Masques (Sianim #1)(10)

If she needed confirmation that something was awry, she had it then. Ren would never, ever accept discomfort as a reason for leaving an assignment early. She should have been at the ae'Magi's castle at least another se'nnight. Impassive-faced, she exited the room.

Alone, Ren relaxed and rubbed his hands together with great satisfaction. If that performance didn't cause Aralorn to start thinking, then nothing would. He needed her to be suspicious and questioning, but also cautious. He couldn't afford to come out and warn her; the ae'Magi had his own ways of learning things ... and if anyone would be subject to the Archmage's watchful eye, it would be the Spymaster of Sianim.

* * *

ARALORN'S FEET WERE SILENT ON THE YELLOW STONE OF THE steps; she was deep in thought as she wandered down the cobble street. She absently waved at acquaintances, though she didn't stop to talk. She shivered a little, though it was warm enough out. Why was he acting as if he'd never had a suspicious thought about the ae'Magi? Ren was suspicious of everybody.

She found the dormitory where she stored her few possessions more by chance than design and retreated through the halls to her room.

It was musty after her prolonged absence and in desperate need of dusting. There were only a few pieces of worn furniture placed here or there, but the room was small enough that it seemed cluttered. She sneezed once; then, ignoring the much-abused chair, she sat on the rough stone floor that was unrelieved by carpet or fur.

Never before had Ren seemed worried about where he sent her to spy. He cared little for politics, leaving that to the statesmen to whom he gave selected bits of information. Instead he thirsted for knowledge the way that some men thirst for food or sex. It was from him that she had gleaned many of the folk stories she collected.

He was no respecter of persons, not ever. When she had protested her assignment with the Sorcerer, he had laughed at her and quoted her his favorite saying: "He who does no wrong need not fear perusal." He used it so often and said it with such pride that she suspected that he had made it up himself.

When he sent her to the castle he'd made it clear that although nominally she was investigating the "assassination attempt," her main objective would be to gather information on Geoffrey ae'Magi. Why else would he send his most successful agent to spy on the castle when a simple note of warning would have done the same thing?

All of which led her back to her original question: why was Ren troubled about it now?

She sat for a while and came to no brilliant conclusions; but it was better than worrying about the Wolf - though she did some of that as well. Fretting about one was about as useful as fretting about the other - so she, being egalitarian at heart, gave equal time to each.

Finally, tired in mind and body, she stripped off her clothes and threw them on the floor. She stretched out carefully, slowly working each muscle until it was relatively limber. She pulled off the top covering of her cot, careful to take most of the dust with it. Then she collapsed onto the top of the bed and slept.

The nightmare came back. It wasn't as bad as it had been the first few days, but it was bad enough. She was only half awake when she touched the wall that her cot sat against and thought for a minute that she was back in the cage. She reacted as if she had touched something hot, rolling quickly away from it and landing with a thump, fully awake and surrounded by a cloud of dust from the blanket, on the floor.

She sneezed several times, swore, and wiped her watering eyes. Laughing, she thought that she should be glad that the Wolf wasn't here to see her make a fool of herself. It was obvious that she wasn't going to get any more sleep for a while, so she lit a small lamp and dressed, pulling on her practice garments - knee-length leather boots, loose breeches and tunic.

* * *

THE NICE THING ABOUT BEING HOME IN SIANIM WAS THAT EVEN in the busy summer season there were always people in the practice arenas willing to go a few rounds; mercenaries tended to keep strange hours. She strapped on sword and daggers and slipped out the window and onto the narrow ledge just below.

Gingerly she traversed the narrow pathway until it was possible to drop onto the roof of the building next door. From there it was only a short jump to the ground. It would have been easier to exit by normal means, but she took practice where she-could get it.

Outside, the street torches were already lit for the night, but people were still wandering around. There was a friendly brawl going on at one of the pubs with bystanders betting on the outcome.

She took a deep breath of air. The smell of Sianim was a fusion of sweat, horse, dust and ... freedom.

Aralorn had grown up stifled by the restraints placed on women of the high aristocracy, even outcasts. Reth might have outlawed slavery, but women of high estate were surrounded by a collar of rules strong enough to confine any drudge. If it hadn't been for her father she might have been forced into the traditional useless role.

The Lyon of Lambshold was an unusual man. When his illegitimate daughter came to him and stated her objections to the constant needlepoint and etiquette lessons that his wife imposed on his daughters, he taught her to ride like a man. He also taught her to fight with sword and staff. When she left home, he sent her off with his favorite warhorse.

She had tried Jetaine, but found that the women there were enslaved to their hatred of men even more than women on the outside were enslaved to their social position. Aralorn had never hated men, she just hadn't wanted to sit and simper all her life. She'd often wondered what it would have been like for her if she'd been born a merchant's daughter, or someone who had to work for a living instead of an aristocrat who was expected to be an art object.