29
The rest of the afternoon devolved into a swath of depravity and disposed inhibitions. The tournament was loosely played and won. Sarim and Cersei found themselves with 97 points, with Freyja and Tallulah coming in shortly after with 92, while Malik and Valine scored in the low 60s courtesy of their partners’ inability to tear away from each other. When the orange that must be passed without hands was between Jacira and Pandora, the two found mysterious ways for the orange to slip, and for their lips to find the other’s. Valine wondered how much Jacira truly cared for the girl or if it was just the whirlwind of a new romance that had her so unfettered in her public affections.
Sore and tired, Valine opted out of the rest of the night’s events, claiming a headache. In response, Amaris directed the beautiful female servant—Hafsa—to guide Valine to the Head Healer and instruct him to prepare a tonic for her. She thanked the queen, and let Hafsa lead the way. Meanwhile, the assassin documented every turn and potential secret hallway, noting suspicious tapestries, regularly shifted furniture, and discreet breezes.
They found themselves in an archaic lab, not unlike the apothecary’s shop in Luneth. Colored glass was a mural on the wall, holding all manner of elixirs and potions, while a wooden table was laden with various mortar and pestle sets and chopping blocks with wickedly sharp knives. It was there in the lab, surrounded by aging and yellowed books, that Valine met the Head Healer.
“Healer Das, this is Valine Desdemon. Queen Amaris has requested a headache tonic for the lady,” Hafsa said, her dulcet tones chiming through the room in ripples and rolls. “During the race today, she sustained a blow to the head, and I fear it may have led to an ailment of some sort.”
Healer Das appeared days shy of seventy, with olive skin, pale from lack of sunshine, and wispy white hair that stuck to his head in airy tufts. His eyes were granite and earth, solid and immovable as they took her in behind his owlish glasses, finding her clothing grass-stained and missing threads. He was dressed in indigo robes layered with lilac silk, a chain of golden medallions hanging low and swinging against his portly belly. He cracked a smile, displaying a missing tooth near his molars and papery lips in dire need of balm.
“A wondrous event to meet a Desdemon,” Healer Das exclaimed, setting down a pouch half-filled with coin. Sitting up on creaking joints, eliciting a wince, he hobbled over to the women. “Are you perchance Dáinn Desdemon’s daughter?”
Valine fought back bile. “I am.”
“Oh, I knew your father well once upon a time, dear! Next time you see him, would you tell him Mareek Das still owes him a favor?”
“I…” Valine morphed her sick delight into a farce of dismay and sorrow. “I apologize, Healer Das. He passed away several years ago.”
Mareek Das’s face fell, Valine’s words falling like a physical blow, and the healer had to physically sit down. He was forced to seek a seat that Hafsa was all too quick to provide. She had moved soundlessly and quickly—Valine filed that information away for later.
“Was it a peaceful passing?” he asked, sorrowful.
Valine weighed her response carefully. She wanted to tell him the truth—that it certainly wasn’t—but that wasn’t the portrait she wanted to paint of herself. She wanted to be seen as the still grieving daughter, the child who missed her beloved father. Not the murderess who grinned like a cat who got the canary when she thought about his demise.
“I hope so,” she finally managed. “It was an assassin, and unfortunately, the culprit was never caught.” Yes, very unfortunate.
Healer Das shook his head mournfully, whispering a prayer to the Stygian Ones. Slowly, he returned to his feet and shuffled over to the wall of multicolored glass, perusing the bottles. He tsked as he hobbled to a chest of drawers, pulling open one and peering in before he selected. It was cerulean, the liquid inside sloshing viscously. Cradling the tonic, he crossed the room and presented it to Valine. Tentatively, she picked it up, examining it for herself.
“This is one of Queen Amaris’s own. She has famously expounded on its success—she suffers from migraines, you see. A tonic like this is only the best for Dáinn’s daughter.”
Valine forced a smile. “Thank you, Healer Das. Your generosity will not be forgotten.”
“Anything for you, dear.” His tone shifted, and Valine’s hackles went up. “Your father and I got into much mischief back in the day, and might I add, festivals were never quite the same after he married your mother. But of course, had that not happened, you would not have been born, and what a shame that would have been.” A lascivious glint sparkled in the healer’s eyes, and Valine wanted to stab out his eyes just for that look. She knew what it was. She’d seen it. She abhorred it.
Gritting her teeth, Valine managed another round of thanks and escaped with Hafsa, feeling the old man’s lewd eyes burning on her backside. It took everything in her to rein in her fury, the fury that she’d inherited from the horrible man who’d spawned her. As they returned to the Vesper Wing, Valine sensed Hafsa’s eyes flickering to her warily but said nothing on the matter as she deposited Valine at her doorstep.
Immediately, she locked the doors and windows, setting a trip wire at each threshold when she pulled the curtains tight. Once all was completed, she stripped herself of the ruined clothing, and took a brief shower before collapsing in her bed, wrapped in a robe, tonic untaken.
Valine awoke when it was true darkness and dressed quietly. She pulled on a black silk negligee and a lace robe, then piled her hair in a messy bun atop her head before securing it with a clawed clip hiding a spike of silvered viper venom. Her rings were still in place, garrote included, and for good measure, she added a thigh sheath beneath the small dress, hiding the dagger on the opposite side from the slit.
She slid on her wrapped sandals and slipped into the night beyond the Vesper Wing. She avoided all the guards on the way to the Lunar Meadow, skirting the moonlight, and weaving between the shadows. When she arrived, Hanish was already there, pacing.
“What is your update?” Valine asked, stepping from the darkness.
Hanish leaped, instinctively reaching for lightning. Valine responded with a lash of her necromancy.
“Gods! Do you have to do that every time?”
“No,” she returned, smiling. “But it’s fun.”
He sighed and shook his head, exasperated. “You were right about the Illise Mines. They are using divinamancers to navigate the tunnels. I just don’t know how much Tallulah is aware of.” Unclear was clarified.
“And Raziche’s Den?” Valine prodded.
“Has fingers in everyone’s pockets. At least half of Talloh’s nobility is in varying degrees of monetary or favor-based debt with the gambling den.” He handed her a rolled coil of parchment. “Here is a list of names who are in the deepest.”
Valine took the list, exchanging the information for coin she’d pocketed during the tournament—it was astounding how many people kept loose coin in their pockets, and it wasn’t Valine’s fault they thought it fell to the grass, never to be seen again.
“Malik is arranging your departure, but I need you to keep looking into Balchon and Tallulah. And in addition, I need to know more about Cersei.”
“Is that all?” Hanish cocked a dark brow.
“No, actually. What do you know about Hafsa?”
Hanish cleared his throat, discomfort clear on his face. “She is my wife.”
Valine was blown away. “She is your wife?” She blinked several times. She hadn’t deduced an intimate relationship between them. They’d hardly looked at each other, and she hadn’t sensed any tension—sexual or otherwise.
“Yes, why are you so surprised?”
“You did not act like it.”
Hardness entered Hanish’s eyes. “We are not allowed to. Showing bonds or relationships between servants is grounds for lashing. Hafsa and I have been taken to the whip many times for the slightest of infractions.”
“That is barbaric.”
“Do you wonder why we wish to leave?”
“No.” Valine shook her head. “I certainly do not.” She hesitated, meeting his eyes carefully. “I want to ask you something, but I do not want you to lie to me.”
Hanish motioned for her to continue.
“Your wife’s background is no mere servant. Is she part of the ōrdinem?”
Hanish blanched, but he did not move. His breathing turned tighter, and his eyes flared ever so slightly.
“How did you guess?”
Valine held his gaze, no joking present. “The moonstone. She’s also too graceful and quick. It’s easy to spot when you know what to look for.”
“Do you think anyone else has figured it out?” Anxiety rang in Hanish’s voice.
Valine considered. “No, I don’t think so. She would have been killed or extorted for it by now if so. Please tell her to be careful. I can’t promise no one else will discover this.”
“I will.”
“I have to ask…if she’s part of the ōrdinem, why are you stuck here? Can’t they help you?”
“She has refused to complete her last assignment since becoming a mother, and her views on killing have changed. So, until she does, they will not answer our pleas.”
Valine wavered with a decision, finally biting the bullet. “What is the assignment?”
He told her.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“What?” He was aghast.
“If she disappears and her assignment is not finished, they will hunt her down. I don’t fuck around with the ōrdinem for that very reason.”
“How will you—?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she interrupted. “You help me, I’ll help you. Investigate that shit for me, and I’ll have this handled.”
“Thank you, Valine.”
“Don’t thank me yet, I haven’t done anything.”
“It’s more than anyone else has done for me…so thank you.”
Valine squashed the warm feelings that bubbled to the surface of her soul, forcibly resisting the urge to rub the sensation rising in her chest right around her heart. Was she going soft? No, no, this was tit for tat. This was an exchange. You did not make allies by making demands. You made them by making deals. You had to lead the bees with honey. Vinegar only served to piss them off.
“Find that information for me,” she commanded and turned on her heel, leaving Hanish in the moonlit meadow.