“To what?”
Grinsa stared at him briefly, his mouth twitching. Then he looked away. “To kill him.”
“I thought you wanted to question him, to learn what you could about the conspiracy.”
“I did. But with Keziah trying to join the movement, he’s too great a threat, to her as well as to me. I don’t have a choice anymore.”
Tavis considered this for several moments before starting to nod. “All right. What do you want me to do?”
Grinsa smiled, looking relieved. “Nothing for now. Rest. Walk the marketplace. Enjoy the musicians. I still have a great deal to learn. It’s been several years since I last visited Mertesse, and I don’t remember much about the castle.”
“You think we’ll have to do it there?”
“I doubt very much that Shurik will give us the opportunity to do it anywhere else.”
They spoke a while longer, Grinsa relating to Tavis those details he did remember about the castle and actually asking the young lord questions about the design of Curgh Castle, which apparently had been constructed at about the same time as Mertesse. Eventually they returned to the main room of the tavern to have a small meal and continue their conversation. Tavis was pleased to find that much of what he told the gleaner about his family castle seemed to interest Grinsa. So often in their time together- most recently when they had spoken of Grinsa’s powers-Tavis had felt like a child learning from a master, or even a parent. He enjoyed speaking with the Qirsi as if, for once, they were peers.
When they finished eating, Grinsa walked back to the castle, though he remained vague as to what he planned to do there, and Tavis returned to the marketplace, hoping to find the musicians. They agreed to meet back at the tavern at sundown.
When the young lord reached the marketplace, there was no sign of the musicians or the crowd they had attracted. He did find some jugglers who were throwing knives back and forth with alarming speed, and he watched them for a while before wandering among the carts again. It had been some time since he last heard a performance by worthy musicians, and he briefly considered going to the tavern where they were said to play. What had the man called it? The Swallow’s Nest. He knew, though, that Grinsa would think it a bad idea. With Shurik so close, Tavis sensed that the gleaner would have liked to lock Tavis in their room the entire day, just to keep him from being noticed. He couldn’t, of course, but he had made it clear that the boy was to limit himself to their room at the tavern and the marketplace. In any other city, Tavis would have chafed at such constraints. But Mertesse, located only a league from the Tarbin and the border with Eibithar, was different. In his kingdom it was said that no Aneirans hated his people more than those in Mertesse. If someone here recognized his accent they might very well kill him where he stood. He would wait until tomorrow, when he could hear the musicians in the marketplace.
When Tavis and Grinsa met at the end of the day, the gleaner seemed weary and discouraged. He explained that he had spoken to six or seven more guards, using his mind-bending magic on several of them, but had learned nothing more about the castle, or where Shurik’s quarters could be found. They ate their dinner in silence, then climbed the stairs to their room and slept.
The following morning, Tavis dressed quickly and was ready to leave the room before Grinsa was even out of bed.
“I want to find a good place to sit to hear the players,” he said, as he pulled the door open.
“All right. Be careful. I’ll be at the castle much of the morning, but I’ll try to find you in the marketplace around midday. If you don’t see me, come back here.”
Tavis nodded and left. So eager was he to reach the marketplace that he didn’t even stop to eat in the tavern. Instead he bought a round of bread from a baker and hurried on to where the musicians had played the day before. Even so, he wasn’t the first to get there and within an hour of his arrival, he was surrounded by a mass of people. He could only hope that the musicians were as good as these Aneirans seemed to think.
“It looks like everyone in the city is here.”
Tavis turned toward the voice, only to find a young, attractive red-haired woman looking at him. A frown flitted across her features as she traced his scars with her green eyes. But then she met his gaze and smiled. He gave a small smile in return and nodded, not wanting to risk a conversation.
“Did you hear them yesterday?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“I did. They were wonderful, of course. When was the first time you saw them?”
“Actually, I haven’t seen them at all,” he told her, trying his best to sound Aneiran.
Judging from the puzzled look she gave him, he could tell that he had failed. “You’re not from Mertesse, are you?”
“No. I was born in Tounstrel, but I’ve… moved around a lot.”
The woman nodded seeming to accept this. “Well, you’re going to enjoy this. They’re the best musicians to perform here in years.”
“I’ve heard others say the same.”
“I’m Rissa.” She turned and surveyed the crowd, her frown returning. “My brother’s here somewhere, but I don’t see him right now.”
“I’m Xaver.”
“Are you here with anyone, Xaver?”
Before he could answer, the people far behind them began to cheer. It seemed the musicians had arrived. Tavis and Rissa turned to the sound, straining to see over the crowd, and slowly the sea of people began to part, revealing the players. He saw the lutenist first, a young man with golden yellow hair, warm brown eyes, and a square face.
Looking past him to the other man, Tavis felt his whole body grow numb with cold, as if Brienne’s spirit had passed through him, borne by a wind from the Underrealm. There could be no mistaking that face. He had seen it in Curgh during the Revel, when he first heard this man sing, though it had taken Brienne’s ghost to remind him. He saw it again in the great hall of Kentigern, when the man, then posing as a castle servant, handed him a flask of dark Sanbin wine. He saw it a third time in Kentigern’s Sanctuary of Bian, a vaporous image summoned for him by Brienne’s spirit. And he had seen it a hundred times since, haunting his sleep like one of the Deceiver’s demons, taunting him with a malevolent smile.
The smile appeared kinder now, as did the thin, bearded face. But those eyes-pale blue, and as cold as the north wind blowing off of Amon’s Ocean-those eyes could only belong to a killer. Brienne’s killer.
Tavis’s first instinct was to reach for his blade, to finish it right here. But he knew he couldn’t. Even if he could have managed to overpower the singer, the people around him wouldn’t allow it. The man was a luminary here in Mertesse. And Tavis was an Eibitharian noble, an exile.
He looked around desperately, searching for Grinsa, or a castle guard, or anyone who might believe the truth about this man. He’s an assassin! he wanted to shout. That man is a hired blade! He killed the woman who was to be my queen! He killed the duke of Bistan and may even have murdered your k_mg! Again, though, nobody in the marketplace had any reason to believe him, and hearing his accent they would view him as the enemy, not the assassin.
The singer had almost reached him. In another moment he would see Tavis, and surely the scars and the stained travel clothes would not keep him from recognizing the young lord. Tavis had but one choice. Turning quickly and pushing his way through the thick ring of people that surrounded him, the boy fled.
“Xaver!” he heard Rissa call to him. “Xaver, where are you going?”
He ignored her, fighting his way through the crowd like a lone crow flying in the face of a gale. The Aneirans pressed against him, as eager to get closer to the singer as Tavis was desperate to get away from him. For several moments he wondered if he’d get through at all. He could barely move forward, and there was no going back. Feeling fear rise in his chest like the waters of the Tarbin in flood, he very nearly reached for his blade so that he might clear a swath through this mass of bodies. At last, however, he broke free, stumbling into the open street as if he had been shoved out of the throng.