The Whisper of Silenced Voices Read online

  "I do not understand him. Josie is pretty, yes? She is nice, yes? He likes her, yes?"

  "Shut up," Max growled. "You talk too much."

  Erik rested a hand on his hip. "And you are idiot too. Meg is—"

  "You have work to do," Max barked. "I suggest you get back to patrolling."

  Erik laughed. "Aye, sir." He wheeled his horse around only to wheel it back to face us again. "I almost forget, Josie. The lump on my little friend is gone. The maids are rejoicing all over the palace. Thank you for the medicine."

  "Little friend?" Meg asked.

  "Don't!" both Max and I cried.

  Erik tossed the matted blond coils of his hair over his shoulder and laughed as he rode off.

  Meg blushed again and a pink tinge colored Max's cheeks.

  "If he's anything to go by, the Margin folk are mad," he said. "He's right, though, Josie. Come to the palace any time, and not because of Hammer. Quentin misses you. He doesn't stop talking about you and your medical skills."

  "Tell him to come to my cottage for tea and cake if he has the time."

  "If I tell him that, he'll make the time."

  "You too, Max. Join us for tea when you're free." I hoped he understood I was referring to Meg when I said 'us'. His blush didn't fade, so perhaps he did.

  He thanked me and headed off in the same direction as Erik.

  Meg and I finished our marketing, buying the grand total of one onion. Neither of us was in a hurry to return home, so we stopped to talk to friends. I wasn't sure if Meg was avoiding going home because she knew she'd have to help her mother with the housework or if she was hoping to see Max again.

  In my case, going home meant walking into an empty house with very little to occupy my time. With so few pregnant women in the village, and the larder stocked with as much medicine as I could afford to make, I was at a loose end. There wasn't even housework to do, since I'd cleaned from top to bottom last week to keep idleness at bay.

  By the time the midday sun hung high in the sky, the stall holders had packed up and shoppers drifted away. I tried tempting Meg with a dip in the shallows at Half Moon Cove, but she couldn't afford to stay away from home for the entire afternoon as well as the morning.

  "My mother will call me lazy," she said as we ambled toward our street.

  "You do too much, Meg."

  "I'm sorry. Another time."

  "Don't apologize. I'm not sure I could face the walk to the cove in this heat anyway."

  We entered our street and both stopped. A gentleman on horseback waited outside my house. He sat somewhat awkwardly, as if he were afraid of falling off. It wasn't until he turned that I realized why. The gentleman held the reins in his left hand. His right arm lay across his lap, limp.

  Lord Barborough.

  "He looks important," Meg said in a hushed whisper. "It's his high forehead. It gives him an arrogant air."

  "You are right on both counts," I said. "He's important and arrogant. I'd better see what he wants."

  "You won't invite him in, will you?"

  "Certainly not."

  Lord Barborough was one man I didn't want to be alone with. I wasn't yet sure if he was a danger, but he certainly could be. As the representative of King Philip of Vytill, Barborough was powerful. A mere village woman with no family had very little protection against men like him.

  Meg and I parted outside her door but she did not go in. She remained on the stoop and watched, her gaze unwavering as it settled on Barborough. She might be shy about her birthmark, but she was fierce when it came to looking after loved ones.

  "I've been waiting an age," Barborough snapped as I approached. "Where have you been?"

  "I don't believe I have to account for my movements to you," I said.

  "We have an agreement."

  "And I have fulfilled my part of the agreement as best as I can. You, my lord, have not."

  I had gone to him to learn more about magic, but he had only given me a little information so far. In return, he had asked me to question the servants and find out where they came from in the hope it would help him piece together the puzzle of the palace's origins. Dane, Balthazar, Theodore and I had fed him false answers and gained a little knowledge from him about the sorcerer, but it wasn't enough. He knew more.

  The problem was, I couldn't tell him the truth about the servants' memory loss, and I couldn't keep feeding him lies. If he discovered I was lying, he would follow through on his threat and tell the king that I'd been asking about his involvement in the palace's mysterious creation. Speculating about the king using magic brought up the question of his right to sit on the throne, and that was treason.

  "You haven't fulfilled your part of the bargain to my satisfaction," he said. "I told you last time, I need more. What have you done lately? I've hardly seen you at the palace."

  "That's because I have no reason to be there."

  "Not even to see your captain?"

  "He's not my captain."

  He barked a brittle laugh. "Come now, Mistress Cully. You're sleeping with him."

  "If that's what your spies told you, you need better spies."

  He bristled. Clearly he didn't want anyone to know he had spies at court. In truth, Dane wasn't positive, but he suspected a man like Barborough wouldn't venture into the palace without a spy or two. The servants could be discounted, since they believed their fates and memory loss were tied to King Leon's fate, so that left the nobles. With most wanting Leon to marry the Vytill princess, it was possible they'd spy for Vytill's representative.

  The two dukes, however, wouldn't. Buxton and Gladstow didn't want Leon marrying Vytill's princess; they wanted the throne to be vacated altogether so one of them could take it.

  "Don't test me, Mistress Cully," he snarled. "You have already crossed the line once by informing your friends about me. Cross it again and that pretty nose will get sliced off."

  My breath caught in my throat. "I don't know what you're referring to. What friends?"

  I tried to sound innocent, but it rang false to my ears. I had told Ivor Morgrain that the gentleman he thought was a Glancian advisor, keen to hear about Mull's problems, was in fact a Vytill lord who wanted to stir up trouble. Ivor had passed the information onto Ned Perkin, the self-appointed leader of Mull's troublemakers. I wondered if Ned had confronted Lord Barborough, or whether he simply shut the door in his face when Barborough tried to attend their meetings again.

  Barborough bared his teeth. "Don't pretend. That captain might believe your act, but I know women like you. Your kind are cunning, slippery. Your sweet tongue and big eyes won't work on me. I'm immune to your charms."

  I kept my mouth shut. Talking would only rile him more and my trembling voice would betray my fear.

  He wheeled his horse around and I had to quickly step out of the way. "You owe me, Mistress Cully, and I expect to see the fruits of your labor. If you don't present me with information soon, you'll need more than a disfigured neighbor and the captain of the guards to help you. You'll need the intervention of the sorcerer itself."

  I watched him ride off down the street. Once he was out of sight, I let out a shuddery breath.

  Meg joined me, her brow creased in concern. "What did he want?"

  "Nothing," I said before adding, "He needed medicine."

  "But he left without any."

  "I have to make some up."

  "So he's coming back?" She screwed up her nose. "There's something about him I don't like but I can't put my finger on it."

  Meg was an excellent judge of character. I wished I had been more discerning when I'd decided to ask Barborough for answers about magic. He might be the Fist Peninsula's foremost expert on the topic, but no answers were worth being in his debt. Not when he held the threat of treason over my head, and one small misstep could see him tell the king.

  Chapter 2

  The arrival of a message from Dane was the highlight of my day. Indeed, of the last several days. I had become pathetic and dull sin
ce Father died, with far too much time on my hands. The only thing that could save me from becoming even more pathetic would be a spate of village pregnancies, but with the men outnumbering the women by a substantial margin, the situation was unlikely to change soon.

  The message was brought by Quentin, leading a horse named Sky. Sky and I were acquainted, having accompanied Dane and his horse on a short ride into an unused part of the palace gardens. One ride did not make me an able horsewoman, and I wished Dane had sent a carriage instead.

  "Come on, up you get, Josie." Quentin cupped his hands and waited. When I didn't step into them, he looked up. "Put your foot here, grab the pommel, and I'll hoist you up. The pommel is that bit that sticks up at the front of the saddle."

  "Thank you, I know what the pommel is. I'm just concerned that I'll break your fingers."

  "I'm stronger than I look."

  I doubted that. As the youngest member of the palace guards, the scrawny lad was out of place among the strong men. He didn't excel at any of the guards' tasks like fighting, swordsmanship, riding and looking fierce. He needed protection from the likes of Sergeant Brant. In ordinary circumstances, he wouldn't be a guard. He would be tucked away in a Logios college, studying, or assisting in a shop. But his situation wasn't ordinary. Each servant remembered only three things—their name, the names of the other servants, and their role at the palace. Without knowing why they'd lost the rest of their memories, it would be foolish to change anything. Dane believed they'd been assigned guard duty for a reason.

  I wasn't so sure it had been that well thought-out. For one thing, Quentin made a terrible guard. For another, Sergeant Brant shouldn't have been given so much power. He and Max had only the captain above them in the chain of command. Max was a good man, but Brant was a thug. The question was, who had made the decision?

  "Wait here," I said and disappeared back inside. I returned with a stool and positioned it beside Sky.

  Quentin pouted. "I could have done it. You don't look heavy."

  I felt a little sorry for him. The other guards teased him mercilessly, and he usually took it in his stride, but perhaps the teasing was finally getting to him.

  I put out my hand. "You may assist me, sir," I said, affecting an accent similar to Kitty's, the duchess of Gladstow.

  Quentin's pout disappeared. He took my hand and I stepped onto the stool then into the stirrup. I settled on the saddle and clutched the pommel tightly when Sky shifted her weight.

  Quentin chuckled as he handed me the reins then strapped my pack to the saddle. "She's a good old nag, nice and calm." He mounted his own horse and urged it forward. Sky followed meekly. "I learned to ride on her," he said.

  "You couldn't ride at all in the beginning? Not even a little?" I asked.

  "Couldn't ride, couldn't hold a sword right, couldn't fight to save myself. Not like the others. I could read and write, though, which some of them can't. But it doesn't do me much good in the garrison or the practice yard. Brant only respects hard hitters, not writers of poetry. Do you want to read some of mine? It ain't bad, if I say so myself."

  "I'd love to." I gave Sky a little squeeze with my thighs and she picked up her pace and fell into step alongside Quentin's horse. "I wonder what you were before you came here."

  "I try not to think about it. Theodore says it'll only make us melancholy, and he's right. I only think about the future."

  "Very well," I said cheerfully. "Then tell me why I've been summoned to the palace this time. Is one of the maids with child?"

  "It's Laylana. Captain wants you to check on her. She's sick."

  Ordinarily I would refuse, but no one outside of the servants knew of Laylana's existence. She had lost her memory too, but unlike the others, she lost it over and over again, beginning afresh with no knowledge of what had gone before. Dane worried it was slowly driving her mad. She'd once run off, desperately asking if anyone in the village knew her. When Dane's men had taken her back, and explained what happened, she locked herself away in a room in the palace depths.

  I didn't like it. She needed sunlight and fresh air. But she refused, and instead cowered in her bed. It was no wonder she was sick.

  Quentin and I talked all the way to the palace. He asked me a lot of questions about medicines, diseases and conditions. I'd given him a book on the human body to read some weeks ago and he couldn't stop talking about what he'd read. He would make a fine doctor, if he only ventured away from the safety of the palace. Perhaps one day he would. Perhaps one day, he and the other servants would get their memories back and resume their old lives.

  The palace stood at the end of the long avenue like a glittering jewel topping a scepter. The sight of it never ceased to dazzle me. It was unearthly in its magnificence, and unparalleled in all of the Fist Peninsula. The kings of Vytill and Dreen were said to be jealous, while Freedland's anti-monarchist ministers were scornful of the cost. Only the Zemayans openly spoke of magic, but the word was whispered behind closed doors here in Glancia.

  Sky followed Quentin's horse past the stables, across the gravel yard to the palace's main gate, the gold glinting in the sunshine. The two guards on duty opened it and we entered the outer forecourt. A footman assisted me to the paved ground and retrieved my pack from the saddle. He greeted me by name, but I couldn't recall his. There were too many servants for me to remember them all.

  Quentin asked the footman to find the captain before escorting me past the right-hand pavilion where visiting dignitaries, their servants and some entertainers were housed. We walked in the shadows cast by the palace's northern wing to the garrison. The door stood open, perhaps to allow air to circulate.

  Inside, however, it was still warm and stuffy. A guard sat on a chair, his bare feet propped up on the table, his head tipped back. A soft snore filled the room. Another guard looked up and smiled drowsily at me.

  Quentin knocked the sleeping guard's feet off the table. He awoke with a start and a swear word on his lips. "Feet off," Quentin said. "They're filthy. And don't swear. You're in the presence of a lady."

  "She's the doctor, not a lady," the guard said. "And she don't care if I'm asleep when I'm off duty."

  "The captain will. He'll be here soon."

  The guard grunted, which I assumed was gratitude for the warning, and picked up the sword cloth that had been next to his feet on the table. He busied himself with cleaning the weapon. When Dane strode in a moment later, he was none the wiser.

  The captain had the annoying habit of looking unruffled and not at all hot, even on a sweltering day. I, however, was sweating just from the walk from the gate.

  Dane's gaze swiftly took me in before looking away. "Nice to see you again, Josie."

  "And you, Captain." I refused to call him Hammer since it was neither his name nor a very good moniker for him. Nor could I call him Dane in front of the others since he hadn't told them his real name.

  "Have you been well?" he asked. The muscles in his face twitched in what I suspected was a wince.

  I smiled. "Yes. You?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Good. Now that the obligatory pleasantries are over, do you want to escort me to Laylana's room?"

  His lips curved into a smile that would make even the coldest female heart flip. Mine didn't stand a chance and fluttered madly. He must have guessed the effect he had on me because his smile grew warmer and those clear blue eyes softened as they met my gaze. Perhaps I had a similar effect on him. I hoped so.

  "I'll take her," Quentin piped up.

  "You've got work to do," Dane said.

  "I'm off duty now."

  Dane ignored him and pushed open the internal door that led to the corridor. "I hope he didn't talk you to death on the way here," he said, taking my pack from me as I passed.

  "Not at all. We talked about medicine."

  "Sorry."

  I laughed. "I liked it. Since my father's death, I don't get to talk about medical matters often. As much as I adore Meg and my other friends, our conve
rsations are usually of the gossipy variety. They don't like to talk about diseases."

  "Strange people," he quipped.

  We walked along one of the palace's many narrow and winding corridors, lit only by flickering torchlight. When we passed other servants, we had to draw closer together, our arms touching. It would be easy to grasp his hand and entwine his fingers in mine. We could even do it without anyone noticing.

  But I didn't dare. Being alone with Dane was awkward. I didn't know where to look, how to act, or what to say. After we'd kissed, everything had changed between us. On the one hand, my regard for him had deepened, but on the other, he'd made it very clear we couldn't kiss again.

  "How have you been?" he asked as we turned down another corridor.

  "You've already asked me that," I said.

  He hesitated. "I thought perhaps you might answer me truthfully away from the others."

  There were no other servants in this corridor. The only sound came from our footsteps on the flagstones and our voices echoing off the stone walls. "I did speak the truth. I'm fine."

  "Morgrain hasn't bothered you? Or anyone else from the village?"

  "No."

  "Have you been into The Row?"

  "Only to see Marnie and her baby. She thanks you for the food, by the way, and the employment."

  "I didn't employ her husband, the sheriff did."

  "But it was on your suggestion, wasn't it?" When he said nothing, I added, "Marnie and I both know it."

  We were approaching Laylana's room but I didn't want to go in yet. I didn't want this conversation to end. On a whim, I grasped Dane's hand, forcing him to stop.

  "Because of you, Marnie's family will soon move out of The Row and into better lodgings. She asked me to thank you when I saw you, so I'm thanking you now." I squeezed his hand in an attempt to show gratitude, but it wasn't enough. Kissing him would have been better.

  "I wish I could do more for the people of The Row," he said. "That boy, Remy, shouldn't have to grow up there. It's dangerous, and it will become more so as he gets older."

  The Row was the sort of place where boys didn't remain boys for long. I'd seen children only a little older than Remy fighting in the gutters. I'd seen them take money from men before those men visited the boys' mothers or sisters behind a dirty curtain. It was no place for a child. No place for anyone.