Except that even through the pain, even dazed and weak, Diani knew that the Brugaosans wouldn’t make an attempt on her life. Yes, Brugaosa and Curlinte were rivals. There had even been a time within the last hundred years when the two houses had spoken brazenly of going to war. Many, including her father, still blamed Brugaosa for the murder, a bit more than three years ago, of Cyro, Diani’s brother. But Diani saw a darker, more sinister purpose behind Cyro’s assassination, and she felt certain that the same shadowy hand had given gold to the archers whose arrows had pierced her flesh.
An assassination attempt at the promontory implied intimate knowledge of her habits, and such knowledge had to have come from within the court.
“The conspiracy,” she murmured into Rish’s mane.
Which meant that danger awaited her within the walls of Castle Curlinte looming before her.
She whispered a word to her mount, and he slowed. Glancing behind her again, Diani saw no sign of the assassins. She didn’t remember seeing horses with them, and even if they had been riding, they wouldn’t have followed her so close to the castle. If she rode to the west gate or the sea gate, too many people would see her. Word of the attack would spread through the city and castle like the pestilence, and the traitor, whoever it was, would have time to prepare for her arrival.
She urged Rish onward again, steering him toward the south gate, which she could reach without having to ride through the city. She was starting to feel dizzy and cold-she couldn’t imagine that she had ever thought this day warm enough for a ride to the promontory.
Four soldiers stood at the gate watching her approach. They knew her horse, and so it was not until she was quite close to the castle that they realized something was wrong. Two of the men started forward while the other two ran toward the inner barbican.
“Don’t raise the alarm!” she called to them, the effort nearly toppling her from her saddle.
The first of the guards reached her and eased her from atop the mount. There were tears in his eyes. Was she dying, then?
“My lady! Who did this?”
“Assassins, at the promontory.”
“We should send men there. Those are Brugaosan arrows.”
“No, it’s not them.” It was getting very difficult to keep her thoughts clear. “Get me to my father’s chamber. And find a healer, a Qirsi. But be quiet about it. No one but the healer should know I’m here.”
“But, my lady-”
“Just do as I say. And hide my mount. No one should know I’ve returned.”
She made herself stare at the man, his face swimming before her eyes. “Do you understand?”
He nodded. “Yes, my lady. It shall be done.”
Diani closed her eyes, feeling consciousness slip away. “My father’s chamber,” she managed to say again. Then blackness.
She awoke to the sound of bells. Distant, tolling in the city. Her vision was blurred and she didn’t recognize the room. She tried to sit up, but was held to the bed by strong hands.
“What is the time?” she rasped.
“Those are the prior’s bells.” Her father’s voice.
“What day?”
“The same day you rode. The tenth of the waning.”
She took a breath, allowing herself to relax. Slowly, as her eyes adjusted to the candlelight, she recognized the familiar shapes of her father’s quarters. She was lying on her back, so at least one of the arrows had been removed. She put a hand to her chest and then her thigh. All of them were gone.
A pallid face loomed above her, framed by white hair. A healer, one she didn’t know.
“You were fortunate, my lady. The injury to your leg was a small matter, but less than half a span’s difference with either of the other two arrows, and you would have died on the moors.”
Diani exhaled slowly, nodded. “Thank you.”
“She needs rest,” the white-hair said, facing her father. “Have some soup brought from the kitchens and keep her still for a few days. I’ve mended the wounds, but her body needs time to heal. She bled a great deal.”
Her father stepped to her bed and took her hand. “All right.”
The man started to go.
“Wait,” Diani said, making herself sit up. The room spun like a child’s top, and she nearly passed out.
The healer frowned. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“You can’t leave,” she said, ignoring the question.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to remain here until I know who’s responsible for what happened today.”
“But I live in the city. I have family there.”
She glanced at her father. “How many people know he’s here?”
“Only the two of us, and the two guards who brought you to me. After they told me what you’d said, I thought it best to find a healer from outside the castle. They took him out of the city through the sea gate and then around to the south to enter the castle. As long as he’s escorted back the same way, I don’t think there’s any danger in letting him go.”
She looked briefly at the healer. “Forgive me.”
“Of course, my lady.” He started toward the door again.
“I take it you know nothing of the conspiracy?” she said, before he could leave.
“Nothing beyond what I’ve heard, my lady.”
“You know what I’ll do to you if I learn that you’re lying?”
He gave a thin smile. “I have some idea, yes.”
She gave a single nod. “Go, then. Don’t speak of this to anyone, not even your wife.”
“Yes, my lady.”
He opened the door. The same two guards who met her at the gate stood in the corridor, just outside the chamber.
When the healer was gone, Diani lay back down again, closing her eyes and waiting for the dizziness to pass.
“I already have a hundred soldiers searching the moor,” her father said. “But they have little idea of what they’re looking for other than archers. I told them that I’d received word from one of the baronies that thieves with bows had been seen on the roads.” He paused, gazing down at her hand, which he still held. “Did you see the men who did this?”
“Briefly. Tall, shaved heads, wearing riding cloaks.”
“Did they have horses?”
“Not that I saw.” She touched her shoulder gingerly-it was still tender. “You saw the arrows?”
“Yes. Brugaosans?”
“That’s what someone wants us to think.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
“Why would Edamo so such a thing, Father?” she asked, her eyes still closed. “He has no reason. With me dead, power would fall to you, a man with nothing to live for but vengeance. It makes no sense.”
“Maybe he wants war.”
“To what end? His army may be greater than ours, but he must know that under such circumstances, the queen would come to our aid. Even Trescarri might fight on our behalf.” She shook her head. “No, this wasn’t Brugaosa.”
“Then who?”
At that, she did open her eyes. “You have to ask?”
He twisted his mouth sourly and returned to the chair by his writing table. “We have no evidence that the conspiracy has been active here in Curlinte.”
“No, we don’t. But Cyro’s murder has never been explained to my satisfaction, and we’ve heard enough from Aneira and Eibithar to convince me that the Qirsi are sowing discontent across the Forelands.”
“Cyro was killed by the Brugaosans,” he said, looking away. “We know that.” She saw the pained expression on his face and felt an aching in her chest. Three years since her brother’s death and still his loss was a raw wound on their hearts.
“Why?” she said, her voice thick. “Because of the garrote? Because Edamo had threatened him after their encounter in the Dark Wood?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
She sat up again, her head feeling a bit clearer. “He’s denied it, Father. If he was going to make such a show of killing him-using the garrote rather than poison, or a dagger-why would he bother denying it?”
“He’s Brugaosan! He needs a reason to He?”