The man did. He valued his life more than his honor. A reasonable way of perceiving the world, Delivegu thought as he took the parchment from the man's fingers, unrolled it, and read.
The note was not an announcement of an engagement, but by this point Delivegu knew it wouldn't be. It was, at first reading, so deceptively simple that one might have wondered why it even needed to be sent. It stated: B. All is progressing. Will have her confidence soon. G.
Delivegu felt the blood rush through his body, tingling in his fingers and throbbing in his temples and even stirring in his groin. G. He was certain that stood for Grae, and just as certain that she was Queen Corinn. Who was the B? This was just the sort of evidence he had been looking for, though it meant little by itself. If it could lead to greater evidence…
"To whom is this to be sent?" he asked.
The proprietor had no idea. The bird's destination was to be a similar messenger service in Aos, to be picked up by whoever knew to ask for it. Questioned as to whether that arrangement was strange, the man agreed it was but also admitted that he had sent several such notes in the past few weeks. "I don't ask questions, just provide a service, you know." He motioned vaguely with his hand.
Conveniently, the proprietor did not have a bird ready to send the message. It would not leave his shop until the next evening, at the earliest, and this only if his returning bird came back in good health later that day. The ones in the shop were convalescing. This fact had troubled the man who had left the note. The message would be delayed, possibly long enough for an earthbound traveler to beat it to its destination-if the traveler left immediately.
It took Delivegu only a few minutes to draw up his course of action. He returned the missive to the proprietor's hand, weighted it with the sack of coins, and bade him a good day. He did not tell anyone that he was going. He sent no message to the queen, assuming that it was unlikely she would notice his absence anyway.
Late morning he took passage to Alecia, easily enough done, for many boats cut the waters between Acacia and the great city. He sailed through the day, overnight, and disembarked late the next morning. He haunted Alecia's harbor most of the day before jumping aboard a merchant's skiff heading north along the coast. He spent the night aboard that vessel, uncomfortably wet but determined, and the next morning found him leaping the gap onto the stone pier of the harbor in Aos. He had slept little, but he had made good time. He walked along the pier in something of a trance, confident now that he had arrived before the messenger bird could have.
For a time he watched the old men who were using long-necked birds to catch small fish. They sat talking among themselves as their black birds, sleek and dangerous looking, winged their way into the clear water, cutting through the schools of silver fish. Every so often, the men pulled the birds in by strings attached to harnesses on their bodies. The birds protested every time, coming up angry, their throats bulging with living fish, unable to swallow them because of the metal rings around the base of their necks. The old men talked on as they massaged the fish back up and out of the bird's squawking mouths, plopping them into buckets.
Strange the way some people spend their time, Delivegu thought, and finally walked on.
He found the messenger bird shop with surprising ease. He was seated on a beach a little way down from it when it opened its doors. The street was much the same as its counterpart on Acacia. His stomach was set grumbling by the scent of onions boiling in seasoned oil and water, a soup for the common folk. He clamped a hand over his abdomen and breathed through his mouth. He had not eaten commoners' food in years and did not plan to start again, no matter the lure.
He saw several birds descend toward the coops around the back of the building. One of them, he was certain, carried his message. He watched a few people enter the shop, but none drew his attention until a blond-haired boy strolled on to the scene. He would have ignored him, for he seemed as aimless as any street urchin. Up until the moment he bolted inside the shop. That he did with sudden purpose. When he left a few moments later, he feigned a casual air. Delivegu didn't buy it, and he blended into the crowd in pursuit of the boy. He followed him toward the outskirts of the town, near enough to the farmlands that he could smell the cow and hog dung. He nearly turned back in disgust, fearing he had gotten something terribly wrong even as he continued forward. He was rewarded for staying with his hunch.
The boy met a man who appeared to be nothing but a farmer. The boy handed him something and stood a moment, conversing with him. And then Delivegu understood. B! There he was. There he really was! The infamous Barad the Lesser, the old rabble-rouser of the Kidnaban mines. The sight of him and the recognition of each detail-his bulky, stooped frame; the boulderlike head atop his thick neck; the low grumble of his voice, audible even from this distance-almost caused Delivegu to stumble over his own feet. The good fortune of it was too much to be believed. The man had been wanted for years. There had once been a bounty on his head. That was years ago, but he was still an enemy of the empire, Grae and Barad in secret conspiracy against the queen. Here was the key to all his desires, found walking down a street in a nothing crap hole of a village outside Aos, conversing with a shoeless peasant boy, leading a goat behind him.
With a few deft moves, he could capture the empire's most elusive agitator and bring shame on Grae at the same time. These two strokes, he was sure, would strip away the queen's haughty facade, and then there would be nothing between him and the rest of her. Delivegu walked on, his mouth flooded with saliva, a carnivore seeing a kill in reach.
C HAPTER
It was always small things about his earlier life that Dariel thought of, moments that had otherwise been forgotten. Perhaps it was because they had been forgotten that they had the stealth to slip into his mind unbidden. He thought of the first time he had seen Aaden laugh. His nephew had been but a baby, propped upon a maid's lap one afternoon. As he had done so many times before, Dariel danced about in an attempt to entertain the boy. But this time Aaden did not simply watch him. This time the boy's mouth tilted with mirth, and the strangest barrage of sound escaped him. At first Dariel thought he was coughing, but then Aaden tilted his head back and waved one arm in the air in an unmistakable gesture. He was laughing! Never had that simple act seemed such a revelation of humanity.
Or he remembered a pair of felt slippers he had once bought as a gift for Val and then lost before actually giving them to him. How frustrating! Or he thought of how, as a boy, he had always stared at Aliver when he was not looking. More so than full-grown men, the shape of his brother's arms and shoulders and ease with which he handled his training sword had shot Dariel through with admiration.
And instead of remembering Wren in battle aboard the Ballan, entwined with him in lovemaking, climbing over the railing of the league warship she helped destroy, or standing beside him during the wind-whipped funeral ceremony for his father and brother, he recalled swimming in the upper garden pools with her one blazingly hot afternoon. Saying she had had enough, she kissed him and rose out of the water and walked away. He watched her body, displayed as it was beneath a thin swimming shift that was somehow more erotic than actual nudity. But once she was out of sight his eyes fell on the line of dark footprints on the pale gray stone. Such perfectly curved imitations of her feet. The footprints had faded so quickly in the sun that he breathlessly watched them disappear.