The Grand Design (27 page)

“And what if he is not what he claims? What if he really is one of Biagio’s assassins?”

It was an impossible question. Richius steepled his fingers, considering the possibility. “Then I am dead, I suppose. But wouldn’t I have been dead already? I mean, what Simon said makes sense, doesn’t it? He could have killed me a hundred times by now if he wanted to. And his story seems to hold together. It’s believable, at least.”

Lucyler frowned. “But do legionnaires desert?”

“Maybe,” said Richius. “Do kings?”

“So? Is that your decision, then? You will let him go?”

“I didn’t say that,” Richius corrected. “I don’t know.”

“All right,” said Lucyler, failing to hide his disappointment. “Then maybe when I return Simon Darquis will still be here. And maybe he will not.”

“Maybe.”

“This is bad business, decisions. I do not want to go to Kes. I do not want any more war in Lucel-Lor either. But I have to do what is right,” Lucyler looked away. “And so do you.”

“What if I don’t know what’s right?” Richius asked. “What then?”

“Then you make the best decision you can, and live
with the consequences.” Lucyler smiled. “Richius, let me tell you something. As a friend. May I?”

“All right.”

“You have a life here in Lucel-Lor. But you do not see it, because you are always looking over your shoulder. Someday, you will have to stop looking backward and start looking in front of you again. And you must do it before you ruin yourself.”

Richius was silent. Then he asked, “When are you leaving for Kes?”

“The day after tomorrow. Ishia needs me quickly. I told him I would come.”

Richius nodded grimly. “I have to go,” he said. “I have something to do.”

“Are you going to talk to Simon?”

Richius was almost out the door. “Sort of,” he called over his shoulder, then left the room. He walked quickly to the room where Simon was being held. It was in the castle’s eastern wing, a dreary place that had long ago been stripped of valuables to pay for the war against Nar. The halls were narrow here and darker than the castle’s other corridors. It was where the Daegog’s servants had lived, that former ruler of Lucel-Lor that had once called Falindar home. Richius found Simon’s room easily. It was the only one guarded. The warrior at the door looked bored, but he brightened a bit when he noticed Richius.

“Greetings, Kalak,” he said in Triin. “You wish to speak with the Naren?”

“Yes,” said Richius. “I want to take him somewhere. Is that all right?”

The warrior laughed. “He is your prisoner, Kalak. You may do with him as you like.” The Triin opened the door and stepped aside for Richius to enter. “Shall I come with you?” he asked.

“No,” said Richius. He peered inside the spartan room. Simon was laid out on the bed, his eyes closed. But when he heard Richius’ voice he raised his head.
“Wait here,” Richius said to the guard, then walked inside without closing the door. Simon swung his feet over the edge of the bed.

“What do you want?” he asked pointedly.

“I want to talk to you,” said Richius. “I want to show you something.”

“What?”

“Come with me,” said Richius. “Please.”

“Vantran …”

“Simon, please. Do me this favor all right? It’s important.”

He didn’t wait for Simon to rise, but instead left the chamber and proceeded down the hallway. As he’d hoped, Simon followed, albeit suspiciously. The Naren swiveled his head and surveyed the corridor, looking for a trap, but when he realized there was none he hurried up to Richius’ side.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked.

“Outside. Like I said, I want to show you something.”

The hallway spilled them into another just like it, then into Falindar’s great entrance chamber—the high-ceilinged marvel that greeted all the citadel’s visitors. The gates to the castle were open, as they always were on fair days, and autumn sunlight poured in. Richius led them outside, considering his plan. It had come to him in a flash of desperate inspiration, and now that he was outside he fretted over its soundness. Every morning Dyana walked with Shani. If it was warm outside like it was today, they would sit in the courtyard and play together, and Dyana would read from one of Tharn’s books. If Richius’ hunch was right, they would be outside right about now.

“Vantran,” probed Simon. “What is all this?”

Richius put up a hand. “Don’t talk. You’ll see in a moment.”

Simon grumbled but said no more, letting Richius lead him out into the courtyard. As always, there was
the ubiquitous milling of warriors and workers, of horses being shoed and lovers whispering in shadows. Richius went to the edge of the courtyard where it was green and the land fell off down the hillside. Among the trees he found Dyana, sitting with Shani against a rock. His wife had a book in her hands. Richius slowed his pace so that Simon could see where they were headed. The Naren whistled as he caught sight of Dyana.

“Who is that?” he asked, mesmerized.

Richius didn’t answer. He walked up to Dyana and his daughter and pointed at them both. Dyana looked up, startled.

“Richius?” she asked. She noticed Simon and her expression grew curious. “Who is this? What is wrong?”

“Simon,” said Richius desperately, “this is my wife, Dyana. And that little girl is Shani. That’s our daughter. I want you to look at them.”

“Richius, what are you doing?” Dyana asked.

“That’s my family, Simon,” Richius went on. “That’s why I’m here—why I left Nar and why I stayed behind when the war was over. Look at them. Are they not beautiful?”

“Yes,” Simon whispered. “Yes, they are.”

“They’re everything to me,” Richius said, his voice breaking. “I love them. Do you know what that means? I love them, Simon.”

“What do you want me to say?” asked Simon. He seemed desperate to leave. “Yes, they’re your family. I understand. Why are you showing them to me?”

“Because I have no choice but to trust you, and I don’t want to. I want you to see what you would be destroying if you harm them. Look!”

Dyana became indignant. “Richius, what is going on? What are you talking about?”

“This is the Naren I told you about last night, Dyana,” said Richius. “He’s the one I think might be here to kill me. Or you, or Shani. I want him to see
you both. I want him to see why I betrayed Arkus and Biagio. Are you looking, Simon?”

“Yes,” said Simon soberly. His shoulders slumped and all the cockiness had gone out of him. He offered Dyana a thin smile. “They are beautiful. You are lucky.”

“Yes.” Richius reached down and offered out his hand to Dyana, who took it hesitantly while she spied Simon. “Biagio knows how much I love this woman. He might also know about Shani; I’m not sure. Whoever you are, Simon Darquis, I need your word. Lucyler is going away in two days, and he won’t make a decision about you. He wants me to decide your fate, and I can’t do that. I don’t know who you are.”

“Richius?” said Dyana. “What are you saying?”

“Look at them, Simon,” said Richius. “Remember their faces. Then give me your promise you won’t harm them. Are you looking?”

Simon’s voice was a whisper. “Yes. I’m looking.”

“Promise me, then. Please.”

“Would you believe me if I gave it?” asked Simon softly.

“I would have to,” replied Richius. “I don’t have a choice. I can’t keep you as prisoner, and you have nowhere else to go. If you leave Falindar you’ll starve or freeze to death in the winter. Just give me your promise. I’m begging you.”

Simon’s haunted eyes moved over Dyana and Shani. To Richius he seemed distant, as though his mind was skipping back over the years of his life, blowing the dust off his past.

“You have my word,” he said. “Nothing will happen to them by my hand. I swear it.”

“Again,” Richius insisted. “Swear it again, before God.”

Simon crossed himself. “Before God, I swear it.”

And then Simon smiled at Dyana, a sincere expression that lit his solemn face. Then he turned and left
the tiny family, disappearing back into the courtyard. Richius watched him go. Dyana was tugging at his hand, insistently dragging him down next to her. He dropped listlessly to the ground as he stared after the departing Simon.

“Richius?” Dyana pressed. “What is going on?” “I don’t really know,” said Richius gently. He still did not look at her. “But don’t worry. We’ll be safe, I think.”

D
uring the endless nights of autumn, the Red Tower of Dragon’s Beak was a solitary place. The ocean breezes pounded mercilessly against the castle’s degenerating bricks, making the evening candles flicker. The warm smell of the kitchens and the hearths drew crowds of soldiers and servant boys eager to stay warm. This far north, the sun sank quickly. And Red Tower was too big for a person the size of Lorla. At night she slept alone, far from the chambers of Duke Enli, in a haunted corridor of squeaky doors and formidable drafts. Hidden under her thick blankets, Lorla would listen to the dark music of Dragon’s Beak, and would wonder about the timeless castle.

Since coming to Red Tower with Daevn, she had seen precious little of her host. The lord of the castle
was always preoccupied. At first Lorla had not minded the solitude, because she was tired from her long journey and she had all of the tower to explore. She had almost full run of the place, and she exploited the duke’s good intentions, forming polite friendships with the kitchen staff and the stable boys and getting to know her new home. The Red Tower was nothing like Duke Lokken’s castle at Goth. That one was bright and predictable. She had adored the Walled City, but Enli’s tower was a treasure trove, a maze of windy tunnels and twisting halls, of giant windows stained like rainbows and endless doors to forgotten chambers. There were artifacts of old wars, rusty weapons and mementos stacked high in cellars, dusty closets full of clothing and moths, and balconies engulfed in vines, with thorns as big as thumbs and crimson flowers that seemed oblivious to the cold. And there were books, enough to last Lorla a lifetime—yellowed tomes ripe with the scent of old leather and full of faded writings. Lorla had collected her favorites and had stacked them beside her bed. Some were in High Naren, and because she had learned a smattering of that dead language back in the labs, she was able to practice the tongue again, something she hadn’t done for months.

Lorla was looking forward to her trip to Nar City, where she hoped to visit the labs again, but Enli hadn’t spoken of her mission, and Lorla had not asked. She had learned not to be too inquisitive. That was one of her most important lessons, and her teachers had been adamant on the point. The Master had plans for her. That was all she needed to know. And the Master had entrusted Enli with her mission. She would not question the duke, for she knew he had her best interests at heart. But she missed Enli. She missed his voice and the direct way he spoke to her. The others in Red Tower weren’t like him. They were all polite and pleasant, but Lorla sensed an avoidance in them, an almost fearful quality that made her wonder about her appearance or
mannerisms. At mealtimes she would eat alone in a small chamber off the kitchens. The other children of the castle, and there was surprisingly few, ate together or with their parents, but not so with Lorla. Lady Preen brought her meals to her, and never sat down to share the food. Lorla ate her bread and soup staring out a window, with only the startling view to ease her loneliness. Lady Preen was a plump and pleasant house servant, a cook and cleaner mostly, but she was not a friend to Lorla, nor were the soldiers who constantly drilled in the courtyard or the stable boys who groomed their horses, and the children of Red Tower were pensive like their parents, always quiet when Lorla was around. They did not shun her precisely, for they always offered her a kind word, but never once did they spare her any more than the most basic courtesy. By Lorla’s reckoning it had been at least two weeks since she’d arrived at the castle, and the magic of the place was wearing off. She wanted to see Enli.

But Enli was almost never seen, and when Lorla did catch a glimpse of him he was with his soldiers. Curiously, the number of men in the castle seemed to grow almost daily. Now when Lorla looked down into the courtyard she counted more of the soldiers with their fancy dragon helmets. More horses, too. So many, in fact, that Duke Enli had no time for her. So far he had come to her only once. She had been in bed, reading, and he had sat down on the edge of her mattress and had spoken kindly to her, stroking her hair the way she thought her mother might have, and had apologized for his absence.

It was necessary, he had explained to her.

As he had told her when she had arrived in Dragon’s Beak, he had business with his brother. That first, then they would go to Nar City. Duke Enli had kissed her good-night. The memory of the touch burned in Lorla.

On the first afternoon of her third week in Dragon’s Beak, Lorla decided to go looking for the duke. It was a typically gray day, and she had made the decision over another lonely meal in the little room off the kitchen. Lady Preen had told her that the duke would be leaving soon, and when Lorla had asked her why, the house servant had simply shrugged as though she didn’t know. More precisely, Lorla was sure, Lady Preen had dropped a secret, and was a very poor liar. So Lorla finished her food and left, telling Lady Preen she was going to her room to read. But Lorla didn’t take the hallway back to her chamber. Instead she skirted off in the opposite direction, to the north side of the castle where Duke Enli’s personal chambers were. Lorla had never been in this part of Red Tower before; Enli had politely forbidden her. She felt nervousness in her stomach as she moved quietly down the deserted corridor, but Enli was kind. He wouldn’t be mad at her.