“I don’t know.”
“Zhayin?”
“I asked him directly, to his face. He denied it, and I think I would have known if he’d been lying. And why would he care?”
I shook my head. “I’m nowhere near looking at whys yet. I’m still on whos and hows.”
“I don’t know.”
“And you haven’t had anyone, uh, make advances since then?”
She shook her head. “I’ve made a few, but only on my travels. There are no Issola here.”
“Wait, you mean, you’re the only Issola in the castle, or the town?”
She nodded.
“Well. Isn’t that interesting.”
“My lord?”
I shook my head as things danced through my brain and I tried to make sense of them.
“What is it?”
“Harro.”
“Who?”
“An Issola named Harro.”
“I don’t know him.”
“Yes. Exactly. That’s what’s so odd. How could you not know him? The timing doesn’t make sense for you to not know him.”
“Who—”
“He helped take care of Zhayin’s son.”
She shook her head. “No, no. The nanny’s name—”
“Not the nanny. She was ill the day it happened.”
She frowned. “That’s right. How did you know that?”
“I’ve been looking into this for a while.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“About your problem? Nothing. I don’t know. I’m busy being puzzled about things. But I can tell you one thing: If you meet someone named Harro, don’t trust him.”
“Harro,” she repeated, as if committing it to memory. “That’s all you can tell me?”
“I may be able to tell you more next time we meet. No, the time after. If there is a time after.”
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“Welcome to my life. But let me ask you one more thing.”
“Of course.”
“Do you really think writing bad poetry would help?”
She smiled again, and reminded me of Sara. “Yes. But burn it after you’ve written it.”
“That sounds like good advice.”
“I have all sorts of good advice.”
“Any on finding out what happened to Her Ladyship in the Halls of Judgment?”
“It’s that important to you?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m no one’s confidante. I knew Her Ladyship, briefly, a little—she and His Lordship were patrons of my troupe before the Disaster. After that, I only know what I heard.”
“From Gormin,” I said.
She gave a quick nod.
“You were here when the Disaster happened?”
“Not far from here. Lord Zhayin had sponsored us on a tour. We were lucky to be out of the city.” She sighed. “I miss the stage at the Rock Garden, in Dragaera. It was built on layers of sanga wood, dozens of layers, so when you landed on it, it gave. And the house! The seating went more up than out, so the worst seats were so close, they were almost onstage.”
“You said ‘us.’ Your troupe?”
“Yes.”
“What became of them?”
“They let me go and continued without me.”
“That’s when Zhayin hired you?”
She nodded.
“I apologize for continuing to bring up those aspects of the past,” I said, “the ones that revolve around Gormin. I know it must be painful. But I’m trying to understand.”
“Why?”
I took a breath. Fine, then. If she was going to be that insistent. “I’ve explained some of it. Because something has set off a necromantic event and a friend of mine is caught in it.”
“A necromantic event?”
“That’s the only way I can describe it, yes. And I don’t understand it, but I think it has something to do with the Halls of Judgment, and with Her Ladyship, and her daughter, Tethia. Okay, let me be more precise. Something happened during the Inter—no, let me try again. Something happened at some point that had to do with Her Ladyship, and the Halls of Judgment, and the new manor they’re working on. I have a friend who’s trapped in that manor, and I need to figure out how it works. I know it has something to do with Her Ladyship, and her daughter, Tethia.”
“Tethia,” she repeated, then shook her head. “I know of no daughter, and no one named Tethia.”
“And you don’t know how she came to be in the Halls of Judgment?”
She shook her head. “I know little of necromancy, I’m afraid. I don’t know any way to the Halls of Judgment, except to walk the Paths of the Dead, or be taken by a demon—what? What did I say?”
“Son of a bitch,” I observed.
“Pardon?”
“Do you know someone named Discaru?”
“Athyra? His Lordship’s sorcerer? We’ve met.”
“Of course you have.”
“What is it?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, nothing. I—”
“Boss! Trouble!”
“What?”
“An even dozen heading toward you at a trot, swords out.”
“Oh, good.”
“What is it?” said Hevlika.
I stood. “Thank you for the delightful conversation. You’ve been extraordinarily helpful. But I’m afraid it’s time for me to scamper.”
She smiled. “Just as well. I believe our hostess would like to close up. Best of luck to you.”
“Thanks.”
I stood, took a last look around, and gave Hevlika a last smile, a little sad that, as it turned out, she wouldn’t remember me very well a few hundred years from now.
14. A Short Fatal Hate Chase
I stepped out of the door. Fortunately, the house had been dark enough that I wasn’t too night-blind.
“Where are they?”
“Two minutes, Boss. Coming from the castle.”
Hide, or run? The area was dotted with small structures, shacks, up and down the hill, but this was their home ground; they’d be better at finding hiding places than me.
“Let’s go the other way,” I said.
I set off running. I wondered if the strange magic that had brought me here would snap me back at a certain point; but if it did, that was just as likely to help me escape as to hurt me. I reached the riverbank and cut right.
Rocza landed on my shoulder. “They’re pretty close,” said Loiosh.
I kept moving—not running, but walking pretty fast. I kept wanting to break into a run, but they could run faster than me, and I didn’t want to be exhausted if they found me. There were a lot of them; even with Loiosh, Rocza, and Lady Teldra, I didn’t much care for the odds.
There were no more lights off to the side, so I figured I was past the village, such as it was. The river curved gently to the right. I moved away from the bank to avoid growing things, but kept following the curve, and I came upon a structure, a large shed or a small cottage. It seemed there were no windows. If I hid there, might those chasing me go past? If they decided to search, I’d be nicely trapped for them. I hesitated, then tried the door. It was unlocked. All right, then. I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, then bumped into something. I felt around, and it proved to be a stool. At shin height, of course. I don’t want to talk about it. I couldn’t see a bloody thing, a problem I solved by not moving. I just crouched down near the door and waited.