Free The Eunuch's Heir by Elaine Isaak Page A

courts.
    “Greetings and greetings again, good sir,” the Hemijrani called, tucking the medallion under the crossed wrappings of his clothes. “I would be Ghiva, and would be the representative of my people here in your great country.”
    “Oh, would you?” Fionvar folded his arms, gratified by the small man’s hesitation. “Then would you explain why your people have been digging here?”
    Ghiva blinked, his hands still pressed together, fingers to wrists. “Digging.”
    “Shovels, dirt—digging! If they have been—” Fionvar sought a way to say it that wasn’t a curse—“if they have interred any…remains, I’ll have to throw the lot of you into the dungeon, you know that.”
    “I believe it is burials that you mean.”
    Fionvar and Gwythym made the sign of the Lady.
    “But we do not bury our dead,” he continued, apparently oblivious to their distaste. “They would be enshrouded and left for the vultures; I have seen vultures here, so this is not a problem, this ritual of ours.” He smiled again, showing his gold incisor.
    Gwythym and Fionvar exchanged a look. “We don’t speak of that here.”
    “You do not speak of burial.” They flinched. “Then you will please forgive me, for I sought only to soothe what I anticipated was your concern.”
    “Only one of our concerns,” Gwythym growled. “We’re looking for Crown Prince Wolfram. Have any of your people seen him?”
    “I have heard that he has left the city, but I do not know that any of us shall have seen him go. I have been visiting your infirmary and spoken with our wounded there, as I am sure you will recall, sir,” Ghiva said, inclining his head toward Fionvar.
    “Yes, I do. We need to ask some questions, and we’d rather do so without bringing in the guard, do I make myself clear?”
    Losing his smile, Ghiva nodded vigorously. “We are here only on your sufferance and the generosity of your queen, may the Two defend her. Of course I will be happy to assist you in any way. You will be needing a translator for instance, sirs.”
    “Are you ready for this?” Fionvar asked Dylan, who shrugged.
    “I’ve not been practicing long; you should get someone more experienced.”
    Gwythym patted his shoulder. “You’ll do fine, lad. And we’re hoping the sight of you might shake loose some secrets.”
    “This is Dylan DuGwythym, who was injured in the fight by the gate. He also happens to be a wizard—”
    “In training!” Dylan modified quickly.
    “In training,” Fionvar allowed. “Your people will need to ask him a question, to allow themselves to have a small spell cast on them. If they lie to us, Dylan will know.”
    Ghiva rubbed his amulet beneath the cloth which concealed it. “I do not know if they will submit themselves in this way. Many of us are apprehensive about your magic, and I believe that this fear is justified, sir.”
    “They will have your example to follow—”
    “My lord,” Dylan said, tapping Fionvar’s arm.
    Fionvar gave him a pointed look.
    “I haven’t cast the spell—he hasn’t asked any questions.” Dylan spread his hands in a helpless gesture.
    “But he—” He faced the little man. “Ghiva, what do you know about our magic?”
    “I am sure that I am ignorant, good sir, being a foreigner and a humble man.”
    “In order to cast a spell on someone, the wizard must have an invitation, as it were. The person has to be open to receiving magic, he has to ask a question of the wizard. Since we’ve been standing here, you’ve made several inquiries without actually asking a question. That makes me suspicious, Ghiva.”
    Putting up his hands, Ghiva said, “It is a habit of speech only, sirs. What would you have me ask?”
    “That will do.” Fionvar raised his eyebrows at Dylan, who mumbled a few words, then nodded. “So, Ghiva, I ask you again, have you seen Prince Wolfram?”
    “I have not.”
    “Do you have any knowledge of his whereabouts?”
    “I fear that I do not, much as I would