Page 35 of Destroyer

Just then, saving Ru from further embarrassment, Mr. Goodfellow appeared at Fen’s elbow.

“Mr. Verrill,” he said, “Miss Delara, come with me if you would.”

They trailed after him in silence, Ru holding the artifact close to her with a stubborn fierceness, ignoring the stares of everyone as they passed. Fen strode behind her, so quickly becoming a comforting presence. Sybeth met them outside in the hall, her eyes glinting under the light of glass chandeliers. She gave Ru a small nod, which was as much a show of respect as Ru could hope for from the rider. Together, Sybeth and Mr. Goodfellow escorted them to their separate rooms.

It wasn’t until Ru collapsed onto her bed, not caring whether she wrinkled her lovely dress, that she began to wonder who the man in white had been, and how he’d managed to change the regent’s mind. And, most intriguing of all,whyhe had done so.

* * *

Hoursafter the audience with Sigrun, her mind still reeling in the aftermath, Ru found herself unable to stop thinking about the strange people in white, particularly the one who had spoken in the regent’s ear.

Who were they? What kind of influence did they have over the regent? And why would they have any interest in, or opinion about, the artifact? This last question hung heaviest on her mind.

As she gazed up through her bed’s gauzy canopy at the pale blue ceiling, an idea came to her. Simon. If he was working in the palace, he would know every detail of even the seemingly innocuous goings-on at court.

With his job came innate danger, the kind that lurked in the shadows and attacked from behind, but that danger was balanced by a rich supply of information.

He was a minstrel, one of the most culturally revered and sought-after people in the court, and also one of the most endangered.

Centuries ago, minstrels had been pure entertainers, singers and musicians who traveled the kingdom sharing stories and songs for coin. But their ability to blend into the background of any tavern, to be invited into the home of any noble, set them up as the perfect vessel for information. And these days, while there were many musicians whose only purpose was to perform, true minstrels were a thing unto themselves. They worked in the shadows, neither sanctioned by any ruling body nor condemned by the same. Everyone at court needed information at some time or another, and minstrels would always be there to sell it to them. No group of people was assassinated or mysteriously disappeared without a trace more than minstrels.

Simon sometimes jokingly called himself a courtesan of conversation, but Ru knew how seriously he took his work. He was a performer, a charmer, and he would tell you any secret for a price.

Leaping up from the bed, Ru went to the panel of little tasseled rope pulls that indicated various services she could call for. She yanked on the second tassel, calling for her lady’s maid.

She paced the room until Pearl appeared at the door.

“Pearl,” said Ru, pulling the maid into the room and closing the door gently behind her. “Would you do me a favor?”

The maid's eyes widened. “A favor, Miss?”

“I mean, I suppose it’s within the purview of your job,” she said. Ru wasn’t used to servants. At the Tower, everyone dressed, washed, did everything for themselves except cook. Growing up in their cramped house in Mirith had been much the same, with only a cook and a scullery maid to tend to the kitchens. Ladies’ maids were for the rich and highborn, of which Ru was neither.

“I’d like you to send for my brother Simon Delara.”

Pearl lit up at the name. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I am familiar with Mr. Delara. Didn’t know he was your brother. I believe he’s staying in the courtiers’ wing. What a lovely talent he has!”

“Yes, very talented,” Ru said, excited and impatient that she knew her brother was indeed here at the palace. “Would you send for him, immediately? Tell him it’s his sister calling,” she added, unsure whether Simon would brush off a random summons without his sister’s name attached.

“Of course, Miss.” Pearl gave a little curtsey and departed to fulfill her mission.

It wasn’t long before a knock came at the room’s main door. Ru sat up from the bed, where she had been curled up next to the artifact.

“Simon!” she cried, throwing open the door.

She barely had time to take in her brother’s tall frame, coiffed coppery hair, and ridiculous puff-sleeved getup before she was throwing herself into his arms. The tears came without preamble, neither hot nor painful, but rushing out of her like a dam bursting. For a moment every tense muscle in her body relaxed, and she let her brother’s arms hold her up as she sobbed, ruining his lovely silk jacket.

“See, I told you,” said Simon, “that Tower will turn you into a certified wet blanket. I’m never wrong. And look where we are now. Shameful.” His words were full of love and laughter, and Ru was instantly cheered — but the tears still came.

“Close the door,” she managed between sobs. “I have so much to tell you.”

Simon stood back, taking her in, her pale features and bloodshot eyes. His usually laughing mouth pulled into a thin line, his heavy-lidded hazel eyes shining with worry. He allowed Ru to direct him to a chair across from a velvet couch where she now perched, drying her eyes.

“Shall we call for tea?” said Simon, eyebrows knit together in concern, as if tea would solve everything. He raised an elegant hand to call for it, his collection of gold rings glinting as he did.

Ru shook her head. “Later. I’d rather avoid interruptions for now. I think I’ve ruined your lovely jacket.”

He glanced down, seeing the wet stain she left on his silk flower embroidered attire. Even his frothy white neckcloth was mussed.

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