Shadowmarch

silent sigh of relief. She crept to the edge of the cross-passage and saw a short, stocky shape turn into Luian’s chambers. It took her a moment to realize who had just passed.

From the room, Luian let out a shriek of startled fright. Qinnitan could not help taking a few instinctive steps toward one who had been her friend and was now in danger, then her better judgment stopped her.

Tanyssa’s voice was hoarse, as though the gardener herself was a bit frightened, too, but there was also a note of triumph in it. “Favored Luian of the Royal Seclusion, I am here as the hand of God. You have betrayed your sacred trust. You have betrayed the Master of the Great Tent.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

“There is no argument,” said the gardener. “The Golden One has put his seal on it.”

Luian’s squeal of alarm suddenly turned into a loud grunting, a noise so horrid that for the first moments Qinnitan couldn’t even imagine it coming from a person.

“You… are for… the worms.” Tanyssa, breathing hard, spoke in almost ordinary tones now—Qinnitan could barely hear her, although she stood trembling only a pace or two from Luian’s doorway —but there was clear hatred in the voice. “You fat, meddling bitch.” The grunting turned to a choking hiss, then Qinnitan heard only the drumlike thumping of flesh on the stone, heels or hands beating helplessly until they too fell silent.

Her bones turned to leaden bars by terror, Qinnitan could scarcely move. She stumbled to the shadowed cross-corridor and looked back to see the hangings on Luian’s door billow outward. Her head was pounding. She pushed her face against the wall, burrowed into the space where the tapestry hung a little away from the cool stone, and prayed. The footsteps went past more slowly this time, so slowly that it was all Qinnitan could do to keep her face turned into the wall, to stand unmoving. Whether because of the darkness of the passageway or because her mind was taken up with what she had just done, the gardener who was also an executioner did not pause or even slow but walked on down the corridor. Qinnitan listened until she could no longer hear the footfalls.

She wanted to weep, but she felt as though some terrible cold fire had swept through her and evaporated every tear. Even her mouth was parched. Where could she go? What could she do?

She stood in the passageway only a few moments, stepping from foot to foot in an agony of indecision. Was Luian only the first of Tanyssa’s tasks? Was she even now on her way to Qinnitan’s chamber?

I can’t go back there. But where can I go? Where can I hide? She thought for a moment of the little room off the Scented Garden that Jeddin had used for their assignation, then realized with a lurch of fear that such a place must now be infamous to the autarch’s lieutenants. In fact, there was nowhere she could hide, nowhere at all. They will turn the whole palace over like a jewelry box to shake me out.

The only faint hope she had was to get out of the Seclusion. But how? How in the name of the Hive could she hope to get out past guards who would undoubtedly be looking for her?

Jeddin’s seal ring! She reached into her sleeve and found it and its chain, still in the secret pocket she had sewn there. A premonition—that, and the knowledge that there was no privacy for anyone within the Seclusion—had kept her from leaving it hidden in her chamber. But what good will it do me? Even if by some tiny chance they are not looking to execute me, too, even if my name has been kept from them, trying to pass the gate with a forged message from Jeddin would catch their attention for sure.

Now the tears finally came, hot tears of helplessness that burned against her cheeks. Could she believe that Jeddin had given up Luian but had kept silent about Qinnitan herself? No. The chance was so small as to be invisible.

You can’t stand here weeping! she told herself. Stupid girl! Get out of the hallway! Hide! But where could she go? She was in the middle of the autarch’s own palace and now she was his enemy. The most powerful man in the world wanted her dead, and that death was not likely to be either quick or painless.

Poison, the terror of the Seclusion, suddenly seemed a blessing. If she had possessed any, Qinnitan would have drunk it then.

36. At the Giant’s Feet

BLACK SPEAR:

He is smeared with blood and fat

He is fire in the air

He is called “One Rib” and “Flower of the Sun’

—from The Bonefall Oracles

“I am impressed,” Tinwright said as he looked down from their high perch and across the choppy water. The narrow reach of Brenn’s Bay between the castle and the mainland city teemed with small watercraft, strange in such unsettled weather but not surprising in such an unsettled time: now that the causeway had been dismantled all those who would travel between city and keep had to do so by boat, braving the high, whitecapped waves. “I did not think anyone but the royal household were allowed into the Towers of the Seasons.”

“I am part of the royal household.” Puzzle drew himself up to his full height, but couldn’t stay unbent very long; after a moment he rounded his shoulders and let his head nod forward again. “I am the king’s jester, you know. And when Olin comes back, I will be in good odor once more.”

If such a day ever comes. Matty Tinwright couldn’t help feeling sorry for the old fellow who had lost favor, but he knew he would be no different. When the royal family reached out to touch you, it was like air to a drowning man—anyone with a bit of ambition would tread water forever in hopes of continuing to breathe that air, scorning any other.

And look at me, he thought then. Look how far I have come since I tasted that air —how high! It was far more than poetic metaphor. He stood on a balcony of the Tower of Winter with nearly all of Southmarch below him, only the black stones of Wolfstooth Spire looming at his back like a stern parent. A month ago I was in the mire. He watched the overloaded boats being pushed back from the Winterside water gate by soldiers, heard the faint sound of people pleading, children crying.I would have been begging for sanctuary like the rest of them. Instead, I am assured my place. I am fed and housed by the Eddons —by the word of Princess Briony herself. Ah, the gods, and most specially Zosim, Patron of Poets, have smiled on me.

Still, he couldn’t help wishing the gods would do something about the war that had brought so many frightened souls into the castle that Tin-wright now found himself sharing his bed in shifts again, just as in his days at the Quiller’s Mint. For a moment he felt a twinge of real fear.

It could not be that the gods have some plan to trick me, could it? That they have brought me to this high estate only to let me die at the hands of warlocks and fames… ? He shook his head. The gloomy day had put foul thoughts in his mind. Briony Eddon herself elevated me, defends me. She recognizes my art and has brought me under her mantle. And everyone knows this castle will never be taken by siege —the ocean will defend it just as the princess regent protects me.

Dark thoughts banished,Tinwright took a long swallow of the wine and then passed the heavy jug to Puzzle, who had to hold it with both hands, trembling with the effort as he lifted it to his lips. The thin jester swayed a little, like a sapling.

“It’s a good thing you’re holding that,” Tinwnght told him. “The wind is growing fierce.”

“Good, that.” The old man wiped his lips. “Wine, I mean. Warms a man up. Now, sir, I did not call you up here merely to admire the view, although it is very fine. I need your help.”

Tinwright raised an eyebrow. “My help?”