Young Writers Society

The library at the palace was tucked behind a hill. Golzar made her way down the slope. The azure-painted doors opened with a creak, as the guard handed her letter of introduction back to her, only partially skimmed through. She suspected many of the palace staff could recognise her, what with the endless parades after the final battle. She also suspected that some staff had been present to see them take down the King themselves.

Inside, it was cold. The stone walls and the location kept the books safe from the heat of the sun. Occasionally, she would hear the soft sound of librarians padding over the tiled floor, between the aisles, or perhaps into one of the many backrooms. Otherwise, silence reigned.

If anyone found out she was reading books about the Lord Steward, it would surely arouse suspicion. So Golzar wandered around the stacks herself, looking for titles that would be of relevance. She found a short history of the Tome region, and a history of the Tonguard family. With stiff determination, she turned away from the section of books on various forms of breadmaking in the north of Woodlands. There was no time for that, right now.

With books piled up so high she had to tilt her head to see where she was going, Golzar looked for a table and sat down, ready to play at being a scholar. The first book fell open with a thump.

Candlelight streamed over the wooden desk, just enough so she could see the words. All the texts on Lord Raymond were recent ones. The texts on the Tonguard family, however, went back at least half a century. They also covered a lot of information on rocks and minerals in the Tome region, and her mind drifted to Bryn momentarily.

Golzar shook her head. She had to concentrate.

The Tonguards had not been particularly prominent in Tome before the discovery of coal there. Neither had they been completely unnoticeable. Raymond Tonguard’s ancestors had been business people as well as landowners, mostly working in the lumber industry. Their estate covered plenty of acres – albeit not as much as other noble families. Golzar paused, momentarily, to examine their coat-of-arms.

Their colours were silver and shades of grey, accentuating the shape of a one-handed blade, with a dome-like shape in the background – probably representing a kiln, for burning charcoal. Nowadays, the family was occupied dominating the coal mining in that region. She wondered if they would change their coat-of-arms, or if it would be a gravestone, of sorts, to their former trade.

Or, rather, she thought, the former trade of the serfs and freepersons who lived on their land.

Midway through another paragraph, the tapping of her fingers picked up pace. It became erratic. She turned towards the door. Would Bryn really be okay with this job? They were a competent scout and spy. They never lingered in one spot more than they needed to. Yet this was the palace, and if she knew anything about the Queen, it was that Lucretia was smart and would understand the need for quashing spies where they came up.

She read further. Yes, furthermore – Tome was a region rife with rivals and intrigue. The Tonguards competed with several other families to secure new mining locations, and to secure contracts with merchants in the southerly areas of Woodlands, including the capital. She was reading a section on how one of the previous Tonguard heirs had disposed of a group of spies in their mansion, teeth gritted and a bead of sweat trickling down her face, when suddenly, she felt a presence in the room.

Rubbing her stiff neck, Golzar turned around to see a familiar face come in through the door.

It was Ariga. Her eyepatch swallowed up the right side of her face, in the dimness of candlelight. She was grinning and chatting with one of the librarians. She was without her carapace armour, wearing just coral-red tunic and trousers. Ariga had grown her hair out even longer than before, since the war, and the black, reticulating locks were carefully braided and held up, with just a few strands framing her face.

Before Ariga noticed her, Golzar had already turned around and gotten back to her books. She thought of Gerhard and cursed him in her head. She cursed him for being cryptic and insufferable, and potentially wheedling her into taking Bryn along for this mission.

The author of the family history of the Tonguards commented on their impeccable identification with the industries they profited from, of their business-like efficiency and the featuring of kilns, hatchets and saws in all of their parades and dinner hostings. Whenever the strange freeperson families who ran the popularity polls did another round, the Tonguards fared excellently against other families, despite being somewhat in the background, without a single warrior or duellist to their name.

“Councillor.” A hand descended onto her shoulder, and Golzar held still.

She turned around with a strained grin. “Councillor.”

Of course, she thought, Ariga would not only notice her, but also wander up to her and attempt to start a conversation. Before long, Ariga had sat down at the desk next to Golzar, not a book in sight – just an all-too-piercing gaze and a curious smile.

When she was younger, Golzar used to find it strange that Ariga had sustained few scars to the face in battle. Even Golzar had a large one that cut across her nose. Later, she found out from Richard’s gossiping that Ariga took especial care to treat wounds to her face so they wouldn’t scar. Scars were a bad omen, in the fishing village Ariga came from. A commander could not carry bad omens.

“You seen the popularity polls?” Golzar said lightly. “We were all going through them last night, all very surprising shifts in position. And of course, some always do better than others.”

Ariga’s eyes drifted to the titles of Golzar’s books. Yes, Golzar thought. The Councillor and Vice Chief of the Guild was buying into her cover-up.

Ariga huffed. “Don’t tell me, the leader of the Grey Hound company’s looking to compete with noble families in these polls. I get it, we could all use more donations from the populace, but have you heard of something called realism?”

Rolling her eyes, Golzar went on. “Haven’t you heard of learning from the best?” she said, though there was a drip of irony to it.

The next text she pulled out was even illuminated using Tonguard colours – no doubt expensive and difficult to produce. As she read, Ariga looked away, seeming to watch the other library-goers with quiet interest.

The author of the text called the Tonguards impeccable geniuses. All the lords of the Tonguard house had intelligent eyes, he said. Intelligent eyes framed by a bone structure resembling that of the greatest temple carvings. Intelligent eyes either so blue or so copper that the brightest of dyes could not match – oh, brother, Golzar thought. She shelved the copy. At least, she figured, it was good to see what charm points the Tonguards had for their groupies and loyalists – who clearly were not strictly attracted to them due to their prestige and power alone.

“Hmm. The courier from the polling guilds came late yesterday,” Ariga remarked, as she leaned back in her chair. Her hair fell over the back of the chair, dangling casually. With one hand she played with the collar of her tunic – a simple garment dyed in coral red.

This was awkward, Golzar thought. Awkward, awkward, awkward. Awkward and also awkwardly tense.

“Traffic, probably.” Golzar found herself responding in the way she hoped the average capital-goer would. “Or a secret lover.”

Outside, there began the gentle thrum of a drizzle hitting the ground. The sound was muffled slightly by the thick walls of the library, but whatever little they heard echoed throughout the cave-like structure. She might have been imagining it, but Golzar thought the colour of the light in the room cooled by a shade, as if influenced by a greying sky.

“Or rain.” Ariga nodded. “One of those things.”

Hoping the conversation was over then, Golzar pretended to skim another line of text. Really she was thinking back to Gerhard’s meeting with her the other day, partly wishing she had thrown a rag at him, or something else equally unpleasant to make up for his penchant for speaking vaguely at crucial times. Really, she thought, one would think someone who regularly went down to the exact number of teaspoons of how he had made their breakfast stew would know how to be clear.

At the same time, she affirmed, clenching her teeth, that she would not have agreed to ask Bryn for help if he had phrased it any other way.

Beside her, Ariga shifted. She was about to get up and leave. Golzar frowned. Ariga had not read a single thing. The large booming voice, now quietened to a low hum, suddenly spoke. “You are . . . surprisingly good at small talk, Golzar. Perhaps you’ll last longer than I expected.”

Golzar kept her face carefully neutral. Ariga gave her an irreverent pat on the arm. “Anyway, I must go. Good luck with the Lord Steward.”

Golzar froze. A cynical smile, her lip twitching, crept across her face. Ariga knew. Of course Ariga knew the whole time. She raked one hand through her hair, lowering her chin to the table. Silently, she cursed all the cryptic people in her life. Silently, she worried about Bryn.

~

The House of Periwinkles was in the midst of redecorating. Bryn weaved past the artisans and craftspeople who moved in droves discussing matters of symbolism, egg-and-spear motifs, and how much dye was appropriate for each section of the building.

Walking along the side of the corridor, they could hear the quiet taps of their feet against the floor. As it always did, while they were out gathering information, even these soft noises rang in their head like thunder.

Lord Raymond was standing at a door. He looked ready to go inside for a meeting. Every so often, he tilted his head to look past the low barriers that separated the corridor from the courtyard, checking for the light of the sky. His carefully arranged auburn hair barely swayed with each movement.

He cast a long shadow, which Bryn hid under, pretending to be waiting for someone to come out from the other room.

Bryn had already thought of what to say, should Raymond question them. Bryn was on the way to the library, and had gotten lost. Bryn was looking for one of the Queen’s servants, a friend, hoping for directions. With a roll of the eyes, they remembered Golzar’s instructions.

When a stout older man stopped to chat with Raymond, Bryn was all ears.

“Lord Redvine, I’m sure your decorators are doing splendid work.” Raymond spoke in a smooth, but clipped tenor, as if he clearly had better things to do. As light breeze ruffled the rose red mantle secured around his shoulders.

Lord Redvine, still smiling, and clad in a paler shade of red, answered. “My artisans were recommended by her Grace herself. I appreciate your appraisal of her Majesty’s fine taste.”

Something about that comment made Raymond tense up. It was an odd look, for someone tall and broad-shouldered. “The dyes were hand-picked by our special council, yes. Lavender for prosperity and peace. And to complement the periwinkle.”

Bryn observed the tension between the two men silently. How interesting, they thought to themself.