He barely kept his anger in check; women were so ignorant of war. “The nearest city is fortified with thick walls and protected by a stout castle. I need a victory in battle, not a long drawn out siege.”
Her gaze narrowed to dark pinpricks. “Your army hungers. The fall harvest has been moved, undoubtedly to a secure place. The nearest city is fortified, and most likely stocked with food. Yet you cannot afford a siege?”
“My army would starve faster than the defenders.” He reached for the mug, refilling it with the last of the mulled wine. “A siege is not the solution, but at least you see the problem.” The wine was cold, the spiced dregs floating on top, but he drank it anyway.
A slow smile dawned on her face. “If you cannot gain something by direct means…then be devious.”
He sputtered, almost choking on the wine. “Deceive a city into opening its gates?”
“Why not?”
Something in her face told him she was serious. “What do you suggest? Seduce them into submission? Or offer them a throne?”
“Perhaps a bit of both.”
“You have a plan.” It was a statement not a question.
“The beginnings of one, but I need some time alone.”
“Alone?”
She gave him a knowing glance. “Each dedicate gains certain gifts from the Dark Lord. Some of mine require privacy.”
So he was not the only one with special gifts. He wondered what powers she held.
“Do not ask.”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “And what am I to do in the meantime?”
“I’ve brought a prisoner with me, but you should think of him as a royal guest.”
“Royal?”
“Yes, Prince Danly, second son of the queen of Lanverness.”
The woman was a wonder, full of endless surprises. “So you’ve captured the spare heir?”
She raised an eyebrow in reply.
“He should bring a hefty ransom.”
“Not from the Spider Queen, but he may have other uses.”
More twists and turns; the woman’s mind was like a labyrinth. “I met him once in Pellanor, a randy young man with a penchant for gambling. As I recall, he had terrible luck at dice. But how did you come to capture the spare heir?”
“I’ve had my eye on him for some time. A young royal with so many vices offers great opportunities.”
“Especially for a woman of your talents.”
She ignored his barb. “I need him to be well treated. With a pavilion, and fine clothes, and women, especially women. Chose the best of the camp followers, see that they’re cleaned up and offer them to the prince. The nights are cold and he’ll need someone to warm his bed.” She flashed him a devilish grin. “Someone to show him just how much he’s lost.”
“Another one of your schemes?”
“Of course.”
“Does this mean you’ll be staying more than one night?”
Her gaze darkened, her voice breathy. “More nights…and more days.” She leaned toward him, her hand tracing a path up his inner thigh. “No need to waste a single moment.”
The woman was insatiable. But Steffan was happy to oblige.
26
Liandra
Her ladies-in-waiting fluttered about, putting the final touches on her appearance. Liandra sat statue-still, studying the mirror, reading the messages embedded in royal finery. She’d chosen a velvet gown of emerald green trimmed with ermine, a regal reminder for her loyal lords, a plunging neckline providing an added distraction. For jewels, she chose a diamond tiara and the pear-shaped emerald necklace glittering at her throat. Both were statements of wealth created since her ascension to the crown. A pity the message would most like be lost on her loyal lords, yet a queen needed her armor, and Liandra never hesitated to use all her tools.
“We are pleased. You may go.”
Her women curtsied and began to withdraw.
“Not you, Lady Sarah.” The petite auburn-haired woman avoided her stare, busying herself with the vials of perfume. The queen waited till the chamber was empty. “Tell us.”
Brown eyes glinted her way, yet the lady remained silent.
The queen softened her voice. “Tell us what you’ve heard. You’ve been avoiding us all morning.”
Lady Sarah wilted, sinking to a puddle of silk beside the queen. “Majesty, the rumors have started.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The servants begin to wonder if you are with child.”
Liandra’s breath caught. “So soon.” The queen covered the swell of her belly, a protective gesture. “This one is smaller than my sons, as if she knows to hide. We’d hoped for more time.”
“I’ve tried to quash the rumors, yet they persist.”
“Servants are often shrewder than lords, but we may still have time. Dissuade the rumors but do not lie, we’ll not have your good named sullied.”
“But once it is known?”
The queen chuckled. “Then my loyal lords will need to gain the courage to ask us, for we shall say nothing.” She smoothed the velvet of her gown. “Until the question is asked and answered, it is only a rumor. The cowardice of our lords will buy us more time.”
“Yes, majesty,” her voice was troubled, “But when they ask, they will press you to name the father.”
“The father only matters if the child is a son. A daughter will be discounted, overlooked, but she shall be mine, a daughter destined to learn the way of golds.” Liandra cradled the swell of the child, an unexpected boon.
Lady Sarah gave her a sheepish look, removing a beribboned square of folded parchment from her bodice. “He still sends letters, and begs an audience. Will you not meet with him? Tell him of the child?”
Liandra hardened her heart, staring at the folded parchment as if it held a viper. “Put it on the mantle with the others.”
“But he suffers, I see it in his face. I hear it in his voice. He pines for you.”
She closed her eyes against the sudden assault of memories, his voice, his touch, his companionship. His absence left an aching chasm in her soul. Oh Robert, how could you betray me? It hurt too much too bear. She built a barrier against the memories, walls of duty surrounding her heart. She imagined a perfect fortress, without doors or windows or even a key. Snapping back to her solar, she made her voice as hard as steel. “We are the queen. He pines for our power.”
Lady Sarah looked as if she would argue, but then she capitulated, bowing her head. “Yes, majesty.”
“We thank you for your honesty.” She raised the lady’s face. “Never fear to tell us the truth.”
“Yes, majesty.”
“Now come,” she rose to her feet. “We have a council to attend, and you have secrets to keep and rumors to harvest. A woman’s work is never done.”
Lady Sarah flashed a small smile. “Yes, majesty.”
“That’s better. We’ll have no dour women in our entourage.”
“As you say, majesty.”
Liandra adjusted the folds of her gown, using thick pleats to hide the growing bulge. “Wish us luck.”
“Luck, majesty.”
The queen swept from the chamber, into a hallway crowded with courtiers. Ambushed by her sudden appearance, the gaggle bowed low as she passed, but her loyal courtiers were ever quick to attack. Assembling into a flock of brightly plumed lords, they trailed in her wake, chirping petitions and requests laced with flattery. She let them talk, plucking insights from their chatter. Men were easily judged by their wants. Down the staircase and into the grand hallway, she led them a merry chase till a pair of guards snapped to attention before the council doors.
Confronted by guards, the courtiers fell away. The queen passed through the double doors, entering the relative calm of the council chambers.
Ten loyal lords surged to their feet, and then bowed, some with honesty, others with cunning. She knew them all by name and by weakness. Greeting them with a nod and a smile, she swept to the head of the table. She’d barely gained her se
at when the assault began.
“Majesty, word of the war is not good. Our northern provinces burn and the enemy advances unchecked.”
Trust the weasel to start the attack. “And what does a treasurer know of war?”
Lord Lenox turned purple, his voice sputtering in outrageous. “Majesty, I’ve lost more than anyone here! All my estates are in the north, set to the torch by the advancing army. This war is ruining me!” His voice turned frantic. “You must do something!”
“We wage war.” She gave him a frosty stare. “What else would you have us do?”
His voice turned desperate. “But we can’t give up the north, not without a fight.”
“We give up nothing.” She gave him a disdainful glare. “Did you think only peasants would suffer? War is a costly business. At least you still have your lordship and your life.”
“For now.” Lord Mills dared to enter the fray. “Prince Stewart fights but he does nothing to stop the advance.”
“He is outnumbered.” Anger flashed in her eyes. She defended her son and her strategy. “He empties the north of food, making hunger the ally of Lanverness.”
“But it is not working.”
“He needs time.” She glared at her loyal lords. “Did the prince not say in this very chamber that the strategy required a lot of map?”
Lord Lenox rung his hands. “The strategy is not working. We’re running out of map!”
Lord Mills flashed a sinister smile. “Then sue for peace.”
She scoffed at the notion. “Sue for peace with a monster? We’ve seen how religious fanatics wage war! They don’t even keep what they conquer! They burn it!”
“Then bribe them with gold. The Urian gift alone would make a tempting ransom, enough to win a kingdom.”
So predictable, she knew the Urian bounty would make them bold. How easily they spent her treasury. “You’d have us pay murderers?”
“Heed the advice of your council.” Lord Mills was nothing if not persistent, his voice as smooth as snake oil. “Offer them a payment of gold and perhaps they’ll leave.”
“Like dangling meat before a lion, it will only make them hungry for more.”
Lord Lenox returned to the fray. “But majesty, we can at least try. Send heralds with offers to negotiate. At the very least, it will buy us more time.”
“Only if we trust them to stop fighting while we talk.” She glared at her the pinch-faced treasurer. “Do you trust the priests of the Flame? Do any of you trust them to keep their word?”
They wilted under her stare.
“Nevertheless, the danger is real.” Major Ranoth hefted a rolled map, asking for the queen’s permission. Liandra nodded and he spread the map across the table, a map she’d seen before in the privacy of her solar, yet she studied it as if for the first time. Arrows of red showed the advance of the enemy army, a deadly spear aimed at the heart of her kingdom.
“According to the latest dispatches, the enemy is here, at the village of Darmooth.” The major used a dagger as a pointer, indicating the red stain blotting the map. “Prince Stewart harasses the enemy’s flanks and destroys his scouting parties, but he has yet to blunt the enemy’s advance. So far, the enemy steers clear of our major strongholds at Kardiff and Lingard. Instead he drives through our farmland, heading straight for our capital city.” The dagger drew a line from the red blotch straight south to Pellanor. “The capital city sprawls beyond its walls. If the enemy reaches Pellanor, the city will be lost.”
A grim hush circled the table.
“What do you suggest?”
“Move the capital, majesty.”
“Where?”
“Lingard might still be possible. The walls are formidable and Baron Ragnold keeps his own garrison of knights. But the safer bet is farther south,” his dagger traced a line from Pellanor to the southwest corner of her kingdom, “to Graymaris, a strong fortress built to check the threat from Radagar.”
Liandra eased back in her chair, a frown on her face, waiting to be persuaded. She wanted the idea to be owned by her loyal lords. The silence lengthened.
Lord Lenox was the first to break, using a white handkerchief to mop sweat from his brow. “It makes sense, majesty. Move the treasury and the court out of harms way.”
She wondered how she’d ever chosen such a weasel for her court, but then she’d assumed a weasel might be shrewd at multiplying golds, a failure on both counts.
Lord Quince, a blunt-faced man with his better years behind him, seconded the motion. “Majesty, the major’s recommendation makes sense, move the court to Graymaris. At least this way, you will be safe.”
Her gaze roamed the table, noting the nods of agreement. “And what signal shall we send to our people if the queen flees her capital city?”
Lord Lenox blustered. “Not flight, majesty, a strategic withdrawal, suggested by the military.”
Lord Hutchins nodded. “We dare not let the queen be captured, else the war is lost.”
“Graymaris makes the most sense.”
“Move the capital beyond enemy’s reach.”
Lord Cadwell added his slippery voice. “You must do what is best for queen and council. Only by preserving the government do you preserve the kingdom.”
Liandra smothered a sneer, such a cowardly crew. How badly they sought to save their own skins. None seemed to notice that her staunchest supporters, the Lord Sheriff and Sir Durnheart remained oddly silent. The queen turned her gaze toward Lord Mills. “And you, Lord Mills, what is your advice to us?”
Her handsome lord spread his hands in resignation. “If you will not sue for peace then you must flee the capital.”
“Your very choice of words condemns us.”
“No slight intended, majesty, but you leave us no other choice. Since you cannot win by dint of arms, you must either negotiate or withdrawal.”
She bowed her head as if capitulating. The silence stretched, she could almost hear them sweat. “You have convinced us.”
An audible sigh rippled around the chamber.
“We will give the enemy a choice, daring him to split his army.”
Some of her councilors squinted as if sensing a trap.
“The whole of the treasury, and those of my councilors who wish to go, shall be moved to the safety of Graymaris. The queen shall stay in Pellanor, as a symbol to our people, proof that our army will prevail.”
Astonishment shown from more than a few faces, but their silence said it all. No one protested her choice. Liandra hid her contempt. Her puffed-up lords looked like toads offered a meal of juicy flies. Of course she’d handed them what they most wanted, a chance to save their lives while keeping the pride and the power of the treasury. She gave them a steely stare. “We shall issue orders to move the treasury within the fortnight. The sooner it is done, the better. Who among you will dare the trip to Graymaris?”
Lord Lenox could hardly contain his glee. “The treasurer needs to keep close to the treasury.”
Liandra nodded. “Assuredly,” one less weasel in her council, “And what choice do the rest of you make?”
The answer was predictable. The lords Lenox, Cadwell, Quince and Hutchins all chose to leave, rats fleeing a sinking ship. Only Lord Mills surprised her.
“I choose to stay, majesty.”
Perhaps the man’s ambition outweighed his common sense, or else he played a deeper game. “As you wish.” Her gaze circled the table, meeting the stare of each lord. “The decision is made. The treasury will leave within the fortnight, be sure you are ready to travel.”
Liandra rose, extending her ringed hand to her loyal lords. One at a time, they came forward to take their leave. She stared the hardest at the fleeing rats, their plans writ large across their faces. The cowards believed Pellanor was doomed, throwing the city like a sop to the Flames. And once the Flames consume their rightwise queen, her loyal lords would broker a peace from Graymaris, trading Urian gold for an end to a war. But Liandra knew one does not broker peace with
monsters, and she had no intention of being consumed by Flames. Plans within plans, she’d long ago decided to let the cowards flee her capital, ridding her court of disloyal lords while setting a gilded trap. In the queen’s court nothing was ever wasted, not even a pack of disloyal lords.
27
Fintan
Secrecy was second nature to a monk of the Kiralynn Order. Fintan waited till the dead of night, for the shroud of sleep to take the castle. Swirling a midnight blue cloak around his shoulders, he slipped through the gilded hallways, seeking the shadowy staircase of the western tower. Castle Tandroth lived up to its reputation, a warren of wealth and intrigue crisscrossed with confusing hallways, but after a week of exploration, he was beginning to learn its ways and its queen. He entered the staircase and began to climb. So many steps, his left knee began to ache, an old injury aggravated by cold. The tight spiral led to a stout oak door. Cold seeped through the door, a prelude to winter. He eased the door open and peered into the moonless night, relieved to find the crenellated battlements empty of guards. Clearly the queen trusted her city more than her loyal councilors.
Clouds scudded across the sky, masking the stars, but the inky darkness only made the city more impressive. Sprawling below, the city lapped at the very gates of the castle, ten thousand pinpricks of lights, candles, lanterns, and torches, enough to rival the very stars. In all his wanderings, he’d never found a city more worth saving, a beacon of light against the gathering dark.
A sound disturbed his musings, a faint scuff against stone.
He stilled, listening, and then whirled, a hand on his dagger, but he found nothing, only darkness and the bone-cold night. Wary, he prowled the tower top, but the sound, real or imagined, was gone. Since coming to the castle he’d felt the sting of watching eyes, a vague sense of unease riding his shoulders, but his gaze never found the stalker. Perhaps it was merely this strange new openness. Wearing the Order’s blue robes beyond the southern mountains created a sense of unease. Perhaps the Order’s cloak of secrecy was not so easily put off. Keeping his hand on his dagger, he took a position on the north side of the tower, keeping watch on the sky. He did not have long to wait.
S&SS [04] The Poison Priestess Page 23
