Well of the Damned

Chapter 35





Ambryce was just as Cirang remembered it: dirty and dilapidated, with whores and beggars on every corner and children running through the wet streets picking pockets and stealing wares from the merchants who stood by their carts, looking miserable. Unlike the highbrows of Tern, the people in this city didn’t let the rain stop them from their business. They walked around, huddled under cloaks and dashing from one awning to another. They were used to hardship.

Decades of corruption in the city’s government had won several gamblers much of the taxpayers’ money and had left the previous lordover destitute and suicidal. After his death, his son took control and worked to restore the city, but progress was slow, residents were wary of authorities, and the underpaid soldiers were themselves too impoverished not to look the other way when a few coins fell into their purses. It had never bothered Sithral Tyr, for the people were ripe for corrupting and would do whatever he needed of them with a minimum of prodding.

It occurred to her that the Gwanry Museum would be the ideal place to leave the journal for Kinshield. Tyr had known the curator well, a scrawny, bug-eyed man who thought he was too clever to play by the rules. The advantage was Cirang’s; Laemyr Surraent wouldn’t know her in this body.

As she rode through the city, people smiled at her, some waving or calling out a greeting, addressing her not as Lady Sister as they would have done in recent months, but as First Royal. She didn’t know them, but they seemed to hold her in some regard. She stood out here with her mail and shiny new sword and the magnificent warhorse beneath her. It was best to conduct her business quickly and leave so as to be noticed by as few people as possible. When Kinshield got here, she didn’t want him to easily learn what direction she went, when she arrived or when she left.

At the museum, she dismounted and tied the warhorse to the hitching post. The ever-present ache in her side was annoying, but it was her back that made every step excruciating. She winced, trying to support her back with one hand on her injured hip, as she limped up the two steps to the stoop. The bells on the door jingled when she entered. She took off the wet cloak and hung it on a hook in the foyer.

A tall, slim woman bustled into the room and greeted her with a warm smile. Gray streaks in her brown hair, and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth gave away her advanced age, though she seemed spry and alert. “Good afternoon,” she said. “Welcome to the Gwanry Museum of History. I’m the assistant curator. I see you’re wearing the king’s colors. King Gavin has been a frequent and favored visitor here. I hope you’ll send him my warmest regards. How may I assist you today?”

“How now, Tolia,” Cirang said. “King Gavin is on his way to Ambryce, and I’ve found something he would be interested in. I’m on urgent business and can’t wait to hand it to him myself. I need to leave it in a safe place.”

Tolia’s eyes widened. “Oh! You can leave it with us. I’ll be happy to put it in our vault for him. Will he know to come here for it?”

Cirang nodded as she limped over to a bench in the entry way and eased herself down. Another minute standing on her feet felt as though her back would break again. A week abed would do her much good. “I’ll leave a message with the lordover’s soldiers.”

“Dear, are you hurt? Do you need something?”

“Pain tea would help, if you have it.”

“Charla?” she called over her shoulder. “Come here, please.”

A young woman came into the foyer from a back room. She was a redhead with freckles everywhere she had skin, and her large, brown eyes were unblinking as if she were in a daze. “M’lady?”

“Do we have any pain tea for the First Royal Guard?”

“Yes, I’ll brew some. I’ve hot water on, so it’ll only take a moment.” Charla ducked back into the other room, and Tolia put a gentle hand on Cirang’s shoulder.

“Can I get you something else?”

Cirang brightened. “Yes, actually I need a piece of paper, quill and ink. I need to pen a message.”

“Yes, of course. You can sit at my desk here.” Tolia gestured to a table and chair in the corner of the adjacent room on the right. “May I help you?”

Cirang waved off her assistance and climbed to her feet, suppressing a moan. She limped over to the desk and eased herself back down into the chair, setting her knapsack on the floor beside her.

Tolia took a sheet of fine white paper from a shelf above the tabletop, uncorked the bottle of ink, and set a clean quill before her. “I’ve excellent penmanship, if you’d like me to pen the note for you.”

“No, I’ll do it.” Cirang had had poor handwriting and a worse command of spelling, but Tyr had been quite literate. It was his skill she relied on as she composed the message.

Tolia set out a stick of blue sealing wax. “I’ll fetch a flame while you write.”

Cirang dipped the quill into the ink pot and wrote her message. With one hand, she waved the paper in the air to dry the ink, and with the other, she drew Sevae’s journal from her knapsack.

Tolia returned with a slender candle, cupping its flame behind one hand. “Here you are.”

Cirang handed her the journal. “This is for the king. Make sure he gets it.”

Tolia took it and held it in both hands. “Yes, I’ll keep it safe and deliver it to him myself. What is it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Cirang glared at her as she folded the message. “It’s none of your business, and don’t you dare read it after I’m gone.” In truth, she didn’t care one way or another whether Tolia knew what was in the journal, but there was no reason she couldn’t have a little fun while she was here. “It’s the king’s business and no one else’s.”

“Of course,” Tolia said. “Forgive me. I should have known better.” She cleared her throat, and for a moment, neither said anything. “May I ask, how did you know my name?”

Had the woman not given her name when she introduced herself? Cirang thought back to Tyr’s last visit. He’d sent a thief to steal a priceless necklace from Queen Calewyn’s tomb, and the curator had hired Kinshield the warrant knight to get it back. Tyr had been displeased and had gone to Ambryce to teach Laemyr Surraent a lesson. While Cirang had never met these people, she knew Kinshield had. “King Gavin mentioned you and Mr. Surraent before I left Tern,” Cirang said. She used the flame to melt the wax and let it drip onto the paper’s exposed edge.

Tolia clapped her hands together delightedly. “Oh! I hope he spoke well of me. Us, I mean.”

Cirang smirked. So Tolia had designs on a married man. A king, no less. And Cirang was in a position to stir up a little mischief. “I really shouldn’t say this,” she said with a teasing drawl, “but he spoke very highly of you in particular. I overheard him telling his adviser that had you been a few years younger—” She stopped and bit her lip. “I’ve said too much. Forget I said anything.”

“No, please,” Tolia said. “I beg of you. Tell me. If I’d been younger, what?”

Cirang beckoned with a finger for her to lean down and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He’d have proposed to you instead of to Queen Feanna. You must never repeat that to anyone. Swear to me.”

“Yes, I swear,” she said breathlessly with a hand to her heart. “Thank you. You can’t know what that means to me.”

“That information is for you only,” Cirang reminded her. “I’d lose my job and earn the king’s wrath if he ever found out I told you this.” She pressed her thumb onto the glob of warm wax, sealing her message shut.

“It’s our secret,” Tolia said with a smile.

Charla returned carrying a steaming cup and saucer. “I made it strong, so perhaps you should drink it slowly.”

Cirang took the cup and sipped the hot liquid. It was almost hot enough to burn, and she blew across the liquid’s pale-green surface within the cup. Its familiar scent was comforting, reminding her of days when she was a girl and her mother nursed her after she’d fallen from a tree or horse, or fought with one of the neighbor boys. She sipped until it was cool enough to drink, and gulped it down. It would be a half hour or so before the pain would subside, but it was a comfort to know the process was under way. She couldn’t afford to wait around for the tea’s pain relieving properties to take effect.

She stood and shouldered her knapsack once more. “Don’t forget.”

“You have my word. And thank you, First Royal.”

It would have been amusing to watch secretly when Kinshield showed up to claim the journal. She didn’t have anything against Tolia, but Tyr had never been fond of her either. She’d often tried to keep him from visiting Surraent upstairs, especially the last time when he’d been so angry. Cirang remembered how Tyr had shoved the older woman so hard, she fell onto her backside, but he didn’t care. He gave Surraent quite the thrashing that day, repayment for sending the ’ranter after him.

Getting back on the horse hurt like hell, but the tea would start to work soon, and by the end of the day, she would be leaving Ambryce for her new life. Having something to look forward to helped keep her mind focused.

Her next stop was the lordover’s manor. The ride from the museum was roughly an hour at a walk, and despite the rain, the streets were too crowded to trot or canter. She didn’t intend to go onto the grounds, just to approach a guard of sufficient rank to entrust with her message.

The Lordover Ambryce’s home and offices sat inside a fortified compound, evidence of past corruption that had angered criminals and law-abiding citizens alike. According to stories, an eight-foot brick wall was erected around the property about twenty-five years earlier. A paved road led to its iron gate, kept closed and locked at night. Although Cirang suspected there was a secret entrance and exit, this was the only public road. Two guards stood at the gate to stop and question everyone who approached.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with the queen’s contingent?” the taller one asked. He had a bulbous nose and heavy-lidded blue eyes that made him look bored.

The queen was in Ambryce? Cirang felt a pang of apprehension. The last person she wanted to run into was Feanna Kinshield. “No, I’m on a special assignment to Keyes, but I need to leave a message for King Gavin.”

“You want to send it by bird, then?” the guard asked.

“No, the king is riding to Ambryce as we speak,” she told him. The two men cast a glance at each other. “I prefer to leave the message with you. You’ll see it delivered to him immediately after he arrives, won’t you? It’s most important.”

The guard awakened and stood up at attention. “M-me? Is it all right if I give it to my captain instead?”

Cirang rolled her eyes. The buck probably couldn’t take a piss without asking his captain for instructions. “Yes, yes, that’s fine. It’s crucial he gets this message as soon as possible, so you need to get word to every guard you have on patrol that an urgent message has been left for King Gavin. Anyone who sees him must direct him to your captain and impress upon him the importance of it.”

They bowed crisply in unison. “Yes, First Royal. We’ll post someone at the bridge to make certain King Gavin receives the message immediately.”

“Not the bridge over the Flint River,” she said. “He won’t be coming from the north. He’ll be coming from the mountains.”

Both guards’ eyebrows shot up at the same time. “From the Superstition mountains?” the tall one asked.

A rude quip tempted her tongue, but she held it in check and just gave them an impatient look. “Yes, from the Superstition mountains. What other mountains are near Ambryce?”

“Uh, all right,” he said, scratching his temple. “We’ll send a couple guards to the east side of town to intercept him.”

“Don’t mishandle this or he’ll likely have your heads when he finds out.” She turned her horse to the west.

Now it was time to conduct her experiment.