Ruthless

I was proud to have made it across the desert, so proud that it didn’t occur to me that that was only the beginning. Having managed the journey with nothing more than the ragged remnants of the clothes on my back, surviving on what food and water I could manage to forage, I began life in my new country in poverty. But I had not come all this way to beg in the streets. And though I’d steal if I had to, I’d prefer not to start off as criminal.

It was strange, being back in a city of people after months alone in the desert; and it was even stranger being on the same level as them. I could look anyone here in the eye with no worry of being killed for it.

It took me longer than I like to admit to work up my nerve enough to approach anyone. I would find a sympathetic looking passerby who might give me advice, look at them, open my mouth to speak, and close it, lower my face, and hurry on. I would have spoken, eventually, but before I had quite gotten the courage, someone approached me. A cheerful looking woman stopped me and asked, “Would you be interested in some information about the evils of slavery?” She handed me a folded sheet of paper.

I thanked her, looked at the pamphlet, which called for complete abolition of slavery in Swariath, the country I’d just arrived in. I knew little about the country, or its laws or politics—information does not flow easily across the desert—so I read the pamphlet with interest.

Encouraged by my interest, the woman told me, “If you’re interested in getting involved, come to one of our meetings, every Wednesday evening right in there,” she gestured to the building we were standing in front of. “I’m Eshibelle, by the way.”

“Maybe I will,” I said. “My name’s Aerika. Do you know of… I just got here, is there any kind of… place that helps immigrants? Refugees?”

“Oh, wow, where are you from?”

“Jimzel.”

“Really? I’ve never met anyone from there. That’s across the desert, right? You came all that way? Sorry, to answer your question, there’s actually an office in the Council building—that’s the government? If you’re here for political reasons, they might give you a hand, and I think anyone from Jimzel would probably qualify. You apply for citizenship there, too, which you should do right away because there’s always a wait. It’s up that street maybe a mile, then you turn left and there’s a huge building that’s obviously government. You just go in there, and go down the hall, and the door’s labeled. If you want to wait a few hours I could take you, I work as a messenger in the Council building, but my shift doesn’t start until four.”

“Thanks, but I’ll try to find it on my own.” I didn’t want to get too dependent on some stranger, or anyone, and I preferred to take care of whatever needed to be done as soon as possible. “But I will try to make your meeting.” I hadn’t meant to say that. I’d only just got to Swariath, I had no call to be trying to fix its problems. And yet, now that I was in a place where people could change things… well, why shouldn’t I be part of it? And I’d only said I’d try to go.

She grinned. “Great! And good luck.”

The office was not hard to find, and the people in it were surprisingly efficient. They were shocked to hear I was from Jimzel, and agreed that being from there, I would automatically qualify as a refugee. After all, the punishment for leaving is death, if you’re caught, and if you aren’t killed by the desert first. They gave me some forms to fill out to apply for citizenship, a sum of money to live on for a week or two, until I got a job, and a list of available housing and possible job opportunities.

Renting a small hovel was easy. Finding a job was not. I had no references and was not good with people. I spent a week desperately trying to even get an interview, and another two weeks desperately trying to convince people to hire me. I ran through the entire list of possibilities I’d been given with no success.

I did go to the meeting of abolitionists. Most of the people there were as friendly as Eshibelle, which made me feel a bit out of place, but was nice. It seemed that their efforts mainly consisted of handing out flyers, and occasionally fundraising in an effort to free slaves individually. Even so, they were considered a radical group, as most of Swariath was still debating over whether slavery was great for everyone involved or just a necessary evil.

“Well, they haven’t even got that far in Jimzel.”

“Do they have slavery there?” someone asked. “We were trying to put together a list of countries that don’t a few weeks ago, and we couldn’t remember.”

“It’s… different. The law doesn’t provide for slavery, but it also doesn’t protect about a third of the population. Have you tried talking to members of the Council?”

As I’d hoped, they took off on my subject change, complaining about various politicians. When I got the chance, I asked if any of them knew of job openings. I got a few suggestions that didn’t seem promising, and then one of them said to another, “Isn’t your old boss getting desperate?”

The woman who’d been addressed said to me, “Yeah, but you wouldn’t want to work for him!”

“Yes I would. Really, I’ll take any job I can get.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” But she wrote down the information for me.

I went the next day to drop off a letter offering my services. The office was in a large building located a few blocks from the Council building. I had to explain my mission to a doorman to get into the building. “Good luck,” he told me. “You’ll need it. Oh, you might get the job easy enough, but no one lasts more than a few days. Fiorest must’ve gone through a dozen assistants in just the last month.”

The office was on the second floor, very small, and occupied solely by a man concentrating furiously on a stack of papers and scribbling feverishly. “You look like you need help,” I suggested.

He didn’t look up. “These idiots…” scribble “Are incapable…” scribble scribble “Of hard work!”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’d like to apply for a job.”

At that, he did look up. “Do you have time to be interviewed now?”

I agreed, of course, and he gestured for me to take a seat on the only other chair in the room. I had to move some papers before sitting down. He asked me the basics—my name, background, any previous experience. Like everyone else I’d met in Swariath, he was surprised that I was from Jimzel. “Why did you leave?” he asked.

“Personal reasons,” I answered, too brusquely.

“And why come here?”

“I walked in a straight line until the desert ended, and this is where I ended up.” Not the greatest answer, but it was the truth.

“I work for the government, albeit indirectly, and deal with sensitive information. How can I know you won’t pass it along to your former country?”

“Because you can’t throw a message in a bottle over sand and expect it to go anywhere.”

A corner of Fiorest’s mouth quirked upwards. “No, but you could hand it to a messenger.”

“You’d have more luck putting it in a bottle. No one crosses the desert.”

“You did.”

“Not an experience I’d chose to repeat.”

“Do you regret coming here, then?”

“Never.”

He changed his line of questioning. “I often have to deal with urgent projects that require working late into the night and sometimes through it. Many of my former assistants have been unable to deal with the workload. Do you think that would cause any problems for you?”

“No.”

He asked me to demonstrate how fast I could take dictation, then asked what other skills I had.

I tried to think which of my skills were applicable; I didn’t want to talk about how well I picked locks, or ran from assassins, or.... “I’m very organized, hardworking, and I learn quickly.” That sounded rather pathetic, I thought.

Fiorest regarded me carefully. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

I was surprised at the question, and not sure how to answer it. “Do you always ask that when you interview people?”

“No. Usually I already know the answer.”

“And you don’t with me?”

“I think I do, now. It’s just a different answer than most people I interview would give.” I thought that I’d blown the whole thing for sure, but he continued with the interview. “What one word would you say describes you?”

I thought for a moment, though not long enough, because I answered honestly, “Ruthless.”

Fiorest raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I do whatever I have to.”

“Such as?”

I shrugged.

“Well, thank you very much for your time, Aerika,” Fiorest reached to shake my hand, and suddenly he was holding a knife at my throat.

I was shocked, and terrified. I hadn’t been expecting it, now, here. Still, I jerked away, ducked under his arm, grabbed the knife, and had it as his throat before he could even register what was happening. “Who hired you?” I demanded frantically. “How did you… the whole thing was a trap? How did you set it up?”

He was as shocked as I had been an instant before, but stayed cool under pressure. “No one hired me. I wasn’t trying to kill you, it was part of the interview, to see how you’d react.”

I stared at him, my mind torn between disbelief and knowledge that I had irrevocably failed the interview. I thought it over. Everyone who wanted me dead, or had any reason to want me dead, or thought it would be good sport to have me killed, was on the other side of the desert. And it was inconceivable that he’d been hired by someone in Jimzel, that the whole thing, starting from the suggestion by one of the abolitionists, was a trap. So he had to be telling the truth, I tried to assure myself.

I lowered the knife, then, hesitantly, handed it back to Fiorest. He put it in a drawer, and I got up to leave.

“Do you still want the job?”

“You mean you’ll hire me?”

“You’re perfect for it, if you can handle the work. Can you start right away?”

“Yes.”

He showed me the papers he’d been working on earlier. “We need to cross-reference these, and find….”

Vengeance

I skulked in the darkness, listened at keyholes, prowled the secret passages in the walls. I saw and heard everything that went on in that godforsaken place. Every plot, every crime, every intrigue, every secret. What I knew could topple the kingdom and destroy those who clutched it to their cold, iron little hearts.

But I couldn’t do anything with my information. It wasn’t just my status, or lack of it—even the lowliest can wreak great havoc with that kind of knowledge, if they do it right. But I was as mistrusted as I was mistrustful. And if they knew how much I did know now, how dangerous I was, and the extents I would go to destroy them… I wouldn’t survive the night. So I stayed out of the away of those who meant me harm, but only just far enough out of the way as to see without being seen. I lived in the shadows, soaking up secrets, waiting. And when I got the chance, I would be avenged.

And finally, the chance came. Or at least, the opportunity to make a chance. I heard a whisper that a delegation from Agrivaia was to arrive, in a last ditch attempt to avoid war. And I began to plot.

The night they arrived, I stood in the shadows in the back of the hall as our king welcomed their diplomats. I watched their every movement, observed the tension between their leader and our king, picked out who each of the major players must be. The older, well dressed man was the ambassador, of course. The woman next to him had to be the princess, though she hardly looked the part—her dress was formal enough for the occasion, but not fancy, and her face was more sensible than pretty. Still, she was clearly the highest ranked among them, and the deal they hoped to make included her marriage to King Onisy. The two women—girls really—next to her were her ladies in waiting; then came a few minor nobles, and the man my plan hinged on—Taield, the Agrivaian spymaster.

I observed him carefully throughout the evening. Though I was too far to hear words, and he was of course civil to his hosts, he seemed… wary. Duly wary, to my mind, and I smiled inwardly. Perhaps I had a chance. I followed him back to his room, then snuck around into the secret passage, and watched him from there. It wasn’t particularly interesting. He wrote at the desk for a while—a report, and a personal letter, I thought—then went into the connecting bathroom and came back a bit later wearing only a towel. He blew out the lamp and went to bed. I waited long enough to be sure no one joined him, then retreated into the passageways of my own lair.

I made my move the next evening. I dressed in my most seductive outfit and used the normal hallways to get to his room. I knocked on the door, and when he opened it, said in my sultriest voice, “I have a present for you.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not interested.”

“I know; you’re happily married,” I said, pushing past him into his room. Once I was inside and out of earshot of any possibly passersby, I told him, in my normal voice, “It’s not what you’re thinking. At least hear me out.”

“Fine.” Taield shut the door and locked it, and I saw he was holding a dagger in one hand, but as he wasn’t being particularly threatening, I ignored it. I took a seat on his bed, and he turned the chair at his desk to face me and sat there. “How did you know I’m married?” he asked, true curiosity, as well as worry, in his voice. Because that wasn’t common knowledge; it was well known that he kept his private life private—a wise precaution, for someone in his line of work. I would have done the same, if I’d had a family to keep secret.

“I know everything,” I told him. He didn’t laugh at me—a point in his favor.

“Is that what this is about then?”

I pretended not to know what he meant. “Your wife?”

“Your knowledge.”

“Yes.”

He waited for me to say more. I waited for him to say anything. Finally, he did. “Is this a warning, then? Or blackmail?”

I laughed. “No, I told you. I’m here to give you a present.”

“That present being information.”

“Yes.”

“From whom?”

“From me, of course.”

He regarded me carefully.

“Who do you serve?”

“Myself.”

“Then who are you?”

“Me? That hardly matters. I’m nobody, really. Better to ask, what do I have for you?” As I spoke, I leaned back against his wall, subtly reached into the passage behind it, and withdrew a package of papers, which I hid behind my back.

“I’ll bite, what do you have?”

“Information on Onisy’s plans for conquering Agrivaia, what he means to do to Princess Aldasha, the truth about what happened to his first wife, the truth about how he took the throne in the first place, and various other tidbits you may find interesting.” I handed him the packet of papers, notes I’d carefully, dangerously, written out in preparation for this.

“Are you saying he plans to attack Agrivaia, after the treaty is signed?”

“No, no. I’m saying he’s planning for Agrivaia to attack him after the treaty is signed, and crush you in a defensive move. I’m not asking you to take my word on it; surely you have spies who can verify my information?”

He stared at me.

“I’ll give you some time to read through those and look into it. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow night.” I got up and started for the door.

He stopped me. “Wait. What’s in this for you?”

“Does it matter? Perhaps I simply enjoy watching things burn. Metaphorically speaking, of course.” I left.

When I returned the next evening, Taield was not alone. I was about to bolt when I realized the second figure was Princess Aldasha. She was sitting on the bed, where I’d been the previous evening, so I took a seat on the floor.

“As far as I’ve been able to find out, your information’s good,” Taield said.

“I know it is.”

“We mean to act on it,” Aldasha said.

“We…?

“No one else knows,” the spymaster said. “I had pieces of the information verified by my informants, but only the three of us know the whole thing. You’ve been invaluable in providing this information. Do you want to help us make our plans?”

“Yes, if you’ll have me.” I was surprised at the offer, though of course I’d planned to be involved, but I’d thought I’d have had to work from behind the scenes.

“The question is, is there any way to avoid war?”

I shook my head. “If the treaty fails, it means war. If the treaty goes ahead as planned, he kills you and starts a war.”

“What if we reveal his plan?” Taield mused.

“Reveal how? You can’t just say Aldasha won’t marry him because he’s going to kill her; he’d use an insult like that as an excuse to declare war.”

“No…. We’d have to wait and prove it, first,” Aldasha said slowly.

She exchanged a glance with Taield. “You can’t risk it,” he said gravely, and I realized what she was thinking.

“You mean, marry him? Let him try to kill you?” Aldasha nodded. “But that would still cause a war, wouldn’t it?”

“Not if I’m the only one left to wage a war against.”

We sat in silence, considering it.

“You know he won’t kill you himself,” Taield said.

“I think he will, actually,” I argued. They looked at me. “It’s just… more his style. He strangled his first wife. Of course, you still have to be open to the possibility of an assassination. What you should do is….” I outlined my plan.

We argued it over for a few more hours, working out the kinks, and of course, some changes were made to it during the following months.

But half a year later, Princess Aldasha and King Onisy were wed, and Aldasha was crowned queen. I waited in the passage outside their bedchamber. Taield guarded her during the ceremony and on the way back to the room, and just after I saw the newlyweds enter the room, he joined me. We watched in tense silence as they consummated their marriage. We had to, he could have tried to kill her at any moment, but that barely alleviated the awkwardness.

Finally, he grabbed her throat. Aldasha screamed, a gargled, choked, scream, but we hardly needed the warning. I burst into the room, holding a tiny jeweled dagger, stabbed the king, right in the heart, and disappeared back into the passage.

I watched as Aldasha grabbed the dagger, then ran to the door and screamed, “Help! Help!” Guards burst into the room, and Taield went around and followed them. I watched Aldasha tearfully explain how her husband had tried to kill her, and she’d stabbed him in self-defense, and he was d-dead! Angry red marks had appeared on her throat, and her story wasn’t questioned.

So Aldasha took the throne. As far as I saw, everyone was glad; Onisy had not been a good king. She made me her spymaster; Taield was to return to Agrivaia, and his wife.

“So, are you happy with the way things turned out?” he asked me before he left. “You never did say what your motivation was.”

“No,” I agreed. “And I never will. But I couldn’t be happier.”

The Price of Loyalty

Why me? I reflect as I wait in the darkest shadows of the dark room. Had it been anyone else who’d overheard the plot, they could have reported it and received gratitude, perhaps even a reward. To do the same, I am risking… everything. Everything I have left, anyhow. But it was once been my job to risk my life to protect Queen Iglacia, and whatever anybody thinks, my loyalties have never shifted.

Finally, the door opens and moonlight floods the room, silhouetting Andren in the doorway. He knows I am there instantly—he’s not the queen’s spymaster for nothing. A knife leaps into his hand as he orders, “Show yourself. I know you’re there.”

I step forward. Andren has always been hard to read, but I can tell he is surprised to see me. “Lilidy,” he says my name quietly, and lunges at me.

I expected it, so I dodge him, and swing onto his sofa, putting my hands in the air to show him I mean no threat. “I came here of my own will, because I have something important to tell you. Just hear me out before you do anything,” I tell him.

“Why should I listen to you?” he demands angrily, so angrily.

I want to tell him that he should listen to me because he’s always trusted me and I’ve never given him reason not to, but he wouldn’t believe it. “Because the queen’s life could depend on it.”

He hears me out, of course. I knew he would. The only question is, what will he do when I finish talking?

“I’ve been working as a maid, in Sir Bitan’s household,” I begin.

He raises an eyebrow. “Spying for who?”

I shake my head. “I am loyal to Iglacia; I wouldn’t spy for anyone else. I’m working as a maid.” Andren looks at me like I’m crazy, and I think he’s torn between not believing and not understanding. In truth, I’m not sure why I did it either. It’s not a desirable job, and I could have gotten a better one. I feel it’s my penance, but I don’t know for what. I didn’t do anything wrong. Though on the other hand, I was the one who originally suggested that the barren queen pretend Kylana’s unwanted baby was hers. If you look at it that way, it is all my fault.

I continue. “I was washing dishes. Well of course I was, as the most junior kitchen maid I was always washing dishes-” I babble when I’m nervous. You’d think that would be dangerous, but it’s actually served me pretty well—when you start babbling about dishes or your horse or whatever your terrified mind focuses on, you don’t seem much of a threat. But I would really prefer to be able to tell my story as neatly as possible, especially now, so I take a deep breath, and say, “Sorry. Anyway, I overheard Sir Bitan and another man talking. I don’t know if they didn’t notice me, or just assumed I didn’t speak Irigardian, but they spoke quite freely. Bitan was talking about whether it would be easier to have Iglacia poisoned or stabbed, and the other man laughed and said they might as well do both and arrange a fall from a horse as well, and the same to Coyld.” I reported as I had been taught to, what I had seen and heard, not how I felt about it, but I know my voice showed my disgust with their talk of murdering Iglacia and her six year old son. Well… But, no, though Kylana had born him, he was Iglacia’s son.

“Why should I believe you? You betrayed the queen once, why should I think this isn’t a trap?”

“I’ve never betrayed her. I don’t know how it got out, but I never told anyone. Andren, why would I do it? Kylana was like a sister to me, and I would give my life for the queen. How can you really think I would have betrayed them?” Logically, I understand. Only four people knew: Andren, Kylana, Queen Iglacia, and me. Kylana was the one who was killed by it, and the queen had every reason in the world to keep it a secret. So if Andren hadn’t done it, he knew it had to be me. But it wasn’t.

“I wish I could believe you.” He sounds as if he means it, but that doesn’t mean anything. “But Lilidy, I’m the one that taught you how to lie.” It was true, and if I had been lying, I’d have said much the same things I have, and just as convincingly. Maybe more so. Except…

“If I’d done it, I wouldn’t have come back.”

“Maybe you want me to think that.”

“I wouldn’t sacrifice my life to make you think well of me. The only reason I’m here is because I couldn’t stand by and do nothing while they plotted against the queen.”

I’d ran, before, when I should have been solving that crime, but if I’d stayed, I’d have been trying to solve it from prison, if I was lucky. Still, I shouldn’t have given up. I could have worked at it from a safe distance. I’d have to now, anyway. Not just to save my own skin, but because it couldn’t be a coincidence, two plots to take over the throne within as many months.

But Bitan couldn’t have been behind the first one, because how could he have known? In truth, the only person it could have been, other than me, was Andren. But despite everything, I trust him. Not the safest thing to do, in this job, but I just can’t conceive of him being involved.

I run through other possibilities in my mind. The queen’s husband, before he died? But then why wait so long. “Coyld’s real father?” I don’t even realize I’m thinking aloud. “But he, whoever he was, never even knew who Kylana really was or that she was pregnant, much less what happened afterwards. And they tricked a doctor-“

“Lilidy, do you think I haven’t gone through this a thousand times?” Andren asks me. “The only ones who knew that Coyld is Kylana’s son were you, me Kylana, and Iglacia. Iglacia had no reason to reveal that and every reason not to, and she swears she never did. Kylana wouldn’t have, and she’s the one who was killed because of it, she would have been betraying herself. I never told anyone; I don’t know whether you believe that. You say you didn’t, and I don’t know whether I believe that.”

“Well, that’s a marked improvement from practically being ready to burn me at stake.”

“What am I supposed to think?”

I shrug. “I don’t even know what I think. I do believe it wasn’t you. Why is it that the only three people who could have revealed it are the only three people in the world I trust?” I don’t expect him to answer, and he doesn’t.

“Do you think they’re related?” he asks me after a few minutes of silence. “Kylana’s death, and this plot you overheard?”

“No such thing as coincidence, of course,” he smiles at that, the words he must have told me hundreds of times, “But is it directly related, or just both about the legitimacy of her line? Kylana’s death was almost certainly an attempt on the queen, do you agree?”

“Or on the prince.”

“Either way, she wasn’t the main target. If the assassin hadn’t killed himself….”

“Which was the point, of course,” Andren reminds me.

“I know, I know. Anyhow, this could be a second attempt by the same people, and I lean towards thinking it is. On the other hand, since the truth about Coyld came out, there could be others who aren’t happy about it.”

“Either way, who would have motive?” Andren is more thinking out loud than asking me, but I’m used to this. He is, I suddenly realize, back to treating me as one of his trusted people, rather than a traitor. Whether he knows it or not, in his heart he believes me.

“Or to look at it from the other direction, what is Bitan’s motive?” I suggest.

“How far is he from the throne?” Andren muses. “No, he’s not in the royal line at all; he was only her husband’s brother.”

“Who would be next in line, if something happened to Iglacia and Coyld?”

“There’s no clear successor. It could come to civil war.”

“Would that take Coyld dying too? I’d think there’d be even more of a civil war if he was alive and one of the claimants to the throne.”

Andren shakes his head. “There’d be some people who wouldn’t want him, bit Iglacia’s well loved, and she’s made it quite clear that Coyld is her son and heir. Most of the country would rally behind him, and any war would be over quickly with Coyld as the clear victor.”

“And Bitan doesn’t have any right whatsoever? So what’s his motive?”

“Morals? Politics? Or… who was the man he was talking to? Maybe it isn’t Bitan’s plot.”

“Maybe, but that’s not the sense I got. It seemed to me as though the other man was just hired help, an assassin or a middleman.”

“We’re not getting anywhere looking at it this way, so what about this? We don’t know who revealed that Coyld is Kylana’s son, but who first found out about it?”

“Whoever hired the assassin who killed Kylana? I don’t see where you’re going.”

“The question is, what was the goal? Did they want Kylana dead, or the queen, or Coyld, or all three of them, or any two? Or either of us, we were both on the stairs as well. And we’ve been assuming it’s about Iglacia, but Kylana worked for me for over a decade; she had more than her share of enemies.”

“Does that work with how it went down though?” I relived the scene in my mind. We’d been coming down the stairs of the palace, Kylana and Andren on either side of the queen, Coyld and I a few steps behind. Suddenly Kylana fell, an arrow in her chest. Iglacia bent to help Kylana; Andren ran after the archer; I tried to shield Coyld, but he screamed for his mother and ran over. Iglacia grabbed him—

And suddenly, I see it, I understand who did what and how it all happened. I must have made a noise, because Andren looks at me sharply and asks, “What?”

“I know who revealed the secret.”

“Well?” he demands.

“Think of exactly what happened, when Kylana died.”

He gives me a look, but says, “We were coming out of the palace. Kylana fell on the steps, bleeding. You and Iglacia tried to help her, and I ran after the attacker, and Coyld screamed for his mother, and she grabbed him-“

“No,” I interrupt. “That’s your interpretation. What actually happened?”

It takes him only a second to see it then. He looks at me in awed horror. “Kylana fell and he screamed, ‘Mother!’”

“She must have told him, I think. Iglacia wouldn’t have, and…. Maybe she just wanted him to know. She loved him, of course. She couldn’t have thought…”

Andren nods. “I’m sorry, Lilidy.”

I shrug. “You didn’t know.”

“I could have trusted you.”

“You? Trust someone? I know you better than that.”

He smiles, but then his face goes grim. “I think we agree that Coyld wasn’t behind it.”

“Of course not. He’s six, and even if he could have, he loves Iglacia, and loved Kylana even without knowing she was his mother. “

“And he’s not a child to go around telling secrets just because he knows them. So the question is, who manipulated it out of him?”


“The obvious answer would be Bitan, but if so, why?”

“Fortunately, we don’t have to speculate anymore,” Andren said with a grin. “I’ll go up and invite Coyld over for some hot chocolate.”

While he was gone, I prepared the drink. About ten minutes later, Coyld flew into the room, nearly knocking my cup from my hands with his hug. “Lilidy!!! I’ve missed you! You’re back!”

I hugged him back, then gave him a glass of hot chocolate, and the three of us sat down to talk.

“Do you know why I was gone?” I began, because I couldn’t just blurt out, “Who did you tell that the queen isn’t your real mother?”

“To spy on bad people,” Coyld replied cheerfully.

“That ended up being part of it, but it was actually because your mother and Andren thought I’d told people that Kylana was your real mother.” I watched his reaction carefully.

“You knew?” he asked me, surprised and worried. “But she said nobody was supposed to know!”

“I knew before you were even born,” I told him. “But what we need to know is if you’ve told anyone.” I was careful to keep my voice light and unnacusing, but Coyld still looked a little scared.

Andren added kindly, “It might have been someone who already knew, and asked you about it?” I glanced at him. I hadn’t thought of it, but that made the most sense—that someone had suspected, or even just suspected there was some secret, and used Coyld to verify it.

“Oh, him,” said Coyld. “It was just my cousin.”

“Your cousin?”

“Imkel, my cousin,” Coyld explained.

I wanted to slap myself. “I’m an idiot!” I exclaimed loudly. “It wasn’t just some assassin, it was Bitan’s son!”

We wait to discuss it until Andren gets back from bringing Coyld home. “I told Iglacia. She sends her deepest apologies and hopes you’ll return to her service. Though, some spy you are; you worked in Bitan’s house and you didn’t even recognize his son?” He was joking, mostly.

“I wasn’t there as a spy; there’s no reason I would have. I’ll do better next time. The question is, does this change anything, besides for confirming it?”

“Does it give them a motive, you mean? I think it does. He’s not in direct line for the throne, but no one else is any closer, and as a strong young man, with a family—you know his wife’s pregnant?” I hadn’t known, but did realize that it would make him a better candidate for the throne, in most people’s eyes—they wouldn’t have to worry about dealing with another civil war when he died. Andren continued, “And he is related to the queen, even though it’s just by marriage. He’d have at least a chance of winning the throne, and that’s enough of a motive.”

He sent out several men to arrest Bitan and Imkel. They returned with their prisoners two days later. Imkel demanded a trial be combat, to the death. He lost. Bitan settled for being tried by the queen. He also lost.