How very curious!
Procrastination was not one of her failings. Carefully holding her precious silk away from the cobwebby back of the dresser, Inos moved to that diabolically tempting door.
She saw steps, of course, as she had expected—another flight curved around inside the wall, just like all the other stairs. These were very dusty. The tiny windows set every few paces were exactly as she would have expected, also, but gray with grime and draped in cobwebs. The musty air was rank with the odor of mold. A secret room? How very, very interesting! Now she did hesitate, but only for a couple of seconds. Curiosity overcame caution and even the silk was forgotten as she slipped through the narrow gap and started to climb.
Quietly, though.
Probably there was nothing up above here at all, and her father would welcome her just as happily as he would do anywhere else. On the other hand, it was very peculiar that she had never heard anyone ever mention this unknown room. It could not be any of her business. She was trying to be on her best behavior. She was holding a packet of silk that had cost three and half imperials.
She . . .
“ . . . is much too young!” said her father’s voice.
Inos froze against the icy stones of the wall. She was almost at the top and obviously the door was open. The voice had echoed as if the unseen chamber were bare and unfurnished.
“She’s not as young as all that,” another voice replied. “You take a good look at her. She’s very nearly a young lady now.” Her father muttered something she did not catch.
“In the Impire they would regard her as old enough already,” said the other. Who could that be? She did not recognize the voice, yet it must be someone who knew her, for there could be no doubt who was being discussed.
“But who? There’s no one in the kingdom.”
“Then Angilki, perhaps?” It was a dry, elderly voice. “Or Kalkor? Those are the obvious choices.”
Now Inos could guess what was being discussed. She gasped, and for a moment considered marching straight in through the door and announcing that she had no intention of marrying either Duke Angilki or Thane Kalkor or anyone else for that matter. So there! Only the packet of silk stopped her.
“No, no, no!” her father said loudly, and Inos relaxed a fraction. ”Either of those two, and the other would start a war.”
Or I shall! she thought.
An infuriating silence followed, one of those pauses when meanings pass without words, in smiles or nods or shrugs, and the speakers are not even aware that they have stopped speaking. But eavesdroppers are. It was not regal—it was not even polite—to eavesdrop. Inos knew that. But she told herself firmly that it was not polite to talk about someone when they were not there, either. So she was perfectly entitled to listen to . . .
“I never met Kalkor.” That was her father again, farther away.
“You can live without the experience, my friend.”
Friend? She knew of no one who addressed the king that way.
“Bad? “
“Rough!” The stranger chuckled quietly. “Typical jotunn . . . winter-long drinking parties, probably wrestles she-bears for exercise. Sharkskin underwear, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“That one’s out, then!”
Inos certainly agreed with her father on that.
“Angilki’s too old for her,” he said. “It will have to be a neutral. But you’re right about Kinvale. Next year, perhaps.” The stranger spoke quite softly, so that she had to strain to hear. “You may not have that much time, friend.”
Then another pause, but not so long.
“I see!” Her father’s voice, curiously flat and expressionless.
“I am sorry.”
“Hardly your fault!” The king sighed. “It was why I sent for you—your skill and your honesty. Honesty and wisdom. And I knew you would not hold back the truth.” Another pause. “Are you sure?”
“Of course not.” Inos heard footsteps on bare planks, receding. Then the stranger, from farther away: “Have you tried this? “
“No!” That was her father’s monarch voice.
“It might tell you.”
“No! It stays shut!”
“I don’t know how you can resist.”
“Because it causes trouble. My grandfather discovered that. It has not been opened since his time.”
“Thinal saw one like it once,” the visitor muttered. “It stayed shut, also. For the same reasons, I suppose.” She had no idea what they could be talking about. They seemed to have moved to the far side of the room, near the south window. She strained to hear the voices over the thumping of her own heart.
“Even if I am right . . . about you . . . then there might be hope . . . if we two were to cooperate. “
“No, Sagorn, my friend. I have always refused and I always shall, even for that. Don’t think I don’t trust you.” The stranger—Sagorn?—sighed. ”I know whom you do not trust, and you are right. And you have not told your daughter?”
“Heavens, no! She is only a child. She couldn’t handle that!” Handle what? Inos wanted to stamp her foot with frustration, but of course she was hardly daring to breathe, let alone stamp.
“But you will?” Another pause.
“I don’t know,” her father said softly. “If . . . if she is older when . . . or maybe not at all.”
“You must!” The stranger spoke in a tone that no one used to a king. “You must not let it be lost!” His voice reverberated in the empty room.
“Must?”
Inos could guess at her father’s mocking, quizzical expression.
“Yes, must! It is too precious . . . and it is Krasnegar’s only hope for survival. You know that.”
“It would also be her greatest danger.”
“Yes, that is true,” the stranger admitted. “But the advantages of having it outweigh the disadvantages, do they not?” His voice became diffident, almost pleading. “You know that! You . . . you could not trust me with it? If I promised that later I would tell her?”
She heard her father’s dry chuckle. He had come closer. She must be prepared to run.
“No, Sagorn. For her sake. I trust you, friend, but not . . . certain others.”
The other man sighed. “No, certainly not Darad. Never trust him. Or Andor. “
“You keep them away, both of them!” That was a royal command.
“Yes, I will. And so will Jalon. “
The stranger’s voice was suddenly very close. Inos wheeled around and started down the stairs as fast as she could safely and silently go. Jalon? The minstrel? She was sure that was the name she had just heard. What had he to do with this? And who was this Sagorn?
Then—
Dust! With horror she saw her own footsteps below her, mingled with those of her father and his visitor, giveaway marks on the deposits of years. Coming up, she had not noticed them, but going down they were obvious, even in the dim glow coming through the grimy panes. Panic! They would know that she, or at least someone, had been listening.
At the bottom she stumbled against the heavy door and the rusted old hinges creaked horribly. She squeezed through the opening, dashed across her father’s bedroom, and was plunging down the next stairs when she heard a shout behind her and then a clatter of boots.
It was a race, then. She must escape from the tower and, certainly, she must hide her precious packet of silk until the storm blew itself out.
She reached the dressing room, skidded on a rug in the middle of it, regained her balance, dashed down the next flight, and burst into the withdrawing room, into an astonished collection of six matronly ladies just sitting down to Aunt Kade’s midmorning salon. For a long moment Inos wavered on one foot, with the other still in the air and arms spread like a cormorant. She stared her horror back at their surprise, poised on the verge of sprinting through their midst and out the door on the far side. She was very tempted—at least she would be able to dispose of the silk—but the way was cluttered by all those ladies on the edges of their gilt and rosewood chairs, by Kel the footman with a serving trolley laden with Aunt Kade’s finest china and her magnificent, enormous, silver tea urn giving out its usual disgusting odor of burning whale oil . . . And then Aunt Kade had risen, and all the others did so also, and it was too late.
Aunt Kade’s plump face was turning pink and assuming that fretted look that Inos so often provoked these days. Whether to welcome or scold . . . She was probably also chewing over problems of protocol and the dowdy brown worsted. Then she made her decision.