“Oh, my dear, my precious, I thought that I had lost you forever, but here you are barely a month older. Oh, look at those tiny hands, those tiny feet. This is your half-sister!” she said, presenting the infant to her wide-eyed young son. “No, Lanek, you are too young to hold her.” She turned to the nearest Kendar, who happened to be Brier, and slid the infant into her arms. “Support her head just so.”
“But . . . but . . .”
“Only for a moment. Here comes my late husband’s brother, Qrink, Master Paper Crown.”
As Kalan rushed to meet a tall, bald man, the rest of the ten-command laughed at Brier’s expression and at the ginger way she held her sudden charge, as if afraid that it would break. The child grabbed a hanging lock of her dark red hair and pulled it, crowing with glee.
The Langadine boy would also need King Krothen’s blessing, Jame reminded herself. Soon. Or risk at the first scratch crumbling to red dust as his cousin Lanielle had.
Evensong pushed her way through the crowd followed by Gaudaric, anxiously searching for her husband and son. She didn’t recognize the former at first with his white-streaked hair and lined face, then gasped and threw herself into his arms. Byrne looked doubtfully down at Gaudaric.
“Grandpa? Oh, I have so much to tell you!”
“I’m sorry,” Jame murmured under the young man’s bubbling spate of news. “I got to them as quickly as I could, but time moves strangely in the Wastes.”
Gaudaric sighed. “His first lesson at the shop, his first guild run at the summer solstice, his first apprentice piece . . . I have lost his childhood. Thanks to you, though, I have him back, and my daughter has Ean. Never think I’m not grateful for that.”
His gaze fell on the rhi-sar hide rolled up in a wagon obtained at Sashwar.
“Is that . . . it is! An Old One, and in prime condition too. I’ve never seen an entire cape before, much less complete with head and feet. Look at those teeth, those claws! Oh, what fun I could have with those! You’ll let me work it for you, won’t you?”
Jame grinned. “I was afraid to ask.”
Two days later Jame was requested to attend King Krothen’s court. This was quick for a royal summons, making her suspect that the king wanted to hear about the failed trade mission firsthand. She went, taking Kalan and her son Lanek. Her ten-command also came with her to carry the rhi-sar hide. It required six Kendar to bear its weight, much of it located in the skull with its fearsome array of teeth. The other Kendar carried the four feet, spreading them from side to side of the street. Awed Kothifirans made way for them as if for a parade. While the small lizards that constituted modern rhi-sar were common, the hide of an ancient one hadn’t been seen in many years.
They climbed the Rose Tower and muscled their way into the uppermost chamber, jostling the back ranks of those already there. Krothen was having another shouting match with his aunt, the princess Amantine, or rather she was booming at him and he was listening with raised eyebrows.
“This is serious, dammit! Do you know how many people have been ruined by this lost mission? What’s more, they tell me that there will be no more in future. And whom do they blame? You and Lord Merchandy, that’s who!”
“We regret the city’s misfortune,” the king said in his nasal voice. “True, Mercer and I promoted the venture, but we also warned our traders not to be overwhelmed with greed.”
“P’ah. No one remembers that now. They see their losses, and they want someone to blame.”
“What, then, would you advise?”
“You have towers full of treasure. Distribute them to the people.”
Krothen pursed his rosebud lips. “So your son has proposed. To everyone, though, or only to those whose avarice brought about this catastrophe? What, then, would be left to pay the Southern Host for its protection? In future days we will need that, as never before, now that Kothifir has been so weakened. Gemma and the other Rim cities are already licking their lips. Perhaps I shouldn’t have hanged those Gemman raiders, even if they did kill a seeker.”
Jame thought that that last was probably true. Killing people in ambiguous circumstances rarely did any good.
As for the Host, it was preparing for what might come. That morning the camp had been shaken out of bed early by the blare of the alarm horn. Everyone had rushed to the inner ward, to be told that it was only a drill, but they had still been too slow.
Amantine stomped, regaining Jame’s attention. “Oh, you and your precious toy soldiers! Prince Ton promises to raise a militia that will do every bit as well.”
“Does he propose to lead it himself? Riding what two draft horses, or shall we find him an elephant? Speaking of which, what have we here?”
He had spotted the rhi-sar’s fearsome head bobbing behind and above the last rank of his attendants. Courtiers turned to stare, then to back away, some in fright, some holding their noses. The great beast smelled worse dead than alive. The Kendar bore it forward and let its hide sprawl at Krothen’s feet as if in obeisance. He clapped his pudgy, beringed hands in admiration.
“Your Magnificence,” said Jame, bowing. “Would you deign to preserve our prize with your touch?”
Brier lifted one of the flayed forearms and extended a talon as if it were reaching out to the king. He dabbed at it, then paused thoughtfully, twiddling his sausagelike fingers. Jame could see that he was tempted to claim the entire hide as royal booty.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, to a gasp from the courtiers.
Krothen pursed his lips with a moue of petulance, but withdrew his hand. “Should I rob so bold a hunter of such a trophy? Take it, with my blessing. Now, who have we here?”
Kalan nudged her son forward. The Langadine boy stared up at the mountainous figure before him, wide-eyed with wonder.
“Why are you so big?” he asked.
Krothen made a subterranean sound that emerged as a fat chuckle. “Why are you so small? Here. Have a candied centipede.”
The Kendar bundled up their prize and retreated, leaving Lanek perched on what was presumably the royal knee, dubiously regarding his still twitching many-legged treat.
While the ten-command departed to deliver the rhi-sar hide to Gaudaric, Jame went in search of Graykin. She found him at the shabby tavern most commonly frequented by the Intelligencers’ Guild, holding court among his dingy followers, none of whom looked pleased to see her.
“What do they have against me?” she asked when Graykin left them to join her at her table.
The spy shrugged. “You set me to look for Ran Awl and Nightshade, not to mention the other missing Randir. I recruited the entire guild to help me.”
“Without pay, I take it.”
“They should be glad to do their guildmaster’s biding.”
“Huh.” Jame took out a golden arax and rapped on the table with it. “Drinks on me for the house, until this runs out,” she told the slovenly maid who came to take her order.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Graykin grumbled.
“It can’t hurt. Now tell me: have you discovered anything about Shade and Ran Awl?”
“Not so much as a tinker’s fart, and we looked everywhere.”
“Undercliff too?”
He gave a moue of discontent. “You know we aren’t welcome below.”
“All right. As it happens, I’ve made my own arrangements there. And don’t look so sour. I remember your reception at Fang’s hands the last time.”
She surveyed the room, noting many sharp noses buried deep in refilled mugs but also many glittering eyes watching her and Graykin askance. Only Hangnail stared at them openly with hooded eyes, his drink untouched before him.
“Walk wary, Graykin,” she said softly. “Come the next Change, you could be in trouble.”
The spy shrugged. “That may not be for years. Anyway, whatever happens, I’m still your sneak, aren’t I?”