“No, the—”
“Good,” he said, breaking in once again before she could continue. “I would hate to have him upset with us, or think that we were spying on him—although I doubt that he would mind. I’m sure he would have understood that we gather information whenever we can. I trust that you were either able to put a halt to the assassins or discovered that the rumor I sent you to investigate was just a rumor.”
Aralorn tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair and contemplated Ren. His babbling didn’t bother her, he always talked like that. He once told her that it distracted people, and they said things that they wouldn’t normally have said—just to get him to shut up. She’d used the technique herself upon occasion and found it effective.
What did bother her was that he wasn’t listening. Usually, he listened carefully to everything she said, then quizzed her for hours about what she’d heard and seen. It just wasn’t like him to gloss over anything or stop anyone from speaking. He never, not ever, interrupted. The bright black, somewhat beady eyes shifted restlessly.
She had never seen him embarrassed before, so it took her a while to identify the emotion that brought a red tinge to his face. Ren was ashamed that he had sent her to spy on the ae’Magi—the same Ren who had once sent her to spy on his own brother.
None of her disquiet showed on her face. She didn’t want to heed the intuition that was hinting that something was awry. She wanted to give her report with no more than the usual lies: Not even Ren knew that she could alter her shape. Shapeshifters used wild magic—and this was a world that had learned to fear magic used without strict limits.
She wanted to ignore the insistent disquiet that the Mouse’s unusual reactions spawned, but she couldn’t. With visions of the docile people in the ae’Magi’s ballroom in her head, she bowed her head and waited.
She’d never heard anyone say anything against the ae’Magi—only Wolf. The people the ae’Magi had brought out to sacrifice to his magic had come willingly. Only Wolf knew what he was—and he hadn’t really told her until he was certain she knew what she’d gotten herself into.
While Ren talked, she carefully edited what she was going to tell him, waiting as he drifted from topic to topic until he got around to asking her about her mission.
Aralorn gave him a brief description of her method of entry, incorrect, of course. Someday Ren would find out just how poor she was at picking iron locks and would be deeply disappointed.
Ren needed to know about the ae’Magi, but somehow she found herself rattling on at length about the various heads of state at the dance the ae’Magi had held and obligingly going into as much detail as she could when Ren requested it. Evidently, he was only upset about her spying on the ae’Magi—otherwise, he wanted to know everything. He could pull surprising conclusions out of the smallest thing.
“Wearing a red cape?” he said, after she’d described what one of the Anthran demiprinces was wearing. “It was a gift from his sister’s husband—looks like peace talks between their territories might be on again. We’ll be able to pull those troops out and use them elsewhere.”
She hedged when he asked her about Myr, saying only that she’d seen him talk with the ae’Magi but hadn’t been near enough to hear what was said. Time enough to inform Ren of the young king’s interesting talent after she discovered what was making the Spymaster behave so out of character.
To distract him from Myr, Aralorn continued to the main reason for her mission and said with some caution, “I couldn’t find any information on an assassination attempt. If there is a plot, it doesn’t originate from within the castle. I did get the impression that if there was such an attempt, the ae’Magi would be perfectly capable of handling it without need for our aid.”
She paused, to give herself time to choose just the right words. “I left early, I know. But I felt so uncomfortable.” Uncomfortable was true, uncomfortable enough to curl into a quivering ball of jelly at the bottom of that cage. “I thought that I had better get out before he figured out who I was and took offense. If it were widely known that Sianim spied upon the ae’Magi, half the world would be angry at us.”
“Ah yes, I quite understand.” Ren nodded and picked up another book—his habitual method of dismissal.
If she needed confirmation that something was awry, she had it then. Ren would never, ever accept “uncomfortable” as a reason for leaving an assignment early without picking the vague term into pieces. Unhappy, and baffled by what to do about it, she exited the room.
Alone, Ren put his book down and rubbed his hands together with great satisfaction. If that performance didn’t cause Aralorn to start thinking, then nothing would. He needed her to be suspicious and questioning, but also cautious.
He’d had a feeling about her—she got out of too many situations that should have been fatal—and those eyes. He’d seen that color of eyes before. He had wizards who worked for him, but they’d have been useless. The office of ae’Magi existed to control them.
She’d come right to him, and she was well and truly spooked, he thought, though he flattered himself that no one else would have been able to read that in her.
He couldn’t afford to come out and warn her; the ae’Magi had his own ways of learning things . . . and if anyone would be subject to the Archmage’s watchful eye, it would be the Spymaster of Sianim.
He rubbed his chest, pressing into his skin the charm he wore on a thong. A gift from a friend, another mage, it was supposed to be able to dispel magic aimed at its wearer. It dated from sometime around the old Wizard Wars and, his friend had told him, was unlikely to still have the power to block a spell directed specifically at him. It had been given as a curiosity—from one collector to another.
He still wasn’t absolutely sure it worked, but he’d been wearing it day and night for the past few months. So far he seemed to be immune to the odd fervor that had taken most of the usually sensible people he reported to when he chose. He patted his chest again and worried, though his ma had taught him that worry did no one any good.
If Aralorn’s footsteps were quiet, it was out of habit rather than intent: She was deep in thought as she wandered down the cobbled street. She absently waved at acquaintances but didn’t stop to talk. She shivered a little, though it was warm enough out. Why was Ren acting as if he’d never had a suspicious thought about the ae’Magi? Ren was suspicious of everybody.
More by chance than design, she found the dormitory where she stored her few possessions, and retreated through the halls to her room.
It was musty after her prolonged absence and in desperate need of dusting. There were only a few pieces of worn furniture placed here and there, but the room was small enough that it still seemed cluttered. She spent so little time in it that size and clutter didn’t matter.
Aralorn sneezed once, then, ignoring the much-abused chair, she sat on the rough stone floor that was unrelieved by carpet or fur.
Never before had Ren seemed worried about where he sent her to spy. He cared little for politics, leaving that to the statesmen to whom he gave selected bits of information. Instead, he thirsted for knowledge the way that some men thirst for food or sex. It was from him that she had gleaned many of the folkstories she collected.
He was no respecter of persons, not ever. When she had protested her assignment with the ae’Magi, he had laughed at her and quoted her his favorite saying: “He who does no wrong need not fear perusal.” He used it so often and said it with such pride that she suspected that he had made it up himself.
When he sent her to the castle, he’d made it clear that although nominally she was investigating the “assassination attempt,” her main objective would be to gather information on Geoffrey ae’Magi. Why else would he send her when a simple note of warning would have done the same thing? She had, even at the time, suspected that there was no assassination plot except in the Mouse’s busy labyrinthian mind.