Starcrossed (37 page)

Lyll didn’t believe me, I could tell that immediately. But she nodded anyway. “He’s been restless all day. Maybe you can calm him down, convince him to sleep.”

Relief surged through me, though I found a little space to reflect that that was probably the wrong reaction. “I’ll try, milady,” I said. “Would you like me to use force or persuasion?”

Lady Lyll cracked a smile. “At your discretion.”

Since I was now supposed to be on my way toward the stillroom and the prince, I had to turn around and walk with Lady Lyll, leaving Meri behind on the stairs and hoping she hadn’t overheard that little exchange. “Where are you off to at this hour, milady? If I may ask.”

Lyll consulted the timepiece she wore on her girdle, and sighed. “There’s some castle business I must attend to,” she said. “We’ve not heard back from the messenger we sent down the mountain several days ago, and he is overdue.”

I felt a stab of worry. “Berdal? What do you think happened to him?”

Her expression softened. “Probably just got caught by some bad weather. But we were hoping he’d bring news we’ve been expecting for several weeks now.”

“What sort of news?”

“Word from the Crown, regarding the representative we hope they’re sending for Meri’s
kernja-velde
. Nothing serious, but we thought we’d send someone after him, just to make sure. Lord Antoch and Lord Daul are going to ride out in the morning.”

“Together?” The word squeaked out of me.

She frowned. “Of course. Celyn, what’s the matter?”

I shook my head — what was I supposed to say? Don’t let Antoch ride off alone with Daul? They’d been alone together every day for weeks. If Daul was planning on throwing Antoch off a mountain, he’d had ample opportunities before.

But Antoch hadn’t ever confessed to treachery before.

“Isn’t it dangerous on the roads? With the — bandits?”

“They’ll have guards. And I expect they’ll bring back some good game, as well. They’ve spotted some wild sheep on the hills below us. We’ll have mutton stew next week!”

Now. Now is the moment to tell her.
“But Daul never goes hunting,” is what made it past my lips. Lady Lyll just gave a little chuckle and kept walking, while I hoped desperately that whatever guards Antoch brought with him wouldn’t turn on him if Daul suddenly shouted, “He’s the Traitor of Kalorjn!” into the windswept air.

We’d reached the Lesser Court doors, and Lady Lyll took her leave and went inside, followed soon after by Lord Wellyth, who gave me a brief, stately bow. I lingered, suddenly suspicious. Why would Lord Wellyth care who was coming for Meri’s
kernja-velde
?

“What’s going on?” Meri slipped up beside me, and I jumped. Blast — I
was
getting soft. She never would have gotten the jump on me in Gerse.

I edged to the side to let Meri peek through the crack in the doors with me. “Some kind of meeting,” I said.

“They’ve been having a lot of those. Usually after we meet with the suitors in the afternoons — Mother makes me leave, and the others come in, and they talk there for hours.”

“The others?”

“Everyone — Lord Wellyth, and the Cardom, Lord Sposa . . .”

“I want to hear what they’re saying.” Through the gap in the doors, I tried to see a place to sneak in and conceal myself. Was there a back entrance to the Lesser Court? I couldn’t remember.

“We could try the gallery,” Meri suggested. “The minstrels’ gallery for the Round Court backs onto the Lesser Court, and there’s a grille, so the people in the Lesser Court can hear the music.”

I turned and stared at her. She was grinning. “Mother made Phandre and me polish it one day. I don’t remember where you were.”

I tossed up my hands. “Lead the way.”

Tucked behind the musicians’ seats was a fretwork panel that screened us from view but let us hear every thing from the Lesser Court with perfect clarity. Listening to the shift of bodies and voices inside, I guessed there were five or six people there besides Lyll. Meri crouched beside me, trying to peer through the gaps in the grille.

“I can’t see anything,” she said. “Just a lot of chair backs.”

“Just listen,” I whispered.

“Lord Wellyth,” said a warm voice I had no trouble identifying as Lady Lyll’s. “If you’ll remind us all where we left off last time?”

“Certainly, my lady.” I heard a rustle of papers, a cough, and then Lord Wellyth’s thin, reedy voice. “We had settled on the restoration of properties and council seats to exiled families, and on the relief of the Heresy Tax levied against those families — but we were still disagreed on the matters of liberation of lands claimed by the church —”

“The
Celyst
church,” somebody put in.

Meri turned to me, her brows pulled together. I shook my head and turned back to the grille.

Another reedy cough. “Yes, well, as I was saying: liberation of lands claimed by the church in the last twelve years.”

A chair squeaked angrily. “Since the Edict of Crenns? That’s nothing! We must demand back
all
the lands the Celysts have taken since Bardolph took the throne!”

“And you know he’ll never agree to that.” That might have been Lord Cardom.

“Let him refuse. We’re ready. The timing couldn’t be more perfect, not with Bardolph sending Astilan to bully Corlesanne —”

Lady Lyll broke in. “We’re not ready,” she said, speaking low. “This is the path we agreed on. It will take at least another seven months to pull together enough resources for a military operation.”

“Then the first thing we must address is that intolerable concession barring us from rearming.” That was a woman’s voice, and it sounded familiar — Lady Cardom, perhaps?

“And that will be the first thing they look for. What do you think Bardolph will do the moment you ask to put a couple cannons on those warships you build?” I definitely knew that voice: Eptin Cwalo.

“We might as well roll over and capitulate, to take your position!” cried another man. Lord Sposa, I thought.

“Gentlemen! Play nicely or go home.” Lyll’s voice was light but firm. Amid some squeaks and mutterings, there were reluctant grumbles of assent. “Good,” said Lyll. “Lord Petr, please continue.”

The debate went on, Meri and I listening as they hashed out the finer points of King Bardolph’s offenses against the people of Llyvraneth, and the actions by which His Majesty might avoid an armed uprising of his subjects.

“It sounds like some kind of charter of grievances,” I said. “They probably mean to present it to whoever the king sends to Bryn Shaer.”

“Mother said they’re not ready to go to war. But we saw all that artillery, which means —”

I nodded. “They don’t think the king will agree to any of their demands.”

Snow fell thickly as Daul, Antoch, and a handful of guards rode off the next morning, burying their tracks and obscuring their path down the mountain. I stood on the tower walk and watched them go, and within moments they were lost in a swirl of white.

Lyll swept us into a flurry of prep ara tions for the
kernja-velde,
a mere two weeks away now: final fittings for Meri’s gown, elaborate rehearsals of the ritual, and endless yardage of embroidery for the ceremony. Meri had formed quite an attachment to Marlytt, who instructed her on every thing from dance steps and hairstyles to — I suspected — how best to comport her affair with Stagne. Not that I thought Meri would actually be so foolish as to
tell
Marlytt she was secretly seeing a Sarist magician behind her parents’ backs, but if I were a young girl in need of romantic advice, I knew the one person at Bryn Shaer I would turn to.

When I wasn’t pinning up hems or sampling delicacies for Yselle in the kitchens, I was keeping the prince company. Lady Lyll had con sented to a small carving knife, and Wierolf whittled halfheartedly at a lump of wood that might have been on its way to becoming a cow. I could tell he was restless, though, so to keep him from overexerting himself before his wounds were ready for sparring, I dragged a plank of wood in from the kennels, and we took turns using the knife for throwing practice. Wierolf etched a circle in the center of the board for a target. My aim was almost pathologically bad, but with the prince’s coaching, I was improving. I could actually hit the wood, blade first, almost every time.

It all kept me busy enough to — mostly — take my mind off of Daul and Antoch and the missing Berdal. I did make one last, fruitless search of Lord Antoch’s rooms, hoping for evidence that would prove he was or was not the Traitor. But aside from a curious door hidden behind his bed, which appeared to lead nowhere interesting, there was still nothing incriminating among his belongings.

More than anything, my fingers were itching to get inside Daul’s rooms and rifle through them. I was determined to find out what he was hiding behind that charmed lock. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it, and the more I resigned myself to the fact that there was only one way to get in there that I hadn’t tried yet. I was going to have to go in from the
outside
— up or down the side of the building.

And directly below Daul’s rooms, by some stroke of Tiboran’s genius, were the rooms occupied by Lady Lyll. Rooms I was already well familiar with.

Opportunity came when Lyll and Meri were in the kitchens one morning, working with Yselle on Meri’s birthday menu. Last night’s snow should keep everyone safely tucked into the warmer rooms at the center of the castle, and no one would be wandering the statue garden at this hour.

Letting myself into Lyll’s rooms took no effort at all, and I crossed to the leaded windows. Everything was white and brilliant outside, making it hard to judge the distance to the ground. I put a hand to the latch and cracked the casement open. A whip of icy air snapped through the gap and a dusting of snow scattered off the sill and into nothingness below.

I poked my head out the window, squinting against the sting of cold air. Daul’s windows were exactly above the ones I stood at; I’d just climb up, trip the latch with my knife, and slip inside.

If the icy wind didn’t knock me off the side of the building.

I pulled my head back in and made a check of myself. My kirtle was a sturdy, ser viceable wool, and I had tucked the skirts high into my belt; they shouldn’t pose much of a problem. The elaborate stonework had lots of hand- and toeholds. And there was no need to climb back down again; I’d just let myself out into the hallway on the third floor, shake out my skirts, and breeze down the corridor. I slipped Durrel’s knife into my belt, held in place by a ball of skirt beneath it.

I hopped up to sit on the windowsill, nothing but cold behind me, and pulled my stockinged legs up onto the ledge, one after the other. Holding tightly to the window frame, I eased myself to standing.

Gods — that wind! It knocked the breath out of me and the sight from my eyes. I pressed my cheek against the rough stones until the blast of ice slackened, then cracked an eye open to judge my next move. Grasping a jutting brick tightly with out-of-practice fingers, I hauled myself up.

Gloves. Why hadn’t I thought of
gloves
? The stones were rough and freezing; it was a good thing I only had to go one floor up — my fingers would be numb (and useless) before too long. I stretched my right leg up and found the top of the window frame. Pushing off, I grabbed a stone above, and straightened.

Close the window.
I reached down with one cautious toe and gave the window a tap. It swung wide and almost caught; a little breeze might sneak in, but whoever found it would think only that it had come loose in the wind. Muscles stiff with cold and disuse, I made my way up the side of the Lodge, my hair whipping in icy strands against my eyes. Next time I’d wear a better hat.

Finally I felt my fingers close on the window ledge above, and pulled myself up until my chin was level with the sill. The wavery glass was inconveniently draped with heavy dark curtains, and I could see nothing inside. I held fast to the sill and twisted an arm behind my back to liberate my knife, then slid the blade between the two glass panes. It caught the catch easily, flipping it open. With the blade clamped between my teeth, I eased my fingers beneath one pane and tugged it toward me. Ducking as it swung overhead, I waited a moment, then spit my knife out into the room. I didn’t hear it land — either the howling wind or a cushion of Corles rug muffled the sound.