‘But surely, the children –’
‘No.’ She points at a section of shelves. ‘All our records on the war, including eyewitness accounts, are here. Accipta and Aquila and almost all related families were entirely wiped out. Anything else you hear is just scurrilous rumour.’ Her tone suggests personal affront. ‘History books don’t lie, my lady.’
I want to point out that surely that depends on who is writing them. But the chronicler’s gaze has strayed to the Protector’s ring on my left hand, and her eyes widen as she realises who I am. So I incline my head in thanks and make my escape, anxious to avoid any questions.
I consider returning to my rooms. I’m going to head into the city, to try to find the address on the paper. Maybe find this Flayfeather too. I’d be more comfortable with my mother’s dagger in my belt. But either Letya or Lucien or both of them might be waiting for me in my apartment. Lucien would doubtless pry into my reasons for leaving the Citadel, or try to forbid me to leave. Letya would probably want to go with me. But taking a risk myself is one thing; I’m not going to put my friend in danger. Instead I make my way alone towards the main entrance of the castle. I haven’t got far before someone calls my name.
‘Aderyn! Cousin …’
It’s Odette. She hurries down the steps, dressed in white as usual, her silk skirts billowing behind her. But before she reaches me she stops short, seeming suddenly shy.
‘I just wondered, cousin, whether you are on your way to the sanctuary?’ She gestures to the cloak I’m wearing. ‘I was going to go with Aron, but he is … he is not in good spirits today.’ She looks at me a little anxiously.
‘Um … I’m not going to the sanctuary, not yet. But I’ll go with you later, if you’d like.’
‘Yes, thank you.’ She falls into step beside me. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Out for a walk. Into the city.’
‘The city?’ Her voice rises in surprise. ‘But why?’
‘Well … my father grew up here. He told me about some places he used to visit, so I thought I would try to find them.’ A complete lie, but Odette seems to accept it. ‘Do you know where Long Ship Street is? It’s in Lower Farne –’
My cousin is already shaking her head. ‘No. I’ve never been into any part of the city.’ She glances at me and blushes faintly (though I’m trying to conceal my astonishment). ‘I wasn’t supposed to be queen, you see. So learning about the kingdom, and the flightless and so on … it never seemed important. And I’m not like Aron; I hate politics, and studying papers, and having to make decisions.’ Lowering her voice, she leans towards me. ‘I know there are things wrong, in the kingdom. But I don’t know how to fix them. My husband will though. I hope.’ Her colour deepens. ‘Have you heard I’m to be married, cousin? To Lord Siegfried.’ She grins suddenly. ‘I don’t know yet how much we have in common, but I shall enjoy looking at him. He’s amazingly handsome.’
‘Is he? I’m glad for you.’ I’m not sure what else to say. We part in the main hall, and I take the staircase down to the courtyards behind the castle, to the stables and the delivery yards. From there, I make my escape into the city.
The broad, paved roads of Upper Farne are pleasant enough, filled with the sturdy stone mansions of lower-ranking nobles and wealthy merchants. There are gardens and trees, and I walk along more than one bustling shopping street. Still, I can’t enjoy my freedom from the Citadel. There are Dark Guards here too, stationed on corners or patrolling the arcaded avenues. None of them seems to pay me any attention, but I put up the hood of my cloak and hurry onward, downward.
Gradually, the city around me changes. The roads become narrow lanes, many with open drains running down the centre, stinking and buzzing with flies. The buildings are of wood instead of stone, jammed together, and so tall that they block out much of the sky. I can no longer see the Citadel, and I begin to lose my sense of direction. There are no guards here, but lots of people. Ill-dressed, ill-shod – ill-fed, by the looks of them. I have to start asking for help to find my way. Those I approach reply helpfully enough, but they stare at me as though they’re not really sure who – or what – I am. I press on. I have the feeling that I’m being watched.
Eventually I reach what one smallish boy tells me is Long Ship Street; there is no street name that I can see, but the inn at the corner of the road is called ‘The Long Ship’, according to its painted sign. I make my way past a few dingy shops, their wares – not-so-fresh fish, tallow candles, an assortment of pawned items – displayed on rickety tables. The rest of the street, as it twists its way down to the shore of the fjord, seems to be made up of badly maintained tenements erected around tiny, dank courtyards. There are piles of rubbish everywhere.
An elderly-looking woman is sitting nearby on the steps of one building, staring at me.
‘Would you be able to show me where Crowsnest Court is?’
She doesn’t answer. But there’s no one else nearby. I check my pockets – wishing I’d thought to bring more money with me – and show her a silver half-sovereign. ‘I said –’
‘I heard. And I might.’ Her gaze switches to the coin in my hand. ‘Yes, I might.’
Once I’ve dropped the coin into her palm, careful not to touch her, she gets up, beckons to me and begins to walk further along the street.
I follow.
The woman leads me off into a maze of even narrower alleys, nothing more than walkways between the tenements. It must be nearly midday, but down here it’s twilight. At least the permanent gloom prevents me from seeing exactly what I’m stepping in. A few more minutes, and she stops in a dead end, pointing up at a soot-stained building rising above us on three sides. ‘Crowsnest.’ She leers at me. ‘So pretty you are. What business have you here?’
‘I’m searching for someone, by the name of Deeks Flayfeather. He lives here, I think. Or used to.’
‘Searching for someone, is it?’ She shouts something up at the building – I don’t catch the words – and a moment later a red-headed, thickset man appears from one of the doorways, quickly followed by a younger man with a woman clinging to his hand. They both look half-starved, and the woman has a black eye. My guide summons them nearer. ‘This fine lady’s looking for a man name of Flayfeather.’
As the people close around me, my heart begins to race. I don’t know why I’m scared – if I touch them, I’ll burn them – but still, nerves jangle my stomach. ‘I can pay you.’ I hold up another coin. ‘I just want to talk to him.’
The older man holds his hand out for the coin, looking me up and down as he does so. ‘I heard as there was a fellow lived here by that name, a good five years back, maybe more. A fellow from Olorys. But he went off one day, up Farne –’ he jerks his head in the direction of the upper city – ‘and he never come back.’
I catch my breath: Olorys again. And possibly around the time of my mother’s death.
The man steps nearer; there’s greed in his eyes. ‘Now, maybe I can tell you who he was going to see up there. Maybe I can even tell you what happened to him.’