Point of Dreams

“But you have some idea of the reason?” Astreiant asked.

Rathe took another breath. “I believe that he was killed because he was a useless man, and because he had behaved badly to a common lover of his, and possibly because Aubine”–Astreiant stirred, and Rathe said hastily, “The murderer, then, no name–wanted to test his arrangements.”

“Aubine’s leman,” Astreiant murmured, and shook her head. “Thin, Rathe. Very thin. Go on.”

“The watchman knew everything that happened in the theatre, knew that things, particularly posies, the actors’ gifts, had been rearranged,” Rathe went on. “Possibly he even saw Aubine at the theatre after hours, could testify to what he was doing there. The gardener worked for Aubine–”

“I knew him,” Astreiant said. Her eyes strayed to the long window, the dormant garden beyond the terrace. “My head gardener thought the world of him. How did he die?”

“Stabbed to death,” Trijn said.

“I believe he knew something,” Rathe said. “He didn’t want to be found, Your Grace, he’d burned his own clothes and begged for Temple castoffs.”

Astreiant nodded. “So he couldn’t be traced. Like the children this past summer.”

“And like anyone who doesn’t want to be found using magistical means,” Rathe agreed.

“And the actor?”

“Also stabbed.” Rathe suppressed a pang, sorrow and vague guilt combined. With any luck, he would resolve this, and Forveijl would not become one of his ghosts. “He had put together an arrangement from the Alphabet of Desire, and while it had accomplished part of what he intended, it had also betrayed that there was a working copy of the Alphabet in existence, possibly in the theatre. I believe he was stabbed to keep us from finding out where he’d gotten it.”

“What does Aconin say about all this?” Astreiant demanded. “It’s his play, he must know something.”

“Aconin,” Trijn said, “has disappeared.”

Astreiant grimaced.

“He was friends with Aubine,” Rathe said. “Maybe more than friends. And he’s been afraid of something for most of the rehearsal period. Someone took a shot at him, and someone trashed his rooms, destroyed his household altar.”

Astreiant’s eyes narrowed, and Rathe remembered that she had spent a season on the northern borders as a young woman. “Aconin is a Leaguer, is he not?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Trijn said.

“No quarter.” Astreiant shook her head. “Sofia, I wish you could find the man.”

“So do I,” Rathe said, and Astreiant gri

“I daresay.” She sobered quickly, looking at Trijn. “So I say again, Dema, what do you want me to do?”

“Postpone the masque,” Trijn said again, and Astreiant waved the words away. “Failing that–must Her Majesty attend?”

“What reason do you have to think that anything is aimed at the queen?” Astreiant demanded, and Trijn leaned forward on her stool.

“There is the old story about Aubine’s leman, murdered and the killer–Aubine’s grandmother, at least indirectly–never brought to justice. Who is the symbol of justice in this realm?”

Astreiant shook her head. “Thin,” she said again.

Trijn spread her hands. “Then assume there is some other target, unknown–the sister, perhaps, or someone else. But can you risk allowing Her Majesty to walk unknowing into the middle of what we believe is intended to be a killing ground?”

Astreiant took a deep breath, covered her mouth with one hand. Behind her, the snow was strengthening, clinging to the grass and low bushes of the garden. “I ca

“Will you grant me the authority to confine the landseur Aubine, then?” Trijn asked, and Rathe gave her a startled glance. That was more support than he’d really expected, and he was grateful for it.

Astreiant hesitated, her eyes distant, and then, regretfully, she shook her head. “I can’t. First, I don’t have the authority–he may be resident here, but he’s a native of Ledey. My writ runs only to the city.”

“But–” Trijn stopped as the other woman held up her hand.

“Hear me out, will you? Second, times are chancy, with Her Majesty being prepared finally to name a successor. To imprison a noble now, without cause, would make me and, through me, Her Majesty look capricious and power‑hungry, now when we can least afford it.”

And that, Rathe thought, is the first true confirmation that Astreiant will be queen in her turn. Trijn shook her head. “And what do you expect me to do, Your Grace, when you tie my hands?”

“I don’t know,” Astreiant said. “Bring me evidence, solid evidence that would stand in the courts–that you, Adjunct Point, would consider enough to call a point on–and I’ll do whatever you need. But without that, it’s my hands that are tied.”

Rathe let his head drop, knowing Astreiant was right, and the metropolitan went on, spreading her hands.

“And if there is anything else you want, anything else you need, in Astree’s name, ask.”

Trijn laughed. “The prince‑marshal and his men to guard the theatre these next two days?”

Astreiant blinked, and nodded. “If it will help you, he’s yours.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Trijn said.

Rathe nodded, more slowly. He was known to Coindarel, and more importantly, Coindarel knew and liked Eslingen. It might be possible to use him to keep Aubine from bringing in any more of his deadly arrangements–if he didn’t have everything in place already, of course, Rathe added, with an inward grimace. That might be the best first step, to search the Tyrseia, and see if he could identify any of the arrangements from his copy of the Alphabet.

“I daresay it would amuse him, too.” Astreiant rose slowly to her feet, ending the interview, and the others copied her. “Very well, Chief Point, I shall draft the order this morning. Coindarel and his men will be at your–or Mistress Gasquine’s–disposal by three o’clock this afternoon.”

Rathe bowed, grateful for this much support, and Trijn made a courtier’s curtsy. Astreiant lifted her hand.

“But remember, if you find anything, anything at all, that would allow me to act–send to me, at whatever hour. I will be ready.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Trijn said. “I pray Sofia we find something.”

They rode in silence back to Point of Dreams, listening to the shouts of the street sweepers. This time, the driver took his time, let his horse pick its own pace across the icy bridge, and by the time they dismounted at the station’s main gate, the fine snow was already drifting in the corners of the buildings. Rathe waited, his back to the wind, as Trijn paid off the driver, and together they made their way across the courtyard and into the warmth of the main room. It was crowded with the aftermath of what looked like a quarrel between carters, and Trijn rolled her eyes.

“Everything under control?” she asked, in a voice that presumed an affirmative answer, and started up the stairs without waiting for agreement. “Rathe, I need you.”

“Yes, Chief.” Rathe followed, not sorry to avoid the arguments below. Leenderts seemed to have it well in hand, anyway, and the carters seemed more concerned with cash values than with pride or status, which would make it easier to resolve.

Trijn paused at the top of the stairs, looked back at the busy room. “Will Coindarel be a help or a hindrance?”

“You asked for him,” Rathe answered, surprised, and Trijn gave a crooked smile.

“I didn’t expect to get him.”

“A help,” Rathe said.

Trijn nodded. “I’ll expect you to deal with him as need be.”

“I can do that,” Rathe said. Or rather, Eslingen could.

“What about your magist friend,” Trijn asked. “Can we press him into service, too?”

Rathe grimaced. “He’s a necromancer, Chief. And the phytomancers have been singularly reluctant to involve themselves with the Alphabet.”