no one looked up as Nyctasia entered The Crow’s Nest, or offered to assist her in any way. She went up to a group of idlers gathered around the fire and slammed her stick down across a bench. “Ho, the house! Who keeps this vipers’ den?”
A man and woman glanced askance at each other. The man shrugged. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” echoed Nyctasia. “I want accommodations fit for a queen, of course. I want splendor, gaiety, and lordly fare. Spiced delicacies and ruby wine! That’s what I want!”
Shouts of agreement arose from the other guests. This was the best entertainment they’d seen in some time.
“I could do with some of that myself!”
“Tell us more, woman!”
“I want decent lodgings,” Nyctasia concluded, “but I’ll settle for what you’ve got to offer.”
This sally too was met with cheers. “Best lodgings this side of the gutter, right here!”
“If you happen to be a rat or a roach-”
“Most of you are,” said the landlady, and spat into the fire. She stood and walked from the room, giving Nyctasia a hard look as she pushed past her.
Nyctasia bowed elaborately, sweeping her shabby cloak out of the woman’s way with an ironic flourish.
The group made room for her on the bench, hoping for more sport. “Do you have any money?” said the landlord. “We don’t take clever speeches in payment.”
“Oh, of course I’m carrying a fortune in gold and jewels,” sneered Nyctasia. She tossed him a small silver coin. “Two nights,” she said. She did not intend to stay for a single night, but it might be safer to mislead her listeners.
He examined the coin carefully, then nodded. “Any bed upstairs.”
Nyctasia repressed a shudder. She was prepared to face danger and hardship, but nothing could reconcile her to the prospect of bed-lice. After joking with the other guests for a time, she made her way upstairs, claiming to be exhausted from a day’s hard walking. She entered a large, slant-ceilinged room at the head of the stairs, noting that it had no other door and only one small window high on the far wall. There were several straw pallets in the room, but none that Nyctasia would have lain or even sat upon under any circumstances.
The other two rooms were similar, and she returned to the first, satisfied that she was alone. When she’d latched the door, she pulled a small leather bag from her shirt and took from it a pair of exquisite golden earrings. The lustrous red-gold shone softly, even in the dim light from the gable window. Edonaris heirlooms, they were part of the legacy from her late, unlamented Great-Uncle Brethald.
She smiled grimly. How it must have galled him to know that Nyctasia, a traitor to the name of Edonaris, would inherit the better part of his goods and properties. But he was childless, and inflexible tradition decreed that family property follow very specific lines of descent. It was no wonder he’d tried to ensure that Nyctasia would die before him.
Now she brooded over the beautiful golden earrings and thought how outraged he would have been to know that she considered giving family treasure to a base-born hireling. But Corson had surely earned them. She’d lost her own in Nyctasia’s service, and it would be most appropriate to reward her with a new pair. Nyctasia herself wore only adornments of silver, to accentuate her grey eyes and fair complexion-gold was for honey-skinned Corson, or dark Erystalben.
But still Nyctasia’s blood reproached her at the thought of thus estranging ancient Edonaris property. She weighed the jewelry in her hand thoughtfully.
After all, had she not broken with her family? Why not celebrate her freedom with this gesture, if only to spite the memory of Great-Uncle Brethald?
Suddenly she leapt to her feet, hastily concealing the earrings. She could hear people climbing the stairs. The door was forced open before she could unlatch it, and three armed guards entered the room.
“We have orders not to harm you, my lady, unless you resist us. Will you surrender your weapons?”
Nyctasia at once resorted to the most convincing lie of all: she laughed. “My lady?” she cried, in seeming delight. “Oh, I like that! What would a lady be doing here, you imbeciles?” She minced up to the guard who had spoken, with the affected grandeur of an ill-bred student imitating a noblewoman. “Pray enter my ancestral halls,” she invited. “Lady Maggot of Vermin Hall bids you welcome!”
The guards looked at one another, uncertain. “Maybe-” one of them began.
“Well?” demanded Nyctasia. “Here I am, arrest me! Her Ladyship of Quills and Patches!” She seemed to be having a wonderful time. “Ho, friends!” she shouted, for the benefit of the listeners downstairs, “you people didn’t know you had a great lady in your midst, did you?”
But the laughter that answered her from the stairway was not that of her fellow lodgers. “Forgive me if I fail to applaud such a fine performance, cousin, but you see that I have the use of only one arm.” The guards moved aside, and Lord Thierran ar’n Edonaris entered, smiling. His right arm was bound in a bandage and sling, “Be sure to gag her,” he ordered. “She’ll convince you that no one’s here at all if she isn’t silenced.”
Nyctasia passed from desperation to despair. No one would come to her rescue now, for no one knew where to find her. She had been careful about that, as always. “But not careful enough,” she thought bitterly. Only Corson had known where she was hiding. It must have amused her to be paid for changing sides once again. She must be very well pleased with herself.