The Laurentine Spy (26 page)

Nausea rose in Saliel’s throat at the scent of honey and milk. “No,” she said. “I don’t want—”

She stood, pushing past the woman, and made it to the chamber pot before she vomited. The maid fussed over her while she knelt on the floor. The emotions of the day—fear, dread, shame, guilt—were gone.

She rinsed her mouth with water and bathed her face and let the maid dress her in a fresh nightgown, while numbness spread inside her.

“Shall I fetch the physician, noble mistress?” the maid asked timidly.

“No.”

“But your hands—”

She no longer felt them; every part of her was numb. Saliel opened her hands and looked at them. The palms were red. “It’s nothing.”

“Mistress, are you certain? The physician—”

“I want to be alone,” she said. “I want to sleep.”
And I want to forget what I have done.

She stood and allowed the maid to help her into the wide bed. “You may go,” she told the woman.

Tonight she didn’t climb out of the bed and lie down beside the hearth; she was too numb to care where she slept. She turned her face into the pillow.
I burned a man.

S
ALIEL COULD FEEL
her hands in the morning. The palms were tender, but not sore.

“Good morning, noble mistress.” The maid placed the breakfast tray beside the bed and curtseyed.

Saliel sat up slowly. She looked past the woman. Beyond the door was the parlor, and beyond that, the corridors and salons and atria of the Citadel—and the Consort and the Spycatcher. And Lord Ivo.

I don’t want to be Lady Petra today.

She reached for the cup of tisane, making her hand shake as she picked it up. The delicate porcelain cup clinked against the saucer.

“Mistress, are you all right?”

She sipped the tisane, slopping hot liquid on the sheets, and then put it down. “I don’t think I can eat this morning.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “I feel...I think I may be ill again.”

She lay back and let the maid fuss over her, rearranging the pillows and wiping her face with a cool cloth. “My hands hurt,” she said weakly. “Bring me some salve.”

The salve soothed the tenderness. Saliel closed her eyes. “Inform Lady Marta I’m unwell. I shall stay in my bed today.”

The maid’s message brought Marta, full of concern. “Petra? Are you ill?”

Saliel had no tears, they were a frozen lump in her chest, but she told the story in a tearful voice.

“His sleeve was on fire?” Marta’s eyes grew wide. She gazed at Saliel in admiration. “I should have fainted. How brave you are!”

No. Today I am a coward. Today I hide in my room.

“I shall stay with you.”

Saliel shook her head on the pillow. “Please don’t stay, Marta.”

“But—”

“My nerves are overwrought, is all.” She smiled wanly. “I shall be fine tomorrow.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” Saliel closed her eyes. “I shall sleep.”

The maid escorted Marta from the suite and returned to stand beside the bed. “Do you require anything, noble mistress?”

Saliel raised her eyelids. “No.”

“Shall I summon a physician?”

“No. I wish to be left alone. Don’t let anyone disturb me.”

“Yes, noble mistress.” The woman curtseyed and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Saliel listened to the silence. She inhaled a deep breath and released it.
Alone. Safe.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

A
THAN WENT TO
Lady Petra’s suite in the middle of the morning, when he thought the maid would be there. She was.

“Noble lord.” The woman sank into a low curtsey.

“How’s my wife?”

“She’s resting, noble lord.”

“Resting?” He glanced at the closed door to the bedchamber. “She’s here?”

“She was very distressed, noble lord. She’s not well enough to be in court today.”

Athan almost nodded his approval.
Clever.

He could have insisted that he see her—a husband’s wishes overrode his wife’s—instead he said, “You may tell my wife not to be distressed on my part. The burn is minor.”

The maid ducked her head in another curtsey. “I shall tell her, noble lord.”

Athan yawned. “I have a task for you.”

“For me, noble lord?”

“Yes.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a gold coin. “I’m concerned for my wife’s health. She’s...fragile.”

The maid moistened her lips nervously. Her gaze was on the coin. “Noble lord?”

“I wish to know anything that happens to her.”

“What sort of thing, noble lord?”

If she’s taken for questioning.
“Any change in her routine, no matter how small it is. Women’s minds are easily disordered.”

The maid took the coin and dipped another curtsey. “I shall do as you ask, noble lord.”

“See that you do.” Athan turned towards the outer door and let the maid hurry past him to open it. He ignored her as he stepped into the corridor.
Thank you
,he said silently as the woman closed the door behind him.

He strolled down the corridor, lighter in his chest now that he had a means of watching Three.
Not that she needs my help.
He touched the bandage on his hand. A resourceful woman.

He wished he could keep to his bed too. The tale had circulated through the court as quickly as the flames had caught hold of his cuff. “I stood too close to a candle,” he said a dozen times, two dozen times. “The lace caught fire.” And he yawned and let his mouth stay slightly open afterwards, and saw that his words were believed.
That fool, Donkey
, he heard Tregar whisper behind his hand.

The day passed too slowly, full of amused sideways glances.
Hurry up
, he told the clocks as their hands inched towards sunset.
Let this day be done.

The seconds stretched into long minutes and longer hours. The tunes the musicians played in the ballroom seemed drawn-out and slow. The melodies dragged and lumbered.

“Not dancing, Donkey?” Druso asked.

Athan yawned and shook his head. “Not tonight.” He beckoned a servant and spent several seconds selecting a glass of wine.

The wine was dark, almost purple, and smelled of earth and dark berries. He tasted blackcurrants and blackberries and something spicy he couldn’t put a name to. He closed his eyes to savor the flavors. Blackcurrants and blackberries and—

“I hear you had an unfortunate accident.” Lord Seldo’s voice was amused.

Athan opened his eyes. “Yes.” He turned to greet the man.

The Spycatcher stood alongside Seldo, smiling. “Good evening, Lord Ivo.”

Every hair on his scalp felt as if it stood on end. “Good evening.” He couldn’t look away. He was caught by those sharp, pale eyes.

“A burn, I hear?” the Spycatcher said politely. “Not too serious?”

“It’s very minor,” Athan said, sweating, telling the truth. “A few blisters.” He forced his mouth into a smile.

“However did it happen?” the Spycatcher asked.

She set my cuff on fire.

His mouth opened to say the words.

Athan dropped the wine glass. The crystal shattered on the red and black flagstones, spraying wine.

The Spycatcher cursed. He stepped back.

Athan looked down. “So sorry,” he said. “I can’t think how...”

The Spycatcher cursed beneath his breath again, brushing at the wine on his breeches.

Lord Seldo clapped Athan on the shoulder, laughing. “Perhaps you should take to your bed, as your wife does.”

I would, if I could.

Servants gathered the shards of glass and wiped up the wine. In less than a minute the mess he’d made was gone. “I must change my breeches,” the Spycatcher said. “Excuse me.” Irritation edged his voice.

“Please accept my apologies, Lord Grebber.”

The Spycatcher didn’t bother to correct him. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Athan glanced down at his own breeches. “And I must change mine. Excuse me.”

T
HREE ARRIVED MOMENTS
after he did. Athan watched her walk into the circle of light.

The Guardian watched her too, obliquely. Athan sensed the man’s wariness.
You needn’t worry
, he told him sourly, in his mind.
She doesn’t know. And I won’t tell her in front of you.

“Here’s the key,” the Guardian said. He didn’t hand it to Athan; he placed it on the stone table, beside the candle.

You don’t dare, do you? You’re afraid of me.

Athan reached for the key. It was slightly lighter than the previous one. “I’ll do it now,” he said. “We can leave tonight.”

The Guardian shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

Athan stood. “We leave tonight,” he said flatly.

The Guardian stood too, moving sideways, putting the table between himself and Athan. “You must leave tomorrow night.”

Three glanced from the Guardian to him.
Yes, he fears me
, Athan told her silently. He took a step towards the man. “Why?”

“A ship sails from the Bight on the morning tide, the day after tomorrow.”

“We’re booked on it?”

“No. But the Spycatcher will think you are.”

“Then why must we wait until—”

“If you leave too soon, pursuit will reach the Bight before the ship sails.” The Guardian spoke rapidly. His words fell over themselves. “The port will be closed and all ships searched.”

Athan exhaled through his nose. “Very well.” He clenched the key in his hand. “We travel tomorrow night.”

“Be here at nightfall.” The Guardian stayed where he was, behind the table. “It will take most of the night to reach the Bight—and you must be there by dawn.”

“If we don’t sail, what then?”

“You cross the Bazarn Plateau.”

“The Bazarn Plateau?” The sharpness of his voice made the Guardian flinch. “Are you insane?”

“It is the safest route,” the man said hastily. “They’ll never think to search there. No one will follow you.”

No, we’ll just freeze to death in the snow
. Athan took another step towards the man. “You risk our lives with this.”

“No,” the Guardian said, moving sideways. “You’ll be safe. The code book will be safe.”

Athan halted. “We take the code book with us?”

“Yes.”

The Guardian cared nothing for their lives, but he wouldn’t risk the code book. Athan unclenched his fingers and looked at the key. “To Marillaq?”

“No.”

He looked up. “But—”

“Our embassy in Marillaq is compromised. The Corhonase have a spy there.”

“So where do we take it?”

“The Illymedes is safe,” the Guardian said. “And Pinsault. Or Laurent itself. You must give the code book to someone ranked General or higher.”

“Very well.” Athan closed his fingers around the key again. “I’ll copy the book tonight.”

“Remember, it’s neither red nor—”

“I know.” He turned to Three. “A final day. Can you do it?”

She nodded.

The journey opened out in his mind: the high snow-covered plateau, the mountains, the gorge. Did she understand what lay ahead of them? “Until tomorrow night,” he said, and bowed to her.

She stood. “Be careful.” They were the first words she’d spoken tonight. He strained to hear Lady Petra in her voice and failed. The languages were too different: one spoken almost in the throat, the other rising and falling on the tip of the tongue.

He watched her walk away.
By this time tomorrow she’ll know who I am
.

Athan turned his head and looked at the Guardian. He felt the same rage as two nights ago. Breath hissed between his teeth. The Guardian flinched. It brought no satisfaction; the harm had been done.
I can’t undo what I did to her.

He swung away from the candlelight.

Tomorrow Three would learn the truth. He shrank from the thought of it.
How can I tell her? What words will I use?

Athan pushed open the door to the sewers and stepped into darkness. When would he tell her? Where?

Tomorrow afternoon, he decided as he trudged up the sloping tunnel. Late, when the Consort had released the ladies from their needlework and the sun sank towards dusk.
I’ll go to her suite and ask to speak with her. I’ll send the maid away. And once we’re alone—

Dread clenched in his belly.

I’ll tell her I wish to speak with her.