But for now, while Calrain and Riann slept, exhausted from a long night of planning, she walked the cobblestone streets, memorizing the sturdy houses and winding lanes. She passed by the market, where she bought a meat pie from a street vendor, and as she continued walking, munching on the flaky crust and ground meat, she found herself looking toward Castle Kalsing, perched on a hill above the rest of the city, its spires jutting into the clear bluesky.
The queen was behind one of those paned windows. The woman who had sent her to Lady Tyrook for upbringing, and who had denied her the chance to be married to a respectable man, was up there, likely confined to hersickbed.
Anger burned in Tariel as she stared at the castle, but in her heart, there was also a fierce longing. The queen had to have a reason for sending her away; here in the capital, as a woman with Maroyan coloring, she would be a target. Had the queen known she had magic? Was she trying to protect her? Was that the reason she had refused to have her married off, so that a husband would not find out about this deadlysecret?
As these thoughts chased each other in her head, Tariel moved closer and closer to the castle. Soon, she was walking up the winding road on the hill, past fancy houses and manicured gardens even grander than the mansion district she had squatted in. The castle gates loomed up ahead, the thick stone and wrought iron stern and imposing, warning outsiders to stayaway.
And yet, Tariel felt an undeniable pull in her chest. There was no question in her mind—she had to go in there. She had to see thequeen.
“Stop right there,” the guard said when she tried to pass through the entrance. “What is your businesshere?”
“I’ve a message for the Finance Minister, straight from Hoflar Bank,” Tariel lied, thinking quickly. With a flick of her hand, she created the illusion of her satchel flipping open, and the guards saw several letters sittingwithin.
“On with you then,” the guard said impatiently, waving her through. Tariel knew they would not bother to check the letters, as they could not read. Hiding a smile, she hurried through the bailey, then straight up the steps and through the large wooden doors that marked the castleentrance.
No one paid Tariel any mind as she scampered through the foyer and into the Great Hall, a large room with soaring ceilings that boasted impressive wooden beams. The upper half of the walls had large, arched windows that allowed in plenty of light, while the lower half boasted tapestries depicting various battle scenes, mostly involving the Western sea lords. There were also a few religious ones depicting Roisen and his acolytes. In one of them, the storm god stood atop a mountain, a lightning bolt clutched menacingly in his fist as he battled Serapos, the fearsome water dragon the sea lords worshipped. Fjordlanders considered Serapos to be a heathen god, just as they considered all other gods who were not Roisen to be false idols. The more Tariel stared at the tapestry, the more ridiculous she found it, and she moved on before she drew too muchattention.
Since she was unfamiliar with the castle, she made a few wrong turns before she figured out the way to the Great Chamber, where the royal family slept. In the east wing, it was a kind of communal chamber where the family could dine and spend time together, and only one guard stoodoutside.
“I’ve a message for the queen,” Tariel said, pulling an illusionary letter from her satchel. “Could you take it to her for me,please?”
“Certainly.” The guard reached for it, but his fingers passed through the envelope, which had no actual substance. His eyes widened, but Tariel quickly gripped his hand and sent a pulse of soothing magic into him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the ground in a clatter of armor that made her jump and wince. She looked around furtively, her ears straining, but did not hear any footstepsapproaching.
Good.She let out a silent breath of relief and opened the door with magic. Inside, two ladies-in-waiting sat by the fire knitting. They cried out in alarm when Tariel entered, one of them dropping the sweater she was working on into herlap.
“What are you doing in here, boy?” the one in the pink gown demanded, rising to her feet. “No one is allowed in the queen’s chambers save the royal family and herladies!”
“I’m sorry,” Tariel said, closing the distance. A quick touch of her palm against the woman’s arm sent her to the ground, snoring before her head hit thefloor.
The other woman backed away, her eyes wide. “Witch!” she accused, pointing at Tariel with a shaking finger. She snatched up a poker from the fireplace and jabbed at Tariel, nearly skeweringher.
“If you insist,” Tariel said with a sigh. She grabbed the woman’s arm and sent a pulse of magic in her, then gently helped her to the ground when sheswayed.
“What is all that ruckus?” a feeble voice called through the door to Tariel’s left. “Are we underattack?”
Tariel strode to the door and flung it open. “No,” she said, striding in. The queen was huddled in bed, her spindly fingers clutching an embroidery hoop as if it would shield her from harm. Age had not been kind to her—her hair was nearly white, her thin face lined, and though her large, pale green eyes had likely once been quite striking, they now looked sunken and eerie in her face. “But you will answer myquestions.”
She threw off her illusion, and the queen sagged, her eyesbulging.
“Tariel,” she whispered, as if she were seeing a ghost. There was not a hint of warmth or affection in the lines of her face. “So, youarehere in the capital. Sir Jerrold will be pleased to have your presence hereconfirmed.”
Tariel flinched at the queen’s harsh words. “You would have me burned at the stake?” she demanded. “Even though I am yourward?”
“My ward?” The queen drew herself upright, her nostrils flaring. “I handed you off to Lady Tyrook so that I would not have to bother with the likes of you again. You were always meant to spend your wretched life at the Tyrook estate, so that no one would discover the truth about you. Why do you think I never allowed you tomarry?”
Tariel’s eyes burned hot with tears. “If that was the case, then you should have responded to Lady Tyrook’s latest letter,” she said hotly. “She tried to marry me off to a man who has killed two of hiswives.”
“I wish she’d succeeded,” Lady Tyrook said bitterly. “From all the accounts I’ve heard about you, it seems that you inherited the magic of your bloodline after all. I should have known—you look just like your hussy of amother.”
Tariel reeled back, stunned at that revelation. “Who was she?” she demanded, pouncing on that tidbit of information. “Are you saying my mother was Maroyan?” And who was her father,then?
“I am under no obligation to tell you anything,” the queen said stiffly. “And in any case, what does it matter? You are about to be burned at thestake.”
She reached for the bell pull to her left, but Tariel grabbed her stick-like arm before she could tug on it. “I did not come all this way just to leave empty-handed,” she insisted, her blood boiling. Magic crackled at her fingertips, and the color leeched out of the queen’s face completely as a spark touched her paleskin.
“Heathen!” she screeched, pulling her arm from Tariel’s grip in a show of strength that surprised her. She lunged for the bell pull again, and this time managed to get her fingers around it. “Guards!”
The sound echoed through the hallway, and Tariel’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. Spinning about, she fled from the room before the guards could arrive, then pressed herself into an alcove halfway down the hall as footsteps rushed across the stone. Holding herself perfectly still, she used an illusion to blend in with the wall, and held her breath as a servant raced pasther.
