kind of vengeance.”
“Never, Majesty-”
“Enough. Now, I do have some conditions to the restoration of your holdings. First, you are to have nothing more to do with my niece.”
Beka saw Danos’s fleeting look of pain as he nodded. Everyone knew of the princess royal’s favor, though Danos never boasted of it.
“Aloud, Captain,” Klia ordered.
“I swear on my honor,” Danos replied.
“My second condition is that you do not seek a place at court,” Phoria went on. “Do you swear to this, as well?”
“I do, Majesty, on my honor.”
“Very well, then. Carry on.” With that she nodded and walked away into the darkness.
“I don’t deserve her mercy,” Danos muttered, getting to his feet.
“See that you live up to it,” said Klia as she followed Phoria. “No more throwing your life away. It belongs to the queen as long as you wear that uniform.”
Beka rose and went to Danos. “I’m sorry about Elani.”
Danos said nothing, just went back to currying his horse.
CHAPTER 37. The Hunt, Interrupted
STEALING away to the inn, Seregil, Alec, and Micum prepared their disguises and headed for the slums near the Temple Precinct, where Kepi had heard of new outbreaks of the sleeping death.
“We’re not likely to hear about too many sick ones, the way people feel about the quarantine,” Seregil noted as they set off.
The Lower City and the Ring had been relatively simple to cordon off; the sprawling open neighborhoods of the Upper City were impossible, so the sick were all being moved into the Ring to be overseen by drysians. Even though Korathan had ordered that one of the pastoral sections be used, no one wanted their loved ones taken inside and the protests continued.
Seregil and Alec dressed as beggar women again, since they’d managed to pass easily in that guise. Micum wore a stained tunic and breeches he kept there for just such purposes, and Seregil’s battered hat. He hadn’t shaved since he arrived in Rhiminee and had a good start on a grey-sprinkled scruff. They attracted little attention as they walked along the Street of the Sheaf to the slums east of the Sea Market and made their way slowly through the squalid lanes and sagging tenements.
They worked all morning, and into the afternoon. Although it was safer here than in the Ring, it wasn’t necessarily safe. Micum, posing as their protector, cast a baleful eye at any who seemed overly interested in his “women.”
This area had absorbed more of the Mycenians who’d fled the war, and people in country garb sat on doorsteps and leaned out of windows.
The Dalnan temple in Wayfarer’s Street was better maintained than the one in the Lower City, but not by much. A priestess greeted them and listened with concern to Seregil’s tale of a missing child.
“It’s not like her to run off, being just a little one,” Seregil told her tearfully. “I seen her with a beggar the other day, and now I fear she’d fallen with the sleeping death somewhere, and no one to care for her. Is she here, sister?”
“We’ve only had two of the sleepers: a man and a boy,” the priestess told him. “But the bluecoats came and took them.”
Seregil clung to Micum’s arm as they made their way out and down the street. When they were well out of sight of the temple he straightened up and carefully patted his face dry with a corner of his shawl, so as not to disturb the cosmetics of his disguise.
“Just as you thought,” Alec said softly. “Now what?”
“We keep hunting,” Seregil murmured back, slipping his arm through Micum’s like a wife out with her husband.
They continued on, wandering down squalid side streets edged with offal and full of dirty children playing with whatever they could find. One had found a rusty barrel hoop and was rolling it down the street with a stick. Micum caught it as it rolled by.
“Hey, give it!” the boy cried, seizing up a stone from the muddy street and cocking his arm to throw.
Micum grinned. “Just want to ask you a question, boy. The answer’s worth a penny and your hoop back.”
The boy sidled closer, as did several of his playmates. They all had rocks.
“We’re lookin’ for raven folk,” Micum told him.
“What you want with ’em?” the boy demanded.
“What do you care? Or don’t you want my money?”
The boy lowered his arm. “Yeah, we seen ’em around. I traded one for a yellow stone, but I lost it.”
“Yellow-headed fellow on a crutch.”
“Where was this?”
“Over near the Ring wall, end of Barrow Lane.”
“Have you seen any others?” asked Alec, pulling off a reasonably feminine voice.
The boy shrugged. “There’s an old woman, and a blond-headed young feller. Seen ’em around here and there.”
“When did you last see one of them?” asked Micum.
The boy consulted with his comrades.
“I seen the woman yesterday,” one of the taller boys replied.
“And I seen the woman, over by the nail maker’s stall,” a ragged young girl put in.
“Me too, me too!” several others clamored, and Seregil guessed that most of them were lying in hopes of a penny.
Micum handed out coins all around and gave the boy back his hoop. The children darted away like a flock of dingy swallows.
“Think it was money well spent?” asked Alec as they walked on.
Seregil smiled. “At least a few of them were telling the truth. We know about the old man and old woman. And I’ve heard rumors of younger ones.”
“If your wizard woman was right, then shouldn’t the ravens be Zengati?” asked Micum. “A ‘blond-headed feller’ doesn’t sound right. And chances are at least some of the children would have seen a Zengati trader or two to know the difference.”
“You probably don’t have to be Zengati to practice Zengati magic, though,” said Alec. “So, where to first?”
“Let’s split up for a while,” Seregil replied. “I’ll go over by the Ring wall. Micum, you check out the nail maker. Alec, try the marketplace a few streets over.” He glanced up at the sinking sun. “If you find one, just follow them. I’ll meet you back here when the sun touches the rooftops. If you don’t come back, I’ll find you.”
But either all the children had been lying, or the ravens had already moved on again, for Seregil found the other two waiting for him at the appointed time, equally empty-handed.
They set off again early the following day, picking up a few hopeful reports of sightings and trades over the course of the morning, but not finding their quarry.
At noon they stopped to rest in the shade and eat their meager meal of sausage and bread. They were nearly finished when Seregil halted mid-bite, looking intent as a hound who’d gotten a scent. A tall, dark-haired swordsman was crossing the street near the end of the block.
