by Carol A Park
Gered nodded once. “Detain him while I think about it.”
He couldn’t be taken prisoner. Oh, no…no…no…What if they tortured him for information? He didn’t know if he could withstand that sort of thing; he was no hardened soldier, nor a trained spy. He was just an attaché.
One of the guards came forward and tied his hands behind his back, and Driskell was helpless to do anything about it.
“Have you nothing further to say, Dal?” Gered asked, eyeing Driskell curiously, as though he truly expected something interesting to come out of Driskell’s mouth.
Driskell thought furiously. What did Gered want from him? He didn’t understand. “I’m not your enemy,” he said. He wasn’t. None of them were. Give this up. Leave us alone… I’m not your enemy.
Gered nodded, as if he thought so. “No. A…friend, perhaps?”
And then it dawned on Driskell. All this time, he had been projecting to Gered that he was a friend, and it had worked. Except Gered had taken it in a different way.
He thought he was literally a friend.
A traitor to his people.
Panic squeezed Driskell’s chest, and it seemed, his aether right out of him, out of control, reduced to nothing in one blast of heat.
He sank to his knees, his head swimming, spots dancing in his eyes.
Darkness.
Chapter Fifty
Company
The sun was setting, and Gildas’ old office in the palace was shadowed, but amber light spilled through the window behind Gildas’ desk, which was directly across from the doorway.
It was an impressive space: Gildas’ workspace, personal library, and separate seating area complete with bar for casual meetings. Gildas had spent most of his time in this room, and, by all reports, Airell had spent little to no time in it—so hadn’t changed it at all.
It drudged up old memories of the three times Vaughn had been in this office.
The first time had been when he’d been a boy playing hide-and-seek with his brothers. Airell had lured him in here to hide on a dare and then left him long enough that it was Gildas who’d ended up finding him. He had dragged Vaughn out from under his desk and had him whipped on the spot.
The second time, it had been with his old tutor, the one who Gildas had…relieved of duty. Having heard the rumors of the tutor’s illegal language lessons for Vaughn, Gildas had summoned both of them here and then demanded that Vaughn corroborate or deny the rumors. They had stood right in front of that same desk, and Vaughn had been too terrified of his father to lie.
The third and final time had been when Gildas had introduced him to Cheris. Vaughn could still see her standing there, just in front of Gildas’ desk, turning to greet him with a coy smile the moment he’d darkened Gildas’ door, as he did now. He had been immediately smitten.
It was his only positive memory of this room, yet even that had been robbed of any happiness by the events that would later transpire.
He stepped across the threshold, leaving the door open, and walked to his father’s desk without lighting a lantern, despite the lessening light. He didn’t need one.
He ran a hand along the dark and luscious wood—rysta, an import from Cadmyr. It had been so well-polished that the golden beams of sunlight shattered and glistened on its surface like a placid lake. He moved behind it, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit in the chair. Not yet.
The light from the hallway changed, and Vaughn looked up.
His mother stood framed in the doorway. “I haven’t been in here since your father died,” she said. “Airell didn’t use the room other than to raid the liquor collection.” She paused. “Do you normally stand in darkness?”
He lifted the glass shield of a lamp on Gildas’ desk with one hand, rubbed the fingers of the other against a sliver of fireblood aether, and then touched them—and the residue of the aether—to the wick.
It lit instantly, and he set the shield back into place. “I don’t need light to see.”
She moved into the room without comment, coming to stand in front of the desk.
Then she handed him several sheets of paper.
He accepted them cautiously. “What’s this?”
“I took the liberty of arranging your schedule for the next two weeks.”
Vaughn blinked and looked down at the top sheet. He hadn’t even spent a single night in the palace and his mother had already drawn up a schedule?
But sure enough, there before him, written in her neat hand, was a list of the next fourteen days. There were dinners, meetings, appearances…
His head spun, and he set the stack down on the desk.
“I’ve already made the official declaration that there will be an election in two weeks,” his mother said. “Election law requires five days to allow time for the representatives to gather, but, though I know Ri Tanuac is anxious to move forward, I believe you will benefit from some additional time.” She glanced at an old newssheet lying on Gildas’ desk. “The announcement will be in the morning newssheet as well as proclaimed by criers. I’ve also sent runners to notify the representatives across Ferehar, and I imagine the first of those will begin arriving within days.”
She tapped her finger on a line on the schedule. “Now, the most notable item is one week from today, when most of the representatives should have arrived. I’ve arranged an informal gathering and extended an invitation to both the representatives and any additional nobles who wish to come. All the Gan will certainly be there. This will be a time to introduce you to the representatives formally as well as offer you the opportunity to mingle with them around light refreshments. You will, of course, want to have a formal speech prepared, but you should also spend time considering your goals as Ri and how you want to express them. The representatives will be curious about who you are and what you have to offer.”
Vaughn’s eye twitched. His goals as Ri? His goal as Ri was to sign the Xambrian alliance so Yaotel would be happy, survive for a few years, and then find a way to disappear again.
“I’ve also scheduled a number of appearances around the city,” his mother continued. “It would be good for you to hear and express an interest in the concerns of some of the major leaders—the factory guild’s chief, as one example. Obviously, they won’t have a vote, but popular opinion will no doubt play a role in the vote of undecided representatives. Remember, they may hate Airell, but they can always abstain rather than vote for an unknown.” She paused. “Or a Banebringer. On that matter, it would probably be best if you downplay that aspect of yourself for now. It may intrigue some, but many will be uncomfortable with it, and a few will be set against you because of it.” She flicked her eyes to the lantern he had lit earlier. “You need to show you’re normal—let that aspect fade out of their minds, as much as possible.”
Yes, that’s right. Play a role. Be someone other than who you are. Vaughn’s gut twisted. “Stop crying.” “You’re too sensitive.” “Why can’t you be more like Airell?”
“However, you should also keep in mind that your biggest advantage is that you are not Airell. You need to be what they expect yet also not. Under the schedule, you’ll find notes on the Gan and any of the representatives that I am well enough acquainted with to know how they might be swayed. I’ve noted what their likely initial reactions to you will be, how likely they will be to vote for you, and what they want to hear. You can do with that information what you will.”
Burning skies. Someone save me.
His mother gave him a stern look, as if she could hear his thoughts. “You can, of course, do what you wish. But I would strongly suggest to you that if you want to take on this role, you must do your part.”
Even now, after such a trying day, his mother looked the picture of elegance—the perfect noble wife, with not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in her royal blue gown.
“Are you sure you don’t want to run against him?” Vaughn asked.
She smiled, and it was only then that Vaughn saw the strain.
“Even if Fereharians would elect a woman, I would much rather do what I’ve always done.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. He hadn’t the faintest idea what she’d always done, other than attempt to keep her husband’s temper directed away from their children.
She shrugged her slight shoulders, even that casual gesture graceful. “Damage control.”
He leaned back against the window and folded his arms across his chest. “I appreciate your vote of confidence.”
She studied him for a moment and then turned her back to move toward the bar. “I haven’t the faintest idea what to expect from you. The boy I knew was sensitive, empathetic, and timid.”
Yes. He knew. So-called flaws in his masculinity that his father had attempted to squash out of him—and had ultimately led to what Vaughn had then interpreted as the only positive attention he’d ever received from his father: the “gift” of a beautiful fiancée.
It turned out Gildas had merely been concerned for his own reputation. Cheris had made certain he’d known exactly what she had been promised in exchange for seducing his third youngest son. Wealth and power—neither of which Vaughn could offer her as a demonspawn and a fugitive.
Ironic that if he won this election, that was exactly what he would have, and once again, as seemed to be his fate, it was a twist to his life he had never wanted or asked for.
His mother straightened up from her search for anything left under the bar and faced him again. “That boy would have been eaten alive in this role. And yet here you are with questionable friends in tow, challenging your brother, lighting lamps with your fingertips, and handling a bow that looks like it was bequeathed to you from the heavens themselves.”
Oh, if only she knew how accurate that was.
“I don’t know who you are now and what you might do. Is there anything left of that boy, Teyrnon, or did Gildas drive it out of you?”
I don’t know, he wanted to say. But as much as she no longer knew him, he also no longer knew her. She had helped him twice now; it was enough to convince him she was an ally, but not enough to answer her probing question—a question he hardly dared to explore himself. Besides, he had hardly had time to take her full measure, and he was not in a position where he could afford naivety. She was a noble’s wife, a noble who had been able to survive and thrive as the wife of Gildas. Could she have an agenda of her own with all of this?
So instead, he said simply, “I prefer to be called ‘Vaughn’ now. Did you need something else from me?”
It came out harsher than he had intended, but if the words had hurt her, she didn’t show it. She glided back toward the door. “I also wanted to see you. It’s been eleven years…Vaughn.”
She stopped in the doorway again, as if waiting for him to say something else.
He did, in case the words had hurt her. “Thank you,” he said. “This would have been a different day without your help. A much bloodier day.” He swallowed. “And it’s good to see you again.”
The clock on Gildas’ desk ticked in the silence that followed as she stood there, her back still to him. And then finally, she spoke. “If that boy is still in there,” she said softly, “I think it’s clear the man he’s grown into would not be eaten alive, despite his own misgivings. And I would fight to see that man as the Ri.” Her voice hardened. “The gods know Ferehar could use someone with a little compassion in charge for once.”
She nodded toward the paper that still lay on Gildas’ desk. “Check your schedule. Your first meeting is in about an hour.”
She swept out of the room.
Askata had kindly arranged for temporary accommodations in the palace for all five of them. The gods knew there was enough room; the palace had an entire wing devoted to guest rooms, and with Airell’s “advisors” permanently ejected, the wing was empty.
Even though there were enough spare rooms for all of them, Aleena had offered to share a room with Ivana. Ivana still wasn’t sure why; perhaps Aleena thought she needed company—or perhaps she thought she might do something rash and wanted to keep an eye on her.
Either way, Ivana had declined. She was more than happy with her solitude.
Or so she thought.
She now sat in an armchair in front of the fireplace in her room. It would have been cozy if it were winter, but it was summer, so the hearth was cold and dead.
She worked her dagger out of the sheath at her thigh and turned it over in her hands. What was she supposed to do now? Twiddle her thumbs? Go back to Marakyn and let them experiment on her?
Ugh.
There was a knock at her door. She slid the dagger back into its sheath but kept hold of the hilt. One could never be too careful. “Come,” she said, turning her head toward the door.
One of the many maids scurrying around the manor entered the room and curtsied. “Your pardon, Da, but Lady Askata asked that we make sure our guests are settled in comfortably. Is there anything I can get you? I can draw a bath, if you wish, or bring you food or drink.”
“I’m well situated,” Ivana said. “Thank you.”
The maid shifted from one foot to the other. “Are you certain? Ri—I mean—Lord Airell always wanted to be sure his guests’ needs were well-met.”
Ivana studied the woman. She was staring intently at a spot over Ivana’s shoulder. “What sort of needs?”
“Well—anything you might want, really.” She glanced at Ivana and then quickly looked away. “Usually, his guests were male, but I…begging your pardon, that’s—that’s fine.”
Ivana pressed her lips together. How many guests had this poor maid had to entertain? “Fortunately, I’m not a guest of Lord Airell,” she said softly.
The maid flushed. “Just so, Da. I’m so sorry to have disturbed you. I’m just…used to certain protocols, I suppose.”
“No apologies necessary, Da.” She paused. “Have you stopped at any of the others’ rooms yet?”
“Only Lord Teyrnon’s, but he wasn’t there.”
She nodded. “Well, none of us are guests of Lord Airell, so I think you can safely dispense with normal protocols and do precisely as your lady asked you and nothing more.”
The maid curtsied again, looking relieved. “Yes, Da.”
She left and closed the door behind her.
Ivana slid her dagger out of its sheath again. “Bastard,” she muttered under her breath, and then she clenched the hilt and brought it up to the light. It was a good thing that from her vantage point in the city earlier that day, she hadn’t been able to clearly see Airell’s face. Hearing his voice again had been bad enough.
She hissed and stopped herself from stabbing the arm of the chair just in time. Instead, she stood up and snapped the dagger back into its sheath. She could have killed him, right then and there, and been done with it. Maybe she should have.
But the person who would do that is dead, remember?
Well, that was a pretty lie to tell herself. If she had been close enough to do it easily, she probably would have, promise to Vaughn notwithstanding.
It was late. It had been a tiring day. And who knew what the next would bring? She paced back and forth along the window a few times, trying to shake off the dark mood that had descended on her. She had thought she wanted to be alone, but now solitude meant she was alone with her thoughts, and the thought of trying to sleep agitated her more, for then she would have dreams she couldn’t control. The void inside her yawned wider, taunting her with whispered memories, and she didn’t want to listen.
What was Vaughn doing, if he wasn’t in his room?
Maybe he wouldn’t mind company.
Vaughn closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the cool night air.
Well, “cool” might have been an overstatement, but it was certainly cooler than it had been during the day—and less stuffy than inside the palace. Perhaps he ought to sleep here on the roof, as commoners sometimes did on hot summer nights.
Commoners. Listen to himself. One day in the palace, and he was alr
eady thinking of himself as a noble again. This place was poisonous. No matter what happened, he would not fall back into that. He had fled from that life and since seen it for what it was. Toxic. He would play Yaotel’s game for now, but at the first chance of getting away from here…
He would what? Abandon them all? If there was going to be a war, Yaotel would need him.
His chest squeezed. Sometimes he missed flitting about killing bloodbane. It had been lonely, but it had also been simple. This was still lonely, and now complicated.
“I thought I might find you here.”
He jumped. “Gods, Ivana,” he said, turning. “You nearly startled me right off the roof.”
She moved to his side and looked over the edge, three stories down. “That would have been unfortunate.”
He took a step away from her. “Unless, of course, that was your intent…”
She raised an eyebrow at him, bemused.
“Well, who knows what someone might have offered you?”
Something flickered across her face, but she snorted. “If you think—”
He held up a hand. “I don’t. I was teasing.”
She studied him with those dark, implacable eyes for a moment, and then turned to look out across the palace grounds. “You should be more careful. You jest, but you’re making yourself an easy target.” She glanced behind them. “You ought to at least have a guard on the stairs—or Danton or Thrax, if you can’t trust any of the guards yet.”
He cleared his throat. Damnation. It wasn’t that such things hadn’t occurred to him—no, he was painfully conscious of how little he could trust anyone but his own little circle of friends. But he wasn’t used to taking guards with him everywhere he went. “Thanks,” he said. “Any other free advice?”
“Yes, since you asked. One of the maids stopped by my room to offer me her ‘services,’ which are extensive.” She quirked an eyebrow up, and Vaughn took her meaning. “Apparently, this was standard protocol when your brother was Ri. If you win, I suggest you do something about that.”
