Master of restless shado.., p.31
Master of Restless Shadows Book Two, page 31
part #2 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
“They didn’t know me or Yara from anyone else, I don’t think.” Narsi remembered the bearded guardsman meeting his gaze. But how could he have known Narsi? “Just more random harassment of Haldiim citizens.”
“I’m sorry,” Lord Vediya said, and he did look sympathetic. “If it’s any consolation, Jacinto told Sevanyo about his vision, and it seems that Sevanyo took the entire thing seriously and has blocked the royal bishop from pursuing you. But it’s still probably best that you stay with Yara. Your cat, Brother Berto and Father Timoteo are doing fine, by the way.”
He’d only been away a single night, but he couldn’t help wishing that he could see his cat and his friends sooner. Strange how easy it was to grow attached.
“Last night,” Lord Vediya whispered. “You were there, yes?”
Narsi nodded. “You as well?”
“Yes. We should discuss it in detail later. But right now I need to know if you have any idea what it is that they were after in the sacred grove.”
“Are you sure that they weren’t just making the capital more unlivable for Haldiim citizens?” The aggrieved tone of his own words surprised Narsi. As a rule, he tried not to let his anger flare up in conversations with Cadeleonians—not even those closest to him—but the terror of being chased through the city streets and then feeling as if he ought to somehow treat that as a normal occurrence—just something he and all his fellow Haldiim would have to plan for now and in the future—sparked a feeling of outrage.
Lord Vediya raised a sharp black brow and gazed at Narsi with an expression of genuine concern. His fingers grazed the back of Narsi’s hand.
“If this is too much, I can get you on a ship for the Salt Islands or Anacleto—”
“No. I’m just . . . frustrated.” Not that he was wrong to feel angered, but Lord Vediya hardly deserved to bear the brunt of it. He numbered among the few Cadeleonians actively conspiring to curb the royal bishop’s power over them all. “I’m tired of feeling scared.”
“I know.” Lord Vediya looked almost sick. He shook his head. “If they’d breached the sacred grove while it is still without a guardian, it could have been much worse.”
“Was it . . . his doing, do you know?” Narsi asked.
Lord Vediya nodded. “Hierro Fueres. Fedeles is certain.”
“Is he just trying to ensure that the Circle of Wisteria remains devoid of a guardian?” Narsi asked. “Or that the Haldiim and Labarans suspect one another while the Cadeleonians hate us both?”
“I’d say both those motives are at play, but not the whole of his plan. There is something about the place itself that he . . .” Lord Vediya trailed off as two musicians strolled past them.
Narsi glanced back to where Yara sat on the edge of the stage. “Yara’s father comes from a Bahiim family. She might know something.”
“She has enough trouble already, what with keeping this production going and occupying Jacinto’s interest. I want as few people caught up in this as possible.” Lord Vediya gave a shake of his head and Narsi caught a faint scent of woodsmoke.
“There’s something more . . .” For a moment, Narsi hesitated to tell Lord Vediya what he’d seen and heard at the Kir-Naham pharmacy, partially because he did not want to be the bearer of bad news, and partially because divulging what he’d seen seemed disloyal to Querra and Mother Kir-Naham. But Lord Vediya’s own brother Spider had been involved in the meeting. So, as quickly as he could, Narsi whispered what he’d seen the previous night.
As he listened, Lord Vediya’s expression stilled, frozen as a stone statue, then he said, “Thank you for telling me.”
“I suppose I’ll keep poking around there then?” Narsi inquired. “I can’t go home anyway?”
Lord Vediya didn’t answer right away; instead he frowned at the half-finished carvings of horses. Several disembodied heads lay on the floor and legs reared up from rough wooden blocks.
“Yes,” Lord Vediya said at last. He sounded so very tired just now. “Find out what you can . . . but it’s not as important as . . . just be careful, all right.”
Narsi nodded then held out the pages with his lines of dialogue written across them. “Tell me honestly, Lord Vediya, I’m not actually supposed to recite this fart poem, am I?”
Genuine laughter exploded from Lord Vediya, and he looked so much happier that Narsi felt certain that he really was writing this entire play as a kind of farce.
“Whatever do you mean?” Playfulness sounded in Lord Vediya’s tone. “I rather think it marks a turning point for the astrologer. His first realization that the lover he so idolized is as awkward and human as everyone else—”
“Because she farts like a hound of hell?” Narsi had to point out the absurdity.
“I imagined that you, as a physician, would appreciate the demystification of natural bodily functions.” Lord Vediya barely suppressed his grin. “If this production does nothing else, I pray that it encourages more women to let loose the gases that cramp and peeve them in resounding trumpets of liberty.”
“Oh, I see. It’s for the sake of public health.” Narsi laughed. “Perhaps your heroine should let loose a deafening wind and so defeat her enemies and win the day, then.”
“Beware what you suggest.” Lord Vediya waggled a finger at him. “I’m grasping at straws for the final battle. Anyway, Jacinto is excited to see more of you on stage . . . and probably off as well.”
“That’s just what I don’t need,” Narsi responded before he could help himself, and Lord Vediya smiled, though it looked strained.
“You could do worse. He’s rich and happy to pay generously for the privilege of keeping interesting company. Under different circumstances I might encourage his fascination.” Lord Vediya sounded unperturbed, but Narsi recognized the troubled way his gaze briefly shifted. As a boy, Lord Vediya been the object of rich men’s interest, and though he made light of those days if he mentioned them at all, Narsi knew that a deep, old pain remained with him even now.
Not that his Cadeleonian pride allowed him to voice as much.
“Mother Kir-Naham would not approve,” Narsi commented.
“Oh, yes. We must ensure your beloved pharmacist’s blessings.” Lord Vediya smiled, but not unkindly.
“At the very least,” Narsi said dryly, “I’d want to secure a promise of widespread reforms before I offered myself up.”
Lord Vediya cocked his head.
“I can’t actually tell if you’re joking or serious,” he said.
“Joking.” Narsi couldn’t imagine how Lord Vediya could think he took any of this seriously. Then he noticed the dark shadows beneath Lord Vediya’s eyes and the uneven stubble coloring his jaw. “Have you slept at all since I saw you yesterday?”
“What’s sleep compared to the sweet balm of seeing this majestic production brought to life?” Lord Vediya attempted a game smile, but the strain of it showed. Then he added, “We truly need to talk more, but not here. My rooms at the Goose, after sixth bell?”
Narsi gave a nod but didn’t move. He frowned out at the vast chamber of empty seats surrounding the stage. A feeling almost like futility swept over him. With war looming and the Haldiim District on the verge of abandonment, he found it almost impossible to care about a play—an absurd play, at that. What was the point of them rehearsing and waiting until sixth bell?
“Does this play really matter to you?” Narsi whispered. “Or is it just a means to meet with agents and informants?”
Lord Vediya met his gaze with a smile, but there was no joy in it, only profound weariness:, his amber eyes dull and the seductive curve of his lips fixed as a death rictus.
“That depends, I suppose,” Lord Vediya replied. “If we fail in protecting Cadeleon, if the Labarans really do invade, or the Fueres family manages to usurp the throne, or a demon lord murders us all? Then, no. This production doesn’t matter a jot. But if we succeed . . .”
Lord Vediya paused, gazing past Narsi to the assortment of performers, artisans and stagehands engaged in their own work and conversations.
“If we succeed in protecting this nation and these people,” Lord Vediya went on, “then this production is a source of income for many. It’s an opportunity for men and women of different classes and races to meet and create something together. Even if it’s just a bawdy comedy, its connection with the prince will ensure that Cadeleonians will come in droves, and they will see a Haldiim heroine prevailing over all the absurd and arrogant obstacles that men place before her. They may laugh, but it will be with her, not at her expense.”
Lord Vediya sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know . . . I suppose I want to think that this fantastical piece of fiction matters because I need to believe that there will be a day when this is behind us and the worst threats any of us face are wine bills and petty theater critics. I’m not certain that I could keep going otherwise.”
“I—” Narsi hadn’t considered any of that. Nor had he realized, until just this moment, how idealistic Lord Vediya truly was beneath all his overtures and subterfuges. Clearly, he’d put time and far more thought into the script than Narsi had even considered before dismissing it so offhandedly. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” Lord Vediya shook his head. “You’re not wrong to disdain a sprawling work of farts and farce.”
Narsi wanted to say something more, to make amends, but two actors called out to Lord Vediya.
“We’ll talk more, later,” Lord Vediya promised, then he strode to the actors and set about explaining the new blocking for their battle scene. Narsi retreated to sit beside Yara.
She smiled at the sight of him and fought valiantly not to laugh when he delivered his new lines to her. When she did laugh, the delight in her voice made Narsi smile as well. The next time he delivered the lines, he put more effort into sounding awkward and clownish, and this time he was rewarded with not only Yara’s charming grin but the laughter of the puppeteers in the wings. Prince Jacinto chuckled as well.
After that, he felt an uneasy awareness of Prince Jacinto observing him and Yara from his divan. Yara shifted just slightly so that a beam of light illuminated her face. She angled her shoulders subtly toward the prince, and Narsi realized that he was probably the only person in the entire theater who hadn’t given much thought to the prince’s presence and wandering attentions all this time.
“Put your hands on my arms as if you’re going to pull me in to a kiss,” Yara instructed him.
“If you think so.” Narsi obliged and Yara cast a quick, sidelong glance back at the prince.
“I’m not certain which of us he’s eyeing. Maybe it’s both of us and he wants a more explicit show, if you know what I mean.”
Narsi’s hands went cold and he felt his face flushing.
Yara laughed.
“That terrified expression is priceless!” Yara grinned at him. “I don’t actually plan on seducing you.”
“I’m crushed,” Narsi replied.
“Hardly. That’s what makes it so safe for me to pose and flirt with you,” Yara said. “Anyway, we may as well get all we can from the prince’s attention while it lasts. I could certainly endure a few lively dinners and a little flirtation if it convinces him to produce my play, what about you?”
“I can hardly afford to buy my own dinner, much less bankroll your play,” Narsi replied.
Yara laughed again and the halo of her hair seemed to ripple with her mirth. Narsi grinned; it felt so comfortable and easy just chatting with her.
“I suppose we have to save this play first, in any case.” She handed the twelve pages inked with her lines to Narsi. He prompted and followed along as she recited. Then she coached him through his own agonizing deliveries. After an hour, both of them had the dialogue memorized. Though Narsi noted that where he simply repeated the words, Yara imbued them with passion and intention. She brought them to life, somehow transforming even the most absurd situation into a compelling moment.
Narsi, on the other hand, couldn’t care all that much about the astrologer he was supposed to embody.
Instead he stole glances out into the auditorium. More of the prince’s usual entourage arrived, including Procopio. Narsi knew little about the bearded man other than that he numbered among the dozen minor nobles in Jacinto’s retinue who specialized in procuring various contraband goods for the prince’s pleasure. Sabella hated him. Lord Vediya appeared to feel nothing. Though there had been a few moments when Narsi thought he’d seen revulsion flicker across Lord Vediya’s face when Procopio’s back was turned.
Then Narsi picked out the shadow of a figure far back beneath the box seats moving closer. He wondered if this could be Master Ariz finally coming for his treatment. That strange mixture of compassion and dread filled him. Ariz suffered immensely, possibly more than anyone Narsi had ever encountered before, but that didn’t make him any less terrifying.
But studying the slouched posture and thin limbs of the figure, he decided it couldn’t belong to the muscular assassin. Before he or Yara called out a greeting, Lord Vediya strode past them, jumped down from the stage and hurried to the stranger. Lord Vediya and the stranger exchanged a brief embrace and then stood talking together for a few minutes. Narsi thought he overheard the Weavers’ Ward being discussed, but not much else. Narsi felt certain that Lord Vediya handed several coins over to the slim figure and was given a sheet of pages. Then the stranger departed and Lord Vediya returned to the stage. Narsi peered at the pages as Atreau tucked them away, but all that appeared to be written on them was a musical score.
“Not going to introduce your friend?” Procopio called from the black velvet drapes at the back of the stage.
“Hoping to work your way down in the world by charming my laundress’s son, are you?” Lord Vediya replied lightly.
“No, but I could certainly use some distraction from the tedium of this production. Aren’t you ever going to have the script completed?” Procopio replied.
“A masterpiece of this scope takes time.” Lord Vediya actually laughed at his own words, and for just an instant he caught Narsi’s eye and Narsi couldn’t help but smile in response. Then Lord Vediya returned his attention to Procopio. “In the meantime, you might occupy yourself by fetching food and drink for our prince. I think Jacinto is nearly famished from working so hard.”
“I’m about to faint,” Jacinto declared. “In fact, I may die without a bowl of cherries and a bottle of that lovely green wine from Usane. What was it called?”
“M’vin mogo.” Procopio’s petulant expression lifted. “I still have four bottles at my Bower Street garret.”
“God’s blood! Four bottles. Bring them at once. They may be all that stands between me and death.” Jacinto’s grin broadened and Narsi decided that the man did have a rather charming smile. Procopio seemed to think so as well. He certainly appeared amused as the prince went on. “You must do it for all our sakes. If I die now, who could possibly rein Atreau in and get this production on schedule?”
“In that case, it would be an honor, my prince.” Procopio doffed his hat and bowed, before turning to stride from the theater. One of the swordsmen who’d escorted Narsi and Yara followed him. Narsi wondered if Procopio had hired him as an escort or if Sabella sent him to keep track of Procopio.
It might be both, Narsi realized a moment later.
After they departed, Lord Vediya pulled Sabella aside and, while discussing the blocking for a battle scene, he passed a coin purse to her. Payment to Sabella’s lover, Suelita, for her efforts to deciphering letters? Narsi wondered. He frowned down at the floorboards, thinking that Esfir truly had bad luck when it came to her infatuations.
Bells rang from a distant chapel, and then more sounded all across the city. Master Ariz should have been here by now. Narsi glanced up into the box seats on the far left side of the stage, where he often met with Ariz. He started to turn away, but then something near the ornate carved balustrade caught his attention.
As he stared, the dark silhouette seemed to coalesce from the surrounding shadows. Absurdly broad shoulders and a powerful chest supported long arms that hung in a strangely slack manner. The head remained hidden by a deeper shadow, but Narsi had no doubt that this was Master Ariz. When or even how the man had entered the theater and ascended to the box seats, Narsi had no idea. No one else seemed to notice his passage or presence at all.
Quiet as a ghost. So dull his nickname at the Red Stallion sword house was Corpse.
Narsi forgot about the play, his performance and even the secrets and subterfuges all around him. He returned to himself—a physician whose greatest obligation was to his patient. Of all the actions he’d taken in the last month, advocating for Master Ariz’s life was the only one he’d undertaken purely of his own volition and against the advice of everyone, including Lord Vediya, because it was the right thing to do.
Narsi slipped up the back stairs and entered the box seats.
Master Ariz looked beyond unkempt: unshaven, his hair lank with grease, his eyes red-rimmed. Scrapes and bruises covered his big hands, and Narsi knew from their most recent meeting that beneath his drab, sweat-stained clothes, a profusion of ugly bruises mottled his ribs and stomach.
Narsi wondered what had caused the latest ring of bruises around Master Ariz’s muscular throat, but all Ariz managed to tell him was that Hierro Fueres had not been happy about the Duke of Rauma’s antics in the Weavers’ Ward. Master Ariz managed something like a smile at the mention of angering Hierro, and Narsi wondered just how much Master Ariz hated the man that he’d welcome such abuse if it ensured Hierro’s displeasure.
Narsi settled into one of the velvet seats. From the glinting embroidery on the arms of the chair, he imagined that he occupied the place normally reserved for some Cadeleonian noble. As always, Master Ariz did not sit until Narsi beckoned him to join him. Even when he did drop down, he remained balanced on the edge of the velvet chair, prepared to bound to his feet at any moment.
