There, pushing his way through the crowd not five feet from her, was Hern. He was overdressed as always in a bright blue coat with silver embroidery, and looking hurried. The rings on his fingers glittered dangerously as he elbowed his way past a belligerent, and very large, pair of farmers. Once he was past, he gave the crowd a sneering look and turned down a side street lined with large, beautiful houses. As soon as he was around the corner, Miranda followed him.
“Miranda,” Mellinor said in a warning voice. “What are you doing?”
“Think about it,” she whispered, sneaking through the crowd. “Hern’s secretiveness, strange things going on with the spirits in Gaol, the West Wind asking me, Hern’s enemy, specifically to investigate? It doesn’t take a genius to put it together.”
“That may be,” Mellinor said, “but don’t forget your own words. You didn’t want to take this job specifically because of Hern. I don’t like Hern any more than you do, but the world hasn’t changed in the last day. You said it yourself: if anyone sees you here, they’re going to think it’s revenge. Take your own advice, ignore the pompous idiot and keep going for the river.”
“The river will still be there in an hour,” she said under her breath. “I can’t miss an opportunity like this. Think, if I can prove that Hern’s behind whatever is going on here, I can destroy his credibility, maybe even get a retrial. It would be even better than catching Monpress. Even if it’s just that he knows what’s going on and hasn’t reported it to the Court, that would be enough to throw mud all over his career.” She stood on tiptoe, catching a glimpse of Hern’s blond head through the crowd, before ducking down again. “No,” she said. “He has to be up to something. The Spirit Court referendum is coming up any day now, and he wouldn’t dare leave Zarin and miss the run-up for that unless he had a very good reason. I’m going to find out what that is.”
Mellinor didn’t like that one bit, but he didn’t say anything else. Miranda trailed Hern for two blocks. It was nervous work. All the houses faced the road, and there was no cover for her to hide behind once they left the crowds. But Hern never so much as looked behind him. He just marched in that pompous, hurried way of his until he reached the steps of a large, expensive-looking inn. Here, he went up the stairs, nodding to the boy who opened the door for him, and vanished inside. A moment later, Miranda followed. The boy didn’t open the door as readily for her, but a coin changed his mind and Miranda found herself in the opulent entry hall of a wealthy inn in a wealthy town. Hern was at the far end of the room, talking with two men Miranda recognized as Tower Keepers. Just as she spotted them, a well-dressed servant walked over to escort the men up the stairs.
“Miss?”
Miranda jumped, startling the waiter who was hovering at her elbow. “Can I help you, miss?”
“Yes,” Miranda said, pointing at the stairwell Hern had just disappeared up. “What’s up those stairs?”
“The private dining rooms, ma’am,” the man answered skeptically, eyeing her rough clothes.
“Good,” Miranda said. “I’d like one. How much?”
“It’s fifteen silvers for a private meal,” the man said. “We’ve got grouse and pheasant in a plum glaze, with—”
“Sounds lovely,” Miranda said, shoving the money at him. “Show me up.”
The man’s haughty expression vanished when the money hit his hand, and he cheerfully led her up the stairs. There were several dining rooms, but only one of the doors was closed. She picked the door beside it, and the waiter showed her into a small room with a dining table and a little stand in the corner with water, stationery, and a jug of flowers. Best of all, it had a simple plank wall separating it from the closed dining room next door. She could just barely hear the buzz of voices coming through the wood, and then Hern’s haughty laugh.
“This is perfect,” Miranda said, nodding. “You may go.”
The waiter gave her a confused look, but bowed and left, shutting the door behind him. The minute he was gone, Miranda got down on the floor beside the wall and pressed her ear against the planks. The men’s voices drifted through, muted but understandable.
“It’s a mess is what it is,” one of the Tower Keepers was saying. “We voted against the girl like you said and nothing’s changed except Banage is more self-righteous than ever. Also, the tide in the Court’s on his side now. My position as head of the committee on Forest Spirit management is threatened.”