Exile's Valor

Ylsa laughed. “You’re a Herald. You are volunteering to spy in the worst parts of Haven, dear. That’s not exactly anything I see sane people queuing up to do.”

Keren made a face. But she didn’t argue.

“So. There it is. Can you act a part?” Alberich asked. “Can you act those parts?”

Keren scratched one eyebrow thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure I can, at least, as long as you don’t expect me to bed anybody. Not for days and weeks at a time, but then, you aren’t going to want that, I suppose.”

“No,” he agreed. “If it must come to days and weeks, another solution sought must be. Not you nor I can be spared our assigned duties. A few hours at most, is what we will need. And no—if the whore you play, it is my whore you will be.”

“For a few hours, I can manage anything,” Keren decreed. “I suppose I could even manage pretending to be a lady.”

“I’d pay money to see that!” Ylsa chortled.

“If it is a lady I need, to Talamir I should take myself,” Alberich told them both. “Better to find one within the Court who is a friend—and I assume that he has more than one such already.”

“Probably,” Ylsa agreed, and Keren nodded. “There are highborn Heralds, too— probably no one would tell them anything directly, and since everyone would know they were Heralds, they’d be useless as spies, but people do gossip, and gossip alone might be worth something.”

So, there it was. He had agreement, not only from Keren, but from her partner—which basically meant that Ylsa agreed not to interfere. He felt a little of the weight lift from his shoulders. “Well, then, I thank you both.” He stood up, and motioned them both to remain seated. “I shall myself let out. Not soon will this be—nothing have I that needs a female, at the moment.”

“Better to have the gaff in your hand before you try to land the sturgeon,” Keren observed. “Take me with you a time or two when you’ve not got something on the boil, and I can get used to playing your doxy.”

“I shall,” he promised, and let himself out of their somewhat cramped quarters. They shared a room meant for one—well, it probably wasn’t as crowded as it could have been, since both of them tended to keep personal possessions at a minimum and Ylsa was often away. But it felt very claustrophobic to him.

All things considered, he wasn’t unhappy about being down in the salle. If he wanted or needed more room, he could just add on, as apparently generations of Weaponsmasters had done before him. Quarters in the Heralds’ Wing were best described as “tight” by his current standards, and he wasn’t at all certain he would care to have neighbors on either side of his walls either.

That went very well, he decided, and knew that it could have turned out a flat failure. Keren might not have been interested—Ylsa might well have objected. And Keren’s suggestion of going about in persona when there was nothing particularly that he needed to do was an excellent one. It would establish her personae and allow him to correct her, if need be, at a time and place where breaks in the particular persona would not be dangerous. Better to clear all that up before it could be fatal. Prowling the slums when there was nothing in particular he was watching for could be tedious at times; at least with Keren along, it might be less tedious. And having her with him when he changed into one of his varied costumes would also be useful. She could double-check the face paint he wore to cover his scars. The stuff was a damned nuisance; it had to be peeled off when he was done with it, and in hot weather it itched, but it was the only way he could keep from being recognized.

He’d better warn her about the food and drink in The Broken Arms, though, before they entered what passed for its door. There were some things even Keren’s famously iron stomach could not digest safely.

Perhaps I should lure those whom I suspect there, and buy them meals. After a single bite I would have the truth out of them in no time.

***

Selenay chased the last of her servants out and closed the door to her bedchamber, even though she hadn’t the least intention of going to sleep. It had been a long day, and unfortunately, it had also been a very dull one. It had not helped that every moment of it, she had been poignantly aware that just outside the Palace walls, virtually every creature of Court and Collegia—with the possible exceptions of the two scamps who’d broken the salle mirror—was taking the time to have some winter fun in the heavy snow. Even the oldest of codgers was out there, standing by one of the braziers, watching the younger folk skate or stage snowball fights. It made her feel very forlorn.

It had also made her miss her father very much. Sendar had loved the winter; had he still been alive, he’d not only have chased her out to play, he’d have contrived a way to join her. At night, during a full moon, he’d have huge bonfires in the gardens, and serve ice wine to the skaters. He was always the first one to inaugurate a sled run, and, as he said so often, “Royal dignity be damned.”

She bundled up in a fur-lined robe over her nightdress, and took a book to the window seat in her bedroom, though she had no intention of reading it. Instead, she rubbed a clear patch through the frost on a windowpane with her sleeve, and looked out over the gardens.