RAFE
I hovered near the firepit in Hawk’s Pavilion pretending to warm my hands. Ulrix had given me changes of clothing, but they hadn’t included any gloves. It was just as well. It gave me an excuse to stand here with Sven, who had also “forgotten” to wear his gloves to the pavilion. We watched the keeper training the hawks. Orrin stood opposite us as a lookout for anyone who might approach.
“He has eight barrels in a cave down by the river,” Sven whispered, even though the nearest guards stood far behind us on the other side of the court. “He says he only needs four more.”
“How is he getting them?”
“You don’t want to know. Let’s just say Vendan justice would leave him fingerless.”
“His thievery better be flawless, because he’s going to need every finger to secure that raft.”
“He did acquire the rope honestly, thanks to the princess and the money she gave him. The kind of rope he needed can only be had in the jehendra, which would be far more difficult to lift things from, so thank the gods she’s good at cards.”
I thought about the card game and the blood I had sweat watching her play. Yes, thank the gods and her brothers, she is good.
“Jeb used patties to cover the rope up in the bottom of his cart and sneak it out to Tavish.” Sven held his hands closer to the flames and asked me about the Sanctum routines.
I told him more of what I had learned in these past weeks—what times the guards changed at the entrances, how many could be found in hallways at any given moment, when Lia was most likely not to be missed, the governors who were more amiable than others, those who tipped their mugs heavily, the Rahtan and chievdars he didn’t dare turn his back on, and where I had hidden weapons—three swords, four daggers, and a poleaxe.
“You pilfered weapons right under their noses? A poleaxe?”
“It just takes patience.”
“You? Patience?” Sven grunted.
I couldn’t blame him for his cynicism. I was the one who rode off with only a half-assed plan to guide us. I thought about the last several days and all the times I’d had to restrain my natural impulses, the agonizing waiting when all I wanted to do was act, weighing the satisfaction of a victorious moment against a lifetime with Lia, calculating every move and word to make sure it gave her and us the best possible chance. If there was a torture in hell crafted specifically for me, this was it.
“Yes, patience,” I said. It was a scar as painfully won as any in battle. I told him that Calantha and Ulrix were my primary guards and that Calantha missed nothing, so I had little opportunity around her, but after laying me flat several times and finding that I offered only a weak fight, Ulrix had grown satisfied that the emissary was not one to waste much worry over. Opportunities arose, and slowly I slipped one mislaid weapon after another into dark forgotten corners, to be retrieved and moved to another dark corner until I had them where I was sure no one would find them.
“No one missed them? Not even the poleaxe?”
“There are always a few swords set aside during late nights and card games in the Sanctum. When losers get nervous, they drink, and when they drink, they forget things. In the morning, servants return mislaid weapons to the armory. The poleaxe was luck. I saw it propped up against the sow pen for the better part of a day. When no one seemed to miss it, I tossed it behind the woodpile.”
Sven nodded with approval as if I were still his charge in training. “What about last night? Have you gotten any whiff of suspicions about the sword fight?”
“I fumbled. I lost. My shoulder drew first blood. By now that’s all they remember. Any skill with the sword is lost in the shadow of Kaden’s victory.”
We saw Orrin on the other side of the fire signaling us that someone was approaching, and we stopped talking.
“Morning, Governor Obraun. Feeding mice to the falcons?”
We turned. It was Griz. He spoke in Morrighese, which he had claimed he didn’t know. I looked at Sven, but he wasn’t responding. Instead the old curd had paled.
Orrin and I both knew something was wrong. Orrin began to draw his sword, but I waved him back. Griz wore two short swords, and his hands gripped the hilts of both. He stood too close to Sven for us to make a move. Griz grinned, soaking in Sven’s reaction. “After twenty-five years and that trophy crossing your face, I didn’t recognize you right off. It was your voice that gave you away.”
“Falgriz,” Sven said at last, as if he were looking at a ghost. “Looks like you’ve gained an ugly trophy up top too. And a sizable gut down below.”
“Flattery won’t get you out of this.”
“It did the last time.”
A smile creased the giant’s eyes in spite of the scowl that crossed his scarred brow.
“He’s the one who lied to the Komizar for me,” I said.
Griz whipped his gaze at me. “I didn’t lie for you, twinkle toes. Let’s get that straight right now. I lied for her.”
“You’re a spy for her kingdom?” I asked.
His lips curled back in disgust. “I’m a spy for you, you blasted fool.”
Sven’s eyebrows shot up. This was obviously a new development for him too.
Griz jerked his head toward Sven. “All those years stuck with this lout gave me a little knowledge about courts, and a lot of knowledge about languages. I’m no traitor to my own kind, if that’s what you’re thinking, but I meet with your scouts. I carry useless information from one enemy kingdom to another. If royals want to throw their money away for the tracking of troops, I’m happy to oblige. It keeps my kinfolk from starving.”
I looked at Sven. “This is who you were stuck with in the mines?”
“For two very long years. Griz saved my life,” he answered.
“Get it right,” Griz snarled. “You saved my neck, and we both know it.”
Orrin and I exchanged a glance. Neither one seemed pleased about his spared life or in agreement over who saved whom.
Sven rubbed his stubble, studying Griz. “So, Falgriz. Do we have a problem?”
“You’re still a dense bastard,” Griz answered. “Yes, we have a problem. I don’t want her leaving, and I assume that’s what you’re here for.”
Sven sighed. “Well, you’re partially right.” He nodded toward me. “I’m here to spring this knucklehead, and that’s all. You can keep the girl.”
“What?” I said.
“Sorry, boy. King’s orders. We’ve got an escort waiting just on the other side of the river.”
I lunged at Sven, grabbing him by his vest. “You lying, filthy—”
Griz yanked me off Sven and threw me to the ground. “Don’t be messing with our new governor, Emissary.”
Sanctum guards began running over after seeing me jump Sven.
“Not much of a guard, are you?” Griz said to Orrin, who hadn’t moved to protect Sven. “At least look like you know what you’re doing, or you won’t last long around here.” Orrin drew his sword and held it menacingly above me. Griz cast another warning scowl at me. “Just so we all understand each other. I don’t care if you all drown in the river or beat each other senseless, but the girl stays here.” And then just to Sven, “The stitchery’s an improvement.”
“As is the needlework on your skull.”
Sven and I eyed each other. We had a problem. Griz stomped off, telling the approaching guards to go back to their posts, the matter was settled, but as I watched him walk away, I noticed the Assassin standing in the shadow of the colonnade. He stood there with no apparent destination. Just watching us. And even after Griz had long passed, he continued to look in our direction.