Moira's Pen by Megan Whalen Turner

Author:Megan Whalen Turner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-09-19T00:00:00+00:00

Melheret knows all too well that appearances can be deceiving.

Envoy

Melheret stood at the rail and watched the capital of Attolia disappear behind the bulk of the offshore island that sheltered it. The emperor had recalled his diplomats from Attolia and Melheret was not looking forward to his homecoming.

The imperial fleet should have been moved, no matter how adamantly the emperor’s nephew had insisted that his slave could not know its location. Melheret had said as much, as delicately as he could, knowing he risked offending people far more powerful than he was. Ignorant, narrow-minded counselors had disagreed, arguing that the allied navy was too small to be a threat, and the Emperor was nearing the end of any need for secrecy. Melheret had been right, and they had been wrong, and that was far more dangerous to Melheret than the reverse.

His sense of foreboding only increased as his secretary approached and he held up a hand to caution the man, but it was a hopeless gesture. Ansel blurted out his news for all the sailors around them to hear.

“The figurine of Prokip by Sudesh is gone. Forgive me, Ambassador.”

“How?” asked Melheret, surprised by his own calm.

“I did just as you instructed, sir. I checked its case this morning, I locked it, sir, I know I did. I did not take my eyes off it today, I swear, not once did I look away.”

“And yet you tell me it is gone.”

“I do not know how it could have happened. I just opened the case and found this.” He handed over a message with the ambassador’s name written on it in the king’s hand, familiar to them both.

The ambassador didn’t have to open it to know what it held, but he did anyway. It was a thoroughly civil note wishing him a safe journey home and a reminder that he was always welcome to return. An invitation so warm and so damning it would mean his death if the emperor ever heard of it. It wasn’t on paper. The king had written on thick parchment, deliberately, the ambassador was sure. It didn’t tear easily. He had to wrench it to pieces, growing angrier and angrier with every effort, until he could feel his face suffused with blood and hear himself snarling as he finally gave up and threw all of the pieces over the ship’s rail.

Ansel had backed away in alarm. “Forgive me,” he said again and again from a safe distance.

“Oh, shut up,” said the ambassador wearily. “You’re a free man, I can’t throw you over the side, too.” There was no point in blaming the secretary for the theft. Melheret would have sworn on his life that the figurine had been impossible to steal—locked in a case and the case guarded every minute, but the king of Attolia was still the thief of Eddis.

“You could have waited until I came belowdecks to tell me,” said the ambassador. He looked around at the crowded deck where sailors hastily went back to their work and the other passengers went on pretending to watch the slowly receding shore.

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