“Neither was I. Which of us do you think was most surprised?” She let the guards lead her away.
Sister Utta could not make herself stand, although the storm that raged in her thoughts demanded some physical release. She wanted to run as far and as fast as she could to escape this impossible talk, or to throw things clattering to the floor until the noise and chaos wiped away everything she had just been told. But still it went on, the tale of how the mortals of Southmarch had destroyed the Twilight People’s royal family.
“It cannot be.” She looked imploringly at Kayyin. “You only do this because your dark mistress wants to torment us. Such horrible tales—admit they are all lies!”
“Of course they are lies,” Merolanna said angrily. She would no longer meet the fairy’s gaze. “Wicked lies. Told by this… this evil changeling to make us fearful, to destroy our faith.”
Kayyin spread his hands in a gesture that looked like resignation or abandonment. “Faith does not enter into it, Duchess. My mistress Yasammez ordered me to tell you the truth and that is what I did. I owe her nothing but my death so I can assure you I would not lie on her behalf, especially about this, the greatest tragedy of my people.” His expression grew distinctly colder. “And now I recall some of the ways in which I am not one of you, no matter how many years I played the counterfeit. My people do not run from the truth. It is the only reason we have survived in this world… this world that your kind have made.”
He turned and walked out of the room. Utta heard his light footfalls for a moment on the stairs, then the house was silent again.
“Do you see?” There was an edge of triumph in Merolanna’s voice—a feverish edge, Utta thought. “He knows we have seen through him. By leaving he fairly admits it!”
After days and days of shared captivity, Utta no longer had the strength or even the inclination to argue. After all, if Merolanna needed to believe such things to keep up her spirits, who was Utta to take them from her? But even so, she couldn’t be entirely silent.
“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.