Something about her voice told me she knew the answer already, but I answered anyway. "Mostly they just prayed. They said Celys would choose to save who she would, and send for Marau to carry away those who did not meet her favor."

"Celyn," Lady Lyll said patiently. "Celys is a G.o.ddess of life. She has given us herbs and fruits and flowers that can cure, that can heal, that can save lives and ease pain. Does it not make sense that she would want us to use them?"

I just shrugged, because when did the G.o.ds ever make sense?

Like a lot of thieves, I knew some basic tavern medicine - how to stanch bleeding, st.i.tch a cut, bind a broken bone - but n.o.body understood how to keep poison from a wound, save a rotten limb, or bring down a dangerous fever. There were always guesses, of course, and people more than willing to make a profit on those guesses. Apothecaries and potioners' shops abounded in Gerse, selling ridiculous decoctions that were as likely to make you worse as better. And when summer fevers ravaged the city, as they did nearly every year, the Celystra's response was to shut tight its doors to protect its own, and ring the temple bells out in prayer.

But here was real knowledge, real medicine to treat the sick and the injured. Forbidden knowledge in Llyvraneth. If Bardolph hadn't closed the Sarist college in Breijardarl, Llyvrins might have learned this too, along with astronomy and anatomy and the other sciences Lady Lyll had talked about.

"How do they get away with it?" I said, reading an entry showing disorders of the liver. I held my fingers to the rusty-red pictures, as if there were some power to be absorbed from the page, beyond the simple, clear meaning of the words. But these words were just words, plain and simple and true - and yet powerful in their own way for all that.

Lady Lyll touched my wrist with her warm hand. "We let them, Celyn," she said, and her voice was low and fierce. "We let them."

I didn't know what to do with her fierceness, and so I just hid my head in another batch of the ointment I had fouled. Lady Lyll stepped out for a moment to fetch more water from the kitchens, and I was left alone in the stillroom for the first time. I looked around me, almost in awe of this room of hidden knowledge. I was hungry for it - to understand the secrets inside every bottle, every packet, in all those books. It was even more intoxicating than Antoch's library. Taking advantage of Lady Lyll's absence, I pulled another volume off the shelf.

I thought at first it was the gamekeeper's ledger, for there was a detailed listing of game birds, along with numbers and shorthand notations I couldn't make out, but it was in Lady Lyll's firm, tidy script. Tucked between notes on the new construction at Bryn Shaer - tile orders and the payment of Breijard workmen - I found something familiar and out of place: a sc.r.a.p of embroidery, rows of black and scarlet on white linen, with some of the st.i.tches cut out.

I ran my fingers along the cut bits, frowning. One mangled sampler was strange. Two was suspicious. I cast my eye along the pattern, which was mostly obscured now, but counting the repeats and the images that remained. I thought there were five repeats. No, she could only find four. I had dozed through that conversation, but it p.r.i.c.ked at my mind now. Was there more to this than just silk and linen?

The more I looked at the st.i.tching, the more I felt sure of it. Hidden in those torn st.i.tches was a message. From Lady Cardom to Lady Lyll, about what? I tried to remember. Something about Lady Cardom's daughter, and the place she lived. Gairveyont. A castle on Llyvraneth's southeastern coast. Four repeats, when Lady Lyll had been hoping for five. Five what? They're only offering their daughter because they want our help.

Help with what? I turned back to the page in the ledger book about the construction, thinking about those fortified bailey walls. Five ships? Five cannon? Five - rosebushes? I had no clue what I was looking at.

But Tiboran hadn't marked me as a fool. I knew it was something. I stuffed the sc.r.a.p of cloth into my bodice, just as Lady Lyll pushed open the stillroom door.

I brought the embroidery to Daul, interested to see what he'd make of it. We met in the servants' hallway behind the Round Court, both pieces of cut-up st.i.tchery in my hand.

"What is this?" he said, predictably.

"Isn't that your job? 'Let me decide what's suspicious'?" But I recounted the conversation between Lady Lyll and Lady Cardom. "Maybe it has something to do with the new defenses."

Daul sighed and took them. "Very well. I will look into it. Is that all?"

I bristled. "I went to a lot of work to get those. I hid in a freezing window for an hour. You could at least pretend to be interested."

"Bring me something interesting, and I will."

"Fine. But I want to be paid." Enough of working for threats and intimidation. I wanted something real out of this job.

His gaze sharpened. "You have something, then?"

I gave a faint shrug.

"The journal?"

"Forget the d.a.m.n journal. This is better." For the first time, I had something I knew he wanted, and the power of that made my blood feel hot.

He rolled his head back in exasperation. "Five marks - if it's something useful."

"Ten. It is. And I'm going to need a knife."

"I need a thief, not a mercenary. Who are you planning to use it on?" But I heard amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice.

"You."

He did laugh then, a thin sound like the barking of foxes. Something stiff cracked in my own face, and I thought perhaps I was almost smiling.

"You're very amusing, little mouse. Give it to me."

I hesitated. I had to tell somebody - this knowledge was too big for me alone. I was crawling with it, like fleas, and I'd go mad trying not to scratch. Let Daul get bitten for once.

"There are Sarists camping in the woods behind Bryn Shaer."

Daul's expression shifted from surprise to . . . something else. "I don't pay for fantasies."

I shook my head, described the camp I'd seen. Well, campfire.

"A band of filthy beggars, no doubt."

"No doubt. And they stole their purple cloaks."

He wheeled his gaze around, leaned very close. "Outlaws. Brigands."

"Not these guys. Their leader had a purple tattoo on his hand."

Daul pulled himself away from me and smoothed down his doublet. "That's worth a half-n.o.ble at most," he said, fishing for the coin. I caught it smoothly as it sailed toward me. "Get yourself a knife from the kitchens. I trust a girl of your talents can handle that much." He pushed past me into the Round Court. "I'll give you the rest of your fee when you bring me the journal."

Turning the coin over in my hand, I watched him leave. It was a neat solution to my problem; I had found Daul some real Sarists, and in chasing them down, maybe he'd turn his attention away from me for a few days. I tried not to think too much about what would happen if he caught them.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the Lesser Court for games. I played a match of chess with Eptin Cwalo while the others engaged in a lackadaisical round of riddles, a silly game that usually started out innocent and degenerated after the gla.s.ses were filled a few times. Meri excelled at it - both in guessing the answers and in posing cryptic questions.

Cwalo had taken the seat closest to the fire, and the flames leaping all about his small shiny face made him look weird and sinister. Luckily the particular brand of chess he'd chosen, a fast-moving game popular in the south, was one I knew well. I played it by raucous, reckless tavern rules, knocking over his pieces and sacrificing my own with abandon. A slow grin of delight spread across his pasty features.

"My word, Lady Celyn - you have a fearless streak about you."

I grinned back and hooked his Courtier from the game board. "I just hate to lose."

"When it's a cold soup!" Meri exclaimed from across the room. "When is a pigeon not a bird?" She was smiling widely, her color high. Antoch looked on, ever the proud father. Daul sat beside them, thin legs stretched out lazily, watching everyone with a sort of bored, scorn ful gaze.

"When it's a fowling piece," my opponent offered in a low, smooth voice. I scrunched my face in confusion, and Cwalo explained, "There's a large gun for hunting birds they call a 'pigeon.' No one knows why."

"Master Cwalo, do you know every thing?" I turned the game piece over in my hands, a silver figurine in the shape of a n.o.b sketching a bow.

"Perhaps not every thing, milady." He reached toward me to Bargain back the lost man, brushing his hand against my sleeve. "But do you know who is exceptionally well-informed?" he said. "My son Andor."

"Your sons again! Did you ever think I might like some of these other families, their sons? What would you say then?" I made a ridiculously demure move with my Maid - one that put her directly in sight of his newly reclaimed Courtier.

"I'd say your interest was not misplaced." He sat back in his tall chair, eyeing me through the pyramid of his fingers.

"Indeed?" I slid my Maid down the game board. "If I were a maid in the market for a husband, do you think they'd have anything to offer me?"

"Mayhap. Who are you interested in?"

"I find Lord Cardom pleasing," I said lightly. "What sort of a.s.sets does he have?"

"The Cardom are from Tratua. They can offer you ships." He put the Galleon on the board, between the Maid and my Lady.

It was fun playing the n.o.b with Cwalo. "What kind of ships?"

"What kind do you need?" Cwalo's voice was still casual, but he spoke quietly, and his eyes had gone cool and serious. I stared at him for a moment, then hazarded a dangerous, wild guess.

"Warships?"

"That could be arranged."

I breathed in sharply, suddenly sure we weren't playing a game anymore.

"Anyone else catch your eye, my lady?"

What was he doing? Still, Cwalo might have even more information about our fellow guests than Marlytt. It was worth a try. "Uh - Wellyth?"

"Timber."

City girl that I am, I faltered here. "What would I do with timber?"

"For firewood, bridges . . . siege engines. And ships."

I glanced at Lord Antoch. Meri sat at his feet, and he had one ma.s.sive hand resting softly on her head. Lady Lyll leaned close to Lord Sposa, and was speaking to him in what appeared to be serious tones.

"Sposa."

"Lord Sposa is from Gelnir. He has grain." To feed your army.

"And the Nemair?" I asked. "What - what do they bring to this union?"

Cwalo picked up my Lady piece and a Flag that was not on the board, laying them side by side. "Allies. They have friends in Corlesanne. And Corlesanne has friends in Varenzia."

I felt a tremor in my blood. First the castle's new defenses, and now this - Cwalo had as good as told me the Nemair were preparing for war. But was it just the sensible precautions of diplomats reading the political climate? n.o.ble families all over Llyvraneth would want to be prepared, whenever princes Wierolf and Astilan finally came to blows over their uncle's throne. Or was Daul right, and there was something more . . . covert going on here?

A burst of laughter lifted from the other side of the room. "When is a sovereign not a n.o.ble?" That was Lord Sposa.

The riddle was about coins, but Daul leaned forward languidly, and said, "When it's Bardolph of Hanival, of course."

Everyone laughed, but I tensed and looked at Cwalo. He was watching me steadily.

"And what does Lord Daul bring?"

Cwalo said nothing, just took the Courtier off the game board and set it on the table. With it he put my Flag, my Regent, and my Cleric. Country, king, and church. It matched Daul's own claims, his implications that he was a loyal anti-Sarist with friends near the Crown.

"Are you sure?"

A shrug. Almost imperceptible. What did that mean?

Cwalo continued rearranging the chess pieces. Galleon, Lady, Courtier, and Knife together on one side of the board; Regent, Cleric, Ring, and Flag on the other. I watched the pieces, confused, but he kept stacking more and more men on the Regent's side, until it utterly overwhelmed the others. What was he telling me? Slowly he turned the Knife toward the smaller force, its own men, and drove it through the center of the line.

"There are questions about the war that have never been answered," he said. "What happened at Kalorjn, who's really to blame for the rebels' defeat. But it's a remarkable turn of events that for the first time ever, all the people who might be able to answer them are here together. All those still living, that is. And among them, there are some who might be, shall we say, strongly motivated to find out the truth."

On the game board, the pieces were starting to twist together into a glittering knot. I wasn't completely sure what Cwalo meant, but I was beginning to suspect there was more going on here than anyone was saying. When Lyll rose and beckoned us to join the rest of the group, I gave Master Cwalo one last hard look. "Why did you tell me all of this?"

"I think it may not be a bad thing for the Nemair to have someone fearless on their side." He eased back in his chair and took a sip of his wine. "You know, Lady Celyn, my son Garod enjoys a game of chess every now and then."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

I was full of questions the next morning - about Daul, about the Nemair and their guests, about Meri's secret rides. I had determined to follow her, make sure she didn't accidentally track into the woodsmen at the same time as Daul. But it was snowing again, a horrible howling blizzard that flung snow at Bryn Shaer from all directions, and Meri happily stayed tucked in bed until even Phandre declared it past time for getting up. It also meant Daul wouldn't be able to go looking for them just yet. Or maybe, I thought hopefully, he might go out and be swallowed up by the storm.

My information about the Sarists was good enough to keep him off my back for a few days, though I still hadn't found his phantom journal. But I'd fallen into a rhythm, and I kind of liked it: stillroom or solar in the morning, breaking into the guest rooms in the afternoon, getting to dinner late, and falling into bed with Meri after.

Daul's obsession with that journal fascinated me, particularly in light of the curious lock on his door, and now Cwalo's cryptic conversation. What was in there he was so eager to find? I also didn't like the idea that the journal might be here somewhere and I couldn't find it. That just chafed. If there was a journal, then I'd find a journal, and maybe it would straighten out some of the twining knot of secrets I was caught in. Or at least maybe tell me why Remy Daul was so eager to prove his best friends were Sarists.

I'd already searched the most obvious location, Lord Antoch's suites, three times, and found nothing. There was no journal among the books in Lady Lyll's stillroom, or the cookery manuals in the kitchens. Even Meri's small collection of volumes, lovingly carried from Favom Court, had been gone through. I started looking under things, but I'd frankly begun to believe one of three things had happened: The book never existed, it was lost to the ravages of time, or Antoch had long ago tossed it into a fire. There was something appealing about that last option, but only because it supported Daul's interest in the thing.

The snowfall lasted two entire days, putting the work on clearing the avalanche even farther behind. My suggestion that the entire Bryn Shaer court hike down there to help was ignored. At last a morning dawned clear and bright, and Meri got up to ride. I got her dressed, and was fast on her heels, bundling into my coat and gloves, but I lost time trying to find appropriate footwear (I had to sneak into the kitchen and steal the spit-boy's st.u.r.dy leather shoes - the only other person in this castle with feet as small as mine, apparently). And then I ran into Phandre in the stairwell, locked in a predatory embrace with Ludo, the servant who was so friendly with her door latch. I had to gag, then slip quietly back up the stair so she wouldn't see me, then down the hall to the main stair, which took me to the utter wrong side of the Lodge - and by the time I got to the stables, Meri was long gone.

I slumped against the stable wall with a sigh. I could still follow, maybe - but when I let myself out the paddock door, I saw no tracks in the snow to tell me where she'd gone. Even I should be able to track a girl on horseback in freshly fallen snow, but a treacherous mountain wind swirled along the surface, brushing every thing smooth again.

Pox. I turned back for Bryn Shaer, but something made me pause and go back through the stables. And there in the first stall by the door, waiting hopefully for her mistress, was the white and spotted pony Berdal had been grooming days before. I looked at her, eyes narrowing. Hard to go riding without your horse.

"Lady Celyn?" I turned; it was Berdal, coming down the center aisle with a rag in one hand. "Come for that riding lesson?"

"I was looking for Lady Merista," I said.

He shook his head. "She's not been here this morning. But if I see her, I'll tell her you were looking for her."

"No, don't - I mean, don't bother. I'll catch up with her soon enough."

Curious, puzzled, I wandered slowly back up to the house, hardly noticing the cold. Where was our girl going? I was sure Lady Lyll didn't know about it - she hardly let Meri go to the privy alone. I felt a spike of pride. Little Meri, off on an adventure of her own.

Which was none of my business, of course, and about which I cared not a whit.

Back up in our rooms, I shucked off my coat and kicked open the chest where I stored my shoes, since I was just going to have to do this again tomorrow anyway, and the spit-boy had a nice cozy post in the kitchen; what did he need shoes for - And discovered where Merista Nemair was spending her mornings.