22. Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
T he days after the assassination attempt are … tense, to say the least. As Mother suggested, I now have guards around me pretty much all the time, except when I’m in my own chambers. Even then, they stand outside, presumably ready to stop any assassins who are stupid enough to try to walk through my main door. At first, it’s disconcerting to have them around all the time, but, after a while, I get used to their presence, to the point where I can almost forget that they’re there sometimes. What’s more disconcerting is that I need them in the first place. The palace is my home—and always has been, no matter how much I dislike it at times—and it feels like it’s the one place where I should be safe. Now, I wonder whether I’m safe anywhere, if there are going to be people trying to murder me no matter where I go.
Beyond that, most of the court seems to be on edge. It doesn’t take long before just about everyone knows I was attacked, even if the details twist and turn with repeated telling and rumors about who might have done it abound, each one wilder than the next. I don’t like the constant whispering, but in truth it would have been nearly impossible to prevent the people from finding out about the attack considering it was in the middle of the garden, in broad daylight, and in full view of the public.
The fact that Samis and Father may have been poisoned, however, is a completely different matter. Unless one of the healers happens to come to the same revelation that Emma did, there’s no reason for anyone to think their deaths were anything but natural. The six of us who know are still keeping it under wraps, at least until we know more.
Part of me wants to tell the council—well, some of them, at least—about our suspicions, in the hopes they can help us find the perpetrator. If Rolsteg really is behind this, it would be a good idea to have as much help as we can. I’d have to choose who I told very carefully, and I’d have to swear them to secrecy, yet if there’s any chance they can help uncover the truth, it might be worth it.
But when I run this idea by Mother, she shuts it down immediately. “Just for the record, I think you’re wrong about Rolsteg,” she says. “Even if you are right, though, it will look extremely bad for you to be accusing a member of the council without much in the way of proof. I mean it, Darien—if there’s one thing you don’t need right now, it’s a power struggle with the council. Those almost never end well for the monarch. If it turns out that it wasn’t her, you’d have gained nothing and lost quite a bit.”
“What if I just tell them that we suspect Father and Samis were poisoned, without telling them who we think did it? Would that work?”
She thinks about it for a moment. “That’s a better idea, but now is not the right time. For the moment, we don’t know if it’s true, and we don’t want to stir the pot when we’re not sure whether doing so is a good idea. To be honest, even if Emma were to walk into this room right now with clear proof that their deaths weren’t natural, I might still advise you not to tell the council. I’m sure Belling or Voeli or whoever could be helpful, but I doubt they could keep it a secret for very long. Someone would inevitably let it slip, and if the poisoner gets wind that we’re onto them, they might be able to get away before we can catch them.”
It’s not what I wanted to hear, but I know she’s right. Still, I can’t stop myself from surreptitiously paying closer attention to Rolsteg’s actions during the council meetings in the days after the assassination attempt, but she gives nothing away. Sure, she seems a bit rattled— maybe she’s upset that I’m still here? —but then, so does everyone, and I don’t really blame them after all that’s happened recently. Either Rolsteg is very good at hiding her guilty conscience, or she’s actually innocent.
All in all, it’s a very stressful few days, to say the least. So, when Ivy comes to my study four days after the attempt on my life, nodding to the guards standing outside my door as she walks in, I’m starting to feel desperate.
“Please tell me you have something for me,” I say.
To my great relief, she nods. “You might not like it, though,” she says. “May I sit?”
I nod, and she takes a seat near mine.
“I know you’re anxious for news,” she continues, “so I’ll get straight to the point. I figured a good place to start would be discreetly asking around at some of the city’s inns to see if any of them had a visitor who matched the assassin’s description. It turns out someone matching her description was staying at one called the Weary Traveler, under the name Moira—who knows whether that was her real name or just a pseudonym, but either way I’m pretty sure she was the same woman who tried to kill you. The innkeeper remembered her surprisingly well, as apparently on the day of the assassination attempt, the room where she was staying was completely cleaned out by two men claiming to be friends of hers, and that made an impression on him.” She leans forward, grimacing a bit. “That means that whoever sent her is in Cedelia. Or, they at least have accomplices here since they were able to clear out her room so quickly. Whoever it was probably sent those men as soon as they heard that she failed, so they could get rid of anything that could identify her.”
Someone in the city itself ? That’s much closer than I’d like . “That’s not good, although I suppose I should have expected it. They really didn’t leave anything behind?”
Ivy gives me a faint grin. “Actually, I did find one thing,” she says, reaching into her back pocket. “It was hidden behind a dresser, hard to reach even for me. The men who cleaned out the room probably just missed it.”
She holds out her hand and drops a small, cold object into my hand. A golden coin. And is that ? I hold it up to get a better look. The sunlight streaming in from a nearby window shines on an engraving of a young woman with an austere face, who looks quite a bit like Arbois. “It’s Jirenian,” I say softly, more to myself than Ivy. “Does that mean whoever hired her is from Jirena Sadai?”
“No idea,” Ivy replies, shrugging. “I don’t know if that coin has anything to do with Moira—if that is her name—or even with the person who sent her. For all I know, it could have been there for years.”
“That’s true. But it’s the only evidence we have so far.” I stare at it for a moment longer, then shake myself a bit. “Thank you, Ivy. Keep investigating and see what you can come up with.”
She nods but doesn’t leave immediately. “Darien, I know you’re trying to keep this quiet, but do you think it might be a good idea to get the city garrison involved? I’m happy to keep investigating, but I’m only one person. I could pick out a few trustworthy soldiers to help. We don’t even need to tell them the whole story—just enough so they know what to look for.”
I think silently for a few moments before shaking my head. “It’s not that I don’t trust you—or the army, for that matter—but I think it would be best to keep this on a need-to-know basis, at least for now. If things escalate, then maybe I’ll change for mind. But for now, let’s keep the army out of it.”
“Fair enough. I’ll let you know if I find anything.” With that, she goes, leaving me to consider the mystery that’s now on my hands.
I know Ivy was right that this coin might mean nothing, but, for the moment, I have to assume it’s connected to Moira somehow. Yet, making that assumption raises a slew of new questions that I’m not sure I can answer. Of course, it’s possible that whoever’s really behind all this—whether it’s Rolsteg or someone else—isn’t actually Jirenian, but that they paid Moira in Jirenian coins because they wanted to throw me off their trail, or because it’s just what they happened to have on hand. Besides, the only Jirenians I know in Cedelia—excepting the ambassador and her staff—are Arbois and his steward, and I can’t imagine why either of them would want to kill me. Maybe if Arbois had come here for some other reason, I could believe it, but he can’t marry me if I’m dead. Even if we were already married, it’s not like he’d gain anything from my death. Maybe Rolsteg or the Jirenian government don’t want us to get married for some reason? I would think there would be much easier ways to derail the negotiations than to assassinate a king. Still, I suppose it’s possible…
To make things more complicated, there was that time I heard Arbois telling someone that if he wasted too much time here, “she” would find out what he’s doing, and try to stop him. It’s possible that was unrelated to what’s happening now, but it’s not like I have anything else to go on. At the time, I thought he might have been referring to his sister, the Queen of Jirena Sadai, or perhaps a spurned lover. Thinking about it now, the former wouldn’t really make sense—even if Arbois did come here without his sister’s knowledge, I’m pretty sure she could figure out a way to stop him that doesn’t involve killing me.
On the other hand, if Arbois really does have a jealous ex-lover, depending on who she is, she might see me as an obstacle to them getting back together. If she’s rich or powerful enough, this mystery woman might have decided to pay Moira to kill me in the hopes that Arbois would end up with her instead.
Now that I think about it, there’s a third option—what if he was referring to Rolsteg herself? But then, she obviously knows he’s here to marry me, so what exactly would he be trying to keep from her? If only I had more information. I distantly realize that I’m pacing, my hands clenched into fists. Then I could stop wondering if tomorrow’s going to be the day someone tries to kill me again . I run a hand through my hair, barely noticing the slight pain where my fingernails have bitten into my palm. But how to get it ?
Just like that, it comes to me, and my mind is made up. I get up and walk out of my study so fast I’m almost running, afraid that if I slow down, I’ll realize how idiotic my idea is and stop myself from carrying it out. I can’t let that happen, because now is not the time for caution.
The man who answers my knock on Arbois’s door a few minutes later is quite tall—at least half a foot taller than me—burly, and completely bald except for a thick, red mustache. I ask if Arbois is available, and he bows to me, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Unfortunately, His Grace is not present at the moment,” he says, his voice deep and low. Hearing it, I realize that he must have been the person I overheard Arbois talking with so long ago. “However, I believe he will return shortly. If Your Majesty would like, you can wait for him in his study.” He gestures me forward when I nod. “Please follow me, then.”
He silently guides me to Arbois’s study, bows to me again, and leaves me alone. Just as I hoped . I wait for a full minute, just to be sure he’s not going to come back anytime soon, before I hesitantly walk over to Arbois’s desk, not entirely sure what I’m looking for, or that I should even be looking for anything in the first place.
Pushing down my moral qualms, I look through the stack of papers on the desk. Fortunately, it’s already rather cluttered, so I don’t think I have to worry that Arbois will notice that I went through his things.
At first, all I find seems innocuous—history books, notes from the marriage negotiations, that sort of thing. I scan through these quickly, hoping to find even a drop of useful information, but nothing jumps out at me. There has to be something here .
Five minutes pass, then ten, and the courage I mustered slowly trickles away like sand in an hourglass. I’m starting to debate whether I should just give up on this ridiculous scheme when I shift a couple papers, uncovering a letter. At first glance, it looks no different from any of the other papers from his desk, but a familiar name pops out at me, and I pick the paper up and read it without giving myself time to change my mind.
Your Grace, As per your suggestion, I spoke with King Zeikas again today; to my great surprise, he was much more amenable to our proposal than he was just two days ago. I don’t know how Your Grace knew the situation would change so quickly, but I suppose it is of little importance in the end. I would caution Your Grace that there are still substantial hurdles that must be overcome, especially given Zeikas’s current preoccupation with the Khorians. Perhaps this is a good thing, however—the faster we move, the more likely it is that she will find out what we are doing and attempt to stop us. In any event, I will keep Your Grace updated should any further developments occur. Sincerely, Lord Bargadon Ambassador to Zeteyon
I read it once, then a second time, before I put the letter back where it was on the desk, my scalp prickling. What could Arbois be proposing to Zeikas? And what made Zeikas change his mind about whatever it is ? It could be anything—Zeikas and Arbois are both representatives of their nations, and nations make agreements with each other all the time.
Then there’s another reference to the mysterious ‘she,’ who might try to stop him. I thought it might have been a lover, but that doesn’t fit with what I just read—why would she want to stop a hypothetical agreement between Zeteyon and Jirena Sadai? It could be referring to Arbois’s sister, the queen. But why would he need to conduct diplomacy behind her back? What am I missing ?
I’m so deep in thought I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a voice behind me. “Hello, Darien,” Arbois says. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you in my study.”
My heart now racing almost as fast as my mind, I turn to see Arbois standing by the door, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I just came to ask you if you wanted to go tour the palace art collection,” I tell him, somehow managing to keep my voice even. “I would have sent a message, but I was walking by your rooms, and I figured it would save time to just ask you in person. Your steward said I could wait for you here.”
His cryptic expression lasts for another second before he breaks into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ah, you met Tholin, then? He told me that you came by here, but I didn’t quite believe him. In any event, I’d love to look at some art with you, but I’m busy at the moment. Are you available later this afternoon, perhaps?”
I nod, my heart still galloping. He’s still smiling at me, but his eyes search mine as though he’s trying to read my mind. “That sounds wonderful. Just let me know when you’re free.”
Maybe I’m imagining it, but for just a second, his smile reminds me of a hungry wolf staring at its prey. “That sounds like an excellent idea. I’ll have a message sent to your rooms.”
“Perfect.” I try my hardest to fake an easy grin. “In that case, I’ll take my leave.”
He nods and steps out of the doorway. I walk past him out of the study, not sure whether to be grateful or annoyed at my near miss. Either way, an uneasy feeling lingers in the pit of my stomach, and I can still feel his eyes on my back for a long time afterwards.