Blaine sighed. “I had heard it said that social occasions are just concealed warfare, but by the time all of this is done, I think it would have just been easier to fight it out and be done with it.”
Kestel nodded. “Fights actually take less time than a full royal dinner party did back in the day when the entire court was present.”
Dillon winced. “I wasn’t involved with such things back then, but it was impossible not to overhear Seneschal Lynge when he was beside himself readying one detail or another. And it went on for months!”
“Let’s impress them with how dangerous we are and send them on their way,” Blaine said. “I’ve still got the Meroven raiders to deal with.”
“Ah, but at least here, we get a hot bath!” Kestel said with a satisfied sigh. “And I, for one, intend to take full advantage of the opportunity.”
Two candlemarks later, Blaine and Kestel had finished their baths and dressed for their dinner with the ambassadors. Blaine adjusted his collar and swallowed. “The next time I complain about my armor, remind me of how many layers of clothing it takes to dress for a court dinner.”
Kestel pirouetted in front of the mirror. “Go ahead. Complain. You don’t have nearly as many layers as I do, or skirts to manage.” She admired her reflection for a moment. “Personally, I always enjoyed dressing for court. Except back then, I had a lot more jewelry.” Even without gold or gems, Kestel looked striking. Her hair was wound into a style popular before the Great Fire, and the servants had managed to find her rouge and powder, along with some kohl for her eyes.
“You look beautiful,” Blaine said. “Maybe when all the fighting is over, you’ll have more opportunity to dress like this if you want.”
“You mean, instead of being up to my elbows in blood on a battlefield?” Kestel replied. “That would be a nice change. But not all the time. Between Edgeland and the battles, I’ve gotten used to work dresses or trews. Much more comfortable!”
Their banter helped to ease Blaine’s nervousness. I never cared about taking back my title, let alone impersonating—or actually being—the king, he thought. But there’s no one else to do it. And the other warlords and I can hardly meet with the delegation by committee. I won’t pass for a born-and-bred king, but perhaps I can do better than outright barbarian.
“I don’t like it that I can’t wear my sword,” Blaine complained.
Kestel rolled her eyes. “No one is wearing a sword. Protocol.” She gave a crafty grin. “On the other hand, everyone will likely have knives, a dirk or two, maybe a shiv hidden in the boot and a garrote in a pocket. At least, I do.”
“I’ve got a dirk up my sleeve and a knife beneath my coat, and you saw me put the shiv in my boot,” Blaine said. “I suppose Piran will be armed to the teeth as well.”
“Count on it,” Kestel replied. “And we’ve both got our amulets, even if their power is waning. If the ‘ambassadors’ turn out to be something else, we’ve got some protection against direct magic. Your talent of sensing magic should help in that regard, too.”
Dillon and his servants had outdone themselves. Quillarth Castle’s great room was still imposing, even without the huge tapestries and life-sized paintings that once graced its walls. Dillon had assembled a respectable collection of furnishings to provide a formal dinner seating. Vases of fresh flowers served as centerpieces atop the best linens that had survived the Cataclysm. Once, the huge great-room table could have seated fifty guests for a formal state dinner, resplendent with silver and crystal. Now, a much smaller table was set with damaged finery for tonight’s event.
Dillon had managed to assemble dishes, utensils, and glassware for the occasion. The pieces did not match, but they made a respectable presentation nonetheless. Though the evening was pleasantly warm outside, the castle always held a chill with its thick stone walls, and so a fire blazed in one of the three large fireplaces. The great room’s huge iron candelabrum had been pillaged soon after the Great Fire for its metal, but Dillon had assembled enough candles and lanterns to cast a pleasant glow, and the long late-summer evening meant additional light through the tall, narrow windows, many of which were still, rather surprisingly, intact.
Blaine and Kestel entered together, after a uniformed page sounded a trumpet to herald their arrival. Piran followed them, dressed in a brocade frock coat over velvet trews. Behind Piran were Rikard and the rest of their guards, wearing King Merrill’s livery. Blaine’s breath caught in his throat as he saw that a huge Donderath flag hung where one of the tapestries had been, directly behind the seats at the center of the table where Blaine, Kestel, and Piran were to sit.
The Cross-Sea ambassadors rose to their feet at the sound of the trumpet, and made courteous bows as Blaine and the others entered. “M’lord,” Dillon said in his most sonorous voice. “May I present our esteemed guests. Ambassador Heldin, of the Cross-Sea Kingdoms.”
Heldin was a stocky man in his fourth decade with a closely trimmed head of dark hair sprinkled with gray. He made a bow. “Your Lordship,” Heldin acknowledged. “It is an honor.”
He looks like the real thing, Blaine thought from the way Heldin stood. Kestel gave Blaine a nearly imperceptible nod, signifying that she too thought Heldin could be a real ambassador. Interesting.
“Assistant Ambassador Jacoben,” Dillon announced. To Heldin’s left was a tall, spare man with the look of an archer. Jacoben’s hands were covered with small, healed scars, and as he straightened from his bow and his hair shifted over his forehead, Blaine glimpsed another scar near his hairline.
Either he has seen battle or being an ambassador is a very dangerous business where they come from, Blaine thought.
“Secretary to the Ambassador Iston.” Short and wiry, Iston looked to Blaine as if he had more muscle than an ambassador’s secretary should possess.
“And Undersecretary Vishal,” Dillon said. Vishal was muscular and compact, with sharp features and dark, cold eyes.
Servants dressed in mended finery brought out hearty game meats and roasted root vegetables in succulent gravy as well as fresh greens and berries. Though not the endless number of courses for a true royal banquet, Dillon and his kitchen staff put on a good show worthy of the castle. They had even managed to secure a few bottles of wine.
“Our compliments to your staff, Your Lordship,” Heldin said. “This is a most gracious meal, even more remarkable given our regrettably short notice.”
“We’re honored by your visit, Your Excellency.” Blaine regarded the ambassador with the cool reserve Kestel had instructed him to project. If anything seemed amiss to his visitor, the stranger was self-possessed enough not to let it show.
“Your kingdom appears to be rebounding from the recent unpleasantness.” Heldin had the aura of smooth civility Blaine remembered seeing in lifelong courtiers. Such skills were, he knew, a necessity to keep one’s position—and perhaps one’s head—in the political currents of court. I’m badly out of practice with my court manners, Blaine thought. And I had very little practice to begin with.
“Things are certainly on the mend,” Kestel replied. “We’ve had scant news from abroad. Did the… unpleasantness… affect the Cross-Sea Kingdoms?”
A shadow crossed Heldin’s face, but he recovered with a breath. “Regrettably, yes, m’lady. Fire fell from the sky, destroying much of the capital city and damaging the palace. King Ronfi and the crown prince died in the Devastation, as we refer to that awful night,” Heldin said. “As did many, many people.”
“As you can see, the Great Fire also touched Quillarth Castle,” Blaine said. “King Merrill died that night, and Castle Reach burned.”
“I’m curious, m’lord,” Jacoben said. “Were there any other… more unusual… effects of the Devastation here in Donderath?”
Kestel gave him a puzzled look. “What kind of unusual effects?” she asked, utterly believable in her apparent confusion.
It was clear Jacoben did not want to speak openly. “Weather fluctuations, tidal changes, mayb
e even a disruption of magic?” he prompted.
“The weather is just now beginning to return to normal,” Blaine replied. “We had some severe storms with very bad winds, high waves.” He took another sip of wine. “But in the last few months, conditions are becoming more stable.”
Heldin nodded. “We, too, have seen more severe weather since the Devastation. And as you’ve said, those changes appear to be tapering off.” He weighed his next words carefully. “Did you observe any effect on your people?”
It was clear that Heldin was fishing for information without wanting to tip his hand. Blaine enjoyed watching Kestel handle the situation, putting her natural charisma and beauty to work for her as well as her seduction magic, which marriage and wartime gave her scant opportunity to use. “The weather was so extreme, I’ve heard that our poor farmers had some difficulty planting and harvesting their crops,” Kestel replied. “Too much rain, turned cold too early, that sort of thing. And you?”
“Much the same, m’lady,” Vishal replied. Heldin did not look at the undersecretary, but he shifted slightly in his seat, as if uncomfortable. “Our mages reported that the magic fluctuated much like the weather. I can’t help wondering, did Donderath experience that as well?”
Interesting, Blaine thought. Heldin is supposed to be in charge, but he actually seems scared of Vishal.
“I wouldn’t know about the mages,” Kestel said with a beautiful smile. She shifted, showing the cleavage of her gown to its best advantage. It was a move guaranteed to ensure that she had their guests’ full attention. “But some of the workers of small magic—healers, musicians, and all—had difficulty for a little while. Then it all came back again, as if it never left.” She gave a shrug that further enhanced her allure. “So it’s as it should be.”
Blaine watched the faces of their guests as Kestel spoke. Heldin was paying close attention, though he seemed willing to permit Vishal to take the lead. Iston’s attention was on everything except the conversation as his gaze roamed around the great room, or he examined Piran and Rikard closely, as if wondering about their purpose. He tried to make his interest in Blaine and Kestel appear casual, but Blaine bet Iston was mentally recording every detail. Jacoben was on edge. More than once, his gaze drifted to the doors, or up to the waning light that spilled through the long windows. Underneath it all, Blaine sensed a subtle, probing magic.
Vishal turned to Blaine. “We had heard that magic became inaccessible in Donderath, and came back again. Is that true?”
“Is that what happened in the Cross-Sea Kingdoms?” Blaine returned the question with a question. Maybe over the course of the rest of the evening their guests would prove themselves to be trustworthy, but so far, Blaine had a niggling sense that something was not quite right.
Iston looked uncomfortable, while Heldin chafed to take the lead once more in the conversation. Heldin slid a sidelong glance at Iston and cleared his throat. “My lord, we did not mean to appear to press you for information. But we have had no word at all from Donderath since the Devastation, where once our kingdoms shared strong trade. It has taken us this long to assemble a ship to see for ourselves what occurred here. So we are, understandably, eager for news.”
Blaine sat back in his chair as the servants cleared the dishes for the first course. “The Great Fire caused a lot of damage, in Castle Reach and beyond. Any ships able to leave port that night fled filled with refugees bound for anywhere they could go. Surely some of those ships reached the Cross-Sea Kingdoms?”
Jacoben shook his head. “I regret to tell you, Lord McFadden, but they did not. Otherwise, we would have had a better idea of what had transpired here.”
Kestel bumped Blaine’s ankle under the table. He knew what her signal meant. He’s lying.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Assistant Ambassador,” Blaine replied. “We had held out hope that those Donderan subjects would be able to come home, now that all is well.”
“And your people have been able to recover so quickly from such a disaster,” Vishal remarked. “Remarkable.”
Blaine fought to keep his expression neutral, disliking Vishal’s tone, as if he were sizing up an object to be acquired. Piran, who had never claimed to have the tact for diplomacy, looked openly angry. Rikard was watching Iston closely. Blaine noted that Rikard had laid his right hand palm down on the table, and was absently tracing lines and circles on the table linens. Blaine’s ability to sense magic told him that both Rikard and one of the newcomers were engaging in a subtle battle of magical wills.
“We did not make the journey from mere curiosity, Lord McFadden,” Heldin said. “We came seeking trade. We can offer you grain and iron ore, as well as woolens. Those are just the goods we’ve brought with us. If we reach an agreement, any goods we produce in surplus may be agreed upon.”
“We have herring and rubies,” Blaine said, his voice utterly serious. Piran coughed and needed a drink from his goblet to recover. “Unfortunately, the war with Meroven and the Great Fire reduced our crop yield last year. We have enough for our people, and our next harvest promises to be very good, but we have no surplus to trade right now.”
Listen to us posture and lie, trying not to admit weakness, Blaine thought. Heldin seems to be a professional. I’m betting he’s a real ambassador. The others are no more diplomats than Piran is, and probably only present as muscle. The question is, why are the ‘ambassadors’ really here?
Conversation ceased with the second course. Blaine noticed that Rikard continued to trace figures on the tablecloth almost continually, and felt the tug and push of competing magics. Wardings? Blaine wondered. Or some other kind of magic?
Dillon’s servers brought out baked herbed fish, caught fresh from the bay, as well as a stew of mussels and onions. As the food was served, Kestel turned her brilliant smile on Vishal. “So tell me, Undersecretary, who rules the Cross-Sea Kingdoms now?
Vishal looked as if he had swallowed a clam shell. That was obviously not a topic he wanted to pursue. “With the king and the prince dead, the crown passed to Edelton, the king’s brother,” he replied.
“Edelton Turnfoot?” Kestel asked, and Iston choked. “Don’t I recall some hint of controversy about the prince’s… deformity?”
Jacoben could not have looked sourer if his wine had gone bad. “We do not speak of such things these days, m’lady,” he said. “Out of respect.”
He means, out of fear, Blaine decided, noting the nervous glance Iston shot toward Heldin.
“You know, I met King Ronfi and Edelton Turnfoot… I mean, Prince Edelton… once at King Merrill’s court,” Kestel continued as if she were just chatting with an acquaintance. “The king seemed nice, and he and King Merrill shared quite a few jokes on that occasion.” She took a drink of wine, intentionally appearing to drink more than she actually swallowed. “The prince, on the other hand, was… shall we say, less than a gentleman.”
Her eyes widened as she leaned forward, once again using her bosom to intentional effect. “He made indecent proposals to Lord Corrender’s daughter, and ordered a groomsman whipped for not feeding his horse from a silver platter!”
“M’lady,” Heldin said beseechingly. “We are your guests, and representatives of the king. I beg of you, do not place us in an uncomfortable position.”
Seems like Vishal and the new king don’t have much of a sense of humor, Blaine thought. And if Edelton was passed over for the crown and got it by default, he’s probably got some old grudges to settle.
Vishal picked at the fish on his plate. “The circumstances have required changes for all of us,” he said. “I was acquainted with your father, Lord McFadden. Before his untimely death.” He did not look up, but the barb was unmistakable. “And now, after time in the north, here you are, the king-emergent.” His smile was patently false, and it did not reach his eyes. “Quite a tale there, I would guess.”
“A very bloody one,” Piran said. Everyone turned to look at him. Piran had leaned back in his chair, with a decepti
vely casual attitude Blaine knew meant Piran was ready for a fight.
“Last year, there was a very powerful mage and three warlords who wanted a piece of Donderath,” Piran said, recounting his story as if it were nothing of consequence. “They’re all dead now. Lord McFadden’s allies are strong and their armies victorious. It has been a very good year.” Piran fixed Vishal with a smile that was the equivalent of a thrown gauntlet. Heldin looked alarmed. Iston seemed distracted, as if he had heard none of the exchange. Jacoben glanced from Heldin to Vishal as he was looking for a cue on how to react.
“You know, usually I tell people that Piran exaggerates,” Kestel said with a big smile as the servants cleared the plates once more. “But not this time. Actually, I’d say he has been modest, especially about his part in it all.”
Kestel fixed Vishal with a look that the undersecretary would have been a fool to misinterpret. “Piran had earned himself quite a reputation with King Merrill’s army before the Great Fire. So had Niklas Theilsson, Lord McFadden’s other general. Add an alliance with the most powerful talishte in the kingdom and the mercenary Traher Voss and it creates an unstoppable force.” As pleasant as her tone was, the warning was clear. From Vishal’s reaction, at least a few of the names were known to him.
“We’re quite interested in reestablishing trade with the Cross-Sea Kingdoms,” Blaine said, hoping to lessen the tension. “Tell me, are your people trading in coin these days, or barter?”
“Coin is never refused,” Heldin said. “But we are open to barter, if the items are of use to us.” Once again, Blaine’s impression was that Heldin was the most honest of the bunch. Whatever hold over him Vishal had, it was clear that the ‘undersecretary’ held the real power. The two appeared to have conflicting agendas, with Vishal seeking information and a potential weakness to exploit, while Heldin had a genuine interest in acquiring goods needed in his kingdom.
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