Before Thero could even bow, he said softly, “Phoria is dead, isn’t she?”
“You’ve had word?”
But the prince shook his head. “We shared a womb, and a lifetime. I’m told it’s common with twins-to know.” He sat back in his chair and looked at Thero. “The war is lost?”
“No, Highness, it’s won. I’ve had word from Klia herself.
Queen Phoria drove the Plenimarans to their border, then fell on the brink of victory. Princess Klia finished the task.”
“Thank Sakor for that, at least! Is there any suggestion that Phoria’s death was connected to your cabals?”
“None that I know of yet, Highness.”
“Then let it rest. Reltheus and the others have been convicted of conspiracy against the realm and banished.” He sighed. “I suppose we should have a drink. Sit with me, please.”
Impatient as he was to return to Seregil and the others, Thero could not refuse, and not just because of their difference in rank. It was a bittersweet victory for Korathan.
The prince filled his own cup, then pushed the bottle across to Thero. “To Phoria. Astellus carry her softly.”
“To Queen Phoria.” Thero raised the bottle and took a small sip; he had work ahead of him tonight, hopefully.
Korathan raised his cup again. “The queen is dead. Long live the queen!”
“Queen Elani, the Four protect her.”
They drank again.
“And to victory,” Korathan rasped, and Thero could tell the prince had started drinking long before he’d arrived.
“To victory, thank the Flame.”
They sat in silence for a moment, then Korathan cleared his throat and asked, “Phoria- She died well?”
“Yes, Highness, in the thick of battle. Klia said she’d tell you the rest when she returns. She sails tomorrow, bringing the queen’s body and the Sword of Gherilain back to the city.”
“A wise woman, my little sister. This should put an end to any further rumors.” He took another sip. “Between you and me, Thero, I know Elani will make a fine queen, but Klia would have made a great one.”
“She doesn’t want the crown. She’s said so a number of times. She loves soldiering.”
Korathan let out a mirthless laugh. “As do I. Here’s to choosing one’s own path. To Klia.”
“To Princess Klia.”
Silence fell again, and again it was Korathan who broke it.
“You and the others have served Skala well, even when ordered not to.”
“As loyal Skalans-” Thero began, but Korathan shook his head.
“I’m not a stupid man, Thero. The Watchers serve more than just queen and country.”
“But never are those in opposition, Highness.”
“Never?”
“I can only speak for myself, and for Nysander when I knew him, but no. Never.”
“I haven’t told Elani about you yet. What do you think I should do?”
Thero considered this seriously; for one fragile moment they were, if not peers, then two men who held the safety of the nation in their hands. At last he replied, “When the time is right you should tell her, in any way you like.”
Korathan raised an eyebrow. “When the time is right? When will that be?”
“When we are needed.”
“I see. Yes. Well, thank you for bringing word to me.” His face remained a calm mask as Thero rose to go, but the lightest of touches across the prince’s mind revealed a bottomless well of grief.
Thero felt strangely guilty at leaving the man alone, but he’d clearly been dismissed so that Korathan could grieve in private.
As soon as Thero was gone, Seregil gave the signal to Micum to move out. The man disappeared down the shadowy street, only to reappear at the front of the house in time to intercept the watchman and engage him in conversation. Seregil couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the other man appeared glad of a break in the night’s boredom.
Seregil and Alec stole to the back of the house. The back door let into a kitchen, as with most houses, and there were three windows, two to the left of the kitchen door, and one to the right. No light showed there.
The one on the right appeared to let into a dining room and was easily shimmed open. Silent as shadows, they slipped
inside, then Seregil crept to the kitchen doorway; there were no signs of any additional servants.
All the same, they remained cautious as they investigated the room on the far side of the kitchen-a bedroom with two narrow beds and clothing thrown about that spoke of the twins. There were several jewel boxes, but none of the pieces were labeled and without Thero, there was no way of knowing if there was any magic in the room. Instead they had to make a quick and thorough search, but found nothing hidden away or suspicious.
What should have been the main salon at the front of the house was nearly bare except for a few plain chairs and empty crates, and a mattress on the floor. A rack of wooden practice swords stood against the wall.
They found more jewel boxes in another bedroom beyond, which appeared to belong to Zell and Leea, but their takings had been modest. Another frustrating search found nothing of interest. Time was passing too quickly.
“If Thero hadn’t gone haring off, we’d be done by now,” Seregil muttered as they started up the stairs to the second floor.
“It must have been important,” Alec whispered back. “I wonder why he couldn’t tell us? And why we couldn’t hear the message?”
“There are different versions of that magic. Come on.”
The bare treads creaked under their boots as they climbed the steep stairway. It sounded too loud in the empty, silent house. The floor of the upstairs corridor was bare wood, too, and a bit creaky in places. This wouldn’t be a good house to burgle if anyone was home. Seregil far preferred the dependable marble floors and thick carpets in the homes of the rich.
There were more jewels in Brader and Merina’s room, and the children’s. Merina had the largest collection in a chest on her dressing table. Once again, none of the jewels in any of the rooms were locked away with anything but ordinary locks, and none of the pieces were labeled. Seregil glanced out the window and cursed softly under his breath at the span the moon had crossed since they’d begun. As he turned to go he collided with a dark shape that grabbed at him. He was
reaching for his knife when the shape growled, “It’s me, you fool!”
“And about time, too,” Seregil whispered back. “Go downstairs and work your magic. We couldn’t find anything.”
Leaving Thero to it, Seregil and Alec came at last to what was clearly Atre’s room, the best one, at the front of the house. It was lavishly decorated, while the others were much simpler, though well furnished. Atre’s bed was as large as the one at Wheel Street, with ornately carved bedposts and sumptuous tapestry hangings. There was a tall wardrobe, several clothes chests, and an expensive mirror on the wall, as well as an ivory-backed hand mirror on the dressing table. A writing table stood under the window overlooking the street, strewn with parchments. More overflowed from a basket on the floor beside the desk, awaiting scraping to be used again.
Seregil drew the velvet drapes closed and began with the writing table, Alec with the wardrobe, working by the glow of their lightstones.
The desk yielded nothing of note, aside from pages of what looked like a new play and sketches for costumes. Seregil had to stop himself from reading too much, as what he saw was quite good. Evil though he might be, Atre was a man of considerable talents.
He moved on to the dressing table-unusual in a man’s room. It was covered with jars of cosmetics, unguents of various sorts, the hand mirror, and a casket of jewelry. He sorted through them carefully but none of these pieces were labeled, either, and Illia’s ring and Elani’s emerald brooch were not among them. But he did find two pieces he recognized: an ornate woman’s gold hairpin set with a citrine and the ring he’d given to Kylith, who had gifted it to Atre.
