Other rumors, however, proved disturbingly accurate. According to several of the chancellors, there was talk among the merchants that Filib of Thorald had not been killed by thieves, but instead was the victim of an assassination by the conspiracy. And Kayiv offered his own opinion that the king of Aneira had died at the hands of a Qirsi.

“Well,” Dusaan said, when the discussion had run its course. “I’m not certain how much of this to believe, but I’ll leave that for the emperor to decide. I have no doubt that he’ll be grateful to all of you for your counsel on this matter.”

“Do you really think so?” Kayiv asked. “Or do you think it will just scare him anew, and make him trust us even less?”

The young Qirsi sounded hurt, angry, bitter. If he hadn’t been susceptible to the Weaver’s overtures before, he certainly would be now. The same could probably be said of Nitara and a number of the others. Harel might have thought that he was protecting himself by suggesting this meeting, but all he had done was make it easier for Dusaan to win the loyalty of the palace Qirsi.

“To be honest, Minister, I don’t know how the emperor will respond. As I said before, he’s Eandi. It may be that he never trusted us. For now all we can do is serve the empire, as we’ve sworn to do. But there may come a time when our choices are clearer, and we have the opportunity to prove ourselves. When that time comes, I for one hope that the emperor will be watching.”

Kayiv grinned, a gleam in his bright yellow eyes. It almost seemed to the Weaver that the man understood him.

Chapter Twenty-five

Mertesse, Anetra

Had they been eager to reach the walled city of Mertesse, they might have made the journey from Dantrielle in less time. It was fifty leagues, and with the weather turning worse with each day that passed, progress didn’t come quickly, even on the well-traveled roads of Aneira’s Great Forest. Still, Dario and Cadel might have made it to Mertesse before the beginning of the new year.

Instead, they stopped frequently at inns along the road, playing music in exchange for meals and rooms. They never remained in one place for long, but neither did they hesitate to stop, even if they had paused at another inn only an hour or two before. Musicians in the Forelands rarely turned down opportunities to play, particularly if it meant free food, or, better yet, gold. To have done so as they made their way north would have been to risk raising the suspicions of the innkeepers at those establishments they bypassed. More than that, though, Cadel realized that they needed the practice.

Dario played the lute beautifully. Cadel actually preferred the pipes, finding their sound richer, more soothing. But he had to admit that his new partner coaxed a sound from his instrument that few of the lutemsts Cadel had encountered before could match. Despite his skill, however, and Cadel’s own talent as a singer, their musical tendencies were not compatible, at least not at first. Dario had been performing on his own for so long that he had little sense of how to match his cadence to someone else’s singing. Cadel had the impression whenever Dario took up his instrument that he would have preferred to play one of his own compositions rather than accompanying Cadel as he sang. He knew the notes to play for pieces like the Paean and “The Elegy for Shanae,” but he never played them the same way twice. Cadel could only hope that he was more disciplined as an assassin than he was as a musician.

For his part, Cadel was willing to admit that he could be uncompromising when it came to music. He and Jed sang together for seventeen years. They knew what to expect of each other. They performed most of these pieces so many times that their performances became as natural and constant as the rise and fall of the moons. Jedrek understood that when it came to music, and to killing, Cadel always strove for perfection.

The problems were apparent to both of them from the start, but, predictably, Dario was far less disturbed by them than was Cadel.

“They’re going to pay us anyway,” the younger man said one night, after their fourth or fifth failed attempt to practice “Tanith’s Threnody.”

They were in a small village at the time, near the mouth of the River Orvinti, just a few days’ journey from Solkara. The king had been dead for nearly half a turn and they were still thinking that they might stop in Solkara for Carden’s funeral and the investiture of the new king. Most of the land’s musicians would be there, Cadel knew, and there was a good chance the Qirsi man they had been hired to kill would be as well.

“Getting paid is beside the point,” Cadel had answered, not bothering to mask his exasperation. “Music isn’t just a source of gold, and it isn’t just something we do for amusement. It’s our disguise, it’s what allows us to move about the land without drawing attention to ourselves. To those who listen to us, it has to appear to be our passion as well as the source of our livelihood. If it appears to be anything less, it will raise their suspicions. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Dario said. “But I don’t see what’s wrong with them knowing that we’ve just started playing together. With all the festivals and revels in the Forelands, musicians are always moving around and finding new partners.”

We sound ragged, like tavern singers in some Caenssan farming village. Jedrek would have understood. And perhaps that was the point. Cadel hadn’t sung with anyone since Jedrek’s death; he had barely sung a note by himself. He wasn’t looking for a new partner, he realized. He was trying to replace Jedrek, which was unfair to Dario. When it came right down to it, the young man was right: musicians in the Forelands changed partners quite frequently. Though Cadel and Jedrek remained together for years, they performed with literally dozens of different singers and players. Indeed, they had been together so long, they might have risked drawing attention to themselves in that way.

Cadel was frustrated because of the way he and his new partner sounded, and because he worried that a man as young and blithe as Dario might get him killed when they turned from music to their more important trade.

“I suppose you’re right,” Cadel finally admitted. “We don’t have to sound perfect, at least not yet. But I still think it needs work.”

The young man shrugged, tuning one of the strings on his lute. “All right. It’s not like there’s anything else to do.”

As they continued northward, performing at inns and practicing well into the night, their playing improved. A few days after their conversation near Orvinti, as they came within sight of the royal city, word of the poisoning reached them. After a brief discussion, they decided to continue on toward Mertesse. After such an event, the guards in Solkara were likely to be more vigilant than ever. Even if the Qirsi man they sought was there, and even if he had survived the poisoning, they were unlikely to get close enough to him to earn their gold. Better to travel directly to Mertesse, where they were most likely to learn of the Qirsi’s fate. They would find regular work at a tavern in the city and wait for an opportunity to kill the Qirsi.

Cadel was so intent on improving the sound of their music that they spoke of little else throughout their travels. Only when they began to cross the narrow plain that lay between the Great Forest and Mertesse did he begin to wonder how Dario had come to his other, truer calling. Still, he didn’t ask at first. Their conversations tended to go much as did their practices, even when they weren’t speaking of music. Perhaps it was the difference in their ages. Perhaps it was Cadel’s fault for starting the partnership with his test of Dario’s fighting skill. Whatever the reason, nothing they did together came easily, and though neither of them had shown any sign of wanting to abandon their young partnership, there was, as of yet, no friendship between them.