Page 56 of The Faceless Mage

And every day, Leisa submitted more or less tamely to being dressed up and paraded around to whatever functions were deemed worthy of her attendance. Or perhaps whatever functions were considered likely to impress her.

None of them did. The best of them bored her, and the worst of them irritated her to the point where she was forced to continually rein in her caustic comments.

The Raven had not spoken again, but she didn’t think she was imagining the fact that he seemed to hover closer than before. Whether to protect or intimidate, she didn’t ask. At most functions, her shadow remained so close to her chair, she was approached only by the bravest souls, and none of them dared more than the most inane and polite of conversations.

So she talked to the Raven instead.

At first, it was only the unflattering observations she wished she could make aloud, like comparing Vaniell’s latest outfit to an accident in a dyer’s shop. More than likely, the Raven never heard her—she didn’t like to draw attention to the gem by touching it in public—but she knew he was there, and it felt less lonely to have someone to talk to.

Once or twice, she thought she felt the flicker of a reaction, though so faintly she knew she’d probably imagined it. But she was lonely—and worried for Zander—so she let herself continue to imagine it, and from that point forward, it became something like a game. Could she provoke her silent shadow to laughter, or even curiosity, without betraying herself?

Before too long, she was holding entire conversations in her head, never really expecting an answer, but imagining her companion’s responses and carrying on as though he’d made them. Even if he couldn’t hear her, those imagined conversations made her feel less alone, and gave her something to do as she waited for Zander’s return.

For seven endless days, she waited, enduring countless fetes and flounces while feigning interest in all the meaningless drivel Garimore’s court could invent for her entertainment. Or her distraction.

Leisa suspected the latter, because King Melger did not summon her again, nor did meetings of any importance appear on her official schedule. She was shepherded around by a simpering, smirking Vaniell, but kept well away from anything that resembled a meaningful discussion of their kingdoms’ futures.

Were they now trying to buy Evaraine’s approval with luxury and amusement? It was in the midst of her fuming over this treatment that Leisa decided she had no choice but to take matters into her own hands. When Zander returned, she needed to be ready to act on whatever he’d learned. And without more information about what Melger envisioned for Farhall’s future, she had no way to paint anything like a clear picture for King Soren. No way to convince him that it was better to reject the alliance with Garimore and look for a new way forward.

She needed to do something unexpected. As the Raven had said, how could she know what to believe if she only listened to what she was told?

So, in spite of her fears, after Zander had been gone a full week, Leisa used the mirror once more and slipped out of her room just before midnight, leaving the gem behind.

She had no particular purpose or destination in mind. What she needed was to listen—to hear what was being said when she wasn’t around.

As she drifted soundlessly through the rooms and halls, more of a shadow than a presence, she caught the passing words of servants and courtiers alike. Few were of interest, as most folks were caught up in their own day-to-day concerns. A maid spoke of her crush on a handsome guardsman, while a young Marquess fretted over his father’s demand that he stop spending money so freely. Two guards argued over which of them was due for a promotion sooner, while a pair of weary clerks headed towards the gates, ready for home after a long day of balancing ledgers.

Her wandering feet took her to parts of the castle she’d never seen before, and eventually led her outside, where she climbed from the top level of the palace down to a portion of the outer wall. The shadows enabled her to avoid the guards as she made her way around to a turret well within rope-toss distance of the single balcony on the entire castle.

Leisa swung herself across right over the heads of two guards below, then pulled herself up and over the railing to pause behind a cluster of potted trees.

So much for Melger’s security. This was a perfect hiding spot for an assassin. But perhaps, she thought bitterly, his guards were so busy hunting down mages, they were stretched too thin to be focused on protecting the castle from internal threats.

Or, they simply weren’t that worried. This balcony led to the king’s own apartments, which undoubtedly contained a full complement of guards whenever the king was within.

As Leisa was hoping he would be tonight.

Clinging carefully to the shadows, she slunk nearer the doors until she found a good spot to crouch in the darkness and simply listen.

For the first hour, she heard nothing but the night breezes and the footsteps of the guards patrolling below, but her patience was eventually rewarded by the sound of a door crashing open.

King Melger’s heavy footfalls entered his suite, followed by the sounds of arguing.

“…my patience is at its end. I’ve warned you of the consequences if you fail to bring him to heel, and I will not stay my hand forever!”

The other voice was softer. Melting, where the king’s was icy. Female.

“…done all I can. Why can you not see that he is suffering, too? You blame the boy, blame me, but it’s your own fear that goads you. Ever since you returned from that tour, you’ve been driven by this… this madness, and I don’t understand it!”

“Madness? Is it madness, then, to protect this kingdom by any means at my disposal? Madness to ask your son to serve his people in this one small way? I’ve allowed him to wallow in his dissipated life at your insistence, but now that I ask one simple thing, he denies me with a smirk on his lips. Puts me off incessantly. Drinks himself into oblivion instead of doing his duty.”

“…cannot make him resigned to this marriage by yelling.”

“No, but I can motivate him with the only threat that has ever seemed to work.”

Silence.

“Youbastard,” the queen said finally, but it was with a note of defeat. “When did you become so cold that you would threaten your own family? Sometimes I believe you invented this story of my unfaithfulness for no better reason than to use it against your own son.”

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