“Stop fretting.” Kicking off his low boots with the soft heels that were mandatory within this residence of polished floors and priceless carpets, Ruval stretched. “Maybe you’re right about this being a strain. Or maybe I’m just bored. By the Nameless One, this bowing and scraping is hard on a man’s nerves. I don’t know how you tolerated it at Swalekeep.” Yawning, he untied the top laces of his light silk shirt. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
“Well, let go of the working, then. And get some sleep.”
“Such solicitude, brother,” Ruval said mockingly.
“Self-preservation, brother,” Marron replied in the same tone. “If you start to waver, that’ll put an end to this. And, frankly, I intend to be a guest at Pol’s burning, not the centerpiece at my own.”
Marron blew out the candles one by one. Eight small puffs—but he hesitated before the ninth, glancing at his brother to confirm the slow change. Gone was the eerie impression of sharper cheekbones, cleft chin, brighter hair, and longer jaw superimposed on the familiar like the presence of a ghost. Ruval’s face was again Ruval’s face, not the subtly altered features of a stranger.
Marron let go of his own iron control, bolstered by huge amounts of dranath. He didn’t need to reassure himself with the sight of his own transformation in the small mirror by the door; he had watched it before, fascinated. There was little physical sensation either in the assumption of the differences or in their fading, only a slight tingle in his head as he projected the illusion.
At first it had felt as if he was wearing someone else’s clothes—a good fit but not perfect, binding here, loose there. His movements and facial expressions had been correspondingly awkward, the way one walks against one’s natural rhythms, trying to compensate, when wearing another man’s boots.
Only what he and Mireva had designed was a whole new skin, and it had taken time and work to adjust the fit.
The loosening of the spell relaxed him. He glanced at the scar on his wrist, souvenir of a childhood mishap, now visible again. His mouth was his own once more—wider, full-lipped, stretching in his own smile as the release of tension washed through him. He imagined sometimes that he could even feel his eye color change from pale yellowish-green back to brown.
At night even a diarmadhi mind must reliquish control, and anyone looking at him or Ruval would see their true forms and features. Thus the locked chamber. Mireva had no need for similar accommodations, and shared a tiny room with Thanys near the nursery. She had never been seen by any of their enemies; the only alteration in her appearance was a concerted effort to make herself seem even older than she was. Her illusion working would come later, at Stronghold.
Marron made sure once again that the door was locked, then blew out the last candle and lay down on the second cot. The air was close and hot, and for the past six nights he had not slept well. But tonight he was exhausted, lack of sleep and accumulation of strain from sustaining the illusion finally catching up with him. After turning once or twice to find the least uncomfortable position, he sought and quickly found oblivion.
He did not wake when Ruval sat up, pulled on his boots, and silently left the room.
Mireva whirled angrily, nearly choking on a swallow of dranath-laced wine as the door opened and Thanys slid into their chamber.
“Don’t startle me like that!” she hissed.
“You think you got a fright—she’s gone!”
The older woman’s jaw sagged for a moment before she collected herself. “Then find the little bitch at once! We don’t have all night!”
“This isn’t a cottage—she could be in any of fifty rooms,” Thanys snapped. “Where do you propose I start looking?”
“I thought I told you to make sure—”
“She hasn’t needed anything to help her sleep. How was I to know she’d pick tonight to go wandering around the residence?”
“Find her! And from now on keep your eyes open—and hers closed!”
Thanys’ face tightened like a clenched fist. “I’ll try the kitchens. She didn’t eat much tonight at dinner—Miyon’s doing, again.”
Alone once more, Mireva downed the last of the wine to keep her hands from shaking. Damn the girl—and damn Thanys for not following orders. It had taken serious effort to get her kinswoman appointed Meiglan’s servant two years ago, and even more work to arrange Mireva’s own presence here at Tiglath. Miyon knew what his bastard daughter was being groomed to do, and played his own part with real enthusiasm. But he’d balked at the idea that Meiglan’s consequence required an extra maid—especially when Ruval made the mistake of telling him Mireva would be a valuable asset in more ways than one.
Well, it was done. She kept out of Miyon’s way, not wanting to intercept any caustic glances that might arouse suspicion. Princes did not deign to notice menials.
Shrugging, Mireva slipped out of the room and padded softly down the hall, casting a brief, longing look at the nursery door. Behind it slept the children of Segev’s murderer. Later, she told herself firmly. It would be done when they were all at Stronghold—and preferably right in front of Hollis.
With Miyon in his residence, Tallain had posted guards—supposedly of honor, but fooling no one as to their real purpose. Mireva smiled to herself, recalling what Miyon had said on arriving here: “By all means, Lord Tallain, put someone outside Meiglan’s door to guard whatever honor she has. She certainly didn’t inherit any from her mother.” Yes, he was enjoying his role in their little scheme.
But there was no guard outside Meiglan’s chambers right now. Mireva, prepared with a distraction, was glad she didn’t have to expend the energy. Perhaps Thanys had been clever for once and enlisted the man’s aid in finding their wayward charge. But how had Meiglan gotten past him in the first place?
Again she shrugged; it didn’t matter. What mattered was the tall form that suddenly detached itself from the shadows and crept toward her from the staircase. She opened Meiglan’s door and the two of them were swiftly inside the antechamber.
“What’s going on?” Ruval demanded instantly.
“Save your breath. We’ll have to hide you until she gets back and into bed again—” Her heart jumped painfully for the second time that night as she heard soft voices outside in the hallway. Flinging open the door of a huge standing wardrobe, she hissed, “In here! Quickly!”
“This is ridiculous—”
“Silence!”
She slammed the wardrobe shut just in time. Meiglan was ushered into the antechamber by a scolding Thanys, looking chastened but with a spark of defiance in her big brown eyes. Mireva made a mental note to keep the girl away from Sionell; that lady’s independent spirit was influencing her.
“—in the middle of the night! Whatever were you thinking of?”
“I only wanted some taze and cakes—and the guard was kind enough to escort me downstairs so I wouldn’t get lost—”
“My lady, you should have sent him to fetch me, and I would have had Mireva bring you something to eat,” Thanys said, with a subtly sarcastic look at the older woman. She went on talking all the way to Meiglan’s bed, where the girl was summarily tucked up beneath silk sheets. “—and hope you don’t dream after drinking Lady Sionell’s spicy taze at this time of night!”
“Dreams don’t necessarily have to be bad ones,” Mireva said soothingly, deciding that her kinswoman could be forgiven the disrespect; she had just provided Mireva with a lovely opening for suggestion. “And Lady Sionell’s blend is a very good one, I’m told. I’m sure you’ll have happy dreams, my lady.”
“Candles, Mireva,” Thanys ordered curtly, and when the room was in darkness the two sorcerers closed the door behind them.
Mireva started to speak, but the other woman shook her head violently and motioned to the outer door—still half open. “Stay here tonight, in case she wakes again,” Thanys said, and smiled mirthlessly, and departed. This time the door closed firmly behind her.