Momentarily, she caught something out of the crowd… a voice in her head, Lord Karsten's… betrayal and surprise—hot pain that faded into the nothingness that she recognized as death. There were a jumble of emotions from people near Karsten's body. Ignoring the import of Karsten's murder, she fed his emotions and death into the mind of the creature that she battled.
The thing struck her with its tail, trying to break her concentration, laying open the large muscle in her thigh. She fed the burning pain back to it. The creature twitched and fought frantically, as if it faced a physical weapon, losing control of its thoughts as it tried to flee. She sensed the opportunity and thrust its own terror back into it.
When its heart burst under the adrenal surge, she frantically tried to close her mind. With an ear-shattering wail the creature fell heavily and lay silent and unmoving.
Rialla slowly became aware that she was on her hands and knees and that the floor was wet. The smell of half-rotten plants was thick in the air. As the minutes passed, she knew that she had to find the strength from somewhere to make sure that no one touched her. She could feel people moving closer as the stillness of the monster gave them courage.
If one of them decided to help her, they were likely to suffer the same fate as the creature that she'd killed. She didn't have the control to shield her empathy against such an invasion.
There weren't many people left in the ballroom, which made her condition slightly more bearable. Through her weak barriers she could sense Laeth and the tearing grief that he felt at his brother's death. Rialla could feel Lord Jarroh's rage and Marri's surprise at the depth of sorrow that she felt.
The healer must indeed have accepted the lure that Karsten had offered him. Rialla heard his voice ring clearly through the abandoned room, calmness in the insane clamor of the ballroom. "Lord Karsten is dead. The knife punctured his heart and left lung; he died almost instantly. I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do."
Someone was getting too close. Rialla managed to say hoarsely, "Stay away." He wasn't listening, so she added hoarsely, "It might not be dead." That made him back away fast.
There were too many thoughts in her head. She needed to rest before she could block everyone out. The stone was cold against her cheek, cold and wet.
"No. Stay back. Lord Laeth. Unless you want to end like that thing over there. Give her some time." The healer again. Tris. Someone who would keep the people away until she could pull up her barriers.
She relaxed and concentrated on retrieving her barriers, but she loosened her control too soon. She should have known how well Laeth followed directions; she felt his intention just an instant too late. When he touched her, she screamed, trying frantically to shield him from the confusion of emotions, his and hers. Mercifully, she passed out just after Laeth did.
Chapter Four
Rialla awoke with a smile. During the short space of time before full awareness descended, she savored the unusually strong sense of well-being like a sliver of ice on a hot day. She opened her eyes with reluctance as her memory returned.
Instead of the gray stone walls she'd grown used to, the room she was in was dominated by wood. The floorboards were varnished and lovingly polished to a high gloss. The walls were flatboard interlocked and darkened with oil. Across the room was a large window, extravagantly made of clear glass that flooded the room with light from outside.
The room was minimally furnished with the bed, a small table in the far corner and a small woven rug. The total effect was spartan and spacious: the warm colors of the woods and the red and yellow bedclothes kept it from feeling unwelcoming. It seemed obvious that she wasn't in Westhold, but she didn't have the slightest idea where else she could be.
Rialla sat up and caught her breath at the sharp pain in her left thigh. She remembered being hit by the swamp creature's tail, but at the time she'd been too caught up in the battle to assess the damage.
She sat up stiffly and tugged the unwieldy quilt off her leg, swinging both of her feet off the bed. A thick bandage of unbleached cotton covered her thigh from hip to knee. Underneath the wrappings, her leg throbbed painfully, though she hadn't felt it at all when she woke up. Rubbing her head, which was also starting to ache, she tried to reconstruct what had happened in the ballroom, so she could figure out where she was and what she was doing here.
It was difficult to sort out the mixture of other people's emotions and thoughts, but she could piece together a little of it. She knew that Lord Karsten was dead. She'd felt him die with a brief burning pain as a sharp knife slid between his ribs and into his heart.
Someone saw it happen, saw Laeth slip the knife in— Lord Jarroh, that's who it had been. His thoughts had a familiar touch; she could remember his rage from her days as a dancer at the club in Kentar.
Rialla shook her head in frustration. She knew that Laeth hadn't killed his brother; she had felt his grief and rage also when he saw his brother fall. Why had Lord Jarroh seen something that hadn't happened? Where was Laeth? Why was she here?
Ignoring her wounded leg, Rialla managed to set her feet on the floor, but that was as close to standing up as she was going to get. Frustrated, she reached empathically to touch Laeth and assure herself that he was well. It wasn't until then that she realized the scars that had limited her ability were gone, as if they had never been. The battle with the monster must have finished what the death of the Eastern empath had begun.
She found the mouse in the wall, and a deer eating grass in the forest nearby. But she couldn't touch Laeth—or anyone else for that matter. Experimentally, she constructed the shields that would protect her from unwanted contact. Her awareness of the deer and then the mouse faded. She dropped the shields again, to look for anyone she could read.
She touched something else. It felt familiar, as if she'd just been dreaming about it. Without willing it, a smile began to spread across her face. It wasn't what she was used to feeling when she touched a living creature. She received no emotions, no thoughts; just beauty—as if a sculptor had learned to work in a new medium and created something extraordinary. Something just for her.
Fascinated, she drew closer to it. She was so absorbed in her study that when the door opened and the healer, Tris, walked in, he startled her. She instinctively closed off her gift and assumed the blank face that slaves normally wear.
Now, where had he come from? With her barriers down and her talent free, she should have been able to sense him before he'd gotten that close. Although she couldn't read Winterseine without touching him, she'd been able to tell where he was. She must have let herself be distracted by the… whatever it was that she'd been sensing.
At least his presence gave her some clue as to where she was. From that and the herbal smells wafting through the room's open door, she concluded she was at the healer's cottage in the village of Tallonwood.
"Good morning," he said with suspicious blandness. "How are you feeling?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to read his face. "I have been better," she finally allowed neutrally.
He smiled, humor warming his gray-green eyes as it animated his voice. "I bet you have. You'll feel better if you put your legs back on the bed." He made no move to help her.
She gave him a wary look, but since it was obvious that she wasn't going to be going anywhere soon, she painfully maneuvered back under the quilt.
He waited until she was settled comfortably, before sitting on the end of the bed and leaning against the wall.
He was a big man, and the end of the bed sank considerably with his weight.
"I don't know how much you saw of last night's events." He let the end of his sentence rise in a question.
"I was fairly busy," said Rialla, truthfully enough.
The healer grunted, then said, "Lord Karsten was killed by a knife in the back, while you were slaying the monster. Lord Laeth is locked in the guard tower at Westhold. The evidence against him is quite strong.
"Lord Jarroh himself saw Laet
h stab Karsten in the confusion. A guard reported seeing the Lady of the Hold leaving Laeth's rooms late at night. He also apparently launched quite a verbal attack on his brother the night before Karsten died. The only mystery seems to be what happened to the dagger with which Karsten was murdered.
"Several people, including myself, saw it, but it appears to be missing. It was quite distinctive; the hilt was silver and shaped like a coiled serpent with ruby eyes— the one that Laeth was wearing the night Lord Karsten was poisoned. You have probably seen it."
"Yawan," swore Rialla with some heat, forgetting her role altogether. She was left with a real mess to clean up.
"Quite," replied the healer, Tris, relaxing even more against the wall. "It certainly looks as if someone has planned carefully to insure Lord Laeth is blamed for Karsten's death; unless Laeth is stupid enough to have actually done it."
"No," said Rialla. "It wasn't Laeth."
Tris nodded. "Lord Winterseine was anxiously explaining to Lord Jarroh that he had caught his young nephew, Laeth, playing with magic one afternoon when Laeth was a boy. Obviously the adult Laeth took magic up again while he was living in Sianim, and transported the monster from the Great Swamp.
"Indeed, I thought Winterseine knew a great deal about the unusual creature. He told Jarroh that the monster feeds on emotions and that you are an empath—not that anyone in the ballroom last night was in any doubt of that.
"Obviously Laeth intended the thing to act as a diversion while he killed Karsten. He needed you to draw the beast's attention—so it wouldn't kill anyone it wasn't supposed to. Winterseine explained that he had requested that Laeth return you to him and Laeth refused. Winterseine was surprised and hurt until he understood Laeth's motivation."
"All that you have is my word that Laeth didn't kill Karsten. Why doesn't all this evidence convince you?" asked Rialla finally.
Tris looked at her briefly, sincerity clear in his eyes, and then looked out the window, as if he knew how uncomfortable she was meeting anyone's gaze.
"Aside from my personal opinion of Winterseine?" he asked. "I was watching Lord Laeth while Karsten was stabbed. I didn't see who killed Karsten, but it wasn't Laeth. He was trying to get through the crowd and help you battle the monster."
Rialla looked out the window too, keeping Tris in her peripheral vision. His cordiality was making her nervous; he wasn't treating her like a slave. She liked people to be predictable; she couldn't understand what motivated the healer.
Deliberately, she looked at him until she drew his eye, wanting to watch his face. "Why do you think that I care about what happens to Lord Laeth? I am only his slave."
The healer smiled, and she could see a hint of a dimple under his close-shaven beard. Humor lit his eyes.
"Ah yes, a slave." He rubbed his jaw, as if in thought, and then snapped his ringers. "But I didn't finish telling you the rest of it. Lord Winterseine was here early this morning. It seems that with Karsten dead, he is Laeth's closest relative: as such he is claiming custody of Laeth's valuables, including you. I told him that you were currently too ill to move. Are you sure you are merely Laeth's slave?"
Rialla took an involuntary breath, forgetting momentarily the trepidation she had about the healer. She had been so worried about Laeth that she had forgotten what his imprisonment would mean to his slave. Ren had promised that she wouldn't remain a slave, no matter how the bones fell, but she'd rather not risk it. She also would rather not see Laeth executed for a crime he didn't commit.
The problem was that she couldn't do anything about Laeth or her impending return to slavery. She was effectively immobilized on the wrong side of the Darranian border, with a tattoo that proclaimed her property of Winterseine, who sounded as if he were intent on the death of her closest friend.
She looked at Tris, who had turned back to the window, giving her time to think about his words. She was unsure why Tris sounded so certain that she was not Laeth's slave, but at this point she didn't believe it mattered much. With Karsten dead and Laeth imprisoned, somehow keeping their investigations secret hardly seemed imperative—especially since they had failed so spectacularly at foiling Karsten's murderer. On the other hand, with Tris's cooperation, she might be able to stall Winterseine long enough to do something about freeing Laeth.
"Why are you so interested?" she asked. "I have spoken to you only once, and the only time you spoke to Laeth was to exchange unpleasantries."
Tris drew in a breath and spoke slowly. "I have my reasons," he said. "I don't think that I will tell them to you yet—but I mean no harm to you or Lord Laeth."
Rialla eyed him warily, but followed her instinct to trust him. "I used to be a slave, owned by Winterseine. I escaped years ago, and have been training horses in Sianim. When the Spymaster needed someone to play slave and accompany Laeth here, he recruited me."
When the healer turned to look at her, she lowered her eyes, but continued speaking. "The Spymaster had word that there was a plot against Lord Karsten. It didn't suit his purpose that Lord Karsten be killed, so he sent Laeth and me here to prevent it. As Lord Karsten's brother, Laeth was a perfect choice. As his slave, I was supposed to gather information on who was trying to kill Karsten and why." She shot Tris a quick, wry look. "Unfortunately, it seems that we only made the murder easier by giving the killer the perfect suspect. Laeth has always had a questionable reputation."
Lowering her gaze, she continued slowly, "I believe that the man who killed Karsten was his uncle, Lord Winterseine. He came here with an empathic slave, who died by her own hand the night she arrived. I can't be certain he intended to use her as a distraction for the creature in the ballroom, as he claimed that Laeth used me—I would have thought that she was too valuable for such use. Still, he certainly knew that she could be used that way."
She pulled the fabric of the bedcover tight and released it. "As for magic, I know that Winterseine is a mage. He makes his living as a slave trainer and trader—he was the man who enslaved me. If slavery were outlawed, as Lord Karsten proposed, it would reduce Winterseine's income enormously. With Karsten dead and Laeth blamed for it, Winterseine inherits all of Karsten's wealth and protects his current income as well."
Tris said, "I thought he was not at the hold when Lord Karsten was poisoned."
Rialla shrugged. "He wasn't there, but his servant Tamas was. It wouldn't have been much of a feat for him to slip poison into the food or drink. A trusted servant, even someone else's, is close to being invisible."
She rubbed her temples to alleviate her headache and continued, "There is also the matter of the missing dagger. Any decent mage can tell who wielded a weapon used for murder."
He had started to say something when she heard a knock from somewhere else in the cottage. He pushed her flat on the bed and put a finger to his lips, then shut the door quietly behind him as he left the room.
She couldn't hear what was said, but she recognized the voice. When Tris, carrying what appeared to be a pile of bandages and a cloth bag, ushered Lord Winterseine into the room, she was lying down with her eyes closed. Winterseine touched her, and she moaned, channeling the pain from her leg to him through his touch, magnified enough that he didn't leave his hand on her for very long.
"He's right. Father," said a voice that she recognized as Terran's. "She still seems to be in much pain. The spikes on the tail of the swamp creature are poisonous. We should leave her here until she's healed or she'll be of little use to us. What good is a crippled dancer? From what I've been told, the healer is the finest in Darran. If she is recoverable, he is the one to do it."
Poisonous, thought Rialla. The healer must be pretty impressive when he can make a tainted wound feel this well in less than a night.
"Very well, Healer," said Winterseine's hated voice, and she felt him pull back the quilt so he could see the tight bandages on her leg. Though she was wearing the gray slave tunic, she still felt exposed without the covering to hide beneath.
"I will be back to see
her tomorrow," he continued. "Don't worry about payment. If my nephew is not freed, I will cover the expense. She is a very valuable dancer and well worth the investment—especially if you are able to keep her leg from scarring."
"I will do my best, but not for the sake of your investment." Tris's voice was cold with dislike, and Rialla remembered that Laeth had said that the healer was not overly fond of aristocrats.
"Of course not, my dear man. A healer doesn't think of such things as money when he is curing the sick." Lord Winterseine's tone was amicable, disguising the dig in his words. Everyone knew that this healer was infamous for charging exorbitant rates.
Apparently the dig bothered Tris not at all. He said coolly, "My rates increase with the irritation that the case gives me. Yours have just doubled. You have seen her. The door is in the same place it was when you entered."
Winterseine laughed, but he left all the same.
Rialla and the healer waited until they heard the outside door open and shut. Tris stuck his head into the other room to make sure that they had left, then resumed his position on the foot of the bed.
"So," he said warmly, as if the frost in his manner had never been, "what do you plan to do now?"
"First," she said, "I need to get Laeth out of the guard tower. I suspect that unless Lord Winterseine makes a personal confession, Laeth will hang for the death of his brother."
"I can help with that," said Tris. He closed his hand and then opened it to show her the yellow rose that he held. Bringing the flower to his nose, he smelled it once; then he handed it to Rialla and continued to speak. "I have talents that might prove useful."
She looked at the rose, wondering if he used magic or sleight of hand. Deciding it didn't matter, she granted him a tentative smile. "Thank you."
"And after you free Laeth?" asked Tris thoughtfully.
"Gods," she said, "don't ask me. I'm a horse trainer, not a spy. I suppose I'll go back to Sianim with Laeth." Something about retreating to Sianim left a bad taste in her mouth, but she didn't know what else to do.
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