“They are gone!” she gasped, placing her fingers over the same places where the wounds once stood. She had seen magic performed, heard of its capabilities, but that magic had never touched her. The surprise almost forced her to forget—almost.
“Why do you sulk? Was my job inadequate? Do you suffer elsewhere? Or are you angry with me for defying your wishes?” His questions overwhelmed her. He was very different today. This man was heated, impassioned, far from the calm demeanor she was used to during past meetings. She rushed back to her chair, the only place she felt less self-conscious, and curled herself back into a ball. Chin on her knees, she watched him.
“You have not answered my questions.”
“I am fine,” she said at last. It was a lie. “You need not fuss over me.”
There was a small wooden chair at her table. He procured it and placed it directly before her, turning it backwards and sitting down. His arms rested atop its back. His face was so close she could see the bits of stubble growing on his cheeks.
“I thought perhaps the bruise was a singular occasion. Why does she hate you so?” His countenance had grown grimmer still.
“She has always hated me, Verath. Always.”
“Explain.”
This was the dreaded moment. Yet she knew it would come. Hers was a truth she wished to forget. Only one person knew the story and that was Tess. Life was better that way. Recalling it brought nothing but heartbreak. “I would rather not explain anything.”
“I insist.”
“I am not as I used to be,” she said at last. “There was once a time when I was noble.”
Verath’s gaze narrowed for an instant—so brief she was lucky to catch it. Otherwise he said nothing.
“I do not expect it, but maybe you have heard the surname Kendall?”
He was silent for a moment, perhaps recalling. “Kendall…Hm. The Kendalls were a long line of wealthy merchants, were they not? I cannot recall their fate...”
She was surprised that he remembered anything about them. This was unanticipated. “You do not know of their fate because I am their fate.”
“You?”
“We were a long line. My father died when I was very young—four years of age—leaving my mother a dowager widow.” There was very little to be recalled from that time. Just a single memory of her sobbing in the street, holding her mother’s hand while her father’s body was ferried away to the cryptons for burial preparations. She told Verath of what happened next, of how her mother fell in love again a few years later. One day her mother came to her, excited to announce that she would have a father again, and a big sister too.
“Caterina?” Verath was catching on. She nodded.
“Before they married I met Caterina. She was two years my senior, just shy of nine. Oh, she was all smiles, all feigned politeness. Everyone loved little Cat. I quickly learned it was an act. But too late! My mother was married.” She fell silent, recalling those times that Caterina would pull her hair when no one was looking, or destroy her toys.
“What happened?”
“Two years later, my mother fell ill and died.”
“But she was still young, was she not?”
“Indeed, she was thirty-six. A young age to fall ill and die all within the span of half a day. The healers hardly had time to see her before her chest was heaving, her mouth frothing, and her eyes rolling.”
“That is heavily suspicious, Desaree. Was no Mage called to offer a cure? Did the healer doubt the situation?”
“How was I to know?” she cried. The emotion in her voice was not directed at Verath, it was merely a product of her own frustration. “I asked those same questions that day, and for many years after I left.”
“You left? Is that how you came to be here? To the keep?” Verath’s jaw flexed. He did not frown as he’d done earlier, but the signs of his upset were still present.
“I did not leave immediately. I was the heir to the Kendall fortune, or so I thought.”
She was nine at the time. She knew very little of politics, and less still of the cruelness of others, though Caterina had given her a taste. Stefan Rosen’s cruelness came after her mother died. She felt tears pooling in her eyes, hating these moments she was forced to relive. Yet she could no longer stop the words pouring from her mouth. With the dam removed, the water was no longer retained.
“Once my mother died, Sir Stefan Rosen, who is now Lord Stefan Rosen, shunned me. He turned a blind eye to Caterina’s nastiness. Within months of her death, I was shoved away in the attic, forced to sleep in moldy bedding, forced to wear rags, afforded scraps of old food. If I complained, if I came down into the the house, Caterina dragged me away by my hair. One day…” she took a deep breath, struggling to control her tears. “One day, I worked up the courage to demand my birthright. I was going to leave, but not without it. They could keep the forsaken house if they wanted. But I? I wanted the rest. I will never forget how he laughed.”
“It was taken from you…”
“Yes. My wretched stepfather had my mother sign away her fortune and titles to him shortly before she died. I cannot think of what excuse he used to win it.”
“So you got nothing.”
“Nothing. It was ripped from me—everything was ripped from me.” Tears rolled down her cheeks but she kept going, explaining what happened next. “I was not bound to the Rosens so I left, though I had nowhere to go.” The day flashed into her mind’s eye. She relived the same desolation over again. “I happened upon Tess in the market. Gods! She looked like an angel, beaming with smiles, walking along with her basket swinging, humming a happy tune. She saw me and hastened over, wrapping me in a cloak, offering me food from her basket.” It was one of the best days in her memory. Tess became something of a mother to her after that.
“I shall remember to thank Tess next time I see her,” Verath said. His gaze was soft and he reached out a hand to her face, wiping away a tear with his thumb.
“I thought I would be happy within the keep,” she admitted. “I hoped for it. I did not mind servitude. It was better than homelessness.” She shook her head. “Caterina could not afford me so much as that. She followed me here.” She gritted her teeth, remembering the anger she felt the day Caterina arrived at the keep.
“Caterina’s Mage training brought her here. I remember it now.” Verath’s nose crinkled in disgust as he put the pieces together. “Caterina’s father came along too.” His eyes were far away. Perhaps he too relived the day in his mind. “I was always surprised by the speed at which Stefan earned his seat in the Lower Council. I never questioned it then.” His brow furrowed. “Seventeen is old for a person to discover magical abilities. Saffra discovered hers at the age of eight. I wonder…” There was a growing frenzy to his voice. Had he thought of something? Something she failed to see?
She tried to make sense of him. “What do you wonder, Verath?”
“Nothing.” He jumped to his feet and began pacing. “Those two have caused you enough grief. You need not fret any longer over their doings.”
“Please, Verath. Do sit down! Tell me—what of Lord Stefan Rosen? I have shared my secrets with you. You know of my right to the information. What has happened?”
At last Verath sat. He reached for her hand, a gesture that surprised her. Taking her fingers, he laced them in his. It calmed her instantly, but she reclaimed her hand, for she would not have him avoid the truth. Once more she demanded that he tell her.
“There are some things in this world Desaree that are better left undiscussed.”
“It is true then? He betrayed the king?”
“Aye. He and another. I will not utter that man’s name either. You may consider your previous stepfather as good as dead.”
Her eyes grew wide. “What did he do?”
Verath gazed at her for the span of several breaths, studying her face with his keen eyes before speaking. “Perhaps it is unfair to hide the truth. If anyone deserves to hear it, you have earned that right.” He shifted in h
is seat. She remained silent, preparing herself for the potential horror of his reveal. “You have heard about the new threat to the north, yes? The wild dragons?”
She nodded, though she still struggled to believe it.
“The dragons are under the control of a sorcerer named Kane. Kane is very powerful. So powerful in fact, that he turned Stefan Rosen into a puppet to do his bidding. He has been pulling Stefan Rosen’s strings for some time—who knows how long. Perhaps the man was already under his control before he moved into the keep. Or—”
“Or perhaps the sorcerer offered Caterina magical powers as a means to get them into the keep!” she gasped, covering her mouth in shock. A theory took form in her mind. “What if—what if he somehow granted her magical abilities as a payment for her father’s loyalty?” Blood was rushing in her ears as her heart raced. “You did say it was strange that she discovered her abilities at the late age of seventeen.”
Verath was very quiet. She waited for him to say something. In her mind she began sifting through her memories. What would this sorcerer look like? Had she seen a strange man visit the home while she was living with the Rosens? It was difficult to recall.
“You catch on very fast, Desaree.” Verath’s fingers drummed on the chair back as he gripped it. “I cannot say if this theory is correct. But it certainly holds merit.”
“If it is true,” she said, “then Caterina is as guilty as her father.”
“Aye. She would be likewise considered a traitor. The king hates her, to be sure. But he had not planned to take action against her when her father was convicted.”
“Why not?”
Verath sighed. “It would be a sad world if children were punished for the crimes of their parents.”
She considered it. “Yes. You are right. Children are not responsible for the doings of their parents.”
“However”—Verath held up a finger to emphasize his point—“if we can prove your theory correct, if Caterina indeed came by her abilities through Kane’s doing, then it would be enough to convict her. At this moment, she remains a Mage-in-training.”
“You cannot take her into custody now? Ask questions later?”
Verath grunted. “Can you imagine what the people would think? Remember, Caterina is a favorite. Many wished for her to marry King Talon.”
“But you could tell them—you could explain that she was working with Kane.” Her frustration was growing. It was not in her nature to be vindictive, but she wasn’t doing this for revenge over her mistreatment. She was doing this to protect the kingdom. “Besides, you took Claire into custody, pronouncing her guilty before knowing her story.”
“That is different. Claire was an outsider. The king was not in his right mind.”
She clenched her teeth. Arguing with Verath was not something she wanted. At last she shook her head. “I apologize. I know the king and his Shields will get to the bottom of this—hopefully quickly. I hate to think of the chaos a woman like Caterina might cause.”
“Indeed. Now that I understand—thanks to your story—her full capabilities, I can take action.” Once more, he took her hand in both of his. This time, she let him. Her heart thumped several times as she gazed into his eyes.
The churning of her mind’s emotions deepened as the silence settled between them. She tried to understand what it was she was feeling in this moment. Was it gladness to know that a man she hated would finally receive his just desserts? Anger over the possibility of Caterina’s crimes? Relief that the secrets of her past were now shared with a man she admired? It took several fresh tears sliding down her cheeks before she realized what it was: It was all of those things.
In the length of a single breath, Verath realized her turmoil. He rose and scooped her into his arms, sitting down with her upon her cot, holding her against him, rocking her back and forth. His attention elicited further tears. It felt good to cry—good to release everything burning within her as little salty droplets.
At last, the silent assault abated. Verath, perceptive as he was, noticed. “There now,” said he, pulling away to look at her face. “Feel better?”
“Yes,” she sighed, snuggling deeper into his arms. Satisfied, he tucked her head once more under his chin. For once she ignored everything in her mind. Claire would have been proud to witness it. At the thought of Claire, fresh panic filled her. “Verath, what is going to happen to Claire?”
“You needn’t worry about Claire. She will be fine.” His voice was ever so calm.
“You mean to say she will not suffer punishment?”
“Not at all.”
She sighed in relief, her worry abating.
“Moreover, you need not fear Caterina any longer, Desaree. No matter what happens, she will never hurt you again. This I promise.”
Her shoulders relaxed. Tension began its departure from her limbs. The idea—unbelievable as it was for Caterina’s brutality was something she planned on living with forever—was a welcome one. She was tempted to question it until she reminded herself that Verath was a Drengr Fairtheoir. Such creatures were true to their oaths, as Verath would certainly be to his. So she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, vaguely aware of the smile that pulled at her lips. Suddenly the world appeared much brighter than it had in a very, very long time.
57
Kastali Dun
Claire watched Reyr from her table. He paced back and forth muttering to himself. Rather than stop him, she took another opportunity to admire her surroundings. The chamber was one of three allotted to her. The large sitting room was opulent with plush couches and oversized arm chairs, little end tables, a dining area, and a marble fireplace. At its back stood a wall of glass multi-paned windows and doors that opened outward to a balcony overlooking the sea.
The second chamber adjoined the first through double doors and housed sleeping accommodations in the form of a giant four-poster bed outfitted with cream and gold fabric hangings. Like the first, this room had elegant hand-crafted wooden furniture upholstered with matching material. Its large walk-in closet was empty. Yet the space was capable of holding more gowns than she could ever possibly count.
At the back of the bedroom stood another set of double doors leading to the final chamber which was a bathroom of marble and pearlescent tile. Not only was there a private pit toilet, but her own bathing pool. It was heated like all the other bathing pools in the keep, with water that circulated (she still did not understand the magic behind this), pushing out the dirty and pulling in the clean.
A loud knock forced Reyr’s pacing to a halt. She stood to answer the door but he beat her to it, motioning for her to sit. Annoyed by his newfound bossiness, she followed orders.
“Claire’s dinner, m’lord,” said the servant. She recognized Sarah’s voice and frowned. Why hadn’t Desaree come? Since that afternoon, she’d tried to visit Desaree to make sure she was okay, only to have Reyr forbid it.
Reyr sent Sarah away without permitting her entry and entered the room with their dinner. “I imagine you are hungry,” he said. She nodded. Hungry was an understatement after the events that transpired.
After serving herself and scarfing down a few bites, she broke their silence. “I want to go see Desaree tonight—I want to go check on her.”
Reyr frowned. “We have already been through this, Claire. King Talon says you are to remain out of sight for the next few days until this whole debacle blows over, until he can inform the Council and the Court of your new position.”
She ground her teeth together. “I don’t like being a prisoner. I don’t like being cooped up.” Too many memories of her past imprisonment reminded her why this was so.
“Cooped up? Gods, Claire. You have one of the largest accommodations in the keep!” He spread his arms wide.
“You know what I mean.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You are worried about Desaree, I understand. Verath informed me that she is fine. Shaken up, but fine.” Reyr grabbed his goblet and leaned back to regard her, s
ipping his wine. His food went untouched. “Besides, I thought you wanted to spend tonight practicing. You want to block the Drengr voices, do you not?”
“You’re mad that I didn’t tell the king about my ability, aren’t you.” Perhaps that was why he was so tense.
As if caught in the act, the creases in his forehead immediately disappeared. “What makes you think that?”
She rolled her eyes. “I know you.” She was well acquainted with Reyr’s honor. “And besides, I told you that I would tell him. Just not yet.” When he didn’t respond, she moved their conversation along. “I do want to practice tonight, if you’re willing to help me.”
“Good. Finish your food and we will get started.”
“You know, you’ve gotten pretty bossy lately.” She crossed her arms and pretended to glare at him. “Like this whole not letting me leave my room business.”
“Look, I am only following orders. I know you do not like being bossed around, especially by King Talon. Please do not treat me like the enemy.”
She regarded him for several moments longer before exhaling. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she pushed the remainder of her food around with her fork. “It’s been a really long day.”
“Don’t I know it!” His exclamation brought her eyes back to his. “You have gone from servant to royal. You have gone from believing yourself ordinary to learning you are extraordinary. It is a lot for one day.”
When put in that context, it was no wonder she felt frazzled. And it was also no wonder that Reyr was so touchy. It was stupid to pretend he didn’t care about her. “Now finish up. I am going to run to my room and retrieve something. Then we can get started.”
Agreeing, she finished the remainder of food while Reyr disappeared. He was back a few minutes later with a small leather book, which he plopped down on the table before her. She studied it, picking it up and flipping through its pages.
“It looks like a journal of some sort,” she said. The scrolling handwriting was archaic, but legible.
“Correct. It took me a few days to find that, and quite a lot of convincing to borrow it.”
Talon the Black Page 53
