Wizard's Masquerade, page 26
To not be forgotten.
But those were just the veins. The arteries were the real lifeblood, and they ran deeper, and they all led back to the source: Tash.
She needed to do this for Tash, to make sense of the sister she had lost…to ensure she had not died in vain.
Would it ever be okay that Tash was gone?
None of it was any business of Jester’s.
Leyna offered him a small piece of the truth: “Being a huskarl is something I’ve always wanted, ever since I was a little girl. I wanted to help others.”
“How noble.”
“It’s true!” she insisted. “I want Rosaria to be a safe place where innocent people don’t get hurt.”
Pity flashed in Jester’s eyes.
“Why? Who did you lose, Leyna?”
She shook her head, avoiding the topic. “All I’m saying is: as a huskarl, I can help change things.”
“If you wanted to change things, you should have stayed a noblewoman.” Jester plucked at his puffy sleeve as if removing a speck of dust. “You’d have more influence playing court politics as one of the idle rich than as a guard following orders.”
“What do you know about it?” she snapped, her temper getting the better of her. How dare he say that? As if her years of commitment to wizardry had been pointless? As if her oath didn’t elevate her to position of influence? He was wrong. She marched down the corridor, but halted again when he asked:
“And are you happy?”
She turned slowly. The question had struck a chord.
“Am I happy?” she chewed on the words, considering them. Both her graduation at the Guild and inauguration at the castle had failed to provide her with the sense of achievement she’d been craving. What was the feeling she was chasing? Was it happiness? Whatever it was, it was elusive, but close enough that she could almost taste it.
“I think it’s too soon to tell,” she said carefully.
“Hm. And now that you’ve achieved your dreams?” asked Jester, taking steady steps towards her. “What comes next?”
It was another question she didn’t know the answer to. After the ball last night, she was eager to prove herself and to overcome the limitations of her injury—but she could hardly say that to him. “I suppose my goal will be to become a great one.”
The jester nodded. “I suppose that’s enough to be getting on with. You should be proud—a huskarlship is far more than others achieve in a lifetime, and I have a feeling this is just the beginning of your illustrious career.”
“Thank you,” she said, unsure if she trusted the compliment.
“Now, did you have any questions for me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said immediately. “Back to the Demon Book…do you know who took it?”
“No, I do not.”
She couldn’t tell if he was lying or not—his disguise made it difficult to read his facial expressions, and he looked perpetually shrewd in the cat-eyed mask.
“But you suspect someone?”
The jester seemed to consider this before giving a slight nod.
“I do.”
“And will you tell me?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Not at this time.”
They were getting nowhere, and she was conscious of having stood in the corridor with the jester for several long minutes now.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t trust you yet.”
His answer was quick and sharp, like a slap across the face.
She laughed incredulously.
“You’re kidding? You don’t trust me? Who made you the judge?”
“Leyna—” he began, but she cut him off, pressing a finger to his chest.
“The king may trust you, but that is the only reason you’re not sitting in a dungeon cell right now, especially after your shenanigans with the goblet last night.”
“Leyna, listen— “
“No, Jester, it’s your turn to listen. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve done nothing to earn my trust. Absolutely nothing.” The words came flooding out of her, and it felt good to speak her mind.
The jester was becoming visibly agitated, holding up his hands as if urging her to calm down.
“Leyna—”
“And another thing,” she continued.
“Leyna!” warned the jester, throwing a look over his shoulder. “Be quiet for a—”
“Be quiet? How dare you tell me to be quiet. I’m tired of your prattling, and your disrespectful—”
“Leyna, hush!”
Before she could say another word, his hand had clamped over her mouth. The other wrapped around her waist as he half carried, half pushed her sideways.
Her eyes widened, terrified, as they were plunged into darkness. She felt the brush of coarse fabric against her face before he slammed her against a wall. She wanted to scream, but Jester’s hand was covering her mouth, and his body pinned her so she couldn’t move.
“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured, his face close to hers. “Someone’s coming. Stay quiet, please? Please. Don’t make a sound. I’m letting go now.”
A moment later, he removed his hand, and she drew a breath, preparing to scream, because panic, and because danger, and because why else did he still have her pushed against the wall?
And why was it dark?
Where were they?
Suddenly, she heard voices approach.
“Stay quiet,” came jester’s whispered voice, and he shifted away slightly, doing something that created a sliver of light to appear in the dark space.
Leyna’s heart was still hammering, but the urge to scream had passed. She scanned her surroundings. It wasn’t truly dark, as it had initially appeared. Instead, there was a wall of dark red in front of her, with a strange pattern embroidered across the surface—it was the reverse side of a large tapestry. A faint glow illuminated the red of the fabric, and she realised they were crammed into a nook behind the corridor’s tapestry. There was hardly enough space for one person, let alone two.
“What is this?” she whispered, but she knew the answer before he said it.
“Secret spy hole,” he replied, his voice so soft that she hardly heard it. A chink of light was coming from a slit in the tapestry, and jester had his face pressed close to see out, his body tense as he listened. Pressed against him in the tight space, Leyna could feel the warmth of his body and the way his heart raced in his chest. She breathed in. The smoky scent was strong.
The sound of two men talking came within earshot, and she recognised their voices.
“…about that damn book. Master Emsworth is demanding a search of the castle.” That was Marek Volak, the steward, his gruff voice clearly distinguishable.
“Demands?” replied Chamberlain Percy. “My Lord Steward, that’s preposterous. Who is he to make demands? He doesn’t have the authority.”
The steward made a sound of agreement.
“And, to be fair,” continued the chamberlain, “the headmaster shouldn’t have had it in the first place, not without the Crown’s approval. I did warn him he had three days to hand it over. If he’d listened…”
“Emsworth thinks the book is here.”
“Why would he think it’s here?”
The voices and footsteps faded.
Leyna swallowed. “What was all that about?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Jester. “But it sounded interesting. Come.”
His weight shifted off her, and light filtered back into the space as he walked backwards, the tapestry lifted away by his head and back, revealing the bright windows of the corridor.
“Fancy a bit more eavesdropping?” he asked, his hand extended.
She hesitated.
“You wanted answers about the book, didn’t you?” he asked. “Well, so do I.”
Feeling disorientated, she took his hand and did her best to keep up as he hurried them in the opposite direction of the fading voices.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “This is the wrong way.”
“It’s the right way,” he insisted. “We just have to turn around, that’s all.”
The jester-like inflection was gone, but the reply was as cryptic as the jester’s had ever been.
Before they reached the end of the corridor, he took a sharp turn, pulling her into a narrow corridor that ended with a single wooden door.
“The privy?” she asked sceptically. There was no smell out here, but she wrinkled her nose in advance.
“I thought it might impress you,” he said self-assuredly.
She scoffed in reply.
“No? Well, perhaps you are used to better things.”
It turned out that there was no need to enter the privy, because outside the toilet was a series of decorative wall panels, not unlike the ones that Grace had admired upon their first arrival at the castle, only these were of the old dark wood that had once been commonplace in the castle. Jester released her hand, which suddenly felt empty.
He leant in and shifted the panel aside, revealing a tall, narrow opening behind it.
“A false door,” she remarked, surprised.
“Indeed. Ladies first. You may want to light our way with magic—just make sure you keep the orb low. It’s only fifty feet ahead. And hurry—I don’t want to miss what they’re saying.”
Wondering what on earth could be up ahead, Leyna did as he said and summoned her orb. She kept the floating blue light low near her feet as she hurried forward into the darkness, apprehensive of the tight space.
A cobweb brushed her face, and she nearly screamed as it clung to her skin. She batted at her face and hair, trying to ensure that there were no spiders on her.
“Keep moving,” urged the jester, giving her a gentle push.
“Spiders,” she whined. “I don’t want one in my hair.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll still be there later.” He chuckled. “But the chamberlain and steward won’t be.”
“Great,” she said, still swatting at her head as they continued forward.
Finally, they reached the end, and Jester pulled her down to kneel beside him.
“What are we—”
“Here,” he said, pointing to several tiny holes in the wall. “Peepholes.”
Pressing her eye against it, she could see the chamberlain and the steward—that is, she could see their feet.
They had stopped near the prince’s door, and were continuing their conversation in hushed tones.
Glancing at Jester, she realised it was more fruitful to press her ear against the peephole.
Percy’s voice immediately rang loud in her ear. “I worry for the repercussions. If you allow the headmaster to turn the castle upside down…to search rooms and interrogate guests…it could pose problems for the Council’s public relations. And it could reflect badly on you as the acting ruler.”
“While this is true,” began Marek. “I am neither concerned of the repercussions, nor am I easily intimidated.”
A pause.
“What about the king?” asked Percy. “Will you consult with him?”
A pause. “No,” said Marek. “There is no need. I’m in charge now.”
“Yes…Your Grace. What shall I tell Master Emsworth?”
“Grant him a meeting. Then I will decide if I approve his request to search the castle.”
“Excellent, sir. I’ll write to him presently.”
A knock sounded, and a moment later, Seth’s door opened and closed, cutting off the sound of the talking court officials.
Silence.
She opened her mouth to speak, but was startled by the jester’s finger on her lips. “Sh. There’s still two guards.”
Leyna let him take her hand again and he led her back through the secret passageway. They exited via the false door near the privy and finally emerged in the main corridor.
“Well, that was enlightening,” Jester said, strolling casually down the corridor. Sunlight poured through the windows, the contrast almost blinding after the darkness of the passage. It took her longer than it should have to realise he was still holding her hand.
“What did you make of it?” she asked, pulling her hand back. “Of their conversation? They mentioned Master Emsworth.”
“It seems the headmaster of the Wizarding Guild has reason to suspect that the Demon Book is here.”
“Here? At Castle Rutherford? But why would it be here?”
“That’s a good question.”
They stopped in a sunny alcove at the end of the corridor, and Leyna leant her elbows on the windowsill, looking out at the grounds as the sun’s warmth pressed through her sleeves. A servant passed, and she waited until he’d disappeared before speaking again.
“I’ll ask again. Did you take the book?”
He gasped, clutching his heart. “Why, Leyna! How your words pain me—I thought we were just starting to trust each other!”
“The Demon Book went missing around the same time that you were camped near the Guild with Bernie’s travelling troupe. So, for all I know, you could have stolen it.”
Jester cocked his head. “True. But it could also have been you.”
The accusation caught her off guard. “Well, it wasn’t me.”
“Is that so? I have more reason to suspect you than you do me. I have intelligence that the book was heavily guarded with wards, which means whoever stole the book was competent in magic. And not only are you a wizard, Huskarl Leyna, but you’re familiar with the office’s layout, having recently broken in yourself—”
“Hang on a minute,” she began, but he cut her off.
“—and you have a recent history of entering the headmaster’s office and summoning a high-level demon. Was that your first attempt to steal the book? Tut-tut, Huskarl Leyna! It’s not a far stretch to think you might have broken into the headmaster’s office a second time. And as for your motive…could it be ambition? A lust for power? Or are you simply fascinated with the creatures of the Other Side?”
Leyna tensed, unable to tell if he was joking. “Do you really think I stole the book?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t think you stole it. But it’s easy to point fingers, as you can see.”
“You’ve made your point,” she said stiffly. Jester’s opinion shouldn’t have mattered to her, but she felt a touch of relief all the same. “So what are you going to do about the book?”
The jester glanced at her. “What am I going to do?”
“The king said you’re a spy.”
“Did he, now?” Jester crossed his arms and smiled in amusement. “Well, then, I suppose I’m doing spy things, aren’t I?”
“Be serious.”
“I am. Leyna, you need to understand that my role is to gather intelligence and secrets. I’m a spy…an observer. It’s rare that I do anything.”
“Well, you have to do something,” she said, mirroring him as she crossed her arms. “Will you try to find out who stole it, at least?”
“Oh, quite probably. But it’s rare that I would intervene myself. I only get my hands dirty on…special occasions.”
His last words sent a chill down her spine. What did he mean, getting his hands dirty?
“Any other questions for me?” he asked.
Her mind felt scattered.
“What about your dreams?” she asked. It was the first thing to pop into her head. “Is it your life’s ambition to be the king’s spy?”
He stilled, then shot her a wary look as he sank down onto the stone bench. His posture was unlike that of the jester, at least until he crossed his long legs. “You know, I’ve never been asked that before.”
He licked his lips, thoughtful.
“Once upon a time, I was full of dreams and ambition, as you are now. But dreams can come at a cost…and when they fade, you wonder if it was worth the sacrifice. After a while, I stopped dreaming altogether.”
Leyna listened, engrossed. It was the first real glimpse she’d had of the man behind the costume.
“You gave up on your dreams? Why?”
“That’s a good question.” He stroked his chin. “I think that, sometimes, the anticipation of reaching a goal is more rewarding than actually achieving it.”
Leyna pinched her lips. “I think I can relate.”
Their eyes met for the briefest of moments.
Out-of-the-blue, she asked: “Why don’t you take your mask off?”
Jester chuckled. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“Because…whoever you’re looking for doesn’t exist anymore. I’ve been living the lives of others for far too long—my real self died a long time ago.”
“That can’t be true,” she said. “Don’t you have any new dreams? Any goals outside of being a spy?”
“Actually…as a matter of fact, I do.” He tilted his head at her. “I have my sights set on one right now.”
Leyna froze as his eyes locked onto hers, barely breathing as her heart thundered in her chest. Before she could dissect his meaning, however, he asked, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Oh shit.
She was meant to be at training.
Chapter twenty
A Secret Admirer
The training yards were alive with the sound of swords ringing against each other. Within the castle walls, the yards were bordered by the barracks, the dungeon, and the gatehouse that led to Royad. There was an archery range with targets and several training rings for sparring, with the largest ring designed to accommodate wizards. It was walled on all sides with enchanted stone and shimmering clear walls to protect the onlookers and surrounding structures from the more destructive spells.
The smell of straw and sawdust triggered memories of Leyna’s childhood. She had come here often to watch the wizards and soldiers train, and it was where she had first met Bancroft. He had noticed the seven-year-old Leyna watching the soldiers sparring with swords. As a friend of her father, Bancroft had quickly taken her under his wing and taught her swordplay.
Early on, Leyna had felt small and out of place as she tried to lift the heavy steel, which, in reality, was just a blunt training sword. She could not swing it high enough to hit the straw-stuffed dummy, and the blade had bounced off the post below, sending vibrations through her arms.
