A good scent to end a good night, and this had truly been a good night: the courier taken care of, the knights captured, Walker slain… What more could Meris ask for?
The question was answered for him when he found Greyt waiting for him in his bedchamber. The Lord Singer had not even been facing the door-he had been waiting for Meris to come out of the servant's quarters.
'A productive morning, son?' asked Greyt.
Meris swore inwardly. Apparently, he was not the only one who knew about the third secret passage. 'Yes,' he said. 'I've killed Walker-oh, I forgot his head. It's buried in the Moonwood somewhere. But I've brought you three other presents, who wait down below.'
The Lord Singer was pleased, but Meris hardly noticed.
'As for me,' said the scout. 'It's time for a bath.'
The tub had been filled, as ordered, and steam rose from its surface. Meris stripped off his breeches, heedless of his bare body, and picked up a towel from the dresser.
'Not as such, I'm afraid,' Greyt said.
'Excuse me, father? I don't think I heard you correctly,' Meris said dismissively as he tested the water with his finger. It was nice and warm.
'I wouldn't do that,' said Greyt with a wave of his hand.
'Do what?' He clutched the edges of the tub and jumped into the water.
Or rather, Meris jumped onto the water with a painful thud and immediately clutched at his smarting bottom. His flesh was cold where it touched the water, water that was now ice.
'Impressive, father,' spat Meris as he snatched up the towel to gird himself.
'There are consequences when you ignore me,' Greyt said with ice in his voice.
'I never thought you much of a wizard, father,' said Meris. 'It seems you've abandoned the man's sword for the little boy's Art.'
'How little you know,' replied Greyt. 'In fact, the tub is not my doing.' Meris raised an eyebrow, now curious. 'I would not have shown you this-yet, any way-but I have run out of time and it has become necessary. Talthaliel!'
A cloaked and cowled figure stepped out of thin air beside Greyt. Meris gave a shout and reached for the discarded shatterspike, but he found the handle burning hot to the touch. Cursing, he let the blade lie and turned to face his father and the mage.
'Rest easy, Wayfarer,' said the cloaked figure. Talthaliel stood tall and gaunt, even for a moon elf. 'The time has not yet come for violence.'
'A secret wizard, father?' Meris asked, the approbation in his voice mocking. 'I never would have guessed.' Privately, he thought about all the mysteries that explained.
'You have your secrets, I have mine,' Greyt said. 'And now let me share another secret, which is neither of ours. A second courier has been dispatched, who rode from Oak House. She left not long ago and cannot be far yet. I knew the druids could not be trusted.' He growled under his breath. 'Unddreth sent this message, but don't worry-I dispatched Bilgren and six of my best rangers to handle the good Captain.'
'And what does any of this have to do with me?' asked Meris, though he already knew the answer.
'Talthaliel will transport you by magic to the edge of the forest, where you will intercept this courier at all costs,' said Greyt. 'My spies report that she carries a document damning and condemning me as the source of the murders and attacks.'
'That's not true, is it?' Meris could not resist.
The Lord Singer growled. 'Of course not, but there are certain other activities we do not want Stonar or the Silver Marches investigating, right?'
Meris shrugged. 'Do your own dirty work for a change, old man,' he said. He wiped at his eyes. 'I have spent a day and a night running errands for you-I'm tired. Send another.'
'No one else can be… trusted with this,' said Greyt.
He was hiding something, which made Meris more wary.
'Your pet wizard then,' snapped Meris. He had expected to see Talthaliel bristle at the insult, but all he could see on the moon elf's face was resignation.
'I… cannot,' Greyt replied, shooting Talthaliel a look.
'Why 'cannot?'' pressed Meris.
Greyt stared at him for a long moment, perhaps fighting the urge to lash out, perhaps worried. Had Meris just found a sensitive point? The dusky scout filed the emotional response away for future use.
'Go yourself, then,' Meris said. 'Or must the high-and-honored hero Dharan Greyt, Lord Singer of Quaervarr, keep his yarting fingers dry of blood?'
Greyt took a step toward Meris as though to strike but stopped, as though realizing something. The Lord Singer took a moment to compose himself, then stared murder at Meris.
'You are my pup. You do as I command,' snapped the Lord Singer. 'You leave shortly. Ready your gear.' He waved and Talthaliel disappeared. Greyt opened Meris's door to leave. 'For now, I shall go open those presents you brought me.'
'Careful not to open them too much,' said Meris, his tone evoking a wince from Greyt. 'Leave some of the fun for me.'
The first sensation she knew was shivering chill. It was dark and bitterly cold, and she found that she was too weak even to huddle into a ball. Manacles encircled her ankles and held her wrists behind her back. Her throat was parched. She could see nothing but blackness. In the distance, she heard something dripping. She hoped it was only water.
Arya found that her captors had stripped her armor and left her in a torn tunic and breeches. Fortunately, she was not damaged beyond rough handling, and for that Arya thanked Torm and Tymora. With her toe, she felt along the wall until she had traced a rough mental sketch of her enclosure. Small and cramped, the room possessed only one entrance: a cell door with thick bars.
A dungeon cell, then.
Ignoring the wet, slipperiness of the stone floor, Arya sat and waited.
Then, after a long time-she couldn't see the sun, but it felt like half a day-Arya heard a door open with a long, rusty rattle. It slammed shut a moment later. Arya flinched at the bang and her head exploded in sharp aches. An involuntary gasp escaped her lips.
There were footsteps in the dark, and she became aware of a tiny spot of light slowly approaching as though down a long hallway. Arya had no choice but to stay still and try not to suffer any more pain until the light arrived.
When it finally did, she looked up to see a dim lantern held by a gaunt man in Greyt family livery. Arya's heart fell further when the man swung the lantern a little to the side and illuminated another familiar face, this one wearing a cruel smile.
'Ah, my darling niece,' Lord Greyt said. He turned to the lantern holder. 'This is the one, Claudir.' He took the lantern and waved the steward away. Claudir padded off. If the butler felt any unease about wandering back through the lightless tunnels, he did not express it.
Arya scooted away from the cell door as Greyt opened it. She huddled back into the farthest corner of her cell, ignoring the damp and sticky feel of the wall behind her. She tried to scream at him to leave her alone, but her tongue felt thick and dry. Instead, she extended her feet to ward him off, though she realized she probably could not have injured him with a kick in her weakened state.
'Now, now,' said Greyt. 'What kind of monster do you take me for? You are my niece, after all.' He reached into the folds of his robes and Arya's eyes widened. Then, to her vast relief, Greyt withdrew a skin and uncorked it. He held it out to her.
Arya looked at him suspiciously, but Greyt only smiled. Hesitantly, she edged closer to him, keeping her eyes locked on his face. When he had not moved, she brought herself into a kneeling position and looked up. He tipped the waterskin and cool water rushed into Arya's mouth. She drank frantically. To her parched throat, it tasted like the nectar of the gods. She could not catch all the water and a great deal splashed over her dusty face and
