Once they were in the servants’ corridor, Aven stripped off the white smock he had been wearing, revealing his guard uniform underneath. His bow was absent, but there was a short sword strapped to his left hip and a stout dagger on his right. His blue tunic and black trousers were perfectly clean, and his black boots gleamed in the light from the lanterns hanging from the wall.
“It seems that life as a member of the city guard suits you,” Relam commented.
Aven nodded. “Yes. It’s given me purpose and opportunity. I train with the guard three times a week in the mornings. I spend the two days in between training with Master Agath.”
“How is that going?”
“Slow,” Aven said wryly. “I’m a bit behind the others my age. But I’m catching up.”
“Fought any practice bouts yet?”
“No, that’s reserved for upper level classes, cadets getting ready to graduate in a year or two.” Aven bundled the white kitchen uniform under one arm and straightened his hair with his free hand. “Master Agath is tough, but fair. He doesn’t tolerate laziness or sloppy work. I’m learning a lot from him.”
“I’m glad it worked out,” Relam replied, stepping to the side as a cart hurtled past. “What do your parents think of all of this?”
“They’re fine with it,” Aven said, shrugging. “It pays better than just being a servant and Master Agath is training me for free thanks to your request. We’ve moved into a couple rooms over a shop on the River Road, not far from the Citadel.”
“Really?” Relam asked, surprised. “I didn’t realize you were making that much.”
“I’m not,” Aven said, laughing. “My parents are doing better though. My father is working with a blacksmith now instead of cleaning the streets. He was always fascinated with smithies you know. And my mother is still doing laundry but now that we’re more centrally located her business is picking up steadily.”
“That’s great,” Relam said quietly. He was happy for Aven, and glad he had played some small part in the dramatic changes in the boy’s life.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Aven said, shrugging again. It was becoming a favorite expression with him. “Beats living over a stable, that’s for sure.”
They walked in silence for a moment. “How is your mother?” Aven finally asked.
Relam sighed. “Not well. She’s getting weaker all the time. The healers fear . . .” he trailed off, not wanting to voice what his father had told him, lest that fear become true.
Aven winced and looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know. It’s just - what’s that?”
“What?” Relam asked, still walking.
“Stop moving,” Aven hissed.
Relam froze, one foot suspended in midair.
“Listen,” the boy urged.
Relam did as Aven commanded and listened, slowly lowering his foot to the ground. He could hear a vehement hissing noise, accompanied by a low murmur. It was coming from a cross corridor up ahead.
“Quietly,” Relam muttered, signaling for Aven to follow. Slowly, they made their way to the place where the hallways intersected.
The hallway crossing the corridor was another servants’ passage, one that Relam was unfamiliar with. It was a little wider than the average path, but not as wide as the thoroughfare between the kitchens and banquet hall.
“Where does this lead?” he asked Aven in a hushed tone.
“Around the banquet hall, to the servants’ entrance on the far side,” Aven whispered, gripping the hilt of his dagger. “It’s not used for anything except to deliver food at the start of the feast. All the carts line up here and in the main corridor, then are wheeled out from both entrances to serve. It’s not used for clean up because it goes so far out of the way.”
“Then who is using it now?” Relam wondered, peering down the hall to where it rounded a distant corner.
“One way to find out,” Aven said, looking around warily.
“Follow me,” Relam instructed. “But be absolutely silent until we see what we are dealing with.”
Aven drew his dagger without a sound and nodded once. Relam flashed a grin, then began creeping along the corridor, listening to the hissing and murmuring, trying to identify individual words. Finally, they reached the corner and stopped, pressing themselves against the rough stone wall, by one of the lanterns spaced at regular intervals.
“The next part of the corridor runs right up to the doors of the banquet hall,” Aven breathed to Relam. “We can’t go any farther without being seen.”
Relam nodded wordlessly, then tilted his head, listening. The two voices were growing louder, and he could make out individual words now.
“You promised me this would be done months ago!” a voice hissed menacingly.
“As I have told you, the target is remarkably resilient,” a silky voice murmured in reply. “But I assure you, we will succeed.”
“Your assurances have wasted months of my time.”
“Not intentionally.”
“And still no results!”
“We tried again very recently. If this attempt fails as well, we will try something a little stronger.” The murmuring voice paused. “Are you absolutely sure this is necessary?”
“Yes,” the first voice hissed. “I am positive. Her death will cripple him, make him an easy target.”
“A masterful and devious plan-”
“No thanks to your bungling.”
“Bungling? Bungling?” the murmuring voice rose abruptly in volume and pitch. “I am taking all of the risk here, my lord. If I am caught, it is no problem for you since you are working in the shadows.”
