Everything had gone right, yet everything had gone wrong. He’d done what Tanju had demanded of him—found Foesmasher’s daughter—even without using the dorje. But what good had it done? Glisena was about to give birth to a demon; her chances of survival weren’t high. And once again, those who had committed this foul crime—Naneth and the abomination Sibyl—would go unpunished.
Thunder grumbled in the coal-dark sky, a distant echo to Arvin’s thoughts.
If Glisena did die, Foesmasher would be devastated. The baron didn’t think clearly where his daughter was concerned. He was bound to take his frustrations out on those who were “responsible,” in however oblique a way, for any harm that came to her. He demonstrated that when he’d lashed out at the soldier after the death of the satyr. Arvin might be the next one on the chopping block—especially if his absence from the palace were discovered. Marasa had instructed him to stay close at hand, and he’d disobeyed her. That alone would be enough to rouse the baron’s wrath.
Arvin clenched his gloved hand until his abbreviated little finger ached. It was like serving the Guild, all over again.
He’d been wrong to think he could make a new home for himself in Sespech; wrong in putting his faith in the baron; and most of all, wrong about Karrell.
He stared at the bed in which they’d made love—in which they’d conceived a child—then he looked back at the portrait, still in his hand. He crumpled it and tossed it onto the cold ashes in the fireplace.
He leaned forward and drummed his fingers on the table. If he knew where Zelia was, he might have tried to head Karrell off, to talk some sense into her. But the baron had been too preoccupied—to say the least—for Arvin to ask him where Zelia had been spotted. All Arvin knew was that she was somewhere in Ormpetarr… Which was all Karrell knew about Zelia, as well. And yet the message she’d left with the soldiers sounded as if she knew where Zelia was. How? Karrell was a stranger here; she knew less about Ormpetarr than even Arvin did. She’d have no idea which inn Zelia might have chosen to stay at—
Arvin stiffened. Zelia was an agent of House Extaminos, a trusted employee of Lady Dediana. She wouldn’t stay at an inn.
She’d stay at the ambassador’s residence.
That was where Karrell went.
His exhaustion suddenly forgotten, Arvin hurried from the room.
Arvin approached the ambassador’s residence warily, his feet squelching on melting snow. If he was right in his guess that Zelia was staying here, he didn’t want to run into her in the street. He pulled his hood up and tugged it down over his forehead to hide his wound. The lapis lazuli was still in place over his third eye; if Naneth scried on him again, he wanted to know it. Besides, removing the stone wouldn’t accomplish much. Though the cut on his forehead had scabbed over completely, hiding the stone from view, Zelia would quickly realize what had prompted such a wound. Even with several days’ worth of stubble shadowing Arvin’s face, she’d recognize him.
He stared at the ambassador’s residence from the shadow of an arched gate down the street. Several lights were on inside the building, and figures moved busily back and forth, their silhouettes passing across the draped windows. A large cargo wagon was pulled up in front of the main gate. The wagon was already half filled with boxes, rolled-up rugs, and furniture; slaves hurried back and forth from the residence, loading it.
It looked as though Ambassador Extaminos was beating a hasty retreat from Ormpetarr. Had he heard what was happening at the palace?
Four militiamen in cobra-hood helmets stood guard over the wagon. Arvin recognized one of them by his prominent nose. He touched the crystal at his neck, whispering a prayer of thanks to Tymora for sending him good fortune. He still had a little energy left in his muladhara, but he didn’t want to spend it on a charm unless he had to. Rillis, fortunately, responded to more mundane prods.
Arvin fished two silver pieces out of his coin pouch then walked toward the front gate of the residence, hailing Rillis by name. “I’m looking for Karrell—the woman who was with me when I spoke with Ambassador Extaminos. Have you seen her?”
The young militiaman shook his head.
Relief filled Arvin. Maybe Karrell had second thoughts about talking to Zelia. Then again, maybe Rillis hadn’t been in a position to spot her. “How long have you been on watch?”
“All night,” Rillis said with a wry look. “As usual.”
“Always at the front gate?”
“Mostly,” he said. He kicked at the slush. “The snow might be melting, but it’s still been a damp, chilly night,” he added with a wink.
Arvin noticed that Rillis wasn’t shivering. He’d obviously been inside at least part of his watch, warming himself at the fire.
Rillis stared at the wound on Arvin’s forehead. “What happened this time?” he asked. “Another naga?”
Arvin shook his head. “Nothing so exciting as that,” he lied. “A thief tried to grab my coin pouch. He cut me.”
