The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(99)

Ambassador Kiiren stood on the far side of the table, hands folded in the sleeves of his formal azure blue robe. He looked tired, Mal thought, or perhaps it was just the bright Venetian sunlight emphasising the patches of grey skin under his eyes. As they approached, he broke off his formal pose and hurried towards them, embracing Mal like a long-lost friend.

"Catlyn-tuur!"

"Kii–"

Kiiren released him, eyes wide. "You are hurt, my friend."

"It's nothing. How are you?"

He took a seat on the cushions. About a dozen of the zigzag-folded sheets that the skraylings used instead of books lay scattered across the surface of the table, their pages covered in the tiny geometric glyphs of the Vinlandic language. A flask of aniig wallowed in a cistern of water, surrounded by half-melted chunks of ice. It must be dull indeed for Kiiren, shut up here for days on end with nothing to do but wait until he was needed.

"What did you think you were doing?" Mal said at last. He looked from his brother to the ambassador and back. "There is a guiser in this city, a powerful one."

"Are you sure?" Kiiren asked. "We have seen no sign of guisers."

"Olivia is no fool. She has been avoiding dreamwalking ever since you arrived."

"Olivia? This is name? You know who it is?"

"Her name is Olivia dalle Boccole, a courtesan." He forced himself not to catch Coby's eye. "We have become… well acquainted."

"You have consorted with the enemy?" Sandy slammed his glass on the table, shattering its delicate base.

"She is not what you think." He put his own glass down more carefully. "You told me to expect monsters, wicked corrupt creatures like Suffolk who would do anything–"

"Including lying and seducing?" Sandy replied. "Listen to yourself, brother. You have been led astray. The guisers are renegades and outcasts for a good reason–"

"Then so are we."

Silence fell, broken only by the drip-drip of aniig from the broken glass onto the floor.

"Amayi, Catlyn-tuur…" Kiiren stood and placed himself between them. "We are all friends here. No one is cast out for that which is not their fault."

"Tell that to Hennaq," Sandy muttered.

Mal looked at Coby. "You tried to warn me about a skrayling called Hennaq. Who is he?"

Coby explained about their attempted voyage from England to Provence and how it had been diverted by Hennaq. Mal listened in silence, torn between anger at Sandy for nearly getting himself shipped off to the New World, overwhelming gratitude to Coby for her resourcefulness, and shame at his own betrayal of her loyalty. At least that part of it was over. He would strive to be worthy of her from now on.

"Is this true, what Hennaq says?" Kiiren asked him when the story was done. "It was his heart-mate Tanijeel whom you and your brothers killed?"

"We – Sandy and I – didn't kill him," Mal said, staring at his hands clasped in his lap. "They smeared my face with his blood, as part of the initiation. But I did not lay a hand on him, nor did Sandy."

"And your brother Charles. What of him?"

"I don't know. I'd like to say not but… I was trying to protect Sandy. I didn't want to see, didn't want to hear…"

Coby put her hand on his, and he squeezed it.

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered. "I should have taken more care in our choice of captain."

"You weren't to know." He looked up. "And this Hennaq is in Venice?"

"Not yet," Coby said, "or so we hope. But he is likely to come. He knows you are here, and is bound to suspect that we will seek you out and warn you."

"What will you do?" Mal asked Kiiren. "If Hennaq turns up demanding us both."

"I will not hand you over to him," Kiiren replied. "But I cannot speak for elders. They will want to examine your memories–"

"Then they will discover we are innocent," Sandy said.

Kiiren sighed. "Of murder, perhaps. But your brother speaks truth. You too are guisers, in eyes of many of our people, and for that alone you are subject to our laws."

"Which are?" Mal asked.

"If you wish forgiveness, you must be reborn into our people."

"They would take us back to the New World and kill us."

"No," Kiiren said. "Your own hand must do it. There are herbs–"

"Oh yes, there are always herbs." He smiled bitterly to himself. "I am not ready to die yet."

Coby squeezed his hand, and his heart lurched. No, he would not die yet, not for anyone.

"Why did Hennaq not bring his case when you were on Sark?" he said after a few moments.

"I do not know," Kiiren said. "Perhaps he feared my word would carry more weight with elders than his. Or perhaps he knew Erishen was not fully healed."

"Nor is he yet," Coby put in. "He became very ill on Hennaq's ship when he had the spirit-guard on all the time."

"And I will tell elders so." He looked from one brother to the other, his amber eyes grave. "I do not wish to lose either of you."

Sandy excused himself, saying he wanted to speak to the players before they left. As soon as he had left the room, Mal seized his chance.