The First Binding, page 84
“Already forgotten, or did you never get it? Very well. Do you know her age? How young is she, my sweet?” Lady Selyena left me behind as she neared her husband, keeping a good distance out of reach.
“You think I’ve…?” He didn’t bother finishing the question.
Lady Selyena gave him a smile that made the edge of his seem rusted and dull in comparison. It was a smile that could have cut to the bone. “I know. The bruise is still fresh just above your collar, dear. Feisty, that one. Does she know that could be seen as harming a lord? Dear.” The lady raised a hand to her mouth and gasped in mock surprise. “If I recall, it’s fifty lashes at least. Though, it’s an easy enough thing to see her strung up and left to twist.”
The lord’s face colored more than I thought someone with his complexion could. “Just touched her twentieth year. Elindra. She’s one of the servants here—no, I didn’t bother to ask which kind. Just a passing fancy. As mine all are. Which is to say … not the same as yours.” His eyes leveled accusation at her.
I realized how well-worn this exchange might have been between the pair, and that my poor luck had just dropped me into the middle of their newest moment of marital discontent. My best bet rested in quickly and quietly leaving, even if I had to break one of the large windows behind me and jump out of it.
“Mine was just as fleeting a fancy. Granted, he’s only been playing the game for less than an hour. I didn’t even get to have my fun. I was lacking entertainment.” Lady Selyena balled her fists and placed them on her hips, still holding to the cutting edge in her voice.
Her lord husband ignored her, turning his gaze on me. No, not on me. On my chest. His stare hovered on the red-flower brooch. “And you find no entertainment I suppose in being dandled in a stranger’s lap?”
If I could have made myself invisible, I would have then and there. Short of that, my best option was to admit the truth. My ignorance. “Lord, lady. I’ve only just arrived at the palace and, not to put too great a point on it, only come into this game of yours. Rather innocently and unaware.” Which wasn’t wholly true, but close enough to be the case.
The lord kept his gaze on my chest as I began walking past him. “So you have.” The stare intensified on the brooch. “Red flower. Curious choice, Wife. Last I checked, our treats were given white.”
I logged that piece of information for future reference. Though I didn’t know what it meant, learning whatever I could about the variances in summons would go a long way to helping me keep my neck attached to the rest of me.
“A man in red, like Araiyo, no? What better than a red flower for such a one?” Lady Selyena’s attention briefly flitted my way before returning to her husband.
The name she’d spoken struck me with leaden weight. But for the accent and a few superfluous letters, it could have been a name I was once better acquainted with—speaking, even. “Who?” The question left my lips before I’d realized it.
Lady Selyena turned halfway to address me, then stopped short, her attention returning to her husband. “Later, my man in red. I believe right now my husband and I must speak, then make some amends, between both of us.”
I nodded, needing no further cue to take my leave. The lord’s stare weighed heavy on my back as I passed them by and exited their chambers.
I hadn’t quite collapsed to my bed when a knock came at my own door. I swallowed the string of curses that came to mind and checked to see who’d come.
Marcos. The same cushion as before rested upon his hands. Only now, it trembled. A single pin sat atop it with another letter. No sun brooch, however.
“What’s wrong? Why are your hands shaking?”
He said nothing. One corner of his lips were swollen, almost as if they’d been close to being split. I saw the beginnings of a bruise forming under his left eye.
“Who did this to you?”
Again, nothing.
I nearly reached out and grabbed the boy, then realized that would only make matters worse. “I didn’t mean to get angry, and I’m certainly not with you, Marcos. I just want to know who hurt you.”
His eyes narrowed like I’d passed my rage to him. It fled just as quick and his face had all the lines and signs of tiredness men decades his senior should have worn. “Not everyone gets to keep secrets, Man in Red. And not everyone gets to play.” He pushed the cushion toward me. “Your letter. Your pin.” His hands shook harder.
I sighed and took them. The piece of jewelry was a perfect replica of the flower I wore now, except it lacked every bit of red. Every bit of gemstone was the perfect black of shadow.
“Thank you for bringing this to me, Marcos.”
“You shouldn’t. Not when you learn what it means.” He didn’t bother to explain, turning and leaving at that.
I placed the pin onto the bed and tore open the letter.
Man in Red,
Welcome to the game.
Lord Emeris Umbrasio
Husband to the Lady Selyena
Ps. May your heart be as hard to find as shadows in the night.
“And they say I’m melodramatic.” I let the letter fall to the floor and picked up the new pin, turning it over in my hands. If the red flower was an invitation of love or for passionate exploits, then I wondered what a black one meant.
SEVENTY-SIX
THE MASKS WE WEAR
My nap lasted a few hours at best, though it felt closer to minutes from when I’d laid my head down.
Another knock, gentler than any that had come before, sounded at the door.
I rose to answer it, making sure to keep my staff in hand just in case. My welcome to the summer palace had been eventful enough as it was. I opened the door and stared into the eyes of a man whose face remained mostly hidden behind a mask.
The piece looked to be fashioned out of pearl—its body had the color at least. The outer edges were painted gold with a few bands of what could have been tendrils of fire protruding from one corner of the disguise. What was visible of the man’s jaw showed something soft and youthful, probably someone still in their early twenties.
His build was lean and tight, and he dressed in clothes far beneath what I expected of other guests. Simple riding breeches in a black that refused to hold any dust and debris. And his shirt was much the same, only in a white as bright as his pants were dark.
His clothes were functional, without adornment, yet their colors so clean and fresh despite being put through frequent use given their purpose and appearance. To be all that and look new as when first made?
Whoever stood before me had more wealth than any sum of little lords conspiring quietly among themselves in the palace, which left a good bet as to who he was.
I chose my next words carefully. “Afternoon, or is it evening already?” Keeping the matter to the time of day, and a question at that, spared me from having to address the man by name or title. I’d have less chance of getting it wrong that way.
He smiled. An easy and lazy thing on his face. “Somewhere between, actually. Might I come in?” He’d said it smooth enough, but a hesitancy still hung in the words as if he wasn’t accustomed to asking permission.
High enough in rank then to not worry much about the social standings of others.
I nodded, opening the door in full and gesturing a silent welcome.
The newcomer walked toward the small table close to one corner of my bed. He immediately reached out for the brooches I’d collected and left there.
I shut the door, waiting for him to speak and offer some clarity as to what he wanted.
He picked up the red-flower pin first, turning it over in his hand. “Amorous beginnings to your stay here, Storyteller.”
That brought me to raise my eyebrows. He’d already heard of my arrival and who I was before many of the other guests. Someone important then. It narrowed the possibilities of his identity considerably.
“Surprised? Don’t be.” He set the pin down, frowning as he fixed on the black-flower one. The man didn’t bother picking it up and settled for prodding it with an index finger instead. “You’ve been here for hours and already managed to collect a pair like this, hm? That says something. It says a pair of things, in fact. And it says a great deal more of who you’ve met. Let me guess, the Lady Selyena and her husband, Lord Umbrasio.” The way he’d said it meant it was no guess at all.
“Quick. Accurate.” That was all I’d give the man in admission.
“She moved faster than I imagined, and I’m not sure if that’s impressive or terrifying. She’s getting bolder, especially with the guests.” He managed to eye me askance despite the mask hiding a good portion of his face. “Did she get what she wanted out of you?”
I shrugged. “At first I would have said no. But after seeing how she and her husband interacted, I’m not so sure. It could have been I was nothing more than a scene to be made and a thorn to be jabbed into that man’s side.”
My guest grunted as if he’d expected that possibility. “It would be very much like the pair of them, though something happened between you to warrant this.” He touched the black-flower pin again.
Did I ask him what it meant and betray my lack of knowledge, or did I feign familiarity with the game?
He finally plucked up the pin and held it up, flower-face toward me. “The red one, when offered especially by a woman like Lady Selyena, is an invitation for a dalliance. The sort that often has men, young ones too at times, reconsidering their health afterward. Her appetites are said to be … edging on the ravenous. I’m glad she didn’t have her way with you before I could, Storyteller.”
All of which begged the question: What exactly did he have in mind for me?
“The black one, though, is a particular problem, given who it came from. It means animosity. Strong animosity. Offense given and taken with the promise to repay it in full. Bad blood—bitter blood. Hence the black.” He tapped the dark flower with the inside of his thumb. “It’s a promise for vengeance, and I’m rather sorry to say it doesn’t always fall within the confines of the law. Emeris is a rather short-tempered man.”
Not even a day in the palace and I’d already earned the hostility of another lord. It seemed, of all the curses I’d been rumored to have collected, earning the ire of the nobility still ran strong for me.
What joy.
“But of course you knew all of this, Storyteller, and I’m just prattling about the game as it’s on my mind right now. We’re at the beginning of it, though I guess for you it’s already begun. Play carefully.”
“Of course. And while we’re just talking things we all know, I don’t suppose the other flowers’ meanings will come up between us?”
A crooked smile flashed across the man’s face for the space of a wink. “White flowers, set with pearls, indicate a neutral meeting. Can be for personal pleasure and honest curiosity, but not the sort of entertainment Lady Selyena had in mind. An interest for conversation, learnings, perhaps to discuss mutual fancies of intellect, musings, and the like. The most common of invitations.
“The sapphire rose is an interesting one. People use it to offer favor or, if a sapphire rose has previously been granted, to call on that debt. That is the purpose of many players in the game. To grant and receive favors to call on. It’s how gentry and lesser nobles seek to raise their stations in life.”
Lesser nobles he’d said.
“Yellow set with citrines are to discuss business. Also rather common and another way some houses seek to move their way about the court and to greater fortune. Now, the pink rose is something else altogether, my friend. That is one for and of secrets.” He didn’t bother elaborating past that, which I took to mean was part of the flower’s purpose in the game.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a copper sun brooch.” I hoped he’d take the meaning and explain its use as well.
“Gold, silver, copper, bronze, and wood. The first is a summons all men must heed. From the top and those closest to the sun itself—the royal family. Silver is sent to your betters along with the flower indicating what sort of meeting you desire, and copper to your peers, and bronze is sent to those less than you. The family, however, only deals in gold, and you are never to keep that brooch. Remember to return yours when you get it.”
The family. And when I get one. That ended the matter for me. “Of course, Prince. And the wooden sun?”
He turned and tilted his head like a dog hearing a new sound. “I didn’t know if you’d figure it out. You’d be surprised how many don’t if they’ve never met me before. Wooden suns are for the pontifex and his people—wood, simple thing and of the earth, like Antoine. Symbolizes their connection to the common man. So, what was it?”
“The clothing. Things you’ve said.” Revealing too much sometimes takes the trick away from the thing itself. It’s often better to leave more things to mystery and the wonderings of another person’s mind. They can fill in the story how they best see fit, and more likely than not, craft something just as interesting as the truth.
Sometimes better.
And it all adds to your own credit.
“Clever man. I prefer to keep the company of those more than the dithering lords and ladies currently filling up my home’s many rooms.” The man inclined his head a shade so slight I almost missed it. “Prince Ateine.”
“The Storyteller.” I offered a deeper bow than he had. As I watched the man, he showed none of the signs I’d been looking for. Smooth, controlled, and lacking any of the strangeness I’d seen in the Tainted. Many kings and leaders were already so twisted it left little doubt about their true natures. Etaynia had remained stable … so far, but with the murder of one efante already, and all done to seize power, were their princes already taken and turned? Not to mention the whispers of war on the lips of some princes.
So which prince had been taken, twisted, and turned?
Which one would I have to kill?
I didn’t know, and could tell even less. But I hoped to find out.
“And the man behind the mask, I wonder?” Prince Ateine watched me with greater intensity.
Now it was my turn to cant my head at an angle and wait for him to explain.
“A man is more than his title, but often so many of us wear them for so long we forget the man under it all.” He removed the mask.
Prince Ateine lived up to what I imagined. Soft faced and featured. One could consider him more beautiful than handsome. He had the dark features most Etaynians shared in hair and eye color, but his skin was more a pale gold, lacking any of the sun’s warmth and shine. His hair was kept short with a few rogue locks brushing down to his eyebrows. “Being a prince is the unseen mask I wear all day, and this one”—he jiggled the disguise in his hand—“frees me to be the man I really am.”
Prince Ateine donned the mask again and headed to the door. “I came to meet you and take you into account, Storyteller. You haven’t disappointed. I expect good entertainment out of you—both from your trade, and your playing of the game. I wonder what mischief you’ll get into.” He lingered in the opening, resting against the frame. “I imagine you’ll be getting other summonses soon. People have been talking, and the nobility love little else more than they do rumors.” He slipped away, taking no care to shut the door behind him as he left.
My gaze slowly flitted back to the black rose resting where the prince had left it.
A promise for vengeance. It wasn’t the only one I’d earned in my life, and Lord Umbrasio would have to get in line. Because a few others were already sharpening their swords, waiting for the chance to have at me.
I left instructions with one of the porters outside my door where I could be found if any party decided to take that chance to try and run me through with a blade. Then I asked for directions and headed toward the library.
* * *
Night came to the library, leaving most of it shrouded in darkness save for the parts closest to the windows that let in pale bands of moonlight to cascade over the many shelves.
I still hadn’t found what I’d been looking for, but I pressed on. One of my thumbs traced along the spines of leather-bound tomes as I walked by, keeping my eyes open for anything that looked like it could hold a story instead of a history or genealogy. A book caught my eye and I stopped.
Thinner than those around it, it showed all the signs of being well worn. The title had faded nearly to nothingness as if someone had brushed the lettering away over years of heavy touch and use. A miracle held the binding together, but long knotted creases still sprouted along the book’s spine as I applied just a hint of pressure to it. And the ends of the pages had been smoothed by what I knew came from years of thumbs rubbing along them.
Scholars and those obsessed with their own histories pored over books with a delicate touch and not as frequently as this. These signs spoke of something very precious inside. Something worth reading over and over again.
A story.
I smiled like greeting a long-lost friend and thumbed the book open like many before me.
Tuecanti des Nuevellos. The book’s title had no Trader’s Tongue translation. Reading even further revealed that the entire piece lacked any annotations I could use to parse together the story inside. All Etaynian.
I sighed, snapping it shut with a sound like a hand striking a flour sack.
Light shone through the rows of shelves, and it was not the soft nightly glimmer of the moon. Nor was it candlelight cast and holding to that weak ghostly glow that came from the edge of tiny flames. This had all the radiance of the sun in full midday bloom. It burned from rows down from me, and grew all the brighter the closer it came.
I shut my eyes, waiting for them to adapt. My ears took to the task of figuring out what was happening.
Footsteps. Soft, measured, taken with care. Whoever held the object knew how to move quietly, but not so silently that they wouldn’t be heard altogether.
“I used to enjoy that book as a child. I recognized the cover,” said the man holding the light source.
Most of the brightness had tempered now and no longer brought out the pink inside my eyelids. I opened my eyes and took in the stranger.
“You think I’ve…?” He didn’t bother finishing the question.
Lady Selyena gave him a smile that made the edge of his seem rusted and dull in comparison. It was a smile that could have cut to the bone. “I know. The bruise is still fresh just above your collar, dear. Feisty, that one. Does she know that could be seen as harming a lord? Dear.” The lady raised a hand to her mouth and gasped in mock surprise. “If I recall, it’s fifty lashes at least. Though, it’s an easy enough thing to see her strung up and left to twist.”
The lord’s face colored more than I thought someone with his complexion could. “Just touched her twentieth year. Elindra. She’s one of the servants here—no, I didn’t bother to ask which kind. Just a passing fancy. As mine all are. Which is to say … not the same as yours.” His eyes leveled accusation at her.
I realized how well-worn this exchange might have been between the pair, and that my poor luck had just dropped me into the middle of their newest moment of marital discontent. My best bet rested in quickly and quietly leaving, even if I had to break one of the large windows behind me and jump out of it.
“Mine was just as fleeting a fancy. Granted, he’s only been playing the game for less than an hour. I didn’t even get to have my fun. I was lacking entertainment.” Lady Selyena balled her fists and placed them on her hips, still holding to the cutting edge in her voice.
Her lord husband ignored her, turning his gaze on me. No, not on me. On my chest. His stare hovered on the red-flower brooch. “And you find no entertainment I suppose in being dandled in a stranger’s lap?”
If I could have made myself invisible, I would have then and there. Short of that, my best option was to admit the truth. My ignorance. “Lord, lady. I’ve only just arrived at the palace and, not to put too great a point on it, only come into this game of yours. Rather innocently and unaware.” Which wasn’t wholly true, but close enough to be the case.
The lord kept his gaze on my chest as I began walking past him. “So you have.” The stare intensified on the brooch. “Red flower. Curious choice, Wife. Last I checked, our treats were given white.”
I logged that piece of information for future reference. Though I didn’t know what it meant, learning whatever I could about the variances in summons would go a long way to helping me keep my neck attached to the rest of me.
“A man in red, like Araiyo, no? What better than a red flower for such a one?” Lady Selyena’s attention briefly flitted my way before returning to her husband.
The name she’d spoken struck me with leaden weight. But for the accent and a few superfluous letters, it could have been a name I was once better acquainted with—speaking, even. “Who?” The question left my lips before I’d realized it.
Lady Selyena turned halfway to address me, then stopped short, her attention returning to her husband. “Later, my man in red. I believe right now my husband and I must speak, then make some amends, between both of us.”
I nodded, needing no further cue to take my leave. The lord’s stare weighed heavy on my back as I passed them by and exited their chambers.
I hadn’t quite collapsed to my bed when a knock came at my own door. I swallowed the string of curses that came to mind and checked to see who’d come.
Marcos. The same cushion as before rested upon his hands. Only now, it trembled. A single pin sat atop it with another letter. No sun brooch, however.
“What’s wrong? Why are your hands shaking?”
He said nothing. One corner of his lips were swollen, almost as if they’d been close to being split. I saw the beginnings of a bruise forming under his left eye.
“Who did this to you?”
Again, nothing.
I nearly reached out and grabbed the boy, then realized that would only make matters worse. “I didn’t mean to get angry, and I’m certainly not with you, Marcos. I just want to know who hurt you.”
His eyes narrowed like I’d passed my rage to him. It fled just as quick and his face had all the lines and signs of tiredness men decades his senior should have worn. “Not everyone gets to keep secrets, Man in Red. And not everyone gets to play.” He pushed the cushion toward me. “Your letter. Your pin.” His hands shook harder.
I sighed and took them. The piece of jewelry was a perfect replica of the flower I wore now, except it lacked every bit of red. Every bit of gemstone was the perfect black of shadow.
“Thank you for bringing this to me, Marcos.”
“You shouldn’t. Not when you learn what it means.” He didn’t bother to explain, turning and leaving at that.
I placed the pin onto the bed and tore open the letter.
Man in Red,
Welcome to the game.
Lord Emeris Umbrasio
Husband to the Lady Selyena
Ps. May your heart be as hard to find as shadows in the night.
“And they say I’m melodramatic.” I let the letter fall to the floor and picked up the new pin, turning it over in my hands. If the red flower was an invitation of love or for passionate exploits, then I wondered what a black one meant.
SEVENTY-SIX
THE MASKS WE WEAR
My nap lasted a few hours at best, though it felt closer to minutes from when I’d laid my head down.
Another knock, gentler than any that had come before, sounded at the door.
I rose to answer it, making sure to keep my staff in hand just in case. My welcome to the summer palace had been eventful enough as it was. I opened the door and stared into the eyes of a man whose face remained mostly hidden behind a mask.
The piece looked to be fashioned out of pearl—its body had the color at least. The outer edges were painted gold with a few bands of what could have been tendrils of fire protruding from one corner of the disguise. What was visible of the man’s jaw showed something soft and youthful, probably someone still in their early twenties.
His build was lean and tight, and he dressed in clothes far beneath what I expected of other guests. Simple riding breeches in a black that refused to hold any dust and debris. And his shirt was much the same, only in a white as bright as his pants were dark.
His clothes were functional, without adornment, yet their colors so clean and fresh despite being put through frequent use given their purpose and appearance. To be all that and look new as when first made?
Whoever stood before me had more wealth than any sum of little lords conspiring quietly among themselves in the palace, which left a good bet as to who he was.
I chose my next words carefully. “Afternoon, or is it evening already?” Keeping the matter to the time of day, and a question at that, spared me from having to address the man by name or title. I’d have less chance of getting it wrong that way.
He smiled. An easy and lazy thing on his face. “Somewhere between, actually. Might I come in?” He’d said it smooth enough, but a hesitancy still hung in the words as if he wasn’t accustomed to asking permission.
High enough in rank then to not worry much about the social standings of others.
I nodded, opening the door in full and gesturing a silent welcome.
The newcomer walked toward the small table close to one corner of my bed. He immediately reached out for the brooches I’d collected and left there.
I shut the door, waiting for him to speak and offer some clarity as to what he wanted.
He picked up the red-flower pin first, turning it over in his hand. “Amorous beginnings to your stay here, Storyteller.”
That brought me to raise my eyebrows. He’d already heard of my arrival and who I was before many of the other guests. Someone important then. It narrowed the possibilities of his identity considerably.
“Surprised? Don’t be.” He set the pin down, frowning as he fixed on the black-flower one. The man didn’t bother picking it up and settled for prodding it with an index finger instead. “You’ve been here for hours and already managed to collect a pair like this, hm? That says something. It says a pair of things, in fact. And it says a great deal more of who you’ve met. Let me guess, the Lady Selyena and her husband, Lord Umbrasio.” The way he’d said it meant it was no guess at all.
“Quick. Accurate.” That was all I’d give the man in admission.
“She moved faster than I imagined, and I’m not sure if that’s impressive or terrifying. She’s getting bolder, especially with the guests.” He managed to eye me askance despite the mask hiding a good portion of his face. “Did she get what she wanted out of you?”
I shrugged. “At first I would have said no. But after seeing how she and her husband interacted, I’m not so sure. It could have been I was nothing more than a scene to be made and a thorn to be jabbed into that man’s side.”
My guest grunted as if he’d expected that possibility. “It would be very much like the pair of them, though something happened between you to warrant this.” He touched the black-flower pin again.
Did I ask him what it meant and betray my lack of knowledge, or did I feign familiarity with the game?
He finally plucked up the pin and held it up, flower-face toward me. “The red one, when offered especially by a woman like Lady Selyena, is an invitation for a dalliance. The sort that often has men, young ones too at times, reconsidering their health afterward. Her appetites are said to be … edging on the ravenous. I’m glad she didn’t have her way with you before I could, Storyteller.”
All of which begged the question: What exactly did he have in mind for me?
“The black one, though, is a particular problem, given who it came from. It means animosity. Strong animosity. Offense given and taken with the promise to repay it in full. Bad blood—bitter blood. Hence the black.” He tapped the dark flower with the inside of his thumb. “It’s a promise for vengeance, and I’m rather sorry to say it doesn’t always fall within the confines of the law. Emeris is a rather short-tempered man.”
Not even a day in the palace and I’d already earned the hostility of another lord. It seemed, of all the curses I’d been rumored to have collected, earning the ire of the nobility still ran strong for me.
What joy.
“But of course you knew all of this, Storyteller, and I’m just prattling about the game as it’s on my mind right now. We’re at the beginning of it, though I guess for you it’s already begun. Play carefully.”
“Of course. And while we’re just talking things we all know, I don’t suppose the other flowers’ meanings will come up between us?”
A crooked smile flashed across the man’s face for the space of a wink. “White flowers, set with pearls, indicate a neutral meeting. Can be for personal pleasure and honest curiosity, but not the sort of entertainment Lady Selyena had in mind. An interest for conversation, learnings, perhaps to discuss mutual fancies of intellect, musings, and the like. The most common of invitations.
“The sapphire rose is an interesting one. People use it to offer favor or, if a sapphire rose has previously been granted, to call on that debt. That is the purpose of many players in the game. To grant and receive favors to call on. It’s how gentry and lesser nobles seek to raise their stations in life.”
Lesser nobles he’d said.
“Yellow set with citrines are to discuss business. Also rather common and another way some houses seek to move their way about the court and to greater fortune. Now, the pink rose is something else altogether, my friend. That is one for and of secrets.” He didn’t bother elaborating past that, which I took to mean was part of the flower’s purpose in the game.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a copper sun brooch.” I hoped he’d take the meaning and explain its use as well.
“Gold, silver, copper, bronze, and wood. The first is a summons all men must heed. From the top and those closest to the sun itself—the royal family. Silver is sent to your betters along with the flower indicating what sort of meeting you desire, and copper to your peers, and bronze is sent to those less than you. The family, however, only deals in gold, and you are never to keep that brooch. Remember to return yours when you get it.”
The family. And when I get one. That ended the matter for me. “Of course, Prince. And the wooden sun?”
He turned and tilted his head like a dog hearing a new sound. “I didn’t know if you’d figure it out. You’d be surprised how many don’t if they’ve never met me before. Wooden suns are for the pontifex and his people—wood, simple thing and of the earth, like Antoine. Symbolizes their connection to the common man. So, what was it?”
“The clothing. Things you’ve said.” Revealing too much sometimes takes the trick away from the thing itself. It’s often better to leave more things to mystery and the wonderings of another person’s mind. They can fill in the story how they best see fit, and more likely than not, craft something just as interesting as the truth.
Sometimes better.
And it all adds to your own credit.
“Clever man. I prefer to keep the company of those more than the dithering lords and ladies currently filling up my home’s many rooms.” The man inclined his head a shade so slight I almost missed it. “Prince Ateine.”
“The Storyteller.” I offered a deeper bow than he had. As I watched the man, he showed none of the signs I’d been looking for. Smooth, controlled, and lacking any of the strangeness I’d seen in the Tainted. Many kings and leaders were already so twisted it left little doubt about their true natures. Etaynia had remained stable … so far, but with the murder of one efante already, and all done to seize power, were their princes already taken and turned? Not to mention the whispers of war on the lips of some princes.
So which prince had been taken, twisted, and turned?
Which one would I have to kill?
I didn’t know, and could tell even less. But I hoped to find out.
“And the man behind the mask, I wonder?” Prince Ateine watched me with greater intensity.
Now it was my turn to cant my head at an angle and wait for him to explain.
“A man is more than his title, but often so many of us wear them for so long we forget the man under it all.” He removed the mask.
Prince Ateine lived up to what I imagined. Soft faced and featured. One could consider him more beautiful than handsome. He had the dark features most Etaynians shared in hair and eye color, but his skin was more a pale gold, lacking any of the sun’s warmth and shine. His hair was kept short with a few rogue locks brushing down to his eyebrows. “Being a prince is the unseen mask I wear all day, and this one”—he jiggled the disguise in his hand—“frees me to be the man I really am.”
Prince Ateine donned the mask again and headed to the door. “I came to meet you and take you into account, Storyteller. You haven’t disappointed. I expect good entertainment out of you—both from your trade, and your playing of the game. I wonder what mischief you’ll get into.” He lingered in the opening, resting against the frame. “I imagine you’ll be getting other summonses soon. People have been talking, and the nobility love little else more than they do rumors.” He slipped away, taking no care to shut the door behind him as he left.
My gaze slowly flitted back to the black rose resting where the prince had left it.
A promise for vengeance. It wasn’t the only one I’d earned in my life, and Lord Umbrasio would have to get in line. Because a few others were already sharpening their swords, waiting for the chance to have at me.
I left instructions with one of the porters outside my door where I could be found if any party decided to take that chance to try and run me through with a blade. Then I asked for directions and headed toward the library.
* * *
Night came to the library, leaving most of it shrouded in darkness save for the parts closest to the windows that let in pale bands of moonlight to cascade over the many shelves.
I still hadn’t found what I’d been looking for, but I pressed on. One of my thumbs traced along the spines of leather-bound tomes as I walked by, keeping my eyes open for anything that looked like it could hold a story instead of a history or genealogy. A book caught my eye and I stopped.
Thinner than those around it, it showed all the signs of being well worn. The title had faded nearly to nothingness as if someone had brushed the lettering away over years of heavy touch and use. A miracle held the binding together, but long knotted creases still sprouted along the book’s spine as I applied just a hint of pressure to it. And the ends of the pages had been smoothed by what I knew came from years of thumbs rubbing along them.
Scholars and those obsessed with their own histories pored over books with a delicate touch and not as frequently as this. These signs spoke of something very precious inside. Something worth reading over and over again.
A story.
I smiled like greeting a long-lost friend and thumbed the book open like many before me.
Tuecanti des Nuevellos. The book’s title had no Trader’s Tongue translation. Reading even further revealed that the entire piece lacked any annotations I could use to parse together the story inside. All Etaynian.
I sighed, snapping it shut with a sound like a hand striking a flour sack.
Light shone through the rows of shelves, and it was not the soft nightly glimmer of the moon. Nor was it candlelight cast and holding to that weak ghostly glow that came from the edge of tiny flames. This had all the radiance of the sun in full midday bloom. It burned from rows down from me, and grew all the brighter the closer it came.
I shut my eyes, waiting for them to adapt. My ears took to the task of figuring out what was happening.
Footsteps. Soft, measured, taken with care. Whoever held the object knew how to move quietly, but not so silently that they wouldn’t be heard altogether.
“I used to enjoy that book as a child. I recognized the cover,” said the man holding the light source.
Most of the brightness had tempered now and no longer brought out the pink inside my eyelids. I opened my eyes and took in the stranger.
