Chapter Twenty

JORY’S PLAN was just risky and preposterous. And, apparently, our only remaining option.

I felt relieved not to have a looking glass, because I didn’t want to see what Jory had done to my face. Among the items he’d stolen from his family’s palace was makeup, which he said the younger adults wore to certain festival dinners. He applied the stuff liberally to me, explaining as he went. Apparently he’d aged me and given me tanner skin, and he’d covered two old scars on my chin and forehead.

When he finished, I itched, but he nodded with satisfaction. “You don’t look at all yourself.”

“Am I handsome now?”

“You’re always beautiful to me.”

I snorted.

He darkened his own skin too, then wrapped a length of blue silk over his head and around his neck. It disguised his distinctive curls but not his face.

“Will anyone there recognize you?” I asked.

“Unlikely. I didn’t exactly haunt the castle even when I lived here.”

The conceit was that we were lodging somewhere in the Silver, so we didn’t carry much with us. I wore Myghal’s boots and my comfortable old knife-belt.

Jory looked me up and down. “You’ll do. Just keep your mouth shut until we get to the prince.”

“If we get to the prince.”

“Uh-uh. The secret to successful deception is to be so sure of your lies that you almost believe them yourself. We are visitors from afar. You are a wizard. If you put enough confidence into your act, even the most outlandish tale becomes believable.”

I shrugged. It probably was just as well I was to remain silent. I am not a good liar.

Getting out of the garden was easier than getting in because Jory and I eased our way over the wall using a wooden bench moved from the ash house. Yes, someone would soon spot it sitting there, out of place, but they’d likely also detect Jory’s thefts from the house. I didn’t ask what else he took. And I noticed he never looked back as we left.

We made our way to the Royal Road, where there was a moderate amount of traffic. We attracted a lot of stares, but nobody stopped us. I expect no one thought two fugitives would be bold and stupid enough to march straight up to the castle.

We waited in line at the castle gates. I stood with my back slightly stooped, hoping it made me look like an older man who spent much of his time bent over books and scrolls. Jory gazed around wide-eyed like a tourist, occasionally pointing at something and saying words I didn’t understand. I didn’t know whether he was speaking a real foreign language or just gibberish, but it didn’t matter. I simply nodded sagely.

Eventually we reached the barbican. A half-dozen guards in bright uniforms eyed us suspiciously, and I was relieved to recognize none of them. The castle guards were an elite branch of the city guards, so although the city seal affixed to their tunics and cloaks, their livery displayed the royal colors. The hilts of their swords glittered in the sun.

“Who are you and what is your business?” demanded one of the guards, a blocky woman with gray threading her dark hair.

Jory performed an odd maneuver, a type of deep bow accompanied by a complicated hand gesture. When he spoke, his accent was thick. “Greetings, Your Honor. We are here from Ucluetlam, a kingdom very, very far this way.” He pointed to the west. “Over mountains, yes?”

The other guards, who’d looked bored as they allowed other people to pass through, clustered close to us. We were probably their best entertainment in ages.

“What is your business?” the woman repeated.

“Ah. We come very, very far to see His Highness, the Crown Prince Clesek, if you please.”

She barked a laugh. “Nobody sees His Highness.”

“Ah, yes. But we come from so far, you see. We have walked for four moons. Very difficult journey. And now we have saw—excuse—have seen your beautiful city and we must see His Highness. We have important informations for him.”

By all rights, she should have sent us on our way. But I’d stood sentinel duty before and understood how welcome a bit of novelty could be. Besides, I’m not the only one who’s tempted by a mystery, and Jory presented this woman with an intriguing one.

“What kind of information?” she asked.

“It is…. My master, he is very great… ah, I do not know the words. He makes magic.”

All eyes turned to me. I stared blandly back, as if I had no idea what anyone was saying.

“He’s a wizard?” asked the guard.

“Yes! Thank you. He is great wizard who does magic. He must see His Highness, Crown Prince Clesek.”

“Nobody sees Prince Clesek.”

Jory smiled serenely at her. “Yes, yes. But we have come far and—”

“You’ve said that already.”

“It was very, very far.” Some of her cohorts had to smother laughter, and I heard chuckling from the crowd behind us. Jory would have to speak carefully in order not to make her appear a fool. “Your Honor, please. My master has studied the work of your prince. Your prince, he is quite famous for his writings on magic of small boxes to talk to people far way. I have translated them for my master, and though I am not a wizard, I can tell how fine these writings are. He is wise, your prince.”

Flattery was a good move. In my experience, the castle guards held fierce loyalty to and pride in the royal family. It put the crowd on our side too.

The guard frowned, but I saw her defenses begin to crumble even as she continued fighting. “Why can’t they just write to each other?”

“Your Honor, magic must be touched and felt. Not just words. This is why we come so far.”

A man behind us piped up. “So very, very far.” The crowd roared and the guard shot them an evil glare, but Jory just smiled.

“Your Honor, my master wishes to learn from your prince’s wisdom. But also my master has informations to give. Magic he knows and can share.”

Also a good move by Jory—offering something valuable. But although the line behind us grew longer and more restive, the guard wasn’t quite ready to give in.

“How do I know he’s really a wizard?” she asked. Then she nodded. “Have him show us what he can do.”

Jory gasped and held a hand to his chest. “Oh, no, Your Honor. My master’s magic is very, very strong. Dangerous. He cannot—”

“If he can’t prove it, you’re not coming in,” she said with a triumphant little grin.

Frowning and biting his lip, Jory looked at me. We’d rehearsed this next bit. He asked several questions in gibberish, and I responded with a glower and firm shakes of my head. When his tone became more pleading, I continued to look reluctant. This required no acting on my part—I truly did not want to participate in this demonstration. But the guard crossed her arms stubbornly, the crowd murmured its growing enthusiasm for a show, and Jory began to beg so fetchingly I was tempted to kiss him. Still frowning, I gave a tiny nod.

Not only did the crowd erupt into cheers, but they were joined by most of the guards. Not the woman, although she looked pleased. Some magics, such as lockspells, antivermin charms, and little healing enchantments, were commonplace. Anything beyond that was rare. It came at great financial expense and was performed privately for the benefit of the rich and noble. That explained why these people were so eager to see it, and it also meant they wouldn’t be sophisticated or jaded enough to judge its quality.

Jory addressed the guard. “He can show you. But very, very small magic only, yes? Big magic is too dangerous.” He used his hands to mime something exploding.

“Fine,” she said.

He asked me a few more nonsense questions, to which I nodded, and then he turned to the guard again. “He need, ah, something small. Like this.” He held his fingers close together. “He will disappear it.”

Before the guard could answer, the man in line behind me—a wealthy merchant, judging by his clothing—held out a silver box. “Will a calmstick work?”

This time, although Jory spoke to me in gibberish, he was asking me a real question: could I perform the trick we’d practiced with a calmstick? I nodded. It was an excellent prop.

Jory took a calmstick from the case and handed it to me. I peered at it closely even though it was perfectly ordinary. Then I took a deep breath and muttered a few made-up phrases I hoped sounded sufficiently wizard-like. Jory had coached me carefully, instructing me that the success of what I was about to do relied on building audience suspense and distracting them from the trickery. The rest was going to depend on my ability to use my hands nimbly—a skill of which I was quite proud.

I stood carefully with my right side facing away from the guards and the bystanders. Jory helped by placing himself to my right, blocking anyone’s direct view. I held the calmstick in my right fingers as if I intended to smoke it, and underneath that, lifted my left palm. I wiggled my left fingers in a series of complicated motions and uttered a few more nonsense words. Then, while I watched my left hand’s showy movements, I began to swing my right hand up and down quickly. I hoped at least one god had me in favor that day.

On the fifth swing, I jammed the calmstick behind my ear and then brought my right hand back down again. Everyone gasped—even the guard who’d been questioning Jory. They couldn’t see the calmstick tucked behind my ear; to them, it had simply disappeared. I bowed and, mimicking one of the gestures Jory had originally made to the guard, ducked my head between my hands. This allowed me to slip the calmstick under the bandage still wrapped around my wrist.

Now the crowd was clearly on our side, several of them shouting that we should be allowed in. Most of the guards seemed to agree. But our stubborn sentry remained in our way. “That didn’t look so hard,” she said.

Jory blinked innocently at her. “Can you do this magic too, Your Honor?”

Ignoring the crowd’s laughter, she shook her head. “Making a calmstick disappear is not valuable magic.”

“Of course, of course, Your Honor. As I said, my master cannot show big magic now. It is very, very dangerous.”

“He’ll need to show me something else or you’re not coming in.”

As our audience groaned and protested, Jory pretended another conversation with me. He turned to the guard. “All right. One more. Wait please, Your Honor.” He dug in his clothing and produced a large silver coin—another gift from the people who’d once visited his family. It bore unfamiliar symbols and writing. “You see? Money, yes?” He handed it to the guard.

She examined it closely, hefting it in her palm as she did. “Heavy. Is it worth a lot?”

“Yes, very, very much. But only in Ucluetlam. My master will change it to your money, yes?”

Judging from the bystanders’ noise, everyone seemed to like this idea. Jory placed the coin in my left hand and spoke more gibberish. While he did so, he held my right hand and secretly worked the calmstick out of the bandage, replacing it with several coins.

I gestured at one of the guards, a young man who looked more eager than bright. When he came over, I made my second attempt at showmanship. I positioned his hands at waist height with the palms facing downward. I put my right hand under his left, my left hand over his right; my palms faced his hands. I made sure everyone could see the foreign coin in my left hand. Then I babbled some sounds and moved my left hand around so the coin disappeared from sight. Before anyone could think too much about where it had gone, I used a finger to slide a remi from the bandage and press it up against the boy’s palm.

He squawked with surprise. He turned his hand over to reveal the remi, and while everyone was focused on that, I quickly and smoothly hid the foreign coin in a trouser pocket. But I wasn’t through. Four more times I made the boy hold out his hand, and four times I gave him a remi. He handed the remi to his sergeant, she scrutinized them before nodding, and Jory didn’t ask for them back. Another way to distract someone you’re lying to, he’d explained—subtly appeal to their greed.

The remi had belonged to Myghal, and I was glad to be rid of them.

Everyone looked expectantly at the guard. When she finally smiled, applause erupted. I don’t know whether they were happy for our sake or just relieved the line would at last begin to move again. She barked some orders at an underling to take over her duties, and then she led us through the barbican.

I’d never been inside the castle and wished I had a better opportunity to examine the defenses. According to stories I’d heard, Tangye had been attacked a few times in ancient history. Most of those times, the enemy had been held off by the city walls. But twice the armies had breached the bulwarks and marched through the city, wreaking havoc as they went. However, when they reached the castle, they couldn’t get through the defenses there. The castle had remained besieged for weeks, and ultimately Tangye had won the wars.

I don’t know if those stories are true, but the castle certainly appeared secure to me. On the other side of the barbican, a narrow bridge hung over a dry moat lined with wicked-looking metal spikes. The innermost part of the bridge could be drawn up in an emergency. Battlements with crenelated parapets topped the impressively thick curtain walls. Below the battlements were several rows of arrow slits, and a tower stood at each corner of the wall.

The inside of the curtain wall bustled with servants, guards, merchants, and people dressed in finery. They all gazed at us curiously without pausing in their tasks. Buildings of various sizes and shapes stood inside the walls, and I wondered what they were all for. Our guard led us briskly around several buildings toward a quiet area of the castle yard, where a squat keep of smoke-blackened stone hulked like an ogre. More castle guards stood duty at the entrance, but they only stared at us as we walked inside.

Although a few people walked the halls of the ground floor, the second floor seemed deserted and the third floor even more so, its floors dusty with disuse and tattered cobwebs hanging from the ceilings. But we rose to the fourth floor, where the two most bored sentries in the history of the world flanked a set of double doors. They perked up considerably at our arrival.

“Visitors from, er….” Our guard glanced at Jory.

“Ucluetlam,” he prompted.

She nodded briskly. “Visitors from Ucluetlam, here to see His Highness. One of them is a wizard.”

One of the sentries knocked firmly three times, opened the door a crack, and went in. I hoped I looked calmer than I felt. Jory, meanwhile, was pulling off a wonderful performance, smiling at the guards and craning his neck to take in the details of the hallway as if it were entirely exotic.

A moment later the door opened again—wider this time—and a man looked out at us. He was unremarkable. My age, with thinning hair and a clean-shaven face, a slightly ruddy complexion, and a bit of a belly beneath his expensive but plain tunic. He saw me first and looked merely curious, but when he caught sight of Jory, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

Resisting the impulse to grab my knives, I mentally prepared for attack.

But then Jory bent down in one of his invented elaborate bows. “I am so grateful you will see us, Your Highness. We have informations to interest you very, very much.”

After another moment of goggling, Prince Clesek appeared to get hold of himself. “That will be all,” he said to the guard at his side. “Leave us.”

Our guard shook her head. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but—”

“Leave us!”

Whatever her reservations might have been, she wasn’t going to disobey a royal command. She bowed and backed off. Then the prince almost pushed the nearest guard out of the way so Jory and I could enter. As soon as the three of us were inside the room, Prince Clesek slammed the door with a bang and bolted it from the inside.

Under the best of circumstances, I would have had no idea how to greet a prince—and this was hardly the best of circumstances. We stood in a large cluttered room and regarded one another.

Jory spoke first. “You remember me, Your Highness?” He’d dropped the accent.

“Of course. Jory Pelglaze.”

That startled me slightly, but Jory nodded. “Yes, sire. Except it’s Jory Pearce now. I’ve been cast out of the Pelglazes.”

Why hadn’t it occurred to me that he’d had to change his name? He truly had lost everything when he chose love over family.

“Ah, yes,” said Prince Clesek. “I heard something about that. It was a long time ago.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And is that why you are attired in this… interesting manner and bearing such intriguing company?” He nodded in my direction.

“Only very indirectly. Your Highness, this is Daveth Blyd. He’s no more a foreigner than I am.”

As Prince Clesek looked at me, I had no idea how to address him. Was I supposed to genuflect? Utter honorifics? I settled for a slight bow of the head. “Your Highness.”

“Citizen Blyd.”

“I’m, uh, not a citizen. Sire.”

“Then who are you?” he asked mildly.

“A Lowler with a price on his head.”

That clearly surprised him. Either my and Jory’s infamy hadn’t spread this far or he hadn’t been paying attention. I’d have wagered on the latter. He looked back and forth between Jory and me, his face grim. “Have you come to kill me?”

“No!” Jory and I exclaimed in unison. It was Jory who continued. “Sire, it’s quite the opposite. We’ve come to warn you about an assassination plot.”

“And why would you do that?”

“Because we were both caught up in it against our wills. Because you were once kind to me and I wish you no ill.”

I added my own reason. “And because Tangye is my city—even if I’m neither citizen nor nobleman—and I don’t want it harmed by evil, greedy men.”

Prince Clesek considered this. Then he walked across the room, filled three glasses from a carafe, and brought them back to us. They contained red wine that, judging from Jory’s appreciative noises after his first sip, was quite fine indeed.

“Sit,” said Prince Clesek, pointing at chairs clustered around a low table. “Explain.”

And we did.