The city inspector stopped beside Cas but did not spare him a glance. He lifted the burlap sack and glared at the man across the counter. “Ten rats, innkeeper. In the kitchen alone. This is unacceptable.”
Cas, about to take his first bite of bunubunus, returned the pastry to its plate.
The innkeeper’s pleasant countenance had turned mulish. “We live in a city, Inspector. Rats are a part of life.”
“They do not have to be. They should not be. It is as simple as disposing of your garbage and keeping your premises clean.” The city inspector shook the burlap for emphasis, the lone rat tail whipping about. “Filth attracts rats. Rats bring on the plague—”
“So says you.” The innkeeper’s tone, weariness and skepticism combined, only riled the inspector further.
“So says the physicians, sir! Scientific minds—” The inspector threw his hand up and finally looked Cas’ way. He blinked. “My lord Cassia.”
“City Inspector Gaspar.” Cas dipped his head in greeting. “Thank you for returning my horse.”
“It was my pleasure.” The inspector bowed. As graceful as one could be while holding a bag full of rats. “You have become my daughter’s new hero. She has spoken of nothing else since that day.”
Cas smiled before bringing the topic back around. “Who are these scientific minds? We’ve always been told that plague is spread through the air.”
“Don’t get him started,” the innkeeper advised.
But City Inspector Gaspar ignored him. “That is part of it, I think. But there’s a study written by a physician in Caffa. It’s a kingdom in the far, far west,” he added, seeing their blank looks. “And she believes that plague may also be spread through fleas. Fleas that are carried on the backs of rats.”
The innkeeper sniffed. “She?”
“Yes, she,” City Inspector Gaspar said, weary. “The physician is a woman, famous in Caffa. Her name is Blaise. And it makes a terrible sort of sense, does it not? What creature travels as far and as wide as man?”
Cas said thoughtfully, “In the hold of a ship. In a caravan across the desert . . .”
“Roams the common rat.” City Inspector Gaspar wore the smile of a man who was finally being listened to. “I would be pleased to show you the report, Lord Cassia, if you wish it.”
“I do,” Cas said. At the innkeeper’s wounded look, he added, “I was told Palmerin did not suffer as greatly as we might have, and that is largely because of our city inspector.” This at least the innkeeper did not dispute. City Inspector Gaspar appeared baffled by Cas’ words, as though recognition was something he rarely heard. “I have known plague, sirs. Rather too well. If there’s a way to keep it far from our gates, then I would like to know about it.”
A shriek came from the second floor, freezing everyone down below. They turned as one toward the stairs. The innkeeper exclaimed, “Why, that is my girl—!” Cas was already halfway across the room when he heard Lena, somewhere above, shouting his name.
“Cas! Cas, come quick!”
There would be no stories shared by Abril. Not today. Not ever. She lay on a narrow bed in a tiny room, as perfectly arranged as if she were in a coffin. Her hands were folded across her chest. She wore an elaborate gown the color of fresh cream. It flowed off the bed to form a heavy puddle on the floor. As for Lena, she stood frozen by an easel and paint box near the window.
Cas gripped both sides of the door frame, breath ragged from the panicked sprint up the stairs. A crowd had gathered behind him in the corridor. Guests and servants lured by the screams. The innkeeper’s daughter wept in her father’s arms.
Cas said, “Lena.”
His voice jolted her from her trance. “We knocked and knocked but no one answered. We had to go find a key. But when we opened the door . . .”
Cas approached the bed. Even he, who had seen so much death, was unsettled. A gold coin covered each eye. A startled glance at Lena said she recognized them too. The two-faced god Zacarias, turning up in the strangest places.
“I don’t even know how she died,” Lena said. “There’s no blood, Cas. She looks like she’s sleeping, except for those horrible coins.” She stepped forward suddenly, hopeful. “What if she’s not—?”
Cas placed two fingers on Abril’s neck and felt the cold clamminess of her skin. “She’s gone.” There was no sign of a pulse beneath his fingertips, which brushed the ribbon tied around her neck. A black ribbon, two inches wide. It was loosely secured. Cas’ touch had it drooping even farther to reveal a pinprick marked by a spot of dried blood. Lena came to stand beside him. Their backs prevented the others from seeing much. She kept her voice low. “That looks like a needle mark.”
“Yes.”
“Poison?”
It could be. “I’m no expert on poisons.”
“Cas . . .” Lena lowered her voice even further. “The dress. Do you recognize it?”
He was no expert on dresses, either. It looked costly, with gold threading and all those stars—Cas felt the hairs rise along his arms. “Is this . . . ?”
“Yes.” Lena recited from memory: “Four hundred and sixty-eight feet of cream rakematiz, woven with gold, the pattern one of stars, crescents, and diamonds. This is the queen’s wedding dress.” She studied the folds gathered on the floor. “Part of it, at least. What is happening here?”
“Lord Cassia?” The city inspector’s voice broke through their whispers. He stood beside the innkeeper and his daughter, the bag of rats nowhere in sight. “Should I send for the death wagon?”
“Yes. And Lord Ventillas. Wait.” Cas had nearly forgotten. A small chest sat by the easel, the lid open, only half-full of clothing. The room was neat and spare and lonely. Nothing suggested a second person had ever slept here, helping Abril through her terrible headaches. “Where is her sister?”
The coroner’s wagon attracted more onlookers outside the inn. Ventillas was there as Abril was carried out, his rage quiet in the face of so many watchful eyes. He had known her. Cas thought they might have been friends in better times. And from Ventillas, they had learned another truth. Abril had never had a sister. She had been an orphan, raised by aunts.
“Cassia,” Ventillas said. “Lady Analena. What do you know?”
Cas and Lena exchanged a glance. They knew Queen Jehan had lied about recognizing the coin, but Cas did not think Lena would want to mention it here, not before she had spoken to her family. He was right.
“Abril stayed at the inn for months,” Lena told Ventillas. “Everyone knows she’s been working on the tapestry. But the servants only remember seeing the sister, whoever she is, these last few days.”
“No one saw her face,” Cas added. “The innkeeper says she always wore a veil, a black one. They thought she was a widow.” Dimas, the rice merchant, had said the same.
“What name did she give?” Ventillas asked. “This false sister?”
“Faustina again, Lord Ventillas,” Lena said. His brother’s only reaction was a slight flaring of the nostrils.
Cas said, “First Faustina, now Abril. Someone isn’t happy with the queen, or her traveling companions.”