Finder: First Ordinance, Book One (19 page)

"I wish I had the power and confidence to tell you all those things, but I don't," I responded. "I marvel at your maturity. I've worked with others near your age, and they have displayed mostly juvenile behavior."

"When you grow up in the political system here in Kondar, you grow up fast," Berel shrugged. "A careless word can cost more than most are willing to pay. Foolish words or acts are often blown out of proportion and the vid images are broadcast throughout Kondar."

"I understand that, more than you know," I agreed. For seventeen turns, I'd remained silent for exactly that reason.

"Quin?" Master Gurnil's voice arrived before he did. "Are you ready to go? Halthea wishes to leave immediately."

"I am ready, Master Gurnil," I nodded. Did he know, as I did, that my life would change again, once we arrived at Avii castle?

Probably not.

Berel took my hand in a steady grip before I left him to join Gurnil. I turned to wave as we walked away. He lifted a hand in return, and it pained me to see the concern in his eyes.

* * *

"She will serve as one of my maids, and when the Kondari ask for her assistance, those messages will be brought directly to me," Halthea waved imperiously. She'd demanded that our party join her in meeting King Jurris after the trip to Avii castle.

Jurris seemed surprised by Halthea's announcement, but didn't say anything. Gurnil and Ordin, however, were angry immediately. "She needs to learn more about traditional medicine, in order to work better with the Kondari physicians," Ordin sputtered.

"She was allowed to stay in the suites surrounding the Library, and I wish that to continue," Gurnil said. He wanted so badly to point out that neither Jurris nor Halthea wanted anything to do with me before.

All that was before they could command four million Kondari credits for my ability to heal. Between filling the Avii coffers, I would be allowed to serve as one of Halthea's maids. Had I functioning wings at that moment, I would have flown away from Aviia and never looked back.

"She may continue her studies with you, Ordin, and continue to sleep in the bed you've given her—after she has performed her duties for my Halthea," Jurris dropped his hand, ending the matter. "No more than six hour's work from her, my darling," He turned to Halthea. "The messages from Kondar requesting her services will be delivered to you, as you desire."

To placate Halthea, who wanted to monopolize my time, he lifted her hand and kissed it, then offered her a smile. Halthea smiled back, and in that forced expression lay peril for me.

* * *

"Say what you're thinking—it will go no further," Justis nodded to Gurnil. He, Ordin and Gurnil had gathered in Gurnil's private study, to have their conversation.

"That bitch," Gurnil hissed. "She intends to ask as much as possible for Quin's services, and offer them to any and every Kondari who has the money to pay. Not all Kondari are well meaning, as the High President is. I heard rumors of dissent among the Council, from Kondari who thought I didn't understand their language."

"Her life could be in danger, and Halthea doesn't care," Ordin snapped. "She has no care or understanding of the politics involved. Do you know how it angers me that Quin is to serve as her maid? This is her way of pinning Quin down and keeping her subservient."

"I know." Justis rustled his wings. "Halthea isn't the kindest person to her maids, and this concerns me."

"Our laws protect any Avii from assault and murder, but those laws don't apply to the half-bloods or Red Wings, do they?" Gurnil's anger increased. "Quin has been mistreated enough, in my opinion, yet Halthea promises more of the same, if not worse, while taking every credit that comes from Quin's talents."

"Let me talk to my brother," Justis shook his head. "I didn't see this coming, but I should have. Halthea is a greedy bitch; she spent half the payment from Quin's healing this time before we ever left Kondar."

"On jewelry, shoes and fabrics," Ordin grumbled. "That money could be better spent elsewhere, yet Halthea uses it for personal gain. You don't see Jurris' other wives getting anything from this, do you?"

"They won't," Justis shook his head. "They're wise enough not to ask."

"All because she has red wings, and is fortunate enough to be the only female with red wings." Gurnil shook his head. "Elabeth was right in refusing to name her heir."

"Elabeth saw her for what she was, instead of the red wings she bears," Justis growled. "My brother only sees red wings."

"Convenient, too, that both her Red-Wing parents are deceased."

"They walked through the gate together," Gurnil nodded at Ordin's words.

"Halthea used that to play on Jurris' sympathy for weeks," Justis said. "And found her way into his bed shortly after."

"All this would be moot if Elabeth and Camryn were alive. Or had Lirin survived," Gurnil said.

"I couldn't stop her from taking the baby," Justis rumbled. "Elabeth seemed concerned about something, but wouldn't say what it was. I didn't press her, as time was short before she and Camryn had to leave for Fyris."

"Perhaps it was an omen, and she misread it," Gurnil suggested.

"Perhaps."

* * *

"This is Quin's report. This one is Gurnil's, and this is the third sample," Chief of Medical Sciences, Hadris Jem, handed the information chips to Melis Norwal.

"What did you find?" Melis asked.

"There is some connection between Gurnil and the third sample, as if they had a common ancestor. There is no connection between them and Quin."

"No connection at all? I find that unusual. Did you verify the reports?"

"We ran the samples several times, and even cross-referenced them with samples we secretly gathered from Ordin and Justis. There is no connection between any of them and young Quin. I have no idea where she came from, Melis, but it doesn't appear to be from Siriaa."

"Are you going to give that information to Gurnil?"

"That's what I wanted to discuss with you and the High President."

Chapter 13
 

"Then let's say there's no connection between Quin and the third sample, and that the other results were inconclusive," Edden Charkisul shook his head at Hadris Jem. "This is disconcerting, to say the least, and if word of this gets out, you know what my opponents are likely to say."

"Or do," Melis agreed. "I'm concerned about the Princess' visit. She's greedy, there's no doubt about that, and had half the credits we paid her spent before she left. If she attempts to go around us and offer Quin's services to anyone willing to pay, it will place the girl in danger."

"Quin is in enough danger as it is, in my estimation," Hadris concurred. "Where she is, she seems little more than a slave."

"It makes me wonder where she came from and how they found her, if she isn't connected to any of them," Melis said.

"This information stays with us," Edden shook his head. "Unless we want her dead."

"Are your enemies that dangerous?" Hadris frowned.

"They're that dangerous," Melis replied. "My team is kept busy, containing threats. So many are spreading rumors that the poison infecting Siriaa is retribution from the gods for supporting the High President."

"Unless their gods are of the mundane and mortal kind, I find no verifiable correlation," Hadris observed.

* * *

Dorthil Crasz nodded to a servant, who poured wine into a delicate, handcrafted glass made by the Avii. Dorthil had spent many credits acquiring a full set of the delicate, red-tinted flutes.

"I could have used your help, when I ran for the Presidency against that soft-hearted bastard, Charkisul," Dorthil muttered.

"What's to keep you from taking it away from him?" his visitor asked, sipping the wine and nodding approval.

"I'd certainly need appropriate resources. More credits, too, to pay those I'd need to command."

"What if I can offer all those things to you?"

Dorthil studied his visitor. He appeared to be middle-aged, but Dorthil suspected he might be much older. Centuries older, actually. Dorthil had thought to turn him away when he'd first arrived. The visitor only had to lift a hand and a blast of power was released, rendering Dorthil's bodyguard unconscious.

Dorthil had shown immediate interest, after that.

"You say you're a wizard?" Dorthil asked. "Why would you help me gain the Presidency? What do you want in return?"

Marid of Belancour studied Dorthil thoughtfully, before carefully wording his answer. "I am a wizard—from Yokaru. I know Kondar holds the rights to the volcano fields to the south. I merely wish to mine the sands below the volcano fields. Charkisul will never agree to it. I want your permission as High President to do so, unhindered."

"For how long?"

"Not long. I imagine a few weeks will suffice. The credits will be paid to you shortly after, and we will all have what we want."

"I want proof, first."

"Very well. I can provide spells and weapons that will place you where you wish to be. After that, I only need some time in the volcano fields."

"If you can do as you say, then we have an agreement," Dorthil held out his hand. Marid accepted.

* * *

"How did it go?" Morid, Marid's eldest son, asked when Marid folded into his private study.

"Very well. Better than expected. The fool thinks I'm from Yokaru. He has no idea that other worlds exist outside his own. We'll have access to Fyris, never fear. Not only will the collection of the poison bring us the funds we are lacking, it will provide an opportunity to strike back at Glendes Grey and Grey House. Imagine what a bit of that toxin will do if we manage to slip it through to Grey Planet?"

"Are you forgetting that Trikleer is there, Father?"

"I forget nothing. If he wishes to ally himself with those criminals, then he will suffer just the same as they."

Morid didn't respond, although he knew Marid had shoved Trik away—couldn't get rid of him fast enough. Trik hadn't had any say in the matter. Now that Trik, who'd been a cripple all his life until Shadow Grey and Lissa of Le-Ath Veronis adopted him, was an able-bodied, Fourth-Level Wizard, Marid was angry that he hadn't returned to the Belancours with his fully developed talents.

"Do you have buyers already, Father?" Morid asked instead.

"I do, and once they see what I have to offer, they'll pay whatever we ask."

* * *

"I have no rights. I'm a half-blood, remember?" I shook my head at Dena's outrage. She'd spent half an hour, pouring out her dissatisfaction at the recent turn of events.

We'd settled inside my suite after Gurnil left us to attend a meeting with Ordin and Justis. I knew the meeting concerned me, but there was little any of them could do to change my circumstances.

"The rights for some should be rights for all. We shouldn't be able to pick and choose who is deserving," Dena fumed. "If Elabeth were alive, she'd hear your case," she added.

"Elabeth is dead. I've been reminded of that often enough, and usually with a blow from a wooden spoon to emphasize it," I said. "So many think I'm personally responsible for her death. I was a child and nowhere near when it happened. I find it curious that vengeance is always leveled against the innocent afterward, don't you? As if an entire nation is held responsible for a crime committed by a few, or those in power."

Yes, I'd allowed my frustrations to surface, and that had never happened before. "Never mind," I sighed, waving a hand. "These are not your troubles, and certainly not your fault."

"It makes me ill," Dena muttered. "I hear rumors about the treatment of her maids. Be careful, Quin." She shivered after she spoke, and that reinforced what I already knew—Halthea was dangerous.

* * *

"How long before the ships are built?" Omina asked. She nodded to the servant to pour tea for her brother, who'd come to her suite after overseeing shipbuilding for the day.

"Less than two moon-turns. Perhaps six eight-days. Who can say?" Rath shrugged. "I'd worry that Tamblin is sailing to his death, if I had any concern for your husband, sister."

"My concern is that he'll place you, Rodrik and my remaining son in the same danger he places himself," Omina snorted. "I care not if he and Yevil both perish."

"I'd prefer that Yevil perish first. I blame him most for Fyris' dilemma. Tamblin might not have had the courage to slay his brother, had Yevil not raised his hand to accomplish the deed."

"My Queen?" Farin knocked softly on the half-open door of her study.

"Farin?" Omina lifted an eyebrow at her palace physician, who'd walked in, carrying a sheaf of parchment in his hands.

"I asked the servants to clean out Finder's things. We found this beneath her mattress." He offered the sheaf to Omina. "I've already leafed through them."

"What is this?" Omina began to read the top piece, which was a copying of an old section of a history book, with personal notations and questions in the margins.

"Notes. I believe Finder wrote them."

"She couldn't speak," Omina handed the top parchment to Rath, who read it quickly.

"What if she chose not to speak, or, if she couldn't, preferred not to tell anyone that she held this form of communication? See this line here?" Farin moved to Rath's side and pointed out a question written in the margin. "It says,
why are there so many missing pages?
Only someone Finder's age or younger would not know that answer already."

"Anyone Finder's age or younger would not be taught to write this well," Rath pointed out. "This is a scholar's handwriting."

"How do we know it isn't hers?" Farin persisted.

"We don't," Omina sighed. "Look, here is seeming proof that these were hers." She handed the page in question to Rath, who blinked at what he read.
I feel responsible for Erdin's death, but Irdith is equally responsible. I curse my ability to find things
, was written across the top of a page filled with geographical notations.

"We have that story, do we not, from Chen?" Farin demanded.

"I regret sending him to watch things from the kitchen, and ordering him to keep Amlis informed," Omina shook her head. "He came here, seeking peace from Tamblin's irrationality, and I sent him right back into it. Yes, you're right; we do have Finder's story from Chen, who heard it from Wolter. It does us no good, now. The girl is lost to us. She could have told us so much."

"I'm sad that she didn't write more in these papers. We might have learned many things. Instead, it looks like an advanced student's studies."

"If she hadn't done as Yevil demanded, she'd have died then, instead of that little thief," Rath pointed out. "She had no choice in the matter."

"Nevertheless, she's dead. At least Mirisa is gone, too. What a horrible nuisance she was. She cost us so much," Omina said.

"She cost us our lives," Farin muttered.

* * *

"What do you imagine the barbarians are like?" Amlis stared through the window. Rain was falling again, only nothing grew from the spring moisture. Trees that should be blossoming in the early months were bare of bud and leaf.

"My Prince, stop troubling yourself. We have two from Warrel to question late tonight. Are you rested enough for this?"

"Yes. Is Garth prepared?"

"He is."

* * *

Wolter surveyed the new crop of kitchen boys with a critical eye. He knew why Chen was dead; secretly cursed those responsible, and had a good guess as to whom it might be.

One of his assistants had been promoted to Chen's place already. Perhaps not the best cook in the lot, but the most trustworthy. Wolter was quite careful where he placed his trust, nowadays.

"Don't make me break a spoon on your backs," he announced at the shuffling of feet and mischievous looks from one boy to another. "Because I will."

Wolter hadn't forgotten, either, that it was Timblor's page, Brin, who killed the Prince he'd served faithfully for turns. Nobody was safe, in his opinion. If he left the palace as he longed to do, the King would send someone after him. He was stuck and he knew it.

Irdith was gone, but Wolter wondered almost daily when the King would send a new spy into his kitchen. Perhaps they were there already, and merely recruited after Irdith's death, with the promise of extra coin and a few privileges.

"Get to work," he ordered. "If you don't know how to do something, say so. I won't tolerate poor effort, for any reason." He watched, a severe expression on his face, as three boys scattered to find work to do in the King's kitchen.

Finder, I miss you now, so desperately
, he thought. Rumors had come that she was dead and he grieved for her, just as he did for Chen. Finder had done any job asked of her, without a second thought or a frown for him or Chen. She'd only ever frowned at Irdith, and Wolter suspected that she knew, just as he did, what Irdith really was.

"It doesn't matter," he breathed softly and went to baste the roast. "We're all dead. We just haven't realized it, yet."

* * *

It was Garth's idea, and Amlis hoped it worked. This was no traditional questioning. They'd set up a game of cubes. Code words had been arranged, and it would appear as if the men from Warrel were talking of their families.

"We don't need another murder," Amlis breathed as he and Rodrik walked across the courtyard toward the stables. Rodrik had his men stationed in shadows and corners along the way, fearing for the Prince's safety. Both men wore blades beneath long coats, prepared for any attack.

Neither spoke of the fact that Finder would know if there were danger about them. They'd been fools to leave her behind in Vhrist.

Weak moonlight gleamed on courtyard stones, still wet from the earlier rain. Random blocks, worn down by centuries of footsteps, held small puddles of water that splashed beneath purposely striding boots. Amlis cared not that his boots were wet—what was that compared to protecting his life and Rodrik's?

Neither spoke—a careless word could get them killed. If not now, then later, where none might see. When had the walk to the stables seemed so long?

* * *

In the morning, I was expected in Halthea's suite to wait on her, with her yellow-winged maids. In an attempt to distract myself, I searched for geography books on the tab-vid Berel had given me. Most of those had images combined with the text, along with descriptions of the land itself, crops produced, if any, lists of cities, their populations and current presidents and politicians.

Best of all, there were images of the planet itself, flattened out so you could see all of it at once. Where Fyris should be, only ocean waters were depicted, washing over a dormant field of underwater volcanoes.

I understood what the western spires were, now—the leavings of a volcanic eruption far in the past. According to the map I studied, more sharp spires jutted from that expanse, instead of a continent. No ships crossed the area, as it was safer and easier to get to known destinations by traveling other routes.

I understood that flying ships recorded data for reproduction in books, but none had recorded any part of Fyris. It troubled and puzzled me, since that meant Fyris was hidden, somehow.