Draius went back to her upright standing position while the editor smoothed both his clothes and his composure. “Reggis thought we were a bunch of play-actors. Called our induction ceremony a sham, can you imagine? He was impatient with our incantation group and only came to three meetings.”
“What about Tellina?”
“Never met him. I never heard his name until he was murdered.”
“Now, what was so bad about telling us that?” Her voice was still rough, but she stepped back to give the editor some more space. “So why are you calling these the ‘magical’ murders?”
“Why not?” Andreas regained some of his former confidence: he smiled and spread his hands. “I can recognize the magical symbols used by the perpetrators.”
She doubted that, because all reference materials on necromancy were missing. Perhaps Andreas had something to do with the robbery of the Royal Archives? Testing this theory, she said, “Enlighten me. What symbols are being used?”
Andreas sniffed and used a lofty tone. “Years of training are required to understand such things. I can only say that the circles are a reference to true elemental magic, such as the Phrenii use.” Apparently Andreas didn’t recognize the connection to necromancy, and had doubly shown his ignorance by connecting the symbols to the Phrenii.
“Why did you insinuate I might be in danger?” she asked, referring to the Hireday article.
“You might be.”
Draius rolled her eyes. “Do you have any proof, or are you just hoping for a convenient event?”
“I got you to read the article, didn’t I? Like the twist on magical murders.”
“Well, your twist is no longer valid. There were no locked windows. There’s a hidden door to the next room, so a murderer could have left the body locked up, yet escape unseen. We’ve determined a mundane, not magical, means of committing the murder.”
Not only did the disappointment on the editor’s face satisfy her, but she could also send a message to the perpetrators. We know how you murdered Reggis. Andreas was no fool, and he would print this information. News was news.
A boy pushed past Lornis and charged into the room.
“Cousin Andreas, there’s been another murder on High Canal Street—” The boy noticed their City Guard uniforms and closed his mouth.
Lornis was out the door and into their carriage, which they had asked to wait, without a word. Draius followed, but hands clutched at her arm as she started to climb in.
Andreas clung to her, his cloak hanging off one shoulder. “Let me go along.”
“No. I can’t have anyone messing up evidence.”
“I’ll stay outside, away from your work. I won’t bother you, or any other City Guard, with questions. I swear by the Healing Horn. On my Honor.”
Draius relented. There was something almost childlike in the editor’s pleading eyes. She allowed Andreas to climb into the carriage with them.
Lornis raised his eyebrows.
Shrugging, she said, “Remember that I can have you arrested if you interfere, Andreas. Don’t be troublesome.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
First Millday, Erin Three, T.Y. 1471
That bitch from the City Guard strides into my laboratory and mocks me with her Meran blood and lineage. The insult became unbearable when the quicksilver showed a vision. She reflected as if she could, one day, control the element of water through the Kaskea. All due to the circumstance of her birth!
She has never studied the arts, while I have devoted my life to them and still, the stolen shard spurns my blood. It was time to put the charm on her, regardless of my employer’s warnings. Neither she nor her pretty-faced deputy will ever remember it.
My charm was designed to hold back her investigation, although the instructions may be a bit too abstract to be effective. I used flesh from our most powerful victim and an important bauble to give the charm complexity. It will stand any type of scrutiny, even magical, and there is no one who can see through its shield.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Warnings
A Minahmeran princess, one of the silver people, was walking in the forest when she happened upon creatures like no other. They were made from starlight, with magic horns that sang clear ringing notes. The princess befriended the creatures and named them Phrenii.
One day she met a Tyrran chieftain while he hunted. They fell in love and when he asked her name, she replied, “You may call me ‘beloved of Phrenii,’ for where I go, they will go.” She married the chieftain and the Tyrran people called her Raka, short for ‘beloved.’ They united the Tyrran tribes into one, but eventually Raka’s health failed. Her soul now shines in the Stars, the brightest in the Meran-Viisi constellation. In his grief, the King asked the Phrenii, “Will you leave us now? She was your beloved, too.” The Phrenii replied, “We remain to serve,” and they remain to this day.
—Tyrran Children’s Tale, Origin Unknown
“It’s beautiful when the sun shines through the mist. See the rainbows?” Cella shouted over the roar of the Dahn Serin Falls. Being a practical girl, she didn’t lean against the metal railing. Her quiet pragmatism had convinced Perinon to meet with her again.
He beckoned her away from the railing, not willing to shout. Before she stepped back, her hands caressed the ornate metalwork.
“That railing is Rauta-Nelja work,” Cella said as she walked toward him, pride ringing in her voice.
Her chaperone cleared her throat in warning, but Perinon shook his head at the woman who trailed behind them. Another refreshing aspect about Cella was she forgot to add “Sire” onto everything she said, and she spoke her mind. Behind the chaperone followed his two Guards. Perinon felt like he was leading a parade, rather than courting a girl.
Unfortunately, his mind kept referring to Cella as a girl. He couldn’t help it. She certainly possessed the beauty of a young woman, with long silky hair, a small waist, high firm breasts, and athletic hips and legs. She would become more beautiful as she aged, but for now she was a sixteen-year-old girl who needed a chaperone.
Aracia had pointed out that ten years wasn’t a significant difference for most marriages, but he knew the real reason Aracia chose them so young: she needed to be certain the girl would be malleable and controllable. The matriarch couldn’t afford yet another strong-willed woman in the Meran-Viisi household who might challenge her authority—she was having enough problems with Onni. At first Aracia had chosen passive and docile girls, but when she noted Perinon’s distaste for them, she changed her methods.
Perinon wanted a woman closer to his age, someone who could be a lover, friend, and partner he could trust, but he was stymied by his position. He couldn’t march through the streets asking to meet women, so he had to make do with Aracia’s choices. With every one of her selections came the subtle warning: the sooner he contracted, the better. While he grew older, the prospects would continue to be the same age.
He had insisted upon having Mahri in the room when Cella was presented, much to Aracia’s consternation. Aracia had watched him as carefully as he had watched Cella during the reception. With the Phrenii near, Perinon searched Cella for self-centeredness and vanity, but found her lacking in both. She was a girl who truly didn’t realize her beauty; she had been raised to run the family business and had been expected to work. While Aracia didn’t have the insight of the Kaskea and phrenic bond, she could tell Cella passed the first hurdle of his fickle tastes, so she pressed for another meeting.
“I’ve a mind to replace my wooden gates with iron ones.” Perinon had chosen this conversation starter in hopes of engaging Cella’s interest. Actually, he rather liked the shabby, unimposing, and comfortable wooden gates on the Meran-Viisi residence.
“Your gates fulfill their duty. But ones worked in metal would be easier to open and they’d give your Guard more visibility to the street.” Cella’s eyes brightened as she considered the possibilities, contrasting with her dusky Meran coloring.
“I hadn’t con
sidered the security ramifications.” He nodded, grudgingly impressed.
“The Meran-Viisi constellation, worked in silver across twisted iron would be beautiful.” Her arms gracefully traced the design in the air. She glanced back at her chaperone and added, “If that appeals, Sire.” Her silver-blond hair floated around her waist as she turned her head.
“Yes, it appeals. Especially if you could personally design me such a gate. Would you have the time and inclination?”
He was amused that Cella considered the question as if she truly had a choice. She hadn’t yet realized the matriarchs were aiming her at him like a crossbow quarrel.
“I’d be honored to design it. I’m certain you’ll find our work exceptional,” said Cella. Her face became animated, shining with excitement. “We can work a gold edge on the constellation, if you wish, but silver represents both starlight and the Tyrran Crown. After all, the King’s Guard is fitted in green and silver.”
A cough from the chaperone caused Cella to add “Sire” belatedly onto her last sentence. Perinon gestured abruptly to the woman and she backed away, her eyes down.
Aracia had correctly calculated that her commitment to her family’s trade would attract Perinon. Cella was dressed in working clothes: not breeches, but a boot-length soft kirtle under a fitted coat that had sides slit up to her hips. The coat set off her small waist and the clothes looked comfortable. No doubt Aracia and the Rauta-Nelja matriarch had selected Cella’s outfit carefully and part of him rebelled at being so manipulated.
But, as he looked down into her eager face, he resigned himself to those manipulations. Cella was already stunning, but she couldn’t be married until she was nineteen. Of course, Aracia would push him for a commitment long before that. Even if he decided against a contract, Cella wouldn’t be hurt by his decision. Her potential to be contracted could only increase from the King’s attention, and he’d noticed his Guards, both men, had followed her figure also.
“I bow to your aesthetics,” Perinon said, bending his head closer. “You would make better choices than I, and the design will benefit.”
Cella blushed. “Thank you, Sire. I have to—I’ll need measurements, before I can draw up the design.”
“By all means. The King’s Guard will be notified and you’ll get whatever access to the gates you need. Would you be able to present your design next Kingday?”
“Certainly.” She bowed her head, her eyes taking on a dreamy quality, lost in her vision.
After dismissal, Perinon watched her walk away beside the chaperone, not chattering like a young girl, but contemplative like an artist. It would be a shame to take her away from her artistry to contract her to a King. He sighed. He suspected she’d make a loyal life-long companion and a satisfying lover, but she would never be the soul mate he was looking for. Perhaps he could accept that.
“Sire? The Pettaja matriarchs have been prompt in responding to your summons. Lady Aracia has made preparations and awaits you.” His secretary was at his elbow. The tic in the man’s face was pronounced today.
“Are the Pettaja-Viisi prepared to relinquish custody of the Kaskea personally?” Perinon asked. “I will not have it handed over by a lackey.”
His secretary nodded. “The hall is ready.”
Aracia had agreed the King should display every symbol of authority he had to support him in this unpleasant duty, although she wouldn’t be prepared for everything he’d planned. He would receive the Pettaja in the hall of the Palace of Stars: much too big for a small group, but sufficiently grand and imposing. Perinon went to his quarters and had his stewards put the entire regalia of his office on his body, minus the Meran Sword of Starlight, which had been stolen due to Pettaja incompetence. As he fanned the ember of anger inside him, he vowed that if his City Guard recovered the sword, he’d never let it gather dust in an archive again.
This was another unintended consequence of his brother’s unconventional thinking. Valos’s establishment of embassies, open borders, and trade treaties had probably saved the debilitated and wearied population of Tyrra, which had been more than decimated by the Fevers. But Perinon didn’t agree with all of his brother’s ideology: Valos insisted that a leader no longer needed to be a warrior, only a statesman. Today, Perinon had to be both.
Full regalia included dress armor, which consisted of breastplate over chain mail. The breastplate had been buffed to such a high shine it hurt his eyes. The Meran-Viisi constellation, worked in silver at chest height, glinted. Even the chain shone like liquid silver. Perinon appreciated the efforts of his armorers, given the short notice.
“Good work,” he said, when they finished fitting him. The armorers were two young men, probably still in training and probably Rauta-Nelja. That gave him pause; perhaps he had a stronger connection with Cella than he thought.
His manservant put two circlets on his head, one for kingship of Tyrra, and a subordinate one as Starlight Wielder for the Meran-Viisi. When he entered the hall, he noted the startled glance Aracia gave him before she bowed her head and sunk to one knee. Perhaps she had forgotten, as well, what the kingship required of him.
Aracia rose after he gave her a permissive motion. “The Phrenii?”
“They wait in the antechamber, if I need them.” Perinon settled himself on the throne. He hadn’t told Aracia that he would use the Phrenii; he needed every weapon at his disposal for this coming “battle.”
Aracia sat down on her chair below the dais and the Pettaja were announced. Three matriarchs entered the far door: first Pettaja-Viisi, then the subordinate offshoots Pettaja-Nelja and Pettaja-Kolme.
The three women wore court dress, with their hair intricately braided. They seemed calm and prepared, as if they were used to responding to his abrupt orders every day. However, this had been the first time Perinon had issued such a harsh summons, under his seal, in the entire ten years of his reign. The purpose of this summons lay in a small ornate box carried by the Pettaja-Viisi matriarch, held carefully between her two hands and away from her body.
The matriarchs ignored the King’s Guard they walked between, keeping their eyes forward. As each matriarch presented herself and went down gracefully in a courtly curtsy, she met Perinon’s gaze with cold, distant eyes—instead of bowing her head. Each time, he felt his balls shrink upward, as if fearing for their lives. He let them stay on bended knees for an uncomfortable time. Everyone was silent; no one could speak until he gave leave.
“Rise.” He controlled the urge to clear his throat.
The matriarchs looked around after rising, but he had every chair in the room removed, except for his throne and Lady Aracia’s chair. The matriarchs would have to remain standing.
“Sire, we respond to your summons.” The matriarch for the Pettaja-Viisi, as the oldest lineage, would be their representative. This matriarch was the youngest of the three, the prettiest and, of course, the most dangerous. Her name was Leika and she had the reputation of being a vicious negotiator, even among matriarchs.
But this is no negotiation, Lady Leika. Perinon had removed all signs of dialogue or conciliation. Only Lady Aracia was present, even though he could have called in the other Meran offshoots, the Nelja and Kolme lineages. While there might have been strength in greater numbers, this was really an issue regarding loyalty to the Crown, not a matter between lineages.
“Thank you for responding so quickly.” At least he would give credit where it was due. “As the most recent Bearer of the Kaskea, in the long continuous line of sovereigns who have done so, I relieve you of your duties as custodian and guardian of the artifact. This will be so noted in the King’s Chronicles, in addition to my receipt of the remaining pieces.”
There was no sound in the hall, save the scratching of his secretary’s pen as the entry was made in today’s chronicle. Lady Leika glanced about, perhaps unsure how to proceed. He kept his face frozen, because he didn’t know. Never before had the Pettaja been so careless as to have their stewardship questioned and removed. L
eika finally decided to step forward and place the box on the dais, in front of his feet.
He fought his wild desire to snatch up the box, an urge that came from the Phrenii. Instead, he spoke as she stepped back in line with her fellow matriarchs. “My City Guard reported the robbery of the Archives and raised other concerns as well. Besides being remiss in your duty to protect artifacts placed in your care, the Pettaja have ignored the King’s Law.”
“No one regrets the loss of these artifacts more than we do—but the fault lies with the City Guard for not protecting the archives, and for not apprehending the thieves after we reported the robbery.” Leika’s face looked sad and regretful, but Perinon doubted she felt those emotions, at least honestly.
“This is about the King’s Law, not the robbery. I care nothing about the stolen items.” His voice was harsh, to hide his lie. He had to weave a fine path: he was in rapport with the Phrenii and had to address their fears foremost, but he had to present their nightmares logically to the matriarchs. Above all, he had to maintain the appearance of sanity and health, because the matriarchy wasn’t just entrusted with choosing his successor. The matriarchy, if all five-star lineages agreed, could move to dethrone a king, but only under charges of mental instability. He thanked his ancestral stars that Draius had provided him a well-researched account of what she found in the archives.
He added, “I have a City Guard Officer report that clearly proves Nherissa’s knowledge lives on, in violation of King Kotiin’s edict of 998.”
“You reference an arcane law, enacted over five hundred years ago in a time of fear. One could hardly expect it to apply in these days, Sire.” Leika’s face dimpled with a sweet smile.
“But it still stands in current King’s Law, and it was certainly valid law when it was issued. Why didn’t the Pettaja-Viisi comply?”
“Are you bringing us to task for the actions of our ancestors, Sire? Surely we cannot be held responsible for the mistakes of those who go before us to the Stars.”
A Charm for Draius: A Novel of the Broken Kaskea (The Broken Kaskea Series Book 1) Page 13
