Bonds of Vengeance: Book 3 of Winds of the Forelands (Winds of the Forelands Tetralogy)

by DAVID B. COE

  Diani glanced sidelong at her mother. “Choosing a husband seems more complicated than I realized,” she said lightly. “Perhaps I’d be wise to claim both the Trescarris as my own.”

  Her mother laughed long and hard. At times it seemed to Diani that this was the last she had ever heard of her mother’s strong, deep laughter. She knew it wasn’t in the turns that followed they managed to share small precious moments that shone like gold and then vanished, as if illusions conjured by festival Qirsi. But it might as well have been the last. Grief had consumed Castle Curlinte ever since. And as much as she wanted to order an end to their sorrow, to banish her mother’s ghost with some sweeping ducal decree, she knew that her father clung to the pain, as if he thought it better to mourn than to live without his love.

  She would ride to the baronies to reassure her people. But she couldn’t deny that she rode also to seek refuge from Sertio’s despair.

  She heard a falcon cry out, and opening her eyes, saw a saker soar past her, following the contour of the cliff. It was the color of rust, of the rich soil in the hills. Its wings remained utterly still, its tail twisting to direct its flight. The Curlinte crest bore an image of a saker—seeing one, it was said among her people, was a portent of good tidings. Diani watched the bird as it glided up the coast, until she lost sight of it among the angles of the rock face.

  From behind her, Rish snorted and stomped.

  “I know,” she said, climbing to her feet. “Father will be expecting us.” She stepped to her mount and tightened his saddle before starting to swing herself onto his back.

  The first arrow embedded itself just above her breast on the left side, knocking her to the ground. No warning, no sense of where the archer had concealed himself, though she guessed that he must be in the jumble of hulking grey stones just off the promontory.

  A second arrow skipped harmlessly off the stone and past her head before diving into the sea below. A third struck her thigh, making her cry out.

  She grabbed at the shaft of the arrow in her chest to pull it out, then thought better of it, remembering instructions her father had given her many years before.

  “You’ll do more damage pulling the thing out than it did going in,” he had told her. “If you have to break off the shaft, do. But don’t remove it. You’ll bleed to death.”

  Right.

  “Down, Rish!” she said through clenched teeth, as another arrow struck the stone and clattered over the edge.

  She crawled back a bit toward the cliff, flattening herself against the stone, her chest and thigh screaming. The pain wasn’t spreading, though—no poison on the points.

  Rish lowered himself to the ground. Diani scrambled over to him, took hold of his mane and the pommel of his saddle, and kicked at his flanks with her good leg.

  “Ride, Rish! Now!”

  A third dart buried itself in the back of her shoulder and yet another whistled past her ear. But by now she was speeding away from the promontory, clinging desperately to Rish’s neck and steering him from side to side to present a more difficult target. She wasn’t certain she could hold on if she was struck again; if Rish was hit her life would be forfeit. Even as she rode, though, she glanced over her bloodied shoulder toward the stones. She saw her attackers immediately. They weren’t bothering to conceal themselves anymore.

  Two men, both with heads shaved, both tall and wearing dun cloaks. They loosed their bows again in unison, but the arrows fell short. She was too far.

  Diani shifted her gaze to the shaft jutting from her chest. There were two rings just below the fletching—yellow and blue, the colors of Brugaosa. Of course. The Brugaosans had long been Curlinte’s sworn enemies. They were a patriarchal dukedom within the Sanbiri matriarchy, and had long chafed at the Yserne Supremacy. Unwilling to oppose the Crown openly, however, they had instead sought to undermine Yserne’s strongest allies: Curlinte, Prentarlo, and Listaal. The Brugaosans often boasted that theirs was the finest ducal army in the realm, second in skill and strength only to the queen’s own. Their archers were renowned throughout all the southern Forelands.

  Except that even through the pain, even dazed and weak, Diani knew that the Brugaosans wouldn’t make an attempt on her life. Yes, Brugaosa and Curlinte were rivals. There had even been a time within the last hundred years when the two houses had spoken brazenly of going to war. Many, including her father, still blamed Brugaosa for the murder, a bit more than three years ago, of Cyro, Diani’s brother. But Diani saw a darker, more sinister purpose behind Cyro’s assassination, and she felt certain that the same shadowy hand had given gold to the archers whose arrows had pierced her flesh.

  An assassination attempt at the promontory implied intimate knowledge of her habits, and such knowledge had to have come from within the court.

  “The conspiracy,” she murmured into Rish’s mane.

  Which meant that danger awaited her within the walls of Castle Curlinte looming before her.

  She whispered a word to her mount, and he slowed. Glancing behind her again, Diani saw no sign of the assassins. She didn’t remember seeing horses with them, and even if they had been riding, they wouldn’t have followed her so close to the castle. If she rode to the west gate or the sea gate, too many people would see her. Word of the attack would spread through the city and castle like the pestilence, and the traitor, whoever it was, would have time to prepare for her arrival.

  She urged Rish onward again, steering him toward the south gate, which she could reach without having to ride through the city. She was starting to feel dizzy and cold—she couldn’t imagine that she had ever thought this day warm enough for a ride to the promontory.

  Four soldiers stood at the gate watching her approach. They knew her horse, and so it was not until she was quite close to the castle that they realized something was wrong. Two of the men started forward while the other two ran toward the inner barbican.

  “Don’t raise the alarm!” she called to them, the effort nearly toppling her from her saddle.

  The first of the guards reached her and eased her from atop the mount. There were tears in his eyes. Was she dying, then?

  “My lady! Who did this?”

  “Assassins, at the promontory.”

  “We should send men there. Those are Brugaosan arrows.”

  “No, it’s not them.” It was getting very difficult to keep her thoughts clear. “Get me to my father’s chamber. And find a healer, a Qirsi. But be quiet about it. No one but the healer should know I’m here.”

  “But, my lady—”

  “Just do as I say. And hide my mount. No one should know I’ve returned.”

  She made herself stare at the man, his face swimming before her eyes. “Do you understand?”

  He nodded. “Yes, my lady. It shall be done.”

  Diani closed her eyes, feeling consciousness slip away. “My father’s chamber,” she managed to say again. Then blackness.

  She awoke to the sound of bells. Distant, tolling in the city. Her vision was blurred and she didn’t recognize the room. She tried to sit up, but was held to the bed by strong hands.

  “What is the time?” she rasped.

  “Those are the prior’s bells.” Her father’s voice.

  “What day?”

  “The same day you rode. The tenth of the waning.”

  She took a breath, allowing herself to relax. Slowly, as her eyes adjusted to the candlelight, she recognized the familiar shapes of her father’s quarters. She was lying on her back, so at least one of the arrows had been removed. She put a hand to her chest and then her thigh. All of them were gone.

  A pallid face loomed above her, framed by white hair. A healer, one she didn’t know.

  “You were fortunate, my lady. The injury to your leg was a small matter, but less than half a span’s difference with either of the other two arrows, and you would have died on the moors.”

  Diani exhaled slowly, nodded. “Thank you.”

  “She needs rest,” the white-ha
ir said, facing her father. “Have some soup brought from the kitchens and keep her still for a few days. I’ve mended the wounds, but her body needs time to heal. She bled a great deal.”

  Her father stepped to her bed and took her hand. “All right.”

  The man started to go.

  “Wait,” Diani said, making herself sit up. The room spun like a child’s top, and she nearly passed out.

  The healer frowned. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

  “You can’t leave,” she said, ignoring the question.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to remain here until I know who’s responsible for what happened today.”

  “But I live in the city. I have family there.”

  She glanced at her father. “How many people know he’s here?”

  “Only the two of us, and the two guards who brought you to me. After they told me what you’d said, I thought it best to find a healer from outside the castle. They took him out of the city through the sea gate and then around to the south to enter the castle. As long as he’s escorted back the same way, I don’t think there’s any danger in letting him go.”

  She looked briefly at the healer. “Forgive me.”

  “Of course, my lady.” He started toward the door again.

  “I take it you know nothing of the conspiracy?” she said, before he could leave.

  “Nothing beyond what I’ve heard, my lady.”

  “You know what I’ll do to you if I learn that you’re lying?”

  He gave a thin smile. “I have some idea, yes.”

  She gave a single nod. “Go, then. Don’t speak of this to anyone, not even your wife.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  He opened the door. The same two guards who met her at the gate stood in the corridor, just outside the chamber.

  When the healer was gone, Diani lay back down again, closing her eyes and waiting for the dizziness to pass.

  “I already have a hundred soldiers searching the moor,” her father said. “But they have little idea of what they’re looking for other than archers. I told them that I’d received word from one of the baronies that thieves with bows had been seen on the roads.” He paused, gazing down at her hand, which he still held. “Did you see the men who did this?”

  “Briefly. Tall, shaved heads, wearing riding cloaks.”

  “Did they have horses?”

  “Not that I saw.” She touched her shoulder gingerly—it was still tender. “You saw the arrows?”

  “Yes. Brugaosans?”

  “That’s what someone wants us to think.”

  “But you don’t believe it.”

  “Why would Edamo so such a thing, Father?” she asked, her eyes still closed. “He has no reason. With me dead, power would fall to you, a man with nothing to live for but vengeance. It makes no sense.”

  “Maybe he wants war.”

  “To what end? His army may be greater than ours, but he must know that under such circumstances, the queen would come to our aid. Even Trescarri might fight on our behalf.” She shook her head. “No, this wasn’t Brugaosa.”

  “Then who?”

  At that, she did open her eyes. “You have to ask?”

  He twisted his mouth sourly and returned to the chair by his writing table. “We have no evidence that the conspiracy has been active here in Curlinte.”

  “No, we don’t. But Cyro’s murder has never been explained to my satisfaction, and we’ve heard enough from Aneira and Eibithar to convince me that the Qirsi are sowing discontent across the Forelands.”

  “Cyro was killed by the Brugaosans,” he said, looking away. “We know that.” She saw the pained expression on his face and felt an aching in her chest. Three years since her brother’s death and still his loss was a raw wound on their hearts.

  “Why?” she said, her voice thick. “Because of the garrote? Because Edamo had threatened him after their encounter in the Dark Wood?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  She sat up again, her head feeling a bit clearer. “He’s denied it, Father. If he was going to make such a show of killing him—using the garrote rather than poison, or a dagger—why would he bother denying it?”

  “He’s Brugaosan! He needs a reason to He?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Her father said nothing and Diani knew that no good would come of arguing the point further.

  “Those men who attacked me today were not Brugaosans,” she said again. “I’m certain of it. It was the conspiracy.”

  To her relief, Sertio didn’t ask her for proof. “Which one do you think is the traitor?”

  “That I don’t know. But I think we should assume the worst.”

  Sertio winced. “Kreazur?”

  Kreazur jal Sylbe had served as Curlinte’s first minister for six years, and as second minister for three years before that. In truth, though Diani had never cared for the man, she didn’t want to believe it either. He had been her mother’s favorite among all the Qirsi in the castle, and while others, Diani’s father among them, had urged her to look outside the castle for a new minister when Kreazur’s predecessor died, she had insisted on promoting the underminister. Just considering that he might have betrayed Dalvia’s trust in this way made Diani tremble with rage.

  “Perhaps it’s not him,” she said weakly. “In which case we’ll try the underministers.”

  “But we start with Kreazur,” her father said. It was hard to tell if he was acquiescing to her wishes or acknowledging his own doubts.

  “I think so.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Summon him. When he gets here, tell him that you expected me back hours ago and that you’re concerned for my safety.”

  “Where will you be?”

  She scanned the chamber briefly. She had been in this room thousands of times, but it had been years since she and the other court children played find-the-wraith. There was a small space beside her father’s wardrobe in the far corner of the room. During the warmer turns, when the windows were open, it would have been a poor place to hide. But today, in the cold of the snows, with the shutters locked, the space was only dimly lit.

  “There,” she said pointing. “By the wardrobe.”

  Her father nodded. “All right. What do you expect him to say?”

  “I’m not certain,” she said, shrugging. “I suppose I’ll know when I hear it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to wait until we find the archers?”

  “We may not find them.”

  Sertio nodded, still looking uncertain.

  She stood and walked stiffly back to the wardrobe. Her entire left side ached still and her thigh was throbbing. It would be days before she could ride again.

  Sertio crossed to the door and spoke quietly to the soldiers in the corridor. Then he returned to his table and sat, holding his head in his hands. Diani hadn’t given much thought to him since waking from her ordeal. Seeing her bloodied, with arrows jutting from her body in all directions, must have struck at his heart. They had just recently lost her mother, and for at least a moment he probably thought that he was about to lose his daughter as well.

  The knock at his door came sooner than Diani had expected. Her father glanced quickly in her direction, then faced the door again. He looked frightened and she could see his hands trembling.

  “Enter,” he called.

  She heard the door open, but couldn’t see it from where she stood.

  “You summoned me, my lord?” The first minister’s smooth voice.

  “Yes, Kreazur. I’m wondering if you’ve seen the duchess since midmorning. I expected her to return from her ride long before now. I’m . . . I fear for her.”

  “I haven’t seen her, my lord. But I doubt there’s cause for concern. She’s an accomplished rider, and she handles a sword well.” A brief pause. “She learned from the best.”

  Her father gave a thin smile. “Thank you, Kreazur. Just the sam
e, I wonder if we shouldn’t send out a party of soldiers.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, my lord. I’m sure she’ll be returning shortly. You know how the duchess loves her rides. No doubt she’s simply enjoying the last few hours of daylight.”

  Sertio looked down at his hands, his eyes flicking in her direction for just an instant. Diani wasn’t certain what to do. Even if Kreazur had betrayed them, she realized too late, he would have been expecting to have such a conversation with her father. If they wished to surprise him, they would have to let him see her.

  Her father glanced at her again and she shook her head.

  “You’re probably right, First Minister,” Sertio said, standing. “Thank you.”

  The Qirsi stood as well. “Of course, my lord.” He walked toward the door. “If you need me, I’ll be in my quarters.”

  “Very good, Kreazur. Again, my thanks.”

  She heard the door open and close, but still Diani waited a few moments before stepping out of the shadows.

  “Perhaps it’s not him,” her father said, sounding relieved.

  “I’m not convinced of that. We’re going to wait a short while and then summon him again. And this time when he comes, I’ll be sitting right out in the open.”

  “Let him see a wraith, eh?”

  She grinned.

  They waited until the tolling of the twilight bells. Once more Sertio sent the soldiers for Kreazur, and once more they hadn’t long to wait. His knock came just a few minutes later.

  Diani had seated herself just beside her father’s table, facing the door, so that she would have a clear view of his face when he saw her.

  “Yes, my lor—”

  He hesitated at the sight of her, his eyes widening slightly. “Duchess,” he said, mild surprise in his voice. It was the first time he had called her that; she had rarely heard him address her mother that way. Always “my lady.”