Page 69 of The Warrior Priest
I continued on my way to Uncle Roderic’s house. I knew the layout well, and the staff routines. The cook would be in the kitchen, her assistant most likely shopping at the market. The housemaids would be cleaning, while the male staff would be in the service rooms doing their chores. The outdoor staff were the most likely to see me, especially since I needed to cross the garden, but it was the housekeeper I wanted to avoid above all others. The dragon had been the one to lock me in, the one who’d slapped my cheek when I’d cried, and deprived me of food. From the way her eyes shone as she called me names, she’d enjoyed being jailor of my sixteen-year-old self.
After checking that no one was about, I climbed a large tree on the street side, and crawled along a branch, dropping down onto the stone wall surrounding the property. From the high vantage point, it was easy to see if the gardeners were about. Only one was visible as he trimmed a hedge in the formal garden. Once I was on the ground, he wouldn’t be able to see me, nor me him.
I lowered myself to the ground and tiptoed from tree to hedge to bush, then quickly crossed to the doors that opened onto the covered porch at the rear of the house. They were locked but I had them open with my picking tools in a moment. I slipped inside, into the large salon used to receive guests. I’d intended to search it first, before moving to another room, but my uncle’s voice stopped me in my tracks.
It came from his study, located next to the salon, but I couldn’t make out any of his words or who he was with. If he was at home, then I’d have to come back later. I wouldn’t risk searching the house with him present. His guards were most likely stationed at the front door and the door to his study.
My patience was rewarded when I heard a door open and his voice became clearer. But his only words were to tell his visitor to keep him informed. The visitor didn’t speak.
The front door opened and closed, presumably sending the visitor on his way, then my uncle informed the staff that he was leaving, too. A short while later, I heard the carriage roll up on the gravel then depart again.
The house fell silent, the staff presumably having retreated to the service areas. I slipped out of the salon and crouched at the door to my uncle’s study. I picked the lock then entered and closed the door behind me.
I sniffed. Sniffed again. Two familiar scents mingled in the air. I expected my uncle’s, but not the other.
Giselle.
I leaned back against the door and tried to sift through my scrambled thoughts. But out of all the possibilities, one was the most likely—if Giselle was here, it meant she’d taken on Uncle Roderic as a client. She intended to capture me for him after all.
She was going to betray me.
Had that been her plan all along? Surely not. Surely I hadn’t been so dreadfully wrong about her these last months. I had believed her intentions for me were precisely as she claimed—she wanted to teach me everything she knew. Somewhere, at some point, that had changed.
Was it today? Or was it when she received Uncle Roderic’s letter in Upway?
Was that why she brought me to Tilting before I was fully ready? I’d come to realize that I wasn’t as skillful as she claimed. I was good, but not great. I had a lot to learn and required more rigorous training. Had she brought me to Tilting too soon so that I’d be easier to capture?
Did she even have a dying friend here at all?
Too many questions, and this was not the time and place to think them through. I had my own mission to complete.
I searched my uncle’s study and bedchamber but didn’t find the pendant. I left his house empty-handed, now certain he kept it on his person for safekeeping.
I returned to Rhys’s secret room and sat in the armchair. I stayed there a long time, thinking. It took a while for the fog of shock to clear and my mind to work properly, but once it did, I realized my first instinct must be correct.
I couldn’t trust Giselle.
The growl of my stomach reminded me I needed to eat. I was about to leave when I spotted the book with the red cover on the table. I looked at the symbol of the sun and moon, tracing the shapes with my fingertips. The title—Cult and Culture in the Land of Zemaya—gave no clues as to why Giselle had been particular about stopping me from reading it.
I tucked it under my arm and headed out to a tavern I’d never frequented before. I settled in to read as I ate a hearty stew, but had to finish the bowl quicker than I intended. The other patrons, all men, wouldn’t leave me alone, and the final straw came when one offered me a pouch full of ells to be his mistress.
I stood, picked up the pouch, opened it and tipped the coins onto the table. “You insult me,” I said, tucking the book under my arm.
“You want more?” he asked, hopeful. “I have more.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed past him. I hurried home, in case he or one of the others followed me. I’d been a fool to think I could frequent a tavern where I wasn’t known. Giselle might be good at frightening men away with a mere glare, but I wasn’t. It was another reminder that we were not alike. I wasn’t ready.
I would probably never be ready to be an assassin.
The knowledge didn’t concern me in the least.
It was dark when I reached the room. I lit a candle and placed it on the windowsill. I desperately wanted to know how Rhys fared after his punishment, and I needed to speak to him, too. He’d been right all along not to trust Giselle. I should have listened to him.
I settled into the armchair and read the book. My eyes were growing weary, and I’d slumped down when I reached a chapter that made me sit up straight. I angled the book to the candlelight and reread the paragraph mentioning the story about the talisman. Just as my mother and our female ancestors claimed, the book stated that there was an old Zemayan legend about the sorcerer placing power into a talisman.
But the talisman wasn’t my pendant, and the power was not magical.
I closed the book and hugged it to my chest. I stared at nothing in particular until my eyes stung from exhaustion, then lay down on the pallet. At some point, the candle had burned down and extinguished. My good memory served me well as I recalled incidents from my past, going back to my earliest memories of happy times with my parents. It was painful to think of them again. My childhood had been idyllic, and I’d loved them both dearly. Their loss had been a wrench. My mother’s loss in particular had preceded the most frightening and lonely time of my life.
