Master of restless shado.., p.52
Master of Restless Shadows Book Two, page 52
part #2 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
Ariz considered Narsi. If anyone could be trusted, it was him. At this point, what harm would reading the note a second time do?
Ariz strode to the circle of light beneath the nearest lantern and lifted the crumpled note. He read it. Then he stood stunned, staring at it. There was no question that this was Hierro’s handwriting. The paper and ink looked the same as well. The three words written across the white paper appeared identical to the ones Ariz had first read.
Or nearly identical.
Two letters curled more than he’d originally thought. The difference in appearance was minute but vast in meaning. He read it again, and then once more.
Kiss Fedeles Quemanor. Not kill, but kiss.
Ariz wanted urgently to believe this was Hierro’s order and that he’d misread it the first time. But how could it be possible? The corner of his mind that Hierro ruled over churned with suspicion. Why would Hierro demand something like this of him?
At the same time, how could Atreau or Narsi have possibly created a forgery?
Neither of them had come near Hierro anytime today, much less crept into the dressing room where he’d written out this order. And the note had only been out of Ariz’s hand for an instant. Before that, neither Narsi nor Atreau could have known the exact wording of Hierro’s order, much less seen the size and kind of paper Hierro used.
Ariz stared at the words. Kiss Fedeles Quemanor. Ariz wanted it to be true so badly that he felt almost sick. Could he convince himself that this was Hierro’s order?
He concentrated on the possibility.
Perhaps Hierro planned to catch them together and expose Fedeles before the king and his court. A single kiss during a night of revelry wouldn’t amount to much, but if they went further….
Ariz thought back to the time he and Fedeles had kissed. He recalled the thrill of Fedeles’s hands stroking his back and caressing his thighs. Arousal surged through him at just the recollection. Yes, a kiss could easily lead to much more.
Hierro would certainly expect to take full advantage of anyone he stooped to kiss. In addition, Hierro enjoyed humiliating other people, especially earnest and sensitive ones. And while Fedeles’s affairs with men were the subject of speculation and eager gossip among worldly social circles, the majority of courtiers had never been confronted with any evidence of them. Prince Jacinto would laugh it off, but the likes of Lord Bayezar and the noble Estaban brothers would be aghast. Publicly exposing Fedeles like that could cost him political support and even see him jailed. Even if the king’s favor and his title saved him from criminal prosecution, he might still face censure from the church.
So . . .
It wasn’t impossible that Hierro penned this order. Perhaps Clara had suggested it to him as a way to destabilize Fedeles’s hold over the court. During the last two days Fedeles had won the respect of several powerful lords. Lliro Vediya’s unexpected support had even pulled over a number of conservative ministers.
“. . . Ariz Plunado, dance instructor.” Again Fedeles’s voice drifted through the flowering bowers and darkness. Ariz pivoted in his direction.
At the same time he was conscious of Atreau and Narsi observing him. An odd glance passed between them. Then Atreau knelt to stroke a lanky black cat that came prowling out of the underbrush. Narsi smiled at the animal, and Ariz recalled that the physician kept a pet cat very much like this one. The animal was even wearing a collar.
“Ollivar should already be at the stable with the horses. The sooner you get across the Gado Bridge and see the others, the safer you will be.” Atreau stood and extended his hand to Narsi. “I can take care of matters here. Leave it with me.”
“You’re sure?” Narsi stood very still.
“Positive,” Atreau replied.
Narsi slid his medical satchel down from his back, withdrew a vial and handed it to Atreau. Ariz couldn’t help but note Atreau’s fingers linger on Narsi’s hand in a brief caress. Narsi leaned in toward Atreau. He didn’t remember the two of them being so comfortable or intimate with each other this morning.
“Go on. I’ll meet you there.” Atreau released Narsi very deliberately. The physician turned and strode away, with the black cat trotting alongside him.
Ariz gazed at the vial in Atreau’s hand. Last night’s conversation rang through Ariz’s mind. A lethal dose of duera added to one of Master Narsi’s vials . . . I would drink and be done. He’d assured Atreau that he’d end his life when the time came. His surprise at the speed of Atreau’s decision was short lived. By now, both Atreau and Master Narsi knew what he’d done at the Slate House. After witnessing that, what choice could they make other than putting an end to him?
So that was why the two of them were here and why Master Narsi had seemed so awkward and uneasy. Their presence had nothing to do with Hierro’s note. Would that mean that the order to kiss Fedeles truly was Hierro’s command?
Ariz really had misread the note. The realization horrified him.
He’d so expected Hierro to demand Fedeles’s death that he’d simply assumed the worst. With Hierro’s cruelty steadily corrupting his mind, who knew what mistake he’d make next? He couldn’t go on like this.
He considered the vial in Atreau’s hand. Swallowing a mouthful of poison offered an easier escape than slitting his own throat; he ought to be thankful for that.
“That’s for me, isn’t it?” Ariz asked.
Atreau nodded and stepped closer to Ariz. His gaze was wary and his movements very careful—anticipating resistance.
“Don’t worry. I know how bad off I am,” Ariz held out his hand for the vial. “I’ll take my medicine.”
Atreau handed it to him and Ariz pulled the stopper free before he could think too much about it.
“Wait!” Atreau caught his hand. His fingers felt warm and slightly damp.
Ariz frowned at him; then he recognized the regret in Atreau’s eyes. His hesitance was touching, but delaying the matter would only make it harder.
“No point in dragging this out,” Ariz said.
“You should go to him first.” Atreau took the cork stopper from Ariz and sealed the vial in his hand. “Give him something to remember, otherwise he’ll be left with only missed opportunities and regrets.”
Ariz didn’t have to ask who Atreau meant. After last night, they both knew.
“I can’t.” Ariz held the note out to Atreau.
Atreau glanced over it.
“Hierro wants to use me as a trap to drag him down. Probably publicly expose the two of us. Fedeles is safer if I stay away.” Even as he spoke, Ariz unconsciously took several steps in Fedeles’s direction. Hierro’s command poured over Ariz’s own deep longing like oil feeding an open flame.
A branch of dangling roses caught the shoulder of his costume. As he pulled free, a thorn grazed his cheek. The pain roused his self-awareness. He forced himself to stop. He was so much more practiced at resisting pain than the promise of even a moment’s happiness.
“If he aims to expose you and Fedeles in an intimate embrace, then he would need someone to keep a look out for at least one of you, correct?” Atreau asked.
Ariz nodded. He and Atreau both studied the surrounding shadows, watching them dance as hanging lanterns swayed in the gentle night breeze.
“And I’d bet that it’s you whom they’d watch for, rather than Fedeles, since Hierro is more likely to know how you’ll be dressed during the Masquerade.”
Ariz nodded again. He supposed he shouldn’t be shocked or impressed by how much Atreau could infer in a matter of moments; the man had been unraveling Hierro’s plots and foiling his agents for years. It followed that between the night gloom and the vast expanse of the gardens, Hierro’s agents would be hard pressed to distinguish Fedeles from the multitude of other masked and costumed noblemen in attendance. But Hierro had chosen the mask and clothes Ariz now wore. His appearance—his eye-catching vest in particular—was what they would watch for.
“May I offer my services to mislead their interests?” Atreau asked.
“Yes.” Ariz decided. “Give me your clothes.”
“Master Ariz, are you hoping to employ the marvelous endowments of my naked body to distract any and all onlookers?” Atreau teased. Not even his mask could hide the way his brows rose in an amused smile.
A dry laugh escaped Ariz. He shook his head.
“Hierro chose this costume. I have to assume his agents will be watching for it to lead them to Fedeles.”
“Perfect.” Atreau grinned and handed over his mask. “I’ll seek out my brother Lliro and see if his men can’t keep Hierro’s spies busy for an hour or so before I slip into something more comfortable.”
Ariz stripped off his vest as he spoke. He handed it to Atreau and then quickly unlaced the absurdly tight breeches. Atreau didn’t object. Instead he busied himself exchanging clothes. Ariz took a moment to admire how very quickly the other man could undress and then how considerate he was in assisting Ariz with his own new costume. He offered Ariz a charming smile as he secured the two combs that supported the fox ears in Ariz’s hair.
If he were desperate, Ariz thought, Lord Vediya could probably make a living working as a valet. He certainly displayed greater care than Hierro’s attendants had shown. And he’d somehow fashioned the silky clothes that Ariz had found awkward and binding into a striking black-and-silver costume for himself.
Ariz, on the other hand, felt somewhat absurd. He couldn’t completely close the russet velvet vest across his broad chest, and he’d bobbed the long tail to keep it from tangling his steps.
“You look more like a short-tailed cat than a fox.” Atreau’s expression struck Ariz as uncharacteristically regretful as he toyed with the mask Ariz had given him. “A pity we couldn’t all have known each other under other circumstances, Master Ariz. I might have written a nice part for you in Jacinto’s play. Opposite Narsi you two—”
The prince’s name suddenly roused Ariz’s memory.
“Hold up! I have to tell you—warn you.” Ariz lowered his voice. “Earlier this evening Captain Yago sought out Prince Remes for permission to suppress the Haldiim Solstice celebrations. He was particularly focused on Prince Jacinto’s possible presence there. Prince Remes assured him that he would not be deemed responsible were he to injure or even kill Prince Jacinto.”
Atreau’s expression fell. He seemed struck silent with horror.
“Master Narsi could be endangered, and that actress . . . Mistress Yara, as well.” As Ariz considered it, he recognized that Captain Yago threatened too many people for him to name individually or for Atreau to hope to protect. “Do what you can to keep them all as far from the sacred grove as possible. That’s where Yago and his men will focus their attention.”
Atreau looked sick, but then he blew out a weary breath.
“Thank you for the warning,” he said. “I’ll . . . figure something out.”
Ariz nodded and carefully tucked the vial of poison into his jacket pocket. Then he turned and started along the white pebble path in the direction of Fedeles’s voice. As he walked, the longing he’d suppressed for years broke free. His heart pounded and his pulse raced, but for once it wasn’t pain or fear that compelled him. Memories of Fedeles’s lips against his own—his body pressed so close that Ariz could feel his heartbeat—ignited a desperate need to reach the other man. To hold him, to feel his touch, and taste him.
The last of Ariz’s restraint broke. He shot ahead, racing over the pebbled path.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A flash of bloody lips and white teeth descended from the darkness of a flowering hedge. Rough bristles swept past Narsi’s face as he sprang aside. A shout caught in his throat. The cat at his side yowled and arched its back.
The snarling mouth and gleaming tusks of their assailant swept past. Then the shaggy head struck the pebble path. It bounced and rolled. A trail of ribbons followed it, tangling in the fur. One of the button eyes remained at Narsi’s foot. Narsi’s heart hammered in his chest, but a dry laugh escaped him. Their adversary was nothing but a boar-head mask that had toppled from the hedge where it had been mislaid.
The visions from the Old Road had left him shaken and jumpy. Narsi sighed and tried to relax a little. The gold scars bisecting his palms tingled and Narsi stretched his fingers to ease the weird tension in his hands. A flock of birds winged overhead and Narsi thought he heard larks singing. Unusual for them to be active at this hour, though far from the weirdest thing about this evening.
Gradually, the tingling in his hands faded—though it didn’t disappear completely.
Tariq—whether on the cat’s own initiative or under Lady Hylanya’s control—stalked to the fallen mask, sniffed it once and then indulged in a frenzy of swatting it. At last Tariq jumped back and prowled to Narsi’s side. He knelt and stroked the cat’s chin and back until it calmed enough to continue leading him through the dark maze of the palace gardens.
He tried to soothe his own unease as well, noting the numerous other pieces of clothes and costumes that lay scattered on the ground and over bushes. The sounds of laughter and splashing made him think that groups of revelers had stripped to play in the fountains. Though there was a slightly unnerving quality to some of the voices—excited cries sounded so much like genuine screams in the cacophony of music, song and turbulent water.
Every few yards Narsi glimpsed strange apparitions moving between the topiaries and hedges. Winged rams, horned lions, serpents adorned in flowers and a multitude of weird hybrids of human bodies and animal faces. The faint light and dancing shadows lent even the coarsest costumes a living quality.
A Cadeleonian man with a hound mask pushed up to the top of his head took on a terrifying two-faced appearance—snarling lips and white teeth jutting from his brow, like a beast tearing out of his body. The man’s expression struck Narsi as dazed. He trembled and a look of panic came over him. He stumbled toward Narsi.
Was he yet another enthralled assassin? Cold sweat rose at the nape of Narsi’s neck as he fought the reflex to bolt. Instead he backed away slowly, watching the man’s contorted face and agonized expressions. All at once the man lurched over and vomited into a flower bed.
What would have repulsed Narsi any other day now seemed blessedly mundane. He continued on his way. More than once he nearly overtook Tariq in his desire to get out of this dim maze. He would have laughed at himself for struggling so intensely to simply walk at a seemingly natural pace, except that the anxiety racing through his body truly felt overwhelming.
If he hadn’t spent the last two weeks practicing a composed gait with Atreau, he didn’t think he would have managed it.
Fortunately, the nearer he came to the stables, the fewer revelers he encountered. Some servants in royal liveries hurried past and a number of guards stood keeping watch, but that was all. Narsi followed Tariq, edging around them and working his way toward the back of the stables. A man in a priest’s robe hurried in his direction. Narsi almost dodged into the cover of a hedge to avoid him, but when the priest passed under a lantern, Narsi relaxed. He waited for Berto to catch sight of him.
“Narsi? It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked in a whisper, though there was a little uncertainty in his face.
Narsi nodded, lifting his mask to give Berto a smile.
“Oh, thank God! I’ve been waiting for you near the stables for hours.” Berto clasped his shoulder and leaned close. Despite the soft lamplight, Narsi noticed the dark circles under Berto’s eyes. His skin looked waxy. If he’d slept recently, it hadn’t been much. He didn’t number among Atreau’s agents, so Narsi wasn’t sure why he would be here now.
“What’s wrong? Is it Father Timoteo?”
“No. It’s you that’s in danger.” Berto stole a glance back toward the stables, then went on. “Earlier this evening a troop of royal bishop’s guardsmen came searching for you, by name. Delfia told me that they’re stopping people at the city gates and even on the Gado Bridge.”
Fine hairs all over Narsi’s body stood up as fear shot through him. If the royal bishop’s guardsmen took him prisoner before he could use Yah-muur’s horn, then everything would be lost. He’d need to avoid the Gado Bridge. At the same time, he had to get across the river to reach the sacred grove.
Could he hire a boat? Not likely at this hour.
Narsi’s thoughts raced on the edge of panic. But then he drew in a calming, slow breath and reminded himself that this wasn’t his endeavor alone. He wasn’t without resources or allies. There were other people he could count on. Not the least was Berto, racing out and waiting for hours to give him this warning. Narsi felt somewhat guilty for having thought of Berto so infrequently the last few weeks.
The instant he relaxed, a solution came to him. Morisio belonged to the crew of a ship, and it was moored here in the capital. Surely they’d have at least a dinghy.
“It’s fine,” Narsi said, as much to himself as Berto. “I can get around the bridge.”
“No, Narsi, you don’t understand. Right now, there are two men in the royal stable waiting to ambush you. They claimed to have been sent by Atreau to fetch both your mounts from the duke’s household, but they gave me a bad feeling,” Berto whispered. “I followed them here to warn you.”
“They’re not royal bishop’s guardsmen, are they?” Narsi asked. Atreau’s friends—Ollivar and Morisio—were supposed to meet them, but Berto’s agitation made him uncertain.
“They didn’t look like guardsmen, more like mercenaries. Their hair was too long and one sported a beard. Both wore swords and seemed ready to use them. I truly don’t think they mean you any good.”
Narsi turned slightly, considering the dark building. Should he wait for Atreau to join him, just to be safe? If the friends Atreau had sent had been ambushed, there could be a trap awaiting them in the stable. Could Hierro or Clara have learned of their plan? But if they had, wouldn’t they have dispatched more than two men to intercept Narsi and Yah-muur’s horn?
