Finder: First Ordinance, Book One (4 page)

"I see your point," Timblor said, taking aim again. "Fifty gold pieces says I hit the center this time."

"Done," Amlis nodded. Timblor released the arrow.

* * *

Dinner that evening was a sore trial, and placed me in much trouble. Amlis sat at Tamblin's left while Timblor took the Heir's position at the King's right. Yevil sat past that, scowling while his own servant offered wine. Hirill and seven others, all members of Tamblin's inner circle, were scattered down the long table. A few had wives or lovers at their elbow and personal servants cared for both.

Amlis' plate was poisoned, but he was served the same as the King. No suspicion would be cast, once the King's personal servant tasted the veal in an elaborate sauce. Even if there were a cry raised, Wolter and the kitchen staff would bear the blame.

Even though Wolter had beaten me often enough when I was small, I preferred that his head remain on his shoulders. Bumping Amlis' shoulder as I reached in to pour wine (he was about to cut into the meat) I deliberately dropped the wine flagon on the edge of his plate, upending most of its contents in the Prince's lap.

Yes, the blows he delivered to my head and shoulders amid laughs and encouragement from others at the table were expected, but these wounded more than any blows had ever done.

Steeling my heart after cleaning up the plate (which lay face down on the floor) and clearing away the poisoned meat lying on the table, I took it away.

Wolter stared at me in surprise when I carried the Prince's plate into the kitchen, after which he eyed the wrecked meat with a lift to his eyebrow.

"Not fit?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Then it won't go to the dogs," he sighed. I nodded vigorously. I watched as he prepared a second plate and I carried it back to the Prince, who was now dressed in fresh clothing—I'd ruined the formal jacket he'd worn before.

It was a shame; Amlis looked quite good in the blue with red piping. His blows and shouts I felt, still, and refused to look at him, pulling on my right earlobe instead. He failed to notice, Etlund tasted Amlis' second plate, pronounced it fit and the dinner resumed.

Had I thought the evening over? I was very wrong. Meekly following Amlis as he strode angrily toward his suite, I took his jacket and removed his boots when the knock came. Setting the boots aside for the moment, I went to answer the door. Timblor had come, bearing a bottle of wine.

"I just wanted to sit and enjoy the beating," Timblor grinned and held up two delicate wineglasses in one hand, the wine bottle in the other.

I stared at the fragile, blue-tinted wineglasses Timblor carried—glass that thin was nearly unheard of and according to kitchen gossip, there were no artisans remaining in Fyris who could create it. What Timblor held carelessly in his fingers was worth a fortune.

"Rodrik hasn't returned yet," Amlis' expression was sour.

"Ah. Well, we'll drink and wait together." I blinked at Amlis, working to school my face. Had Amlis intended to have me beaten a second time, or was Timblor forcing his hand? Regardless, Rodrik would now deliver blows, and I would learn unwillingly enough how heavy his hand might be.

Quite heavy, as it turned out. Rodrik hadn't been privy to any of the evening's events, so Timblor informed him, ridiculing me and exaggerating my actions, making it sound as if a carnival of performers had left Amlis' jacket ruined and his dinner strewn across the King's dining hall. Rodrik had taken his riding crop to me after that, and several blows had landed on my face and at the back of my neck, leaving red welts and purple bruises behind, which ached. A few of them bled as well.

When he was finished with me, I pulled myself from the floor where I'd fallen and went to put the Prince's boots away while Timblor drank and laughed at my retreating back. Tears would be useless, as they generally evoked more laughter and ridicule, but I wanted to cry them anyway as I finished my duties for the evening.

* * *

"I wanted to tell you myself, as the physician has declared it was her heart giving out on her at last," Chen offered the plate of cakes to Amlis the following afternoon. "Wolter set aside the plate of veal you'd been served after Finder brought it back to the kitchen. He was going to dispose of it, since Finder let him know in the way she has that he shouldn't feed it to the dogs. While Wolter's back was turned, Irdith ate a portion of the meat—you know kitchen help seldom gets to taste veal. Two candles later, Irdith was dead in her chair beside the fire. Wolter left her there and went about his business."

"The plate was poisoned," Amlis rubbed his forehead in frustration. "And then Timblor came last night, forcing me to have Rodrik beat the girl nearly senseless. And this after I'd already hit her in the dining hall. She's in my mother's suite this morning, helping the maids dust and clean as part of her punishment."

"I don't know what else you could do, my Prince. Had you held back, they might suspect that she is a bargaining chip and bring their own harm against her to get to you."

"You think I don't realize that?" Amlis rose from the seat behind his desk and walked to the window. At least the weather was relenting and snow was melting on the ground two floors below, making a muddy mess of the courtyard.

"It's this way, always," Chen sighed. "She won't meet your eyes from here on out, so don't expect it unless it's ordered. Wolter didn't notice it for the longest time, and now he harbors regrets."

"Did he know how beautiful she is?" Amlis turned away from the window to ask.

"No. And honestly, neither did I. She kept herself covered in ash and soot. We never looked past that."

"Rodrik hasn't spoken to me since," Amlis muttered, staring out the window again. "It's as if I've had both beaten."

"Life happens as it will, my Prince," Chen whispered. "I must go."

* * *

Muscles in my back and arms ached as I rolled up the heavy rug, preparing it for transport to the back garden where it would be hung by menservants and beaten to get the dust out. Maids laughed and gossiped around me, but I was mired in my own misery and ignored most of it.

I did not take comfort in Irdith's death, although it was deserved and long past due. How can I explain that? The answer is simply that I cannot. If I were offered a riding whip and the opportunity to hit both Amlis and Rodrik, I could not. The whip would be tossed away and I would take my leave.

Rumblings had begun in my head, however, over why I stayed and accepted abuse. Perhaps it was because there was no other place to take me, where I would not be in just as much danger.

"Finder, come." Rodrik was inside Amlis' suite when my day of cleaning the Queen's old quarters was over. I stared deliberately at his chin—he'd beaten me. I would never search his eyes again. I would know everything I needed to know without it. His riding crop was in his hand and truly, I expected a second beating wherever he was taking me. That, as it turns out, was the stables.

Garth waited there, with a tub filled with hot water inside the stablemaster's quarters, located at the rear of the lengthy building. A fresh uniform waited for me as well, draped over a wooden chair, scraped and scarred from many turns' use.

"Clean up," Rodrik commanded. "Garth will put salve on the wounds afterward." Rodrik stalked out, leaving me with a puzzled Garth.

"I'll step outside," Garth offered. Giving him a curt nod, I waited until he was gone before removing my clothing. My neck had ached all day, and when I'd rubbed it, my hand had come away bloodied. Rodrik had broken skin in several places, leaving crusted blood behind.

I'd washed as much of it away as I could that morning, but cleaning the Queen's suite had broken the wounds open again and in places, my clothing had to be painfully peeled away. My back and neck were the worst—I wanted to moan as I forced the fabric away from my body.

Lowering my frame into the tub came next, and it was nearly as painful as removing my uniform. A brush was provided to wash my back, and I was forced to wash the brush, afterward, as the bristles were bloody when I finished with it. The towel was wrapped about me when Garth knocked, and he came in with a pot of salve.

He had no words as he rubbed salve into the back of my neck first, and the medicine stung so badly it brought tears to my eyes. My talent informed me it was the same he used for the horses, but I was a worthless servant after all, and a horse would bring more at market.

Garth pulled the towel lower to get to my back and drew in a gasp. Fingering the bone spurs that reappeared every turn, he rose and walked away. Without a doubt, I knew he was going to Rodrik with the information. I had no choice but to bear the scrutiny of both men as they examined my back. Whimpering would not help me, but I wished to do it anyway.

"Wolter called them bone spurs," Rodrik muttered and I nearly collapsed with relief. "But after seeing them," Rodrik didn't finish and I stiffened again. "Never mind. It's normal for her, or so I understand. Finish up and I'll get her back to the palace." Rodrik stalked out again.

* * *

Nirok and his granddaughter were waiting inside Amlis' suite when we returned. My head was down and I watched Rodrik's boots carefully as we'd made our way from the stable to the palace. Futilely, I wished I were back in the kitchen; with Irdith dead, perhaps my life there might ease a bit.

Instead, I was forced to try on two uniforms, both in Amlis' blue. The dress uniform had red piping, patterned after his formal and much more expensive clothing. Mine was fashioned of plain cloth, whereas his was fine velvets or linens.

"These are for you—to wear beneath the uniforms," Nirok's granddaughter had pulled me into my tiny bedroom and offered me underthings. I'd never had any before; they were for better and higher born. Maid's gossip had informed me of the existence of such, and often boasted that this benefactor or that had made a gift of it.

"It will keep your uniforms cleaner and fresher when you wear it," she coaxed, until I relented and pulled off my clothing to try on the delicate chemise and underwear. Six sets had been brought to me, and I was instructed to change every day and have the soiled ones laundered after a single use. Shrugging at the girl, who'd gasped at the wounds across my back when they were revealed, I kept the first set of underthings on and climbed back into my uniform.

* * *

"Finder," Amlis tapped a finger on his desk uncomfortably after Nirok and his granddaughter had taken their leave. "I understand now that you were only keeping me from harm." I stared at my feet. Rodrik, too, was inside the Prince's study, watching both of us carefully.

"I want to offer this to you." Amlis pulled a gray leather pouch from a desk drawer and set it before me. It chinked when he settled it on the edge of his desk, and I realized it held coins. Many, if my guess was correct.

Had I chosen to speak at that moment, I'd have told him that no coins could buy his life from those who wished to take it, and no amount of money would ever remove the memory of his or Rodrik's beatings. Risking another beating, I turned angrily and stalked out of his study, slamming the door behind me.

* * *

"I only tell you this because I am old and it no longer matters whether my death comes today or next turn," the physician's clouded eyes attempted to make out Rodrik's face. Nearly blind, the old physician had to rely on his sense of touch to treat many patients. If the King had allowed it, he would have left Lironis long ago.

"There were two babes inside Tandelis' court that morning, one of which was Lady Rinda's. That is the one the King sent to the kitchens." A coughing fit engulfed the ancient healer, and his manservant quickly brought watered wine for the old man to drink.

"That is the story he believes, at least," the physician croaked. "Have you ever thought to ask yourself why the deaths and deformities plaguing Fyris have not touched Lironis? I ask you to ponder that. And if you value your life and the life of your Prince, you'd best be well away from here before long." Wetness gurgled in the old physician's throat as he accepted another sip of wine.

Without a reply, Rodrik turned on his heel and walked away. He hadn't failed to see the hopeless expression on the manservant's face, however. It begged Rodrik to take him along as well.

* * *

"So Father sent Lady Rinda's child to the kitchens. Was that better than killing her outright?" Amlis studied Rodrik's face. Rodrik revealed no emotion, except for the white lines around his lips. Rodrik was furious.

At the time of Tandelis' death, Rinda was a widow—her husband had died in an unfortunate hunting accident according to Yevil, who'd happened upon the body. Savaged by wild boars, he'd reported. Lord Andwil's death had left behind a grieving widow and a child less than two turns of age. Barely six moon-turns later, Rinda was also dead, as was her child, according to official records.

"Amlis, I tell you this because I trust you. The physician says two babes were inside Tandelis' court that morning. Your father
believes
he sent Rinda's daughter to the kitchens." Amlis' eyes widened in shock at Rodrik's words.

* * *

"Finder, there is no time to instruct you in the matters of politics, and it wouldn't matter much to you anyway. Just stand still, don't fidget and whatever you do, don't spill my wine," Amlis muttered as I struggled to keep up with his angry walk. His legs were much longer than mine, although he was still three fingers shorter than Wolter.