Luck in the Shadows (45 page)

Just as Seregil had predicted, Alec had settled in well with his family and already seemed a part of it. Kari’s heart had gone out to him at once, and the girls treated him like a brother. He’d picked up swordplay damn fast, too, without Seregil’s impatient jousting to contend with.

Kari stole up behind Micum and clasped her arms around his waist as she watched the progress of the dance lesson. The steps were complex and there was a lot of good-humored chaffing as Alec jostled to and fro between Beka and Elsbet.

“I wish I’d given you such a son,” she whispered.

“Don’t let Beka hear you say that!” Micum chuckled.

Kari was doing her end-of-the-week mending by the kitchen window when Alec wandered in with his bow.

“Do you have any beeswax?” he asked.

“It’s there on that shelf by the herbs,” she said, pointing with her needle. “There are some clean rags over there if you need them. Why don’t you put the water on to heat and sit with me awhile. You go home tomorrow and I haven’t had you to myself all week.”

Alec swung the kettle hook into the fireplace and sat down on a stool beside her, bow across his knees.

“It’s good having you here,” she said, her needle flashing in the sunlight as she stitched up a tear in one of Illia’s kirtles. “I hope you’ll come back to us often. Seregil doesn’t come out as much as we’d like. Perhaps you can influence him for me.”

“I don’t think anyone influences him very much,” Alec said dubiously, then added, “You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you?”

“More than twenty years,” Kari replied. “He’s part of the family.”

Alec rubbed wax into his bowstring and smoothed it over with his fingers. “Has he changed much since you first met him? Being Aurënfaie and all, I mean.”

Kari smiled, thinking back. “It was before we’d married that
I first met Seregil. Micum came and went as he pleased, just like now, but always alone. Then one fine spring morning he showed up at my father’s door with Seregil in tow. I remember seeing him that first time, standing there in the kitchen door, and thinking to myself, ‘That’s one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen, and he doesn’t like the looks of me one bit!’ ”

Kari took up a new piece of mending. “We got off to a rather rough start, Seregil and I.”

“Beka told me.”

“I thought she might have. How mature he seemed to me then. I was only fifteen. And now look at me.” She smoothed a hand over her hair, where scattered strands of silver were mingled with the dark. “A matron and mother of three girls, and Beka older than I was then. Now he looks so young to me, still the handsome boy. In the reckoning of his own people he
is
young and will be long after I’ve been tilled into these fields.”

She looked pensively down at the vest on her lap. “I think it troubles him, to see Micum getting older, knowing sooner or later he must lose him. Lose us all, I suppose, except perhaps Nysander.”

“I never thought of that.

“Oh, yes. He’s lost friends already that way. But you asked me how he’s changed. He has, but more in his manner than in his looks. There was a bitterness in him back then that I seldom see anymore, though he’s still a bit wild. He’s been a good friend to us, though, and brought Micum safely back to me more times than I can say.”

She left unsaid the fact that more often than not it was Seregil who had led her husband into danger in the first place. This boy was cut from the same cloth as they, and Beka, too, to her mother’s sorrow. What could you do but love them and hope for the best?

A
lec rose before dawn his last morning at Watermead, but found that Beka was up before him. Dressed for riding, she sat mending a broken catch pin on her bow case in the hall. Beside her lay a few small packs containing all she would take with her to the Guard barracks.

“You look ready to go,” he said, setting his pack down next to hers.

“I hope so.” She worked an awl through a stubborn piece of leather. “I hardly slept last night, I was so excited!”

“I wonder if we’ll see much of each other in the city. Where we live isn’t too far from the palace grounds.”

“I hope so,” replied Beka, inspecting the new catch. “I’ve only been in Rhíminee a few times. I’ll bet you could show me all kinds of secret places.”

“I guess I could,” Alec said with a grin, realizing how much of the city had become familiar to him since his arrival.

The rest of the family soon appeared and they settled down to their last breakfast around the fire.

“Can’t Alec stay a little longer?” begged Illia, hugging him tightly. “Beka still beats him a lot. Tell Uncle Seregil he needs more lessons!”

“If he can beat your sister just some of the time, then he’s a pretty fair swordsman,” said Micum. “You remember what your Uncle Seregil said, little bird. He needs Alec back.”

“I’ll come back soon,” Alec promised, tweaking one of her dark braids. “You and Elsbet haven’t finished teaching me to dance yet.”

Illia cuddled closer, giggling. “You
are
still awfully clumsy.”

“Guess I’ll go check on the horses,” Beka said, setting her breakfast aside half eaten. “Don’t dawdle, Alec. I want to get on the road.”

“You’ve got the whole day ahead of you. Let him eat,” chided her mother.

Beka’s restlessness was infectious, however, and Alec hurried through his porridge. Shouldering his pack and bow, he carried them out into the courtyard only to find that Beka had put his saddle on Windrunner. Patch shifted resentfully behind the Aurënfaie horse, tethered on a lead rein.

“What’s this?” he asked. Turning, he saw the others beaming at him.

Kari stepped up and kissed him soundly. “Our gift to you, Alec. Come back to us whenever you can, and keep an eye on this girl of mine in the city!”

“You’ll see me at the Sakor Festival,” Beka said gruffly, embracing her. “That’s just over a month away.”

Kari pressed a handful of Beka’s wild, coppery hair to her cheek. “As long as you remember whose daughter you are, I know you’ll be fine.”

“I can’t wait to join you there,” exclaimed Elsbet. “Write as soon as you can!”

“I doubt barracks life will be much like what you’ll get at the temple school,” Beka said with a laugh. Swinging up into the saddle, she gave a final wave and followed Alec and her father out through the palisade gate.

They reached the city just after midday. It was Poulterer’s Day in the outer market, and every sort of fowl—from auroles to peacocks, quail to geese, live or plucked—were on display. Each poultry dealer had a bright pole standard mounted over his wares and these, together with the usual strolling vendors of sweetmeats and trifles, gave the market a festive look despite the lowering
sky overhead. Drifts of multicolored feathers blew in the breeze as the three travelers rode through the honking, cackling, twittering din.

Alec smiled quietly to himself, recalling his fears the first time he’d entered Rhíminee. This was his home now; he’d learned some of its secrets already and would soon know more. Gazing about, he suddenly caught sight of a familiar face in the market crowd.

Same protuberant teeth, sly grin, and moldy finery. It was Tym, the young thief who’d cut his purse at the Sea Market. Taking advantage of the slowed traffic by the Harvest Gate, he’d latched on to a well-dressed young man, evidently cozening him with the same tricks he’d used on Alec. A girl in a tattered pink gown clung to the mark’s other arm, aiding in the distraction.

I owe him a bit of trouble
, thought Alec. Dismounting, he tossed his reins to Beka.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Just saw an old friend,” he replied with a dark grin. “I’ll be right back.”

He’d already learned enough from Seregil to approach the thieves unnoticed. Biding his time, he waited until they’d lifted the unwitting victim’s purse, then came up behind them and grasped Tym’s arm. His triumph was short-lived, however, and it was Micum’s recent training that saved him.

Newly honed instincts read the thief’s sudden movement just in time. Alec caught at his wrist, halting the point of Tym’s dagger scant inches from his own belly.

Tym’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he tried to jerk free; easy enough to read the message there. The girl stepped in to screen her compatriot’s knife hand and Alec prayed that she wasn’t ready with a blade of her own. In the press of the crowd, she could easily stab him and disappear before anyone was the wiser. She made no attack, but Alec felt Tym tensing.

“We have a mutual friend, you and I,” Alec said quietly. “He wouldn’t be very pleased if you killed me.”

“Who’s that?” Tym spat back, still pulling against Alec’s grasp.

“It’s a trick, love,” the girl cautioned. She was scarcely older than Elsbet. “Do ‘im and move on.”

“Shut up, you!” Tym growled, still glaring at Alec. “I asked you a question. Who’s this friend of ours?”

“A comely, openhanded fellow from over the sea,” Alec replied. “Handy with a sword in the shadows.”

Tym glared an instant longer, then grudgingly relaxed his stance. Alec released his wrist.

“He should’ve told you never to grab a brother from behind like that unless you mean to deal with him!” Tym hissed, yanking the girl to his side. “If you’d done that in a back alley, I’d have you lying dead right now.” Sparing Alec a final scornful look, he and the girl disappeared into the crowd.

“Did you catch your friend?” Beka inquired when Alec reappeared.

“Just for a moment.” Alec mounted and wrapped the reins around his hand. It was still trembling a little.

From the market they turned south to the barracks gate of the Queen’s Park, where Beka showed her commissioning papers to the guards. Giving her father and Alec a final farewell embrace, she rode in without a backward glance.

Micum watched through the gateway until she was out of sight, then heaved a deep sigh as he turned his horse back toward the Harvest Market. “Well, there she goes at last.”

“Are you worried about her?” asked Alec.

“I wouldn’t have been, a year ago when there wasn’t a war brewing for spring. Now I don’t see any way around it, and you can bet the Queen’s Horse will be some of the first into the fray. That doesn’t leave her much time to get used to things. No more than five or six months, maybe less.”

“Look how far I’ve come with Seregil in a few months,” Alec pointed out hopefully as they headed for the Cockerel. “And he had to start from practically nothing with me. Beka’s already as good with a bow and sword as anyone I’ve seen, and she rides like she was born on horseback.”

“That’s true enough,” Micum admitted. “Sakor favors the bold.”

In Blue Fish Street, they slipped in through the Cockerel’s back gate and went through the lading-room door and up the stairs with hoods well drawn up. Micum took the lead on the hidden stairs, speaking the keying words for the glyphs with the same absent ease as Seregil.

Following him in the darkness, it occurred to Alec that Micum, too, had come and gone here freely over the years, always certain of welcome. Everything Alec had learned of the
friendship between these two seemed to come together and spin itself into a long history in which he had only the most fleeting foothold.

Reaching the final door, they stepped into the cluttered brightness of the sitting room. A crackling fire cast a mellow glow over the chamber. The place seemed more disordered than usual, if that was possible. Clothing of all sorts hung over chairs and lay piled in corners; plates, papers, and scraps of wizened fruit rind cluttered every available surface. Alec spotted a mug he’d left on the dining table a week ago still standing undisturbed, as if to anchor his right of presence until his return. A fresh litter of metal fragments, wood chips, and scattered tools ringed the forge on the workbench beneath the window.

The only clear spot left in the room was the corner containing Alec’s bed. A suit of fine clothes had been neatly laid out there, and against the pillow was propped a large placard with the words
Welcome Home, Sir Alec!
written on it in flowing purple letters.

“Looks like he’s been busy!” Micum remarked, eyeing the mess. “Seregil, are you in?”

“Hello?” A sleepy voice came from somewhere beyond the couch.

Stepping around, Alec and Micum found him sprawled in a nest of cushions, books, and scrolls with the cat on his chest.

Seregil stretched lazily. “I see you left each other in one piece. How did it go?”

Grinning broadly, Micum settled on the couch. “Just fine, once I managed to undo all your wrongheaded teaching. You may get a few surprises next time you cross blades.”

“Well done, Alec!” Pushing the cat aside, Seregil stood up and stretched again. “I knew you’d get the hang of things. And not a moment too soon, either. I may have a job for you tonight.”

“A Rhíminee Cat job?” Alec ventured hopefully.

“Of course. What do you think, Micum? It’s just an over-the-sill-and-out-again sort of thing in Wheel Street.”

“I don’t see why not. He’s not ready to storm the Palace yet, but he should be able to look out for himself on something like that if he doesn’t attract too much attention.”

Seregil ruffled Alec’s hair playfully. “Then it’s settled. The job’s yours. I guess you’d better have this.”

With a dramatic wave of his hand, Seregil produced a small, silk-wrapped parcel and presented it to Alec.

It was heavy. Unwrapping it, Alec found a tool roll identical to the one Seregil always carried. Opening it, he ran his fingers over the ornately carved handles: picks, wires, hooks, a tiny lightwand. On the inner flap of the roll a small crescent of Illior was stamped in dull silver.

“I thought it was about time you had one of your own,” said Seregil, clearly pleased with Alec’s speechless delight.

Alec glanced back at the forge. “You made these yourself?”

“Well, it’s not the sort of thing you see in the market. You’ll be needing a new history, too. I’ve been giving it some thought.”

Micum nodded toward the placard. “Sir Alec?”

“Of Ivywell, no less.” Seregil dropped Alec a slight bow before collapsing into the couch opposite Micum. “He’s Mycenian.”