Liar's Moon (34 page)

In the rocky, uneasy peace that followed, we all tried to get back to normal, but no one remembered what that was. Grea’s bakery did its familiar
thriving business, with a whole new clientele — Raffin, fully restored to his Guard duties, brought his fellow Greenmen to dine, this time without the threats of violence or seizure.

I was still not sure how I felt about him, about them. The fate of Werne and the Inquisition was one of the sticking points of the peace talks; the Celystra was not technically under the authority of the king,
so there was confusion on both sides about what could or should be done about them. But Raffin told me things that filled me with disquiet — and they were not all dark secrets buried at the Greenmen’s feet, not all blood and torture and fearmongering. He’d been assigned to the division releasing Inquisition prisoners as a gesture of goodwill; holy sisters went to the front to pray for the dead,
and sent alms to the widows of soldiers on each side. It both did and did not accord with what I knew of Werne, and left me unsettled for reasons I could not explain.

Lord Ragn’s words burned in my memory —
Do not judge too harshly actions taken out of love
— until ultimately I put my hand to one last document. Five words, set on plain, coarse paper and sent back with Raffin:
I will speak
with you.

Maybe people deserved a chance to explain themselves.

I saw much of Koya too, passing along news of the refugees, now safely settled in distant lands, or with Wierolf’s troops, with Meri and Reynart. I had wondered about the boy at Cartouche, and his mother and sister, and Koya assured me they had made it to family in Brionry. “And Jos!” she told me. “You won’t believe it.
He’s gone to Reynart to be a soldier. Or a student, at least. He wants to learn, thanks to you. They all do.”

That was not all. Two of the Sarists we’d rescued had declined Koya’s help and disappeared into the city, including Vorges, the man with the tattooed palm. Koya didn’t know what had become of them, and I was relieved. He’d saved my life, but the Greenman he’d injured with magic had
not recovered, and that was one offense even peacetime couldn’t smooth over. As for Barris, there was ultimately nothing to charge him with, but his involvement with Ferrymen and the murder of his mother had sullied his reputation, at least temporarily.

“So he’s sulking in Tratua,” Koya said. She was as bright and ebullient as ever reporting this, but somehow it saddened me, like a shadow
of her old mask again. With Lord Ragn’s death and the end of the war, Koya had lost her purpose and direction. What did she have, now that there was no one for her to save?

One steamy afternoon, Raffin strolled into the bakery as Koya breezed out, and they paused briefly in the doorway together. I couldn’t help but notice the way Raffin’s eyes followed her as she slipped away toward her lovely
boat.

“How is she?” he asked, and I knew he was remembering that night at Cartouche, and probably others, when he’d escorted her home. Even if her debauchery hadn’t been entirely real, I knew her gratitude for Raffin’s kindness was.

“You should go after her,” I suggested. He turned to me, surprised.

“I — no. You think? She won’t remember me.”

“She might surprise you. You might
take the chance to surprise her.” I eyed him sideways. “I think she’s still hoping to find a candidate to replace Durrel.”

He looked startled, and I thought his face colored. “You don’t mean —”

I couldn’t help grinning. “It would make your father
crazy.
”

The startled look turned sly, and Raffin laughed. “You might be onto something, peach. Maybe I should get to know Mistress Koyuz
a little better.” He kissed my hand, bowing low. “Good day, little sister.” Raffin Taradyce, disreputable nob and Greenman, set off after Koya’s boat. I watched him wave it down, and drop inside with all the easy grace he possessed.

More weeks went by, until one afternoon somebody slid a note across the bakery’s threshold. At Grea’s shout, I scooped it up, milk white paper with an amber core,
Celyn Contrare
inked out in a carefully anonymous hand. Inside was nothing but an address.

I threw open the door, but there was no one outside but the chattering neighbors. I felt a tug near my breastbone, like the call of magic, sweet and urgent.

I flagged down a boat, but the riverways were crowded with the renewed commercial traffic and giddy citizenry out celebrating on the water.
After a few blocks I gave it up and scrambled off onto the shore. The feeling in my chest was like a knot loosening, and I wanted to run, impatient to get — wherever. Revelers had lit a string of firefly lanterns and strung them across the Oss, where they glowed like full moons against the hot afternoon sky. In the road below the Celystra, I pushed through a crowd of Greenmen trying their confused
best to organize a crowd that had become an impromptu festival. Nobody was paying them the slightest mind. One fat merchant cheerfully grabbed his nearest Greenman and thrust a tankard of ale into his hand.

Finally, finally I reached the address on the slip of paper, a grand yellow town house not far from the Spiral, with an open gallery along the top floor and square towers fitted out with
ridiculous stone frippery at every corner. I stood in the shadow of one of those towers and peered up, and saw a figure in gray perched easily in an open stone arch, a hand lifted casually in a wave.

Durrel met me at the mouth of the staircase, just inside the rooftop gallery. He grabbed me bodily and spun me round, like we were silly townspeople in the festival below. And I let him. I kind
of liked it.

Finally breathless, he let me go. “What do you think?” he said, gesturing toward the empty gallery, with its mosaic tile floor and fretwork ceiling.

“What is it?” I asked, and I didn’t care about the architecture. I wanted him to take my hands like he had in the Keep, and let his warm voice wash over me, telling me every detail of his weeks at Favom Court, down to the scratches
in the kitchen tables and the muck in the stables.

“I’ve rented it.” He sounded enormously proud, and I stepped back, eyeing the space.

“For what?”

“To live in. I’m not ready to stay in the country full-time. King Wierolf will need his loyal nobility close at hand for a while.”

King
Wierolf. We’d been hearing it for weeks now, but from Durrel’s lips it gave me a funny little
thrill in the pit of my stomach. “But what about Charicaux?”

Durrel grew sober. “I sold it,” he said. “To cover some of Father’s debts. Don’t look so sad — Lady Amalle’s father was happy to take it off my hands. She’ll be able to stay there. It’s her home.”

“And Favom Court?” I asked.

“We’re down a few thousand acres and a couple dozen horses, but we’ll survive.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He gave a half smile, and his hand was still wrapped tightly around mine. “All in a good cause,” he said. “I’ll make a fresh start for the House of Decath in Gerse.” I heard the unsaid words:
a fresh start for myself.

“By renting an empty attic,” I said lightly. “Or did you take the whole building?”

He laughed at the hope in my voice. “No, just this floor. What do you think?”

I looked around. It was lovely on a day like this, with cross breezes tempering the afternoon heat — but it would be ghastly the rest of the year. Durrel led me out to the open gallery overlooking the streets and the river. One side of the building dropped down on the roof next door. “I thought I’d make it easy for my friends to come and go,” he said.

“Your
friends
?” I said. “How many are
there?”

“Just one that matters.” And he curved one hand around the back of my head and bent his face to mine, and all my objections were swallowed in the heat of our kiss.

It was long and low and gentle, and we spent the waning afternoon in each other’s arms, curled into the gallery window, as Durrel told me all about his days at Favom Court. It turned out I was wrong about what I wanted;
I thought I would
die
of impatience. Finally I could stand it no more, and I stopped his mouth. My lips on his, my fingers sought out the clasps on his doublet, and he shrugged it off, bumping me up against a pillar. I helped his hands find the laces to my bodice, but he pulled away, gasping for breath.

“Wait,” he said. “Are you sure?”

I paused in my search for the points to his breeches
and tilted my head upward. “Only if you are.”

And he answered that by scooping me up and carrying me bodily across the gallery, to where a nest of cushions and coverlets made a makeshift bed.

Afterward, we lay there together until it was full dark, the moons rising up over the water and throwing their light through the open gallery arches. Durrel traced patterns on my back with his
finger, as if memorizing my shape by touch.

“You should get some furniture,” I said, watching the moonslight track a wide beam across the tile floor, like a shaft of magic.

“I don’t know; I’ve always thought furniture was overrated.” His voice was cool and dreamy, his eyes half closed.

“I like it,” I said firmly, and then a treacherous thought squirmed its way upward and turned
into a giggle.

“What’s funny?” Durrel asked, propping himself on his elbow.

“Nothing,” I said. “Except that your friend Raffin is prescient. He told me I’d be sharing your bed eventually.”

“Well, I hate to gainsay a figure as honorable as Raffin Taradyce,” he said solemnly, and gestured to the heap of blankets. “But strictly speaking, this is
not
a bed.”

That giggle turned
into a full-fledged laugh that echoed off the open stone walls. Finally I peeled myself away from Durrel and fumbled for my smock.

“You’re not leaving?” he said.

I smiled. “I have to. Grea’s going to be swamped tonight. But I’ll come back tomorrow, unless you’re busy.”

“Doing what?” he asked, but tugged me backward to kiss me again.

I almost
flew
home, after that. It was later than I’d thought; nearly midnight and the roads finally clearing of festival traffic, but I noticed none of it. There was a sweet taste still on my tongue, and I was loath to breathe it away so soon. Back at the bakery I could smell the yeast of the rising loaves, and felt a twinge of guilt for not helping.
Tomorrow
, I told myself. I danced
up the dark stairs, my head still lost and buzzing somewhere near the Spiral, thinking about moonslight on bare skin, glinting against a soft beard. Rat was at Hobin’s, so the room was dark; he’d pulled the shutters closed before he left.

I entered into a pool of shadow and clicked the door shut behind me — and realized, a breath too late, that I wasn’t alone.

A hand came out of the
darkness and caught me by the throat, a thin, cool line of steel pressing into my neck. I froze, breath and heart with me, as a low voice murmured, inches from my ear, “Hello again, Mouse.”

The chill of the knife at my neck went straight to my bones, but my heart was thumping wildly. I knew that voice, that hand, even in darkness, even after all this time.

“Tegen?”

Acolyte Guard
: The Celystra’s honor guard; once ceremonial, now King Bardolph’s de facto secret police. Universally feared and hated. Called “Greenmen,” in slang for their entirely green uniforms.

Astilan of Hanival
: Prince of the realm. Commander of Royalist forces. King Bardolph’s nephew; cousin to Prince Wierolf.

Bal Marse
: Residence of Talth Ceid and Durrel
Decath.

Bardolph of Hanival
: King of Llyvraneth.

Belprisa
:
Ship belonging to the Ceid.

Berdal
: Sarist soldier. Friend of Digger from Bryn Shaer.

Big Silver river
:
Llyd Tsairn
in Llyvrin. One of two major rivers flowing through Gerse.

Briddja Nul
: One of the three provinces that make up the nation of Llyvraneth. Briddja Nul occupies much of the northwest, and is home to
the port city of Yeris Volbann.

Bryn Shaer
: Mountain fortress in northern Llyvraneth. Home to the House of Nemair.
See StarCrossed.

Cartouche
: Private club and theater in Gerse.

Ceid, Barris
: Gersin businessman. Son of Talth Ceid; brother of Koya.

Ceid, House of
: Powerful gentry-class family in Gerse.

Ceid, Talth
: Gersin businesswoman. Wife of Durrel Decath; mother of
Barris and Koya. Deceased.

Celys
: The great Mother Goddess, goddess of life and the harvest. Her symbols are the ash tree and the full moon.

Celystra
: Temple complex in Gerse devoted to Celys. Seat of Celyst worship and power.

Charicaux
: Decath family home in Gerse. Residence of Lord Ragn.

Claas
: Gersin gentleman. Lover of Stantin Koyuz.

Confessor
: An investigator for
the Inquisition, trained in the arts of torture.

Contrare, Celyn
: Digger’s alias.

Corlesanne
: Nation to Llyvraneth’s east. Allied with the Sarists.

Cwalo, Eptin
: Merchant from Yeris Volbann who keeps a home and business in Gerse. Friend and confidant of Digger.

Cwalo, Mirelle
: Wife of Eptin.

Decath, Durrel
: Young nobleman from Gerse who once saved Digger from Greenmen.
Husband of Talth Ceid.

Decath, Lord Ragn
: Durrel’s father.

Digger
: Thief from Gerse.

Eske
: High Priestess of Tiboran.

Favom Court
: Farm and manor house north of Gerse. Country residence of the House of Decath.

Fei
: Confidence artist and sometime thief. Acquaintance of Digger.

Ferrymen
: Ruthless human smugglers who typically charge exorbitant fees for their services
and have a well-deserved reputation for violence.

Geirt
: Former chambermaid of Talth Ceid.

Gelnir
: One of the three provinces that make up the nation of Llyvraneth. A fertile region of farmland to the west and south, and home to Llyvraneth’s capital city of Gerse.

Gerse
: Capital city of Llyvraneth. Digger’s home.

Granthin, Halcot
:
See
Rat.

Grea
: Baker in the Seventh Circle.
Digger’s landlady. Rat’s aunt.

Greenmen
:
See
Acolyte Guard.

Grillig
: Seventh Circle fence and dealer in secondhand goods. Acquaintance of Digger.

Hanivard Palace
: Royal residence in Gerse. Home to King Bardolph.

Hobin, Lord
: Nobleman in Gerse. Official in the Ministry of War. Rat’s lover.

Inquisition
: Dedicated arm of the Celyst church charged with eradicating heresy.
Led by a staff of inquisitors (specially ordained priests) under the command of the Lord High Inquisitor, Werne Nebraut. The Inquisition has wide-ranging powers and very little oversight.

Irin
: Sarist refugee.

Jos
: Sarist refugee.

Karst, Alech
: Employee of Talth Ceid.

Keep, the
:
Bryn Tsairn
in Llyvrin (“Silver Keep”). Royal prison in Gerse.

Kellespau
: One of the three
provinces that make up the nation of Llyvraneth. A hilly region covering the northeastern third of the island.

Koya
: Gersin socialite. Properly Davinna Koyuz, estranged wife of Stantin Koyuz. Daughter of Talth Ceid; sister of Barris.

Koyuz, Stantin
: Wealthy Gersin merchant. Koya’s husband.

Lenos
: Sarist refugee.

Light of Yraine:
Ship belonging to the Ceid.

Llyvraneth
:
Island nation consisting of three provinces: Gelnir, Briddja Nul, and Kellespau.

Marau
: God of the dead and consort to Celys. Twin brother to Sar. His symbol is the crow.

Mend-kaal
: God of the hearth, the home, and of labor. Twin brother to Tiboran; son of Celys and Marau. His symbol is the hammer.

Mondeci, Evalia
: Courtesan in Tratua. Acquaintance of Durrel. Deceased.

Nameless
One, The
: Goddess of justice and divine retribution. Daughter of Celys and Marau.

Nebraut, Werne
:Lord High Inquisitor. Known as “Werne the Bloodletter.” Digger’s brother.

Nemair, Merista
: Noblewoman and mage serving in Prince Wierolf’s army. Cousin of Durrel Decath.
See StarCrossed.

Oss, River
: One of two major rivers flowing through Gerse.

Ponvi
:
Ship belonging to the Ceid.

Rat
: Digger’s roommate.

Reynart, Tnor
: A Sarist mage. Commander of Prince Wierolf’s magical army.

Sar
: Goddess of magic and dreams. Twin sister to Marau. Her symbol is the seven-pointed star.

Sarist
: Term used to denote magic users and/or worshippers of Sar. Also a supporter of Prince Wierolf’s rebellion against King Bardolph. Not all Sarists are magical, but it is widely believed
that everyone with magic must be a Sarist. In general, Sarists support a legalization of magic.

Seventh Circle
: Poor district in Gerse. Digger’s neighborhood.

Silver
:
Tsairn
in Llyvrin. An elemental metal that cloaks magic.

Talanca
: Nation to Llyvraneth’s south.

Taradyce, Raffin
: Acolyte Guardsman. Nobleman from Gerse. Best friend of Durrel Decath.

Tegen
: Thief in Gerse;
victim of the Inquisition. Formerly Digger’s partner and lover.
See StarCrossed.

Teina
: Sarist refugee.

Temple, the
: Tavern, inn, and theater serving as the center of worship for Tiboran in Gerse.

Temus
: Prisoner in the Keep.

Tiboran
: God of wine and theater. Twin brother to Mend-kaal. His symbol is the mask, and he has been adopted as a patron by those who must lie for a living,
most notably thieves.

Tincture of the Moon of Marau
: Poison used to kill Talth Ceid.

Tratua
: Port city on Llyvraneth’s southeast coast.

Varenzia
: Nation bordering Corlesanne. Allied with Sarists.

Vorges
: Sarist refugee.

Watch, the
: Gerse’s municipal police force. Divided into shifts (Day Watch and Night Watch).

Werne
:
See
Nebraut, Werne.

Wierolf of Hanival
: Prince
of the realm. Commander of Sarist forces. King Bardolph’s nephew; cousin to Prince Astilan.

Yeris Volbann
: Port city on Llyvraneth’s northwest coast.

Zet
: Goddess of war and the hunt. Her symbol is the arrow. Patron of the nobility.