what she wanted and wrapped it in a traveling cloak, the poorest one she could find, a simple, heavy, unembroidered length of dark wool left behind by some visitor and never claimed.

Perhaps it’s one of the prince’s
, she thought.
Yes, I can imagine Eneas in just such a modest garment, leading his soldiers.
It was certainly long enough to belong to him.

Agnes soon returned and Briony sent her on another errand, this one taking a letter to Ivgenia e’Doursos. Briony wanted to let her friend know what happened, and had written to tell her she had been unjustly accused, but of course wrote nothing about what she was planning to do. She had learned she could not trust anyone, not even Ivvie—in fact, she was being forced to rely on young Agnes far more than she liked, but some things could not be helped.

Briony stood in the doorway again and made sure the guards saw her. “Push it under her door,” she told Agnes. “Don’t wake her.”

Agnes smiled. “I’ll be careful.”

The other ladies looked irritated that they were not being sent on these apparently important errands. Briony put them to work getting her some food.

“Bread and cheese from the common store,” she told them. “Lots of it. Let no one know it’s for me. And some dried fruit. Medlars, too—wrap them in a kerchief or they shall get on everything. And what else? Yes, I’d like some quince paste.”

“Are you very hungry, then, Princess?” one of the girls asked.

“Oh, famished. After all, it is hard work being betrayed.”

The ladies went off with wide eyes, whispering behind their hands before they were three steps out the door. Briony noticed that one of the guards had gone somewhere. The other soldier barely looked up as the two young women hurried past.

When the bread and cheese and the rest had been brought back, Briony took it to the retiring room where no one could see, unrolled her bundle, and hid the food in the center of it. “You may go to bed now,” she called to the women. “I am going to wait for Agnes. I am not yet sleepy.”

Disappointed in their hope to see more eccentricity—or perhaps to see Briony eat the entire mound of supplies they had brought back—the ladies-in-waiting went to the retiring room to prepare for bed. A short time later Agnes came back.

“Thank all the gods,” Briony said. “I was beginning to fear something had happened to you.”

“There were people in the hall and I did not know whether you wanted me to be seen or not,” Agnes told her, “so I waited until they were gone. Have I done wrong?”

“Merciful Zoria, you have done nothing of the kind! Why didn’t I discover you before?” She gave the girl a quick kiss on the cheek. “There is one more thing. Give me your dress.”

“My dress, Princess?”

“Quiet! Not so loud—the others are just in the retiring room. We must be quick. Then take this robe and put it on.”

To her credit, young Agnes did not waste time asking questions. With Briony’s help she got the dress off, and as she stood shivering in her shift Briony draped the night-robe around her.

“Now help me,” Briony told her.

When she was laced into the dress, Briony took Agnes to the chest. “It goes without saying that you may have any of my dresses you choose,” she said. “There are several in the big chest. But I want you to have something else. Here. The fool who gave this to me did not get what he wanted for it, but he gave it to me nevertheless, so it is mine to give to you.” She took out the expensive bracelet Lord Nikomakos had sent her as a love gift and clasped it around the girl’s wrist.

Agnes’ eyes grew wide, then a tear welled up in the corner of each. “You are too kind to me, Princess!”

“No. You still have one more job to do and it is not an easy one. You must convince the king’s men when they come for me—it may be tonight if something has made them wonder, or it may not be until sometime tomorrow—that you did not know what I was doing.” She frowned. “No, that will not work—you are too clever a girl. You must convince them that I frightened you into keeping quiet.”

Now it was Agnes who frowned and shook her head. “I will not blacken your name, Princess Briony. Leave it to me—I will think of something.”

“May the gods bless you, Agnes! Now, when we get to the door, come halfway out and no farther—and keep your face turned away from the guards.”

Just as they opened the door, Briony said loudly, “Hurry, girl! You must go to her and come back quickly. I want to go to sleep!”

There was only one guard, and as Briony hoped, he only straightened up long enough to see the two familiar shapes—the woman in the robe bidding her servant go out one last time—before leaning back on the wall again.

“Princess running you near to death, is she, my lady?” he called as Briony trotted past with the bundled cloak clasped to her breast.

“Oh, yes,” she said—but in a murmur only she could hear. “It’s true, I am quite beside myself tonight.” A moment later she had turned into the adjoining corridor.

She retraced the route she had traveled with Eneas, stopping in the stables long enough to don the boy’s clothes she’d worn as a player. She thanked Zoria and the other gods that the cloak she had picked was a warm one: it might have been spring in Syan, but it was a cold night. She was also grateful that it was a market night and the palace’s gates were open late as people went in and out. She buried the dress Agnes had given her in the straw and made her way out of the stables and through the gate to the town.

Briony headed straight for the tavern where the players had been staying. The Whale Horse was in a narrow street in a dark but active part of Tessis near the river docks; its sign depicted a strange sea creature with tusks curling from its mouth. Drunken men wandered past, singing or quarreling, some of them with women on their arms as drunk and quarrelsome as themselves. Briony was glad she was dressed as a man and she prayed that no one tried to make her talk. This looked like the kind of place where it might not go well for her even if she were thought a boy instead of a girl.

Nevin Hewney was sleeping with his head on a table in the tavern’s main room. Finn Teodoros, in somewhat better condition beside him, still did not recognize her for a long moment, even after she whispered his name.

He leaned back as if to see her whole, then leaned forward again. “Young Tim . . . I mean Prin—”