Chapter 11 #3
‘Oh, yes.’ She took an elegant sip, eyes briefly fluttering shut as she swallowed.
‘My family were thieves masquerading as a theatre company – I did a marvellous Miribelle, I’ll have you know.
Very solid business. Until I got overconfident and tried to rob a princess – but that’s the thing about Durlain, you see?
He’ll forgive you for almost anything, as long as you do it very, very well. ’
I blinked.
I thought of chains breaking around my ankles.
Of all those questions I should never have asked, of breakfast and Eihwaz’s hilt against a pale, scarred throat … and all at once, the world made a lot more sense than it had five minutes ago.
‘Oh,’ I managed.
She winked at me. ‘Sounds familiar?’
Was she talking about my magic? About something Durlain had told her since our arrival? Or was there something else I was missing – some other secret she was trying to ferret out through this entire conversation?
‘Maybe,’ I said weakly, feeling a damn lot like hiding beneath the blankets I was sitting on, or alternatively, shoving her out of the door after all. ‘Um, why are you telling me all of this?’
‘Oh, you know,’ she said and threw me a pensive glance from beneath her blonde curls. ‘Just girls looking out for one another. It’s a rough world out there, isn’t it?’
That was a lovely sentiment, which meant it was most likely nonsense. ‘Are you hoping I’ll tell you what Durlain is working on?’
She burst out laughing, and that laugh was the first thing that sounded entirely real about her – not an affected chuckle or a ladylike trill, but a full-throated, unrestrained eruption of mirth that had her leaning back in her armchair with a dangerous wobble of her wineglass.
‘Oh, you’re a clever one. No wonder he likes you. ’
‘Who? Durlain?’ My voice cracked with the absurdity of that thought. ‘He doesn’t. I can assure you he very much doesn’t.’
‘No?’ She cocked her head at me again, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with the tip of her little finger.
‘How very intriguing. I could give you some nuggets to use against him, if you need them? Not that he has a great many weak spots – well, except for Muri, of course. Did you know he does her hair for her every morning?’
It was all I could do not to choke on my own breath again.
Durlain?
His sister’s hair?
‘Why?’ I blurted out, before remembering that this was exactly the reaction she was looking for, and that I’d be a fool to dig myself any deeper into this cosy little interrogation. ‘I mean, he—’
‘Oh, apparently she wouldn’t let anyone else come near her in the years after their mother died,’ Hevaine said lightly. ‘Poor little sweetheart. Do you happen to know where she is, if she’s not travelling with you?’
And there it was.
Another of those casual questions, asked with so little emphasis I could easily have answered it before even realising there was a question in the first place.
Just a concerned friend enquiring after a beloved young girl …
but Durlain had given her that flat look and said, Not relevant, and I could think of many, many people I’d rather piss off than the prince of many faces.
‘Not the faintest clue,’ I said.
‘So clever,’ Hevaine declared with a sigh, finishing her wine in a last gulp. ‘Well, if you ever want to trade secrets, darling, let me know. And speaking of trading – shall we get to work?’
‘Shall we— What?’
‘Garnot. Audra Averre.’ She winked at me as she grabbed for something among the abundant folds of her skirts, her voice levelling itself into pragmatic, businesslike tones between one syllable and the next.
‘I might as well tell you first, before His Highness decides to keep all of his mysterious plans entirely to himself. The issue is, of course, that Garnot politics are foggy even on the best of days – but we’re very lucky that Audra is here for First Fruits.
She’s the sister of Ancelet Averre, who—’
‘—is staying at Mount Garnot,’ I finished, latching onto that one familiar thread with mortifying relief. ‘I know.’
‘You do? Very good. Well, Ancelet is a loyal letter-writer, even if Audra is far from a loyal letter-reader, so I grabbed a few recent epistles from her bags, and lo and behold …’ She pulled a pile of paper from some hidden pocket, waving it triumphantly at me.
‘Poor boy doesn’t give a lot of detail – he’s very serious about secrets of state – but the one thing he does mention is that he’s supposed to negotiate an exchange of people between Averre and—’
She abruptly stopped talking.
Only then – feeling the reverberation of movement in my muscles – did I realise I’d jerked up straight in my blankets at that last sentence.
‘Ah.’ She folded the letters into her lap again. ‘That’s useful?’
Exchange.
Of people.
‘I think Durlain might want to know that,’ I breathed, managing only barely not to lunge off the bed and snatch the pile of letters from her fingers.
A poor way to repay her hospitality and useful secrets, presumably, but hell take me.
Cimmura. Lark. ‘Did … did you want to go have a word with Audra? Because if you don’t … ’
‘Oh, we don’t need to deal with Audra,’ Hevaine said with a flippant shrug. ‘I found these letters minutes after the two of you arrived. Just wanted to make sure I got a chance to chat with you first.’
I gaped at her.
Then decided this was no longer the time for politeness, spluttered something like a befuddled thanks, and got the hell out.