“Please, sire,” Gwynedd whispered. “Whatever Rolly and Rosea were involved in—”
“Yes, the mysterious meetings between your brother, Helto and Menck, with Rosea seducing everyone in sight. And you excluded, the scorned sister kept in the dark. Another role you’ve played to perfection.” Jusson leaned back in his chair and, stretching his long legs out, folded his hands over his flat stomach. “How long have you had your troupe?”
Gwynedd frowned at the king’s non sequitur. “Your Majesty?”
“Eleven years, sire,” Ranulf said, unexpectedly.
“Eleven years,” Jusson repeated. “Versus what? How long had your brother and Rosea been married?”
“A little under a year,” Ranulf spoke up again when the player remained silent. He saw the looks aimed at him. “Gwynedd told Beollan and me when we met with her and her players at the Copper Pig.”
“There’s the rub, Mistress Gwynedd,” Jusson said. “Eleven years of running the troupe versus your brother’s year-old marriage to an outsider. An outsider who wasn’t even of your profession until she joined you.”
Gwynedd’s perplexed frown shifted into a look of faint disgust. “You never saw Rosea, Your Majesty. She wielded her beauty like a weapon—”
“I did,” Jusson said. “Just a bit ago I saw her—or what was left of her. But even if she were the most beautiful woman in the realm, what I saw at the church yesterday eve would’ve routed an entire army of Roseas.”
Gwynedd’s perplexed frown returned. “What you saw, sire?”
“A woman with a spine of steel, Mistress,” Jusson said. “I cannot imagine you allowing anyone, let alone a villager from the back of the northern marches—no matter how beautiful—oust you from your headship of a troupe you have founded. In fact, Rodolfo may have had the title of troupe master for dealing with the authorities and other inconveniences, but I’d wager the royal treasury against a daisy chain that you were the one who actually ran things.” The king gave his razor smile. “Even choosing to mount that benighted play about magicals in a town overflowing with them. What better excuse to shut it down when you saw that Rabbit, so obviously from the Border, was in the audience? Which then freed Rodolfo and Rosea to pursue their quarry.”
Obeying the demands of my stomach, I’d gone back to shoveling food into my mouth. “But the attack in Theater Square wasn’t done by either Rodolfo or Rosea, sire,” I said, my voice thick. “They both were standing next to me and were as surprised as I was when it happened. And it couldn’t have been Gwynedd because it was a man’s hand, not a woman’s.”
Arlis gave a soft grunt of surprise and the town elders stirred in their seats. “The disturbance in Theater Square was because someone had attacked you with magic, Lord Rabbit?” Magistrate Ordgar asked carefully.
I blinked as I realized that this time I’d spilled a fact that hadn’t been disseminated to the general public. “Uhm—”
Jusson, though, didn’t miss a beat. “A sorcerer tried to bind Rabbit, but he was able to fight him off. Who was it, Mistress Gwynedd?”
“Ibn Chause just said it wasn’t any of the players, sire,” an aristo pointed out.
“No,” Jusson said. “Rabbit said that it wasn’t Rodolfo, Rosea or Gwynedd. But who said that the attacker had to be any of those three?”
“If that’s true, Your Majesty,” Beollan said, “then it could’ve been anyone in the square. And, from all accounts, it was very crowded at the time.”
“It couldn’t have been just anybody,” Jusson said. “Laurel said there has to be line of sight. The sorcerer had to see Rabbit clearly. However, he also had to be inconspicuous. What better place than a raised stage? No one would look twice at a player on the boards, no matter what his actions are.”
I swallowed, pausing between bites. “The curtain was closed, sire. It was brought down when the play stopped.”
“Even better,” Jusson said. “An unremarkable screen even if it were gaping open just enough for someone to see through. The play is halted mid-act and Rodolfo and Rosea stop you before you can leave, keeping you in view of the stage.” The king smiled again. “I would say that Rodolfo and Rosea’s subsequent surprise wasn’t at the fact that you were being attacked, Rabbit, but that you were aware and countering it.”
What little color Gwynedd’s face had drained away. “Your Majesty, we’re just simple players—”
“There is nothing simple about you,” Jusson said. “Tell me, how well do you know Gawell and Ednoth?”
Gwynedd squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth once more trembling as tears leaked out. “Your Majesty,” she began.
“They’re acquainted,” Magistrate Ordgar said. He probably figured it was better to tell than to be told on. “It was Gawell who paid for their license to perform.”
“He did,” Jusson said. “Why?”
Ordgar looked down, apparently fascinated with the table’s wood grain. “As a gift for Lord Rabbit, Your Majesty. Everyone knows of Rabbit’s fondness for theater and Gawell said that it would show Freston’s appreciation for having the king’s heir with us for the last five years.”
“He said what?” I asked, incredulous. All around me the aristos and even some of the Own gawked in disbelief.
“You couldn’t have actually believed that,” Beollan said. “Did you?”
“No,” Jusson said. “They’re neither idiots nor naive.”
I stared at the people I’d lived among for over five years, never realizing how much of an outlander they considered me—and how easily sacrificed. Wyln’s hand came up on my shoulder even as he pushed a large bowl of porridge in front of me. I glared at it, ready to pick it up and throw it against the wall. Then my stomach rumbled and, holding in a sigh, I reached for the honey. As I did, I caught sight of Arlis’ shadow cast on the table by the light from the windows. And sharp as a knife cut the memory rose up of how he stood next to me as Rosea curtseyed and bared her ankles.
My hand tightened around the honey pot. “Were you in on this, Arlie?” I asked.
Arlis’ shadow shook his head. “No, of course not—”
“But you knew,” I said.
The shadow Arlis raised his hands to his face. “Not when we first met Rosea, no,” he said, his voice muffled. “I didn’t. But later—Helto mentioned it when we met later that night.”
“And to protect yourself, you said nothing.” I heard Arlis take a breath. “No,” I said before he could speak. “Don’t justify it.”
“We’d no thought of causing harm to you, my lord,” Alderman Geram said. “You’d have a few pleasant days, then leave with the king and everyone’s happy.”
“And if in the seduction of my cousin you managed to get eyes and ears into my chambers, so much the better, right Master Geram?” Jusson asked.
Geram didn’t reply and Jusson returned his gold gaze to Gwynedd. “You heard my peacekeeper’s question. This master sorcerer who so greatly desires Rabbit. Who is he? And where?”
“Probably at the old posting inn with the rest of the players, sire,” Ranulf said as Gwynedd remained stubbornly silent. He was as pale as the player, his freckles standing out in stark relief above his beard. But his dark eyes burned once more with a red light. ‘That’s where Peacekeeper Chadde took them.”
“If he is, then he came afterwards,” I said. “Whoever it was wasn’t with them either at the tavern or at the church. At least not when I’d seen him.”
“And how do you know, ibn Chause?” one of the aristos asked. “From what all’s been said, you’ve not actually come face-to-face with this sorcerer.”