“I would never seriously imply such a thing,” he said. “And I don’t associate with her enough to know what she would do. But she’s said to offer her location services for money, without much in the way of scruples.”
“Scruples?” said Giddon, who didn’t know the Keepish word.
“Ethical considerations,” said Arni. “And I’m afraid that whenever something goes missing, people talk of her. You’ll think us terribly rude, even backward. We’re unaccustomed to Gracelings, you see.”
“Gracelings are accustomed to backward attitudes,” said Hava. She spoke without apparent offense, but also without sympathy, and Arni didn’t seem to know how to respond. It was interesting, Giddon thought, to watch his discomfiture at standing in the truth of his own discourtesy. Hava, of course, showed no discomfiture whatsoever.
“Do many things go missing in Ledra?” asked Giddon.
Arni seemed grateful for the distraction of the question. “Not from my bank, I can promise you. But a few friends have misplaced important objects in their homes recently.”
“If you tell us what they are,” said Hava, “we’ll keep an eye out for them.”
“They aren’t objects you’re likely to stumble across,” he said, with perfect equanimity. “Now, do you know your way around the Keep?”
“We do, thank you,” said Giddon, who knew nothing about the Keep aside from what he could see as he looked up at it from the bottom of the steps.
“Then I’ll leave you to it,” said Arni. “I hope you’ll let me know if your business in Monsea, or perhaps with that Council of yours, ever puts you in need of a foreign bank.” He smiled at Giddon’s carefully blank face. “We have privacy laws here that often surprise and delight foreigners, especially those with secrets. I’ll go find my son now. Good day to you.”
And he was off, gliding along a path that led down into the academy campus.
“He just offered to help us manage the funding for any illegal activities we’re a part of,” Giddon said, relieved to return to Lingian. Speaking Keepish was tiring. “You did hear that, didn’t you?”
“Whatever,” said Hava. “How many foxes do you see watching us?”
“None,” said Giddon, whose mind was still consumed with Arni’s outrageous offer. “How much do you think he knows about the Council? I’m not surprised he’s heard of it, but don’t you think he implied greater knowledge? Is it a bluff?”
“I’m sure Winterkeep has spies on the Royal Continent. Do you see the teeny little doors set into the big doors of the Keep? Do you think foxes can go wherever they want?”
“What if Trina’s the one who told the Keepish importers about Monsea’s zilfium in the first place?” said Giddon. “And the Council is how she got into Monsea—what if she’s told the Keepish about the Council too? Secrets like that leave Monsea vulnerable. And it sounds like she has a price.”
Hava started up the steps.
“Hava!” said Giddon, the name bursting out of his mouth for the fourth time today.
“Oh, who cares?” she cried out, spinning back to him. “Who cares anymore if Estill declares war on Monsea?”
“Bitterblue would care, deeply!”
“Bitterblue is dead!”
“She would want us to care about her people!”
“Well, I don’t care about them. I care about her.”
“I don’t believe you don’t care,” said Giddon stubbornly.
“Well, good for you, for being so big and noble and sanctimonious,” she said, throwing the words like daggers. Turning back, she ran up the stairs.
Sanctimonious? thought Giddon, following her.
Chapter Twelve
Bitterblue woke to a shriek that frightened her, then resolved into wind.
She also woke to a strange thought: It would be best not to tell anyone about the fox.
“What?” she said blearily, fighting against confusion, trying to figure out why so many things were happening. It was still daytime; the small rectangle of blue in the window had grown brighter. Paper crinkled under her. The paper with the drawing of Bitterblue City with Estillan and Keepish flags that she’d carried back to the bed.
Someone declares war on Monsea and you fall asleep? she said to herself. Well done.
Across the room, near the baseboards, gold eyes flashed. Bitterblue yelped. Then a small, dark fox took shape, pressing itself into a corner.
Right, Bitterblue thought, remembering. Winterkeep has telepathic foxes. Her mind reached for the details she’d read in the reports Mikka had sent home. They’re called blue foxes, though only the kits are blue. It could be bonded to someone to whom it can talk telepathically. It might even be talking to that person now.
“Are you my guard?” she asked the fox, with a hard stare. “My jailer?”
There was no response, of course.
“I know how to close my mind, you know,” she added hotly. “I have more practice than you can possibly imagine.”
She realized then that she was talking to this tiny, quivering animal as if it were her father, the monster king, who’d ruined a kingdom with the power of his mind. She relented, slightly. From what she remembered, blue foxes only read minds if they were bonded to a person, and once bonded, they were friendly and obedient. This fox might be guarding her on behalf of someone powerful and cruel, but the fox itself was probably not much of a villain.
Still, she knew how to close her mind—she’d had a lot of practice with Gracelings—and she did so now. It was a force of habit.
Ignoring the fox—ignoring too the pain in her hands and feet, and the new, more frightening pain of hunger in her abdomen, the swollen dryness of her mouth and tongue—Bitterblue set herself to thinking about war.
It was something she’d thought about more and more recently. Monsea had the natural protection of treacherous mountains to the north, east, and west, and a sea border to the south. Nonetheless, with an eye to her warlike neighbors, Bitterblue had increased the size of her army in the last few years. With the guidance and example of her uncle, King Ror of Lienid, whose navy was the finest in the world, she’d transformed her small, disorganized fleet of ships into a still small, but competent and focused, navy. She’d also fostered a relationship with the Dells, her neighbor to the east, which had the world’s largest and most powerful army. Every nation knew that Monsea, though weakened by its own recent history, was not necessarily alone. Monsea had soldiers with swords and bows, Monsea had ships, and Monsea had friends.