Time's Assassin, page 3
part #3 of The Islevale Cycle Series
She wondered if she might ride out to the woodland on her own—she did have some time to herself—to scout the terrain and find a place where she might ambush Jispar. During her years in Windhome, she had been more skilled with a sword than a bow, but she was competent with both. If she learned beforehand where he planned to ride, she could lie in wait for the king, slay him with an arrow, and escape the forest unnoticed.
Or maybe she could simply sprout wings and carry him off like a Belvora.
Her scheming consumed her thoughts. Notions of how she might murder the king accompanied her everywhere she went, including
Jispar’s hall. She knew the danger, but she couldn’t help herself. Each time she saw the man, each time she heard him speak, or recalled once again his brutal assaults, her hunger for his death deepened.
So it was this day, as she took her place with the other ministers at the edges of the hall near his throne. So close that she could have killed him with a thrown blade.
She barely heard when the king’s herald announced the morning’s visitors to the Herjean court. Something about emissaries from Milnos. The names given by the herald meant little to her, and she paid little heed to Jispar as he greeted his visitors with platitudes and meaningless niceties.
When she paused to study the delegation from Milnos, however—
eight guards in uniforms of blue and vibrant green, the minister who appeared to lead the delegacy, and one other figure standing beside the minister—her knees nearly gave out. That last one already watched her, recognition in the intensity of his gaze.
Surely she would have noted his name, had she heard it. Could she be mistaken? At this distance it was possible. But see how he watched her, how he communicated with the most minute shake of his head that she should pretend not to know him, how he pointedly shifted his attention back to Jispar—who still spoke—
indicating that she should do the same.
She did, but only for an instant. Her eyes found him again. What name had he used? And why?
And what was he doing here, really? Was it chance, or the Two, or some darker purpose that had brought Cresten Padkar back into her life?
Chapter Two
19th day of Sipar’s Waking, Year 619
His face was much as she remembered: his chin square, his eyes widely spaced, his lips full. Time had sharpened his cheekbones, melted the softness that once rounded his jaw. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He was taller than she recalled, his body now tapered and lean. Enough remained of the lad she had called her friend that she had no doubt as to his identity. Enough had changed to make her stare and stare again.
She had always thought him nice-looking. Kind hazel eyes and a boyish smile in an open, friendly face. Now he was more. Hardened in some way. She saw in his mien and bearing less trust, less welcome. His features, chiseled, the color of the finest dark woods from the Labyrinth, gave away nothing. His gaze—keen, intelligent—shifted constantly, seeming to assess risk and opportunity. It occurred to her that living in the streets of
Windhome would have forced such changes upon him. He would have had no choice but to become a creature of the lanes. Did he blame her? He had shouldered responsibility for the events leading to Tache’s death, leaving the palace so that she might have a future as a Walker. Had he come to exact some measure of revenge or recompense?
And how had he found his way to the court of Milnos? He wore robes of emerald and blue, and he clutched a golden sextant in his right hand. He had done better for himself than she had imagined he could as an exile from the palace. He had a tale to tell, and she longed to hear it.
Where a tencount before Lenna had been content in her oblivion, largely unaware of what was said in the hall, now she hung on every word, trying to make up for what she had missed.
The older man with Cresten—black-haired, short, and rotund, also dressed in ministerial robes—was Milnos’s minister of protocol.
According to those around her, they had come to continue negotiations on a new treaty of trade between Herjes and the Shield. Lenna guessed that Cresten had accompanied the minister so that he might Span back and forth between the isles to facilitate the minister’s consultations with his king. The Milnosian guards joined the soldiers of Herjes in a tight cluster at the far end of the hall.
Cresten’s glance flicked her way again, both guarded and avid.
She reconsidered. Milnos’s king might have sent him as a courier, but Cresten had come for reasons of his own.
Jispar had arranged for a midday feast to welcome his guests, and now he called forth musicians and dancers for their entertainment. Cresten and the minister of protocol took seats near the throne, their backs to Lenna and the rest of the Herjean court. She had little patience for such diversions. Questions burned in her chest, demanding answers.
More than mere curiosity fueled her impatience. How long had it been since last she spoke with anyone she considered a friend?
The other ministers and Travelers in Jispar’s court treated her as they would a child. Other women in the court had viewed her as a rival; now, she guessed, they pitied her, called her a fool. So many nights she had lain in her bed, longing for the simple pleasure of companionship, much less the luxury of a confidant.
Vahn. The Tirribin, Droë. And, yes, Cresten. She had missed them all. Too much to have to endure this pointless squandering of valuable time. Who knew how long Cresten would be here before he had to Span back to his court?
After three songs, she was ready to tear out her hair. When the musicians started their sixth, she had to bite her hand to keep from screaming her frustration.
After more than a bell of meaningless song and dance, Jispar rose, clapping his hands. Of course, every person in the hall followed his example.
“Splendid,” he said in his rich baritone. “A fine prelude to our banquet. We shall now make our way to the West Hall, where we shall share our bounty with our good friends from Milnos.”
He stepped off the dais and, as the gathered men and women parted to allow him through, made his way to the door.
The minister of protocol fell in step behind the king and to his right. Cresten, Lenna saw, followed but lagged.
She slipped through the crowd until she had nearly pulled even with him.
“Is it really you?” she whispered.
If he was surprised to find her so close, he gave no indication of it. “Wouldn’t the answer be the same no matter who I am?”
A breath of laughter escaped her.
“It’s good to see you again, Walker.”
Yes, caution called for formality. “And you, Spanner.” She hesitated. “I...I didn’t know you had been called to the court of Milnos. Congratulations.”
“Called is not really accurate. But that story can wait for another time. You don’t look well, Walker. Forgive me for saying so.”
That nearly broke her. Tears stung her eyes, threatening to pour over her cheeks.
“I’m well enough,” she said, her voice less steady than she would have liked.
He chanced a quick look her way. Facing forward again, he said,
“The minister and I are to stay here for at least this one night.
When might you and I speak in private?”
“After the banquet?”
Cresten shook his head. “We’ll be in negotiations for much of the day.”
“Tonight, then. There will be an evening meal when you’re done. I don’t know if His Majesty will expect the rest of his court to attend, but either way, we can speak after.”
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll look forward to that.”
He continued apace. She fell back a few strides. Upon reaching the West Hall, he joined the Milnosian minister near Jispar.
Lenna took her place among the other ministers and Travelers.
She ate a bit of bread and slices of apple with honey, but felt too queasy to think of eating meats and cheeses and stews. She allowed herself a cup of watered wine. Conversations buzzed around her like flies in a stable, but she kept silent, and as surreptitiously as possible, watched Cresten.
She remembered him as quiet, watchful, and she saw the same qualities here in Jispar’s castle. He seemed intent on the king’s conversation with Milnos’s minister. When others in the Herjean court offered observations, he listened to them as well, attentive, solemn. On a few occasions, he inserted himself into the discussion. Jispar appeared to think Cresten’s contributions sound.
Not surprising, really. He had always been smart. Still, she saw in him other attributes she hadn’t noticed in Windhome. She remembered him as timid, unsure of himself. The Spanner sitting with her king and the Milnosian minister, however, struck her as poised and confident. She had to admit that she found this new Cresten compelling.
Not Cresten. Not here, not right now. What name had he used, and why?
Did the minister know his real name? Was this a deception designed for this visit to Herjes? In which case, did she owe it to her king to reveal the truth?
Or had Cresten taken on an alias before ever reaching Milnos? Was that how he had gained a position in the court?
Again, her curiosity threatened to overmaster her judgment. She wanted to claim him from the table, drag him from the hall, and demand that he tell her all. And she wanted as well to tell him her tale, dark though it was. She hadn’t realized until now how much she had missed her friend.
At length, the king declared an end to the banquet and dismissed all those in attendance except his two guests and a few of his most trusted counselors: the ministers of protocol and arms, as well as his Seer.
Lenna retreated to her chamber.
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As darkness fell, she approached the West Hall, only to be confronted by a pair of Herjean guards. The soldiers of Milnos stood nearby as well.
“Is there something you need, Walker?” asked the older of the two, a lanky, yellow-haired man with angular etchings around his eye.
“They’re still negotiating?”
“They’re still inside,” he said. “Do you need to speak with His Majesty?”
“No, I...”
They both watched her, the older man with a colder mien.
“The Walker—from Milnos—he was a friend in Windhome. I wish to speak with him.”
Neither of the guards spoke.
“Perhaps tomorrow, then.” She hurried away without hearing their reply, feeling that she had done wrong. She couldn’t say how.
On her way back to her quarters, she passed one of the pages who served the ministerial corridors. She halted, called the girl’s name. The page approached her and bowed.
“The king is speaking with the minister and Spanner from Milnos,”
she said. “I would like you to keep watch on the West Hall and let me know when their discussions have ended.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The page bowed. Lenna nodded to her and walked on.
Less than half a bell later, there came a knock on her door—the page informing her that the king’s audience with his guests had ended, and the two emissaries from Milnos had gone to their quarters.
A problem, that. Lenna couldn’t request the location of Cresten’s chamber without raising suspicions. She thanked the girl, gave her a few treys, and closed her door once more.
She barely had time to cross back to her hearth when another knock drew her gaze.
“Who is it?” she called approaching the door again.
“A friend.”
Lenna smiled. Opened the door.
Cresten stood in the corridor, torch fire flickering in his eyes.
This close he struck her as taller, broader. “Your king kept us later than I had hoped. Would you prefer I found you in the morning?”
“No, this is fine.”
“The moon is up. Shall we walk? I’ve seen little of your castle.”
Not at all the Cresten she remembered.
“Yes, all right.”
She retrieved a cloak from her wardrobe and led him through the hallways and down into the gardens. The air had chilled, and high haze wreathed a gibbous moon. Lenna pulled the cloak tight around her shoulders and exhaled, vapor billowing before her.
Cresten spoke lightly of the day’s discussions, of the two Spans he was commanded to undertake back to Milnos so that he might confer with his king. Somehow the boy she had known, the one sent forever from Windhome Palace, had managed to place himself at the center of his isle’s affairs, and those of Herjes as well.
“What happened to you?” she asked. “How did you find your way to a court?”
He smiled, eyes trained on the stone path in front of them.
“That’s a long story.”
“A good one, I hope.”
Cresten cast a look her way. “Yes, a good one.”
He began his tale with the day he left the Travelers’ Palace, the last time Lenna saw him before this morning. He spoke of gaaz cutting and smugglers, the Tirribin Droë and an innkeeper who took him in and befriended him, and finally of surviving a battle with armed criminals and discovering a gem that had been stolen from Milnos.
“By that time, I had taught myself to Span,” he said, “and I remembered that Wink was called to the court in Caszuvaar. I hoped that by returning the gem to the king there, I might earn a position in his court.”
“That was clever,” she said, stealing another glance at him. He was beautiful. How had she not known this?
“Thank you.”
“Why are you not using your real name?”
He faltered mid-step, quickly scanned the courtyard. “The smugglers. They knew me as Cresten Padkar, and they knew that Quinn was dead. I used his name to get to Milnos, and Wink introduced me to her king that way. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. I’m not sure it’s necessary anymore, but I’m also not sure I can change back to being Cresten.” He shrugged. “And I sort of like it now.”
“So you call yourself Quinn?”
“Quinnel. Quinnel Orzili.”
She halted, considered him. “I’ll need some time to get used to that.”
He smiled. They walked on.
“What about you?” he said. “What is it like serving the king of Herjes?”
Her turn to stumble. Her heart, which had been dancing only an instant before, now seized like a fist.
“Lenna?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She spun away from him, took a step, fully intending to bolt back to her chamber.
“Please!”
She halted, her body poised to flee.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
A harsh laugh escaped her. “Offend me. Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. I only know that I upset you. That wasn’t—”
She raised a hand, silencing him. Yes, she had longed for a friend, was desperate for someone—anyone—with whom she could unburden herself. Now that the moment was here, though, she couldn’t bring herself to reveal her humiliation. She swiped at her tears and made herself face him, a smile pasted on her lips.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I’ve... Sometimes I miss the palace and Windhome. That’s all. My emotions are... I’m fine.”
He didn’t answer. They had been close not so long ago. It felt as distant as another lifetime, but it was less than two years.
Apparently he still knew her. Too well to be fooled by her denials. He stared at her, waiting.
Her chin quivered. Fresh tears ran down her face. When would she have this chance again? When would another friend come to these shores?
“I’m carrying his child,” she whispered. “He...he rapes me.”
Cresten looked stricken. “Oh, Lenna.” He took a step toward her.
“Don’t. Please.”
He stopped, nodded.
She took a long, hicupping breath. She felt better for having spoken the words. She glanced around, as he had earlier, and at her gesture, they resumed their walk.
“I hate him,” she said, still in a whisper. “More than I’ve ever hated anyone or anything. I even—” She stopped herself before she could give voice to her desire to kill the king. She couldn’t share that, not even alone with this man, far from others. “I’ve even thought about killing myself,” she said instead, because it was also true. “Just to spite him.”
“Can’t you leave this place?”
“You know how commerce with Windhome works, how it is for Walkers and Spanners and Crossers. The palace paid for me when I was young. They paid my parents. They sheltered me, and fed me, and raised me to be a Walker in a royal court. And then, once I’d been trained, Jispar paid them for me. A lot I would imagine, since I’m a Walker. He may not own me, but...well, he does own me in a way.”
Cresten stared straight ahead, the muscles in his jaw rigid, his fist clenched. “What he’s done to you... He signed a contract with the palace, and he has abrogated that contract.”
“Do you know that?”
He didn’t answer right away. “The contracts say that Walkers and other Travelers can’t be forced to do certain things—”
“Those clauses are about our talents. Jispar can’t make me Walk back ten years. I doubt there’s anything in the contract about...about this.”
“If the chancellor knew—”
“How would I tell him? Don’t you think Jispar has all of my messages read? Not only mine—everyone’s.”
“I could tell the chancellor. I could go there and speak to him in person.”
She shook her head. “No. Thank you, but... That would be humiliating. It would be worse even than taking my own life.”
At first he didn’t answer. Then he asked, “Why should you die?”
in a voice almost too soft for Lenna to hear.
A shiver went through her. They walked some distance in silence, their steps like the ticking of a clock. “I’ve asked myself the same question,” she admitted.
They shared a glance, their eyes locking for a fivecount.
“I can help you with this,” he said, his voice low, calm.
“Cresten—”
“That’s not my name anymore. I can help with this, Lenna.
