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rainbowfic2023-01-16 08:41 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2023-01-16 08:41 pm
White Opal #7 [Starfall]
Name: Pawn in Play
Story: Starfall
Colors: White Opal #7 (fantasy)
Supplies and Styles: Charcoal + Seed Beads
Word Count: 3926
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Spying; mild physical violence & threats.
Notes: 1337, Portcallan; Zila Fayne, Marran Delver, Tana Veldiner. (Things start to move in the Portcallan politicking plot.)
Summary: Zila’s first attempt at the spying game pits her against a far more experienced player, and it may just prove to be her last...
The actual end point of Zila’s time under Tana Veldiner’s wing felt distinctly unreal by the time she finally reached it. Zila had spent a week living in luxury for the first time in her life. She hadn’t had to worry about where her next meal was coming from, and she’d had singing lessons from Imai Chalnock, a name she’d only ever heard talked about before – usually in tones of awe. Halfway through the week, she’d sung at a smaller concert, where she’d been spotted – so her cover story went – by Imai Vishyne, who helped to organise events for the High Governor.
She’d hardly seen Imor Veldiner. She’d seen instead, a person who said that Zila should call them Ysayze, which probably wasn’t even their real name. Ysayze had explained what Zila had to do, which was pretty much as Imor Veldiner had told her – to put her in a position to obtain information from of a visiting dignitary who had been worrying the High Council over the last few years.
It was a giant game and as long as Zila played along, she’d get almost everything she’d ever wanted. Even failure meant she would merely have to pursue a different target in payment later on. Ysayze remained vague on the subject of the questionable person’s identity, leaving Zila guessing without any success.
Imor Veldiner appeared in Zila’s rooms the night before the High Governor’s Reception, and it was then that she at last took Zila by the hand and explained in a low tone that her target was a District Governor, no less; that of North Eastern.
Zila followed Veldiner’s words, and nodded along, but that piece of knowledge made it harder to sell herself the idea that this was all perfectly fine. Like most Emoyrans, she knew the names of the eight District Governors. Of some, she knew a little more – like Governor Delver. Her home, Eisterway, lay in the Eastern District, and Marran Delver’s drive to deal with the more troublesome aspects of alionrel farming and processing made him popular there, too, as well as his own District. People in places like Portcallan didn’t see him that way: their news sheets called him a menace who championed Eisterland superstition over Emoyran good sense, endangering a vital industry.
If she was supposed to be inveigling herself into Governor Delver’s good graces, even Zila could see that the High Governor’s officer’s motives might be suspect. Maybe he had been scheming – didn’t all these political sorts? – but Veldiner had waited until Zila was right up to her neck in her schemes before she’d even breathed his name.
“What has he done?” Zila asked, careful to sound unconcerned.
Veldiner studied her closely. “Well, that is what we’re hoping you’re going to help us to find, my dear. Perhaps there is nothing. If you clear his name, that is a happy outcome for us all. If not – then it was necessary for us to know. Governors as well as ordinary citizens must abide by the laws of the land – even more so, in fact.”
Zila nodded and told herself that she wasn’t worried at all – and really, there was no point in fearing the worst. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now, and it wasn’t as if anyone was asking her do anything terrible. She’d just get a chance to see what the famous golden governor of North Eastern was like in person, and that was all right by her. It could have been worse – Southern’s Governor was ancient and Governor Corcrall from Northern was said to be terrifyingly severe.
The other thing that reassured Zila was that, despite what Imor Veldiner seemed to think, she couldn’t believe a District Governor was likely to ask to see her because he’d heard her singing a rather maudlin song that he must have heard hundreds of times over already. But she got her chance to sing in front of Portcallan’s finest regardless. Zila laughed aloud.
It was a game, but one she could play to her advantage.
“I left my love in the vale of misted sky,
To lie down forever at the nightbird’s cry,
And never more to touch the waters of light,
And never more to touch the waters of light,” Zila sang.
The great hall of the High Council Chamber building had excellent acoustics, and Imor Veldiner hadn’t been lying about everybody who was anybody being here. Zila bowed at the song’s end. She was wearing a wine-red dress, of a silken fabric she’d never so much as touched before, and the High Governor himself applauded her from the side, standing next to Southern’s Governor Barroven. Zila straightened, and then descended from the stage, aglow; her whole being humming with triumph.
Imai Vishyne reached her and thanked her, letting her know that she was free to remain for a while if she wished and to help herself to the food and drink available, but, he told her, looking down at her in a way that was almost comforting in its familiarity against all this applause, she was not to approach any of the venerable guests unless they first approached her.
Zila refrained from poking her tongue out at his retreating back. She crossed over to a long table that had been full of elegantly arranged food, cutlery, crockery, glasses and flowers earlier, but which now was rather more decimated and untidy, with great gaps between selections and then piles of the least popular items left, disarranged on gilt-edged blue and white plates.
She was too wired from performing to even think about eating miniature sandwiches with an odd orange-coloured paste in them, so she took one of two remaining glasses of wine and stood there, taking occasional sips, making it last as long as she could. One or two people glanced at her, but no High Council Members or Governors of any sort came her way. People like that wore distinct coloured belts or sashes on formal occasions, so she would have known if they had.
Would Imor Veldiner really have other work for her now that this had fallen through, or would she be thrown out unceremoniously with the rest of the event’s rubbish in the morning? Zila sighed. The latter seemed most likely. She consoled herself by taking a leftover cream pastry.
“That was a charming performance – and an unusual little variant of Alion’s Lament,” said someone, approaching her from the side. “Where did you come by it, Imai Fayne?”
Zila choked on her mouthful of sweet pastry. She raised her gaze cautiously and found she was being addressed by a tall, pale-skinned man with hair of faded bronze – one who was wearing a very distinctive deep blue belt fastened by a buckle fashioned in the shape of an Emoyran starflower insignia.
“Governor,” she gasped, and then coughed until she spat out her awkward mouthful into her hand.
He waited with pained politeness until she’d finished and then passed her a spare napkin from the table.
“I’m Marran Delver,” he said, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. “You, I gather, are Zila Fayne.”
“It was my grandmother’s!” she said. She wiped her mouth with the napkin, and then her hand, depositing it and what was left of the pastry on the table.
“I’m sorry?”
“The song,” she said, her cheeks heating. She’d told herself all week it wouldn’t really come to this, but until this moment she’d been entirely confident that if it did, she was perfectly capable of being seductive to some mysterious dignitary who would probably just expect that sort of thing as a matter of course from someone like her. It turned out that might have been another case of over-confidence. “My grandmother taught me that version. She was from High Eisterland, and it was the only one I knew growing up.”
Marran Delver nodded and then glanced beyond them, at the dancing that had started fairly soon after the entertainment had stopped. “Would you do me the honour?” he said, holding out a gloved hand to her.
“How could I refuse?” she said, smiling brightly as she took his hand.
After the week she’d had, it was a relief to put aside her thoughts and dance, and Governor Delver was an excellent partner. It wouldn’t be so bad, she decided, as they turned with the other dancers, palm to palm. He wasn’t all that old, and he was still good looking enough; it wasn’t just the news sheets being nonsensical, and, maybe most important of all, he had a beautiful speaking voice. It must be all that speechifying in Council Chambers. Zila appreciated it.
“Do you know any other songs like that?” he queried as he escorted her away from the dancing.
Zila kept her hand on his arm, perhaps a little too firmly, but she had a bad start to make up for. “Oh, plenty! My grandmother taught me lots.”
“Fascinating,” he murmured. “What a shame she isn’t here tonight.”
She looked up quickly, sure he was making fun of her, but he only gave her a small smile on catching her glance.
“I could tell you more – sing them, even,” she offered, keeping close, rather dizzy at her unaccustomed success at both singing and spying. (And, after all, she told herself, she didn’t meet famous people every day – why not go through with this?) “But we’ll have to go somewhere quieter.”
He laughed, and then put his arm around her, ushering her across the room, deftly navigating the crowded hall, and deflecting several people who tried to catch him and talk to him, with a brief smile and using Zila as a joking excuse, or a press of the hand and a promise to catch whoever it was again tomorrow. Unlike Zila, he wouldn’t have been able to stand alone in the corner and steal the last of the food from an unattended table.
“What it is to be famous,” she said, as he pulled her out into the corridor. The roar of then ballroom muted with the shutting of the door behind them.
He gave her a minute nod. “Indeed. This way.”
“Where are we going?” Zila asked. That question was, like every other piece of caution on her part this week, far too late to be of any use.
“Somewhere quieter.”
Zila tried not to think about how reckless it was to go off alone with someone Imor Veldiner had told her was devious, dangerous and possibly a traitor.
Governor Delver took her arm and led her on down the corridor, away from the great chamber, into a semi-darkened stretch, and then finally through a door into a suite of offices. “Here.”
“Very nice,” said Zila, glancing around. Three walls had been painted a light, steely grey and the third, behind the desk, was wood-panelled. “Is it yours?”
He closed the door behind him and removed his gloves. “When I am here in Portcallan, yes.”
“I’ve never seen a Governor’s office before.”
Governor Delver turned the key in the lock and then moved away from the door to face her. “Now,” he murmured, “do tell me more about your grandmother.”
Zila’s brows closed together. “I’m sorry?”
He held out his hands and then moved back to lean against the edge of the solid wooden desk. “The one who knew so many interesting variants of our songs.”
Zila, who’d thought she’d been getting on excellently with the seduction part of her brief, stopped; winded. Was he laughing at her? “You don’t actually want me to sing again, do you?”
His mouth twitched. “Isn’t that what you offered?”
“Well, I will,” said Zila flatly. “But –”
“Ah, yes.” He stood, casting his gloves aside on the desk and then strode towards her, causing her to back away to the door. “Of course. Let us get down to business. Do you want to try suggestive remarks about the furniture or would you prefer to skip any such pretence and search the desk? I’ve no particular objection to either approach.”
Zila coloured sharply. She lifted her head and met his faintly mocking gaze. “I don’t know what you mean!”
“I mean,” he said, penning her in against the locked door, “what is it you want and who put you up to it?”
Zila hitched her breath and would have tried to slip out of his grasp, but he caught hold of her arm first and then shifted to catch hold of her wrists.
“Not so fast,” he said as she struggled to pull away. “Come on. Did you really imagine I wouldn’t see through you? What is Veldiner after? It was Veldiner, I take it?”
Zila’s knees buckled for one moment, although the solidity of the door behind her bore her up. She panicked and tried more forcibly to tug herself free, yelling.
“Quiet,” he ordered with abrupt authority that silenced her. He tightened his grip on her wrists. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in her ear, making her shiver. “But you had better tell me the truth now.”
She swallowed. “Who says anyone put me up to anything? Maybe I was stupid enough to think you liked me! You were the one who spoke to me!”
“So I did,” he agreed. “It seemed churlish not to when someone had evidently gone to such trouble to arrange the whole scenario. And I did want to ask about the song.” He tilted his head to one side, studying her. Something indefinable in her face lightened minutely and he eased his hold on her. “I don’t believe this kind of game is for you.”
Zila glared, fighting to stop shaking before he noticed and knew he was getting to her. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.
“Listen, please,” he said, more softly. “If I let go, will you be reasonable and answer my questions? We need to talk. You’re such an obvious ploy – no, there has to be something more to this.”
Zila gave a reluctant nod.
The Governor released her, but cautiously, standing near enough to grab her again if she gave him cause. Zila couldn’t pull herself together enough to move anyway, remaining pressed against the door, overshadowed by him.
“Ah,” he said, taking a further step back. “I fear I scared you more than I intended.”
Zila recovered her strength through rage at that. She marched past him into the room, her nose in the air, and sat down on the nearest chair with the air of one taking a throne. “Well?” she demanded. “I don’t know what you mean and if you don’t let me out soon, I shall – I shall –”
“What?” he demanded, perching on the desk again. “Enough pretence, please! It was Veldiner who sent you, wasn’t it? Tell me.”
Zila threw up her hands. “I don’t understand any of you!” she said. “If it was so obvious, why would she go to all that trouble to make me do it? Why drag me in here to sing that stupid song –”
“No, no. Not stupid,” he assured her. “Quite charming.”
Zila waved a hand. “Except you don’t care about it anyway.”
“I beg to differ,” said Marran Delver. “However, what else is going on here is unfortunately much more pressing.”
“Is it?” she said, rubbing her wrists. “You hurt me – all I want is to leave, thanks!”
Governor Delver raised an eyebrow. “Do you really?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zila rose from the chair and faced him down. “You think I want to stay in here with you any longer – see if you do something worse to me next?”
He held up a hand, all amusement gone from his face. “My apologies if I was rough with you, but put yourself in my position. What if you were here to kill me?”
“As if I could!” burst out Zila. “How?”
“Well, the attempt only takes a little ingenuity, you know. But tell me – why do you think Veldiner sent you to do this? Can you think of a likely explanation?”
“She wanted information.” Zila’s voice fell. The idea of crossing Veldiner by saying even that much set a cold prickle going down her spine.
He tilted a little to the left on the desk, watching her. “And she couldn’t have used any of her usual agents or assets? Would you like to hear my best guess?”
“Probably not.”
His mouth twisted. “Quite,” he said. “But I feel I must. Picture it – here you are, seen talking to me. Maybe only in public, maybe in private – and before the sun’s up tomorrow, something happens to you. Let’s not assume the worst – even to claim you committed a crime would warrant further investigation. Of me, of my staff. The guardians of the peace and the High Council Guards could search my belongings and at the very least my trip north would be postponed. I have no intention of permitting that.”
Zila took a step back even as he rose and closed the gap between them again.
“But a body’s more likely, I’d say,” he said. “Found floating in the harbour, or washed up by the tide. There’d be an inquest. It wouldn’t do me any good, however little came of it in the end – and no danger of you saying anything you shouldn’t after. No loose ends.”
“You’re trying to scare me again. I won’t listen!”
“I very much hope I am, and you should.”
“If you thought that, why speak to me? Why come out here with me and make everything ten times worse?”
“I didn’t know,” he said. “I was curious, I confess – I wanted to be sure.”
Zila hugged herself. “Then let me go! I’ll leave – I’ll get away. I’m used to taking care of myself – you needn’t worry.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, and caught hold of her by the arm again. “No, really. Stop fighting me, you little idiot –”
She kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him wince, but he hung on.
“Would you like to hear my proposition?” he said, through her efforts to get free. “Look, stop that! Do you want to bring security down on us?”
Zila stopped, but warily. She screwed up her face, and spat out, “Proposition? If you mean what I think you mean –”
“No, I don’t,” he said firmly. He let go of her, but again remained close enough to stop her from dashing across to beat on the door at need. “Too many people have tried to kill me in recent years for me to be that careless about whom I sleep with, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”
Zila stood, close against the side of the chair. “All right. What do you mean, then?”
“Confound her,” he said, the light back in his eyes. “Veldiner. Wouldn’t you like to? Come with me now – I’ll find you a place on my staff and take you north with me. You succeed in your mission! You may report back to her all you please. I don’t think she’ll find it very enlightening.”
“Go with you to Old Ralston?” As if she hadn’t just spent years trying to escape Eastern District! North Eastern was worse.
“Briefly, yes, although I mean to go on to Starfall Manor. After that, we should be able to manufacture your disappearance.” He paused. “Also not a euphemism, before you ask.”
Zila hunched back. “No! I don’t believe you – not any of it! I don’t know what you want, but just let me go. I’ll sort things out with Imor Veldiner myself.”
“Will you?”
She raised her head, and at his question, it finally sunk in; the weight of what she already owed. The silk dress, the performance, the week in luxury, the mission unfulfilled. She’d walked straight into a trap.
“I scared you,” Delver said, his voice level. “But with good reason, Imai Fayne. I’ve seen what Veldiner does to amateurs in this game.”
Zila shook her head.
“I can’t force you,” he said more softly. “I wish I could. So, think very carefully, I beg you. Both of our fates may be riding on it.”
Zila frowned. “The only proof of that I have is your word. Why do you even care – why come and speak to me? I don’t believe you!”
“I’ve been left with blood of Veldiner’s making on my hands before,” he said. “I would rather it not happen again. And you have a voice worth preserving. I’d rather do that and get to discuss old songs with you.” He sat more fully on the desk, weight falling on his shoulders. “And I suppose she knew that, too. What a wretched woman she is.”
“I’ll lose this opportunity,” said Zila slowly. The evening’s applause sounded again in her ears – this time no triumph but a warning round of thunder. She closed her eyes, refusing to let fall the hot tears that welled up behind her lids.
“We haven’t got all night.”
Zila opened her eyes and glared. “I can’t just – go away with you!”
“My people will see to everything, don’t worry. You can leave with me – unlikely mission accomplished, and what can Veldiner say to that little twist? She can hardly protest to her own supposed objective.”
“It’s still a pretty sinister suggestion!”
“Oh? As opposed to a night of espionage and entrapment?”
Zila’s cheeks heated. “But this is – this is –” She halted. “Is this usually how you recruit your staff?”
“If you come with me, you can ask them.”
She put her hands to her head. “Stop it – stop acting as if you’re being reasonable!”
“Listen,” Delver said, and straightened. He stepped forward and when she flinched, she saw momentary regret shadow his eyes. “However much of a novice you are at this, you’ve sense enough to be scared of her, haven’t you? I’m not asking you to trust me, not yet. What I am asking is how far you trust Veldiner.”
Zila kept thinking of her meeting on the beach with Imor Veldiner. She had left Zila little choice between agreement or complete ruin, and she’d already known far too much about one little nobody from Eisterway even then.
“Come on,” the Governor said, more warmly, evidently interpreting her confusion accurately. “You wanted to put on a show and make a stir in Portcallan. I suggest we do just that.”
He held out his hand.
Zila swallowed. Having to leave the capital behind with all her ambitions in reach ought to be like trying to tear one of the limpets off the rocks down on its sea shore. She wished the Governor hadn’t made her believe in his nasty little scenario; she wished Imor Veldiner didn’t make her hair stand on end every time she spoke to her. Delver was right, though: she really didn’t trust Veldiner at all.
“I thought I liked you earlier,” she said. “Now I don’t – not one bit!”
He smiled. “Good!”
Zila stretched out her own hand to take his, against all her dearest wishes and worst self.
“It would be a shame to waste this dress,” she mused. “Better to make everyone look twice before I go.”
His fingers closed around hers and she felt a tiny quiver of relief go through him too. It caused her to hope that she’d made the right choice – that the Governor was the lesser of the two evils.
“So,” said Delver. “Let us get back out there and make a spectacle of ourselves!”
Story: Starfall
Colors: White Opal #7 (fantasy)
Supplies and Styles: Charcoal + Seed Beads
Word Count: 3926
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Spying; mild physical violence & threats.
Notes: 1337, Portcallan; Zila Fayne, Marran Delver, Tana Veldiner. (Things start to move in the Portcallan politicking plot.)
Summary: Zila’s first attempt at the spying game pits her against a far more experienced player, and it may just prove to be her last...
The actual end point of Zila’s time under Tana Veldiner’s wing felt distinctly unreal by the time she finally reached it. Zila had spent a week living in luxury for the first time in her life. She hadn’t had to worry about where her next meal was coming from, and she’d had singing lessons from Imai Chalnock, a name she’d only ever heard talked about before – usually in tones of awe. Halfway through the week, she’d sung at a smaller concert, where she’d been spotted – so her cover story went – by Imai Vishyne, who helped to organise events for the High Governor.
She’d hardly seen Imor Veldiner. She’d seen instead, a person who said that Zila should call them Ysayze, which probably wasn’t even their real name. Ysayze had explained what Zila had to do, which was pretty much as Imor Veldiner had told her – to put her in a position to obtain information from of a visiting dignitary who had been worrying the High Council over the last few years.
It was a giant game and as long as Zila played along, she’d get almost everything she’d ever wanted. Even failure meant she would merely have to pursue a different target in payment later on. Ysayze remained vague on the subject of the questionable person’s identity, leaving Zila guessing without any success.
Imor Veldiner appeared in Zila’s rooms the night before the High Governor’s Reception, and it was then that she at last took Zila by the hand and explained in a low tone that her target was a District Governor, no less; that of North Eastern.
Zila followed Veldiner’s words, and nodded along, but that piece of knowledge made it harder to sell herself the idea that this was all perfectly fine. Like most Emoyrans, she knew the names of the eight District Governors. Of some, she knew a little more – like Governor Delver. Her home, Eisterway, lay in the Eastern District, and Marran Delver’s drive to deal with the more troublesome aspects of alionrel farming and processing made him popular there, too, as well as his own District. People in places like Portcallan didn’t see him that way: their news sheets called him a menace who championed Eisterland superstition over Emoyran good sense, endangering a vital industry.
If she was supposed to be inveigling herself into Governor Delver’s good graces, even Zila could see that the High Governor’s officer’s motives might be suspect. Maybe he had been scheming – didn’t all these political sorts? – but Veldiner had waited until Zila was right up to her neck in her schemes before she’d even breathed his name.
“What has he done?” Zila asked, careful to sound unconcerned.
Veldiner studied her closely. “Well, that is what we’re hoping you’re going to help us to find, my dear. Perhaps there is nothing. If you clear his name, that is a happy outcome for us all. If not – then it was necessary for us to know. Governors as well as ordinary citizens must abide by the laws of the land – even more so, in fact.”
Zila nodded and told herself that she wasn’t worried at all – and really, there was no point in fearing the worst. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now, and it wasn’t as if anyone was asking her do anything terrible. She’d just get a chance to see what the famous golden governor of North Eastern was like in person, and that was all right by her. It could have been worse – Southern’s Governor was ancient and Governor Corcrall from Northern was said to be terrifyingly severe.
The other thing that reassured Zila was that, despite what Imor Veldiner seemed to think, she couldn’t believe a District Governor was likely to ask to see her because he’d heard her singing a rather maudlin song that he must have heard hundreds of times over already. But she got her chance to sing in front of Portcallan’s finest regardless. Zila laughed aloud.
It was a game, but one she could play to her advantage.
“I left my love in the vale of misted sky,
To lie down forever at the nightbird’s cry,
And never more to touch the waters of light,
And never more to touch the waters of light,” Zila sang.
The great hall of the High Council Chamber building had excellent acoustics, and Imor Veldiner hadn’t been lying about everybody who was anybody being here. Zila bowed at the song’s end. She was wearing a wine-red dress, of a silken fabric she’d never so much as touched before, and the High Governor himself applauded her from the side, standing next to Southern’s Governor Barroven. Zila straightened, and then descended from the stage, aglow; her whole being humming with triumph.
Imai Vishyne reached her and thanked her, letting her know that she was free to remain for a while if she wished and to help herself to the food and drink available, but, he told her, looking down at her in a way that was almost comforting in its familiarity against all this applause, she was not to approach any of the venerable guests unless they first approached her.
Zila refrained from poking her tongue out at his retreating back. She crossed over to a long table that had been full of elegantly arranged food, cutlery, crockery, glasses and flowers earlier, but which now was rather more decimated and untidy, with great gaps between selections and then piles of the least popular items left, disarranged on gilt-edged blue and white plates.
She was too wired from performing to even think about eating miniature sandwiches with an odd orange-coloured paste in them, so she took one of two remaining glasses of wine and stood there, taking occasional sips, making it last as long as she could. One or two people glanced at her, but no High Council Members or Governors of any sort came her way. People like that wore distinct coloured belts or sashes on formal occasions, so she would have known if they had.
Would Imor Veldiner really have other work for her now that this had fallen through, or would she be thrown out unceremoniously with the rest of the event’s rubbish in the morning? Zila sighed. The latter seemed most likely. She consoled herself by taking a leftover cream pastry.
“That was a charming performance – and an unusual little variant of Alion’s Lament,” said someone, approaching her from the side. “Where did you come by it, Imai Fayne?”
Zila choked on her mouthful of sweet pastry. She raised her gaze cautiously and found she was being addressed by a tall, pale-skinned man with hair of faded bronze – one who was wearing a very distinctive deep blue belt fastened by a buckle fashioned in the shape of an Emoyran starflower insignia.
“Governor,” she gasped, and then coughed until she spat out her awkward mouthful into her hand.
He waited with pained politeness until she’d finished and then passed her a spare napkin from the table.
“I’m Marran Delver,” he said, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. “You, I gather, are Zila Fayne.”
“It was my grandmother’s!” she said. She wiped her mouth with the napkin, and then her hand, depositing it and what was left of the pastry on the table.
“I’m sorry?”
“The song,” she said, her cheeks heating. She’d told herself all week it wouldn’t really come to this, but until this moment she’d been entirely confident that if it did, she was perfectly capable of being seductive to some mysterious dignitary who would probably just expect that sort of thing as a matter of course from someone like her. It turned out that might have been another case of over-confidence. “My grandmother taught me that version. She was from High Eisterland, and it was the only one I knew growing up.”
Marran Delver nodded and then glanced beyond them, at the dancing that had started fairly soon after the entertainment had stopped. “Would you do me the honour?” he said, holding out a gloved hand to her.
“How could I refuse?” she said, smiling brightly as she took his hand.
After the week she’d had, it was a relief to put aside her thoughts and dance, and Governor Delver was an excellent partner. It wouldn’t be so bad, she decided, as they turned with the other dancers, palm to palm. He wasn’t all that old, and he was still good looking enough; it wasn’t just the news sheets being nonsensical, and, maybe most important of all, he had a beautiful speaking voice. It must be all that speechifying in Council Chambers. Zila appreciated it.
“Do you know any other songs like that?” he queried as he escorted her away from the dancing.
Zila kept her hand on his arm, perhaps a little too firmly, but she had a bad start to make up for. “Oh, plenty! My grandmother taught me lots.”
“Fascinating,” he murmured. “What a shame she isn’t here tonight.”
She looked up quickly, sure he was making fun of her, but he only gave her a small smile on catching her glance.
“I could tell you more – sing them, even,” she offered, keeping close, rather dizzy at her unaccustomed success at both singing and spying. (And, after all, she told herself, she didn’t meet famous people every day – why not go through with this?) “But we’ll have to go somewhere quieter.”
He laughed, and then put his arm around her, ushering her across the room, deftly navigating the crowded hall, and deflecting several people who tried to catch him and talk to him, with a brief smile and using Zila as a joking excuse, or a press of the hand and a promise to catch whoever it was again tomorrow. Unlike Zila, he wouldn’t have been able to stand alone in the corner and steal the last of the food from an unattended table.
“What it is to be famous,” she said, as he pulled her out into the corridor. The roar of then ballroom muted with the shutting of the door behind them.
He gave her a minute nod. “Indeed. This way.”
“Where are we going?” Zila asked. That question was, like every other piece of caution on her part this week, far too late to be of any use.
“Somewhere quieter.”
Zila tried not to think about how reckless it was to go off alone with someone Imor Veldiner had told her was devious, dangerous and possibly a traitor.
Governor Delver took her arm and led her on down the corridor, away from the great chamber, into a semi-darkened stretch, and then finally through a door into a suite of offices. “Here.”
“Very nice,” said Zila, glancing around. Three walls had been painted a light, steely grey and the third, behind the desk, was wood-panelled. “Is it yours?”
He closed the door behind him and removed his gloves. “When I am here in Portcallan, yes.”
“I’ve never seen a Governor’s office before.”
Governor Delver turned the key in the lock and then moved away from the door to face her. “Now,” he murmured, “do tell me more about your grandmother.”
Zila’s brows closed together. “I’m sorry?”
He held out his hands and then moved back to lean against the edge of the solid wooden desk. “The one who knew so many interesting variants of our songs.”
Zila, who’d thought she’d been getting on excellently with the seduction part of her brief, stopped; winded. Was he laughing at her? “You don’t actually want me to sing again, do you?”
His mouth twitched. “Isn’t that what you offered?”
“Well, I will,” said Zila flatly. “But –”
“Ah, yes.” He stood, casting his gloves aside on the desk and then strode towards her, causing her to back away to the door. “Of course. Let us get down to business. Do you want to try suggestive remarks about the furniture or would you prefer to skip any such pretence and search the desk? I’ve no particular objection to either approach.”
Zila coloured sharply. She lifted her head and met his faintly mocking gaze. “I don’t know what you mean!”
“I mean,” he said, penning her in against the locked door, “what is it you want and who put you up to it?”
Zila hitched her breath and would have tried to slip out of his grasp, but he caught hold of her arm first and then shifted to catch hold of her wrists.
“Not so fast,” he said as she struggled to pull away. “Come on. Did you really imagine I wouldn’t see through you? What is Veldiner after? It was Veldiner, I take it?”
Zila’s knees buckled for one moment, although the solidity of the door behind her bore her up. She panicked and tried more forcibly to tug herself free, yelling.
“Quiet,” he ordered with abrupt authority that silenced her. He tightened his grip on her wrists. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in her ear, making her shiver. “But you had better tell me the truth now.”
She swallowed. “Who says anyone put me up to anything? Maybe I was stupid enough to think you liked me! You were the one who spoke to me!”
“So I did,” he agreed. “It seemed churlish not to when someone had evidently gone to such trouble to arrange the whole scenario. And I did want to ask about the song.” He tilted his head to one side, studying her. Something indefinable in her face lightened minutely and he eased his hold on her. “I don’t believe this kind of game is for you.”
Zila glared, fighting to stop shaking before he noticed and knew he was getting to her. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.
“Listen, please,” he said, more softly. “If I let go, will you be reasonable and answer my questions? We need to talk. You’re such an obvious ploy – no, there has to be something more to this.”
Zila gave a reluctant nod.
The Governor released her, but cautiously, standing near enough to grab her again if she gave him cause. Zila couldn’t pull herself together enough to move anyway, remaining pressed against the door, overshadowed by him.
“Ah,” he said, taking a further step back. “I fear I scared you more than I intended.”
Zila recovered her strength through rage at that. She marched past him into the room, her nose in the air, and sat down on the nearest chair with the air of one taking a throne. “Well?” she demanded. “I don’t know what you mean and if you don’t let me out soon, I shall – I shall –”
“What?” he demanded, perching on the desk again. “Enough pretence, please! It was Veldiner who sent you, wasn’t it? Tell me.”
Zila threw up her hands. “I don’t understand any of you!” she said. “If it was so obvious, why would she go to all that trouble to make me do it? Why drag me in here to sing that stupid song –”
“No, no. Not stupid,” he assured her. “Quite charming.”
Zila waved a hand. “Except you don’t care about it anyway.”
“I beg to differ,” said Marran Delver. “However, what else is going on here is unfortunately much more pressing.”
“Is it?” she said, rubbing her wrists. “You hurt me – all I want is to leave, thanks!”
Governor Delver raised an eyebrow. “Do you really?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zila rose from the chair and faced him down. “You think I want to stay in here with you any longer – see if you do something worse to me next?”
He held up a hand, all amusement gone from his face. “My apologies if I was rough with you, but put yourself in my position. What if you were here to kill me?”
“As if I could!” burst out Zila. “How?”
“Well, the attempt only takes a little ingenuity, you know. But tell me – why do you think Veldiner sent you to do this? Can you think of a likely explanation?”
“She wanted information.” Zila’s voice fell. The idea of crossing Veldiner by saying even that much set a cold prickle going down her spine.
He tilted a little to the left on the desk, watching her. “And she couldn’t have used any of her usual agents or assets? Would you like to hear my best guess?”
“Probably not.”
His mouth twisted. “Quite,” he said. “But I feel I must. Picture it – here you are, seen talking to me. Maybe only in public, maybe in private – and before the sun’s up tomorrow, something happens to you. Let’s not assume the worst – even to claim you committed a crime would warrant further investigation. Of me, of my staff. The guardians of the peace and the High Council Guards could search my belongings and at the very least my trip north would be postponed. I have no intention of permitting that.”
Zila took a step back even as he rose and closed the gap between them again.
“But a body’s more likely, I’d say,” he said. “Found floating in the harbour, or washed up by the tide. There’d be an inquest. It wouldn’t do me any good, however little came of it in the end – and no danger of you saying anything you shouldn’t after. No loose ends.”
“You’re trying to scare me again. I won’t listen!”
“I very much hope I am, and you should.”
“If you thought that, why speak to me? Why come out here with me and make everything ten times worse?”
“I didn’t know,” he said. “I was curious, I confess – I wanted to be sure.”
Zila hugged herself. “Then let me go! I’ll leave – I’ll get away. I’m used to taking care of myself – you needn’t worry.”
“No, you don’t,” he said, and caught hold of her by the arm again. “No, really. Stop fighting me, you little idiot –”
She kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him wince, but he hung on.
“Would you like to hear my proposition?” he said, through her efforts to get free. “Look, stop that! Do you want to bring security down on us?”
Zila stopped, but warily. She screwed up her face, and spat out, “Proposition? If you mean what I think you mean –”
“No, I don’t,” he said firmly. He let go of her, but again remained close enough to stop her from dashing across to beat on the door at need. “Too many people have tried to kill me in recent years for me to be that careless about whom I sleep with, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”
Zila stood, close against the side of the chair. “All right. What do you mean, then?”
“Confound her,” he said, the light back in his eyes. “Veldiner. Wouldn’t you like to? Come with me now – I’ll find you a place on my staff and take you north with me. You succeed in your mission! You may report back to her all you please. I don’t think she’ll find it very enlightening.”
“Go with you to Old Ralston?” As if she hadn’t just spent years trying to escape Eastern District! North Eastern was worse.
“Briefly, yes, although I mean to go on to Starfall Manor. After that, we should be able to manufacture your disappearance.” He paused. “Also not a euphemism, before you ask.”
Zila hunched back. “No! I don’t believe you – not any of it! I don’t know what you want, but just let me go. I’ll sort things out with Imor Veldiner myself.”
“Will you?”
She raised her head, and at his question, it finally sunk in; the weight of what she already owed. The silk dress, the performance, the week in luxury, the mission unfulfilled. She’d walked straight into a trap.
“I scared you,” Delver said, his voice level. “But with good reason, Imai Fayne. I’ve seen what Veldiner does to amateurs in this game.”
Zila shook her head.
“I can’t force you,” he said more softly. “I wish I could. So, think very carefully, I beg you. Both of our fates may be riding on it.”
Zila frowned. “The only proof of that I have is your word. Why do you even care – why come and speak to me? I don’t believe you!”
“I’ve been left with blood of Veldiner’s making on my hands before,” he said. “I would rather it not happen again. And you have a voice worth preserving. I’d rather do that and get to discuss old songs with you.” He sat more fully on the desk, weight falling on his shoulders. “And I suppose she knew that, too. What a wretched woman she is.”
“I’ll lose this opportunity,” said Zila slowly. The evening’s applause sounded again in her ears – this time no triumph but a warning round of thunder. She closed her eyes, refusing to let fall the hot tears that welled up behind her lids.
“We haven’t got all night.”
Zila opened her eyes and glared. “I can’t just – go away with you!”
“My people will see to everything, don’t worry. You can leave with me – unlikely mission accomplished, and what can Veldiner say to that little twist? She can hardly protest to her own supposed objective.”
“It’s still a pretty sinister suggestion!”
“Oh? As opposed to a night of espionage and entrapment?”
Zila’s cheeks heated. “But this is – this is –” She halted. “Is this usually how you recruit your staff?”
“If you come with me, you can ask them.”
She put her hands to her head. “Stop it – stop acting as if you’re being reasonable!”
“Listen,” Delver said, and straightened. He stepped forward and when she flinched, she saw momentary regret shadow his eyes. “However much of a novice you are at this, you’ve sense enough to be scared of her, haven’t you? I’m not asking you to trust me, not yet. What I am asking is how far you trust Veldiner.”
Zila kept thinking of her meeting on the beach with Imor Veldiner. She had left Zila little choice between agreement or complete ruin, and she’d already known far too much about one little nobody from Eisterway even then.
“Come on,” the Governor said, more warmly, evidently interpreting her confusion accurately. “You wanted to put on a show and make a stir in Portcallan. I suggest we do just that.”
He held out his hand.
Zila swallowed. Having to leave the capital behind with all her ambitions in reach ought to be like trying to tear one of the limpets off the rocks down on its sea shore. She wished the Governor hadn’t made her believe in his nasty little scenario; she wished Imor Veldiner didn’t make her hair stand on end every time she spoke to her. Delver was right, though: she really didn’t trust Veldiner at all.
“I thought I liked you earlier,” she said. “Now I don’t – not one bit!”
He smiled. “Good!”
Zila stretched out her own hand to take his, against all her dearest wishes and worst self.
“It would be a shame to waste this dress,” she mused. “Better to make everyone look twice before I go.”
His fingers closed around hers and she felt a tiny quiver of relief go through him too. It caused her to hope that she’d made the right choice – that the Governor was the lesser of the two evils.
“So,” said Delver. “Let us get back out there and make a spectacle of ourselves!”
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