“Few will weep over Leomund’s death,” said Gareth. “But then again, how many will weep for you, Mordecai, when you hang for this?”
“You’re a real bastard, Gareth,” I shot back. “I’m sure you’ve been waiting for a day like this.”
The other archmage shrugged. “Actually, no. I never thought you’d be this stupid. Much as I dislike you, I didn’t think you’d be fool enough to abandon reason and bring so much shame to your family. I certainly won’t mourn for you, though.”
I growled. “One of these days I’m going to knock that smug look off that red bush you call a face, Gareth. Mark my words.”
Chapter 14
Sunlight glared down on Rose Thornbear as she stepped out of the carriage, creating shimmering highlights in her raven hair that were only improved by the occasional strand of grey among the black. She squinted against the brightness for a few seconds and then began walking purposefully toward the palace carriageway entrance. There were few here to observe her, other than stablemen and palace servants, but she kept her back straight and her shoulders square, proceeding on her way with stately grace.
Rose never slouched, and while she wasn’t a tall woman, most who met her for the first time came away with the impression they had met someone taller than themselves. In mind, character, and integrity, she towered over her peers. It was who she was, drummed into her by her father from birth to maturity. “A Hightower must be as their name suggests, straight, proud, and observant.” She could hear his voice in her mind even now when she thought of his favorite saying.
She kept her steps even and steady, despite her urge to hurry. It wasn’t that she had anything important to report, though. In fact, it was the opposite. Most of her day had been a complete waste of time.
That’s not entirely true, she reminded herself, mainly out of habit. All information is useful, even if it isn’t immediately apparent why. That was an element of her personal philosophy, but it did little to ease her current frustration. She had spent the day moving about the city, meeting several of her more reclusive contacts and using the opportunity to make some firsthand observations of Tyrion’s new additions to the city’s defense.
Her most hopeful transaction had involved some insight into Lord Cantley’s personal finances. Considering that most of her sources only provided rumor and gossip, a chance to actually view the personal ledgers of a nobleman was a rare opportunity. Yet it had yielded nothing useful, at least so far as she could tell in the present. Gregory Cantley’s finances seemed depressingly mundane.
Rose’s other contacts had been similarly unhelpful. She had gained some insight into the reaction of the populace to the Royal Guard’s aggressive new methods, but she had already anticipated that result. She wanted more details, and her sources were entirely too vague.
It was at times like this when she was tempted to enlist her mother-in-law’s aid. Elise Thornbear had far better contacts among the darker elements of the city, despite her age and high station. But Elise was getting up in years, and she had largely given up her involvement in politics. Rose preferred to leave it that way. Dorian’s mother had earned her rest.
When she finally closed the door to her apartment behind her, she let out a long sigh of relief. It might have been a long day, but a cup of tea would make it better. Elise was asleep on the couch in the front room. Rose didn’t want to wake her, but then her subconscious brought something to her attention. The older woman’s posture wasn’t normal.
Did she collapse? Then her nose noted a change in the air, a certain musk that reminded her of…
“Don’t worry, she’s merely sleeping,” said a deep masculine voice behind her.
Despite the suddenness of it, she didn’t flinch or startle. Rose had already concluded that he was either in the room or had recently left. “Your Grace, perhaps you weren’t aware, but it is considered churlish to enter another’s home without invitation. I’m not certain how things were in your time, but in modern society it is also a crime.”
The archmage moved around her, stopping to face her. “No one knows I am here, other than you and me. Therefore, it isn’t a crime—unless you wish it to be.”
Tyrion wore a simple tunic with a wide collar. As her eyes took in his attire, she couldn’t help but notice the line of muscle that rose from his shoulder to his neck, and her pulse quickened slightly. Damn the man. Why is he so…male? She disciplined her thoughts and made a conscious effort to control her breathing.
He smiled at her hesitation, then leaned closer. “Or would you like to commit a crime, perhaps with me?” Reaching out, he fingered the amulet that hung close to her bosom.
Heat rushed through her, coming from within and extending throughout her body, from her head down to… With an effort of will, she ignored the sensation, as well as his comment. “Why are you here?” she demanded.
The new Duke of the Wester Isles put her pendant back in its place, the back of his fingers brushing lightly across the skin of her chest as he did, sending an electric thrill through Rose’s spine. “To save you the trouble of looking for me,” he replied.
Rose lifted her eyes to meet his, projecting all the righteous anger she could muster at him with her gaze. “And for what cause would I ever seek to find you?”
“Are you playing games with me, Lady Rose?” Tyrion’s lips curled, showing his canines. “If so, I find your game enthralling, all the more because I do not know the rules. You know very well why I am here. The real question you should be asking—is what my price will be.”
Her heart was beating loudly in her chest, causing the blood to pound in her ears as a flush rose to her cheeks and neck. His eyes were devouring her, and then she felt Tyrion’s hand at her waist as he pulled her closer before sliding it down over her backside. “Or perhaps you already know my price, and are aching to pay it?”
Rose felt her knees beginning to tremble and she realized she was starting to lean closer, as though to press her hips against his. Things were about to get horribly out of control. Mind racing, she drew on decades of experience at cooling the ardor of overeager lordlings. “What did you eat?” she asked suddenly.
Tyrion’s eyes registered confusion. “Pardon?”
She pulled away from him. “I asked what you have eaten. Whatever it was smells atrocious. Or is that normal for your breath?”
He closed his mouth and stepped farther back, momentarily nonplussed. Rose graced him with a look of pity before adding, “Don’t be too worried. It’s a problem for many. I understand that chewing mint leaves can help.”
Tyrion’s confusion turned to irritation. “Are you honestly trying to insult me? Have you no concern whatsoever for current events?”
Rose’s expression was one of complete innocence. “Absolutely not, and I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
“The newest resident of the palace dungeon,” said Tyrion, raising his voice.
Rose winced, wrinkling her nose to complete the act. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but would you mind standing a little farther back? It really is quite pungent.” When Tyrion stepped away, she pointed to a chair. “Actually, why not sit over there?” she suggested, before taking another seat for herself—on the opposite side of the tea table.
Once they were seated, she continued, “Now, tell me what you’re talking about. I’ve been absent from the palace all day.”
“Then you haven’t heard the news?”
Rose arched her brows, indicating how obvious she thought his question was.
“Lord Cameron has been arrested,” said Tyrion.
Her heart jumped in her chest, this time for more genuine reasons, but she kept her features calm. “For what reason?”
Tyrion gave her what she assumed he must have thought was a sly look as he answered, “For the murder of Queen’s husband.” Then he waited, hoping for a reaction from her.
After a few seconds, Rose sighed. “Lord Tyrion, are you going to give me the details, or do you intend to tell the whole thing in short, dramatic statements like some schoolboy trying to impress his peers?”
His cheeks colored with embarrassment, but Tyrion pushed it aside and began to relate the tale. It took several minutes, during which Rose asked no questions, merely waiting whenever he paused, making him feel foolish all over again.
When he had finished, she finally spoke. “Who brought the accusation?”
“Airedale,” said Tyrion curtly. “I thought I said that already.”
Rose gave him a severe look. “You did not. In fact, you left out a number of pertinent details. Please refrain from making observations and answer my questions. Who were the other witnesses?”
He shrugged. “Some servants that worked there.”
“How many?”
Tyrion frowned. “Five, or maybe six. Does it matter—”
She cut him off, “What were their names?”
“How should I know?” he answered, flustered.
Rose ignored his question. “No matter. I’ll get those details later. Where is the girl Mordecai rescued?”
Tyrion leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on them. Had he realized how tedious Rose’s questioning would be, he might not have come. He was regretting it already. “I don’t know.”
“Did they say whose dagger it was that they found in Leomund’s chest?” she asked, relentless in her interrogation.
“His, maybe?”
Indignantly, Rose continued to prod him. “His? Please be more precise, Lord Illeniel. Who do you mean by ‘his’? Are you referring to Lord Cameron or the Prince?”
Tyrion shot to his feet. “The Prince! Gods of the forest, woman! Are you planning a prison break or a legal defense?”
Rose glanced up at him, arching one brow imperiously. “It shows your ignorance, Lord Illeniel, that you jump to one solution before considering the other.”
A low growl rose in the Duke’s throat, and he looked ready to tear his own hair out. “Do you want my help or not?!”
Demurely, Rose stood and moved toward the door. “Perhaps, if I decide there is no other course. Otherwise you are useless to me.”
His hands clenched into fists as he responded, “You make the mistake of assuming I would help you.”
She looked at him dismissively. “Are you referring to your price again?” Rose flicked a finger in the direction of his groin, leaving her hand limp as though to indicate her opinion of his manhood. “Don’t be ridiculous. You had already decided to help him before you came here. Only a fool would pay you for something you already intend to do. To the contrary, I would caution you not to do anything foolish until I give my blessing. You might only make things worse, while destroying your own position at court.” She opened the door and stepped to one side.
Tyrion remained still for several seconds, as though he might refuse to leave, but finally he strode forward into the hall. Then he turned back. “I can’t believe…”
“Thank you for the information, Lord Illeniel,” said Rose, smiling sweetly as she cut him off. “I’ll contact you if I decide to, what were your words again? Oh yes! Commit a crime.” Then she firmly but carefully closed the door.
She waited there for several minutes, breathing heavily with her back against the door while she silently prayed that the privacy ward on her apartment was still functioning. Once she was sure he wouldn’t try to return, she crossed the room slowly to avoid waking Elise, then went to her bedroom and closed that door as well.
Finally alone, she sank down onto her bed and stared at her hands. They were trembling in reaction to the stress and fear she had been suppressing. Standing up and going to a side table, she picked up the pitcher of water that sat there, fumbling and nearly dropping it as she poured water into her hands to wash her face. An image of Mordecai’s face rose in her mind, and she scrubbed her face harder, as though to wash away the tears before they could appear.
Mort, what have you done? she thought, feeling a cold dread fill her heart. She splashed more water on her face, but it failed to take away her fear. Picking up the neatly folded towel that sat beside her washbasin, she took it back to the bed with her and covered her face with it, still fighting her emotions. More importantly, what will I do?
Removing her shoes, she let one drop to the floor while holding the other tightly in her small fist. Her grip was so tight she could see it shaking. You already know the answer to that, Rose, she thought to herself. She hurled the shoe across the room as hard as she could. Then she answered her own question out loud, her voice coming thick and hoarse from a throat that seemed ready to close up, “Anything.”
Rose spent the next half hour regaining her composure. It was a ritual she had gone through many times during her life. She didn’t pretend to be emotionless, and on occasion she had even wept in the company of close friends, such as Penny. But it was a rule of her life that she never let others see her when her walls truly crumbled. Only two men had ever seen her at her worst, when she was completely unable to contain her emotions. One of them, her husband, was dead. The other was likely to be hanged in a matter of days.
When she felt ready, she undressed and put away her gown before donning another. Then she let her hair down and carefully brushed it out before she began to braid it again with skillful fingers. It was almost meditative, this ritual of hers. Gradually her doubts and fears faded into the background while her dexterous fingers arranged and pinned the braids into another of her countless styles. That done, she applied a modest amount of rouge to her cheeks and checked her appearance in the mirror.
Returning to the main room, she took a moment to gently arrange her mother-in-law, correcting her unnatural positioning and making sure she could sleep peacefully until the spell had worn off. Then she went to the hearth and put a kettle on to boil water. She was long overdue for her tea.
Through all of it, her mind was in motion, calculating possibilities, and categorizing what she had learned. By the time her tea was ready, she had finished with that and had already begun to decide what her plan of action would be. One step at a time, she recited mentally.
Chapter 15
Dungeons, as a general rule, are unpleasant, and the one in the palace in Albamarl was no exception. Personally, I wouldn’t have recommended it to anyone, but then people didn’t stay in dungeons if they had a choice. That’s not to say that all dungeons are filthy, rat-infested holes brimming with foul odors and unsanitary options for waste disposal. The dungeon in Lancaster, for example, was a model dungeon, fairly clean and well maintained.
This one, however, was not in nearly such good condition. Though Ariadne was not known as a cruel queen, and her father, James, had been similarly kind, the ruler before them had been a different sort. During King Edward’s reign, the dungeon had seen heavy use and little cleaning. Since his time, the successive monarchs had not needed much beyond the upper level, which they did clean and maintain. The lower levels had been closed up and ignored.
I was not taken to a cell on the upper level. According to Gareth, those noble rooms were not adequate for a mage of my standing and grace. No, I was to be given accommodations to match my abilities, the royal suite as it were. Or rather the arcane suite. No one living had even been aware of the cell he brought me to. It was a relic of the distant past that only he remembered.
Privately, I hoped that that was because he had been stuffed into it at some point, but he refused to answer my questions on the matter.
Gareth, Conall, and I stood at the end of a long corridor on the bottom level, facing a blank wall. The last cells we had passed were more than fifty yards back, and they had been so badly rusted I doubted they were still capable of holding a prisoner, mundane or otherwise. “I guess this is the end of the line,” I said, somewhat melodramaticall
y.
Gareth gave me a dubious stare.
“Admit it, you wanted to say that,” I said, archly.
“Actually, I was going to tell you not to worry. That what you have seen thus far isn’t a good representation of your new home,” said Gareth seriously.
Slowly, I closed my eyes, letting the air out of my lungs in a slow exhalation. Gareth wasn’t much fun. The man needs a sense of humor. Maybe it’s because he was a dragon for so long? I quickly discarded that thought. The dragons I had created disproved the theory. Alyssa’s dragon, Sassy, dispelled the idea every time she spoke.
Gareth started to relax, a sign he was about to use his ability as an archmage to connect to something beyond himself, but then he stopped. “Before I open the door, let me give you a warning, Mordecai. I’m sure that from the moment those manacles were put on you have been considering how to escape them. I won’t deny that it is very possible for you or I to do so, but it will do you no good. Most importantly, you must never use your metaphysical abilities when facing another archmage.”
“Worried about your health, Gareth?” I asked him pointedly.
“Yes, but this is about more than just that,” he answered frankly. “I’ve heard about your match with Tyrion and since warned him. Both of you were closer to death than you knew. It is never wise for one of us to fight with another with these powers. Even if we try not to, it is too easy to make a mistake in the heat of battle.”
He had roused my curiosity. “What happens?”
Gareth held up his hand and removed his signet ring. “Let us use this ring as an example. If one of us were to make it a part of ourselves, that is well and good. No harm done. If both of us attempted to at the same time, it would be the end of us both. The important thing to remember is that it could be anything—the earth, the air, a singular object. No matter how big or small the thing is, if two archmages connect with it at the same time, they become one being.”
The Severed Realm Page 13
