Chapter Fourteen
In the Palace of Xy
Caris adjusted Queen Satia’s pillows…again.
Despite the roaring fire in the hearth, the Queen’s bedchamber was cold. The windows were cracked open to let in the air, the curtains blowing in the breeze. A fire roared in the hearth. The Bonded felt the air was good for her and the babe; the fire kept them all from freezing to death.
Caris’s back was roasting; the tip of her nose, cold as ice.
“I can’t get comfortable,” Satia complained, surrounded by mounds of pillows, bedding, and furs.
“Perhaps on your side,” Mira suggested from the other side of the bed. She was shivering. “Plumestra said—”
“Plumestra said, Plumestra said,” Satia grumbled about the midwife even as she turned onto her side, facing Caris. She settled deeper into the pillows, hugging the one that Caris offered, and sulked.
It wasn’t the babe causing the discomfort. Caris could feel it and knew the others felt it as well.
Iris. Where was Iris?
They didn’t dare speak of it, nor inquire. The only time Avice had done that, the Bonded had flown into a rage. For now, they just tried to make her as comfortable as they could, hoping not to draw her ire.
But they had never been apart this long, never gone this length of time without hearing Iris’s calm voice. They were all edgy, uncomfortable, looking over their shoulders, waiting for her to appear in a doorway.
The Bonded also was affected, staring off into the distance, breaking off sentences as if to listen. Caris and the others could distract her for a while, but never for long.
Satia thumped the pillow. “My back hurts,” she complained. “And where is my tea?”
Caris used that as an excuse to move toward the hearth where the kettle was. Iris’s absence was like an itch, like a spider on the back of her neck. It was exhausting for the four of them; how much worse must it be for the Bonded?
Mira settled on the bed behind the Bonded and started to rub her back.
“You are feeling so much better,” Mira crooned as she massaged the Queen. “You are doing everything the midwife has suggested—”
“I feel like a bloated cow.” Satia moaned. “There, just there.”
Caris set about brewing tea and putting plain crackers on a plate.
Avice and Nora were seated by the side of the hearth. Avice was reviewing the kitchen accounts.
Nora was sharpening her knives.
Avice lifted her head from her papers. “The midwife says the birth will be soon,” she offered.
“Early then,” Satia said sharply. “Which had better not cause any comment from the gossiping ladies of my entourage.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Nora said.
“They would, tittle-tattling behind their hands, like geese,” Satia scowled, punching a pillow into a better shape. “Bad enough that I can’t make the nobles happy, bad enough that the Guildmasters sputter their indignation over the newest Guildmistress—”
Caris smirked.
“Xyrath and his damned statue,” Satia spat as Mira helped with the pillows. “And the damn rebels of the Black Hills can’t seem to kill their new Lord High Baron. Honestly.” She slumped onto the bed. “Nothing is going right.”
“Have faith, Majesty.” Avice said, returning her attention to the accounts. “All will be as you desire, in time.”
“The midwife is choosing the nursery staff.” Nora said softly. “And you have almost all the ingredients for the ritual in place. Once the babe is born, you can focus on other things, Bonded.”
“I can’t keep stalling the Council and the nobles and the Guilds until the birth, which can’t come fast enough.” Satia pouted into her pillow. “I feel like a bloated, dead cow.”
A short knock. The door opened and the hearth boy shuffled in with a load of wood.
“Right there,” Satia groaned, glancing over her shoulder at Mira. “Don’t stop.”
“Of course, your majesty,” Mira murmured.
Caris glanced at the boy as he approached to fill the wood box; he knelt, waiting for her to move aside. As he met her gaze, his servile manner changed and he gave her a saucy look.
Caris tensed. He seemed different, older—
“And how’s Your Majesty doing with my master’s little gift?” A gold tooth shone in a wide smile. “He survive the lack of the bottle?”
Caris threw the contents of the teacup at the invader’s face, but he dodged. He rolled clear, but then she was on him, pinning him on his back, her knives at his neck and—
“Hold,” Satia commanded, still lying amidst her pillows.
Caris stilled, her blades digging into the man’s flesh. She had her full weight on one knee; the other rested in his crotch, waiting. One dagger at his neck, the other poised over his belly.
“Avice?” Satia asked. Avice rose and took a few steps closer.
The man held out his empty hands and lifted his chin as if Caris’s knives caused him no concern.
She pressed deeper, wanting to erase that smug look.
“It’s him,” Avice said flatly. “The man from the alley.”
“You dare much,” Satia’s words were crisp and cool. “To try to creep into the Royal Bedchamber and my presence without invite or announcement.” She paused. “Why, except to impress? To frighten? To intimidate?”
“To inform. To negotiate.” The man said with a calm half-smile.
Caris wanted to carve his lips off, watch him smile through his own blood, but the command didn’t come.
Instead, Satia studied him through narrow eyes. “Speak.”
“That’s what my master likes about you, Mighty Queen.” His voice held no fear, just a hint of amusement. “You think before you take an action.” He paused. “If I might rise?” he asked.
“No,” Satia said.
“Ah,” he said. “Then Lady Caris, if I might ask that you shift your knee just a tad?”
Satia chuckled, but Caris didn’t see the humor. She did move her knee away from his crotch, but her blade never left his throat.
The man sighed and she felt him relax under her. “I am Panz of Edenrich,” he announced. “My master bid me check in, inquire as to your health and happiness, see if his gift was well received. Perhaps even discuss future arrangements, if you were so inclined.”
“Who is your master, then?” Satia demanded.
“I am afraid we have not yet reached that level of trust,” Panz said politely.
Satia tilted her head. “Are you with the Thieves Guild?”
“Ah, Majesty, no.” The man eased his hands behind his head, giving every appearance of confidence. Caris grit her teeth as he tilted his groin against hers and smiled. “We’ve no interest in theft of things. Information, now that’s our trade.”
“Explain,” Satia demanded.
“People talk. Some people talk just to pass the time, some to fill the silence, some out of spite, or to relish another’s pain. We just…listens.” Panz gave the Queen a sly smile. “We hears and we reports and the Guildmaster puts it all together, like a puzzle only he can solve.”
“Hmm.” Satia considered him. “And how does that benefit me?”
“Whispers go both ways, great Queen. To your benefit or detriment. A word here of your displeasure and a fearful lord becomes obedient of a sudden. A word there, and you’ve knowledge of the markets that aid your purse.”
“A word here, a word there, and the people turn on you in a heartbeat.” Satia’s voice was grim.
Panz shrugged.
“And the price?” Satia demanded.
“Not gold,” Panz said easily. “Merely a…working relationship. Shared information, to start. We’ve knowledge of the city and the knowledge of those with certain skills, such as your pretty ladies here. We know who can be trusted.” His voice went flat. “Who can’t.”
“What keeps you from betraying me?” Satia demanded.
“The same that keeps you from betraying us.” Panz retorted. “The loss of a source.”
“Hmm,” Satia hummed. “Caris, let him stand.”
Caris moved off reluctantly. But she kept close, a step behind, ready if he tried anything.
Panz rose and gave the Bonded a courtly bow. “My master hoped his first gift would act as a sign of our good intentions and our knowledge. He survived?”
“We have him well in hand,” Satia said, gaze flicking to Nora.
Caris saw Panz take that in, soaking in the unspoken, his eyes like those of a hawk on a mouse. He gave a sharp nod. “As a further gesture of goodwill, my master bid me tell you a secret he has learned through whispers.”
“What is it?” Satia asked, feigning disinterest.
“That Chained Mage you thought dead?” Panz smiled wide, his tooth glittering. “He’s alive.”
Caris froze, fear washing over her. That was not possible.
Satia sat up, started to pepper the man with questions, demanding answers. The bond vibrated with the Bonded’s rising anger. She had a clear target now, a focus for her wrath.
Caris couldn’t hear the talk for the roaring in her ears. Deep below the Bond, her heart clenched. If this was true, they’d be punished for their failure. but that wasn’t the fear that stabbed her heart.
Ritathan was alive. Where was Halithe?