A deluge of memories rushed through Sian as he gripped the man’s hand. Images of the pubkeeper’s days in the army, of a dark-haired Fey warrior conducting training exercises, frightening images of war. Sian tried to filter out those images and concentrate on the thread he’d planted about strangers, red hair, and baby girls, but the pubkeeper’s memories of war and the Fey were very strong.
“I was just a kid and a cannon’s mate,” the man continued. “No reason for him to teach me, but he did. Enough, anyways, so I could throw a dagger accurate at twenty paces and parry a sword thrust. And that saved my life in ’43. I’ve had a fond spot for the Fey ever since. More so than most of the folks ’round these parts.”
The handshake ended, and a final flood of images poured from the pubkeeper’s consciousness into Sian’s. Disturbing images of a priest standing in the pulpit, denouncing the Fey as soulless servants of the Dark Lord. Calling for Celieria’s people to turn from the lure of evil that wore a pretty face and cleanse Celieria of the Shadow’s servants. The town square was ablaze with some sort of bonfire, and villagers approached to throw what looked like personal belongings into the blaze. A priest with white-blond hairstood nearby, watching, his voluminous hooded cape swirling in the fire-generated winds.
“If you don’t find news of this Grolin fellow here in town, you might try Brind Paldwyn. He lives in the woods near Bracken, about thirty miles west of here, but he used to live just north, near the old quarry. His pa was a woodcutter. Your journeyman friend might have done some smithy work for Brind’s parents before they were murdered.”
Sian’s ears perked up. “Murdered?” Murder was an unusual event in a sleepy little hamlet like Norban.
“Ta. Both of them slain by brigands about twenty-three years past, their home burned to its foundations. Brind was just a lad at the time. Come to think of it, they died around the time you said your journeyman friend was in town.” Caution clouded the pubkeeper’s previously open gaze. “No one ever did find the men who killed them.”
“Pars was an honorable man, one who’d give his life defending a stranger,” Torel assured the man. Not even seven hundred years after Pars Grolin’s death would Torel let another impugn his friend’s honor. “The Fey do not grant their regard lightly, nor to the unworthy.”
The pubkeeper flushed. “My apologies. Suspicion is second nature in the north. If you want to speak with Brind, take the King’s Road north about two miles to Carthage Road, then head west for another thirty or so. His place is just off the river, by the falls. He’s suspicious of strangers, so tell him Wilmus sent you. And have a care if you’re out past sunset. These woods aren’t the safest after nightfall.”
“Our thanks,” Torel said. “The gods’ blessings on you.”
“What do you think, Torel?” Sian murmured as they left the inn. “Should we head west to visit this fellow?”
“Let’s finish here first. Another few bells won’t hurt.” Torel’s lips lifted. “Unless you’re afraid of the woods after nightfall.”
Sian gave Torel a shove. “Get scorched.” Then his expressiongrew serious. “I don’t like those memories we’ve been getting from folk about that pale-haired priest and the bonfire. Since when did the Church of Light start preaching that Fey serve the Dark Lord?”
“Good question. That’s certainly something we should include in our report to General vel Jelani tonight.”
Ellysetta’s lesson with Master Fellows passed far more quickly than she would have liked. All too soon, the clocktower rang, and Master Fellows prepared to take his leave. “Thank you for everything, Master Fellows,” Ellie said as she walked him to the door. “I hope I will do credit to your instruction tonight.”
“A sentiment we both share, believe me.” Master Fellows’s expression softened. “Just remember, don’t let anyone call you Mistress Baristani tonight. It’s Lady Ellysetta or My Lady Feyreisa. Anything less is a deliberate insult. And don’t smile; they’ll think you’re currying favor. Just be grave and gracious. Don’t fidget, don’t laugh, and for the Haven’s sake, don’t speak unless you’re directly engaged in conversation by another. The Fey have named you their queen. It is far better to remain silent and be thought aloof, than to speak and be proven a fool.”
He stepped across the threshold, then paused and turned back for one final word of advice. “And remember this, My Lady Feyreisa: being regal is a state of mind. Act like a queen, believe it in your heart, and a queen is what everyone will see.”
As twilight settled over the city, Den entered the Inn of the Blue Pony and headed for the stairs leading to Captain Batay’s room. He’d done all the Sorrelian had asked, and he was still no closer to getting Ellie Baristani. It was time to lay down the law to the good captain. Den Brodson was no man’s lackey. He wanted results for his efforts.
“He’s not there,” the innkeeper said as Den passed him.
Den paused and growled, “What did you say?”
“The Sorrelian. He said he was going out tonight and wouldn’tbe back until late. He left this for you, though.” The innkeeper drew a sealed note from his pocket.
Den snatched the note and broke the seal, irritated that Batay had skipped out before he could catch him. Then grew more irritated by the command scrawled on the scrap of paper. A music box with paste jewels on the lid? What in the name of the Seven Hells did Batay need with something like that?
Den crumpled the note and stuffed it in his pocket. “When he gets in, tell him I was here. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
In the private carriage he’d hired after leaving the Inn of the Blue Pony, Kolis shed the hooded cloak he’d worn to cover the nondescript clothing of Goodman Black and whispered the unmaking spell to erase Batay’s blue crossed swords tattoo from his cheek. He folded the cloak and tied his hair back in the neat queue Goodman Black wore, then sat back as the carriage rolled through the cobbled streets towards a boarding house not far from the brothel district by the wharf.
The common room there was empty, save for the house mistress, who bobbed a respectful curtsey as Goodman Black walked past her up the stairs, then bobbed again a few chimes later when a mysterious beauty in a concealing hooded cloak entered, went up the same stairs, and knocked on the door the merchant had entered.
Kolis Manza turned as the door opened and smiled at Jiarine Montevero. “You look ravishing, my pet. Come in, and close the door behind you.”
Half a bell later, Jiarine departed. On the bed in the room she’d just quit, Kolis’s body lay vacant and chilling while his consciousness marveled at the feel of existing inside Jiarine’s young, lithe female form.
Ellie stared at her reflection in her bedroom mirror. In less than a bell, she would be presented to the highest-ranking nobles of Celieria, and with only two brief afternoons of Master Fellows’s instruction to teach her how to comport herself in their company, she was terrified she would make a mess of it.
“You look lovely, Ellysetta,” her mother said from the doorway.
Ellie turned and gave her mother a searching look. Mama had been unusually quiet since returning this afternoon. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes, kit, I do.”
