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It was a miserable morning, with sleet before dawn turning to a steady, driving rain in the daylight. Kishori, sitting under her cloak outside the front gate of the Bocburg, was resigned to another day with nothing accomplished, another day when all she saw were message riders galloping in and out. And then, suddenly, two ladies in leather cloaks appeared. They spoke with the guards briefly, but long enough for Kishori to recognize Princess Elwyn and her friend, Lady Hildred of Keelshire. Then they put their hoods up again and trotted off to the east along Addle Street.
“Well, now. That’s rather curious,” thought Kishori. For all she knew, they were going shopping for new dresses. But they also might be going to meet with some of the local nobles and seek more troops or funding for the Sigor cause. Either way, following them was likely to be more interesting, and more productive, than shivering in an alley all day. She mounted up and followed them, doing her best to keep back at least a block. Not that she had much concern for being spotted. Even in this dreadful weather, the street was full of soldiers and merchants and shoppers.
The two women continued east, along Crown and Sewell streets, and then north out of the city over the Redwald Bridge. That eliminated the possibility of a shopping trip. Kishori congratulated herself on deciding to follow them, and she fell back even farther so she wouldn’t be spotted on the long, straight country road.
The morning went on, and the girls continued past the gates of the estates of dozens of rich and influential lords. At long last, though, as the road was starting to wind and twist up into thickly wooded hills, they turned onto a side lane. Kishori urged her horse to a trot and found a pair of little marble gateposts on either side of the gravel path. Both were engraved with the arms of the Bishop of Keelweard. For a few minutes, Kishori wondered what on earth the girls could be doing here, and how the Leafa Church might play a role in the war. But then she remembered hearing that the Duchess of Keelshire—Lady Hildred’s mother—was the daughter of the Bishop of Keelweard. So this could be a family visit.
Or maybe it was a convenient and secure location for a more important meeting. Kishori tied up her horse and slipped into the trees, following the line of the gravel lane, but doing her best to stay out of sight.
After more than half a mile, she reached a wide, unkempt lawn, and beyond it, a small yellow brick villa with white shutters and a green copper roof. The door was locked, but Kishori had an unlocking spell in one of her rings, and she slipped silently into a dark, dusty hallway full of old, tarnished suits of armor and sagging tapestries. The air was frigid, and she could still see her breath in the hall. No one lived here, at least not now. This was getting stranger and stranger.
There was a glow of firelight from the top of the stairs, though, and Kishori tiptoed up, slowly and carefully, with a knife in her hand and a spell on her lips. She expected to be stopped every second by guards. But there was no one.
At the top of the stairs, a door was open, and light filtered out into the hallway, along with low moans and wet smacking sounds. Curious, Kishori moved closer and looked in.
Lady Hildred was naked, leaning against a small cherry wood writing desk, with one foot up on a little padded stool. The princess, dressed only in her shift, knelt on the floor in front of Hildred, with her face buried between her ladyship’s legs.
“Oh, Earstien,” Hildred panted, “Oh, Finster. Oh, I’m so close.”
Kishori watched, feeling a stirring in her own body at the sight. Then she recollected where she was, and the danger she was in, and she retreated back down the stairs and out of the house.
So, they were “Thessalian.” That was interesting. Kishori was not personally offended by what they were doing, though she knew a great many people would be. But a princess and a duke’s daughter could probably weather the storm and still manage to land rich and eligible young noblemen for husbands, even if the story came out. Not like what would happen to a farm girl or a housemaid who got caught doing the same thing.
Kishori waited in the cover of the trees for an hour as the rain slackened and stopped. And eventually the two girls came out on the porch, arm in arm and smiling. They giggled and embraced and stroked each other’s faces, kissing over and over. They were really a very handsome young couple, and they were clearly in love.
They were the enemy, and yet, Kishori felt pity for them. Even if, by some miracle, the Sigors managed to regain power, what possible future could there be for these two?
They left, and she followed them back to the city at a leisurely pace, pondering the strange quirks of fate that had brought those girls together, and would inevitably tear them apart again. Poor things.
When she got back to the inn, she found Lucy Rankin in a panic. “Where have you been?” she cried, dragging Kishori into the pantry. “There’s been someone sneaking around! We’ve found locks picked, and there was some person in a cloak standing across the street for an hour before dawn.”
Kishori asked where the mysterious watcher had been, and one of the kitchen maids showed her. Kneeling down, Kishori found the prints of a small pair of boots. A fashionable heel, well-made. Expensive, no doubt. Her first guess would have been the princess or Hildred, except that she knew where they had been that morning. Lady Rada, perhaps?
“It’s the same person who killed poor Elberic,” Lucy said, when Kishori told her about the footprints. “I know it has to be.”
After that, Kishori took more precautions. She didn’t sleep in her bed that night, curling up in a chair in a storeroom, instead. And when she checked the next morning, she found her lock had, indeed, been picked, and someone had been through her bags.
The sensible thing to do would be to leave. She could be on the road in minutes, and then she could go anywhere she liked. Except, again, that Jon would be in danger. And so would she. If Jorunn had found her once, she could do it again. So, she stayed, and it was fortunate that she did, because that very evening, Lucy came up to her room with startling news.
“I think I’ve got a new source,” she whispered as she shut the door.
“Who is it?”
Lucy shook her head. “I have no idea. But one of the girls said a woman came in an hour ago and left this.”
It was a small letter, with a simple black wax seal that had been broken. Kishori opened the letter and read:
I have information about the Sigors that might prove useful. If you want to know about young Edwin, meet me at the following address on Saturday at 10 in the morning. Come alone. Ask for the package for “Muriel’s friend.”
The address, according to Lucy, was near the north side of Cathedral Square. “What do you think?” Lucy asked. “It could be important, especially if it’s really about Edwin Sigor. Do you suppose this person knows where he is?”
“Possibly,” said Kishori, turning the paper over in her hands. “Or this is a trap. This might be the same woman who’s been sneaking around. The same one who killed Elberic.”
Kishori and Lucy went over to the common room and spoke to the girl who had received the letter. She couldn’t describe the woman who left it, other than to say that she had been wearing a long cloak and had a scarf pulled up to hide the bottom of her face.
“Did you happen to notice her shoes?” asked Kishori, thinking of the footprints she’d seen across the street.
“No,” said the girl, rolling her eyes. “I was rather busy, you know. I thought she was trying to pay a bar tab at first, but then I saw it was a letter. And by the time I turned to ask her about it, she had left.”
The only way to find out what was going on was to meet this person. But the letter said to “come alone,” and that meant either Lucy or Kishori would have to go. Lucy volunteered, but she was obviously hoping that she wouldn’t have to. Kishori obliged her and said she would go, instead. “I’ve got magysk rings,” she thought. “Whoever this person is, unless it’s a hillichmagnar, I should be able to handle her.” Of course, Elberic had probably thought the same thing.
On Saturday morning, Kishori armed herself with her rings, two knives, and a set of brass knuckles. Then she went to the side street with the address on the letter, which proved to be a small bakery called Sharman’s. At the counter, she leaned over a tray of pecan cookies and whispered to the fat baker, “I’m looking for the package for Muriel’s friend.”
The man nodded, wiped the flour from his hands, and led her behind the counter and past the ovens to a little spiral staircase. She went up and found herself in a musty apartment full of sagging furniture and piles of broken crockery. Kishori looked around, but no one was there. So she dusted off an ancient settee in a shadowy corner and sat there, hand on the hilt of a knife, watching the door.
Well after eleven o’clock, the door opened, and a small figure in a gray wool cloak came in. “I’m glad to see you got my message,” the woman said, in a low, husky whisper.
“I did. Maybe we can begin by introducing ourselves.”
“I know who you are.” The woman came closer. All Kishori could see under the low hood was a blue scarf, pulled up high. “I was told to see Lucy Rankin when I had something to report. But Lucy has sent you, instead. So, I’m guessing you’re the magysk assassin we’ve all been waiting for.”
Kishori felt more wary than ever. She silently slid her knife from its sheath. “Who are you?”
“I’m the person who has the information you need. Let’s start there. You’re looking for Edwin Sigor, right?”
“Yes. If you’re working for the Gramirens, you must be looking for him, too.”
“I know where he is. But I can’t go after him myself. That’s your job. I have one condition, though.”
“Tell me your name, and we can discuss your condition.”
The woman put her black-gloved hands on her hips. “I don’t have to tell you anything, you know. I can keep this to myself. You can sit and rot at the Sparrow and Shield, for all I care. But I’m guessing you’d rather finish this and go home.”
“Yes.” Kishori slid the knife back into its sheath. “Fine, then. What’s your condition?”
“If I tell you where Edwin Sigor is, then you have to promise to leave Princess Elwyn alone.”
Kishori almost started laughing. “Why on earth would you care what happens to the princess?”
“That’s my condition,” the woman snapped, in a voice suddenly clearer and higher. “Take it or leave it.”
“Very well. I promise not to do anything to Princess Elwyn. Now where is Edwin?”
“He and Caedmon Aldred went to Rawdon first, but by now, they will be speaking with the Duke of Wislicshire. So, they’re probably at Atherton. That’s where they were supposed to be by this time, at any rate.”
It made a certain amount of sense—visiting the other northern dukes while Elwyn was here talking to the Duke of Leornian. But Kishori wasn’t about to ride hundreds of miles on the word of someone she didn’t know.
“I don’t believe you,” she said flatly. “I have no idea who you are, so I have no idea how you could have gotten this information. For all I know, you’re making this up.”
“I’m not. And as I say, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Stay here if you like the place so well.”
Kishori had a flash of inspiration. Whoever this person was, she needed Elwyn alive for some reason. So Kishori said, “What if I decided to kill the princess?”
The woman took a step back. “You can’t do that.”
“And why not? Is she paying you off somehow?”
“No.”
“Then you’d better tell me who you are and how you know where Edwin is.”
The woman sighed, and then pulled back her hood, revealing dark hair, braided up around her head. Then she tugged down the scarf, revealing the pretty face of Lady Hildred Cuthing, Elwyn’s lover.
“I know where he is,” Hildred said, “because Elwyn told me.”