She sighed. “To be honest, I miss it. Tim may not have eaten as well as royalty, but no one tried to poison him, either.”
“It truly is a shocking circumstance, Highness. Do you have any idea of who would do such a thing?”
She looked at the door of Teodoros’ room, which Erasmias Jino had deliberately left ajar. She could see the colors of one of the guards outside. It would be foolish to say anything she didn’t want overheard. “I know nothing except that a child died by poison meant for me. Lord Jino has promised he will find the culprit.”
“Lord Jino?” Finn Teodoros chuckled ruefully. “I know him—a persistent fellow. He can be rather frightening. I’m sure he will get some result.”
“Oh, Finn, have they treated you badly?” She had to fight the urge to put her arms around his rounded shoulders, but she was a princess again and it would not do. “I told them that you were a good man.”
“Then, your pardon, Highness, but perhaps they do not trust your word, either.”
She took a quick look at the door, then got up and quietly pushed it shut. Let them open it again if they want so badly to listen. “Tell me again,” she said quietly, “we may not have much time—what did Brone want you to do here in Tessis?”
The playwright’s expression was unhappy. “Please don’t punish me for meddling in your family’s affairs, Highness. I only did what Lord Brone told me—I swear I would not have served him if I thought anything evil was intended!”
“I doubt he made the choice as easy as that,” Briony said with a sour grin. “I would guess he offered you payment for your troubles, but also threatened you if you would not consent.”
Teodoros nodded his head solemnly. “He said we would never have a license to play in Southmarch again.”
“Tell me what he wanted you to do.”
Teodoros took a kerchief from his sleeve and mopped his shining brow. He had lost a little weight since the Syannese had imprisoned him but he was still a stout man. “I delivered letters here to the royal court, as you know, but I have no idea what was in them. I was also told to leave a message for Dawet dan-Faar in a certain tavern, and I did. The message said we would be at The False Woman—that I had news for him from Southmarch. But I never had a chance to talk to him. I don’t know how he managed to get away from those soldiers…”
“I expect they let him go,” Briony said. “I was a bit distracted at the time, but the whole thing had the look of a…” she put her finger beside her nose, “… a quiet understanding between Dawet and the guards.” She shook her head. Spycraft—it was a maddening, sticky swamp. “And what were you to tell Dawet if you had been able?”
“I was to say that… that a bargain could still be made, but not only would Drakava have to return Olin, but also send a troop of armed men with him to prevent treachery by the Tollys who were trying to usurp the throne.”
She felt a moment of shock. “A bargain with Drakava? Did he mean the hundred thousand gold dolphins or my hand in marriage? Was Brone offering me to Drakava—something my own father and brother had not done?”
Teodoros shrugged. “I have done errands for Avin Brone before now. He gives me only what I must have, usually a sealed letter. With dan-Faar he did not trust anything to be written down and told me no more than he needed to.”
Briony sat back, hot blood rushing to her face. “Is that so? Perhaps the Count of Landsend has some plans of his own—secrets, even.”
The playwright looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I… I… I do not know any more of what he wanted with the Tuani-man Dawet, I swear. Please do not be angry with me, Highness.”
Briony realized that she had frightened Teodoros, one of the few people who had treated her like a friend when he didn’t need to: the playwright was trembling and his forehead was beaded with sweat.
I truly am an Eddon again. Like my father, I often wish to be treated as if I were anything else but royal, but I forget that my temper can make others fear for their lives…
“Don’t worry, Finn.” She sat back. “You have done nothing to harm me or my family.”
Teodoros still looked decidedly unhappy, but managed to say, “Thank you, Highness.”
“But your service to Southmarch hasn’t ended—I have more for you to do. I need a secretary. I can’t trust any of the Syannese, but I need someone who can blend easily into the court—someone who has an ear… and a taste… for gossip.”
Finn Teodoros looked up, his expression a mix of relief and confusion. “You surely don’t mean me, do you, Highness?”
Briony laughed. “I was thinking of Feival, to be honest. He has played courtiers of both sexes, why should he not play one on my behalf? No, I have other plans for you, Finn. I want you and the rest of Makewell’s Men to be my ears here in Tessis. Find out everything the people think, especially about Southmarch, any news of the war there or of the usurping Tollys.” She stood. “I can’t make decisions without information. Without sources of my own, I will hear only what King Enander and his hangers-on want me to hear.”
“Of course, Princess—but how can I do your bidding? I am a prisoner!”
“Not for long. I will see to that. Be brave, friend Finn. You are my bondsman now and I will take care of you.”
Briony went to the door and threw it open. “Players! Oh, but I am glad to be shut of them!” She said it loud enough for the guards to hear. “Take him back to his cell! I have grown weary of the company of professional liars.”
He bowed as he entered. “Good morning, my lady. Will you kill me today?”
“Why, Kayyin? Did you have other plans?”
It had become their customary greeting. It was not entirely facetious.
Lady Yasammez’s eyes were closed. Her thoughts had ranged far and had only now returned to her in this foreign place, this Sunlander city beside the ocean—the same ocean as the black, sunless sea that beat against the rocks below Qul-na-Qar, but so different in aspect and feeling. Yes, the Mantle had changed things in only a few hundred short years, the great shroud that Crooked had taught them to keep them safe—but was it only the Mantle that had made things different? Hadn’t something grown in the hearts of the people themselves—her people—that no longer loved the sun? She reflected on Kayyin as he stood before her with his strange, sad smile. Who of the Qar ever looked that way, wore that expression of fear and guilt and resignation that only a mortal could manufacture? They are not so different from us as you might think—Kayyin himself had said that to her once. At the time she had dismissed it as another way in which he was trying to enrage her, trying to force her to kill him and end this unnatural half-life of his. Then, later, she had come to brood on it. What if it were true?
Now, suddenly, as she thought about the dark surf rolling ceaselessly outside Qul-na-Qar, another thought came to her: what if the Sunlanders, the mortal insects who she had longed for years to crush, on whose swords she would gladly die if she had taken a great enough toll of her enemies f irst… what if the mortals were not merely like her people, but better? How long could a creature walk bent-backed before it could no longer straighten up? How long did cave animals continue to live as though one day they would return to the light before their eyes finally wasted away and their skins turned white as corpse flesh? How long could you live the life of an inferior beast before you became an inferior beast?
“You haven’t yet made war, my lady,” Kayyin said at last, breaking the silence.