The Orphans' Promise by Pierre Grimbert Page B

was in no hurry, and they still had to wait a long time before reaching his desk.
    “Names?” he asked, listlessly.
    “Adnéra from Mestèbe, and Bahlin from Phar,” Corenn answered, speaking the lies she had prepared.
    The scribe slowly copied the information down in an enormous record book, having Corenn spell out each letter of every name, including the names of the two universally recognized towns.
    “Is it the first time you’ve come to the Small Palace?” he asked, after consulting a thirty-page list.
    “Yes.”
    “What is the purpose of your visit?”
    “We wish to meet with the priests from Zuïa, so we can make an offering to the cult,” Corenn announced calmly.
    The scribe and the two jelenis on either side of him stared at her in surprise. Such candor was rare. Most traders claimed they came out of pure curiosity. The scribe suddenly decided not tokeep these crazy, or complacent, strangers any longer. He had no desire to meddle in the red assassins’ affairs, or worse, admit to himself that he was, by circumstance, the assassins’ secretary.
    “Well,” he began, with newfound efficiency, “the rules for inside the palace are simple, but I request that you follow them scrupulously. One: Shouting is not allowed. All deals must take place in a calm and collected manner suitable to these honorable grounds. Two: Any scene of violence, whether verbal or physical, will result in expulsion from the palace. Last, and most important: The mere allusion to an agreement capable of bringing any harm to the Crown, its interests, or the citizens of its kingdom, is punishable by hanging. Do you have any questions?”
    “None.”
    “Well. May Dona smile upon you,” he said, dismissing them with the merchants’ sacred saying, all too happy to be rid of the bothersome visitors.
    “Aren’t you going to ask us to pay?” asked Corenn, most candidly.
    The scribe blushed at his oversight, mumbling a string of excuses while receiving an onslaught of mockery from the jelenis and the visitors waiting behind Grigán. Forty gold terces were exchanged, and the Lorelien wrote out a receipt as quickly as possible.
    “I would have preferred a more discreet entry,” the warrior muttered as they made their way to the covered courtyard.
    “You’re never satisfied anyway,” Corenn teased, still smiling about the scribe.
    They walked through an ornate arch and found themselves in the Small Palace’s gardens.
    Although their minds were occupied with other things, the arch reminded them of another one, a much more mysterious one, on the island of Ji.

     
    Yan closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and focused on the coin. He didn’t know what else to do to pass the test. Up until now, he hadn’t achieved anything. He pictured the object as clearly as if he were staring at it. He knew its every detail. Every nick, imperfection, variation in color: every point of its surface. He would still remember it even in his dying days. He was spending more time with the coin than any of his friends, he thought, as he tried to regain his concentration. He was beginning to hate the shiny disk.
    He imagined it standing up perfectly straight along its edge, a shameful monument, standing tall, symbolizing his numerous failures. He concentrated all his thoughts, all his Will, all of the force in his mind, on a single thing: the image of the coin falling on its side.
    After an indeterminate period of time, he opened his eyes again. He was weak as he lifted his tired eyes, feeling exhausted as if waking from a night of bad dreams.
    The coin still stood tall, taunting him.
    Yan extended his finger and gently tapped the upper edge, finally causing it to topple over as he had imagined it doing countless times.
    It only needed such a small amount of force.
Why couldn’t he do it?

 
    “Let’s not stay so close,” Rey whispered to Léti. “We might get ourselves noticed, standing in front of the palace for too long.” Léti observed the Zü tunic