The Gold in the Dark

Chapter Thirty-Three

Natlin, to her credit, recovered her nerve in the carriage and demanded the two guards explain why the king would summon Tia, of all people, to the palace. But the guards professed ignorance; all they knew was that King Orrus himself wished to speak with her.

They rocked forward as the carriage came to a halt. One of the guards opened the door for a word with someone outside, and a few seconds later came the clank of a metal gate opening. The guard reentered the carriage, a whip cracked, and their journey resumed.

Metal gates—so they must be within the palace walls now.

The horses walked on and on, drawing them into the palace complex. Tia remembered how she had gazed through the gate at the sprawling palace grounds with Roge that day long ago. She'd had some vague, unformed understanding that eventually she would come to know the massive, glittering structure that was the palace, entertaining the lords, ladies, and royals who called it their home, but never had she imagined she would make her entrance in a carriage with an escort of royal guards. She didn't know whether she felt more like a noblewoman or a wanted criminal.

The carriage finally clattered to a halt, and one of the guards motioned for them to get out. They emerged from the dark carriage into a courtyard full of people all looking their way—and a good amount of the looks were distinctly unfriendly.

She reached for Natlin's hand again.

Gods, what were they doing here? What was going on?

~

Thurie took a step back as the secretary in front of the gilt double doors puffed up his chest and conjured up a much-practiced look of disdain.

"I don't care who you are. Do you know how many people barge in here, just the same as you? Well, let me tell you, everyone thinks that their problem is special, that they deserve to see their king straightaway."

Thurie could imagine the speech working well on most people—but his father was not most people. Dunna Jore, who stood nearly a foot taller than the balding secretary, glared down his nose at the man and launched into the lengthy story once again.

As his father had explained on their way to the palace, he had finally realized who the man in the sketch reminded him of.

"It must be ten years or more since I saw the man," his father had said. "He was in the Azure Borough guard station, on the night shift.

"If my recollection bears true he was a hard worker—put in his time and didn't seem to mind working dusk to dawn. Young, quiet fellow, with an ear to the ground—good for investigation work. The kind that's smart but doesn't let on straightaway he's got a bit better than mud for brains.

"Anyway, eventually either someone noticed the Azure Borough guard station was hiding a gem of a young guard or he put in for a transfer. Not working days or in a different part of the city, but up into the royal guard." His father shot Thurie a meaningful look.

"I believe that was the last I heard of him. His name I can't recall, but his face... For us artists it's always the face that sticks with us. You know that." Thurie nodded half-heartedly as he tried to fit the pieces together in his mind. What was it that kept reminding him of that infernal knocking?

His father's voice quickened as his pace sped up. "Well, it's no matter about the man's name. He may possess some skills with cosmetics, enough to give us that blurred impression of our favorite menace of Firefly Hollow. He's picked a wanted killer for his patsy—clever. But I have his face straight in my mind now, clear as day. If there's a killer close to the king, then His Majesty himself needs to know immediately. There's the Corimian element to contend with, after all—who knows if the man is working alone or with someone else?"